BBC 500 Words

The Chris Evans Breakfast Show ran a 500 word writing challenge for children and my son decided to have a go at it. He loved writing the story and was thrilled when we got the email to say he got through the first selection round  - where they selected 3000 out of over 90,000 stories to go forward. He was disappointed to get the next email saying his story didn't get into the final round but we're all so proud of him and he's taken the story into school to read it out

So, here's his entry and I hope you'll enjoy it as much as we have.

Doughnut Dad

Max was on his way up to bed. I hate vegetables, he thought. He’d had another row with dad that night. Dad wanted him to eat sprouts and Max had just pushed them round his plate, saying he’d rather have doughnuts for supper.

That night Max dreamt of having doughnuts every day.

The next morning when he woke-up he went downstairs to breakfast and when he went into the kitchen he found three doughnuts on a plate!
‘Hip-hip-hooray,’ he shouted.
He took a bite.
‘Mmmmmmm. Melted chocolate doughnuts,’ he said.

Dad came in. ‘Come on,' he said. ‘Let’s go see haunted doughnut mountain in the cinema!’
 ‘Hooray,' shouted Max again.
After the movie, they went out for lunch. Dad ordered five doughnuts for each of them.
‘Yum,’ said Max, when their rainbow coloured plate of doughnuts arrived.

Every meal for the next ten days, Max’s dad gave him doughnuts and nothing else. No tasty sausages, no delicious chicken, no softly, flaking fish. No chips or creamy potatoes. No squishy parcels or ribbons of pasta coated in Italian sauces, bursting with flavour. No bread. And not even ONE, SINGLE VEGETABLE!

Max could feel his teeth rotting. They were starting to hurt from all that sugar, even if he cleaned them ten times a day.

On the tenth night, Max climbed the stairs to bed. His tummy ached and his feet plodded with a thump on each step. He was fed-up. Once more he cleaned his teeth but he was sure the sugar continued to cling to them. Then he curled up in bed.

Dad came in. ‘You’re very quiet tonight,’ he said, sitting down on the edge of Max’s bed.
‘My tummy hurts from all those doughnuts and my teeth are stinging.’
‘I see,’ said dad. ‘Sounds like you’re a bit bored of doughnuts.’
‘I know you love them and all,’ said Max, sitting up. ‘But could I please have something different!’
‘Well,’ dad said thoughtfully. ‘Tomorrow is Sunday. I’ll see what I can do.’

Dad tucked Max up and ruffled his hair. Max fell asleep and in his dreams he imagined a big plate of roast potatoes, Yorkshire pudding and beef in a pool of thick, dark gravy. He licked his lips, almost able to taste the big mound of mashed carrots and parsnips, a well in the centre containing a curl of melting butter. 'Mmmm. Vegetables,' he called out in his sleep.

 

New Writing Website

SkyPen, is the new site from Blackstaff Press. They call it the 'home of cloud based writers' and it has sections for creative writing, poetry and non-fiction. There's also a blog and information on literary events, writing courses and competitions.

I heard about it through twitter and joined up.

There are several pieces of writing being posted with the phrase Sky Pen and I had a go at a short story for it - Fifty Days To...

Writing Workshop

I had the pleasure of meeting author, Bernie McGill, this week. She's the author of The Butterfly Cabinet - the story of an upper class family in Northern Ireland in the late 1800's, told by one of their servants through letters she writes in the 1960's and through the prison diary of the mother to the family. It captures the wild beauty of our North Coast, reveals life in the Big House, deals with the murder of a child and the confession of a long-held secret. Whilst touching upon the divisions and turbulence in our history, it also portrays the hardships and joys of life.

Bernie is also the current writer in residence for Northern Ireland Libraries. Through their collaboration, a writing workshop was held in my local library on Wednesday night.

My first writing workshop, I approached it with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. Happy to meet other writers, face new challenges and learn something about the craft but nervous about what tasks we might be given and whether I'd be able to accomplish anything. The fear of a blank page.

We had a lively evening amongst pleasant company. Plenty of different writing styles and tastes led to some very interesting stories. As someone who writes on the more commercial side of things, I listened in awe to some of the poetic and literary voices within the group.

Bernie gave us three challenges, throughout the evening.

In the first we were given the word LOST and a few minutes to write whatever came to mind. I tried a piece of flash fiction about a mother losing her child, probably giving voice to one of my deepest set fears. Scribbled quickly, it needs a lot of polishing but this is my attempt:

She's gone.
I search the faces, push against the crowd.
The imprint of her hand still felt in mine.
It only took a second.
A moment of distraction.
I call her name but no-one responds.
Why doesn't anyone even stop to look at the mad woman, calling names in the middle of the street?
She can't have gone far.
Those little legs I've cradled and kissed so often, can't run so fast, yet.

For the second task some black and white pictures were passed around. Each person chose one, selected a character from the picture and then paired up with their neighbour. In the mind of the character, we were to answer questions from their POV. I found this a very useful exercise because a character questionnaire is something I've been thinking about. Don't groan because I'm going to mention that book again - Write A Blockbuster. It advises drawing-up a character questionnaire and provides a useful template for doing so but I found it so much easier to answer those questions when someone else fired them at me. I asked Bernie about character development in a Q&A at the end of the night. Some of the ideas she put forward gave me a deeper understanding of how to tackle the character questionnaire - for example if your character saw a road traffic accident or a spill at the supermarket, are they the sort of person who drive/walk away, would they seek assistance or would they stop and get involved?

After answering questions in pairs, Bernie gave us 4 questions to tackle:
1. What do you want?
2. What is your secret?
3. What are you most passionate about?
4. What are you afraid of?

I chose a humorous, whimsical photo but it got me thinking about this innocent, happy scene and what it might hide. I decided to think about one of the characters as a grandfather, watching his grandchildren at the fair, with his wife. Their happy day out hid sadness. A broken marriage, daughter and mother lost to cancer, a man more aware and scared of his own longevity. I got the bones and thoughts of the characters and plan to expand it, give it a mixture of light and dark and develop it, at least into a short story. So watch this space  - you may yet get to meet Gladys and Norman.

