Mark inhaled deeply. It gave an air of confidence to your casual observer, yet merely cast a mild fog over his nerves. This was going to be the most difficult conversation of his life. He was never one to admit defeat. Pride is the worst of sins. We all succumb to it at some point in our lives. It may only be once, or we have a loyalty card: pride will always take you. Facing his boss was a terrifying prospect. She was a formidable woman. An open and inviting exterior but scratch that surface and you catch a glint of the metal exoskeleton underneath the false fuzziness. She could destroy him with a raised eyebrow. He knew things had gone too far. This discussion should have happened months ago. Mark looked in the mirror. This place had aged him. He forced a smile, the creases showing things had taken their toll. Laughter lines his mother called them. Nothing was that hilarious. His dark brown hair, now peppered with too much salt for a man in his early thirties. His once penetrating blue eyes, a cloudy grey with black pin prick dots. This couldn’t go on. He read over the piece of paper again; it became heavy in his sweaty palm. Why hadn’t he sent an email? He could have done it when he was working from home. Away from the blast radius. But he knew there was no other choice. If he wanted a response, he had to do this the old-fashioned way. He couldn’t believe after five years he was finally going to do this. She was one of those people whose reaction you could never predict. It could be smiles and hugs, but he doubted it. If he truly believed that he wouldn’t have put this conversation off for so long. He'd agonised over the alternatives and played them out a million times in his head. The outcome was always the same. But now, he’d ran headfirst into that thing everybody has – his breaking point. “Mark, have a seat,” she gestured, all smiles. Closing her office door behind him. He took a seat, still gripping the piece of paper which held his future. His hands were visibly shaking, and his mouth dried out in a nanosecond. He swallowed, lubricating his throat so he could speak, but it wasn’t working. Before he could stop, he thrust the folded piece of paper in her direction. “What’s this?” She quirked a brow, without looking at what was written. He gestured to the piece of paper, as he struggled to speak. This shouldn’t be so difficult. He nodded at the paper again, and then his jaw dropped in horror when she tore it up and looked him straight in the eyes. “You know I prefer the direct approach, Mark. What’s wrong?” The direct approach? Yeah, right. If it was her speaking. “I erm…” He was losing his nerve. The paper was now destroyed, so he could make something up about his latest project and walk away. Yes, that was the best solution here. No – he wasn’t going to do that. He’d come this far. “I need to take some annual leave!”

Camilla arrived at her tropical paradise. She slipped off her shoes. The fine white sand was warm and comforting between her toes. The turquoise ocean mesmerising. Without even dipping a toe, she knew it would be like slipping into a warm bath. The sun was baking overhead, the palm trees gently swaying in the breeze. This tropical oasis was her much needed escapism. Her hotel was a short walk along the beach. It was so remote that the road couldn’t access it. Her driver had offered to carry her bag, but she wanted to take her time taking it all in. With the backpack in place, she was sodden with sweat within minutes. She didn’t care. This place was magical. There were few people on the beach, perhaps because the sun was at its midday peak. She assumed they would be shielding from the sun’s full strength, but she had just arrived and didn’t want to miss a moment. She couldn’t resist it any longer, so dropped her bag onto the sand and walked towards the ocean. She stood slightly back from the water’s edge, waiting for it to pull back and then wash over her feet with the next wave. She was right. Just like a warm bath. She closed her eyes and remembered why she was here. This was her opportunity to make sense of everything that happened this past year. Nobody had died, but she was still grieving for what she’d lost. Her life shattered, but she knew she could bounce back. She just needed time. After a while, she could feel her face prickling. She opened the small bag around her waist, which housed her valuables, including sun cream. Spreading the cool cream on her face immediately soothed it, although she knew it was time to get to her hotel. She looked out at the ocean and breathed deeply – yes, this place was going to help her heal. Turning back towards the beach, her heartbeat elevated. She couldn’t see her bag. Panic ensued as she ran to where she’d left it. She wasn’t mistaken as her shoes, which she’d dropped next to her bag, were still there. There was nobody nearby. It was like her own private section of the beach. How could this happen in a place so perfect? She wanted to cry. Why did this always happen to her? Only she could come to paradise and have something bad happen. That was just her luck. It was the same bad luck which had plagued her over the past year and compounded her belief that there was a divine power who wanted to ensure she would never be happy. She refused to cry. There was little else she could do, except head to her hotel and tell them what had happened. Perhaps they’d be able to do something. She doubted it. The more she thought about it, she realised that she had everything she needed in her little bag. All they’d taken were clothes, toiletries, and some books. She had travelled light, and it was all replaceable. That took the edge off the immediate shock. It was her biggest lesson from the past year. Some things, albeit inconvenient, really didn’t matter. There was something strangely reassuring that bad things could still happen in somewhere so perfect. It was comforting in a way. She picked up her shoes and walked back towards the ocean, with a smile on her face – the hotel could wait a bit longer.

