Black Americano The Arum lilies were beautiful . Stems , brightly green with exquisite cream flowers . She loved the way they curled and the strength of the stems as she held them . A strand of ribbon binding the six lilies together . She clutched them tightly , breathing in deeply , allowing the floral scent and emotion to fill her senses . Her eyes were closed . It was her wedding day , every little girl 's dream . It was to be her perfect day . With eyes closed , Christie remembered the days in the run up to the wedding , of visiting the small , family run cake store to check on the cake prior to delivery . Trying on her wedding dress to obsessive levels , watching how it flowed around her body as she danced in front of the mirror . The white bodice and capped sleeves , showing her tiny frame perfectly , whilst the drop of the silk from the bodice , swam around her slender legs , giving her the feel of a princess . She had also shopped for thank - you gifts for her two bridesmaids , Sarah and Lucy , friends since the first day of infant school , at just five years of age , when they were all pigtails and frilly socks . Now she also had Jonathan in her life . She first noticed him when he started working in the large conveyors offices . She noticed his tall frame , dark styled hair and endearing smile , the minute he walked through the large antique wooden framed doors . She figured he was out of her league . Not only was he incredibly handsome , but he was kind and softly spoken . The day he asked to take her out , had been , a really bad day . She had been passed over for promotion in favour of an unknown candidate . She was upset and left early for a strong sweet fix in Chloe 's coffee shop . Her favourite place . This was where she was sat when Jonathan walked in . Christie hadn 't noticed him enter as she had cocooned herself into the corner of the shop as tears flowed , as out of view as she could possibly be , sitting with her back to the rest of the shop in an effort to hide the demented panda look , the running mascara was creating . He had sat down quietly in front of her . He didn 't say anything , he just sat and looked at her . Bewildered , she gave an uncertain smile and at that , he quietly took her hand . From there , conversations , picnics , restaurants and days filled with laughter ensued , a journey to this point . The point where she was stood in the doorway of the old church about to marry her perfect man . She could see the guests , the colours and smiles as she stood waiting to walk down the aisle towards Jonathan . The joy and emotion was tangible . It felt warm and sure , slowly caressing her as it enveloped and secured her . She looked at her father , the man who would give her away , traditionally handing her to her husband , who would be waiting for her at the altar . She lifted and touched the flowers to her nose , taking a moment in the fragrance and feeling the heat of love . The softness of the petals caressing the tip of her nose . The sweet scent stirred something in her . She opened her eyes . Confusion welled up , a deep knot from her stomach , churning up into her chest , up welling , taking her very breath from within her . She held on to the strong stems , soaking up the scent into every pore of her being , she felt the gentle hands of Sarah and Lucy cupping her elbows and knew it was time to let go . With a breath taken from the depth of her soul , she looked down , deep into the dark hole in the earth opening up in front of her and opening her hands , released the beautiful cream Arum lilies , watching as they fell softly into the ground for her husband , Jonathan . By Danielle Smith The smallest dressing room at the rear of the Palace variety bar had been assigned to Dorothy and five other girls . Dorothy was the eldest of the girls and by far the most glamorous ; her porcelain skin complemented her dark eyes and scarlet lips . Dolled up to the nines she was the image of sin and infatuation , she embodied the lust of all the men who frequented the seaside bars looking for a fleeting romance or a naughty fumble . The other girls despite being only one or two years younger looked like children next to Dorothy . They performed as an ensemble three times a day . They all danced and some sung but only Dorothy did it all . She was good at what she did and knew that given the chance she could escape the small dressing rooms and break into the big wide world , she knew that if she pleased the right people and carried on bringing in the audience she would be sent to the tower . The room was hot and crowded , she sat by the open window smoking , she watched the smoke swirl to nothing in the sky . Dorothy tried to smile as the other girls danced around excited for the show but there was also a knot in her stomach that had been building over the past few weeks . Bob Thompson knocked on the door . ' Ten minutes till curtain up my lovelies , ' he leered rubbing his palms