I found the last task most difficult as it seemed more personal. The blank page did get filled but I felt more dissatisfied with that effort. We were given a poem, Snakeskin Stilettos by Moyra Donaldson and were asked to write about a time, as a child or young adult, when you did something mildly or strongly forbidden. Certainly one to shake the grey cells and one I'd recommend you try.

I've had a productive writing week. My edits of The Glass House continue and it's getting stronger and positive reviews from the online writing groups. I've started a complete rewrite of my first full MS - Twisted Truth - and have managed to rewrite over 7,000 words so far, cutting all the teenage chapters, moving the pace forward and changing it to 3rd person. Another MS which has languished unfinished may get re-started as the spark has arrived for how to move it on.

I learnt a lot from the workshop, overcame my fear of writing on the spot and sharing it with others and discovered a writing circle in my local area. A few of us have swapped twitter ID's and numbers and hopefully we'll be meeting up soon for a coffee and chat. Writing can be a lonely business and at the end of the day, you alone are the only one who can bring your characters to life and fulfil their story but there are plenty of others out there, experiencing the same thing as you and together you can find a shared topic of conversation and spark ideas of each other.

Would I recommend a writing get-together? Absolutely.

Bernie McGill
NI Libraries

Snow Ball: Short Story

Snow Ball

Lying on the bed, my back resisting the cold, thin mattress I stare at the ceiling. The paint is flaking and the vibrancy of the white is reduced to a dull cream, as dirt and neglect have collected on it.

I can't help but wonder what sort of view I could be focusing on if only I'd followed my own instincts. I should've ignored the demands and expectations of others. Maybe we'd have passed each other by, our lives never intertwining. I doubt it.

My father was the first to insist I attend that event. As an equity and managing partner of the law firm, he'd insisted their newest qualified solicitor, his pride and joy, eldest child should be there to represent the future of the firm and the family name. I was harder to convince.

'Daddy, I agreed to go Susie's gig months ago. What's she going to think of me if I back out now?' I said, pacing the length of his mahogany desk, waving my arms in protest.

'I'd be more concerned about what your employers and your father thought, if I was you,' he replied, leaning back in the chair, the hard, new leather squeaking as he did so.

'I doubt the partners would notice one meagre employee not attending their Snow Ball but Susie's going to be pretty pissed and disappointed if her best friend doesn't show up for her first concert.'

'She's a big girl and it's about time she learnt to cope without you. I pulled a lot of strings to get you that position and you will be at the ball.'

'But...'

'Unless you want to assist me with this Brief for Counsel, this conversation is over.'

He might have bullied me into a job pouring over legalese Monday to Friday but he wasn't getting my weekends too.

'I'm meeting Susie and I better go give her the bad news.'

His head buried in his work, he didn't even manage a grunt or a wave when I turned to leave.

I glanced around the circular table at the other new solicitors, all enjoying their food and wine. They'd qualified six months before me, after training together in the firm. They'd been groomed for their positions within departments. Me, I was the outsider. The one whose father had used his position to get her a role. The girl opposite me smiled, when she caught my look, but turned away to chat to the man next to her. Two men flanked me but, after saying hello and acknowledging my existence, they became engrossed in their food or those on the other side of them.

I heard my phone ring in the silver clutch that lay on the polished, wooden floor. I tried grabbing for it but the stupid thing rang off before I could answer it. Checking the missed calls I found Susie's number. Talking to her was preferable to the cold-shoulder.

The chair scraped as I pushed it back and stood. I was going to make my excuses but no-one looked up so why bother.

I squeezed out through the tables, mostly filled with animated people, the talk flowing in ratio to the wine. I saw a sign indicating the toilets and followed it, finding a quiet hallway.

'Hi Suse, how's it going?

'God Ash, I'm sick as hell.'

'Really sick or nervous sick?'

'About to throw up all over the stage sick.'

'It's just nerves,' I said. Throwing my clutch on the floor and slumping against the wall. 'You'll be fine when you get up there and start singing.'

'I don't think I can do it. What if I can't even get my voice out, never mind sing in tune.'

'Listen to me. You're amazing and all those people turned up because they loved your You Tube channel. If you could put yourself out on the internet, you can do this.'

'That was different. It was just me and a camera. I couldn't see all those faces.'

'Then just forget about them and pretend you're looking at a camera.'

I heard a puff of breath.

'I wish you were here,' she said, her voice quieter, timid. Not my Susie.

'Believe me, so do I.'

'Is it that bad?'

'Dad's watching me like a hawk to make sure I behave and the whole table is ignoring me,' I said, wincing. 'They all hate me.'

'They just don't know you.

'And they don't want to.'

'Did you wear that silver dress?'

'Yep,' I said, smoothing the shimmering fabric over my stomach before pulling on the short hem. 'But it's not working its magic tonight.'

'Give it time.'

I nodded. 'Sure. You okay now?'

'As good as I will be. I better get going, I'm due on stage in a few minutes.'

'Good luck and ring me when you've finished.'

I was still leaning against the wall, scrolling through my social media feeds, when the double doors swished open. A guy I hadn't met before walked into the hallway. Like every other man at the ball he was dressed in a tux but his accented a toned body. The stark, white shirt in contrast to his tousled black hair.

'Hiding?' he asked.

'No, just answering a call,' I said, straightening up and waving my phone.

'You're Michael's daughter, aren't you?' He leant against the wall, next to me.

'How did you guess?'

'Probably from the fact every woman at my table has been talking about you.'

'Let me guess. Bitching about the little girl whose daddy had to get her a job.'

'Wishing they could wear that dress,' he said, his eyes focusing on the garment.

'It seemed like a good choice earlier.' I crossed one stiletto covered foot over the other. As if that would help hide my embarrassment.

'I'm Patrick,' he said, holding out his hand. 'I'm one of the Commercial Litigation team leads.'

'Oh right. Lucky you. One of dad's right-hand men.'

'He's a good boss, taught me a lot.'

I raised an eyebrow, all too aware of how much attention my dad gave his job. I picked up my bag and dropped the phone back into it. 'Guess I better get back to my table.'