Rage boils inside as her eyes bore into the person entering the room and sitting; her nemesis. They had a difficult and emotive history and she imagined ways in which she could defeat him. “Morning, Paul, shall we get started?” Her false tone dripped with forced sincerity. “Morning, Alex, ready when you are.” He was classically good looking with designer stubble, dark-chiselled features and an immaculate, high-quality suit. She could see why he was used to getting his own way. She knew how to play this game. She invented this game. Her own suit was equally, if not more, expensive and she made the best use of her features. She wore her naturally blonde hair down, so the locks fell gracefully over her shoulders, with the slightest hint of makeup – it was all she needed. Paul’s friendly manner was irritating. How he could be so friendly, given the history between them, was baffling. His smile was nauseating. She ensured a smile was fixed firmly on her own face, ever the consummate professional. Sometimes she wanted to kill him. Not metaphorically, but literally. As violently as possible, although she wasn’t keen on mess, so it would need to be somewhere neutral where she could just leave the body and not have to tidy up afterwards. In these moments of intense frustration and loathing she lived out this fantasy. Was that all it was a fantasy? Could she really take another human life? Deep down she doubted it, although this didn’t stop her imagination running away with her; to a place where this man no longer existed. It was her sanctuary, her happy place. Visualising herself in that world, she now had a reason to smile. If he was gone then everything would work. “Hello Paul, how are James and the children?” Best to make small talk first, always looks good! “Very well, thank you. He’s enjoying being a stay at home dad.” Isn’t that lovely. Perfect suit, looks and home life, could you be any more of a cliché! “So, Alex, what is your opinion on our counter proposal?” He was wasting no time in getting back to business, she noted. Never bothered to ask about her home life – typical! Not that she had one though, her work was her life and here was this arsehole trying to scupper her plans. “It needs further consideration, Paul,” she said regaining her bearings. “It would be wrong to make a snap decision, especially given the seriousness of what we are discussing here. I would like a little longer to consider my response to your questions.” “Time is of the essence.” “Naturally, you know better than anyone that I’m keen for a speedy resolution, but I need to duly consider the wider implications, not just internally, but externally as well.” “When can we expect a response then?” “Within forty-eight hours – do you require another meeting? I can get my PA to arrange it.” She loved saying that! “That won’t be necessary. I will need your response in writing and then, should there be any queries, a meeting maybe necessary.” She thought realistically about the predicament. This was all about winning and if she killed him then they would both be losers. Her adrenalin started to pump as she took another tack; what if she ruined him instead? He would then see her triumph. Thinking about this for a second it all became clear. Yes, she thought to herself. I’ll bring him to his knees, have him begging for mercy. She would not grant it; she had to be clear now in this moment that it was all or nothing. Any sign of weakness and he would bring her down. She would lose everything. Paul rose to leave. She remained seated. She needed time to think. “Sorry this couldn’t be resolved today, Alex, although I agree with you, any response needs to be properly considered. I look forward to hearing from you.” She wasn’t sure if a few seconds or minutes had passed; she rose to her feet and gathered her things together. It would be best if the first stages of her plan were thrashed out at home. This would allow her to collect her thoughts into some logical sequence. A decision was imminent; however, nothing could be rushed. Success would give her the support she needed. With everybody behind her there would be nothing to stop her achieving the ultimate goal. Dreams fulfilled. Vision accomplished. Failure would not just be the end of her; it would be disastrous for everyone around her. They wouldn’t see that immediately. By the time they did it would be too late. Nothing could be done. Nobody would win. Even Paul would lose out in the end. Why couldn’t he see this? She moved forward; head up and confident strides. Nobody would question her. She needed information. It had to be subtle. She knew that. The request wouldn’t arouse suspicion; however his fall from grace was bound to prompt questions and mutterings. Her hands must be clean. With everything she needed, she exited the building via the rear doors. It was what she always did. She relayed a few messages to ensure that nothing was going to disturb her, threw the bags into the back of the car and was away. Slow moving traffic exacerbated her temper. She thought of how stupid she must have looked when he left the room all victorious. Shaking her head she jerked herself back to reality. As she left the city centre the road opened out and her foot squeezed on the accelerator. The sense of freedom as life and normality flew past the windows was fuelling her passion and creativity. This was her moment to shine and finally get her revenge on Paul, for everything he had done to her. His betrayal still ran deep and stirred up old emotions which Alex had tried to bury for so long. There he was, now happily married with his gorgeous husband and designer children and what did she have? Once home she spread the papers out on the large modern dining table. She dressed into something more comfortable, wearing her favourite thick woollen socks. The crackling log fire was lit and a generous glass of Merlot poured. She sat down on the floor enjoying the heat of the fire, ran her fingers through her hair and downed the glass in one. She poured herself another glass, ready to begin. Looking down at the table there was a mountain of paperwork. There had to be a starting point. It was to be a long night. The bottle of wine was soon demolished and a second one swiftly opened. She rubbed