Ackley surveyed the plot, his narrow eyes glancing over each of the men hauling bricks and mixing the mortar. This will be a fine church, he tells himself, a very fine church. His gaze landed upon Carlyle, who seemed to be idling once again. Carlyle stood with his back to the plot looking across the
At the point when they’re about to sign, I’m always gripped by the strangest feeling. It’s a rush, I suppose. A chemical release; the flood of endorphins. There are moments when we are all teased by that quintessentially human impulse of self-destruction: the irresistible urge to do something detrimental, simply to see what will happen.
From advert to interview the time had finally arrived. First day nerves fizzed through her. She rang the bell, straightened her skirt and checked her phone one last time. Mrs Basak welcomed Eva in, told her to wipe her shoes and hang her coat up next to the grandfather clock. ‘The bedrooms are mostly guest
Buddhism has a curious hold over me. I go through a trunkful of Buddhist books every year. I think I’d be a better person if I could put a few of their beliefs into practice. But then I fetch up against some strange epigram that sends me right back to the sense, the safety, of
She’s dying. She’s dying and I’m thinking: What if I don’t cry? “…wonderful thing about orchids is the variety of species, about twenty-eight-thousand. I bought Gareth a Lady Slipper Orchid and he simply adores it…” My eyes roll so far back they do a full rotation; a morbid one armed bandit where the Reaper always
Dear God, Mum said I have to speak to you at bedtime or else you’ll strike me down so, hi. Mrs Jenson, who does RE at school, says you can’t just ask you for stuff ‘cos that’s rude or summat so I’m gonna say all the things I’m grateful for first: chocolate crunch for pudding
It isn’t blind adrenaline or fury that drives her but a kind of flat blackness, a steady humming like the engine, somewhere deep in the gut. Nelly gurgles in the baby seat behind her and when she looks at her in the rear-view mirror she catches her own eye, black and swollen. The last time,
I fell in love as she brought us daiquiris on a silver platter held above her head. She was breathtakingly, unbelievably, beautiful. Her hair was a rich, onyx black; her eyes were deep storms; freckles lay like constellations across her nose. And she was less than three feet tall. Not that that was part of
Ronnie Babes rolled over to the other side of the bed, and through the dark he could see Cheryl standing over him, already in her scrubs, blonde hair in a ponytail. Leaving so soon? he asked. Same time as always, hon. Yeah, but feels like you just got back home. I’ll be back around 7:30.
The best thing about dementia is that you can really wind people up. Take the old woman I sit next to at breakfast. I’ve asked her seven times this morning what we’re having and had seven different responses – a personal record. Yesterday I only got her up to five, but I think she’s on to