together . ' You alright Dorothy ? Your Bertie not writing back to you anymore ? ' asked Mary , a young skinny girl with legs as long as the golden mile . ' Oh , he is , he wants me to stop all this nonsense he says I can 't afford to have such fanciful dreams , he wants me to be his wife soon but he has been saying that for an age , ' she replied with a smile . Mary looked around the room as she searched for something to say . ' He just wants a wife , that 's all . He 's not at all fond of the crowds looking at me the way he did when we met , he wants me at home . He has a hold over me Mary you will understand when you find a man who wants to make you a wife ' Mary laughed . " He wanted you enough the first time he saw you . Couldn 't keep his hand off you I remember the look in his eyes , like a man gone wild " By Lauren Bannister He creeps across the floorboards , quietly cursing each creak for exposing his secret . You clasp your eyes shut and listen intently to his heavy breathing , while your nostrils hunt for his familiar , comforting smell . He quickly undresses and slides under the sheets , he wraps his body around yours in the naïve hope that sleep is contagious . You shift your body and pretend that his arrival has disturbed you from your deep sleep . ' Hi . ' His words lick your ear as he locks his arms around you , pulling you yet closer . You nod but the words do not come , they sit echoing in the pit of your stomach . You know without having to smell him , that there will be no traces of kebab on his breath or skin . His arm grows limp against your body and you know that he is asleep . It has always baffled you how quickly he is able to surrender himself as though he does not have a care in the world . You shrug his arm away from you and move to a cold part of the bed . You shiver and pull your arms under the sanctuary of your own body , eventually drifting off . When you wake up he is gone . The scribbled note on the side table tells you that he has taken your son to the park . Next to the note sits a bunch of freshly picked , sweetly scented daffodils , still glistening wet with morning rain . You pick up the flowers sitting pretty in their perfect vase and hurl them against the far wall , where the vase smashes and the flowers lay bruised . You have always hated daffodils . By Mandy James Slowly his consciousness surfaced from the bubbles of a champagne slumber . It took a few moments to realise that the insistent Whoop ! Whoop ! Whoop ! was not part of his dream but a car alarm . Stuffing a pillow over his ears he tried drowning it out , but its banshee wail continued unabated . Stupid dick - head neighbours ! The damned thing was always hollering , he 'd complained about it only the other day and was assured they would sort it . Well he 'd bloody well sort them first thing tomorrow . Pressing his face deeply into his pillows he inhaled the intoxicating perfume left behind from his latest conquest . The alarm was temporarily forgotten as he relived the last few hours of passion between the sheets . The wife was looking after her sick mother yet again , and he took advantage of it every time . He wondered why he bothered to hide it really . She knew as well as he did that he kept her around out of pity . . . and convenience of course . She did cook rather well and attended to his every need . But since he 'd got promotion and rocketed up the ladder , over these past few years he 'd outgrown her - left her at the bottom . The banshee still drilled into his brain , so rubbing his eyes he dragged his hung - over body from bed to window . At first he imagined the dawn light deceived his eyes . The banshee wailed from his car , and the car appeared to be bleeding . Taking the stairs three at a time he grabbed keys , flung open the door and ran onto the drive . His new silver soft - top Mercedes was coated head to toe with red paint . The empty can sat guiltily by the wheel . Pointing the keys he snapped off the alarm . Totally bewildered he knelt on the cool concrete , his ears ringing in the silence . It was then that he noticed the envelope . Ripping it open he read : Time you were taught a lesson - felt some pain . I thought the way to do this was to ruin your latest treasure . You wound me daily by the way you are indifferent to my love . This hurts much more than your infidelities . I won 't put up with it any more . . . I can 't put up with it anymore . His wife 's pale face floated briefly - blue eyes pleading . Next time he saw her he 'd add some black to them . He 'd slapped her before , but this time she was really going to get a beating . Marching back inside he was unnerved to see his wife standing behind the kitchen counter . Her eyes had turned from pleading blue to cold grey steel . He didn 't think he could reason with those eyes . He felt uncertain , but rage pushed him forward , fists clenched . How dare she just stand there after what she 'd done ! The answer came in