nick-lennon-barrett

Breaking Point

Sat, 10 Feb 2024 08:00:00 GMT

Mark inhaled deeply. It gave an air of confidence to your casual observer, yet merely cast a mild fog over his nerves. This was going to be the most difficult conversation of his life. He was never one to admit defeat. Pride is the worst of sins. We all succumb to it at some point in our lives. It may only be once, or we have a loyalty card: pride will always take you.

Facing his boss was a terrifying prospect. She was a formidable woman. An open and inviting exterior but scratch that surface and you catch a glint of the metal exoskeleton underneath the false fuzziness. She could destroy him with a raised eyebrow. He knew things had gone too far. This discussion should have happened months ago.

Mark looked in the mirror. This place had aged him. He forced a smile, the creases showing things had taken their toll. Laughter lines his mother called them. Nothing was that hilarious. His dark brown hair, now peppered with too much salt for a man in his early thirties. His once penetrating blue eyes, a cloudy grey with black pin prick dots. This couldn’t go on.

He read over the piece of paper again; it became heavy in his sweaty palm. Why hadn’t he sent an email? He could have done it when he was working from home. Away from the blast radius. But he knew there was no other choice. If he wanted a response, he had to do this the old-fashioned way. He couldn’t believe after five years he was finally going to do this. She was one of those people whose reaction you could never predict. It could be smiles and hugs, but he doubted it. If he truly believed that he wouldn’t have put this conversation off for so long.

He'd agonised over the alternatives and played them out a million times in his head. The outcome was always the same. But now, he’d ran headfirst into that thing everybody has – his breaking point.

“Mark, have a seat,” she gestured, all smiles.

Closing her office door behind him. He took a seat, still gripping the piece of paper which held his future. His hands were visibly shaking, and his mouth dried out in a nanosecond. He swallowed, lubricating his throat so he could speak, but it wasn’t working. Before he could stop, he thrust the folded piece of paper in her direction.

“What’s this?” She quirked a brow, without looking at what was written.

He gestured to the piece of paper, as he struggled to speak. This shouldn’t be so difficult. He nodded at the paper again, and then his jaw dropped in horror when she tore it up and looked him straight in the eyes.

“You know I prefer the direct approach, Mark. What’s wrong?”

The direct approach? Yeah, right. If it was her speaking.

“I erm…” He was losing his nerve. The paper was now destroyed, so he could make something up about his latest project and walk away. Yes, that was the best solution here. No – he wasn’t going to do that. He’d come this far.

“I need to take some annual leave!”

False Paradise

nick@nicklennonbarrett.com (Nick Lennon-Barrett) — Sun, 16 Jul 2023 14:29:47 GMT

Camilla arrived at her tropical paradise. She slipped off her shoes. The fine white sand was warm and comforting between her toes. The turquoise ocean mesmerising. Without even dipping a toe, she knew it would be like slipping into a warm bath. The sun was baking overhead, the palm trees gently swaying in the breeze. This tropical oasis was her much needed escapism.

Her hotel was a short walk along the beach. It was so remote that the road couldn’t access it. Her driver had offered to carry her bag, but she wanted to take her time taking it all in. With the backpack in place, she was sodden with sweat within minutes. She didn’t care. This place was magical.

There were few people on the beach, perhaps because the sun was at its midday peak. She assumed they would be shielding from the sun’s full strength, but she had just arrived and didn’t want to miss a moment. She couldn’t resist it any longer, so dropped her bag onto the sand and walked towards the ocean.

She stood slightly back from the water’s edge, waiting for it to pull back and then wash over her feet with the next wave. She was right. Just like a warm bath. She closed her eyes and remembered why she was here. This was her opportunity to make sense of everything that happened this past year. Nobody had died, but she was still grieving for what she’d lost. Her life shattered, but she knew she could bounce back. She just needed time.

After a while, she could feel her face prickling. She opened the small bag around her waist, which housed her valuables, including sun cream. Spreading the cool cream on her face immediately soothed it, although she knew it was time to get to her hotel. She looked out at the ocean and breathed deeply – yes, this place was going to help her heal.

Turning back towards the beach, her heartbeat elevated. She couldn’t see her bag. Panic ensued as she ran to where she’d left it. She wasn’t mistaken as her shoes, which she’d dropped next to her bag, were still there. There was nobody nearby. It was like her own private section of the beach. How could this happen in a place so perfect? She wanted to cry. Why did this always happen to her? Only she could come to paradise and have something bad happen. That was just her luck. It was the same bad luck which had plagued her over the past year and compounded her belief that there was a divine power who wanted to ensure she would never be happy.

She refused to cry. There was little else she could do, except head to her hotel and tell them what had happened. Perhaps they’d be able to do something. She doubted it. The more she thought about it, she realised that she had everything she needed in her little bag. All they’d taken were clothes, toiletries, and some books. She had travelled light, and it was all replaceable. That took the edge off the immediate shock. It was her biggest lesson from the past year. Some things, albeit inconvenient, really didn’t matter. There was something strangely reassuring that bad things could still happen in somewhere so perfect. It was comforting in a way.

She picked up her shoes and walked back towards the ocean, with a smile on her face – the hotel could wait a bit longer.

Tantrums in the Boardroom

nick@nicklennonbarrett.com (Nick Lennon-Barrett) — Thu, 27 Apr 2023 17:58:07 GMT

Rage boils inside as her eyes bore into the person entering the room and sitting; her nemesis. They had a difficult and emotive history and she imagined ways in which she could defeat him.

“Morning, Paul, shall we get started?” Her false tone dripped with forced sincerity.

“Morning, Alex, ready when you are.”

He was classically good looking with designer stubble, dark-chiselled features and an immaculate, high-quality suit. She could see why he was used to getting his own way. She knew how to play this game. She invented this game. Her own suit was equally, if not more, expensive and she made the best use of her features. She wore her naturally blonde hair down, so the locks fell gracefully over her shoulders, with the slightest hint of makeup – it was all she needed.

Paul’s friendly manner was irritating. How he could be so friendly, given the history between them, was baffling. His smile was nauseating. She ensured a smile was fixed firmly on her own face, ever the consummate professional.

Sometimes she wanted to kill him. Not metaphorically, but literally. As violently as possible, although she wasn’t keen on mess, so it would need to be somewhere neutral where she could just leave the body and not have to tidy up afterwards.

In these moments of intense frustration and loathing she lived out this fantasy. Was that all it was a fantasy? Could she really take another human life? Deep down she doubted it, although this didn’t stop her imagination running away with her; to a place where this man no longer existed. It was her sanctuary, her happy place. Visualising herself in that world, she now had a reason to smile. If he was gone then everything would work.

“Hello Paul, how are James and the children?” Best to make small talk first, always looks good!

“Very well, thank you. He’s enjoying being a stay at home dad.”

Isn’t that lovely. Perfect suit, looks and home life, could you be any more of a cliché!

“So, Alex, what is your opinion on our counter proposal?”

He was wasting no time in getting back to business, she noted. Never bothered to ask about her home life – typical! Not that she had one though, her work was her life and here was this arsehole trying to scupper her plans.

“It needs further consideration, Paul,” she said regaining her bearings. “It would be wrong to make a snap decision, especially given the seriousness of what we are discussing here. I would like a little longer to consider my response to your questions.”

“Time is of the essence.”

“Naturally, you know better than anyone that I’m keen for a speedy resolution, but I need to duly consider the wider implications, not just internally, but externally as well.”

“When can we expect a response then?”

“Within forty-eight hours – do you require another meeting? I can get my PA to arrange it.” She loved saying that!

“That won’t be necessary. I will need your response in writing and then, should there be any queries, a meeting maybe necessary.”

She thought realistically about the predicament. This was all about winning and if she killed him then they would both be losers. Her adrenalin started to pump as she took another tack; what if she ruined him instead? He would then see her triumph. Thinking about this for a second it all became clear. Yes, she thought to herself. I’ll bring him to his knees, have him begging for mercy. She would not grant it; she had to be clear now in this moment that it was all or nothing. Any sign of weakness and he would bring her down. She would lose everything.

Paul rose to leave. She remained seated. She needed time to think.

“Sorry this couldn’t be resolved today, Alex, although I agree with you, any response needs to be properly considered. I look forward to hearing from you.”

She wasn’t sure if a few seconds or minutes had passed; she rose to her feet and gathered her things together. It would be best if the first stages of her plan were thrashed out at home. This would allow her to collect her thoughts into some logical sequence. A decision was imminent; however, nothing could be rushed. Success would give her the support she needed. With everybody behind her there would be nothing to stop her achieving the ultimate goal. Dreams fulfilled. Vision accomplished. Failure would not just be the end of her; it would be disastrous for everyone around her. They wouldn’t see that immediately. By the time they did it would be too late. Nothing could be done. Nobody would win. Even Paul would lose out in the end. Why couldn’t he see this?

She moved forward; head up and confident strides. Nobody would question her. She needed information. It had to be subtle. She knew that. The request wouldn’t arouse suspicion; however his fall from grace was bound to prompt questions and mutterings. Her hands must be clean.

With everything she needed, she exited the building via the rear doors. It was what she always did. She relayed a few messages to ensure that nothing was going to disturb her, threw the bags into the back of the car and was away.

Slow moving traffic exacerbated her temper. She thought of how stupid she must have looked when he left the room all victorious. Shaking her head she jerked herself back to reality. As she left the city centre the road opened out and her foot squeezed on the accelerator. The sense of freedom as life and normality flew past the windows was fuelling her passion and creativity. This was her moment to shine and finally get her revenge on Paul, for everything he had done to her. His betrayal still ran deep and stirred up old emotions which Alex had tried to bury for so long. There he was, now happily married with his gorgeous husband and designer children and what did she have?

Once home she spread the papers out on the large modern dining table. She dressed into something more comfortable, wearing her favourite thick woollen socks. The crackling log fire was lit and a generous glass of Merlot poured. She sat down on the floor enjoying the heat of the fire, ran her fingers through her hair and downed the glass in one. She poured herself another glass, ready to begin.

Looking down at the table there was a mountain of paperwork. There had to be a starting point. It was to be a long night. The bottle of wine was soon demolished and a second one swiftly opened. She rubbed her temples as her head started to throb.

“Come on nobody is that squeaky clean. There’s got to be something. Come on Alex think.” She found talking aloud gave her a motivational boost.

“He’s got to have a weakness, all men do. He can’t be everybody’s friend?”

In a moment of madness she flung the wine glass into the fire. The broken glass glistened against the flames. For a few seconds it was entrancing. A loud pop, the glass disintegrating in the fire, brought her round. Her anger frightened her and made her feel dirty.

She showered, allowing the powerful jet of water to relieve her headache and stop her thinking for a moment. She blocked out the world; the only noise being the sound of the water as it cascaded down her body and cleansed her.

She awoke with a start – it was 5.a.m. She didn’t remember falling asleep or indeed climbing into bed. A new day beckoned. She had some time before she was first expected so she returned to the living room. The remaining embers of the fire from the night before had long since extinguished and the house had that early morning chill – she shivered.