'They're clearing them away, making room for dancing.'

'Great,' I said, rolling the r and emphasising the t.

'The bar's open. Can I buy you a drink?'

I wasn't getting any other offers and even if he did come across as a slick charmer, at least he was speaking to me.

At the end of the night, I was deciding how to answer his last question, as I drained the last of my glass. He took his hand of my leg and sat backwards, gesturing over my shoulder. 'Someone's looking for you.'

I swivelled round to find my father striding towards me, unlike Patrick, his shirt was still done-up to the last button, his bow-tie pristine.

'Patrick,' he said when he reached us. 'I noticed you've been looking out for Ashleigh this evening.'

'She's been gracious enough to put up with me monopolising her.'

'Yes, well, the hotel have to close the bar in here now. I'm going to join a few of the other partners for a drink in the residents bar. Would you like to join us?'

'I'm pretty tired, Dad. If you don't mind I'm going to head up to my room.'

'You'll join us, won't you?' He directed the question at Patrick and it was obvious he expected him to say yes.

'Look, I'll leave you both to it,' I said. 'Night Dad.' I kissed him on the cheek. 'And thank you, Patrick.' He stood and I leant my upper body against his in a brief hug. Thanks to the low-backed dress I could feel the warmth and pressure of his hand rest against my skin.

I didn't look back. I knew the view he was getting as I walked away.

I found reasons to visit commercial litigation. Seeing my father for one, showing him I was making an effort to get-to-know the new solicitor who had joined his department; the woman from the table, turned out her name was Caroline. She'd smiled and I took that as an invitation to talk to her. The first time I'd made an excuse to speak to dad, I stopped at her desk on the way by, asked her if she'd enjoyed the ball, suggested we meet for coffee. Hovering round her booth gave me the chance to look for Patrick. I spotted the dark head behind a wall of glass, bent over a desk, his hand embedded in his hair. I glanced over at him again as I left the department, this time his head was raised and he smiled over at me. Maybe I should go in, say hello. Answer that last question he'd asked me. My hand rested on the exit as I considered my choices but in the brief moment that I hesitated a blonde woman, perhaps a few years older than me, entered his office. She dropped papers on his desk and as she did so, placed a hand on his shoulder. His attention distracted.

He never sought me out in the office but each time I visited his department, I glanced his way. He was always busy, always surrounded by others, that woman never far from his side. I found out she was the assistant solicitor in his team. Her name was Karen and she was married. I didn't warm to her.

As a friendship grew with Caroline, the other new solicitors began to accept me. I worked hard, proved my worth but I hated every minute of it and, even though some had thawed towards me, my own department was like a freezer. Forced together, the contents cold and resistant to me.

I was supposed to meet Caroline after work that Friday night but my team lead found an urgent job, only I could undertake. I was alone in the department when Patrick came in and reminded me about that unanswered question.

We were always cautious at work. We didn't want the gossip, the eyes watching us and I didn't need anymore reason for people to hate me or think I was using anything other than my brain to garner favour. I introduced Susie to him, just the once.

After a month I started leaving small items at his flat; a toothbrush, a change of underwear, a hairbrush, some make-up, then a pair of jeans and a clean top. A few more things each weekend. I had to. The more time I spent there, the more things I needed. One Friday I brought a suit to work, I left it in the car so no-one would see it and since dad let me move into the London flat, it's not like anyone was keeping a track of me.

'What's that?' Patrick asked when I threw the suit bag over the back of his sofa.

'It's a suit for Monday morning, so we can have the whole weekend together.'

He pulled me into his arms, unbuttoning my shirt as he kissed and nipped my lips, my neck. He pushed the jacket and shirt from my arms, unhooking my bra and throwing the clothes to the floor.

'Let's talk about that later,' he said, lowering me onto the sofa.

Turned out he'd agreed to play rugby on Sunday morning, so I packed the spare suit back into my car and took it home with me.

I suppose I should've become suspicious when he became busier on Friday nights. I blame dad. I'd been so used to him working the same long hours in that department, I thought it was part of the course. I didn't mind waiting until Saturday night to meet-up. Gave me more time to catch-up with Susie and I could join Caroline and the others again for the Friday night after work drinks. If I hadn't done that I'd probably never have found out.

'Come on, Caroline, you must've noticed something,' Paul was saying when I returned to the table.

'Noticed something about what?' I asked.

'Paul's been chasing after one of the paralegals in his department. Turns out she's friends with a secretary in my department and she reckons Patrick and Karen are an item.'

'But she's married,' I said, trying to control my voice.

'Oh yeah and no-one married ever had an affair,' Paul said, lifting his pint and knocking it back. 'Gotta love ya and leave ya ladies. Hot date waiting for me.'

I made my excuses after that. Rang dad and found out he was still at work but on his own and finishing up. I tried Patrick's phone but it went to voicemail. There was only one thing left to do.

The coffee shop opposite his building was still open. I bought a creamy, frothy latte and found a comfy armchair by the window. I like to soak up the smell of the freshly filled cup but I couldn't concentrate on it that night, the milk moustache was wiped away without the hint of a smile. The light was on in his bedroom.

I rang his phone again but he still didn't answer. An hour and three cups of coffee later she walked out the front door. Smoothing that blonde hair down and buttoning up her coat.

I couldn't answer the phone when it rang. I listened to his message.

'Sorry I missed your calls. Had to turn the phone off to concentrate on the job. On my way home now. Come over after your drinks.'

It started so easily. Checking his phone to see if they were texting each other but I guess she was too protective of her secret for that. Seems he liked to keep his call and text history clear as well, deleting everything. I realised he didn't even have my number saved under my name. I kept my visits to his department as regular as before but I watched her. She was good. An odd glance, maybe standing a little too close to each other but never anything obvious. For a while I even began to believe it was over. He wanted me again on Friday nights but then the text came. He had to cancel our plans, some urgent work he couldn't avoid. Told me to go out with my friends and he'd meet me later.

I waited in the car park. Watched her leave first, an hour after most staff had fled for the weekend. He rang me from the office phone to ask where I was and after I'd replied, saying I was home, he followed her out.

