Like gentle fingertips running across her dozing face, the cool breeze gently stirred Amanda from her dreams in the lulled world between sleep and wakefulness. She squinted as she opened her eyes to the summer afternoon, with sunlight flickering between the leaves of the tree she was resting under, creating darting shadows and patterns on her bare legs.
It wasn’t the most auspicious start to her holiday. A whole week off work, away from dreaming up campaigns for rheumatoid cream and thrush pills and a whole week without having to train eager young pharmacists on the merits of the latest wonder drug.
As I sat heavily on the low wall, in London’s Leicester Square, I removed my shoes and gently massaged my aching feet. The blisters, accumulated as a result of being on my feet all day, were irritating me.
Lucy was a small child. With her large brown eyes and chestnut curls, she looked rather doll-like. Perhaps this was why she found she was always treated like a baby and looked upon with kindly smiles and pats on the head, rather than being taken seriously, as eight year olds prefer to be.
As the early morning sun streamed through the bedroom curtains, picking up floating dust particles in its warm fingers, Karen stared at her reflection in disgust. Standing before the unforgiving mirror, she watched her belly hang purposefully over the top of her knickers, like a blancmange spilling from its mould.
It always sounded like crunching snails, Jenny thought, as she walked up the gravel path. She was squinting, sunglasses forgotten. So many snails meeting their death under my Clarks’ boots. Crunch crunch.
Only the small brass sign to the right of the deep, bell-shaped door gave any clue to what was inside.
I was making the kid’s tea, fish fingers I think it was, when I heard the thunder of Chloe’s feet as she hurtled down the stairs, followed swiftly by a cry from Charlie.
The woman poured a pink sachet of sugar into her tea, clinking the teaspoon against the mug as she surveyed me, as if still wondering whether or not I was to be trusted. “It’s not as easy as you may think to disappear,” she said, eventually.
I’d always frowned upon people who did this sort of thing, y’know? Thought that they just had so self control, no self-respect. But now? Well, what’s the saying, judge not lest ye be judged? Something like that. I know what you’re thinking. That the circle of gold on my ring finger should have been […]
Kate Goodman, Writer 