With a hot mug of filter coffee clasped between her hands she inhaled deeply. The smell was comforting. She glanced at all the papers on the table and sighed with frustration. Her eyes scanned over everything. Suddenly she stopped. It had been staring her in the face all this time. The thing she knew everyone had – a weakness!

She arrived at the office early; took one of the orange envelopes used for internal mail and put all the evidence inside. Making her way up the stairs there was a hush in the building. Nobody started this early. She slipped the anonymous envelope under the Chief Executive’s door and returned to her office. She knew in just over an hour the fireworks would start.

By lunchtime, her plan had worked and Paul was leaving the building; suspended, pending an investigation. It appeared to have worked, yet she mustn’t be complacent. There was a full investigation to take place. He would deny everything. Of course he would; he’d have done so even if he was guilty.

It had been so simple. She had instigated a critical data security breach. All the documentary evidence pointed to Paul. The Chief Executive had been the one to order the investigation. Her hands were clean. Despite strict confidentiality codes, the whisperings had already started. Even if he managed to wriggle his way out of this, his internal reputation would be in tatters.

She played her part superbly during the investigation. Her feigned surprise and disbelief had an air of professionalism and inside she was singing.

It didn’t take long. It was a business critical matter and it had to be dealt with swiftly and harshly. He was gone for good within a week. There was an appeal shortly after, a mere formality and of course he lost.

The Chief Executive summoned Alex to his office.

“It’s a difficult business. Thank you for your assistance these last two weeks Alex, it’s been invaluable,” he said.

“I only wish it could have been under more pleasant circumstances.”

“He still denies everything and is threatening a tribunal.”

“It’s to be expected.”

“Well I don’t need the bother of this going on for months. I’ve asked the lawyers to make an offer.”

“Surely that looks like we think there is some doubt?” She could feel the panic rising, yet kept her voice calm.

“Not at all, it’s just easier to pay him off, we’ve got a lot happening as you know and we don’t need to have our focus split. Besides he’s got young kids, it won’t look good for the company whether we win or lose. This way he goes away quietly. Besides, his husband’s an employment lawyer.”

That explains a lot.

“I just want an end to the whole sordid mess, Alex.”

“I can appreciate that,” she said relieved, again concealing this through her professionally polished image. She turned to leave.

“Bit of a blessing in disguise for you all this isn’t Alex? Given the history between you and Paul.”

She was thankful she was facing the other way, as she hadn’t been able to keep her composure this time.

“Whatever do you mean?” she asked innocently, turning round.

“Don’t give me that coy look Alex. Paul was the most vocal and toughest Union Rep I’ve ever come across in a forty-year career. Stroke of luck really, should be no opposition to your change programme now. As Head of HR, I expect you to take the lead on this now.”

She simply nodded and left the room, with a noticeable bounce to her step. The Union had finally been defeated!

Community Spirit

nick@nicklennonbarrett.com (Nick Lennon-Barrett) — Sun, 19 Mar 2023 09:39:52 GMT

Ettie glared at the article in the local newspaper. “How could they close it? Don’t they know how much the centre means to the community?”

“Evidently not, Ettie, or they wouldn’t be closing it. Everything’s getting cut now.”

Sylvia was being her usual blunt self. She saw herself as an assertive person. Ettie just thought she was a rude woman who liked to get her own way. The community centre closing was a terrible blow, but what could she do about it? Ettie felt an icy chill that made her whole-body shudder. Her senses twitched. Refusing to believe it was anything more than a coincidence, she lit the fire.

“Ettie this place is like an oven – what on earth are you putting the fire on for? It’s the middle of June!”

Sylvia had her severe expression on, which would make her appear more intimidating than normal, even though she was barely over five foot tall. She was not the sort of grandmother who sat in the corner knitting, even though her tight grey curls might delude you into thinking that. Ettie turned the fire off, not to be obedient, but Sylvia had popped in for a rant, and she didn’t need further ammunition.

“Ettie, you must be absolutely furious about what they are planning?”

“Well, I don’t think there’s very much we can do.”

“There’s plenty – we’ve got some interest from the local news channel, and they want to do an interview. We thought you’d be perfect for it!”

“What?” This was her worst nightmare. She wasn’t as forthright as Sylvia. She was hoping for a more behind-the-scenes role or facilitating some sort of petition.

“It’s all about the human-interest angle. We, that is, me and the other girls, want you to tell them about your erm… friendship with Gladys and how important the centre was to you both. It’s the beating heart of the community!”

“Isn’t that being a bit overdramatic?”

“That’s what we need, Ettie. Drama. There’s no point in doing a petition or a march, nobody will listen. We’ll get maximum publicity; get the public on our side. That way the council will have to cave in, especially with it being an election year.”

They appeared to have worked out the entire detail without even consulting her. This was her private relationship with Gladys, and she didn’t feel comfortable sharing it with a news reporter. Ettie shuddered again. Her stomach knotted. Her throat constricted.

“Are you okay, Ettie?”

“Just a shiver down my spine,” she croaked.

“Oh, somebody’s just walked over your grave!”

“I don’t think this is me, you know,” she said, changing the subject.

“Nonsense, Ettie, you’ve become quite lazy since Gladys died. You need to get yourself back out there.”

“I am not lazy. I just like my own company.”

“Well, whatever does it for you! So, will you do it?”

“When is it?” The words came out before Ettie could stop herself – damn her please people manner.

“Tonight!”

“Tonight, but… but I haven’t got anything prepared.” Ettie noticed her voice higher pitched than usual.

“You don’t need to prepare. You’re just going to talk from the heart. That way it’s more real.”

“Real?”

“Yes, apparently realism is all the rage these days, well according to my granddaughter it is, who must insist on watching those awful reality TV shows whenever she comes to visit. Thankfully, she lives about two hundred miles away – one reason I’m glad I made the move down south,” said Sylvia with a snort of laughter.

“Okay, I’ll do it,” said Ettie, regretting it instantly.

“Wonderful, I’ll pick you up about four.”

Ettie had experienced ten unforgettable years with Gladys. She had received a flyer through the door asking for help with a local fete. They were raising money for the local hospice which had been supportive during the last few weeks of Ettie’s husband’s life; Ettie felt obligated to help. She made some of her blueberry muffins. It was the one thing of which Ettie was truly certain – they were the best blueberry muffins in the world.

“Oh, these muffins are to die for, did you make these?” remarked a very friendly looking woman, who appeared a similar age to Ettie.

“Yes.”

“You must give me the recipe.”

Ettie hesitated.

The woman chuckled. “Just teasing. If this recipe was mine, I’d keep shtum as well. Gladys Harper, by the way.” She extended her hand and gave Ettie’s a firm, but warm handshake.

“Ettie Lemming.”

“Oh dear, nice of your husband to saddle you with that.” She said it in such a jovial manner that Ettie couldn’t help but laugh with her.

“My husband passed a few years ago.”

“And you feel honour-bound to keep the name. Fair play to you. My husband’s was Pillock.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Everyone mishears that one,” Gladys laughed, tilting her head to one side. “My husband’s surname was Pillock, but it was just a name. Such a gentleman. I told him it was my name or no wedding.”

Ettie studied the woman opposite her. The beaming smile and warm, friendly round face. She had more lines than Ettie, but this showed character. She had a head of grey hair and deep brown eyes that sparkled with childlike excitement – this woman was a lot of fun.

Ettie had always been slightly introverted and didn’t feel like being sociable after her husband died. Gladys had brought an end to that attitude and got Ettie involved in the local community. The centre became the focal point of their lives – she’d not had so much fun in years.

It was after a few months before their friendship developed into something more. Their stories were similar. They had married out of fear of people finding out, as it was a different time. However, they had both loved their husbands dearly and regretted nothing. As their relationship developed, they remained discrete, yet soon, thanks to Sylvia, the entire village knew. Not that it mattered. It was a different time now, so life carried on as normal and the ladies remained discrete, as was their wish. They kept their own homes and simply just loved being in each other’s company.

When the community centre had needed a new roof, Ettie had suggested another fete or a raffle.

“Oh no, Ettie, we need something with a bit of spirit. My grandson is a local fireman – maybe we can get some of his friends to pose for a nude calendar?”

“You can’t be serious?”

“Why not – it’s different, it’s fun. Come on, Ettie, I know there’s a free spirit in there bursting to get out.”

There was, and Gladys had unleashed it. It had been Gladys’ idea to go on an orienteering trip. Ettie was anxious at first, but after spending more time with Gladys, Ettie blossomed into an active member of the community.

They’d had many orienteering holidays over the years, but at the last one, less than a year earlier, Gladys had slipped and fallen in a freak accident. She died instantly. It devastated Ettie. If it had been the other way round Ettie suspected that if she had fallen, then Gladys would have still been back there the next year for another adventure, in memory of her companion. Ettie couldn’t do that though – it wasn’t her style.

Later that day, Ettie was at the studio and panic set in. The knot in her stomach tightened further. She was about to go out and film her segment for the evening news.

“Oh, what have I got myself into?” she said aloud.

She often talked to herself, usually saving this for the privacy of her own home. She didn’t want to be one of those elderly ladies who would start arguing with herself at the bus stop, not for a few more years, anyway.

She was getting more worked up as the seconds ticked by. She was sure that if the waiting went on any longer, she’d back out. She looked at the window and wondered if she could squeeze out of it.

“Only, if I want a broken hip.”

Just then the door opened, and a young man came in smiling.

“You ready, Ettie?”

She felt it again and breathed deeply. This time it was different. It didn’t give her a shiver. She felt warm and her confidence grew. At that moment she sensed slight pressure against her shoulder as if someone was squeezing and the knot in her stomach vanished. She admitted what she’d been denying. She felt a rush of emotion. Forcing herself to pull it together, her resolve steeled – Gladys was with her.

“I’m ready!”

Standing Tall

nick@nicklennonbarrett.com (Nick Lennon-Barrett) — Wed, 01 Feb 2023 08:00:00 GMT

William looked out over the city.

This high up the noise below was a mere din, yet the lights still revealed the magic. This was his place. He could be alone with his thoughts. There was something about being high above a busy city which felt comforting. This was his solitude where he could reflect on the chaos of life.

Tomorrow would be painful, but this last year had been a difficult journey. He knew what he had to do for closure. The question was whether he could take that step to finally move on. Andrea would be by his side, as his friend. She had been so supportive this past year. He knew she wanted more from him. Everyone around him had encouraged him to take a chance. He just wasn’t sure he was ready.

The next morning, he opened the door to Andrea. She always dressed immaculately, yet there was a conservatism to how she presented herself. She was a beautiful woman, yet she didn’t feel the need to show off skin and body parts. It was something which made her stand out from her contemporaries.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“I’m okay.”

She followed him into the lounge. His grandfather’s urn was on the table. Today would be a last goodbye.

“Would you like me to carry him?” she asked.

He shook his head. It was something he had to do. He glanced up at the wall clock. They would need to leave soon for their train. The ashes were to be scattered on the south coast. He had wanted to go alone and meet people there. She had insisted she accompany him, and he didn’t have the strength to argue. He hoped she wouldn’t want to talk about their relationship. Today was about his grandfather and nothing more.

