(25) Breathless. Artificial air tastes like licked Lego, burned copper, dirty coin hands. My fingers are clenched and my skull throbs with the dull drum beat of a death march, kamikaze, this is the end. Last I remember is the grass, hands tearing on the hard earth, a pain like angry acupuncture. Doctor Remnbaud says…
(24) Kit Lock gets home in the early hours of the morning. Her husband’s shoes are not by the door and his coat is not on the rack. My husband, she thinks. She calls out his name even though it makes no difference and she thinks of calling Christian or Sally but neither of them…
(23) My feet don’t hit the right path, my ankles slip on the curb and the pavement moves like it shouldn’t. Kit’s blunt anger has spread across my body like lichen. The whiskey’s gone. I won’t go home. I won’t go home again. My eyes burn like rubbed-in chilli, I can barely keep them open.…
(22) Kit picks at a plate of cheese and pickles and crab stuffed into pastry balls garnished with brown dill. We are at an apex of a cacophony of second-hand voices and shrill laughter and the hearty crab-stained chuckles of too-old-to-be-trendy insurance brokers make my ear drums sting. There’s a group of four men with…
(21) “I told you to stay here,” Kit says when I come in the door. “I wanted some air.” “You look better,” but when I look in the mirror I know she is lying. She knows I know she’s lying. A lie shared is closer to the truth. “Thanks.” “Do you want to go to…
(20) When I wake Kit is stood over me. “I’m going to work. Stay here, okay? There’s Carbonara in the fridge. Here’s some water and some books to read. Stay here. I will be back as soon as I can. Stay here,” and she kisses me on the forehead and leaves. The second time I…
(11) I’m sat at the bottom of the garden. It’s early evening and Kit is in the shower. My phone is in my hand clenched in white sweat. There isn’t much time. “Hello, this is Edward Lock from Howel’s Insurance. Am I speaking to Cora Myoko-Smith?” I don’t let her answer, ‘I work for Christian…
(10) It’s the afternoon of the next day and Sally and Kit are walking together after a Sunday shift at Smalling Publishing. Their pace is slow towards town where they catch their respective bus home. Sally is smoking a cigarette and Kit is talking: “It’s happened so suddenly, I mean this morning I found him…
I am an injectionist. I work in a small clinic in an industrial estate down a country lane that doesn’t have a footpath. My daughter runs the desk and chit chats with the children I make scream and cry. Except, now my daughter is dead, and the children and I cry together. I am at…
The fish caught my bait. Poor old Inspector. Is he a halibut, by any chance? Or a squealing fox? A squealing fox on the end of my rod. The hard old rod. Ready and poised. I put the glass of water down and follow the two figures out of the door, and then follow them…
Seal Matches 