A Rustle of Paper

  Dialogue Homework ‘Ice and lemon?’ Olly asked. ‘Yeah, whatever’ the woman replied. Not a great start for Olly’s customer engagement offensive, but he persisted. ‘You here for the concert?’ ‘No’ ‘Oh, ok, meeting someone?’ ‘No, just passing’ Another voice interrupted, ‘She’s not interested mate, not your type is he love?’ The voice was that of a middle-aged man, dressed in a manner Olly’s mother would have described as ‘smart/casual’ but sadly not smart enough to disguise the beginnings of a beer gut. The man edged his bar stool closer to the woman. ‘These youngsters, they just don’t have the chat-up lines, do they?’ The woman looked weary. ‘He’s just doing his job.’ Olly was grateful, ‘Thanks, trying my best.’ The man ignored him and leaned further towards the woman. ‘So where are you passing from and to?’ The woman raised her gaze from her glass to the man’s expectant eyes. ‘From the hospice and back to the hospice.’ ‘Oh …... sorry love, I’ll,

  The night before …. Caitlin was awake.   She ought to have been asleep and it should have been easy, swaddled in the softness of her winceyette sheets under the gentle weight of her quilted eiderdown. The sheets smelt faintly of washing powder and outdoors drying and the eiderdown radiated a soporific warmth.   But Caitlin was far too excited to succumb to the bed linen’s sedative effects and was, instead, fully immersed in the delightful sensations particular to this night. Pots clattered in the kitchen below. The clatterer summoned up wave upon wave of aromas that spiralled upwards towards the insomniac. Caitlin tried to identify the components of the brew. Overriding all the delights were the sausage rolls. Caitlin’s nose judged them to be just about ready to come out of the oven, her salivating mouth judged them ready to be eaten.   Caitlin imagined devouring them hot, she savoured the flakiness of the pastry and the herby meatiness of the interiors - and suddenly, the cold i

  A weekend away The rugs and cushions were surprisingly soft. They had both fallen asleep after their picnic lunch by the romantic ruins of Kilmalkedar and Joe was the first to awaken. He woke slowly, with a strange mix of contentment and unease. The source of those feelings slumbered on beside him, breathing gently through a slightly open mouth.   Joe frowned, then smiled, as he remembered the dream Katie had told him about as she had driven them to this place. It was a dream she had had as a  child, but one which she had never forgotten, one she said sustained her whenever she felt down. Young Katie had dreamed of a  man who had lain beside her, his body curled around hers. She had felt utterly safe and totally protected in the arms of this man, and had known that the man loved her unreservedly.  Katie had then, without once taking her eyes off the curving road, told Joe that with him, for the first time ever in real life, she was feeling the same sense of certainty. Joe was the

Good Morning World It was time. Jackie rolled gracelessly out of bed, padded the short distance between bed and window and poked her head through the curtains. Just her head mind, nothing more, she had slept naked because of the hot flushes, but she was no exhibitionist. ‘Good morning world, you bastard! ’ The greeting was spoken with feeling, not too loudly because of the neighbours, but with a very satisfying emphasis on the last two words. Jackie smiled and removed her head from the swathes of blue cotton fabric. This had become her new normal, the way she set herself up for the day. She had tried other morning routines, like stretches and mindfulness and the ‘morning pages’ recommended by her time-rich friends, but nothing worked nearly so well as this short defiant salutation. With five simple words she was able to welcome the day, acknowledge that it was likely to be shit, and then tell it to do one - she was ready for it. A shower and a bowl of cereal later, and clothed