His mother ignores me as I enter. She won’t squander a second she can give to her boy. She sits, straight-backed, immaculate in church clothes. Funeral black. I shuffle to a seat behind her, slightly to the side so I can watch her watching him. I clasp my hands, unclasp them; cross and […]
Mamma’s Here, Jethro Read More »
Now we are friends, I want to see you smile again. I want to feel your laughter fizz around my ears. I want your gaze to brim with gratitude. I want you not to flinch at my approach. In the queue, I take out my phone and scroll through the photos. Zoom in on glossed
After the fire, she had nowhere to go, so she filled two carrier bags with clothes and blankets from the charity shop and installed herself in the foyer of the bank. The security guards were tolerant, bringing her cardboard cups of strong coffee, its bitterness screened beneath a cap of frothy milk. They drew the
Because Babycham. Because Elvis. Because she wore a miniskirt and push-up bra. Because boys can’t help themselves. Because her star sign. Because she couldn’t risk him walking another girl home. Because she’s no better than she should be. Because everyone else did. Because once he got started it would be rude to interrupt. Because
The river divided them, but their paths crossed each morning on the bridge linking north to south. Tramping to his office in the financial sector, it was her yellow scarf that first snagged his attention. Hurrying home from ironing sheets at the laundry, she noticed his mop of hair untamed by the comb peeking from