the shape of a shotgun raised and cocked in one fluid movement . The cold grey steel matched her eyes . There would definitely be no reasoning with that . Slowly his consciousness surfaced from the bubbles of a champagne slumber . It took a few moments to realise that the insistent Whoop ! Whoop ! Whoop ! was not part of his dream but a car alarm . Stuffing a pillow over his ears he tried drowning it out , but its banshee wail continued unabated . Stupid dick - head neighbours ! The damned thing was always hollering , he 'd complained about it only the other day and was assured they would sort it . Well he 'd bloody well sort them first thing tomorrow . Pressing his face deeply into his pillows he inhaled the intoxicating perfume left behind from his latest conquest . The alarm was temporarily forgotten as he relived the last few hours of passion between the sheets . The wife was looking after her sick mother yet again , and he took advantage of it every time . He wondered why he bothered to hide it really . She knew as well as he did that he kept her around out of pity . . . and convenience of course . She did cook rather well and attended to his every need . But since he 'd got promotion and rocketed up the ladder , over these past few years he 'd outgrown her - left her at the bottom . The banshee still drilled into his brain , so rubbing his eyes he dragged his hung - over body from bed to window . At first he imagined the dawn light deceived his eyes . The banshee wailed from his car , and the car appeared to be bleeding . Taking the stairs three at a time he grabbed keys , flung open the door and ran onto the drive . His new silver soft - top Mercedes was coated head to toe with red paint . The empty can sat guiltily by the wheel . Pointing the keys he snapped off the alarm . Totally bewildered he knelt on the cool concrete , his ears ringing in the silence . It was then that he noticed the envelope . Ripping it open he read : Time you were taught a lesson - felt some pain . I thought the way to do this was to ruin your latest treasure . You wound me daily by the way you are indifferent to my love . This hurts much more than your infidelities . I won 't put up with it any more . . . I can 't put up with it anymore . His wife 's pale face floated briefly - blue eyes pleading . Next time he saw her he 'd add some black to them . He 'd slapped her before , but this time she was really going to get a beating . Marching back inside he was unnerved to see his wife standing behind the kitchen counter . Her eyes had turned from pleading blue to cold grey steel . He didn 't think he could reason with those eyes . He felt uncertain , but rage pushed him forward , fists clenched . How dare she just stand there after what she 'd done ! The answer came in the shape of a shotgun raised and cocked in one fluid movement . The cold grey steel matched her eyes . There would definitely be no reasoning with that . I first saw you in the town . You were sitting with friends laughing about some TV show you had all seen . You had tears running down your face ; it must have been a funny show . I don 't know what it was that first grabbed my attention , your hair maybe ; short and dark , cut high , showing off your beautiful neck to perfection . Maybe it was the sound of your voice , or that soft , almost musical laugh . It 's hard to remember after all these years . I do remember you turning to speak to your friend though , that 's when I saw your face for the first time . Brown eyes , deep enough to drown in , a perfect nose and soft , rose petal lips . I caught my breath and lost my heart in an instant . I saw you many times over the next few weeks , I made sure I did . You didn 't see me though ; I made sure of that too . I always had a newspaper or a book to hide behind , I even bought reading glasses and a hat , so I could get as close to you as I could without you being aware . I got a job in the bar where you used to go . I went everywhere with you , protected by a crowd of students , a face in the crowd , but one you never picked out . That was a long summer , Cindy ; I got to know a lot about you by the end of it . Before I even got to speak to you I had a good idea of your musical tastes , your fashion sense and your politics . I knew where you lived where you shopped and even how long your male visitors stayed after a night out . In another life I could have been a spy . We finally did meet the day you lost your bag in the college library . I found it under my chair , remember that ? You were so grateful that nothing was missing . You had your bus pass and the keys to your apartment in that bag , so it could have been quite serious . I never told you , Cindy , but I hid it there , I was so desperate to speak to you . It wasn 't just infatuation ; it was much more than that . I was already in love , I was your slave , I would have done anything to make you mine . I offered my soul to the devil in exchange for