No one can see the boys holding each other’s hands. Darkness and high, fragile mud walls hide their act of intimacy. Their gloved fingers, tightly intertwined, pull their bodies closer and closer. Buttons, loosely attached to their jackets, rub silently against each other. Though tightly shut, tears still manage to[…]
The train is late. A lady next to me says she is really anxious the reunion will start without her. The man opposite is shouting down his phone, demanding that his colleague “holds the bloody fort”. Across the aisle the young girl is constantly checking the time, clearly worried; wedding[…]
I am very happy with the sign. The yellow E at the end is a bit squashed in, but not to worry. You can still read it. Peter would have been very proud of what I’d made, if not a little surprised. Anything to do with paints and woodwork was[…]
“You can’t change your mind once the tattooist has finished,” my friend said. “Don’t worry,” I replied. “This is forever.” LOVE YOU GAZ was permanently inked. Other people had chosen flimsy butterflies or red roses; things that die. Gaz is alive. Well, he was when I saw him last month.[…]
Dorothy waves her hands in the air, trying to catch her granddaughter’s attention. Sal is only at the other side of the front-room, but to Dorothy it feels far more distant. Eventually, Sal looks up from her phone, returns the wave and gives her grandma a generous smile. “What do[…]
We all are aware of the empty chair near the window. Quickly slurping our coffees, we’re eager to get back to the safety of our homes. I am the first to stand. Struggling into my coat, I say, “See you next month,” more in hope than with any confidence. Published: Vine Leaf Press
“It is a perfect drying day,” I say quietly to myself, as I walk back towards the house. Laughing inwardly, I remember how my mother had used that exact same phrase so many times. Every Thursday morning she’d be busy in the kitchen, keeping a watch on me and the[…]
His breath tickled my ears when he whispered: ‘You know, I used to be the world champion.’ Grandad put a slightly crooked finger to his lips, as if preventing the cheeky smile from escaping. His declaration wasn’t a great surprise to me. However well I played, he would always beat[…]
Steve recognises Jill’s voice before he sees her. She’s over in the far corner, sitting on a high, brown stool. A ‘Fifty Today’ sash is clinging precariously to her jiving shoulders. He watches her slide off the seat and shimmy to the centre of the crowd. During their three years[…]
Mondays she waters his Kentish Palm that sits central on the windowsill. On the first of the month she always adds a sprinkling of plant feed. Daily she watches the pointed shiny leaves, laced with metallic greens, cast sundial shadows. They drift slowly across the magnolia walls and creep effortlessly[…]