A forever work in progress

“Thank you everyone for being here today. It truly means the world to me for you all to come and join us on this special occasion. I'm not going to speak on behalf of my new incredibly beautiful wife because I'm not stupid enough to get married and have her file for a divorce all on the same day. We tossed a coin to see who goes first with the speeches and she won and said that I had to go first so here I am doing as I'm told. Yes, I know it's a first before any of you smart arses shout it out. I want to say a special thank you to my older brother Sean and to my now sister in law Phillipa for helping bring us together.” I turn to look at Phillipa who clearly knows where I'm about to go with this and she looks at me with pleading eyes, begging me without words not to tell the story of how I met her sister and her key part in the tale. I turn back to the guests and ask “Has everyone heard the story of how we met?” This question was met with a cross volley of yes’s ...

Charles Callaghan sat down in his drawing room to partake in his daily ostentatious breakfast consisting only of two black cups of Grand Moka Matari Coffee made by Bacha Coffee served in a Hermés Cheval D’Orient coffee cup and saucer, completed with a print edition of the Financial Times. No one was exactly sure the precise point in time he'd slipped into being an utter cunt, but associates surmised it was probably around the summer of 2003. It hadn't been a laborious process on his part, he found it was a naturally occurring talent, some might even go as far as to suggest it was a God given one. Whichever it was, once Charles had discovered his niche he saw no reason to deviate from his position. If Charles’ behaviour was to the chagrin of his wife Penelope then she didn't demonstrate it outwardly at least. This may have had something to do with her weekly trysts with her horse riding instructor whereby the only thing being ridden was Penelope somewhere into next week much...

T he first day of any new job is a truly nerve-wracking affair, a sea of unfamiliar faces and a roll call of names that you'll instantly forget. One brief introduction over and you're waltzed onto the next person and then rinse and repeat. This is x and they do y. Maybe this is what being a royal feels like, day after day of endless strangers standing ready to shake your hand and pretend they're thrilled to meet your acquaintance when clearly they have better things to be getting on with in that moment. Trying to remember dozens of names to faces is one thing, trying not to adopt force-fed notions into the perceived slights of someone's character is potentially so much harder. In a new workplace you're rarely allowed to make up your own mind and form your own opinion. Heaven forbid! Everyone already has their role assigned and their characters fully assassinated. Soon enough in the blink of an eye, you too will have been there long enough for everyone to have categ...

"How about we play a game of twenty questions?" Katie asks Jack as she rubs the tip of her finger around the rim of her wine glass. Jack is unclear whether she's trying to be seductive or make the glass vibrate with some sort of sound like a middle school science experiment. “Sure why not,” he replies maybe a little too unconvincingly for Katie's liking.  “It'll be fun,” she tells him, sounding like she's convinced even if he clearly isn't.  “OK well don't be offended if I pass on one or two.”  Katie narrows her gaze, tilts her head to the right and purses her lips. Jack literally has no idea what that looks could mean so makes a mental note to begin to study body language. Silence descends like autumn mist over the dinner table. Jack feels the palms of his hands begin to perspire. Should he say something? Is she waiting for him to get a coin out of his pocket and toss it to see who goes first? Finally Katie opens her mouth to speak. “I'll go first...

Joe unfolded the letter in his hand and re-read the address contained midway down the page. Number 45, number 45 he repeats to himself in his mind before looking up at the glass pane with the large number 45 etched into it. He looks back down at the letter, the words Crown Street, Crown Street now echoing in his mind. He already knew that he was on Crown Street, largely because he’d checked the road sign at the end of the row of houses four times already in the last ten minutes. Self-doubt is a terrible affliction to carry the burden of when it strikes, all sense of reason and logic go sailing off into the wind. You’re left feeling like the small child who inexplicably let go of their balloon despite having been warned a dozen times or more not to let it go. Really though if he’s being honest with himself, it's not self-doubt that’s troubling him, he’s stalling for time, looking to give himself an out in this moment. Joe counts the steps in front of him, one through seven, atop of...

Chapter One Five year old Xiaoxin stared out of her bedroom window into the darkness of the night patiently waiting for the lights of her father's car to cut through her tiny corner of the world currently engulfed in the shadow of darkness. Her little eyes drawing all the more heavy with every passing minute, her cause not helped by the lack of a fixed point to focus her attention on. At that moment everything outside the window was merely black but that didn't deter her determination. Every time the shutters rolled down she somehow managed to jolt herself awake. Children, as adults too often fail to recognise are truly resilient little creatures. The tantrums are a smokescreen to all parents alike to their true underlying capabilities and determination and will to succeed. Xiaoxin let out a huge yawn, one of a many growing number of yawns to now have escaped her tiny mouth. This was a battle she was starting to lose. Her chin had originally been resting upon her upturned palms...