As Bella ripped the false lash from her eyelid, a hot salty tear slid down her cheek. An avalanche of smoky mascara followed in pursuit. Flannel in hand she began to scrub the orange skin on her face, enraged she ever thought she needed to be the colour of a carrot. Looking down at the cracks in her ornate gel nails, her anger flipped to exhaustion.
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Beneath the Froth
The door to the coffee shop tinkles as Charlotte opens it. At first glance, it bears no resemblance to the busy hairdressers it used to be, though there is something familiar in the warmth that envelops her the moment she steps inside.
It’s called ‘Froth,’ which Charlotte considers an appropriately shallow name for a place that was once called ‘Vanity Hair.’ On the surface, it was just somewhere you came to fix your hair. But the healing went deeper than that. People left feeling better about themselves on the inside as well as the outside.
Continue readingYou’re the Villain in Someone Else’s Story
09/04/2012
Mildred Addams is an eyesore! Did her mum marry a gorilla? She’s a girl from school, built with the size and dimensions of a stone boulder, so shave her head and plonk her outside a nightclub and you’ve got yourself a bouncer. I swear if I pull down her knickers I’ll see her willy.
Anyway, come lunchtime, whilst me and my girlfriends are hanging out by the picnic tables, she’ll be there, eating by herself, her miserable stink putting me right off my lunch. Delia tells me to ignore her but I’m going to give it to golem girl someday.
Continue readingTHE ART OF CHAOS
Hearing the side gate opening, Mavis sighed. What’s happened now? Mitzi, Mavis’ poodle, raised her head and groaned, and disappeared behind the sofa. Puffing into sight was Eva, her daughter-in-law with the twins in their buggy. Thankfully they appeared to be asleep.
She stomped in: ”You’ll never believe what your waster of a son has done now!”
Continue readingCreation
‘Jed Newton. The hospital? Yes that’s right the wife’s on the list. We was told she’d be a proper good match in the right circumstances but… What? An opportunity has…? I’m not following you, mate. Listen now, she was informed the chances weren’t great due to the rarity of… What? A dying woman has what…? Are you saying Tracy can have her womb transplant?’
/
Continue readingThe Sleep of reason
It was feelings of both fight and flight that hastened Veronica’s trip to Milan. She urgently needed time away to collect her thoughts and prepare for an inevitable fight to come.
Already she had mapped out her problem on a series of mental index cards: Simon; nightmares; feedback from friends; and exit.
In the hotel the task began in earnest.
Continue readingGood in Taffeta
It was after the phone call informing me of the sixth divorce that I looked into my family history.
Sure enough, my mother confirmed I’m from a long line of bad-omen bridesmaids. We stretch out through time like twisted trees in a forest. Every single union attended by one of us as part of the wedding party has ended, sooner or later, in divorce.
But damn, do we look good in taffeta.
Continue readingIn Wales, We Call March Tuesday
For three years, the paintings had been stacking up against the walls of Rhys’s studio. Mostly landscapes: the Preseli Hills under lowering skies, the Teifi estuary at low tide, the Pembrokeshire cliffs captured in thick, honest brushstrokes. Everyone agreed they were beautiful. The bank statements confirmed they were unsellable.
The Bwthn Colony had eight members left. There had been twenty, once.
She walked in on a Tuesday in March, her bright American accent cutting through the warm, sharp smell of linseed oil.
Continue readingGloria’s Gifts
I must admit, I hoped Gran might leave me her jewellery. Instead, on her deathbed, she passed me a box with a shaky hand and said,
‘Melody dear, take this to Chris at Hedgehog Aid. Oh, and this is for you.’
Now, this did look interesting. An ornate gilt-edged diary.
Her death was peaceful, or at least it looked that way from where we were sitting, on three wooden chairs dragged in from the kitchen. I was perched between my Mum and her estranged sister Alice, engulfed in their icy silence. The moment Gran passed, a warm glow filled the room, easing the tension and even some of the grief.
Continue readingA SPECIAL GIFT
Adam Taylor bounced out of the office, a ruggedly handsome man. His life revolved around getting that sensational story that would guarantee his fame and fortune. Life had other plans, he would become famous just not in the way imagined.
Adam had been working on something secretly for months. He was getting close and the lady Audrey, his snout, promised it was the real deal, she had inside information. Walking to the quiet gardens in Kensington he smiled to himself. At last it was going to happen. He was writing the story in his head.
Continue readingThe Gift of Kambo
Martha Ferris didn’t see herself as a bad person, never went out of her way to hurt anyone. She just made a point of looking out for number one and if that meant trampling on other people, too bad.
When money was tight, she had a trick to save on food bills. Namely pinching grub from the fridge at work. Taking pride in her quick sleight of hand, as she grabbed her can of coke, she’d shove Rachel’s mini sausages or Nigel’s rice balls into her handbag, but it was Holly Blackbone she loved to steal from.
Continue readingIt’s a fake?
Mrs Jane Hastings, aged fifty-three, felt nothing but childish envy for Ms. Julia Parkhurst. Ms. Parkhurst’s cardinal sin was being pretty. Very pretty actually. She was (to hell with delicacy) a bosomy, twenty-three-year-old, who’s bright smile and cheerful disposition made the acne encrusted boys of Roverbank Comprehensive grunt with longing.