“Do you remember that day we first met?” asked Andrea.

“Of course. I interviewed you.”

“You remember what your grandfather said?” She chuckled.

“Yes, well, he was old school. Never censored what he was thinking!”

“Such a character.”

He nodded. It was the polite way of saying someone was a dirty old man. He wasn’t, but he did like to make rude jokes. Thankfully, Andrea had a wonderful sense of humour. It was all banter. He did nothing offensive. That was why she had been perfect to be his grandfather’s carer. His grandfather had adored her and was quite vociferous in trying to push her and William together. He wasn’t interested. Not that he didn’t find her attractive, but he was paying her to look after his grandfather. Something didn’t feel right. Now was different, of course.

It was early evening when they were on the train heading back into the city. The ashes scattering had been poignant and hilarious. The wind had decided to make an appearance, so his grandfather’s ashes were partly in the sea, with the rest covering everyone’s clothes.

“Shall we have another drink when we get to the city?” she asked.

“Sure, I know a place we can go. I’d like to show you something.”

“Ooh!”

He feigned laughter. He had not been drinking as he needed a clear head. Andrea had a glazed look on her face. Her hand was on his thigh. The train was busy, so she was sitting next to him breathing wine fumes. He said nothing, just let her hand stay there.

The train pulled into London Bridge station. They got off with the crowds and he proffered his arm for her to link it. She looked delighted.

“Did you get your closure today?” she asked, as they walked out of the station.

“I guess I’ll know soon enough.”

“Oh my god. That view is beautiful.”

“I know. It’s a special place.”

“Is this where you’ve been coming?”

“Yes, it has helped me to get clarity.”

“Thank you for sharing it with me.”

William smiled. She reciprocated. It was clear she was expecting him to kiss her, but he wouldn’t just yet. They walked over to the edge, so she could experience the full view. He put his arm around her.

“Wow. It’s just breathtaking.”

“I agree. My grandfather liked it up here.”

“He came up here?”

“Yes, but before he was sick.”

“I can see why it’s a special place.”

“Yes, it helped me to work some things out.”

“Like what?”

“When did you first have feelings for me?”

“Honestly? The first moment I met you.”

He knew that would be her answer, but he needed it confirmed. He turned to face her. They were looking into each other’s eyes. It was a calm night. Perfect.

“Why did you do it?”

She hesitated. “Do what?” Her eyes betrayed her. It was clear she knew what he was asking.

“You did it for us, didn’t you?”

She hesitated again.

“Thank you,” he said, attempting to reassure her.

“For what?”

“For giving me my closure.”

She smiled. “I’d do anything for you.”

He smiled, cocked his head to one side, to show he was going to kiss her. She closed her eyes in anticipation. He knew this was the moment. Without a beat of hesitation, he pushed her off the roof.

Now, he had his closure.

New Year, New Drama

nick@nicklennonbarrett.com (Nick Lennon-Barrett) — Tue, 27 Dec 2022 10:40:34 GMT

Peter’s New Years’ Eve party was always the social event of the year. They were the stuff of legend, in his not so humble opinion. They were always packed with laughter and drama. This year would be no exception.

The party was in full swing. A loud rumble of voices. Multiple conversations. The drink in full flow. Music subtle; enhancing the atmosphere, rather than creating one.

Peter entered the room, knowing he looked fabulous, a smile on his face. Nobody seemed to notice he’d arrived – how rude! He was the host and had spent weeks planning this party. He had purposefully kept his distance until a suitable time when he could make a dramatic entrance. These bitches hadn’t even noticed.

He exited the room in a huff, waited a few seconds whilst he composed himself, then burst back in, ensuring the door banged hard against the wall.

"Peter!" many of them shouted, whilst others looked startled.

That was better. Sometimes people just needed a gentle nudge. Now it was time to mingle. He veered past Lucinda, who was on the prowl – again. That woman was insatiable, and despite Peter not being attracted to the fairer sex, that did not stop Lucinda from becoming a bit handsy when she'd a few Proseccos.

Someone he didn't recognise was asleep on the sofa. He glanced at his watch. It wasn't even ten o’clock. Who even does that? She had come to someone’s house whom she didn’t know and fallen asleep. She looked like a tramp. Not the vibe he was going for. He walked into the kitchen to get a jug of water. Now, that would entertain and get everyone’s attention.

"Peter, darling, you look fabulous," came a familiar deep voice, which didn't match the camp comment.

Peter turned and saw his ex, Eric, with his new boyfriend, Adam. He hadn’t invited them, but the problem with throwing legendary parties, they attracted all sorts of undesirables. It was such a burden, being this fabulous.

"Eric, how are you? And Adam?" Peter smiled, meaning none of it.

Adam shot a death stare – such anger issues from one so young. He was twenty-nine, although looked eighteen.

"It's a fantastic party. Where have you been? I've been looking for you?"

The slurred speech, inane grin, and fact he was being nice were a strong indicator he was drunk. Peter intended to have fun with this.

"Well, you know I like to make an entrance!"

Eric laughed. "That's what I love about you!"

Did he just say love? As in present tense. Had Adam heard it as well? The look on his face and purple colouring of his cheeks implied that was a certainty. Oh dear!

"Why are you filling a jug with water?" Adam asked, clearly trying to change the subject.

"Some lazy bitch is asleep on my sofa. I don't even know who she is."

"That’s my sister. She has a medical condition."

"Why did you bring her?”

“We were looking after her, but Eric insisted we come here.”

Eric blushed and smiled at Peter. An interesting development, and one Peter wanted to explore further. He knew if he kicked Adam out, Eric would follow. He’d need to be accommodating, to a degree.

“You can put her upstairs," said Peter.

"You can't wake her. It's dangerous," snapped Adam.

"What is she? A bomb. She’s not staying on the sofa. She’s a major buzz kill."

"You guys are hilarious," Eric chipped in.

"Pipe down, gorgeous," said Peter, stroking Eric’s muscular arm.

"Get your hands off him."

"Fine. You try to be nice. I’ll deal with this my way."

Peter stormed into his lounge were Sleepy Sue, or whatever her name was, was still out for the count. He had the water jug in his hand. People were gathering, although at a safe distance. They were ready for the drama. Adam grabbed Peter from behind and tried to wrestle the water jug from his grasp, to move him away. People cheered and shouted.

Adam pulled at Peter's hair, which had taken hours to do. He snapped and threw the water over Adam, who fell backwards landing on the music centre which stopped the music. A loud crash followed, as Adam fell through a glass cabinet. He was unconscious on the floor, covered in blood. Thankfully, Peter had wooden floors, so there would be no permanent damage after some hot water and fairy liquid.

“What have you done?” screamed Eric.

There was commotion, as people called for an ambulance, and much bustling about as towels were brought out for the blood. Thankfully nobody had gotten any of the good towels. Peter didn’t want Adam to bleed to death, but the Egyptian cotton would always come first.

“This is why I dumped you,” shouted Eric. “You always have to be the centre of attention and to hell with the consequences.”

There was murmuring from the crowd. Peter had made it clear to everyone over the past few months he had been the one to do the dumping. Eric had not discussed the end of their relationship publicly, and for that Peter was grateful. Eric was a respectful and private person. Peter, less so. Now they all knew the truth.

But the worst thing to come out of the whole catastrophe was Sleepy Sue was still fast asleep on the couch.

Happy New Year, Peter!

Deadly Intent

nick@nicklennonbarrett.com (Nick Lennon-Barrett) — Sat, 01 Oct 2022 07:00:00 GMT

“What do you think of him?”

Laura passed the phone showing the profile of DiscreteDude29. Carl raised an eyebrow, confirming his approval.

“Always got to be careful with the discrete, no face guys. Amazing body though.”

“Scroll across and you get face pictures.”

Carl did so. His non-verbal expressions were clear. He was hooked.

Laura took a generous gulp of wine. Her plan was forming. Carl had gone too far this time, and he would pay for it. Her mind was as open as her marriage, but there were ground rules, which he had not just broken, but crapped all over.

It was the downside of having an extremely attractive, bisexual husband. She had agreed to an open marriage, and it had worked for the past five years. She’s had her fun as well, and he was always discrete and safe. Neither of them wanted children, so the situation worked for them both, until now.

One of her rules was they didn’t screw each other’s friends. Carl didn’t seem to realise there were consequences to breaking rules. It wasn’t a one-off either, or just one friend.

This wasn’t an unusual activity for them to do over a glass of wine. They never shared the gory details of their extramarital affairs, but they shared any potentials, usually with a side order of wine and some form of rating system.

“A definite nine out of ten. You always know when they say twenty-nine, they are thirty-five. Looks good though, if these pictures are recent. You see anyone you like?”

“Nothing tonight,” she said, swiping left on her phone.

The dating app wasn’t even open, but she had to give the right impression and not arouse suspicion. She excused herself to go to the toilet, knowing he’d take the bait. Carl was too predictable which made it easier for her although she wouldn’t be the one getting her hands dirty.

Walking back into the lounge, she yawned and called it a night. He barely looked up as she kissed his cheek. He placed his phone face down, so she knew he was already chatting to DiscreteDude29. God, he was so easy to manipulate.

She had been in bed for less than half an hour when the front door closed. For a second, a wave of guilt swept over her. Then she remembered what he’d done. There was no going back now. She had to protect herself. She had been careful to ensure all interaction had been on his phone.

The following morning, her alarm yanked her awake. It had been three o’clock when she’d finally fallen asleep. It took a few seconds for her brain to function. Her husband wasn’t lying next to her. He never stayed over with his hook ups. He always came back to her. The guilt was back, but she had to forget it and get her story straight before she was asked any questions.

It was important she did nothing suspicious, so she would go to work as normal. She put on some loud music with a beat, so she could focus on it whilst she was in the shower. She didn’t want her mind to wander to a dark place. She’d had no choice.

She dressed on auto pilot, locked up the house and drove into work. She would have to say she had assumed he had gone to work early. Even though she had been awake until late, she had been careful to not use her phone, TV, or anything where her usage could be tracked. She had simply laid there in silence, waiting to fall asleep.

Walking into work, she acknowledged her colleagues with a wave, dumping her bag on the desk. She knew she had to do it, but she couldn’t at first. It was the guilt again. She busied herself for a few minutes, keeping her head down. She didn’t want to look up.

“Laura.”

It was her boss. He looked in a sombre mood.

“Can we talk in my office, please?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, standing up.

As she followed her boss to his office passing the noticeboard. The wall of faces a powerful reminder of what she’d done. As they arrived at her boss’s office, he looked her in the eyes with compassion. She now knew for certain he was going to tell Detective Inspector Laura Collins that DiscreteDude29 had claimed another victim.

Tough Love (Sinful Stories Series)

nick@nicklennonbarrett.com (Nick Lennon-Barrett) — Mon, 01 Aug 2022 05:00:01 GMT

It frustrated Isaac. His husband, Lyndon, was being his typical laid-back self. Not perturbed by the laziness of their son. Didn’t he realise that if their son was unsuccessful in life, it was a direct reflection on their parenting skills?

