Reservoirs of choppy water had flowed under the bridge during the last forty years, taking some of the best bits of Lisa’s life with it, along with the flotsam and jetsam. She no longer had her high-flying job and she would never find another Jack, her mother indirectly responsible for the loss of the two most important things in her life.
Christmas has always made me think of the beach and palm trees. Even as a child I used to fantasise about escaping to a deserted beach.
For the first time in a very long time, I ditched humourous veil I that tend to hide behind and I allowed my imagination wander around in the murky world of crime.
Beryl is due to retire at the end of next term and has been working on a novel. From the rather steamy pieces she has been reading to us, she could well be Didsbrook's answer to E. L. James.
We had spent other significant birthdays together, but I just didn't want to celebrate being a bloody quadragenarian.
The editing process is a nightmare that would make even Stephen King's spine-chilling characters squirm.
He got up, went over to the door and locked it. He wanted peace. No interruptions from the outside world when he read the letter from his one true love.
Sam broke the silence and eye contact was reestablished. The words said one thing, but the eyes were saying something else. There was no glimmer of reciprocated emotion, just an apologetic sadness. Nicky always had that nagging doubt, an inner fear that their relationship, the one she had thrown her heart and soul into was always destined to be a one-sided, temporary arrangement. A fling, a game, an experiment. She had been right.
'I'm glad you rang, I’ve got a bit of news for you. How was your flight?' 'News? Good, I hope. The flight was bloody brilliant actually. I met Rory in the departure lounge at Gatwick. He was also headed for Faro and he dropped me off at my Dad's and he... er.. stayed the night...'... Continue Reading →