Still professionalism had to be maintained, because today. something alarming had been brought to Hastings’ attention. And when she called Ms. Parkhurst into her office, (resenting how gracefully the young woman sat down) she coughed and said “Julia, we don’t pry into the staff’s personal lives, it’s just when a sex tape is leaked to the public, you may have to resign.”
Continue readingNo Yesterday
Rejection emails are processed differently, Jade had learned. She scanned the text for the now-familiar key words, which leapt off the screen directly into her heart.
‘Re: Your screenplay, Tomorrow… whilst we enjoyed… unfortunately… highly selective…’
Jade slammed the laptop shut, as though the message couldn’t hurt her if it wasn’t witness to her tears. When the images of the Netflix parties she wouldn’t be hosting started flashing through her mind, she turned to red wine and The Beatles.
Continue readingThe Outback Mysteries
“Fucking mozzies” muttered Bob half asleep as he swatted another of the bastards with his hand. “And fucking flies!” he yelled, batting away another attacker.
Can’t stand it here, he thought bitterly, knowing he couldn’t voice his hatred of this new homeland out loud. Surrounded by Sheena’s Australian family who were all thrilled to have her back, had put paid to that. Christmas here was all wrong. Blazing sunshine, barbecued seafood, chilly salads – where was the tradition in that? He missed carol singers, his mother’s crispy roasties and the possibility of sledging in the snow. What he’d give for a Baileys to hand, the EastEnders Christmas special blaring and a box of Quality Street to while away the afternoon.
Continue readingIllumination
Sorcha was thinking of her ‘A’ level exams in the summer. She really wanted to go to university; find herself. She stirred the gravy as her mother moved around the kitchen, busy. Last night Mum had spent an age on the food, this morning longer.
‘What do you think?’ her mother eventually said.
‘Are we done?’
‘Yes, I’ll tell your dad we’re ready to eat.’
Continue readingAnything You Want to Tell Me?
Jasmine approached her make up like an artist approaches a canvas. Her case of pastel eyeshadows as complex as a painter’s pallet. She dabbed her eyelids with emerald green and turquoise, transforming herself from housewife to glamourous movie star
Jasime glanced at the light blue veins that braided her translucent wrists like Ming replicas. Marred only by a faint butterfly tattoo just above her pulse point. Ink so stubborn it resisted removal by any modern method. A dogged reminder of the secrets she carried like a long-buried splinter
Continue readingDick Bullet – Private Dick
I got a call from this broad come August. Can’t complain because I can’t choose my clients. Said she got a case of the usual, good for nuthin’ hubby making excuses on where he kept going at night.
I’m Dick Bullet, private eye, got a cheating wife/husband and/or business partner then I’m the sap who sits outside of their house for days, hoping to snap up the incriminating evidence.
This Mrs Mallory may have been a goddess of the silver screen forty years ago, but Old Father Time is a mean old man and chips away at anybody’s good looks. Where she was once stunning with eyes sharp enough to pierce diamonds and legs slender than a snake, practically death and sex wrapped in one tight glove, now she was like a dried raisin, those dark eyes had gone greyer than a rain cloud, her hair was whiter than the north pole and her skin sagged worse than a mattress left out in a forest.
Continue readingKnit One, Purl One
She lays out the wool in evenly spaced bundles and polishes each button until it reflects her asphalt-grey iris. It’s a careful equation. Knit one, purl one. Soft wool yielding to hard needles. One tiny cardigan for the baby unit, one good deed to balance a bad one.
A wholesome baking smell fills the room as she clicks the needles in a steady rhythm. This is Margaret’s favourite time of day, the sun just beginning to filter through the curtains. This is when hope shines brightest, when the rest of the world is still asleep and her to-do list is already half-done. Reverend James will collect the cakes later, his soothing voice an antidote to the harsh one in her head. ‘Saint’ will drown out ‘Sinner’ for a few hours. ‘Thank you’ will banish ‘How could you?’ at least until darkness falls.
Continue readingCelestial Life
“Stop calling it a cult, mum! And stop calling me Beverley, I’m Vasanthi now”. Vasanthi didn’t like the defensiveness she heard in her voice as it rose to a squeak.
“Oh darling, I wish you’d just come home. You’ve had your fun now. I do get it… I had my spiritual awakening in Tibet when I was your age…” Vasanthi rolled her eyes as her mother continually
“… and I adored that time, but I came to my senses and I came home. Manchester University rang to confirm they’d hold your place in Computer …. “
Continue readingMY PERFECT LIFE?
Prison counsellor Richard Wilson peered through thick lens glasses at prisoner Wilf Watts, a small scrawny old man with a full head of silver hair, his eyes appearing open and honest. Wilf had been sentenced to four years for offences that lead to him being a local hero within the prison. Leaning forward Richard asked, ‘Would you like to explain the circumstances that led to you being here, Wilf?’
Wilf settled back in the armchair, thinking for a moment: ”It’s like this, you see my wife died last year. Wonderful women she was, my Margey. We were married for over forty years, she did everything for me. Sold our home as I couldn’t live there without her, bought myself one of those mobile homes and travelled all over. It is what she wanted. Found it a bit lonely to be honest. Then some bugger stole it, I lost everything and had a hard time getting even a little bedsit. The police were useless, didn’t do a thing, the insurance company gave me the runaround.
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