“Simon, will you get out of bed,” he shouted up the stairs.

“Why are you shouting?” asked Lyndon.

“He needs to get up. It’s eleven o’clock in the morning.”

“It’s a Saturday, let the boy sleep. You were a teenager once.”

“I wasn’t this lazy. I was working from the age of sixteen, and going to college. He’s nineteen and isn’t doing either.”

“He’ll figure it out for himself in time. You don’t need to be constantly on his back.”

“Well, you don’t need to pander to him either. Especially those ridiculous stories he comes out with.”

“He’s just got an overactive imagination.”

“It’s getting worse.”

Isaac knew he was right because Lyndon didn’t respond. Simon might be lazy, but his imagination certainly wasn’t. It was something he had done since childhood, although the tall tales had grown as much as Simon, who was now six foot four.

“Let’s do the shopping. Get that out of the way. He might be awake when we get back,” suggested Lyndon.

Isaac knew what Lyndon was doing, but he agreed. It was best to keep his mind occupied.

They arrived home from shopping. Simon was eating toast, which was all he could cook. He had showered and dressed, which was something.

“Did you have a good sleep?” asked Lyndon.

Simon shrugged. It pissed Isaac off. His husband was a kind and caring man, sometimes too soft for his own good, but it was one of the many things he loved about him. What he didn’t love was this brute of a teenager being rude.

“Are you going to answer your dad?”

“Yeah, it was fine.”

“That’s great. Why don’t you help me unpack the shopping, Simon, so your dad can get his work out of the way?”

“Why don’t you deal with the shopping, Lyndon. Simon and I can have a chat in the lounge. Work can wait.”

Simon knew there was no point in arguing. He slid off the stool and walked into the lounge, slumping down on the sofa. The crumbs from his toast falling on the floor. Isaac took a deep breath.

“Simon, something needs to change here. You can’t expect us to keep you forever.”

“It’s not like we can’t afford it.”

“That’s not the point. You’ll never appreciate money if you don’t earn your own.”

“I thought you said you’d support me if I stayed in full-time education.”

“We will, but you dropped out.”

“You know why.”

“You can’t let bullies rule your entire life. They only understand one thing.”

“Dad said that violence doesn’t solve anything.”

“Your dad’s wrong. It’s how I dealt with my bully. You only have to fight back once, and it’ll give you confidence. You don’t need to punch everyone. Next time, you come across a group of bullies, just whack the biggest and loudest one as hard as you can.”

“There’s only one.”

“Then that’s the one you have to whack. Just don’t tell your dad!”

Simon smiled.

Isaac knew Simon had struggled through school with one specific bully. It was when Simon had started telling ridiculous stories. Anything he could think of to get out of going to school. It was only after he lied about a dead twin brother that Simon had finally shared what was going on. He wouldn’t let his dads intervene, and they had respected that. Lyndon had suggested a water off a duck’s back approach. Isaac was more for the direct approach. It was the only way to deal with people like that. When school had finished, they had hoped that was the end, but the bully had gone to the same college. Simon had dropped out after a few weeks.

***

The following weekend, Isaac was awake early catching up on some work. Lyndon was still asleep. The front door opened and closed. Simon walked into the lounge. He was carrying a plastic bag with something in it.

“You been out all night?”

“I wanted to talk to you without Dad listening in.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I took your advice.”

“What advice?”

“To stand up to that bully.”

Isaac wasn’t sure if this was going to another of Simon’s tall tales, but he’d humour him.

“Sit down. Tell me what happened.”

“I think I went too far.”

“How d’you mean?”

Simon went into the bag and pulled out a rounders bat covered in something which looked like blood. Isaac knew now that this was definitely another of Simon’s stories, and it was a whopper this time.

“I’m going to need to get rid of this, and I’m going to need you to say I was home all night.”

Isaac smiled and held out his hand for the bag. They were going to have to get some professional help for Simon. This was another level of storytelling.

“Right, I better get some sleep. Dad, do you promise to get rid of it as soon as possible? It’s really important.”

“Of course. Go to bed. I’ll deal with it.”

Simon left the room. Isaac wasn’t sure what had just happened. It was all very elaborate. He looked in the bag at the bat. The blood was very realistic. He had to admire the creativity, even if it was a worrying development in Simon’s behaviour.

Later that morning, Lyndon was putting the shopping away. Isaac was finishing some work. Simon was still asleep. Other than saying he’d come home early in the morning; Isaac had shared nothing else from their conversation. He knew it would worry Lyndon. He wasn’t sure how to approach it. He’d put the plastic bag with the bat inside his work bag, out of the way. He knew he’d need to show it to Lyndon, so he could see for himself how serious this had become.

The doorbell chimed.

“I’ll get it!” shouted Lyndon.

Isaac heard muffled voices but couldn’t work out what was being said.

Lyndon walked into the lounge with a concerned look on his face.

“Who was it?”

“It’s the police. They want to speak to Simon.”

Foolish Felicity (Sinful Stories Series)

nick@nicklennonbarrett.com (Nick Lennon-Barrett) — Fri, 01 Jul 2022 11:00:02 GMT

Felicity looked up from her book, as someone entered the library.

“Oi, I wanna talk to you,” she shouted at the librarian.

Felicity tutted her irritation. Did people have no manners? She’d come here for peace, from the chaos of life. This was her sanctuary; a place where she could escape into a fantasy world created by someone else, yet her own imagination could still shape and influence it.

“I said, I wanna talk to you.”

Felicity sighed. She had read the same line five times. She closed the book, marking her place and studied the woman. Felicity was all for people expressing themselves, although there was a limit! She would have to say something. Could she? It was a terrifying thought. Confrontation was not something she ever invited.

“Will you be quiet,” said the librarian.

“Come here and say that to my face, bitch!”

Felicity felt her own pulse rate quicken. The situation was escalating, as was her anxiety.

The security guard arrived, asking the woman politely to leave. This only antagonised her, as she made a grab for a stack of books and threw them at the staff, who all ducked for cover. Nobody knew what to do as the woman continued to shout expletives in her vile, common accent. She was obviously drunk, as she teetered like a pile of books on the verge of collapse. Felicity hated drunk people. She had so many painful memories associated with alcohol.

This woman was doing something unspeakable to Felicity’s beloved books. There was no greater crime. She had already damaged some by launching them at the staff. She was now ripping pages out, throwing the pieces in the air like confetti, shrieking with laughter. That was the tipping point for Felicity. She was furious.

“Everyone keep back. The police are on their way,” said the security guard.

"Call, the coppers. I don't care," she shouted, not appearing at all fazed by their impending arrival.

An old man, who Felicity knew as a regular, and who usually shuffled along when he walked, had fled for safety with surprising agility. A woman had scooped up her two children under each arm like they were footballs and had headed for the door. Felicity could have escaped with ease. The woman had her back to Felicity and the main door was just a few metres away, yet she stayed put. How dare this woman defile somebody else's work! These books had people's hearts and souls in them; there was no excuse for her behaviour. Felicity took a step forward. Nobody noticed. She took a few more steps. The security guard saw her.

"Stay back, young lady," he said.

The woman turned to face Felicity and laughed. "You wanna piece of me?" she screamed.

"Put the books down," Felicity stated firmly. She could feel her entire body trembling, yet her voice was clear and controlled. It was the hardest thing she had ever done. She wanted to run at the woman and grab the books from her.

The woman looked at Felicity for a moment. There was a flicker of hesitation in her eyes. She went to make an approach, yet Felicity didn't move. The woman held her position. Had Felicity made her reconsider? Her heart was beating so fast that it dulled her hearing. They had reached a stand-off. If anyone else was speaking, then Felicity wasn't aware of it.

She wasn’t sure what possessed her to do it, but she walked slowly towards the woman, who was studying her closely. Was she going to attack? Felicity wasn’t sure. They were now less than a metre apart.

“I said, put books down.”

“What’s the magic word?” she laughed.

Felicity was all for politeness but saying please would feel insincere.

“Well?”

Felicity was considering her response when the police arrived. The woman dropped the books to the floor, not wanting to put up a fight against the men in uniform. Felicity went to pick them up.

“Move away from the books, little girl,” said the policeman.

Felicity said nothing and stepped back. She had preferred the young lady from the security guard, but knew when to pick her battles. All she could do was go back to her corner and continue reading, waiting for her mother to leave the pub, and hopefully, this time, she would remember to collect her.

Running Mate (Sinful Stories Series)

nick@nicklennonbarrett.com (Nick Lennon-Barrett) — Wed, 01 Jun 2022 21:18:17 GMT

Carrie couldn’t believe what he was asking her to do. Was he insane?

This was going to be her career-defining moment. He knew that. He’d been with her through this entire journey. Why was he asking her to do something so reckless?

“So, what do you think?” he asked.

“I’m assuming that you’re taking the piss. This is a joke, right?”

“No, I’m deadly serious.”

“Let me get this straight. You want me to train with Oriana? My biggest competition for the gold medal.”

“She’s not your enemy. She’s just your competitor. It is common for competing athletes to be friends with each other you know.”

Carrie wasn’t having it. She was the talent. It was up to her how she would train and who with. It was madness to even consider willingly exposing her weaknesses to the competition. She would get another coach if he kept pushing the point.

“This is a consistent issue with you, Carrie.”

“What is?”

“You just jump in, going with your gut instinct.”

“It’s never let me down before.”

“Yes, but if you never take a chance and try something different, then one day it’ll hold you back.”

“Fine, I’ll think about it.”

She’d give the impression that she’d slept on it, but her mind was already made up.

That evening she discussed it with her mother.

“This is your problem, Carrie. You think emotionally, rather than strategically.”

“I want to win the gold medal.”

“I know you do, but don’t you think it’s sensible to know the strengths and weaknesses of your biggest competition.”

“Yes, but then she’ll know mine as well.”

“That’s up to you, but that stubbornness has always held you back. You don’t have to do everything on your own.”

“I’m not stubborn, I just know I’m right about this. I can feel it in my gut, that this is a bad idea.”

“Sometimes, you need to listen to what your head is telling you, and not just rely on your gut, especially if you want that gold medal.”

***

Carrie had been training with Oriana for three weeks, and it was going well. There was nothing between them in terms of skill and speed. The thing that Carrie hadn’t expected was for her performance to improve so much because of how they were pushing each other. She also hadn’t expected Oriana to be such a warm and funny woman. She put across a focussed and diligent persona in competition, so she appeared cold, but that was far from reality. They were becoming good friends. There was no hiding that they were competitors, although Oriana had summed up how she thought the race would go.

“I think it will be down to a bit of luck on the day.”

“How do you mean?”

“Look at all our practice sessions. We’re equally matched. Sometimes I win. Sometimes you win. Even then, there’s only a fraction in it. If we are both fit and healthy on the day and the conditions are right, it will just come down to luck and who can get across the line first.”

Carrie knew she was right but didn’t want to admit that something she had trained for her entire life would simply come down to a quirk of fate on the day.