your heart and he obliged . It was a good job the offer was of enough value to him , I had nothing else . Remember those early days ? I couldn 't keep away ; I once slept in the passage outside your door because you had mentioned that some kids had been causing trouble in the flats . That was a cold night . I had to be at work the next morning , so I left at 7 am . I don 't think I 'd do that again , Cindy , much as I love you . My neck ached for days afterwards . I caught a cold too . How far did your flatmates go in trying to put you off me , Cindy ? I know that Janie and Cynth didn 't think I was your type . They made that pretty obvious whenever I came round . They used to lie sometimes when I rang and tell me you were busy when you weren 't . They were always trying to get you to go out with them if they knew we had a date . Thankfully you saw through them and would have none of it . You knew we were soul mates . Your mother didn 't like me much either did she ? Still doesn 't . I don 't know what I did to make her hate me so much . Did she ever tell you ? I tried my best with her . I was polite and respectful in the extreme ; I even used to stand up when she came into the room . None of it was enough to sway her opinion though . It 's such a shame I never got to meet your dad . I think we 'd have got on just fine ; he might even have put in a good word with your mother for me . He liked a beer , just as I do . Maybe if I 'd have gone out with him now and then , he might not have drunk quite so much . My heart bled for you when he died , Cindy , your mother was very bitter about it all . But maybe she was the cause of his problem in the first place . My mother loved you , Cindy , though you never took to her did you ? Yes I know she was a little protective , but I am her only son and a mother has to look after her young . If she seemed overly critical it was only because she wanted the best for me ; us . Where did it go wrong , Cindy ? Was it my job ? I know there were long hours , I know I was away a lot but I made good money . It meant you could stay home and write your stories ; they were good stories , Cindy . Those editors shouldn 't have been in their jobs , even I can tell a good yarn when I read one and they were good . I wanted to publish them for you , would have if I could . I 've spent many an unhappy hour trying to work out where and why we began to drift apart , but I 'm no closer to an answer . We were good together in the old days , we didn 't need anyone else . We talked for hours , fixed the world , laid out our plans and our dreams , even our fantasies . I was shocked by some of yours , Cindy ; though it looks like you were determined to fulfil a lot of them . Why so many men , Cindy ? I knew a good while back I wasn 't enough for you , so I got out of the way when I could . My mother never understood why I needed to stay over as often as I did , or why I didn 't bring you round with me . She told me that I was a fool to let you out on your own all the time . You were never home when she rang and my lame excuses got lamer as time went on . I didn 't agree with my mother all the time , Cindy . Maybe it would all have been different if we had managed to have kids . My mother was desperate to be a Grandmother . I think even your mother may have mellowed had we produced a grandchild for her . It wasn 't to be though , something to do with your ovaries . They all knew it was nothing to do with my body , but your mother blamed me anyway . I 'd give anything to make love to you one last time , Cindy ; but that 's not possible now , you being dead and all . I 'd have loved to have taken you to our wood by the river one last time . It 's autumn again , I could have laid you down in the fallen leaves ; it was my favourite place , our special place . Did you ever take anyone else there , Cindy ? I hope not , that wouldn 't have been right . I 'll have let you lie alone for a while , Cindy ; I 've got a cramp in my arm now . Maybe that 's a good thing as I won 't feel the hypodermic when I use it . I 'll take the same amount I gave to you ; it worked pretty quickly . You seemed to be having trouble finding a vein ; I guess that 's what happens when you do it as often as you did . I never begrudged you the money for the drugs , Cindy ; I knew that you needed them to get by . I didn 't like the people you had to mix with to get the stuff though . Some of them should have been in jail . I was robbed more than once buying it for you myself . You weren 't happy when I came back empty handed , but when I did , that guy Rodrigo always came through . You seemed very close to him ; he didn 't smile much did he ? Did you know he ran prostitutes ? I only found out the other day ; it was in the papers , they arrested him for it . It 's getting dark now , Cindy , I guess it 's almost time to say goodbye . I 've left a note for my mother , but not for yours . I have nothing to say to her . What could I