It was a hollow victory, Hugo thought as he tucked into his last meal. Now that the initial excitement of escaping the care home and boarding a plane to Switzerland had worn off, the stark finality of death began to sink in.
After all his dear friend Ron had done to help him – booking the Dignitas appointment, fetching his passport, lying to the staff and Hugo’s family, and driving him to the airport – he felt bad even thinking like this.
Continue readingSure, I regret working with Harlan Ray.
His studio had posters of naked women on the walls, empty beer cans littering the floor, and the company line was “Harlan Ray is God”. Should have quit when the guys dubbed me a faggot for choosing to go to the ballet rather than a football game. Well, it was winter, and I’d rather be in doors.
Continue reading
UPON BEING NAMED INDIA’S most wanted criminal, Fariha went to her local shop, where she bought a bottle of bleach to drink.
She stopped briefly to look at the rack of newspapers and her worst fears were confirmed. The Mumbai Mirror – a newspaper she had previously contributed articles to – had launched a hate campaign against her. Other papers carried headlines and stories pertaining to Fariha’s crimes. These included the assault of a friend from her university days; her suspected role in the murder of a Bollywood actor; and her involvement in a conspiracy to detonate a bomb in the US embassy in New Delhi shortly after 9/11.
Continue reading
‘Mum’s got pneumonia. You should come today.’
‘Right,’ Jeff said, ‘right.’ He put the phone down.
‘Pneumonia? Your sister’s a nurse, Jeff. She’s telling you something.’
‘I can’t leave here now!… What’s she telling me, Steph?’
‘Frail, old, in a care home? She’s saying get there before your mum goes.’
‘Christ! How can I…?’
He looked about him helplessly and put down the wet bucket he’d been using to bale out the shop.
/
‘Just a yellow warning, minister. The Met should’ve issued a red or amber.’
Continue reading
The thing about Iffy is that he’s all about conspiracy theories. Not proper conspiracies like you see on the socials, these are more personal tales of his regrets and ‘if only’ flights of fancy. That’s where his nickname comes from ‘if only I’d done this or that or the other’.
Take last Thursday as an example. A few mates met up in the pub and were mentioning the imminent implosion of the marriage of two of our friends. Off goes Iffy:
‘If only I’d asked Gwenda to marry me before she met Bob. We could have been happy. Maybe we’d have moved to the country. It’s my fault they’re not happy’.
Continue reading
In memory
of all friendships
lost to silence
. . .
“Hey.” Sent.
Sitting in her half-lit bedroom, Kate kept staring at the phone screen. It was more than a year between their last “goodnight” and today’s message.
Continue reading
Dougal was sitting in his armchair and Marie on the settee with their son, Patrick, reading a book. At two years old he had the same copper coloured hair as Dougal, who looked over and smiled. He wondered if their next child, due in a few months, would also have it or have black like Marie.
Opening the evening paper, Dougal took a quick breath. The circus was coming to Swansea. His mind shot back to the nine year old boy he was the last time the circus had visited. He’d sneaked into the camp in the early morning to see the elephants and met Daisy and Mossie. He sighed. He could recall Daisy clearly, her sheer size, yet so gentle as she explored his body with her trunk. He had been in heaven at that moment. Mossie lived with the circus, a brown boy unlike anyone he had ever seen, Mossie had welcomed Dougal, taking him into the family that was the circus.
Continue reading