Short stories, poems, journalism
We walked Beacon Hill again on Good Friday. It’s a great place to walk with views across the Trent and Sow valleys. Spring is here and the lambs too. The top of the hill is wooded, partially hiding a tiny cave or at least shelter in the sandstone.
I wrote a short story set on Beacon Hill here a few years ago.
This piece was shortlisted in the Failing Writers’ Podcast.
It’s a little bit bleak but the theme was ‘Failing’ and it is loosely based on real events which are sadly familiar for many emergency services workers.
I’m staring out of the window in a workshop about emotion. Down by the subway Tommy is hitting a fence with a traffic cone. Willow, who’s leading the session, asks how I feel. Like a dustpan and brush, I say. So much for joining up to make a difference.
Being part of a shift where everyone’s paired up means I get to patrol solo, so I don’t get the juicier jobs. I get sudden deaths and statements. I drink your tea and I listen. You tell me about the grandkids that never call you and the cost of your heating and by the time we’re done it doesn’t matter that we’re never going to find that burglar who stole your Royal Doulton or the cash in the biscuit tin in your pantry.
Sudden deaths are anything but sudden. I went out to this fella yesterday. He’d been gone so long he was becoming part of the carpet. No one knew his name. His room contained a rickety old wardrobe crammed full of tins of stewing steak, a hot plate and a fork. Not much for a life is it?
I found no letters, no photos, no rent book. I heard the landlord say there’d be no new carpet. They’d shampoo and scrub away the outline of the dead fella which seemed a fitting metaphor for a sad life. I wish I could scrub away his death smell that lingers in my nostrils and my uniform.
Later, I stop and give Tommy a banana from my lunch box. I’m glad there’s no one to witness this small act of kindness. He scoffs it greedily. Towards the end of shift I see him on the ring road, agitated as if a swarm of bees is plaguing him. I pull in, blue lights strobing his makeshift tent of coats and tarps. ‘Help me’ he says. My radio crackles and my call sign’s given. ‘Sorry I haven’t got time,’ I tell Tommy. He’s imploring me to stay but it’s an urgent assistance call.
I nail it across town, rushing red lights and swerving through a crossroads. When I turn into the Meadows estate Simmo is sitting on the bonnet of his car tapping his watch, shaking his head. He’s already made the arrest. I’m wanted for the statement. Last job is a guy who died climbing the stairs. I throw a duvet over him till the undertakers arrive. That’s five this week. Bring out your dead.
I’m on earlies next day. The sarge is waiting for me in the yard, arms folded. ‘Did you see Tommy yesterday?’
‘Why, what’s he done now?’
‘He’s dead son. And you had contact.’
Tommy was found hanging by the canal. I have to write it up, make it sound as if we didn’t fail him. There’s a flickering candle in a pasta jar by the subway. I wish Tommy was still here, but don’t know what I’d do differently.
It’s always great to see your work in print and to reach an audience.
Writing can often be a lonely business.
So I was delighted when my short story Left Luggage was highly commended in the Sunday Post short story prize.
They kindly sent a certificate and book vouchers and today the piece was published in their PS supplement.
The masthead is below. And certificate.
The results of the Sunday Post newspaper short story competition were revealed today.
I’m delighted that my story ‘Left Luggage’ was highly commended and will be published in the newspaper in the coming weeks.
Full story here.
Congratulations to Peter Bray for his winning story My Changing Face and the other entrants. I look forward to reading them.
I’m grateful to the Sunday Post as writing can be a lonely business so it provides great encouragement when highly commended in a national prize. I look forward to receiving a certificate and book tokens too!
Left Luggage is a mystery thriller story about the discovery of a suitcase during renovations at a house.
My short story ‘Bring Out Your Dead’ has been shortlisted in The Failing Writers’ Podcast flash fiction competition.
The theme was ‘Failing’ and I wrote about a police officer struggling to cope with the constant demands of his job.
The Failing Writer’s Podcast is very funny and has great guests – recently these have included Mark Billingham and Emma Healey. It’s very informative with great tips and advice if you’re into writing and developing your skills.
Richard Lakin's Blog 