her temples as her head started to throb. “Come on nobody is that squeaky clean. There’s got to be something. Come on Alex think.” She found talking aloud gave her a motivational boost. “He’s got to have a weakness, all men do. He can’t be everybody’s friend?” In a moment of madness she flung the wine glass into the fire. The broken glass glistened against the flames. For a few seconds it was entrancing. A loud pop, the glass disintegrating in the fire, brought her round. Her anger frightened her and made her feel dirty. She showered, allowing the powerful jet of water to relieve her headache and stop her thinking for a moment. She blocked out the world; the only noise being the sound of the water as it cascaded down her body and cleansed her. She awoke with a start – it was 5.a.m. She didn’t remember falling asleep or indeed climbing into bed. A new day beckoned. She had some time before she was first expected so she returned to the living room. The remaining embers of the fire from the night before had long since extinguished and the house had that early morning chill – she shivered. With a hot mug of filter coffee clasped between her hands she inhaled deeply. The smell was comforting. She glanced at all the papers on the table and sighed with frustration. Her eyes scanned over everything. Suddenly she stopped. It had been staring her in the face all this time. The thing she knew everyone had – a weakness! She arrived at the office early; took one of the orange envelopes used for internal mail and put all the evidence inside. Making her way up the stairs there was a hush in the building. Nobody started this early. She slipped the anonymous envelope under the Chief Executive’s door and returned to her office. She knew in just over an hour the fireworks would start. By lunchtime, her plan had worked and Paul was leaving the building; suspended, pending an investigation. It appeared to have worked, yet she mustn’t be complacent. There was a full investigation to take place. He would deny everything. Of course he would; he’d have done so even if he was guilty. It had been so simple. She had instigated a critical data security breach. All the documentary evidence pointed to Paul. The Chief Executive had been the one to order the investigation. Her hands were clean. Despite strict confidentiality codes, the whisperings had already started. Even if he managed to wriggle his way out of this, his internal reputation would be in tatters. She played her part superbly during the investigation. Her feigned surprise and disbelief had an air of professionalism and inside she was singing. It didn’t take long. It was a business critical matter and it had to be dealt with swiftly and harshly. He was gone for good within a week. There was an appeal shortly after, a mere formality and of course he lost. The Chief Executive summoned Alex to his office. “It’s a difficult business. Thank you for your assistance these last two weeks Alex, it’s been invaluable,” he said. “I only wish it could have been under more pleasant circumstances.” “He still denies everything and is threatening a tribunal.” “It’s to be expected.” “Well I don’t need the bother of this going on for months. I’ve asked the lawyers to make an offer.” “Surely that looks like we think there is some doubt?” She could feel the panic rising, yet kept her voice calm. “Not at all, it’s just easier to pay him off, we’ve got a lot happening as you know and we don’t need to have our focus split. Besides he’s got young kids, it won’t look good for the company whether we win or lose. This way he goes away quietly. Besides, his husband’s an employment lawyer.” That explains a lot. “I just want an end to the whole sordid mess, Alex.” “I can appreciate that,” she said relieved, again concealing this through her professionally polished image. She turned to leave. “Bit of a blessing in disguise for you all this isn’t Alex? Given the history between you and Paul.” She was thankful she was facing the other way, as she hadn’t been able to keep her composure this time. “Whatever do you mean?” she asked innocently, turning round. “Don’t give me that coy look Alex. Paul was the most vocal and toughest Union Rep I’ve ever come across in a forty-year career. Stroke of luck really, should be no opposition to your change programme now. As Head of HR, I expect you to take the lead on this now.” She simply nodded and left the room, with a noticeable bounce to her step. The Union had finally been defeated!

Ettie glared at the article in the local newspaper. “How could they close it? Don’t they know how much the centre means to the community?” “Evidently not, Ettie, or they wouldn’t be closing it. Everything’s getting cut now.” Sylvia was being her usual blunt self. She saw herself as an assertive person. Ettie just thought she was a rude woman who liked to get her own way. The community centre closing was a terrible blow, but what could she do about it? Ettie felt an icy chill that made her whole-body shudder. Her senses twitched. Refusing to believe it was anything more than a coincidence, she lit the fire. “Ettie this place is like an oven – what on earth are you putting the fire on for? It’s the middle of June!” Sylvia had her severe expression on, which would make her appear more intimidating than normal, even though she was barely over five foot tall. She was not the sort of grandmother who sat in the corner knitting, even though her tight grey curls might delude you into thinking that. Ettie turned the fire off, not to be obedient, but Sylvia had popped in for a rant, and she didn’t need further ammunition. “Ettie, you must be absolutely furious about what they are planning?” “Well, I don’t think there’s very much we can do.” “There’s plenty – we’ve got some interest from the local news channel, and they want to do an interview. We thought you’d be perfect for it!” “What?” This was her worst nightmare. She wasn’t as forthright as Sylvia. She was hoping for a more behind-the-scenes role or facilitating some sort of petition. “It’s all about the human-interest angle. We, that is, me and the other girls, want you to tell them about your erm… friendship with Gladys and how important the centre was to you both. It’s the beating heart of the community!” “Isn’t