A room of one’s own
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Strange crowds
She grips her knees, hides her head, and hates being where she is. Life was not meant to turn out like this, She was not meant to be here, alone in a foreign place, waiting for a husband whose work carried them away from home. Work that comes and goes, making them wonder why they…
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The steps
I have climbed these steps before. But this is the first time I have really noticed them. When I was small, I was more worried about my precarious heap of buckets and spades, or rushing to catch up with the longer legs of my siblings. There was a photograph of them framed in our house,…
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On the inside, looking out
There she was again, just like countless times before. Buckled in, stuck in, and no way of getting out. She could look out, though, from her prison, her life. Look out, and either go over the day she’d planned, or… What’s that? A bird flying too high? A bit of the plane? She pressed herself…
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By the river
He had no idea why he was there, or how he had got to that place. He’d been there before, but not with these people. He prided himself on his independence, on his inscrutability. But not with them. They were able to unlock something in him that he liked keeping shut. “Smile”. He made…
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When there’s no boat
I heard a very good sermon last Sunday, but as usual, I got hold of one small part of it, and it’s worked on me ever since. The minister was charting the progress of the apostle Peter’s faith through his various encounters with the miracles of Jesus. The one on Sunday was about Peter getting…
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The Tea Lady
I have had a life full of untold stories. All eighty-five years of it – school days in wartime, work in foreign lands, exploits at home. Every one of them was an adventure, every one a tale to tell. When I was younger, it didn’t matter that I had nobody to share these memories with,…
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Saiorse
In a dingy North Belfast kitchen, a nine year old girl is making up a bundle. From her practised movements, you can tell she has done this before. But still her fingers are trembling. She butters two pieces of bread, taking care not to tear them with the hardened butter and knife. She breathes through…
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Mary Berry and Stephen King
A year or more ago, and thanks to Mary Berry, I came across the best sponge cake recipe ever. It was a success the first time, and has been the same ever since. So, last Christmas, when I asked for a baking book, of course I stipulated it had to be one of hers. I’ve…
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Writing Exercise: A place where I once worked
It is supposed to be quiet here, and yet it’s busy with subtle noise. Before the age of a computerised system, there are no repetitive beeps or clacks, just the satisfying click and clunk of a stamper, and the sighing slip of tickets going from book to box. Chairs on surreptitious wheels trundle and spin…
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Chez moi
She sat in the yellow bath and wished it was avocado. The tiles were small and black, pressed narrowly against each other, closing in on her. There was no window, just a noisy fan and hurtful electric light. She couldn’t hear anything beyond that fan, and the slosh of water. Not even the echo of…
