I’m in the toilet cubicle washing my hands for the third time, staring at myself in the mirror above the sink. The soap smells like cheap lemons, and the fluorescent light is doing me no favours, but my outfit bolsters my confidence. I hope it is the kind of smart that says I’m not here to be sweet. A fitted sweater, black, with a crisp white collar poking out and a long, pleated skirt that hits just over the knee, nippin...

I’m sat at my desk eating lunch, it’s lasagne for the fourth time this week, and I’m absolutely sick of it. I can’t seem to get out of the habit of cooking a family-sized dinner every night, even though I no longer need to. Something twangs low in my gut at this thought, but before I can begin ruminating, I'm interrupted. My phone rings loudly, the vibration causing it to slide erratically around the desk. It’s an unknown...

In November I bought two Advent calendars. One is for me, the respectable kind, thick card printed with snowflakes and twenty-four little doors, behind each one a chocolate, and the faint disappointment of adulthood. The other is for Damian. It comes in a plain box with a knowing little sticker on the seal, and inside are twenty-four envelopes, each one numbered in neat gold ink. It’s bespoke, and there are no chocolates,...

I’m down on my knees with the scrubbing brush when my phone buzzes against the tiles. I wipe my damp hand across my leggings and swipe to see the notification. Dentist appointment: 2pm. “Oh, shit!” I had it in my head that my appointment was tomorrow, and now I realise I’ve only got twenty minutes to get there. My stomach drops. I’m flushed from cleaning already, too warm in my pink marble leggings and the stretchy pink s...

Amelie I catch a glimpse of him across the bar and my chest gives a tiny lurch before I can stop myself. No, surely not, it can’t be him. He turns towards one of his friends, giving me the full sweep of his face; still so young and impossibly perfect. The swagger is there, painted on too thick, the cracks in his act so obvious they’re almost endearing. The little side glances and nervous laughter reveal a layer of insecur...

I’m standing outside Thrust and Velvet, of all places. A sex shop you glimpse from the motorway, large neon pink sign hanging over the door and mirrored windows. I’ve driven past it a hundred times, always with a smug little as if smirk. But here I am, engine still ticking, hands gripping the wheel ready to reverse back onto the road. I’d thought about ordering something online, scrolled through pages of glossy, suspiciou...

I see him even when I don’t. In the tilt of a stranger’s head, a laugh caught in passing or that dark mop of hair just ahead of me bobbing in the crowd, I walk everywhere with a transfixed stare and his face blooms in my mind without warning, sharp and perfect, my private hallucination. Sometimes I try to keep it out. I tell myself to focus on the conversation, the shopping list, stick to the reality of whatever task is a...

I cycle to the café like I always do on Thursdays with the usual vague hope that I’ll get one of the big tables by a socket point before the laptop crowd takes them all. I’ve felt sluggish all morning and the ride wakes me up a little, pulling my mind into my body. By the time I arrive I’m flushed and a bit too warm, legs humming and skin prickling with the remnants of effort. I don’t think of it as going there for him, n...

You’d think, from the outside, that I had it all. A picturesque house in the countryside, the obligatory Labrador lazing by the fire and a husband who still kissed me on the forehead each night. Our house gets photographed by strangers in Tom’s trunks; it has honeysuckle wrapped around the porch, a pan tile roof and the front door is painted in a shade of green with an overly pretentious name. Driftwood Fog, I think, or s...

I drag the towel over the rowing machine to wipe up the sweat the last bloke left behind. We’ve got signs everywhere asking users to clean the kit when they’re done, but no one ever bloody does. Still, as my uncle always says, customer’s always right and all that. So I end up being Mr Dogsbody, cleaning up other people’s bodily fluids for half my shift. Not exactly glamorous, but I can’t complain. I get to use the gym for...

I’m flushed when I walk into the café, still warm from the cycle over. My legs ache pleasantly, t-shirt clinging, and my hair has gone wild in the wind. I drop my bag at a corner table and head to the counter to order a coffee, already thinking through code. When I sit down again, I open my laptop and before long I’m deep in it; the OAuth flow, authentication layers, scopes and permissions. I’m half-lost in the logic when...

I knock once, and the door swings open. His eyes are wide and for a moment he just stares, drinking me in, like he’s not sure I’m real. The hallway behind him smells of toast and stale lager, voices rising from the sitting room. One of his flatmates pops his head out, gives me a slow, knowing look, then vanishes again. He steps aside silently and I glide past him. My dress catches the light, short and sheer in places, cli...