The women’s friendship grew as they continued to train. They would spend time together after training, having fun and enjoying each other’s company. It was Oriana who made the first move, which Carrie reciprocated. They knew that they couldn’t tell anyone how their relationship had developed. Their coaches would stop them training together. Even though both women were public with their sexuality, thankfully something which had less hostility in athletics compared to other sports, they still had to keep their relationship secret.

As the women spent most of their time training, there was no issue with them finding time to be together. They were both committed to the upcoming championship, and their training regime only increased the time they spent in each other’s company. The relationship was always secondary to the upcoming race, but that didn’t stop them finding time to be together, away from the track.

***

After six months of intense training, it was the big day. The stadium packed with fans and spectators. Neither woman had a home crowd advantage. Both were in top physical condition. The weather was perfect. They had an equal score in practice races. It didn’t matter what Oriana had said about luck: Carrie was winning the gold medal.

As both women had qualified with an equal time, they occupied the middle lanes. It would be strange being so close to each other and in those few seconds, one of them would become the champion, whilst the other would have to settle for silver. There was no question of someone else coming in and taking that from them. They were the best in the world by a long way. It was all about who would get the silver and who would get the gold.

They took their lanes at the starting line and shared a brief smile with each other, before taking their place in the blocks. It would be over in a matter of seconds. Carrie shut out the noise of the crowd. She focussed solely on the marksman. Waiting for him to pull that trigger.

Her head was down, ready for the signal. She had to be out the blocks bang on time, not a millisecond late, or early. The last need thing she needed was a false start.

“On your marks. Set.”

Bang!

They were off.

Carrie focussed on the finish line She didn’t break her concentration as she powered down the track. She could sense that Oriana was right with her, but she didn’t look. She just kept running as fast as she could. Completely focussed.

They were past the halfway mark when she sensed someone on her left as well. Could someone else be up there with them? That hadn’t even registered as a possibility. All the buzz was around Carrie and Oriana. The rest were just racing for the bronze medal.

Carrie wanted the gold, but she wanted Oriana to have the silver. They had worked so hard to push each other. They couldn’t have someone else come in now and take it from them.

The finish line was within touching distance. Carrie glanced to her right to see how Oriana was doing. A millisecond break in her concentration. That was all it took. Oriana crossed the finish line first.

Carrie had just won a silver medal, but the reality was that she’d lost.

Oriana was jumping around the track. She had won the gold medal. It was devastating for Carrie, but if anyone had to beat her, then it could only be Oriana. She wanted to congratulate her but knew that the cameras would pick up everything. They’d have to be careful. It could only be a brief congratulatory hug, for now.

Carrie waited for Oriana to come back over from celebrating with her coach. It was customary for the athletes to hug and congratulate each other. Carrie used this time to reflect on her stupidity. She had allowed her feelings for Oriana to get the better of her. Her mother had told her to be strategic. If they hadn’t developed such a close bond, then Carrie wouldn’t have cared if someone would have pipped her to silver. Her mistake was because she cared about someone. That couldn’t be a negative. She had to shake those feelings off. She may not have the gold medal, but she was still true to herself.

Oriana finally came over, and the women hugged briefly.

“Congratulations, we’ll celebrate later,” whispered Carrie, making sure no microphone could pick up what she was saying.

“I knew your emotions would get the best of you.”

It felt like a gut punch, as she realised was Oriana was saying.

“Enjoy your silver medal!”

Strange Encounter (Sinful Stories Series)

nick@nicklennonbarrett.com (Nick Lennon-Barrett) — Tue, 01 Feb 2022 08:00:03 GMT

Eric hated these evenings.

Perhaps hate was too strong a word. He deeply resented these evenings. Yes, that was better. Given he was now in his mid-thirties, these evenings were becoming the norm. Another birthday celebration with his friends, and yet another reminder that he was the only single person left in the group. Some of them had kids that were already in school. Not that he wanted kids. His dream was to have a fabulous house, with several relaxing holidays a year. Kids did not mix with ‘nice’ or ‘relaxing’ and he was good with that. He just needed to find someone with the same mindset.

This birthday celebration was different. It was Gordon’s birthday. Gordon was always someone Eric could rely on to join him on the singles bench. Unfortunately, Gordon had moved over to the dark side. He’d gone on a fitness journey and bagged himself a boyfriend. They were in that annoying early phase of a relationship when they feel the need to show just how much in lust they were with each other.

“Eric, are you seeing anyone?” asked Gordon with a smirk.

The vicious bitch!

“No, still enjoying the single life.”

“Oh, when did you last get laid?”

“Two days ago!” There were still some perks to being single.

There were screams from the rest of the group as they asked for details. It was a bizarre situation. Eric wanted to be his friends, yet some of them had been in their relationships so long, they were trying to live vicariously through him. All except Gordon, who was still loved up and seemed pissed that his attempt to humiliate had backfired and moved everyone’s attention to Eric. Perhaps it wouldn’t be a bad evening after all.

The next morning, Eric was nursing a hangover. It had been a late one. Why he had drunk so much on a school night was a question, he would ask himself all day. He just knew work was going to drag.

His phone rang. It was Reception.

“Hi, Becky.”

“Hi, Eric, something’s gone wrong with the check-in portal. We’ve got someone here for an interview and I can’t check him in. Can you come up and sort it?”

“On my way.”

He put the phone down. This would get him away from his desk for a while. The reception was only two floors up, but he was mindful of his limitations today, so took the lift.

The doors opened to the reception. It was where his company had spent the money. It was like those hotels which have a dramatic and opulent lobby, only for the rooms to have a sleazy motel feel to them. Not that the offices here were like that. It was just clear that the big bosses had wanted to make a statement with the first impression people had of the company.

A very handsome man immediately grabbed Eric’s attention. He was all suited and booted, waiting at the reception. Becky was behind the desk and waved when she saw him. She looked stressed out. Eric knew he had taken ‘dress down Friday’ too literally today. He was broadcasting the IT nerd stereotype look today.

Avoiding any eye contact or small talk with the handsome stranger, Eric walked behind the reception desk. Becky jumped up so he could take her seat and investigate what was happening.

“Thanks for coming up so quickly, Eric.”

“No problem. Have you tried rebooting it?”

“Yep, no joy.”

“Okay, give me a minute.”

Eric opened the settings menu, ran a quick diagnostic, and spotted the problem straight away. That was disappointing. He had hoped he could be away from his desk for longer.

“There you go, all fixed.”

“You’re a star. I’ll buy you a drink later.”

“Maybe next week. Quiet one for me after last night.”

Becky laughed. The handsome stranger smiled. Eric’s stomach lurched. Possibly caused by that killer smile, or the previous night’s indulgences; probably a mix.

Eric stood up, so Becky could check in the visitor.

“Eric, do you mind waiting here whilst I get the meeting room ready?”

“No worries.”

“Thanks, you can keep Zach company.”

Becky dashed off, leaving Eric with Zach. Of course, his name was Zach.

There was an awkward silence. Eric wasn’t sure what to say to the guy. He couldn’t even look him in the eyes, or he’d just start blushing. It would be even more pronounced today as the bright red would clash with his grey hungover pallor.

“So, you’re Becky’s hero?”

Oh great, he wants to talk.

“Is that what she said?”

“Yes, she said if anyone could fix things straight away, it would be Eric.”

Eric smiled, which Zach reciprocated. Eric could feel his cheeks flushing.

“Who are you here to see?”

“I’m here for an interview with the Legal team.”

That was interesting. It meant he was clever, and the Legal team were on the same floor as Eric. That was the important part.

“Is it your first interview?”

“Second.”

“Oh well, good luck. It’s a great company.”

“I’ve heard. Are the Friday night drinks the norm?”

“Yes, although not for me this week.”

Zach laughed. It was a soft laugh, but it lit up his entire face, making him look even more handsome.

“Your face is familiar,” said Zach.

Oh god. That was never a good thing.

“Are you on the company’s diversity network?”

“Yes, I am.” That was a relief.

“It’s great that you have one. It’s one of the many things that attracted me to this company.”

Eric was about to respond when Becky walked back in.

“Zach, do you want to come with me?”

“Nice to meet you, Eric,” he said, shaking his hand. “If I get the job, I look forward to buying you a drink one Friday evening.”

Eric wasn’t sure what to say to that, so just smiled again. No doubt he had come across as some grinning idiot.

***

On Monday morning, Eric felt a lot better. He’d had a quiet weekend, which had refreshed him. He was getting a coffee in the kitchen when he saw his colleague from the Legal team.

Eric made a bit of small talk and then got to the point.

“How’s the recruitment going?”

“Good, we’re going to offer today.”

“That’s great.”

“Yes, it’s taken ages. Hopefully, she’ll accept.”

Bollocks!

Later that morning, he was chatting to Becky on Reception, who had confirmed that his name was Zach Peterson. That was all she knew.

Eric spent lunchtime stalking Zach on social media, although he had little luck. Apart from LinkedIn, his social media profiles were restricted. He needed to find out more about this guy. He only knew where he currently worked, but given he was looking for another job, that could end soon. He couldn’t deny his attraction to Zach. He had felt a vibe between them, but there was also an attraction about being able to rub it in a certain person’s face at the next group gathering.

Back at his desk, he realised he could find out more about Zach, as he had unrestricted access to all the confidential files. Could he do something like that? He couldn’t. No matter how attractive someone was, or how jealous he was of his friends. He still had some ethics and integrity, and they weren’t worth compromising for any man. Depressed, he got on with the rest of his day.

***

It was Friday evening, and Becky wasn’t taking no for an answer. He wasn’t in the mood for drinks. He’d been feeling blue all week, like a lovesick puppy. It was ridiculous, and he needed to pull himself together and start acting his age.

Her persistence had caused him to relent, telling himself he’d only have three drinks. Saying you’ll only have one was just pointlessly lying to yourself. He also owed her, as she had put up with his moaning about Zach all week.

He walked out of the office. She was waiting for him. She linked his arm and steered him in the opposite direction of the pub which his colleagues frequented every week.

“Where are we going?”

“I thought we could go somewhere else. Maybe join the others later.”

He liked that idea, although that would make it harder to slip away early.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Yeah. Just need to shake it off. It’s only a crush.”

“I can’t blame you. He was rather delicious.”

He nodded his agreement.

“And such a lovely guy as well. I meet people all day and I know when someone is an amazing person.”

“Why don’t you just keep pouring salt in the wound.”

She laughed. “We’re here.”

It was a bar he didn’t recognise. It was busy with the typical Friday night rush, but it not too crowded. She unlinked his arm as they entered, and he followed her as she walked towards the bar.

As they approached the bar, it shocked him to see Zach there. It couldn’t be a coincidence, and he knew it wasn’t when he smiled and waved at Becky. They approached and Zach proffered his hand. Eric shook it, thankful that he dressed better this Friday.

“Right, I’ll leave you boys to it.”

“What?”

She leaned in to kiss his cheek.

“He’s called me three times this week, asking about you. You know where I’ll be if you need me, but hopefully you won’t.”

She smiled, waved at Zach, and left.

Eric wasn’t sure what to say.

“Can I buy you that drink?” asked Zach.

Eric nodded. Maybe this wouldn’t turn out to be such a terrible week after all.

