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Weekly Contest #64
I knew when I married Aidan (heck, I knew long before I did!) that his family, the Drinkwaters, were considered – well, a tad eccentric. Oh, there were no rumours about shallow graves in the garden that attracted the curiosity of the neighbourhood dogs or people locked in attics, or anything more suspect than somewhat foul smelling herbal tea being brewed. My mother, a practical and tolerant lady, for all she asked “Are you sure, love?” in a very strange kind of way, was of the official opinion t...
The show was called Make Your Mind Up. Nobody to do with it really liked that name. It sounded too much like a vexed parent losing patience with a dithering child in a sweet shop. But Both Sides Now probably infringed copyright law, and Fact or Fiction made it sound as if it was a book programme. In fact, Eve Williams would have much preferred to work on a book programme, but she still knew she was lucky to get the job. Okay, and the producer being a member of the same cricket club as her Great Uncle Theodo...
I owe my life to Emmanuel. He chooses, or pretends he chooses, not to attach any especial significance to his name, but I could not blame him if he did. He risked his own life to save mine, and he saved it. And he is, he always was, a good, kind, generous man. So why do I feel as if I hate him at times? Why do I resent him and feel this urge to say cruel, hurtful, bitter words that nobody, or almost nobody deserves and certainly not Emmanuel? &...
Weekly Contest #63
Sylvia couldn’t be absolutely whose idea it was, and it certainly wasn’t compulsory, but Thomasina Samson (Call me Tom, she said, more as an order than an invitation) who ran the hostel, was a firm believer in the healing powers of handicrafts, and the improving nature of improvising. True, the hostel was run on a bit of a shoestring, but Sylvie suspected that the construction paper was just proving a point. And all very symbolic. Harleston Hall Hostel, variously nicknamed Hellstone and...
The Cheery Kettle café was part of the furniture on the market square. Like a comfortable, slightly shabby, familiar armchair. For as long as anyone could remember, it had been offering the breakfast sausage or bacon bun, the lunchtime specials (and no-one could say they were narrow-minded, there was a pasta bake at least once a week, and even an occasional curry) and the teatime treats, consisting of a cup of tea or coffee and your choice of a buttered scone, a toasted crumpet, and a slice of Victoria Sponge Cake. Just o...
Connie and Lara had been friends since they were that high, as folk tended to say, indicating a point that could be anywhere from their knees to their elbows. Oh, as they grew up, they didn’t live in each others’ pockets, or go into a decline in each others’ absence, but they still had that feeling in each others’ company that only comes from the knowledge that a true, caring friend is there. Not one who never judges, not one who never disagrees, but one who judges and disagrees and loves you anyway. &n...
Weekly Contest #62
Jean could almost feel a tangled, matted knot of emotions tugging and tagging at her thoughts, and none of them were especially pleasant. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be on your Golden Wedding Anniversary! And though of course they’d had rows, and of course there had been bad times, she had never for one minute regretted marrying Sam. She doubted there were a more loving husband and father anywhere in the world, and not just because she was biased. So it was all wrong, it was just all wrong for her to feel disa...
For as long as she could remember, Ella Brodie had been expected to take after her grandmother. And Ella could remember pretty far back, though she never claimed, as some who wrote autobiographies did, to have perfect recollections of what people uttered over her while she was still in the maternity ward. But she was called after her Grandmother. She even looked like her grandmother (at any rate, they were both a little taller than average, and had wavy dark hair and unusually long eyelashes) and had what t...
Author’s Note Just a brief explanation on a minor detail that may confuse some readers - in the UK, Mother’s Day is a movable feast, celebrated on the 4th Sunday in Lent. “Let’s do what I saw on telly, Auntie Marie!” That’s the kind of statement that can be decidedly disconcerting coming from the mouth of a seven year old, especially one like my niece Chloe, who is a sweetheart, of course (though she wouldn’t be a normal seven year old if occasionally other nouns didn’t spring to mind) but has that mixture of a vivid ima...
“My dear, I think it is a wise decision to opt for palliative care,” said Dr van Allen. “Unless ….” “Unless what?” Tess demanded, her tone far more peremptory than she had meant it to be. Before going to see Dr Van Allen, she had been entirely firm in her mind. She was not remotely interested in any of those medical breakthroughs that only meant another couple of months with ever more toxic and debilitating doses of chemotherapy. She’d had enough. She wasn’t exactly resigned to it, but c...
Weekly Contest #61
I was my grandmother’s playmate. Now I’m sure that a great many people say this, with fond memories, if, like me, they were fortunate enough to have a grandmother living nearby (or, as in my case, in the same house!) and a close relationship with her. But I don’t just mean that she willingly participated in hundreds of games of Snakes and Ladders, or that she taught me how to turn string into a cat’s cradle on my hands, or that she helped me dress my dolls up, often in clothes she’d knitted for them herself, though she did all of t...
Well-Meaning Minnie. That’s what I nickname her, and I don’t delude myself I’m the only one. I also don’t delude myself that she doesn’t have some idea, because in most matters, she isn’t stupid, and I even fancy she’d take it as a compliment, though probably only as a representative of the Wellbeing Service, rather than a personal one. Even if it doesn’t get a red squiggle, I still maintain that wellbeing as one word is a linguistic abomination, but this isn’t the time to get onto that particular soapbox. &nb...
This was a mistake, thought Diana. I never should have come, and the best thing to do is to slip away before anyone starts making small talk and I’m trapped. Diana had never been a fan of school reunions. She didn’t know if it was because she thought they were futile and boring, or that things could go horribly wrong, especially with people you didn’t want to meet again, or both. And because of her father’s job, her family had moved around so much when she was a child that she’d never really...
It was as well I was an early and passionate reader, for it helped to solve the problem of buying me presents. I didn’t fit into any of the neat pigeonholes when it came to children’s presents. I was lukewarm about dolls. I had a couple I liked, and called Wendy and Willow – Wendy was one of those big dolls with a ring pull at the back of her neck that made her speak, and Willow was some kind of knock-off Barbie, though, if I recall, with a marginally more realistic figure. But even with Wendy and Willow I soon grew secre...
Weekly Contest #60
There were many (and for a while I was one of them) who thought we would never, ever, get a TV network running again after the Bad Business. Radio was back relatively quickly – it never really went away – but TV was another matter. It was hardly seen as a priority when people were scavenging, and cities lay in ruins, and fields were laid barren. And just the practical side of it seemed impossible. But in the tenth year after the Bad Business, we went on air. Yes, I was part of the team. So Yah Boo Sucks to anyon...
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