Stories

Short Stories

Cherry

Daffodils

We lived in a cul-de-sac. A modern 1960s-built sort of square dead-end. Our house was embedded within the square or rectangle of houses which sat around a central patch of grass.

A Yule-Tide Spirit

It was just as Clare was receiving her cheese sandwich from the waitress that two women approached their table; they carried numerous bags and hard weary faces and trailed an unmistakeable aura of pov

Apple Pie Mum

Clare struck the heavy painted knocker and regretted the mute black and white plastic bell which unfailingly irked her; it sullied the door and besmirched its two-up two-down Victorian heritage.

Dolls' Packing

Every year my family and I went camping, invariably to Cornwall or Devon.
Cherry

Oysters for Supper

It all started with the wearing of my blue velvet rather than my green muslin.
Cherry

Nodding With Cherries

Marjorie Wallace, thirty-nine-year-old librarian, enjoyed a certain fillip to her weekly walk to the writers’ circle.

Like Gold to Ayery Thinnesse Beate...

Is it possible that the aura and spirit and very essence of a person are somehow revealed in death?