I parked round the corner from the coffee shop and found that armchair with the view. The lights in the windows of his flat betrayed him.

She left after an hour again. Fifteen minutes later he rang me.

I tried to wait thirty minutes but after twenty my patience wore out.

I'm sick of the travelling now. Glad to have reached this island. I'm adjusting to the heat, the humidity, even the bugs but the loneliness is killing me. I can't sleep. I think about how everything snowballed that night. Keep seeing the knife, his blood dripping from it as I pulled it out of his leg. I failed my biology A-level, you know. If I'd passed it maybe he'd still be alive; I'd have known about that femoral artery. The blood ran quicker than I could clean the knife and put it in my bag. I was glad I'd only left a few things in his flat. It didn't take me long to pack them up. I wanted to kiss him before I left, say I was sorry, I didn't mean it. His eyes were so black and the lids were half-closed, like he was going to sleep. I couldn't do it.

I guess Patrick never told Karen about me. After dad helped me get on the plane, he stayed in touch. Said the police found out about the office gossip and questioned her. They suspected a woman was the killer and she'd been the prime suspect. They took her fingerprints and DNA and matched them to what they found in his flat; the indignity of being revealed by a used condom, fished from a bin. The firm took care of her. It was all too circumstantial. They still haven't arrested anyone and my name hasn't been mentioned.

It's getting cooler now and my little lizard friend is coming in off the porch to say hello. He visits me every day; even if I leave the bottom half of the shutters closed, he climbs over the top of them. He finds his way into my life, whether I want him to or not.

I get up off the bed and stretch, the white linen dress falling back into place, the hem skimming my knees. It's creased and I decide to change it.

Opting for a clean dress, I slip on a pair of sandals and fill a glass with cold water, from a bottle in the fridge. Sipping it I lean against the porch railings. The sweet, heady smell of the pink flowers that trail along it is overpowering.

I pick-up the binoculars from the rusting, iron table and train them on the house down the hill. An old banyan tree obscures most of it. Yesterday there was a lot of commotion around that previously empty colonial building and today I thought I glimpsed a man on the balcony. I wonder if he's alone like me. I'll take a stroll down there in a minute. Everyone needs a friendly neighbour. Right?

The Final Time - short story

The Final Time

Tightening the laces on his hiking boots, he hefted his burden over his shoulder, cradled her close and stomped out across the car park and onto the grass verge that lead to the paths, snaking into the gorge. Ignoring the view to the Irish Sea, that he knew lay before him, he dipped his head away from the last drops of rain drained from the grey cloud.

'It'll have stopped by the time we get there,' he assured her, 'and I've got the waterproof blanket in the rucksack.'

Finding the sign with the red arrow, she'd shown him before, he headed for the Waterfall Trail. Pace increased as the slight incline became steeper, carrying them deeper into the forest. Reaching the stairs, built into the side of the gorge, he lead the way. Water dripped off ferns, soaked into moss, ran along branches to plop onto the wooden steps. Webs sparkled with diamonds of rain.

'Not like the first time we came,' he said, shaking his head at the memory of that sun soaked day, when the forest had sheltered them. Dappled light had picked out the dragon and damsel flies that flitted round the river, the butterflies that sought the wild flowers growing from the banks and crevices. But not today.

Picking his way carefully down the steps, he reached the stilted boardwalk that would give them access to the far side of Glenariff River. Halting halfway across it, the roar of the first waterfall prevented any conversation. Ess-na-Larach was its name. He'd looked it up on the internet when she'd first told him, wondering what it meant; the Mare's fall. He stared up at it as it cascaded down the gorge, levelling out once before continuing on its narrow, channelled descent. Perhaps he could understand the name, imagine a lithe horse with a long mane and muscular legs leaping from one level to another. Leaning on the rail he bent over it, watching the water swirl and froth underneath him, bursting with energy and enthusiasm as it flowed down the wall of the gorge, unsettling the calm river that lay at its base, pushing it onwards to another destination, another purpose. Dropping his rucksack on the boardwalk, he climbed onto the wooden rails, his foot slipping on their damp, shiny surface. His knees rested against the top rail as he pushed his weight forward, the spray from the falls finding his face. He closed his eyes and imagined how it would feel to let go, to drop down and let the water carry him onwards but just as his feet threatened to loosen their tenuous grip she stopped him, pulled him back. Holding her close he laughed, promised her it was a moment of recklessness he wouldn't repeat.

The boardwalk continued, following the base of the gorge wall, rising above the water, even on this day when it was swollen with spring rain. Ferns, liver wort and moss clung to the rocky walls around him, softening the sharp, dark stone, that towered over either side of the river, narrow at this point but widening ahead of them. The river shallower but broader ahead, seemed sleepier, flowing round the rocks and boulders that dimpled it, rather than crashing and coursing over them. The walls of stone began to recede, broadleaf trees replacing them. The boardwalk began to curve, passing a timber lodge containing a cafe, before traversing the river again. He didn't stop to smell the coffee, or search for fellow walkers. No insects zapped by to distract him with their bright colours and flashing wings. His destination was too close to be deterred.

The path began to ascend and as the incline hampered his breathing he sought the branch that he knew would descend to the next waterfall and their spot. The heavy tread of boots on the gravel trail gave way to the soft thud of feet on soil. The deep grooves on the soles gave purchase in the soft mud and then he heard it. The patter of water upon water, the Glenariff meeting the Inver. Ess na Crub, the fall of the hooves. In three streams it fell over the rock face, rippling the shallow pool at its base, which spread out before him, settling to a flat surface by the time it reached the edge of the path.

Spreading the blanket out under the oak tree, its skeletal branches now covered in buds that proved a change in season, he set her down upon it and unpacked the flask of comforting tea and box of buttered bread. The last time they'd sat in this spot the tree had been heavy with green leaves, the ground dry and dusty. Then they had a thirst to quench, chilled water and refreshing fruit had been on their menu. A mid-week day had seen them unaccompanied and undisturbed when she'd rolled her trousers up and run into the cold water, encouraging him to join her, before drying their feet on that same blanket. Stretching out on it together. He remembered how her lips had tasted of the strawberries they had shared.

