Late evening The soft lapping of the water against the side of the boat and the rhythmic putt putt of the motor were failing to be a calming influence as I fought against the waves of claustrophobia.  I’m not sure exactly how long we had been on the boat, or how far we had traveled, but I did know that I had spent far too long inside this airless hood. I caught snatches of muffled conversation and laughter, but not enough...

Summer Late Afternoon The girl carefully left her sun lounger, and although the pool’s edge was only a metre or so from where she lay, walked its full length, completely aware of the attention that she attracted, as men and women alike lowered their sunglasses and peered over the top of their books. It wasn’t difficult to read their minds; in fact, it was obvious really; they didn’t hide it. The women wished they were her...

The cackled caw of swooping rooks buzzed my senses, as I spied on them in the poppy field. Its sweet almost cherry blossom scent danced on the summer breeze. In the end, a whispered word, an acknowledged nod, and the vulgar raising of her yellow summer dress was all it took. Her mouth falling silently open as he entered her. There was no love, no affection, I didn’t want there to be. Her eyelids fluttered, as she surrende...

  I stopped at the corner of Churchill Road and Stirling Avenue. Heavy snow was falling and settling on the ground. The old Seaman’s hall clock strikes eight in the distance, it’s chime carrying on the still of the night, across the town. As I pass the Black Sails pub, a rousing chorus of ‘I’m forever blowing bubbles’ spills out into the street. Through the orange glow the of misted-up windows, I can see Archie in the cen...

A pound of apples and satsumas; half-a-pound of carrots and onions; a cauliflower and a bag of potatoes please, Joey.” Zoe Cooke stood shivering on the pavement in front of me. She was buttoned up against the elements in a huge red duffle coat. It was indeed freezing cold and business was slow. It was one of those days where you could easily pack up and admit defeat. In fact, I think it would have been a relief. But life...

Sunday morning. Through my bedroom window, I could hear my dad’s distinctive laugh as he talked to our neighbour. As far as I was concerned, Sunday was Groundhog Day. Mum was playing Steve Wright’s love songs on the radio in the kitchen as she peeled the spuds for Sunday dinner, as dad kept out of her way. It had been two weeks since my encounter with Mrs Harrison in the boys’ changing room. Now, every time I stepped out...

The weeks that followed Mrs Conway’s birthday party were a blur. Mandy hadn’t been slow at voicing her appraisal of me; the reviews were out and favourable. Soon it seemed that everyone wanted a piece of young Joey Potter. This brought new challenges. As much as I enjoyed the attentions of the female half of the school, to the male side, I became a target as they were jealous of my newfound fame. It was a few months later...

How did it come to this?I’m sitting between my wide-eyed and frankly startled parents, waiting for my name to be called. My mum keeps saying that I haven’t done anything to be ashamed of and that I have done nothing wrong.“It’s all her fault,” she insists, “she made you do it; her and that twisted husband of hers, they forced you.” That’s what she wants to believe, and I let her.The press, of course, is having a field day...

Is there ever a more depressing feeling than when you have lost your phone charger. I say lost, but I knew exactly where it was, I could picture it, sitting proudly in the wall socket of the table by the big bay window in the Whitehorse pub. It had been a good night, but we’d all left quickly after the news had filtered through on the student group chat that there was a party on Gypsy Lane. I doubted for one moment that i...

The taxi glided smoothly through the centre of town as I stared out into the dusk of the evening.  The yellow streetlights blinked into life as in silence I passed all the familiar buildings that hold such a special place in my heart.  The church, the school and town hall all disappeared out of view as we drove out of my small home town and into the countryside. When I left the children with my sister-in-law Karen, they w...

Chapter Four   Claire begins the short walk from the horse-drawn carriage to the church.  The frozen breath of the two black stallions hangs thickly in the air as the falling snow catches on the wind and swirls around her.  She wears a long scarlet coat over her wedding dress to protect her from the cruel winter’s night.   Inside, the old gothic church is illuminated by countless lit candles.  Many of them stand in rings...

Chapter Three The house was quiet.  All the stress and noise of Monday morning’s pantomime was over.  And now I could finally afford myself the luxury of my first hot cup of coffee in the now peacefully empty kitchen. In truth, the morning’s routine plays out like Groundhog Day, with every day pretty much the same, even down to the daily fight with my son to clean his teeth.  It’s a good thing it does too because I’m pret...

“What!” they screeched in unison, as they both stared disbelievingly in my direction. “You’re actually going to do it?” Karen ventured, her eyes wide in skepticism and alarm. “That was the idea wasn’t it?” Their stunned expressions made me laugh out loud.  I hadn’t actually done anything yet, and if I’m honest I wasn’t totally convinced I ever would. “Well, wasn't it?” “Well yes,” Karen murmured, “but...” “Come on then, s...

I’m sitting staring at my reflection in the dressing table mirror.Who was I kidding? Forty-three years old, with two children and going on a date for Christ’s sake. I must be mad. The black bra held my 36DD breasts perfectly in place, gravity hadn’t yet completed its work, but age and the years of nursing my children meant that they certainly didn’t sit as proudly as they once did. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not quite the ol...

I didn’t see it coming. I know I should have, but I just didn’t. I guess it all started at the Christmas party at my parents’ pub. The Fisherman’s Retreat is the only pub in this small Cornish fishing village. In the summer, the place is buzzing with holidaymakers. In winter, it’s a community hub for the locals. On this night, it was holding its annual Christmas fancy dress party in the large function room. I was home for...