say ? I 've never done anything right in her eyes and I don 't expect her to approve of this either . I 'll say a prayer for you , Cindy and one for me . I think God will understand why I did it . I 'll put in a word for you when I get to heaven . I 'm sure they 'll let you off with a warning or something . You were never a bad person ; you might even get to see your Dad . I doubt your mother will ever be allowed in though . There are limits , even in heaven . A single tear meandered down his cheek , he wiped it away with the back of his hand , winced , then cursed his injured knee as he forced himself out of the chair and made his painful way across the timbered floor , to the fridge . Gritting his teeth he pulled out a cold beer and rolled the bottle up his bare arm to test the temperature . Satisfied , he removed the cap and wandered through the open door to the veranda . He sipped slowly at the beer , deep in thought . He was aroused by the sound of a car driving across gravel ; a voice came from the darkness . ' Is there one of those things going spare ? ' Steve smiled . ' Thanks for the spare copy , I 'm really looking forward to reading it . I 'll make sure the other one gets to the post office first thing tomorrow . Secure post to the publisher . Have you decided on a new character for the next book yet ? ' ' The next book will be about a cop , a cop who is out to destroy the filth that corrupts the innocent . ' Harris waited until he heard the car drive off . Then he fired up the computer . Within five minutes he was deep into the second paragraph . He hit the keys hard as he typed , this one was for Melissa . I looked at the letter , stupefied . Milan , who 'd met me on the way home from work , must 've picked up my reaction . He came behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist . I remember the phone call from my mother 's neighbour , her voice hurried , panicky . At first all she could say was my name , ' Katia , ' over and over . Mum hadn 't collected her post . The police had broken in . Accidental overdose : no suicide note has been found but there was an empty bottle of painkillers . No mention of her other medication so she probably got rid of the packaging and transferred the pills to the painkiller bottle . She 'd wanted a tidy ending : no lingering into old age and ill health for her . She 'd have hated the thought of being a burden . But that was how she saw it . Not how I saw it . She wasn 't easy but she wasn 't a burden . I shook my head . ' She called him Ghost . No one knows who he was . ' In my class only five children had two parents . We were all the first to be born after the war . At sixteen , I 'd left to find work . My mother 's work as seamstress was held in high regard but regard and low pay , often in kind , doesn 't put enough food on the table . It was selfish asking her to continue to struggle just to keep me in education . I didn 't send money : she wouldn 't accept it . But I did send gifts , a sweater , a pair of shoes , a new coat and insisted on paying the heating bills . She felt the cold . Milan shuffles off to warm up the stew I made yesterday . Usually I tease him about it : he 's a city boy whose mother did everything for him . My mother taught me to cook as soon as I could stand . Play dough and dumplings to start with , then more simple stuff and eventually I found myself doing all the cooking . I didn 't mind , I enjoyed it . My mother wanted me to be independent , ' in case anything happens , Katia . ' I knew if anything happened to her , we were on our own . I join him at our table , a small counter wedged against the wall in a tiny kitchen . It 's a tiny apartment but affordable on my wages . Milan wants us to find somewhere a bit bigger , using our combined wages . I tell him he has to learn how to clean and iron first . I 'm not his mother . He can 't tell I 'm lying . I 've already decided I won 't go . I 've been allowed a couple of days ' leave . The bus drops me in the middle of the village . As I approach mum 's house , I feel uneasy . There 's nothing to suggest there was a death here , at least not an unnatural death . I look at the house . Squat , two storeys that still looks as if the neighbouring houses are somehow holding it up . Window frames and door well - maintained . Mum always did paint the woodwork regularly . But something 's out of place . It 's not until I open the door , lock it closed behind me and see sunlight catching dust motes that I realise the curtains are drawn . Mum never drew the curtains , always did her sewing in gloomy , dim artificial light . I 'd tell her she 'd strain her eyes but she 'd laugh and joke that she 'd never live long enough for that to be a problem . I lay my handbag and key down on the small shelf in the hall , the sounds muffled by an embroidered runner . I run my finger over a satin - stitched petal . Then dart upstairs . My room was on the left . I open the door . The room 's