that being a bit overdramatic?” “That’s what we need, Ettie. Drama. There’s no point in doing a petition or a march, nobody will listen. We’ll get maximum publicity; get the public on our side. That way the council will have to cave in, especially with it being an election year.” They appeared to have worked out the entire detail without even consulting her. This was her private relationship with Gladys, and she didn’t feel comfortable sharing it with a news reporter. Ettie shuddered again. Her stomach knotted. Her throat constricted. “Are you okay, Ettie?” “Just a shiver down my spine,” she croaked. “Oh, somebody’s just walked over your grave!” “I don’t think this is me, you know,” she said, changing the subject. “Nonsense, Ettie, you’ve become quite lazy since Gladys died. You need to get yourself back out there.” “I am not lazy. I just like my own company.” “Well, whatever does it for you! So, will you do it?” “When is it?” The words came out before Ettie could stop herself – damn her please people manner. “Tonight!” “Tonight, but… but I haven’t got anything prepared.” Ettie noticed her voice higher pitched than usual. “You don’t need to prepare. You’re just going to talk from the heart. That way it’s more real.” “Real?” “Yes, apparently realism is all the rage these days, well according to my granddaughter it is, who must insist on watching those awful reality TV shows whenever she comes to visit. Thankfully, she lives about two hundred miles away – one reason I’m glad I made the move down south,” said Sylvia with a snort of laughter. “Okay, I’ll do it,” said Ettie, regretting it instantly. “Wonderful, I’ll pick you up about four.” Ettie had experienced ten unforgettable years with Gladys. She had received a flyer through the door asking for help with a local fete. They were raising money for the local hospice which had been supportive during the last few weeks of Ettie’s husband’s life; Ettie felt obligated to help. She made some of her blueberry muffins. It was the one thing of which Ettie was truly certain – they were the best blueberry muffins in the world. “Oh, these muffins are to die for, did you make these?” remarked a very friendly looking woman, who appeared a similar age to Ettie. “Yes.” “You must give me the recipe.” Ettie hesitated. The woman chuckled. “Just teasing. If this recipe was mine, I’d keep shtum as well. Gladys Harper, by the way.” She extended her hand and gave Ettie’s a firm, but warm handshake. “Ettie Lemming.” “Oh dear, nice of your husband to saddle you with that.” She said it in such a jovial manner that Ettie couldn’t help but laugh with her. “My husband passed a few years ago.” “And you feel honour-bound to keep the name. Fair play to you. My husband’s was Pillock.” “I’m sorry?” “Everyone mishears that one,” Gladys laughed, tilting her head to one side. “My husband’s surname was Pillock, but it was just a name. Such a gentleman. I told him it was my name or no wedding.” Ettie studied the woman opposite her. The beaming smile and warm, friendly round face. She had more lines than Ettie, but this showed character. She had a head of grey hair and deep brown eyes that sparkled with childlike excitement – this woman was a lot of fun. Ettie had always been slightly introverted and didn’t feel like being sociable after her husband died. Gladys had brought an end to that attitude and got Ettie involved in the local community. The centre became the focal point of their lives – she’d not had so much fun in years. It was after a few months before their friendship developed into something more. Their stories were similar. They had married out of fear of people finding out, as it was a different time. However, they had both loved their husbands dearly and regretted nothing. As their relationship developed, they remained discrete, yet soon, thanks to Sylvia, the entire village knew. Not that it mattered. It was a different time now, so life carried on as normal and the ladies remained discrete, as was their wish. They kept their own homes and simply just loved being in each other’s company. When the community centre had needed a new roof, Ettie had suggested another fete or a raffle. “Oh no, Ettie, we need something with a bit of spirit. My grandson is a local fireman – maybe we can get some of his friends to pose for a nude calendar?” “You can’t be serious?” “Why not – it’s different, it’s fun. Come on, Ettie, I know there’s a free spirit in there bursting to get out.” There was, and Gladys had unleashed it. It had been Gladys’ idea to go on an orienteering trip. Ettie was anxious at first, but after spending more time with Gladys, Ettie blossomed into an active member of the community. They’d had many orienteering holidays over the years, but at the last one, less than a year earlier, Gladys had slipped and fallen in a freak accident. She died instantly. It devastated Ettie. If it had been the other way round Ettie suspected that if she had fallen, then Gladys would have still been back there the next year for another adventure, in memory of her companion. Ettie couldn’t do that though – it wasn’t her style. Later that day, Ettie was at the studio and panic set in. The knot in her stomach tightened further. She was about to go out and film her segment for the evening news. “Oh, what have I got myself into?” she said aloud. She often talked to herself, usually saving this for the privacy of her own home. She didn’t want to be one of those elderly ladies who would start arguing with herself at the bus stop, not for a few more years, anyway. She was getting more worked up as the seconds ticked by. She was sure that if the waiting went on any longer, she’d back out. She looked at the window and wondered if she could squeeze out of it. “Only, if I want a broken hip.” Just then the door opened, and a young man came in smiling. “You ready, Ettie?” She felt it again and breathed deeply. This time it was different. It didn’t give her a shiver. She felt warm and her confidence grew. At that moment she sensed slight pressure against her shoulder as if someone was squeezing and the knot in her stomach vanished. She admitted what she’d been denying. She felt a rush of emotion. Forcing herself to pull it together, her resolve steeled – Gladys was with her. “I’m ready!”