Personal Torture (Sinful Stories Series)

nick@nicklennonbarrett.com (Nick Lennon-Barrett) — Sat, 01 Jan 2022 08:00:04 GMT

Benjamin screamed in pain.

His tormentor laughed; clearly getting off on it. Benjamin couldn’t let them know how much he was hurting, so he laughed back. An inquisitive look greeted him, followed by a sinister smile. Benjamin realised he had just made a big mistake.

Rubbing those big hands together, his tormentor told Benjamin to stay put. It wasn’t like he could go anywhere now, was it? He was trapped. The only escape would be the sweet release of death.

Within seconds the tormentor was back with new tools which were clearly designed to cause more abject misery. One of them was simply referred to as The Beast , and Benjamin could see how it got his name. The pain would be unimaginable.

He was subject to The Beast for thirty seconds. He’d held in the urge to scream. He had to be strong. His dignity had already spilled onto the floor, but whilst he still had breath in his body, he wasn’t giving up. This was torture. There was no other way to describe it.

It was time for round two. This time: one minute. His tormentor had been clear that Benjamin had made it look too easy. What did that even mean? This was insane. Would this grinning maniac be the last face Benjamin ever saw? Was this ever going to end? A slight glance at the clock on the wall showed that he’d been enduring this torment for twenty minutes. His tormentor caught the glance and laughed.

“Oh, we are only just getting started.”

Benjamin said nothing.

“Remember, you brought this on yourself. Up close and personal. It’s the only way you’ll learn from your mistakes.”

He was right, although Benjamin would not admit that. He could barely move from the pain, yet his tormentor showed no sign of fatigue. He wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to hold out. After a third round, Benjamin’s tormentor must’ve realised that he would not crack so easily, so reached for something called The Destroyer .

Benjamin assumed that someone who had to name all their torture tools with ridiculous names was probably making up for a shortcoming. Not something to vocalise, although the thought made him smile.

“Something funny, Benjamin?”

He shook his head, yet giggled involuntarily. Why was he giggling? Perhaps he was so delirious from pain he ‘d lost all impulse control. His tormentor seemed annoyed and gave another sly smile before picking up his new instrument for unleashing more agony.

The next thirty minutes were unbearable. Benjamin cried out in pain, which just urged his tormentor to dial up the pressure. He lost all sense of time and place.

After The Beast and The Destroyer back-to-back, with no respite, Benjamin lay on the floor splayed out, barely able to move. The light hurt his eyes. He could barely focus on the dark shadow looming over him. He could see it moving towards him. A hand grabbed him, yanking him to his feet.

“Have you learnt your lesson?”

Benjamin nodded, daring to hope it was over.

“Good.” His tormentor smiled.

Benjamin shuddered.

He turned and hobbled away, moving at a slow pace as each movement exacerbated the pain. Benjamin really had learnt his lesson. He would never be honest with his personal trainer about breaking his diet again!

Christmas Cracker (Sinful Stories Series)

nick@nicklennonbarrett.com (Nick Lennon-Barrett) — Wed, 01 Dec 2021 08:00:03 GMT

It was snowing, which would mean delayed trains. It only took a small flurry to bring the entire country to a grinding halt. Somehow Norway, and other countries where snow was normal, could cope with it, but not the UK.

Patrick saw the weather as the perfect excuse to leave the party early. He wasn’t the party type, and as the new guy, he didn’t really know anybody. It was only his first week, and he had wanted to skip the Christmas party, but he knew it was an opportunity to meet people outside his own team. The problem was the drink had been in full flow for a couple of hours and everyone had already broken off into their various cliques.

He decided to call it a night and downed the dregs of his beer. As he was pushing his way through the throng of bodies, towards the exit, he lost his balance and fell against a woman, knocking her glass of wine on to the floor. There was a loud cheer in response to the smash.

“I’m so sorry,” said Patrick. “Let me get you another one.”

“It’s open bar!”

“It’s the gesture that counts!”

She laughed, which Patrick thought made her even more attractive. He pointed towards the bar. She walked ahead, and he followed her, apologising to the barman had who had just arrived with a mop and brush to clean up his mess.

“Would you like something off menu?” asked Patrick.

The drinks were free for the night, but limited to glasses of wine, draft beer, and single measure spirits with a mixer. Anything else you had to pay for yourself.

“Thanks. I’ll have a pornstar martini.”

He assumed it was a cocktail of some description but didn’t give away his ignorance. He ordered her drink, and she insisted he get one as well and join her. Maybe the party wouldn’t be so bad after all, and it was still early, so he could get the next train.

“I’m Patrick.”

“Louise. You’re new, aren’t you?”

“First week. How long have you been here?”

“Three weeks.”

“At least I’m not the only newbie.”

She smiled and suggested they find somewhere to sit down so they could chat. She picked up the drinks, and he followed her away from the crowd. One of his colleagues pointed at him. He was with four other guys he recognised but didn’t know their names. They held up their beers, as if to say cheers, and then started laughing and slapping each other on the back. Patrick didn’t think the glass breaking incident had been that funny.

Louise found a table away from the main crowd, so they could at least have a conversation. He tried the drink. It was extremely sweet, but he didn’t want to appear rude.

“Not for you?”

The woman didn’t miss a beat.

“No, it’s nice.”

“What spirit do you usually drink?”

“Dark rum and coke.”

“Be back in a second.”

She left for less than thirty seconds. When she sat back down, she moved his drink over to her side of the table. It would not be going to waste.

A few minutes later, a barman appeared with two drinks. Once he’d gone, Louise pushed both the drinks towards Patrick.

“Now we have two each.”

“I didn’t know they did table service.”

“They don’t, but the barman knows me.”

“Within three weeks?”

She laughed again. “No, I have worked around this area for years.”

They spent the next couple of hours chatting about their lives. The conversation never awkward. The drinks kept flowing, although she had switched to vodka and tonic to maximise the free bar. Patrick was unsure how many drinks he’d had and why such an attractive woman was ignoring all her new colleagues to talk to him all night.

She was at the bar ordering them another round of drinks. He looked out the window and saw the snow was getting heavier. He thought he’d better check the trains and saw a list of cancellations. He didn’t know how he was going to get home. Even if he could find a cab, it would cost him the best part of a hundred quid.

“What’s wrong?” asked Louise, who had just sat back down with more drinks.

“They’ve cancelled all my trains.”

“Oh, what you going to do?”

“I’ll have to find a cab.”

“That won’t be easy.”

“Or a hotel room.”

“You can stay at mine.”

“What?”

“We can get the tube to mine, and they are still running.”

“Erm…”

“You can sleep on the sofa if that would make you feel more comfortable.”

She was smiling. He wasn’t sure what to say.

***

The next morning, Patrick arrived at work after what he could only describe as one of the best nights of his life. He knew he had to be discreet, so he had stopped off on the way to work and bought a new shirt and tie. He got changed in the office toilets.

He walked onto the floor of his office, only to be greeted by his teammates, who cheered as he walked in. Did they know?

“Well done, mate, you’re one of us now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Louise.”

“What about her?”

“Do you know how long she’s been here?”

“Three weeks.”

They all laughed.

“Mate, she’s been here ten years!”

Office Politics (Sinful Stories Series)

nick@nicklennonbarrett.com (Nick Lennon-Barrett) — Sun, 24 Oct 2021 12:09:47 GMT

Katie and Brenda were going at it again. Claire wondered if this was what it felt like to be a schoolteacher. She was constantly having to referee and be the voice of reason, and this looming promotion round had only exacerbated the two women’s animosity to each other.

“Oh look, I’ve got my interview with the promotion panel,” said Katie.

Katie had a booming voice, which carried across the open plan office. Over a hundred people worked on this floor, and there was no doubt in Claire’s mind that everyone had heard the news, whether they wanted to or not.

“I had mine about an hour ago,” said Brenda.

Brenda was softer spoken, but everything she said had a patronising tone to it, no matter what she was saying.

“Well, I suppose they need to be polite and go through the motions. They want to make sure they hit their quota for having thirty percent of promotions be women,” said Katie.

Brenda scowled,

“I bet even Claire got an interview. Did you?” asked Katie.

Claire didn’t want to get drawn into this, but they had offered her a promotion interview. It was her first attempt. Brenda and Katie were both on their third. Claire nodded to confirm and then went back to her computer screen.

“I rest my case,” said Katie. “Claire has only been here five minutes. There’s no way she’s going to get it. There’s only three spots and we know the two guys who are getting promoted, no questions asked. There will be one woman, or the union will kick off. They can’t just give it to me. It has to look like they’ve done a proper process.”

“I agree,” said Brenda. “The last thing we need is your foghorn broadcasting across the office more than usual, which would have happened if you hadn’t gotten your pity interview.”

It carried on like that for the rest of the afternoon. Claire was a project manager, like Katie and Brenda. She had applied for promotion to Senior Project Manager, although had been told that people didn’t get it on their first attempt. Her manager had suggested that applying early would give her experience of the process, so she would be better prepared when it was her time. It was the worst kept secret that the job was going to go to either Katie or Brenda. Claire didn’t envy the promotion panel, as whichever wasn’t successful would not take it well, although neither of them would leave. They were both what Claire would describe as backbone workers. They only did what the company required; no more, no less. They had been with the company for years and would never leave. They believed that promotion was something they were entitled to as loyalty for their service. They were only interested in the higher salary that came with the promotion. It was that simple. If Claire was on the panel, she wouldn’t give it to either of them, but the Board had made an agreement with the union about quotas, so they would promote one of them this time round. No other women had applied for promotion to that level in this division.

***

A week later, Claire was in the staff kitchen making herself a coffee after her interview. They had as good as told her that she was unlikely to be successful, which had stung a bit. However, she had found the overall experience challenging, yet enjoyable, so knew she’d look back on it as a positive experience once the sting had worn off. She finished making her coffee and decided to take five minutes for herself as there was nobody else in the kitchen. She leaned against the side, inhaled the aroma of the fresh coffee, closed her eyes, and took a sip.

The sound of Katie’s voice shattered her moment of solitude.

“Well, they as good as told me they were promoting me,” she said, as she walked into the kitchen.

Claire opened her eyes, irritated to see that Brenda was with her.

“That’s funny, Katie, they said the same thing to me.”

“They were just humouring you. I bet they said the same thing to Claire. Did they?”

“No, they didn’t.”

“What?” asked Katie.

“I said, no, they didn’t. They told me I had a lot to offer, but that it wasn’t typical to promote someone on their first attempt.”

“Well, it’s true,” said Katie. “I smell bullshit from you anyway, Brenda.”

Brenda went to speak, but Claire cut in.

“Katie, have you ever heard of empathy?”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, I’m your colleague. I just had my interview. I’ve been told that it was unlikely I’d be successful. It was what I expected, but it still stings a bit, and all you can say is, I told you so. Perhaps you should have some consideration for other people’s feelings.”

Brenda said nothing, but her face implied she was loving how the conversation had turned.

“I keep it real,” said Katie.

“Perhaps that’s why you’ve not been promoted then,” said Claire. She was annoyed, but she kept her voice calm.

“Excuse me?” boomed Katie.