But that was then and this was a different day. That time had passed. No invitation to taste her lips would come today. Instead the warm, brown liquid slipped into his mouth and down his throat as he watched the waterfall. Unlacing the boots he removed them from his feet. Tucking the thick socks inside them.

Lifting her they moved to the edge of the water. Holding her in his arms he tried to find the way to say it, seeking the words that would tell her how much he'd loved her, how often he wished he could have brought her back here, to this spot that had been a beginning but now marked the end. A way to say goodbye. Words fled.

The water chilled his feet, clung to his legs with cold purpose but on he waded, through the rippled water to the intersection of falls. Her sandy-like cream ashes clouded the air before spilling into the pooling Glenariff. The Inver fell upon her, the white foam darkening for a brief moment as she joined and mixed with it. Swirling her around, it absorbed her, taking her away.

He wrapped the empty urn in the blanket and packed it into the rucksack. As he pulled it onto his back, laughter and the squeals of excited children interrupted the silence. A small boy and girl raced into view, followed by a woman, warning them to slow down and stay away from the water. They stopped when they saw him. He wiped the trace of tears from his face and smiled. Walking towards them he nodded, saying hello and passed them by. At the top of the ridge, he stopped and turned. The children stood on the path, the falls behind them whilst the woman took their picture.

'Goodbye,' he whispered.

I have a short story called Hope's Rainbow available on Shortbread (a great online resource for anyone interested in reading and/or writing short stories).

http://www.shortbreadstories.co.uk/story/view/hopes_rainbow/#axzz23SdoyrjN

The story was inspired by my husband and the rest of the team he ran Mud Madness with. Their team raised a few thousand pounds for Marie Curie and all four of them completed the run, which is a bit of a mixture between cross country and an obstacle course, all designed to get the competitors as saturated in mud as possible. These are a few photos we took on the day and underneath them is a link to the website, which contains better photographs and videos of the course and some of the 1000 people who took part that day.

Mud Madness, Co Armagh

A tanker used to suck up water from muddy streams and spray it over runners (and those supporters of us foolish enough to stand too near ) 

More pictures and videos on the Mud Madness Website:

http://www.mud-madness.com/media.htm

Waiting For The Sun - short story

Watching from the drawn curtains she saw the post man wend his way up and down the path of the neighbouring houses. She'd waited so long and cursed their street for being the last of the day to receive their deliveries. Anticipation pulled her to the front door and onto her path. When he walked by her gate, not even a wave of recognition from him, she tilted her head towards the sky, eyes squeezed so tight the crease in her forehead funnelled the rain down her nose, the drips collecting into a stream that ran off it and plopped down the front of her t-shirt. Allowing a deep sigh to escape, she collapsed onto her front door step, the slight porch providing some shelter. She thought how rain, water were supposed to be cleansing, instead she felt them seep into her soul, drowning her hopes. She needed to escape, free herself.

'Carole, what the hell are you doing sitting there in the rain?'

Startled by his gruff voice, she jumped up, pushing her drenched hair from her face, before crossing her ams across her chest.

'Locked myself out,' she muttered.

'Bloody typical, head in the clouds as always,' he said, pushing past her to slot his key into the lock on their front door.

'Get inside before anyone sees the state of you.'

Inside the dark hallway, he threw his bags on the floor and marched towards the kitchen.

'Don't suppose you thought to put my dinner on before you locked yourself out?' he asked.

'I was going to but remembered we'd run out of milk for your tea. I was just going to pop to the shops first.'

'Without your purse, or the keys?' he asked. She looked at him but unable to muster a response she let her gaze drop to examine the cracked tile on the kitchen floor.

'I'm heading upstairs for a shower, I'd like my dinner on the table when I get back down.'

Waiting for the confirmation, provided by the creaking floorboards on the upstairs landing, she pulled out the key hidden deep in her pocket and placed it in the drawer, before pulling pots and pans from cupboards to start the evening ritual.

Sated and dressed for his night of karaoke at the pub, he slammed the front door in his usual manner and once the reverberation settled she stalled the circular motion of her arm, let the dishcloth drop from her hand and walked from the kitchen to her bathroom. Stepping over his discarded clothing and wet towels she moved to the bath. Sealing the tub with the plug she turned on the taps and watched as the hot and cold streams collided in the pooling water, steam eventually twirling a path towards her. Reaching to the back of the cupboard, beyond the extra supplies of his preferred deodorant, shaving oil, hair gel, balms and aftershave she found the elusive pot of bath salts. Pouring a stream of it into the water, she inhaled, allowing the scented steam to wrap around her. Fetching the candles, she lit them and undressed before slipping into the hot water. Closing her eyes she rested her head against the bath and tried to lock the world out.

'What the hell's going on in here?'

Startled, her eyes flew open, her heart pumping so loudly in her chest, it echoed in her ears, drowning his words.

It didn't dull the pain, when his hands found the wet hair stuck to her neck and shoulders, when he screwed it into his fist and tugged it upwards, dragging her naked body from the shelter of the warm water. Using her hands to steady herself as he pulled her over the edge of the bath, she tried to put one foot to the hard, cold tiles but her wet skin could find no purchase. She fell.

He released his grip on her hair, transferring it to her arms.

'Why are my clothes still on the floor? Why isn't the kitchen clean and where did all those candles and shit come from?'

Unable to answer and knowing the result was inevitable, she kept her mouth closed and her eyes lowered.

'Look at me when I speak to you,' he demanded, his fist slapping her chin upwards, bashing her teeth against each other.

'Pick those clothes up.'

She gathered them in her arms, cradling them against her for cover.

His hand closed tightly around her arm, he pulled her towards the door, down the stairs and into the kitchen. Pointing at the bundle of clothing, teeth closed as he hissed his orders,

'Now put them in that bloody machine and get this mess cleaned up.'

Her eyes averted from the anger she knew would be distorting his face, she followed each command, trying to forget the exposure of her body, as the clothes left her arms for the sanctity of the washing machine. Lifting the deserted dishcloth, she resumed the washing of the table, before returning to the sink and the scrubbing of the dirty dishes.

