Some Sort of Trouble

‘Are you in some sort of trouble love?’ asked the taxi driver.

Nishi squirmed in the hot vinyl hugging her toddler closer, her free hand tightening on the chubby leg of her five-month old.

‘Please… if anyone asks… you never made this journey’ she pleaded, hiding her black eye.

Nishi glanced back at what had been her home, nestled in the verdant hills, diminishing out of view.

The picturesque village with the 16th century church, weekly fete and mother’s group epitomised a rural idyll. Yet the dream was never Nishi’s, and the othering was relentless. The playgroup mothers asking her where she learnt English. Same place you did, from my parents, when I was a baby she thought but never retorted. The barely hidden speculation on what colour her unborn Indian-English child would be. The titters about their house ‘smelling funny’. She had tried so hard to fit in. Eventually exhausted by Murray’s hostility, she had given up.

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The Trouble With Hope

Hope Appleton has a mind of her own. There’s nothing remarkable about that sentence, until I tell you that Hope is a character in the novel I’m writing.

You could say I only have myself to blame. In a way, you’d be right. But in my defence, you should always create well-rounded, authentic characters with clear motivations. I’ve certainly achieved that.

My agent isn’t very sympathetic to my plight. You see, the deadline for delivering this manuscript has been and gone. Twice. If this novel is not on her desk by Monday, my contract, and therefore my career, is over.

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