Was it paranoia? Perhaps it was, as the train pulled away from the station which was a three-minute walk from Frazier Street maternity hospital, with the little bundle of joy she cradled, sat looking out of the window. Was she being observed? Somebody had been following her she was sure. A man who looked like he slept on the streets. A scruffy individual of no fixed abode. She didn’t like to stare straight at him. In fact...
He reached the top of the stairs and paused to regain his breath. He sometimes wished that the small block of six flats had a lift, but then walking up and down to his home was, other than sometimes walking up to six miles a day, his only form of exercise at seventy-two. Switching on the hallway light, he made his way across to his flat door. The light barely illuminated the hallway, but it was enough for him to see what...
No matter how long he stared at the fuel gauge, he knew that it would not budge. Out here in the middle of the countryside, in the middle of a forest, in the middle of the track that doubled as a footpath and road, he was stranded in his brand new Vauxhall, faced with a long walk. He'd even forgotten to bring his mobile phone, so there was no way of communicating with anybody unless he walked to the nearest phone-box, or...
It was, and still is, one of the great mysteries of its time. ‘The Bazookas’ were a rock and soul five-piece band, who, in the late sixties, simply vanished. Books were written, documentaries made, and even a TV docu-drama was made, but they’re still out there, their legacy written in the history books. There were bands that were bigger than them, but they towered over all other bands below them. Three number ones and two...
He noticed it as soon as he walked through the door, and was about to mention it, but then thought better of it as the youth settled behind his desk and set about turning on his computer. His black eye looked angry and painful, spread across the cheekbone and blending away on his right temple, as though prior to coming into work he had gotten himself into a nasty fight, him on the losing side. He seemed to get on with his...
Turning the key in the garage door, there was a satisfying click as it locked. His left hand held a claw hammer which was swung at it. It took three swipes to break the key. He nodded in satisfaction. “There, now we’re locked in,” he said, dropping the tool, then turning and walking across to a full-length Hanoi mirror, leaning against a drawer chest. In its reflection he could see the object of his disgust, Kenneth May,...
Playing truant was always appealing. Always. Two nine-year-olds deep into their school days would always know better than what adults told them. Your years in school were not the best days of your life, and you don’t need to attend classes to get clever to get good jobs. They knew it all, so didn’t need to bother attending, and why do maths lessons and cross-country runs when it was much more appealing to play on railways...
He stared out from behind the glass of a small frame, the picture taken 22 years ago as he stood on a beach, the sea behind him beneath a cloudless sky. She wanted to feel emotion at his passing, wanted to shed a tear, but couldn’t. He hadn’t been a bad husband, and he certainly hadn’t been good, but then neither had she. Yet he had seemed to treat her as though she wasn’t really there. She had been someone he could fall...
Armed with a rolled up newspaper, Raymond Stockton hit out at a large wasp that had invaded his bedsit, but missed, and hit the frame of a print of the Andes in winter. It flew around the shadeless bulb in the middle of the room, even though the light was not on. Another swing at it produced no effect as it simply flew out of the way. Normally he didn’t mind wasps, or basically any other insect, as long as they didn’t inv...
