FROM THE ARCHIVE Goat by Jona Xhepa
‘Maddie came to meet me in her jeep to collect me from town and I thought here’s a woman for whom no poems have been written.’
FROM THE ARCHIVE This Is Your Safe Place by Claire Gleeson
‘The name is familiar, maddeningly so, but Emily can’t work out who it is. Not because it is an unusual name, but rather because it is such an ordinary, placeholder one, instantly forgettable.’
FROM THE ARCHIVE The Weight of a Shoe by Philippa Holloway
‘Samuel Walker was driving in to work when he first saw the shoe; caught the flash of orange against the brooding green of the forest. Something bright in the grey of the Minnesota winter. Something different.’
FROM THE ARCHIVE September Nice To Meet You by Caragh Medlicott
‘They guard class conversation like black oil Dobermans. The first seminar is a prospectus collage sticky with sun-softened glue resin.’
FROM THE ARCHIVE Four Things You Need To Know About My Brother by Jayson Carcione
‘There are four things you need to know about my brother. Sorry, I know it’s late. You’re tired. The book keeps slipping from your hands.’
Pastiche by Brigitte de Valk
‘The blossoms are pale apparitions. They ripple in a breeze. A bucketful of cream has been kicked over their branches. Each petal is the width of a baby’s palm. Clouds scud, smearing the sky. I think of our last meeting. It will be tonight.’
FROM THE ARCHIVE Plume Redux by Jim Toal
‘As I walk along Bankside on my way to the Tate Modern, on the evening of what is certain— given the prognosis outlined by my oncologist—to be my last private view, I recall how it began one August morning, more than half a lifetime ago’
Tasting Menu by Trahearne Falvey
‘He told her she would have no choice in what was put in front of her, and she would have to eat it. As a child, he said, I’d sit at the table for hours until I learnt that I had to finish or it would be waiting for me the next morning. Just, please, whatever it is, eat it.’
FROM THE ARCHIVE My Two Sons by Claire Carroll
‘At first, I liked how envious people were. I liked that they coveted my sons. But after a while their comments and sidelong glances began to make me feel self-conscious.’
The short story by Helena Aeberli
‘The writer has now snared the couple who own the hotel, who have limited English and who he is therefore speaking to in a very slow, sonorous tone, the way one might to a dog.’
The Prepared Piano by Jonathan Gibbs
‘The point is, I do not know before I walk onstage what preparation awaits me. I programme my concerts as seriously as any other performer. Do I rehearse? Ha, well I rehearse a little. I am not the most prepared pianist.’
The Twist in the Maid by Elizabeth Brennan
‘On her first day working here Anna told her that she hired her because of her calm, collected way of dealing with the questions in the interview. She assumes that Anna knows she is the opposite of this and has basically hired a yin to her yang. At another level she understands very clearly what Anna expects of her.’
FROM THE ARCHIVE Tried Feelings Overnight by Anna Myers
‘In the faint blue light of the night we get into his bed and wait for time to run out. In hiding, we hold onto what we think we are and what we wish we were.’
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‘We lived apart for more than a year after the wedding. Aaron was sent to support the LA office after their director fell down an escalator. The accident wasn’t considered too serious at first, so neither was our separation.’
Ceramics for Beginners by Claire Thomson
‘A lump of clay is on the wheel that I know is mine because there is a nice pink post-it with my name misspelled on it telling me so. I pin a name badge in the same pink to my jumper, but I add the E where it should be. I hope nobody will mind.’
FROM THE ARCHIVE Departures by Micky Peters
‘One of the things Agnès told me, in the short time I was with her, was about an uncontacted tribe who lived on an island in the Indian Ocean, who had never discovered the secret of fire.’
FROM THE ARCHIVE Arrival by Laetitia Erskine
‘We had peaches in the lunch hall today when Matron fell down the stairs and broke her hip. They had to take her away with a shot in the arm. She’s not really the Matron, but that’s what we call her. ‘Not broken!’ she kept shouting, as women in white coats held her down.’