Placing the last dish on the drainer, she heard the noises that stilled her breathing.

Belt buckle undone, button opened, zipper pulled down.

His weight pressed into her back, his hand held the back of her neck.

His breath on her ear as he whispered,

'Good job I forgot my phone or I wouldn't have discovered what a lazy, deceitful little bitch you really are, but it would be a shame to waste that clean, good smelling body.'

The hand on her neck pressed her forward, pushing her over the sink, his weight pressed harder against her and into her.

'Don't expect me back early,' he said. Buckling his belt before collecting his phone and wallet.

The door slammed.

She fought the temptation to slump to the floor.

She made her way back to the bathroom, afraid to slip back into the bath, in case he should return again, she soaked a cloth and washed his touch from her body.

Dressed, she pulled the bag from the back of the built-in wardrobe. She could wait no longer.

The rattan chair creaked as she sank into the deep cushion. Letting the sandals drop from her feet, she shook the white, sparkling sand from her feet and legs, before curling them underneath her. Lifting the scarlet red, wide brimmed hat from the glass table beside her, she placed it on her head, shading her face from the sun. Removing her sunglasses she took the iPad from her bag and connecting into the hotel's wifi, she logged into her email account. The heat from the sun warmed her, cocooned her and she smiled as she read the letter from her solicitor.

Dear Carole,

We have received confirmation that you are the sole beneficiary and that the probate of your birth mother's estate has been concluded. Taking into account the interim payment previously made to you, the remaining funds will be transferred to us by the end of the week.

We would be grateful for your instructions regarding which bank account you would like us to transmit the funds to.

We have also been contacted by the firm representing your husband. He continues to ask for details of your whereabouts, requesting an opportunity to discuss the divorce. We have refused, as per your instructions and reiterated that you want no settlement from the proceedings.

Please find enclosed details of firms in the Caribbean with whom we have association and who are willing to advise you on the investment of your funds and immigration laws should you decide to make your extended stay permanent.

Yours sincerely,

Wilsons

Progress - short story

Making her way past the mural covered walls and the painted kerbs, Ashley reached the iron gates of the park.

Dense grey clouds reigned the sky, casting an inauspicious gloom over the park. Ribbons of black tarmac crossed through the green lawns, bordered with beds of summer flowers and led through patches of woodland, heavy with leaves. A grey, concrete wall dissected the park, hiding the residents on either side from each other.

Ashley followed the tree-lined path into the open grass area, letting Gem off for her daily run. 

'Here, Gem!' The dog returned, her long ears flapping up and down as she ran, to her owner, Ashley's attention was distracted from the welcome sight, by the commotion at the wall.

Kneeling by her dog's side, wrapping arms around her, Ashley pointed to the people surrounded by cameras and news reporters. They were gathered on a path that disappeared under the wall. 'Look Gem, they're opening the gate today. Shall we watch? I'd like to see what the other side of the park is like.'

Swinging out in opposite directions the thick metal gates, revealed two children in school uniforms, one in a blue gingham dress, the other in green, each girl holding a bunch of flowers. Released by their teachers and given the nod of approval the girls walked towards each other, flowers extended. The dull day brightened by the flash of the cameras catching the moment for prosperity. The children soon hidden from view by the politicians circling them.

'Wait til ya see the news the night, they'll all be shaking hands and telling us how great we are for moving forward.'

Behind the gate, Ashley could see a rainbow coloured playground, identical to the one on her side of the wall. Stretching her gaze beyond it, Ashley saw another woman, standing in the distance, a dog by her side. 'Wonder if they like to play fetch too?' Ashley asked, as Gem whined, pushing the tennis ball at her owner. Ashley took the ball, bouncing it in her hand, 'kinda gives you some hope, doesn't it girl,' Ashley said, throwing the ball in the opposite direction, towards the tree line, watching her dog bounce in rhythm to the beat of the ball as it hit the path. 

Ashley rubbed her swollen belly as the child within drew her attention.

'Kicking me again, little one. Don't worry, won't be long until you're able to chase after Gem.'

The ball once again dropped at her feet and Gem's lead replaced, Ashley joined the path towards the gate. 

'Let's go see what all the fuss is about,' she said, watching as the politicians and children returned to their own sides and journalists began to disperse. Everyone returning to their normal routine.

'Sorry Miss.' The green, uniformed arm of the PSNI officer barred her progress. 

'I was just going to take my dog for a walk round the path,' she said, pointing to the tarmac that snaked through the open gateway and on into the other side.

'Not today.'

'I thought the gate was to be opened throughout the day?'

'Only for a few hours each day and today is just for the officials. Come back tomorrow,' he ordered, marching away from her so that he and his colleagues may close the gates, once again completing the wall.

'Come on Gem, I'm tired, let's go home.'

Opening the black glossed wooden door, Ashley and Gem entered the red brick terraced house.

'We're back Mum.'

'I'm in the kitchen. Put that dog into her bed and go sit down. I've made you a spot of lunch.'

Thanks, Mum, but there's no need.'

'Let me look after you when I'm here, dear. You should rest when you get the chance.'

'I've weeks to go yet and I'm fine.'

'Dad rang and he wants me to go back up home this afternoon.'

'Everything okay?'

'Yes, he's just fed up reheating the dinners I left for him,' her mother said, tutting as she set two bowls of soup and a plate of toast on the table. 'Listen, we both wondered if you'd come back up to the coast with me. It's so much nicer up there, this time of year and I hate the thought of you here alone during the day.'

'I'm not alone, I have Gem and Marty's home from work by 6 o'clock,' she said, slurping the hot soup.

'But darling, it's so dangerous here.'

'Mum, it's Belfast not Damascus,' Ashley said, raising her voice with her eyebrows, 'and I just watched them opening a gate in the Peace Wall down in the park.'

'You dad and I still think you should move back near us, would be a much better place for that wee baby to grow up.'

You know, Marty grew up in this street and he'd never live anywhere else, says they're the best neighbours in the country and they all watch out for each other.'