“Well, as a senior, you need to manage a team, so keeping it real isn’t the only traits a line manager needs to have.”

“Boom!” said Brenda, who had now found her voice.

Katie was about to respond when one of the female Partners walked into the kitchen. She had been one of the interviewers on the promotion panel. Claire wondered how much she had heard. Katie gave a look to imply that their conversation was far from over before walking away. Brenda smiled at Claire before leaving, clearly loving the drama.

***

Two days later, the atmosphere was still frosty. Katie had demanded an apology, which Claire had obliged.

“I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings.”

“That’s not an apology. You need to apologise for what you said.”

“That would be insincere. I am not sorry for what I said, but I am sorry if I hurt your feelings.”

Nothing more had been said, but there was still an uncomfortable silence. This was exacerbated by Brenda being quiet, which was unnerving, as you could usually never shut her up.

Katie let out a scream.

“What’s wrong?” asked Brenda.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know.”

“What?”

“You’ve stolen my promotion.”

“What? You didn’t get it either?”

“You mean, you didn’t get it?”

“No, why do you think I’ve been quiet all morning?”

“So, neither of us got it. We need to raise this with the union rep straight away.”

“Shall we go together,” said Brenda, standing up.

Katie agreed. There was a first time for everything. They left together with a shared sense of purpose.

Claire thought it would be a good time to take an early lunch. She did one last check of her email, remembering her conversation with the Partner the night before. She smiled to herself as she saw the follow up email, which started with the word Congratulations…

Ticking Clock

nick@nicklennonbarrett.com (Nick Lennon-Barrett) — Wed, 01 Sep 2021 11:00:02 GMT

Her eyes flicked open. She glanced at the clock. 4 am. There was no reason to be up this early. She usually slept until the alarm dragged her awake.

No point trying to get back to sleep. A waste of precious time. Her body told her it was time to get up. She’d soon find out why. She threw back the covers. Her legs felt heavy. She dragged them out of the bed, placing her feet on the icy floor. She’d left her slippers at the other side of the bed. She hurried round, putting them on. She had stayed in enough hotels to know it would be a while before the heat kicked in, so she shuffled across the floor and grabbed her dressing gown from the back of the door.

Opening the blinds a fraction, she could look out of the window. It was still dark. The street was quiet, apart from the occasional car. Probably people with an early start, or late finish. It could be something more sinister, such as someone fleeing, albeit below the speed limit, after committing a crime. Her imagination always assumed the dramatic. It was a more interesting way to live.

As she was now wide awake, she opted to have a shower and get dressed for the day. It was an important day. The card on the bedside table reminded her of that.

Good luck, P.

Love T x

She smiled and placed the card back before heading into the en suite bathroom. It was slightly warmer in there, but she would still run the water for a few minutes before undressing. She still had time. She hadn’t been due to wake up for another hour.

After she showered and dressed, all she could do was wait. She looked out the window again. There was a bit more traffic. It was still quiet. All she could hear was the ticking of the clock on the bedside table. It was only in hotels that you could still find traditional alarm clocks. Across the road she saw the house which rarely had movement this early in the morning. The lights were on and she could see shadows against the windows. Something was going on. She turned off her own light and pulled a chair up to the window, so she could watch covertly.

A few minutes later the front door opened. She looked at the clock again. It wasn’t even five o’clock. They were early. She watched carefully and saw two men take bags out to the car. What was happening? There was still no sign of the homeowner. She didn’t recognise these men, but she knew their presence was a potential problem.

She moved away from the window for a few seconds and picked up her bag, from the floor. She rummaged inside and found what she was looking for, placing it on her lap. Back at the window, there was more movement from across the street. The men were talking, although the windows were too good at blocking out sound. Very carefully and quietly, she opened the window as a car passed so it would muffle any sound. She could hear them; they were not talking about anything which would explain why they were there. It didn’t matter, as to her it was obvious. They knew something was about to happen.

She turned back to the clock once more and saw it tick over to five o’clock. In that moment, she saw the homeowner emerge from the house. An hour earlier than expected. This was why she had woken up early. A sixth sense. The window was already open, so all she had to do was pick up the gun from her lap, fire and T would be pleased that the job was finally done.

Killer Story

nick@nicklennonbarrett.com (Nick Lennon-Barrett) — Thu, 01 Jul 2021 09:00:21 GMT

Jenelle slammed down her laptop. Her nemesis, Sarah Wilson, was working on the same story. There was no way that bitch was going to get the scoop. Jenelle needed to go to print first.

She was investigating a series of young female journalists who had committed suicide over the past two years. All the victims had used different methods to kill themselves, and the coroner had ruled all the cases as suicides. Nobody was connecting the cases. The women were not all based in London, some had a history of mental illness and some didn’t. The only thing which connected the women was that they were all in the same career. Jenelle had not raised her suspicions to anyone, as she wanted to get the scoop herself, before her more experienced colleagues. Now it looked like her rival could beat her, as Sarah’s email was clear that she knew Jenelle was working on the story. Their rivalry stretched back to the days when they were co-editors of the school newspaper. It had not ended well.

The additional evidence Jenelle had, which she hadn’t shared with anyone, was that all the victims had used the same dating website. Jenelle had been using it for three weeks to see if this could be how the killer had lured their victims. It was full of the usual dross – just men wanting to get laid, and some women who weren’t shy about coming forward. There was one profile which had caught her attention – JournoGuy25. She recognised his pictures and a quick image search verified that they were catfished from Instagram. This looked promising. Jenelle had been chatting with him for a few days before he suggested they meet for some fun. She wasn’t stupid, so asked if they could meet in a public place. Surprisingly, he agreed, which implied that he was probably not who she was looking for. Still, she could do a side story piece on catfishing, so she arranged to meet him outside London Bridge Station the following evening.

The next evening, she realised he had played her when she was still waiting after half an hour. A quick check on the dating site showed that he had deleted his profile. Another waste of time. She needed a drink, so headed into a nearby bar. It wasn’t too busy, so she ordered herself a large glass of wine.

“Jenelle?”

She turned round. It was Sarah.

“What are you doing here?”

“I work down the road,” replied Sarah, not appearing perturbed by Jenelle’s bluntness. “This is a bit off the beaten track for you, isn’t it?”

“I was just passing and fancied a drink before heading home.” Jenelle was hoping she would get the hint and piss off back to whichever human had chosen to socialise with her.

“I wanted to talk to you. Can I get you a drink?”

“Aren’t you with anybody?”

“They just left.”

“Well, I’ve already ordered a glass of wine.”

“Oh great, well if I get one as well, we get the rest of the bottle free. My treat.”

Jenelle wanted to tell her to piss off, but that would be rude and un-British. Besides, she was curious about what she wanted.

Over an hour later, they were on their second bottle of wine, laughing and joking – how had that happened? It had started from then reminiscing about their fellow students who had all left the school paper because they couldn’t handle the pressure of two ambitious young women. The headmistress had also been threatened by them, which is why she’d fired them. Well, that was their take on it. The conversation eventually turned to Sarah’s email.

“Do you think there’s more to these suicides then?” asked Sarah.

Jenelle was not that drunk, or stupid, but it would be good to find out what Sarah knew, so she played along.

“Look, I’ve got nothing to connect any of them, other than them all being young female journalists. It could all just be a coincidence.”

“Have you taken the story to your editor?”

“No, it’s just a hunch. How about you?”

“Yeah, he told me to leave it. Said I was forcing myself to see something that wasn’t there. If there was anything, the police would have investigated it.”

“So, why did you email me?”

“When I spoke to the families, they asked if we were working together, so I knew you were looking into it as well. I thought you might have some more evidence, so thought I’d try to provoke you to reveal what else you know.”

“I don’t know anything else. If I did, I would have gone to my editor.”

Sarah seemed reassured by that response. There was no way Jenelle was going to share everything she had, and she suspected Sarah was doing the same. You couldn’t wipe away ten years of rivalry with a couple of bottles of wine. Jenelle looked at her watch. They’d been chatting for a couple of hours and it was already dark outside. She excused herself to go to the toilet and would use her return as an opportunity to call it a night. It had been different having a civilised conversation with Sarah, but they weren’t suddenly going to become besties. There was too much history there.

When Jenelle returned, Sarah had poured the remains of the second bottle into each of their glasses. Jenelle picked up her coat and then downed her glass of wine – she wasn’t about to waste excellent wine.

“I better be off,” she said, putting on her coat.

“How are you getting home?”

“Tube to Liverpool Street and then the train.”

“I live in Shoreditch. I’m going to get a cab so I can drop you and then carry on. I’ll order us an Uber now.”

She had her phone out, before Jenelle could say anything.

It was only a few minutes before their cab had arrived. Once they were outside the cold air hit them and Jenelle felt unsteady on her feet. Perhaps downing that last glass of wine had been a bad idea. She’d treat herself to some stodgy food at the station.

Once in the cab, Jenelle felt the tiredness sweep over her and was glad she had opted for a cab over the tube. She couldn’t wait to get to bed.

“You okay?” asked Sarah.

“Yeah, just tired.” It was more than that. She was struggling to keep her eyes open.

“Well, it’s good to have a few drinks, especially after being stood up.”

“What did you say?”

Sarah was smiling at her in a way that looked a bit sinister, but Jenelle couldn’t be sure as her vision was blurring. She was doing her best not to fall asleep, so wasn’t sure if she had misheard what Sarah had said. She glanced at the cab driver, who she hadn’t noticed when she first got in the cab. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t place him.

She looked at Sarah, who was still smiling. Realisation and panic hit her.

“Have you met our driver, Jenelle? You may know him as JournoGuy25!”

Showtime

nick@nicklennonbarrett.com (Nick Lennon-Barrett) — Mon, 01 Feb 2021 12:00:11 GMT

2020 had been a disaster for everyone.

Chris had never expected to be unemployed for six months. He’d worked since the age of sixteen, even whilst at university. He was lucky as he’d received a decent redundancy payment, and he was always had savings as a buffer. However, things were getting tight, and he really needed a new job.

The year had got off to a good start. There were more jobs being advertised, and he’d secured himself an interview. It was for a big tech company, and the job was perfect for him. He just needed to nail the interview, which would be virtual. Given this was a big tech company, Chris could not have a disastrous internet connection, or any other awkwardness inflicted on him, usually by his flatmates, Paul, and Alex. For that reason, he called a meeting.

They both appeared distracted. Paul was on his phone, probably arranging another virtual hook-up. Paul was a sex addict, and the lockdown had been challenging for him. He worked in the entertainment industry so had been on furlough since March. This meant he’d had had the best part of a year off work, but still being paid. However, he had an extremely low boredom threshold, although he’d been good about not breaking the rules by having a stream of bed mates in and out of the flat during lockdown. Unfortunately, during the summer relaxation he’d had a brief fling with someone who’d introduced him to the world of virtual reality. It had become a noisy hobby!

Alex was studying for his second master’s degree. He had a trust fund, so didn’t need to work, although his parents had been clear that they expected him to get a job once his education was complete. He was twenty-eight, as he’d taken several ‘gap years’ to get to this point. He was now contemplating a PhD as well. He was also a fitness fanatic and clean freak, so with the gyms being closed he had created a home studio to workout, which took over half of their living room. For that reason, Chris was conducting his interview in his bedroom.

