After George died, Gladys stopped drinking tea. She didn’t want to make it if her husband wasn’t going to drink it. So why is she waiting for the kettle to boil?

A Nice Cup of Tea

Gladys waited for the kettle to boil and wished she were making tea for George. How many times had she boiled a kettle for him? Over sixty years ago she’d started doing it. At just seventeen, she’d been so noticeable and pretty, with long red hair, green eyes and freckles. She saw her reflection, distorted in the kettle’s round metal surface, distorted too by age. Her hair was all anonymous neat grey curls now, her freckles hidden amongst the age spots and wrinkles, her once bright eyes faded and cloudy. No one noticed her now.

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Elle Meadows was used to the needs of the farm coming before anything she might want for herself so didn’t get her hopes up when a florist’s van pulled into their driveway. Lack of flowers she could cope with, but did the driver really need to call her ‘mate’?

A Piece of Pink Ribbon

Elle Meadows limped back towards the warmth of the farmhouse, clutching the piece of pink ribbon and trying not to cry. Was she being unreasonably selfish to hope for one small touch of luxury or comfort in her life? Normally she didn’t mind the hard work, the dirt or the early mornings; she liked working on the farm. The sight of their cows grazing happily, a new litter of piglets being brought into the world or the hens roosting safely for the night always made her smile. She loved the scent of freshly made hay, fresh warm milk and the wood smoke from the range in the kitchen. Today though she felt that if she were to see one more muddy animal or smell the sweaty aroma from its damp back then she’d be ready to head for the city and apply for an office job.

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Julia Colgan had been a loser from thirty-seven seconds after her birthday. That didn’t mean she intended to stay that way forever.

A Real Winner

Julia Colgan had always been a loser. It started thirty-seven seconds before her birth; Julia had the newspaper cuttings to prove it. ‘Local girl loses out,’ it said. Her mum had been expected to deliver the first baby at the newly opened maternity hospital. Local businesses had promised all kinds of birthday gifts for the first child; photographs by the portrait photographer, clothes, shoes and nappies from children’s shops; bottles, sterilising fluid and rusks.

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Luke’s a wannabe spy and unwilling schoolboy. He knows Mrs Burton, a neighbour, was a spy. He suspected Old Ted Holmes was too. What he hadn’t considered was that while he was keeping an eye on them, they were conducting a new mission of their own.

A Spy in our Midst

I can’t remember who first told me Mrs Burton was a spy. I don’t suppose anyone came right out and said it; I wouldn’t have believed them if they had. She didn’t look like a spy, but then you wouldn’t be much of a spy if you did, would you? I didn’t look like one either, but at fourteen I knew that’s what I was destined for. I’d never missed an episode of Spooks and I’d watched every 007 dvd. I’d even read some of the books.

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Andy knows life isn’t a rehersal. He wishes the same wasn’t true of his romances with Jemima.

Ad Lib

Jemima ran her manicured hand through her fine, blonde hair and asked, “Will you marry me?”

Andy almost dropped his script. He blinked and wondered if he’d heard her correctly.

She moved along the sofa so she sat with her thigh touching his, took his hand in hers, looked into his eyes and whispered the words again, “Will you marry me?”

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Nine year old Adam, police deputy in training, has a very important task. As well as catching the burglar and keeping his parents’ secret he must save the magic of Christmas.

Adam’s First Case

Adam adjusted the focus of his binoculars. He’d promised community police officer PC Marks that he would carry out observations, because of the recent burglaries in the area. Adam is an unofficial deputy and in training for when he’s old enough to join the force. It was already dark outside, and Adam had been on stake-out since tea time. He could see people in the garden, but they weren’t burglars. It was his mum and dad. He went to see what they were doing.

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Serena is either too young or too old for absolutely everything she wants to do and it just isn’t fair!

Age Related Problems

“Don’t be so childish, Serena,” Mum snapped.

I sulked. Yeah, I know sulking is childish too, but life wasn’t fair and other than screaming and shouting, I couldn’t think of anything else to do. Yesterday, I’d asked Mum if it was OK for me to stay out late on Friday night. I thought it was bound to be OK because I didn’t have school the next day and I’d be going to a public place with a responsible adult. Any reasonable person would think it’s OK for a thirteen year old girl to go to the pictures under such circumstances.

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Amy and I wanted to find Cara a nice man so she’d be as happy as us.

He had to be someone pretty special though.

All Talk

“We need to find Cara a nice man,” Amy whispered at the dress fitting.

“We’ve been trying for years, what makes you think we can do it now?” I asked.

“She’s seen how happy we both are and I think she’s ready to settle down.”

Cara swished back the curtain. “What do you think, Lucy?”

“You look beautiful, but I knew you would.,” I told her. It was true, she’d been a beautiful bridesmaid at Amy’s wedding and would do the same for me next month. We’d made a pact to be bridesmaids at each other’s weddings. Technically Amy will be my matron of honour, but you don’t think of things like that when you’re nine.