William looked out over the city. This high up the noise below was a mere din, yet the lights still revealed the magic. This was his place. He could be alone with his thoughts. There was something about being high above a busy city which felt comforting. This was his solitude where he could reflect on the chaos of life. Tomorrow would be painful, but this last year had been a difficult journey. He knew what he had to do for closure. The question was whether he could take that step to finally move on. Andrea would be by his side, as his friend. She had been so supportive this past year. He knew she wanted more from him. Everyone around him had encouraged him to take a chance. He just wasn’t sure he was ready. The next morning, he opened the door to Andrea. She always dressed immaculately, yet there was a conservatism to how she presented herself. She was a beautiful woman, yet she didn’t feel the need to show off skin and body parts. It was something which made her stand out from her contemporaries. “How are you feeling?” she asked. “I’m okay.” She followed him into the lounge. His grandfather’s urn was on the table. Today would be a last goodbye. “Would you like me to carry him?” she asked. He shook his head. It was something he had to do. He glanced up at the wall clock. They would need to leave soon for their train. The ashes were to be scattered on the south coast. He had wanted to go alone and meet people there. She had insisted she accompany him, and he didn’t have the strength to argue. He hoped she wouldn’t want to talk about their relationship. Today was about his grandfather and nothing more. “Do you remember that day we first met?” asked Andrea. “Of course. I interviewed you.” “You remember what your grandfather said?” She chuckled. “Yes, well, he was old school. Never censored what he was thinking!” “Such a character.” He nodded. It was the polite way of saying someone was a dirty old man. He wasn’t, but he did like to make rude jokes. Thankfully, Andrea had a wonderful sense of humour. It was all banter. He did nothing offensive. That was why she had been perfect to be his grandfather’s carer. His grandfather had adored her and was quite vociferous in trying to push her and William together. He wasn’t interested. Not that he didn’t find her attractive, but he was paying her to look after his grandfather. Something didn’t feel right. Now was different, of course. It was early evening when they were on the train heading back into the city. The ashes scattering had been poignant and hilarious. The wind had decided to make an appearance, so his grandfather’s ashes were partly in the sea, with the rest covering everyone’s clothes. “Shall we have another drink when we get to the city?” she asked. “Sure, I know a place we can go. I’d like to show you something.” “Ooh!” He feigned laughter. He had not been drinking as he needed a clear head. Andrea had a glazed look on her face. Her hand was on his thigh. The train was busy, so she was sitting next to him breathing wine fumes. He said nothing, just let her hand stay there. The train pulled into London Bridge station. They got off with the crowds and he proffered his arm for her to link it. She looked delighted. “Did you get your closure today?” she asked, as they walked out of the station. “I guess I’ll know soon enough.” “Oh my god. That view is beautiful.” “I know. It’s a special place.” “Is this where you’ve been coming?” “Yes, it has helped me to get clarity.” “Thank you for sharing it with me.” William smiled. She reciprocated. It was clear she was expecting him to kiss her, but he wouldn’t just yet. They walked over to the edge, so she could experience the full view. He put his arm around her. “Wow. It’s just breathtaking.” “I agree. My grandfather liked it up here.” “He came up here?” “Yes, but before he was sick.” “I can see why it’s a special place.” “Yes, it helped me to work some things out.” “Like what?” “When did you first have feelings for me?” “Honestly? The first moment I met you.” He knew that would be her answer, but he needed it confirmed. He turned to face her. They were looking into each other’s eyes. It was a calm night. Perfect. “Why did you do it?” She hesitated. “Do what?” Her eyes betrayed her. It was clear she knew what he was asking. “You did it for us, didn’t you?” She hesitated again. “Thank you,” he said, attempting to reassure her. “For what?” “For giving me my closure.” She smiled. “I’d do anything for you.” He smiled, cocked his head to one side, to show he was going to kiss her. She closed her eyes in anticipation. He knew this was the moment. Without a beat of hesitation, he pushed her off the roof. Now, he had his closure.