'It's not the watching that bothers me.'

'Mum, come 'ere, the park's on the news,' Ashley called, watching as the gate opened again, this time on her television screen. 'Look,' she said to her mother when she entered the room, 'see, this is a good area and that's progress for you.'

'I suppose it's a step in the right direction.'

As the two women watched, and the politicians declared the historic moment a symbol of peace and commitment to the political process, the front door opened and slammed shut.

'Ash, you here,' Marty's voice echoed in the narrow hallway.

'In the living room.' As he barged through the door and she started to explain about the gate and the park that morning, he interrupted her.

'You know those sirens we heard last night? They were for Tommy's young fella, he was bloody knee capped last night.' 

'Progress,' her mother said, shaking her head as she walked from the room.

No Strings - short story

'Cup of coffee, or something stronger?' he asks, standing over her.

'I didn't come up here for a drink,' she says, taking his hand and pulling him down on the sofa with her. 

As his hand moves along her thigh, pushing her dress up, she unbuttons his crisp, blue shirt and pushes it from his shoulders. Sitting up she raises the short, black dress over her head, relishing the feel of his lips as they find hers again. Fingers tease nipples, taut against the material of her thin, lace bra. When she frees him from his jeans, he groans, standing up and pulling her with him.

She follows his lead to a masculine black and silver bedroom, in the centre of which is a large iron bed, the metal intricately entwined in a gothic design. Removing his remaining clothes, he begins to trail kisses, from her mouth to her shoulder, he unclips her bra and lays her on the bed, his mouth turning its attention to her breasts.

Tilting her face to meet his, he lowers his lips to hers again. The kiss is intoxicating, hands firing every nerve cell in her body and she arches her naked body to meet his.

Unable to ignore the incessant beeping and vibrating, Jenna answers her mobile, 'Hi Lou.'

'Don't “Hi Lou” me, why didn't you text me this morning or return my calls? I've been worried sick about you.'

'Sorry, been manic, and I'm a big girl, you don't need to check up on me.'

'You left us in the club to go home with a total stranger. He could've been a serial killing maniac, all I wanted was one text to know you're still alive.'

'He's no serial killer and I'm very much alive and kicking, just a bit tired.'

'Is that your way of telling me you got no sleep last night?'

'Possibly.'

'Oh come on, stop stalling, dish the dirt on tall dark and sexy.'

'I'm in work, not the best place for a phone call dissecting my sex life.'

'Fancy coming round to mine tonight then?'

'Not tonight.'

'Got plans with Sexy Stranger have you?'

'No, I don't think I'll be seeing him again.'

'Why not, he's bloody gorgeous and looks like he's got a few quid?'

'I didn't give him my number and I didn't stay the night.'

'I knew he was too hot to be good. He made you leave, didn't he?'

'No,' Jenna says, 'I left when he fell asleep.'

'Hang on a minute,' Lou says, 'Am I speaking to Jenna Williams? The Jenna who never has one night stands, who practically needs a CV and references to go out with a bloke and who's always berating me for my bad taste in men?'

'It's me and I'm not that bad.'

'It's not bad,' Lou says, 'you just like to play it safe. I guess I'm a bit shell shocked, that's all. You sure you're okay?'

'I'm fine, just needed to do something different, he was in the right place at the right time and we had an amazing night but I don't need any complications.'

'I've got enough of those to do us both, but I'll tell you about that later. I better get on with some work. See you Saturday? Not going to change that pattern too are you?'

'No,' Jenna says, 'I'll see you there, same as always.'

'Must I go to this meeting tomorrow?' Jenna asks.

'You know I need you there. It's taken months to negotiate this merger and the whole point of it is to get us a piece of Steadmans market share,' John says. 'You're the head of the department, in the one area we most need their influence, and it's going to take time and patience to merge our teams. I need you there to hammer out the finer details of how it's going to work.'

'Fine, but I have a trial at the end of the week and if we aren't prepared I'm blaming you.'

'You'll be prepared, you always are.'

'Wish that was true,' Jenna says.

'You know how valued you are here,' John says, 'and we've promised to support you through this, I wouldn't be pushing this extra work onto you, if I didn't need you there.'

'Fine, leave the agenda with me.'

Unpacking the case files she'd brought home, Jenna spreads them out on the floor of her study, her cat interrupting her thoughts, by rubbing against her and meowing loudly.

'Is it dinner time Maisy?,' an even louder purr resounds, followed by head butting against Jenna's bent knee, 'okay, I suppose sorting through this lot can wait for five minutes.'

Following Maisy to the kitchen, she fills a bowl with the desired kibble.

'Right, that's you happy. What about me? What's going to satisfy me? That's the burning question.'

Back in her study, Jenna studies the file in front of her whilst pushing her microwaved ready meal round a plate, with a fork. Maisy, curled up on a bed at her feet, purring in contentment.

'I'm really going to have to start looking after myself a bit better now, aren't I girl?' Jenna asks, reaching down to rub Maisy's head, 'This merger couldn't have come at a worse time, if only John could manage without me tomorrow. Wish I could tell him that after fifteen years, his youngest equity partner, has lost her enthusiasm for the job, but don't think he'd appreciate that, especially in the current circumstances.' 

Jenna waits in the foyer with John, to greet the Managing Partner of Steadmans.

'Mark, good to see you,' John says, walking towards the man entering the door, reaching out a hand in greeting. 

'Jenna, this is Mark Steadman.'

She steps forward, and the two shake hands. 

'Right, let's head up to the conference room and then we can take a tour round,' John says.

'My brother, Zac, will be joining us as well, but afraid he got caught up in traffic.'

'No problem,' John says, 'Jenna, I'll take Mark upstairs, would you speak to reception please and make sure they show Zac up to the conference room, when he arrives?'

'Zac is the head of litigation in Steadmans,' Mark explains to Jenna, 'so, when he gets here, he'd like to discuss the structure in your department, what sort of case management system you have, so we can work out how to bring our teams together.'

'I can take him down to the department, show him round, introduce him to the other solicitors and show him an example of how we use case management.'