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Del had a look on his face that suggested he had good news and wanted to share it. He wasn’t the only one.

Big Loser

I almost walked into a lamp post when I realised who it was that Del reminded me of. You’d be surprised too if you were a twenty something girl who’d just recognised yourself in her retired male neighbour who sported the craziest moustache outside of Cuba. I don’t mean we look alike; I’m as pale as he is dark. He’s a good foot taller and several stones lighter. Yeah, you’ve got it – he’s fit and I’m fat.

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Molly decided she and Ted should spend more time together. It seemed like a good idea until she realised that meant either attending the bowls club or, far far worse, filling their time with her interests.

Bowled Over

Molly had known she wouldn’t enjoy the bowls club’s annual BBQ and trophy presentation evening and therefore was proved right. Several people approached her and Ted, wanting to chat. Molly didn’t encourage them. She knew the moment they got into conversation they’d start talking about bowls and she’d be excluded. She didn’t eat any of the profiteroles decorated with red and blue icing spots to represent bowls.

“It’s silly, why’s everything got to be about bowls?” she asked Ted.

“Because it’s a bowls club, lass, anyway it’s just a bit of fun, they still taste the same.”

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Louise felt like a quarter pounder on the grill as the people around her licked their lips and discussed side dishes. She should never have let Cindy talk her into coming. Come to think of it, what on earth was Cindy doing as her friend slowly roasted?

Cannibal’s Hymn

Louise attempted to ignore the hungry people who surrounded her. She tried not to watch them rub their hands and lick their lips. They muttered horribly. She was too upset to listen to the words and tried to be grateful that at least the noise blocked out the sounds of their rumbling stomachs. It sounded as though they were praying or, more terribly, saying grace.

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Tasha didn’t seem to see Craig’s wheelchair or his inability to climb mountains. He didn’t mind that.   He did wish though that she’d understand he didn’t deserve her love. How could he prove the truth of something he didn’t want to face up to himself?

Climbing Mountains

Tasha leant over Craig’s shoulder and looked at the magazine he was reading.

“Thinking of going mountaineering?” she asked.

Craig flinched. He’d been so interested in the article he hadn’t noticed her arrival. Looking down at the photograph of Kilimanjaro, rising icy and majestic from the African plains, Craig recalled reading about the difficulties faced during a climb and the exhilaration experienced at the summit.

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It wasn’t easy for Terry to communicate with his new wife. That was partly due to the fact he was on deployment with the Royal Navy and partly because she was so busy with her own life and her ‘really nice’ new friend David.

Coming Home

He’d phoned her on Tuesday, from the ship. He’d queued for over an hour waiting his turn. The communication system had been down for a fortnight and everyone was anxious to contact their loved ones. Twenty minutes each they were allowed, whenever the system was working. Terry had listened to the men before him, he couldn’t avoid it. They were assuring wives and mothers they were well and missing their family. Everyone was eager to prepare for their homecoming, just a few weeks away.

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Mary was a reasonably competent cook unless she tried to recreate one of her mother-in-law’s wonderful recipes. Her sister’s-in-law all seemed to have the same problem. Surely it couldn’t be entirely coincidence?

Cooking the Books

Mary scraped the gooey pink mess into the dog’s bowl. Luckily Splash would eat anything and although it seemed a waste to give all that exotic seafood to a spaniel, it was better than throwing it away. Mary made herself a cup of tea and then re-read the recipe she’d copied into her notebook. No; she just couldn’t see where she’d gone wrong.

She sighed. It had been a mistake to try and impress her husband with her culinary skills; it never worked. Besides he loved her for herself, not her abilities in the kitchen. She wouldn’t have bothered, except that woman, Mike’s mother, had made it all sound so easy.

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When Valerie’s fiancé dumped her just weeks before their planned wedding, she sank into a depression and doubted she’d ever find the strength to dig her way out.

Digging for Victory

It’s funny the things that can change your life, I think as I glance at the clock. There is just time for me to dry my hair and apply some makeup if I hurry. Who would have thought that I’d be rushing around trying to fit everything into my busy life? Who’d ever have thought that I’d have three charming men vying for my attention? Not anyone who’d seen me a year ago, I’m sure. There’d have taken one look at me and thought ‘loser’. They’d have been right too.

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Dennis had made careful arrangements so he could be with his daughter when she gave birth. Dennis was reliable, unlike that man she’d married.

Dizzy

Dennis answered his mobile. “Yes, love?”

“Dad, I think I’ve started. I’m fine … but I’d like you to come if you can.”

“Of course I can.”

He said he’d be there, so he’d be there. Dennis, unlike some he could name, wasn’t the sort to let his darling Melanie give birth all alone. Dizzy! Even the man’s name sounded unreliable. Well, Dizzy had a very important photo shoot two weeks before his first child was due to be born and had gone swanning off to the Outer Hebrides. Honestly, you couldn’t make it up.