Peter’s New Years’ Eve party was always the social event of the year. They were the stuff of legend, in his not so humble opinion. They were always packed with laughter and drama. This year would be no exception. The party was in full swing. A loud rumble of voices. Multiple conversations. The drink in full flow. Music subtle; enhancing the atmosphere, rather than creating one. Peter entered the room, knowing he looked fabulous, a smile on his face. Nobody seemed to notice he’d arrived – how rude! He was the host and had spent weeks planning this party. He had purposefully kept his distance until a suitable time when he could make a dramatic entrance. These bitches hadn’t even noticed. He exited the room in a huff, waited a few seconds whilst he composed himself, then burst back in, ensuring the door banged hard against the wall. "Peter!" many of them shouted, whilst others looked startled. That was better. Sometimes people just needed a gentle nudge. Now it was time to mingle. He veered past Lucinda, who was on the prowl – again. That woman was insatiable, and despite Peter not being attracted to the fairer sex, that did not stop Lucinda from becoming a bit handsy when she'd a few Proseccos. Someone he didn't recognise was asleep on the sofa. He glanced at his watch. It wasn't even ten o’clock. Who even does that? She had come to someone’s house whom she didn’t know and fallen asleep. She looked like a tramp. Not the vibe he was going for. He walked into the kitchen to get a jug of water. Now, that would entertain and get everyone’s attention. "Peter, darling, you look fabulous," came a familiar deep voice, which didn't match the camp comment. Peter turned and saw his ex, Eric, with his new boyfriend, Adam. He hadn’t invited them, but the problem with throwing legendary parties, they attracted all sorts of undesirables. It was such a burden, being this fabulous. "Eric, how are you? And Adam?" Peter smiled, meaning none of it. Adam shot a death stare – such anger issues from one so young. He was twenty-nine, although looked eighteen. "It's a fantastic party. Where have you been? I've been looking for you?" The slurred speech, inane grin, and fact he was being nice were a strong indicator he was drunk. Peter intended to have fun with this. "Well, you know I like to make an entrance!" Eric laughed. "That's what I love about you!" Did he just say love? As in present tense. Had Adam heard it as well? The look on his face and purple colouring of his cheeks implied that was a certainty. Oh dear! "Why are you filling a jug with water?" Adam asked, clearly trying to change the subject. "Some lazy bitch is asleep on my sofa. I don't even know who she is." "That’s my sister. She has a medical condition." "Why did you bring her?” “We were looking after her, but Eric insisted we come here.” Eric blushed and smiled at Peter. An interesting development, and one Peter wanted to explore further. He knew if he kicked Adam out, Eric would follow. He’d need to be accommodating, to a degree. “You can put her upstairs," said Peter. "You can't wake her. It's dangerous," snapped Adam. "What is she? A bomb. She’s not staying on the sofa. She’s a major buzz kill." "You guys are hilarious," Eric chipped in. "Pipe down, gorgeous," said Peter, stroking Eric’s muscular arm. "Get your hands off him." "Fine. You try to be nice. I’ll deal with this my way." Peter stormed into his lounge were Sleepy Sue, or whatever her name was, was still out for the count. He had the water jug in his hand. People were gathering, although at a safe distance. They were ready for the drama. Adam grabbed Peter from behind and tried to wrestle the water jug from his grasp, to move him away. People cheered and shouted. Adam pulled at Peter's hair, which had taken hours to do. He snapped and threw the water over Adam, who fell backwards landing on the music centre which stopped the music. A loud crash followed, as Adam fell through a glass cabinet. He was unconscious on the floor, covered in blood. Thankfully, Peter had wooden floors, so there would be no permanent damage after some hot water and fairy liquid. “What have you done?” screamed Eric. There was commotion, as people called for an ambulance, and much bustling about as towels were brought out for the blood. Thankfully nobody had gotten any of the good towels. Peter didn’t want Adam to bleed to death, but the Egyptian cotton would always come first. “This is why I dumped you,” shouted Eric. “You always have to be the centre of attention and to hell with the consequences.” There was murmuring from the crowd. Peter had made it clear to everyone over the past few months he had been the one to do the dumping. Eric had not discussed the end of their relationship publicly, and for that Peter was grateful. Eric was a respectful and private person. Peter, less so. Now they all knew the truth. But the worst thing to come out of the whole catastrophe was Sleepy Sue was still fast asleep on the couch. Happy New Year, Peter!

