How did it come to this?I’m sitting between my wide-eyed and frankly startled parents, waiting for my name to be called. My mum keeps saying that I haven’t done anything to be ashamed of and that I have done nothing wrong.“It’s all her fault,” she insists, “she made you do it; her and that twisted husband of hers, they forced you.” That’s what she wants to believe, and I let her.The press, of course, is having a field day...

The weeks that followed Mrs Conway’s birthday party were a blur. Mandy hadn’t been slow at voicing her appraisal of me; the reviews were out and favourable. Soon it seemed that everyone wanted a piece of young Joey Potter. This brought new challenges. As much as I enjoyed the attentions of the female half of the school, to the male side, I became a target as they were jealous of my newfound fame. It was a few months later...

Sunday morning. Through my bedroom window, I could hear my dad’s distinctive laugh as he talked to our neighbour. As far as I was concerned, Sunday was Groundhog Day. Mum was playing Steve Wright’s love songs on the radio in the kitchen as she peeled the spuds for Sunday dinner, as dad kept out of her way. It had been two weeks since my encounter with Mrs Harrison in the boys’ changing room. Now, every time I stepped out...

A pound of apples and satsumas; half-a-pound of carrots and onions; a cauliflower and a bag of potatoes please, Joey.” Zoe Cooke stood shivering on the pavement in front of me. She was buttoned up against the elements in a huge red duffle coat. It was indeed freezing cold and business was slow. It was one of those days where you could easily pack up and admit defeat. In fact, I think it would have been a relief. But life...

  I stopped at the corner of Churchill Road and Stirling Avenue. Heavy snow was falling and settling on the ground. The old Seaman’s hall clock strikes eight in the distance, it’s chime carrying on the still of the night, across the town. As I pass the Black Sails pub, a rousing chorus of ‘I’m forever blowing bubbles’ spills out into the street. Through the orange glow the of misted-up windows, I can see Archie in the cen...

Summer Late Afternoon The girl carefully left her sun lounger, and although the pool’s edge was only a metre or so from where she lay, walked its full length, completely aware of the attention that she attracted, as men and women alike lowered their sunglasses and peered over the top of their books. It wasn’t difficult to read their minds; in fact, it was obvious really; they didn’t hide it. The women wished they were her...

Late evening The soft lapping of the water against the side of the boat and the rhythmic putt putt of the motor were failing to be a calming influence as I fought against the waves of claustrophobia.  I’m not sure exactly how long we had been on the boat, or how far we had traveled, but I did know that I had spent far too long inside this airless hood. I caught snatches of muffled conversation and laughter, but not enough...

Sunday morning   My dad always called my mother a witch. You see, she has this sixth sense, ‘a feeling,’ she calls it. She instinctively knows when something, normally bad, is going to happen, and that is what I was experiencing at that moment. It was a knot in the pit of my stomach that sent uneasy signals to my brain. I haven’t a clue what made me feel that way or why this feeling had arrived, but it had. And I didn’t l...

“Penny for them,” Sally said, her voice drawing me back into the room, as would a hypnotist clicking his fingers. We were now alone. She sat in a wicker chair in the corner facing me as a low murmur of thunder sounded over the hills in the distance. “What?” “What?!” She mocked, impersonating my cockney accent, “You were miles away, sweetie.” I felt the right side of my neck, running over the tip of my finger over the sore...

“How much did David Hamilton know of your affair with his wife?” I heard the question as soon as the last word of the statement had been completed.  It pierced the silence like a gunshot. The female reporter sat on the end of a row about halfway up in this crowded press room. Her question proved to be a catalyst, setting off a frenzy of barely comprehensible noise from her colleagues.  Of the few questions that I understo...

BEEP…BEEP…BEEP. Plumes of thick smoke rise from the small piles of burning leaves that are dotted around the ancient church cemetery, stinging the eyes of the mourners and choking their lungs, as they file out into the murky gloom of the graveyard, their steps marked by the heavy toll of the church bell. The leaden sun of early winter is slowly dimming in the dusk of the late afternoon. The procession of formally dressed...

Seven weeks later, I was taken in a wheelchair by a nurse, a hospital porter and my mother, from ward 3B on the fourth floor, into a service lift heading to level zero. Somebody within the walls of this building had leaked the news of my discharge to the press, and by 8.30 that morning a small group of hacks and paparazzi had gathered outside the hospital, all hungry for a quote or picture of yours truly. My consultant, D...

A thick fog had descended on us. It came creeping off the Thames at dusk and now clung to every corner of the city, still and unmoving. It was Saturday night, October 31st, Halloween. I was sitting in the back of a black Mercedes Benz, wearing a black tuxedo with a black flash drive hidden in the heel of my right shoe. I was nervous and I could hear my heart beating hard in my chest while all the time there was a constant...