A short story – First Light

Victoria Park frost by Judy Darley

My short story First Light has been published in the December issue of Living Quietly magazine. This Christmas story is inspired by my dad, who in retirement used to go and watch the sunrise and share stories with a group of friends. I remember him coming home more than once wearing a carved wooden medal enscribed with the words Best Liar!

My story begins:

Living Quietly Issue 4 front coverIt’s still dark when he wakes me, the familiar creak of the bedroom door and his low “Time to get up, love” making me think for a moment that I’m a child still, on the brink of a school day’s slog. The blaze of his white hair catches the light spilling in from the landing, dragging me back to the present.

I haul myself out of bed and pull on thermal underlayers, jeans, socks, extra socks, a lambswool jumper. A scent of spice catches the back of my throat: cinnamon and nutmeg.

Downstairs the kettle rumbles, a flask standing by ready to be filled. Dad’s wrapping oven-warmed mince pies in a clean tea-towel so they’ll hold their heat.

Download your copy of the issue here or click on the lovely glowy issue cover above.

A short story – Evening Tide

Little House by Gilly Mound

Little House by Gilly Mound

My story Evening Tide has been published in the October issue of Living Quietly magazine. It’s a version of my tale Farewell Gifts, which I shared at Salon Soirées’ mirror-themed evening on Tuesday 11th September. It reveals the crunch moment in a woman’s life, and a fresh start within earshot of the sea.

The story was partly inspired by artist Gilly Mound’s painting Little House, pictured above.

Here are a few lines from it:

The house sits on the edge of a field, its tiled roof sagging in camaraderie with windows and doors. Sunbeams bounce from the panes as though someone inside has turned on a light.

The lettings agent allows me to spend half an hour exploring.

“Let me just…” I keep saying as I try to imagine how the spaces will feel with only me and the resident spiders to occupy them. Cobwebs glint wherever the sun sneaks in, nestling where beams meet and holding the place together.

“It’s perfectly safe,” the lettings agent says as we emerge.

“I’ll take it,” I respond. My heart flutters as I utter the words, and I grin at the crooked house.

I’m really pleased to have Evening Tide included in the magazine, which describes itself as being for people “who want to tread more gently through life.” How lovely.