“What do you think of him?” Laura passed the phone showing the profile of DiscreteDude29. Carl raised an eyebrow, confirming his approval. “Always got to be careful with the discrete, no face guys. Amazing body though.” “Scroll across and you get face pictures.” Carl did so. His non-verbal expressions were clear. He was hooked. Laura took a generous gulp of wine. Her plan was forming. Carl had gone too far this time, and he would pay for it. Her mind was as open as her marriage, but there were ground rules, which he had not just broken, but crapped all over. It was the downside of having an extremely attractive, bisexual husband. She had agreed to an open marriage, and it had worked for the past five years. She’s had her fun as well, and he was always discrete and safe. Neither of them wanted children, so the situation worked for them both, until now. One of her rules was they didn’t screw each other’s friends. Carl didn’t seem to realise there were consequences to breaking rules. It wasn’t a one-off either, or just one friend. This wasn’t an unusual activity for them to do over a glass of wine. They never shared the gory details of their extramarital affairs, but they shared any potentials, usually with a side order of wine and some form of rating system. “A definite nine out of ten. You always know when they say twenty-nine, they are thirty-five. Looks good though, if these pictures are recent. You see anyone you like?” “Nothing tonight,” she said, swiping left on her phone. The dating app wasn’t even open, but she had to give the right impression and not arouse suspicion. She excused herself to go to the toilet, knowing he’d take the bait. Carl was too predictable which made it easier for her although she wouldn’t be the one getting her hands dirty. Walking back into the lounge, she yawned and called it a night. He barely looked up as she kissed his cheek. He placed his phone face down, so she knew he was already chatting to DiscreteDude29. God, he was so easy to manipulate. She had been in bed for less than half an hour when the front door closed. For a second, a wave of guilt swept over her. Then she remembered what he’d done. There was no going back now. She had to protect herself. She had been careful to ensure all interaction had been on his phone. The following morning, her alarm yanked her awake. It had been three o’clock when she’d finally fallen asleep. It took a few seconds for her brain to function. Her husband wasn’t lying next to her. He never stayed over with his hook ups. He always came back to her. The guilt was back, but she had to forget it and get her story straight before she was asked any questions. It was important she did nothing suspicious, so she would go to work as normal. She put on some loud music with a beat, so she could focus on it whilst she was in the shower. She didn’t want her mind to wander to a dark place. She’d had no choice. She dressed on auto pilot, locked up the house and drove into work. She would have to say she had assumed he had gone to work early. Even though she had been awake until late, she had been careful to not use her phone, TV, or anything where her usage could be tracked. She had simply laid there in silence, waiting to fall asleep. Walking into work, she acknowledged her colleagues with a wave, dumping her bag on the desk. She knew she had to do it, but she couldn’t at first. It was the guilt again. She busied herself for a few minutes, keeping her head down. She didn’t want to look up. “Laura.” It was her boss. He looked in a sombre mood. “Can we talk in my office, please?” “Yes, sir,” she said, standing up. As she followed her boss to his office passing the noticeboard. The wall of faces a powerful reminder of what she’d done. As they arrived at her boss’s office, he looked her in the eyes with compassion. She now knew for certain he was going to tell Detective Inspector Laura Collins that DiscreteDude29 had claimed another victim.

It frustrated Isaac. His husband, Lyndon, was being his typical laid-back self. Not perturbed by the laziness of their son. Didn’t he realise that if their son was unsuccessful in life, it was a direct reflection on their parenting skills? “Simon, will you get out of bed,” he shouted up the stairs. “Why are you shouting?” asked Lyndon. “He needs to get up. It’s eleven o’clock in the morning.” “It’s a Saturday, let the boy sleep. You were a teenager once.” “I wasn’t this lazy. I was working from the age of sixteen, and going to college. He’s nineteen and isn’t doing either.” “He’ll figure it out for himself in time. You don’t need to be constantly on his back.” “Well, you don’t need to pander to him either. Especially those ridiculous stories he comes out with.” “He’s just got an overactive imagination.” “It’s getting worse.” Isaac knew he was right because Lyndon didn’t respond. Simon might be lazy, but his imagination certainly wasn’t. It was something he had done since childhood, although the tall tales had grown as much as Simon, who was now six foot four. “Let’s do the shopping. Get that out of the way. He might be awake when we get back,” suggested Lyndon. Isaac knew what Lyndon was doing, but he agreed. It was best to keep his mind occupied. They arrived home from shopping. Simon was eating toast, which was all he could cook. He had showered and dressed, which was something. “Did you have a good sleep?” asked Lyndon. Simon shrugged. It pissed Isaac off. His husband was a kind and caring man, sometimes too soft for his own good, but it was one of the many things he loved about him. What he didn’t love was this brute of a teenager being rude. “Are you going to answer your dad?” “Yeah, it was fine.” “That’s great. Why don’t you help me unpack the shopping, Simon, so your dad can get his work out of the way?” “Why don’t you deal with the shopping, Lyndon. Simon and I can have a chat in the lounge. Work can wait.” Simon knew there was no point in arguing. He slid off the stool and walked into the lounge, slumping down on the sofa. The crumbs from his toast falling on the floor. Isaac took a deep breath. “Simon, something needs to change here. You can’t expect us to keep you forever.” “It’s not like we can’t afford it.” “That’s not the point. You’ll never appreciate money if you don’t earn your own.” “I thought you said you’d support me if I stayed in full-time education.” “We will, but you dropped out.” “You know why.” “You can’t let bullies rule your entire life. They only understand one thing.” “Dad said that violence doesn’t solve anything.” “Your dad’s wrong. It’s how I dealt with my bully. You only have to fight back once, and it’ll give you confidence. You don’t need to punch everyone. Next time, you come across a group of bullies, just whack the biggest and loudest one as hard as you can.” “There’s only one.” “Then that’s the one you have to whack. Just don’t tell