'Great, he's supposed to be bringing samples with him of how we work, and we're hoping you'll visit our offices as well to undertake the same exercise.'

'Jenna's time is particularly limited now and for the next few months,' John says, 'but I'm sure we  can work something out.'

A knock at the door interrupts the conversation and Marie, one of the receptionists, opens it, 'Zac Steadman,' she says, stepping aside.

Mark and John stand up but Jenna remains seated, unable to force her legs into action.

'Sorry I'm late,' Zac says.

'This is John, the Managing Partner,' Mark says, 'and Jenna, your counterpart here.'

She gathers herself, smoothing the fabric of her dress over her stomach as she stands up. Zac reaches out his hand and Jenna accepts it, unsure whether to answer his look. She tries to draw her gaze from those lips she had so enjoyed, and when she reaches his eyes she finds them fixed on her swollen belly.

Feeling the child within kick, as if in recognition, Jenna tries to concentrate on John's words.

'We're hoping you two will work closely to amalgamate your departments. We need it sorted and cover provided for Jenna, before she takes her maternity leave.'

'And when are you due to leave?' Zac asks, 'So I know what sort of timetable we're working too.'

'I'll be here for another eight weeks, so plenty of time resolve any issues,' she says.

'Let's hope there won't be any issues to resolve,' Zac says, stepping back and taking a seat.

Two hours later, and, after a coffee break, Jenna is desperate for the meeting to end, 'if that's all for today, I better get back to my department.'

'Take Zac with you,' John says, 'Mark and I will be along in a few minutes.'

In the corridor, Jenna marches towards the stairs with as much speed as her body will allow, but there is no escape.

'Jenna, stop,' he says placing a hand on her shoulder. 'It is you, isn't it?'

'Depends on who you think I am,' she says.

'A woman I spent an amazing night with, but who disappeared like Cinderella, except my Cinders didn't leave any clues.'

'That was months ago. Can we just forget it?'

'Six and a half months to be exact.'

'You've got a good memory,' she says.

'Some things are hard to forget,' he says, reaching out to touch her face.

'Stop it,' Jenna says, stepping back, 'this isn't appropriate.'

'Why? Is there someone else? You must have found him quickly, or maybe I was just one of many?'

'It's not, I'm not, like that.'

'What is it like then?'

'Do you really want to know? Do you really want me to stand here and say I felt like taking a risk, got caught up in the moment, had a one night stand, no strings attached sex. But, turns out there were lots of strings attached.'

'What are you two doing, still up here? Thought we'd find you downstairs by now,' John says, walking along the corridor towards them. 'Come on, let's get you two down to litigation, it's your baby after all.'

A Bit Of Water - short story

'I am not going out in that,' she declared, pointing at the rain hammering the window, 'to do some boring report on dam safety.'

'A bit of water never hurt anyone and the sun will be shining by the time you get there.'

She pivoted on her stiletto heels to make her exit.

'Do this and I'll give you the music awards.'

Sensing weakness she moved for the kill.

'All areas and sole presenter.'

'Well...I'm not sure...'

'I'm not sharing.'

'Fine, just get the dam report done and there's a few more local interest stories I need you to cover.'

'Bridget, carry my bag,' she shouted, throwing the weighty tote at the newest crew member. Tapping furiously at her phone she redialed the number again. 'Connor, finally, I've been ringing you all morning.'

'Yeah, sorry Julie, I'm in a meeting, just stopped for a coffee break.' 

'Good, in that case you'll be free to get on the phone and reserve a table at Diva for tonight.'

'We'll never get a table on such short notice.'

'You will and you better.'

'I'm with clients, I can't. Why don't you do it?'

'Because I'm in the middle of shooting a report about the imminent danger of this dam bursting, a bit more pressing than your clients.'

 'Tonight's no good anyway, I've got that corporate do.'

'If your clients are more important to you than me, you needn't think I'm going to put in an appearance at a boring office with your suits.'

'Give me a break.'

'Sounds good to me, get your stuff out of my flat, tonight.'

'Jules, this will do. Good lighting and background.'

'It's Julie and I'm reporting from over there, make it work.' Bloody camera-men, think they know everything, she thought, clipping along the tarmac path that surrounded the top of the dam wall. Glowering at the dark clouds nestling over the surrounding mountains she warned them not to top-up the reservoir until she'd escaped it's cold, gloomy clutches. Wrestling with the wind-blown papers, she memorised the script, only part of the UK with no regulations for dams and she was standing atop the largest of them. She was counting the days until the music awards and the moment a national network discovered her. Who cared about dams that had been there for a hundred years? Celebrities, that's were the real news was.

The lights glared, the cameras flashed, crew and presenters jostling in their cattle pen for the best position and chance to grab the A-list celebrities parading in front of them. Julie watched from her  tower, the princess she knew she was born to be, positioned above those who considered themselves her peers, but she was beyond their reach now, spotted by the sponsors and elevated, there would be no more shivering in the rain or smiles for nobodies from nowhere, her provincial nightmare was over. Turning her back on them, she used her compact mirror to rehearse the questions for the exclusive interviews only she would get to present. Dreaming of the moment she'd finally get to meet her peers and joining the A-list she knew she belonged to, she didn't hear the roar, didn't see the people below scatter, didn't see the water that hit the scaffolding on which her glass box was perched.

Alone in the studio, the editor viewed the memorial reel, beginning with the news of the unprecedented flood after the Victorian dam broke, footage of the water following the man-made channel through the city, missing the redeveloped quays and emptying into the docks. The anchor  explaining how the event organisers failed to consult the city plans and erected the scaffolding too close to the channel. Julie, the only casualty when gallons of water caught the edge of her metal and glass tower, pulling it into the churning mass. Then a segue to Julie's last report, the one on the lack of regulation and concerns over dam safety, before flicking to a series of clips and finishing on a still of her. Pulling up the dam report he listened to Julie's final comment again, a smile teasing the corner of his lips.

'The reservoir is full and, despite the saturated ground and current heavy downpours, I'm assured it's as sound as the day it was built. So take my word for it, this dam will be around longer than me.'