Tag: short story

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The Man Across the Hall

Suzanne Conboy-Hill

The man across the hall When I open my door, he shuts his, and he opens it again when mine shuts. It’s like we have a rope tied to the handles across the corridor. He creeps out when he thinks I’m not looking – but I am; I’m peeking through the spyhole I use to check who’s at the door: politicians peddling policies, Jehovah’s Witnesses peddling salvation. I invite some of them in, the ones I think might be entertaining, and we have long chats. Not the neighbours though, and certainly not the man across the hall. One day there … Continue reading The Man Across the Hall

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Speckles in the Sky

Suzanne Conboy-Hill

‘Coming on nicely,’ said the man jogging by. ‘Nearly there.’ Lynda turned to check out the source of this odd intrusion. Her heels spun and she almost lost her balance; damn council, leaving the pavements in disrepair. She twisted back again and found herself rotating the other way, like a rapper’s disc on a concrete turntable. Maybe it wasn’t the pavement, maybe it was the wine … ‘Last day, today.’ It was him again, and it wasn’t quite a question. Lynda turned and the turn became a twirl. She winged out her arms for stability. Definitely the wine! As a … Continue reading Speckles in the Sky

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Out of Time

Suzanne Conboy-Hill

‘Stop it right now, you dizzy tart!’Marissa Nalletamby was giving herself a telling-off in front of the mirror.‘He’s married, you’re married. You don’t even like him much. Dresses like a nerd. Probably a control freak’Her brain delivered moral rectitude and the logic of actuarial evidence but her body knew better and overrode it with a wistful sigh that steamed up the cold glass on the wall.They had met, the two couples, at a neighbour’s anniversary party four years ago and, while there had been no common ground upon which to build a more than superficial relationship, Marissa had found herself … Continue reading Out of Time

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Not blue, not fresh, not ever free

Suzanne Conboy-Hill

The sea had embroidery at its edges. It cast a frill of pretty ruffles over the pebbles and sank like fine silk in between them before the giant in the deep ocean turned over in his sleep and drew it back. Sometimes, the sea came in as light and instead of weaving threads in and out amongst the grains of sand and bits of shell, it picked out clefts and promontories, little islands in miniature and brightened them out of the shade. When it did this, Josie looked for the inhabitants of the islands, crouching close and lifting small stones … Continue reading Not blue, not fresh, not ever free

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Dog Day

Suzanne Conboy-Hill

The bumble bee, a young drone, dipped towards the pond, took on ballast and made its way over to the clump of dandelions by the fence. The other drone, Alice’s husband Frank, watched lazily and aimed a desultory flick at a hoverfly positioned just above his head, and buzzing as it appeared to give the person in the lounger a multifaceted once-over. Middle aged, over weight (not obese, he would argue when challenged), and thinning on top, Frank was in the process of decommissioning his youth and taking on an identity loosely recognisable as early-onset decrepit geezer. Redundancy had stolen … Continue reading Dog Day

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Emily Buckingham and the Major’s Madam

Suzanne Conboy-Hill

Emily Buckingham and the Major’s Madam Up until the point at which she first met Mrs Wilberforce, Emily Buckingham’s life had been about as eventful as a well-prepared cucumber sandwich; there were few shocks to be had in such a thing. Now though, as she lay supine in the mud – a Bruegelian Lady of Shallot, her dress billowing in quantities of putrescence, it could hardly be more eventful. Matters began with an incident on an omnibus. The vehicle in question had come to a precipitous halt at the roadside, near to where Miss Buckingham’s carriage rested, in order to … Continue reading Emily Buckingham and the Major’s Madam

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