your dad!” Simon smiled. Isaac knew Simon had struggled through school with one specific bully. It was when Simon had started telling ridiculous stories. Anything he could think of to get out of going to school. It was only after he lied about a dead twin brother that Simon had finally shared what was going on. He wouldn’t let his dads intervene, and they had respected that. Lyndon had suggested a water off a duck’s back approach. Isaac was more for the direct approach. It was the only way to deal with people like that. When school had finished, they had hoped that was the end, but the bully had gone to the same college. Simon had dropped out after a few weeks. *** The following weekend, Isaac was awake early catching up on some work. Lyndon was still asleep. The front door opened and closed. Simon walked into the lounge. He was carrying a plastic bag with something in it. “You been out all night?” “I wanted to talk to you without Dad listening in.” “What’s wrong?” “I took your advice.” “What advice?” “To stand up to that bully.” Isaac wasn’t sure if this was going to another of Simon’s tall tales, but he’d humour him. “Sit down. Tell me what happened.” “I think I went too far.” “How d’you mean?” Simon went into the bag and pulled out a rounders bat covered in something which looked like blood. Isaac knew now that this was definitely another of Simon’s stories, and it was a whopper this time. “I’m going to need to get rid of this, and I’m going to need you to say I was home all night.” Isaac smiled and held out his hand for the bag. They were going to have to get some professional help for Simon. This was another level of storytelling. “Right, I better get some sleep. Dad, do you promise to get rid of it as soon as possible? It’s really important.” “Of course. Go to bed. I’ll deal with it.” Simon left the room. Isaac wasn’t sure what had just happened. It was all very elaborate. He looked in the bag at the bat. The blood was very realistic. He had to admire the creativity, even if it was a worrying development in Simon’s behaviour. Later that morning, Lyndon was putting the shopping away. Isaac was finishing some work. Simon was still asleep. Other than saying he’d come home early in the morning; Isaac had shared nothing else from their conversation. He knew it would worry Lyndon. He wasn’t sure how to approach it. He’d put the plastic bag with the bat inside his work bag, out of the way. He knew he’d need to show it to Lyndon, so he could see for himself how serious this had become. The doorbell chimed. “I’ll get it!” shouted Lyndon. Isaac heard muffled voices but couldn’t work out what was being said. Lyndon walked into the lounge with a concerned look on his face. “Who was it?” “It’s the police. They want to speak to Simon.”

Felicity looked up from her book, as someone entered the library. “Oi, I wanna talk to you,” she shouted at the librarian. Felicity tutted her irritation. Did people have no manners? She’d come here for peace, from the chaos of life. This was her sanctuary; a place where she could escape into a fantasy world created by someone else, yet her own imagination could still shape and influence it. “I said, I wanna talk to you.” Felicity sighed. She had read the same line five times. She closed the book, marking her place and studied the woman. Felicity was all for people expressing themselves, although there was a limit! She would have to say something. Could she? It was a terrifying thought. Confrontation was not something she ever invited. “Will you be quiet,” said the librarian. “Come here and say that to my face, bitch!” Felicity felt her own pulse rate quicken. The situation was escalating, as was her anxiety. The security guard arrived, asking the woman politely to leave. This only antagonised her, as she made a grab for a stack of books and threw them at the staff, who all ducked for cover. Nobody knew what to do as the woman continued to shout expletives in her vile, common accent. She was obviously drunk, as she teetered like a pile of books on the verge of collapse. Felicity hated drunk people. She had so many painful memories associated with alcohol. This woman was doing something unspeakable to Felicity’s beloved books. There was no greater crime. She had already damaged some by launching them at the staff. She was now ripping pages out, throwing the pieces in the air like confetti, shrieking with laughter. That was the tipping point for Felicity. She was furious. “Everyone keep back. The police are on their way,” said the security guard. "Call, the coppers. I don't care," she shouted, not appearing at all fazed by their impending arrival. An old man, who Felicity knew as a regular, and who usually shuffled along when he walked, had fled for safety with surprising agility. A woman had scooped up her two children under each arm like they were footballs and had headed for the door. Felicity could have escaped with ease. The woman had her back to Felicity and the main door was just a few metres away, yet she stayed put. How dare this woman defile somebody else's work! These books had people's hearts and souls in them; there was no excuse for her behaviour. Felicity took a step forward. Nobody noticed. She took a few more steps. The security guard saw her. "Stay back, young lady," he said. The woman turned to face Felicity and laughed. "You wanna piece of me?" she screamed. "Put the books down," Felicity stated firmly. She could feel her entire body trembling, yet her voice was clear and controlled. It was the hardest thing she had ever done. She wanted to run at the woman and grab the books from her. The woman looked at Felicity for a moment. There was a flicker of hesitation in her eyes. She went to make an approach, yet Felicity didn't move. The woman held her position. Had Felicity made her reconsider? Her heart was beating so fast that it dulled her hearing. They had reached a stand-off. If anyone else was speaking, then Felicity wasn't aware of it. She wasn’t sure what possessed her to do it, but she walked slowly towards the woman, who was studying her closely. Was she going to attack? Felicity wasn’t sure. They were now less than a metre apart. “I said, put books down.” “What’s the magic word?” she laughed. Felicity was all for politeness but saying please would feel insincere. “Well?” Felicity was considering her response when the police arrived. The woman dropped the books to the floor, not wanting to put up a fight against the men in uniform. Felicity went to pick them up. “Move away from the books, little girl,” said the policeman. Felicity said nothing and stepped back. She had preferred the young lady from the security guard, but knew when to pick her battles. All she could do was go back to her corner and continue reading, waiting for her mother to leave the pub, and hopefully, this time, she would remember to collect her.