Gold (1)

The golden flecks that shone through her mum’s hair were real gold. Her dad was a barber and said so. So why did he keep working?

Figure

It was a shapely figure, curves in all the right places and slim where necessary. “99”. Yes, he’d price the peaches at 99.

At the theatre? Div in front of you keeps moving his head? Just have to give him a wee tap on the ear? Don’t use the hand with the knife in.

The sun through the door lit up her last leaving. She leaves lightly, Ray thought, as he watched her silhouette, her hair a halo.

“Your gran was the pirate radio to my Radio 1, so she was.” Blank looks from the earphone generation. Tears streamed like music.

Jack cut out brown paper triangles and dipped the wetted peaks in flour. Stuck to the window, from his bed they looked like home.

Inviting me to stay over, my friend’s mum said to bring my slippers; I misheard, thought they had a swimming pool. Disappointing.

The bad-luck black dog dogged Roby’s steps. Blood, sweat and rain. Nothing to be done. Until he found out the dog’s name was Reg.

Stu burnt the letters. He should never have kept them, he should never have tied them up and kept them hidden. Nor the letters.

It’s a grand garden you’ve got, grandad.
Aye, but who’s going to look after it?
We all will.
Pave it over as soon as.
No. Not us.