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Jean’s almost learned not to judge by appearances, but when she sees the tattooed man punch the bus driver she assumes he’s caused the crash which broke her granddaughter’s arm.

Drawing Conclusions

Keeping tight hold of her granddaughter’s hand, Jean stepped onto the bus. She had to let go to pay the driver and put the tickets into her bag.

“Don’t run, Millie. Wait for me.”

It was too late; Millie had already selected a seat. Jean joined her, wishing Millie hadn’t sat so close to the big ugly man in the leather waistcoat. As Jean looked at the back of his shaved head and tattooed arms, she wondered why he was on a bus at all. Probably caught drink driving and lost his licence, she guessed.

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Eleanor was looking forward to having her young relations come for a visit. Surely caring for children couldn’t be as impossible as her friends and neighbours feared?

Easter at Eleanor’s

Eleanor now understood why her great niece, Suzie, had sounded so grateful on the telephone. Suzie, heavily pregnant with her unexpected fourth baby, had called with the news that she was scheduled for a caesarean in just over a month’s time.

“Please don’t worry too much about that, Suzie love. I believe it’s a routine procedure these days.”

“I’m not worried about the operation, well not much anyway,” Suzie had assured her.

“But you are worried about something?” Eleanor guessed.

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‘Essence of Humour’ is a collection of short stories which brings together the best of humour writing from 17 authors across the globe.

The mixing bowl has been in the family for generations, handed down from mother to daughter. I want to continue the tradition but, as I have twin girls, I can’t without dividing either it or them. My family is already too fractured for me to take that risk.

Family Recipe

I fetch the ceramic mixing bowl from the garage. It’s too heavy for everyday use, so for most of the year it’s put away. It only comes out when I mix together the Christmas pudding ingredients. My grandmother used this bowl to make her Christmas puddings before she passed it on to my mother. The bowl is mine now. I’ve taught my own daughters, Sally and Carol, to make puddings according to the family recipe.

As I run water to clean it, before making this year’s batch, I’m reminded I can’t keep doing this for much longer.

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When they’d had so much trouble getting the decorating right she’d told Ian the kitchen was the heart of the home. He said she was the heart of his home. Now the kitchen was bare, Ian was gone and the colour of the paint on the walls no longer seemed important.

Fiona’s Kitchen

It had taken them three attempts to get the colour right. They’d chosen a shade of paint called, ‘Honeysuckle’. She’d loved the name and the warm, welcoming shade on the colour chart. Once on the walls it had been more of a hard cold yellow. Ian had never been too bothered about the finer details of interior decorating, but when he saw she was disappointed, he cheerfully bought another tin of paint and put on another coat. That turned out to be bright orange.

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A brooch, even one with the history of Mazie’s forget-me-not jewel, can’t really bring true love. People can’t point the way to happiness after their death. It’s all just coincidence.

Forget Me Not

Every time I see the picture of Gran, I wonder about the brooch. It’s a pretty little silver thing, shaped like a forget-me-not and decorated with tiny blue glass beads. Despite what’s happened, I don’t see how it can influence anything.

Gran gave it to me after a boyfriend dumped me. Only Gran and my friend Chris seemed to care. It’s a shame they never met, they’d have got on so well.

“Real love is worth waiting for,” Gran reminded me.

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Emma is late. Again. This time it’s different; we’re hoping it won’t be the last time.

Girls’ Night Out

When I walked into the pub, the others were already at the bar; except Emma. After our conversation the day before, I’d hoped she’d have made an effort to be early.

“See you in The Frog and Bucket tomorrow?” I’d said.

“There again? Can’t we just do something spontaneous?” Emma had asked.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. If we decide now, it won’t be spontaneous, will it?”

“No, but if we leave it to you, we’ll be spontaneously hanging about waiting  until it’s too late to go anywhere.”

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Granddad’s magic cushion helped Sue learn to roller skate, settle into Uni and through a difficult pregnancy. Then just when she needed it most, she discovered it wasn’t special at all.

Granddad’s Cushion

One of my earliest memories is Granddad teaching me to roller skate. I wasn’t scared; I had Granddad and his magic cushion. When Granddad produced that deep red square of padded velvet and his old leather belt, I knew everything would be just fine. Once he’d strapped the cushion round my skinny hips and pulled the belt as tight as one of his hugs, I was ready for anything.

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I almost left it too late to appreciate both my grandfather and my childhood.

Granddad’s Snowman

I place my grandfather’s blue hat onto the snowman’s head, as carefully as if I was placing it onto that beloved scabby skull instead of this grey ball of compacted snow. I wrap Granddad’s tatty scarf gently around the union between the icy head and shapeless body. Standing back I view the result, there is a smile on my face and tears in my eyes.

“We’ve done it, Granddad, we’ve built your snowman.”

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