All posts filed under: Stories

Now We Live In Versailles

In the morning that followed the events of March 15, Lauren wondered about the man who made them happen. No crime was committed and no-one was physically hurt however his inexplicable actions set off a chain reaction of deceit and betrayal that could never be undone. “He was always such a sweet boy” said his mother, her hands trembling as she reached for her cup of Chamomile tea, spilling a little in the saucer. No, he wasn’t, thought Lauren. He was always trying to ruin an occasion or spoil someone’s moment, his mother just chose to look the other way. He was the only boy at school who lived in a mansion, a real one with tennis courts, an Olympic size swimming pool, a ballroom and butlers who tended to every need. He arrived at school drop-off in a Limousine and carried his books and possessions in a leather monogrammed brief case. On their first day at school Lauren told him she liked his jacket, a navy-blue pea coat his father bought him from his …

Golden Years

They first met at the studio on Matherson Road where gold discs lined the walls among photographs of musicians from the past and present, and where every object from the ceramic pieces grouped thoughtfully in three’s on side tables and benches, to the olive-green sofa she was sitting on suggested real style doesn’t fade and certainly never dates. She had just turned twenty-three and was nursing a hangover from the evening before. She saw him standing in the corner next to a photograph of a tall, slender man holding a trumpet to his lips, back arched and head tilted backwards as though caught in the moment before he was just about to play. He turned to look at the photograph and studied it as if he knew who the trumpet player was, and then looked towards her and smiled. He was hiding his face behind a long, floppy fringe which he ran his fingers through like a comb and tucked behind his ear, revealing the most intriguing eyes she had ever seen. Beautiful, kind, yet …


“Do you dream about me?” she asked him. “All the time” he answered. She had been in control of their conversation from the moment they sat down in the emerald leather booth, playing with a silver charm bracelet dangling from her right wrist as she slowly and skilfully coaxed his life story out of him. He liked this and he liked her. Their waitress placed two cups of coffee on the formica table and a slice of apple pie with two forks “for you to share, it’s on the house” she said to them smiling. The forks looked too tiny and fragile to cut through such an enormous slice he thought to himself. Later they shared an umbrella as they walked together in the rain, her moving the umbrella towards him, worried the rain would ruin his leather jacket, him manoeuvring her away from puddles so they wouldn’t spoil her boots. They walked past the restaurant where they first met two weeks ago, her working the bar where he was sitting alone, nursing an Old …


The powder room was empty. She put on her lipstick, her favourite shade “Fire Truck Red”. She saw him in the mirror, standing in the doorway. “You should lock the door” she told him. He did as she said. He walked over and stood behind her. She felt the hairs on her arms stand up on end. He sighed and kissed the side of her neck. He smelled good she thought. “I’ve stared at you across the table all night, who are you?” she asked him. “Somebody” he answered. “Is this OK?” he asked as he slipped his hand down the front of her trousers. “Would you still do it if I said it wasn’t” she replied, answering him with another question. “No” he said, pulling his hand out immediately with no hesitation. She smiled and pushed his hand back in. This had always been her fantasy, a consensual encounter with a stranger or somebody she just met. She never understood the appeal of the fantasies some of her friends had back in college, of …

Lonely Can Be Sweet

Enjoy The Silence

Tom ordered a Gin and Tonic with a slice of lime and flicked through the in-flight magazine. A morning TV talk show host listed her must have carry on items for long haul flights: an overnight face mask, a Pashmina shawl and noise cancelling headphones. A famous acting couple, celebrating 25 years of marriage romanticized about favourite holiday getaways: Tahiti, Bora Bora and a private island off the coast of Australia they didn’t wish to name. “Tahiti looks nice” Tom chuckled to himself, remembering the catch phrase from a TV commercial when he was a small boy. He took a sip of his Gin and Tonic, crunching a couple of ice cubes between his teeth and returned the magazine to its holder carefully so he didn’t disturb the person sitting in the seat in front of him. Two business men sitting in the seats either side of him in 6A and 6C, both dressed in ill-fitting suits and badly knotted ties had fallen asleep before the plane had taken off, impressing and annoying Tom at …

