MIR Editor

Twitter Envelope On the northeast end of the island, on top of a cliff, there’s an orchard that has no right to be there. Maybe no one told those olive trees that they can’t grow on rock, or maybe they did, and the trees ignored them anyway, and went ahead and carved their roots in…

“Line up your chipolatas on the grill pan,” bright green trousers, used to be a chef in the army, says, barking at us like we’re all dogs and he’s the alpha. Fuck me, did I know I’d be faced with this twat when I agreed to come along to the cookery class with Tony, as…

Cape Town, 1982 Nobody had liked her uncle’s wife. Not her kind-hearted granny – who for reasons unknown, didn’t trust her. Nor her sanctimonious aunts and their drunken husbands – who she suspected were jealous of the pretty woman, nor her stern, bible-reading grandfather – who often commented on the woman’s lack of church attendance.

“Nice garden, Charlie.” He’s sitting on the bench, nestled amid magnificent summer borders, secluded and peaceful, strategically placed for reflection. It was barely dawn, the smell of Turkish tobacco wafting through my window had broken a fitful sleep, transporting me back, up the A23, from East Sussex to the smoke. Soho to be precise. “Pucker…

Lottie opens the door, her eyes sleepy. She’s smoked a joint already. Maybe they all have, maybe several. The conversation will be warm and slow, and my voice will sound too loud, exaggerated, my mouth taking up my whole face. My lips twitch as I smile.  I’m late, I say.

I wait in the passenger seat for Dad to start the engine. The window is cool against my forehead as I lean into the glass, watching Mum on the doorstep, stifling tears. Dad wouldn’t stop groaning about his back as he loaded my stuff into the boot, but I know it’s just his way of…

The year I turned fourteen, Mr Howard took the top set for maths. He was one of four male teachers at Carpenden High School for Girls but the only one anyone ever talked about. He wasn’t traditionally good-looking. His wavy hair was slightly too long, his fleshy nose a little too large for his face,…

I can see him holding on to the far buoy with his head leant back, staring out to the horizon. I watch his bright red cap bob between the waves as I sit in my lifeguard Kayak. Paddle across my lap. Swimming shorts dampened by the sea. It’s been three days now.

(15 Guidelines For a Swift Recovery) Put on that leopard print dress with its elastic rah-rah skirt and low slit on the neck that’s been at the back of the cupboard for two decades. The last time you wore it, maybe your twenty-first, long before kids.

Whistling, I gaze through my reflection. This plexiglass doesn’t look strong enough to hold all that water. After a moment, it seems as if a smack of moon jellies are floating within me, and I have a stomach full of UV berets. Even so, I admire the glass. Framed by an ever-changing light feature; the…