bare . I draw the curtains which are thin enough to let in plenty of light . I drop to the floor . This is where my bed was . Opposite there used to be a wardrobe with a small table next to it . The table used to have a small tablecloth with embroidered cats on . The room 's been repainted , but the nail that mum hung my first sampler on is still there . It was agony , so many unpickings and re - stitchings and a blood stain from pin - prick I thought would never come out . Then mum washed it and stretched it into a frame and I cried again : it had all been worth it . She 'd sold the furniture but I didn 't believe she would have sold the sampler so it must still be here somewhere . I go into her room . First thing I do is straighten the bedclothes , then half - close the curtains . It doesn 't look right with the light flooding in . I open her wardrobe . Maybe half a dozen dresses hang over two pairs of shoes and the holdall I 'm looking for . I can smell the mothballs I can 't see stuck on the shelf , hidden behind a pile of sweaters . None of them will fit me . I put the holdall on the bed and look in . There it is . She probably sold the frame , but the sampler 's carefully wrapped in a patchworked bedcover and rolled into the holdall . I wrap it up again and return it . Then I pick up the small tablecloth from her bedside table and fold that into the holdall . I leave her bed . I never could get on with it . The mattress over - stuffed and too soft , suffocating layers of blankets but mum complained of being cold at night . Cold , tired and careworn . If I woke at night I could sometimes catch the sound of her sobs . But she 'd push me away if I went to her . Her little ray of sunshine shouldn 't know about such things . It would ruin me she said . I go back downstairs , still carrying the holdall . She 'd put her sewing machine under its cover as she always did . There were piles of cloth around the room , which I didn 't disturb . Her customers could collect them when I felt ready to deal with it . The sewing machine 's safe enough where it is , but I tease out the tablecloth from under it . How she never got the tablecloth caught amongst the sewing I 'd never know . It 's the kitchen that finishes me . I sink onto the cushioned wooden bench behind the table , ball up the tablecloth into a pillow and let the tears finally come . This is where we lived . Where we ate , where I did my homework , where she told me fairy stories . Where I 'd embroider or finish buttonholes by hand , freeing her up to start the next job on the machine . On the rare occasions she 'd managed to find some plum brandy and drunk one too many , she 'd let things slip . She mumbled about me kicking her into being . She 'd come back here after the war , numbed , walking dead . But she was pregnant . She disbelieved at first but I kicked and fidgeted and kicked . She 'd pretend I was a changeling . I was so light and blonde where she was swarthy . I was an easy baby , apparently , full of gurgles and giggles and grew into an easy child . That must have been the brandy talking . I never found out my father 's name . He was always spoken of as Ghost . I had her surname . She never wore a wedding ring . I 'd assumed she 'd sold it . But now I suspect I she never had one . I splash cold water over my face . I 'm tempted to make a pot of tea , but already I need to think about getting back . I fold up the tablecloth and manage to squash in a couple of the cushions as well . The table looks bare and I 'm amazed as its transformation from something welcoming and homely to something solid , hard and unforgiving . The holdall 's bulky but light . I stuffed some sandwiches in my handbag before coming but I 'll eat them on the bus . I pick up the key and hesitate before unlocking the door again . The house belongs to neither of us now . After the funeral , I 'll clear it and sell it . I still don 't feel ready to put the key in the lock . I listen . The silence in the house is so loud it almost echoes . I don 't know why I think it , but the silence seems to suggest my father was never here . Walking back to my apartment I notice a man on the other side of the street . He 's wearing a suit and carrying a briefcase . He 's also blond and blue - eyed like me , but that 's not why I notice him . It 's his nose . It 's upturned slightly at the end , just like mine . He raises his hand to his eyes to shield from the sun as he checks before crossing the street . His wedding band glints . Back in my apartment I pick up my mum 's letter . I hold it over the sink and set it alight , only dropping it as it threatens to burn my fingers . At least her death won 't be recorded as suicide . It won 't be recorded as murder , either , although it should be . But that assumes you can be murdered by a ghost . Burning Tradition Roger Noons a cup of strong tea with just a drop of whisky ' Edwin want 's to see you my Roger . ' ' Edwin Davies ? ' Rosie . . .