Chapter 11

It was Christmas Eve the night Erin and Sean moved into the apartment in the Rosemont Building on Railway Terrace. They’d met at a party only three month’s earlier through a mutual friend who predicted they’d be slow dancing by midnight and living together by New Year’s Eve. Sean was an art school drop-out with wild raven hair that made him look like a cross between a young Robert Smith from the Cure and a Japanese Anime character. He had a lazy, effortless style, oversized grey sweatshirts worn with baggy indigo denim jeans, half-tucked into paint splattered boots which he scuffed and stomped around in like a moody teenager. Erin was definitely Sean’s type, a tall icy blonde of Danish descent with a 60’s vibe borrowed mostly from Edie Sedgwick. After the party Erin went home with Sean and never left, which irritated Sean’s housemates who felt she was living there rent-free. Suffice to say, this living arrangement didn’t last long, so Erin and Sean soon found themselves three month’s into their new relationship, unpacking …

In Between Days

The first thing Elle saw when she woke that morning was her favourite turquoise vase, the sunlight bouncing off the top as it streamed through her bedroom window. “Forgot to close the blinds before I went to bed last night” she thought to herself. She closed her eyes and imagined she was back in her hotel room in Los Angeles where she spent her last holiday, watching Good Morning America on TV as she ate breakfast in bed, glancing occasionally over her left shoulder at the view of blue skies and palm trees outside. She opened her eyes. “Nope still here” she said out loud this time. Her head was pounding and her mouth parched. “Should have said no to that last glass of champagne” she moaned. It was another Saturday, hung over from someone’s work leaving drinks the night before, however this time the leaving drinks were her own. “It’s the end of an era” everyone kept telling her. “Or the beginning of something new” she kept responding. As she looked up at the …


Everyone was talking about the party at Ben’s last night. It was his End of the World party. Only two days ago, watching his regular dose of morning TV Ben caught an interview with Edgar C. Whisenant, a former NASA engineer and Evangelical Christian who predicted the Rapture would occur sometime between September 11 and September 13, 1988. Ben figured Monday September 12, 1988 would be the perfect time… read more

Rumble Fish

Boys of Summer

Holiday romances always seemed to happen over a long hot summer. Lazy days at the beach, pool parties, stolen kisses in the back row of the cinema and those inevitable good-byes at the end with promises to keep in touch. That summer Lucie accomplished three things: she celebrated her nineteenth birthday, she grew out a particularly bad haircut, and she lost her virginity to an American boy named Chet… read more



London knew how to throw a party and tonight would be no exception. It was New Year’s Eve, Millennium Night. At the stroke of midnight everyone would sing Auld Lang Syne and say farewell to the nineties and hello to the noughties. Lizzie had managed to wrangle a ticket to party at a private members club in North London. Whilst most of her friends would celebrate the Millennium by dancing with thousands of clubbers… read more

Epic Moments Ahead

Epic Moments Ahead

Marion had broken her arm two days ago. It was one of those weeks that had been sent to test her. On Tuesday morning on her way to work a man had yelled at Marion, accusing her of shoving him as she tried to manoeuvre herself out the doors of a busy and over-crowded tram. He was rude, obnoxious and unreasonable given the circumstances, and on any other day Marion would have simply moved on and not let him… read more



She had been abducted and held here for a few days. It had happened at home, at night while she was watching TV. The last thing she remembered was a white light, a piercing sound and a ringing in her ears, and then she woke up here. She is in a small room which is white and clinical, and smells like fresh pine needles. An image of a small wooden cabin by a lake is projected on one of the walls, it seems vaguely familiar to her… read more

Band Practice

Band Practice

She is counting down the minutes, watching the clock, longing for the bell to ring and signal the end of another school day. The hour where schoolbooks are left in the locker, a guitar is placed firmly in her hands and band practice begins. She had recently joined an all girl rock band and while the other girls were busy cultivating their image, borrowing from Bowie, Blondie and Suzie Q she already had hers. All she needed… read more

The Electric Hour

The Electric Hour

It was that time of the evening, the party was in full swing, the music had been turned up a few more notches, voices were suddenly raised, and everyone had an air of drunken, flirtatious confidence about them. The energy in the room was intoxicating. For the romantic in her it was that particular point in the evening she liked to call “The Electric Hour”. She had known him for a number of years. He wasn’t… read more