Harlan Ray dismissed modern culture as “a lot of gay shit” and longed for everyone to agree.
“You faggots ever heard of Buster Keaton,” he’d scream. “Son of a bitch wasn’t human, he was a refugee from the planet Krypton. Christ, everybody these days thinks they’re a genius when Hollywood should come with a disclaimer: Only Superhumans need apply!”
Continue readingHearing 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 reading‘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?’
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Continue readingIt 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 readingIt 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 readingI 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 readingAdam 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 readingLate that afternoon, Donald re-emerged aboard what the crew referred to as “Hair Forced One”. He stepped into the press cabin with one arm hanging limp at his side. Face frozen in a blank stare, eyes heavy, he reached up to steady himself on the door frame and launched into an off-the-cuff monologue, giving the press no chance to ask questions.
Continue readingMartha 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 readingRemember the Saturday morning queue, standing outside the local flea pit waiting for it to open? I used to get there early so I could get a seat somewhere about 8 rows back and in the middle of the stalls. It was magic, and I’d watch just about anything – twice if I could get away with it. The Pathe news was a bit of a struggle but even that, and the adverts, had their moments. I can’t say I was drawn to the acting side, but the mystery in the making of films really thrilled me. Just wonderful.
The projectionist running films from his high box looked like a good place to ask questions, so one Saturday I knocked very gently on the box door and found a kind looking man.
Continue readingLooking around the empty room, Cara and Helen were lost in nostalgia. The room still held the smell of lavender, their mother’s favourite polish. Clearing their childhood home had been heartbreaking, and now there was only the attic to clear. They climbed the stairs, their heavy steps echoing through the space. Neither had set foot there for many years.
The door creaked loudly, startling them. They saw a room with boxes packed neatly, cobwebs hanging from the rafters, and a chill air caused them to shiver. Both peered about looking for any sign of rodents. There were no sounds and their breathing relaxed. They checked the first box full of childhood toys, which looked forlorn and slightly grubby. They touched them, smiling, memories of happier times stirred.
Continue readingMrs 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 readingRejection 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 reading“Anti-Santa!” scoffed Mr. Cushing “Dear me. Can we even admit that regular Santa isn’t a real thing.”
Mrs McCulikn merely stirred the pot on the hob, humming to herself as she did around 5:45 when Mr. Harding would sneak into the pantry and shove his hands into whatever jar he fancied, Mrs. Harding would have words with the staff when he did so but if the pantry was locked Mr. Harding would have words instead. At times such as this, it paid to be deaf.
“According to little Christopher” explained Mrs Marks “the anti-Santa is for bad girls and boys. How does it go again? Good girls and boys leave offerings to Santa Claus.”
Continue readingIt was here, in this very spot, that I met him last year. I was taking a cigarette break in between tooth-collecting stops, admiring the view of the town below.
Only one house was close enough to see inside – log fire burning, Christmas tree aglow, presents piled beneath it. A couple clinked wine glasses on a squishy sofa.
‘Cheers!’ I muttered, raising my cigarette aloft. I had my own present haul in a bag beside me. I’d only taken a few gifts from the children’s stockings while I grabbed their teeth. I called it a Christmas Eve bonus, although it was mostly tat.
Continue reading“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 reading‘Twas the night before Christmas. You could tell this from the furiously furtive wrapping activities and mince pie production-lines and excited children pretending to be well behaved whilst sneakily stealing chocolate baubles from the tree. Whilst I’ve never uttered ‘bah, humbug’ out loud, Scrooge’s words do reflect my feelings about being comprehensively ripped off by myth-making so flexible and so divorced from its origins that even Tommy Yaxley Robinson Lennon can seek to exploit it with some level of impunity.
Continue readingSorcha 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 readingIn a private club tucked away in central London three gentlemen sat savouring their brandies. The oldest, a plump figure bald, lived-in face, his eyes bird-like darting everywhere.
”The memorial service was pukka, don’t you think?”
His colleagues nodded their agreement. The man with a military bearing leaned forward, glancing around.
”Just thank the lord he did the honourable thing after his traitorous behaviour.”
Continue reading‘Bring the traitor in,’ the major said.
Flaming orange hair topped his rugged head. Next to him sat the captain, his blue eyes chill discs. Fire and ice together hunkered behind a desk. A youth in khaki pushed in a tall man, his hands tied behind his back.
‘You’ve been found guilty of treason,’ the major said. ‘You will be executed by members of the people’s liberation army immediately. Any last words?’
The man spat on the floor in contempt and was dragged out.
Continue reading