“Guys, as you know, I’ve got this big interview tomorrow morning. I really want this job, so I have a few requests.”

They both looked up from their electronic devices. That was something!

“No virtual shagging,” he pointed at Paul. “I’m sure you can last an hour.”

“What time is the interview?”

“I already told you this. It’s at eleven o’clock.”

Paul went to speak, but then stopped.

“Alex, do you have any deliveries tomorrow?”

“Nothing yet.”

“Good, keep it that way. Given you don’t want to interact with any delivery drivers, you order a lot of stuff.”

“Well, you always take the stuff in for me don’t you.”

“Exactly, and I can’t do that if I’m in an interview. You can guarantee that out of the entire day, it will be during my interview when they arrive, so just hold out for a day if you want to order anything.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Alex returned to looking at his device, which was open on the Amazon page, Chris was not hopeful, but he’d made his plea. Now, all he could do was keep everything crossed that the interview went well and that his flatmates wouldn’t do anything to screw it up.

Chris was ready ten minutes before the interview start time. He hadn’t worn his suit for the best part of a year, so only just realised he’d gained a little lockdown thickness. He opted for a shirt and tie, with some jogging bottoms. One advantage of a virtual interview.

The interview started promptly, and it went very well. Chris could sense a good rapport between him and the two interviewers. They had already been speaking for an hour, so they were running over, which had to be a good sign.

“If you’re okay for time, we have one last question. Then you can ask us your questions. Give us an example of when you’ve coped well under pressure?”

Chris confirmed he was good for time and was about to answer when he heard some loud moaning. That noise was unmistakable – it was Paul. Chris was hoping the interviewers couldn’t hear anything. It took all his effort to not show any reaction to what was going on – he was going to kill Paul!

The interviewers gave no sign they had heard anything, so Chris was about to answer the question when the door buzzer rang, swiftly followed by Alex walking into his bedroom.

“Sorry to interrupt, but can you get the door? It’s an urgent delivery.”

Chris apologised to his interviewers, who seemed relaxed about the interruption. He turned his camera off and muted his microphone. It pissed him off, but the easiest thing he could do was collect the delivery, rather than argue about it. He went to the front door, walking past Paul’s bedroom door. He was still moaning. Chris took the delivery from the driver. He walked back to his room and went to hand the parcel to Alex.

“I asked you not to arrange any deliveries today if you couldn’t answer the door yourself.”

“It was an emergency. Just put it on the floor. I’ll need to sanitise it first.”

Chris dropped the parcel on the floor. “Couldn’t you ask Paul to go to the door?”

“Not really.”

They suddenly heard a loud yelp from Paul’s bedroom.

“Oh, sounds like he’s climaxed, so I’ll ask him to get the door if anything else comes.”

Chris shook his head in disbelief. He didn’t even want to know how many more parcels they could expect today.

He closed his bedroom door, sat back at his desk, slapped his cheeks to bring his focus back into the room. He turned his video back on and saw the interviewers laughing. That was when he realised that he hadn’t properly muted his microphone. They’d heard everything.

He could just pretend like nothing had happened, although he knew he’d blown his chances now, but the one thing he could control is for them to not assume he was crazy.

“Sorry about that. I have one flatmate who is a germaphobe yet is probably responsible for half of Amazon’s profits this past year. My other flatmate has been on furlough since March, so through boredom he’s discovered virtual reality dating. I don’t think I need to elaborate any further. I mean, you heard it for yourself.”

He could tell that they were trying not to keep laughing, so he asked if they still wanted him to answer the last question.

“I think we’ve got everything we need. Have you got any questions for us Chris?”

He just wanted to end the call. It was mortifying, but he had prepared a few questions, so he didn’t want to just leave the interview awkwardly. Them not wanting him to answer the last question was a bad sign. He still asked his questions, although a dark cloud now hung over the whole interview, and that cloud was having a virtual orgasm.

The next morning, Chris opted to stay in bed late. He’d balled his flatmates out the night before and they had both been apologetic. Paul had claimed that he assumed the interview would finish after an hour so had pushed his hook up back to midday. Chris had thought that was very considerate behaviour for Paul, which probably said more about Chris that it did about Paul. Alex had then also quipped that he’d asked for his deliveries after midday. Chris knew that was probably bollocks as another seven parcels had arrived that day, but didn’t want to argue the point. They both appeared to feel bad about the situation, for now at least.

Chris’s phone rang. He was reluctant to answer it, but it was an unknown number so it could be a recruitment agency. He still needed a job.

“Hello, Chris speaking.”

It was the hiring manager from the day before. Hadn’t the whole situation been humiliating enough? It appeared they now wanted to reject him over the phone. A computer-generated email would have sufficed in this situation.

“Chris, we have some good news for you. We’d like to offer you the job.”

“What?”

“Yes. Your experience was far superior to anyone else we spoke to, and you brought something to the interview that nobody else did,”

“What was that?”

“The best laugh we’ve had in ages!”

Chris wasn’t sure how to respond.

“Do you want to know why we didn’t need you to answer that last question?”

“Because you wanted to end the call so you could piss yourself laughing?”

The guy chuckled. “No, well, we did that anyway. The question was to give us an example of when you’ve coped under pressure. You didn’t need to tell us as you demonstrated it. How you could stay calm in that situation is a credit to you and you are someone we’d like to work with.”

Chris spoke with him for a few minutes as he was told more details about the offer. He verbally accepted and hung up the phone.

A few minutes later. There was a light tap on his bedroom door.

“Come in.”

Paul poked his head round the door. “Cup of tea and a bacon sandwich?”

“Yes, thanks.”

“Sorry again about yesterday.”

Chris said nothing. He’d let them stew for a while.

Uplifting Love

nick@nicklennonbarrett.com (Nick Lennon-Barrett) — Fri, 01 Jan 2021 12:00:02 GMT

“Hold the lift,” shouted Dean as he jogged across the lobby.

Suddenly, his stomach lurched as he saw Joe holding the doors open for him; the last person he wanted to be in a confined space with. He couldn’t stop now and let the lift go, or he’d look even more foolish than he tended to in Joe’s presence.

“Thanks,” mumbled Dean, as he entered the lift, avoiding eye contact.

“You going to the fourth?” Joe asked, friendly as ever.

Dean nodded and gave a nervous smile.

The lift started moving. Suddenly a loud screeching sound announced a problem, and it shuddered to a halt. They both looked at each other for a second, and then Joe hit the alarm.

“Are we stuck?” asked Dean.

“It looks that way.” He said it in such a warm manner, even though Dean had asked an obvious and idiotic question.

Joe spoke into the emergency intercom. The voice at the other end confirmed that an engineer should be with them within an hour.

“Hope you didn’t have to be anywhere?”

“Just a project meeting, it’ll be no big deal if I’m not there.” Dean stuttered out the words.

Here, trapped in the lift beside him, was the person he’d had an insane crush on for the last two years. The same person he had made an absolute idiot of himself in front of repeatedly. Joe seemed relaxed about the situation they were in. Dean’s legs shook and felt heavy.

The silence was becoming more uncomfortable as the seconds ticked by. Dean looked at himself in the mirror. Of course, today was the day when he was running late, so he hadn’t shaved, and the messy hair look he was going for just looked messy. He’d also been out the night before, so his usual doleful brown eyes looked bloodshot and his pupils beady. This was not the look that would impress someone like Joe; the same bloke that three other stunning guys in the office had pursued to no avail.

Dean wondered what sort of man Joe went for. Not someone who looked like an unkempt zombie, that was for sure. It would be the tall, fit gym-bunny type, not the five foot eight, weedy looking thing that was daring to share the same air.

“You plan on staying quiet for the entire hour then?”

“Sorry I was miles away,” Dean lied.

“Anywhere nice?”

“A beach in Thailand.” It was the first thing that came into his head.

“Have you been there?”

“A few times. I went backpacking there after I finished my degree.”

“I’ve always wanted to go there. I love the food and the culture.”

Dean spent the next ten minutes talking about his love of all things Thai. The noise of Bangkok, the intoxicating nightlife, the spicy food which had just enough bite to bring you out in a sweat, the Thai hospitality and fascinating tranquillity of Buddhism.

“Are you okay? You’ve gone a bit pale,” Joe remarked.

“I’m not keen on closed spaces, that’s why I’ve been jabbering so much, sorry.”

“Not at all. Like I said, I’ve always wanted to go. Sounds like a fascinating place. It’d be great to have someone to share that experience with though.”

Dean nodded. He wanted to say that he’d happily go with him, ideally on their honeymoon, but that would definitely be a conversation killer!

Dean suddenly felt a warm hand on his shoulders. Joe had noticed his panic and was trying to calm him down. His touch sent an electric current trough his entire body that twisted his stomach into knots. He couldn’t show his face; it would be a shocking shade of purple, which was not a good look, especially with the stubble, crap hair and bleary eyes. Why couldn’t this have happened after he’d been to the stylist for his monthly trim, and when he’d had a decent amount of sleep? Fate could be very cruel, although Dean felt that half the time fate just loved watching him suffer. Fate was a bitch. That was today’s lesson.

Dean kept looking down and breathing deeply, he could still feel Joe’s arm placed around his shoulders. It was so warm and gentle. It was now in this moment that he had to find out if he reciprocated any of these feelings. He could ask him out for a drink. What was the worst that could happen?

If he said no, it was only a word. A word that would no doubt shatter Dean for the rest of his life. He looked up directly into his eyes; they were so beautiful and mesmerising. His warm smile and kind face looked directly at him. Dean tried to speak, but it was more of a splutter. He cleared his throat. He wanted to sound confident when he asked the questions. Dean gulped a few times and smiled...

The lift jerked and moved; the moment broken. The doors opened and light flooded in. It had been less than twenty minutes, although it had felt like hours.

“Are you okay?” asked Joe.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Well, you might still make your meeting if you hurry.”

“Think I’ll take the stairs.”

“Good idea.”

They both stepped out the lift. There was a pause, as they both looked at each other.

“Thanks for your help.” Dean held out his hand.

Joe shook it, giving him an odd look.

“Anytime,” replied Joe with a smile before he headed off in the opposite direction to Dean.

Dean stood still for a moment, wondering what might have been and wanting the ground to swallow him whole for the stupid handshake thing. What was he thinking?

As he walked away, knowing that he would never have such an opportunity again, he felt that warm hand on his shoulder again. It was Joe.

“Look, I’ve been wanting to ask this for ages. Do you fancy a drink later?”

Maybe fate wasn’t such a bitch after all!

Merry Bloody Christmas

nick@nicklennonbarrett.com (Nick Lennon-Barrett) — Tue, 01 Dec 2020 15:09:31 GMT

Damien twitched as the phone continued to ring. It was relentless. His leg bounced up and down as his anxiety rose.

"The phone won't answer itself," barked Hilary, in her usual patronising tone. It was a tone which implied that you were crap at absolutely everything.

"Why don't you answer it then," replied Damien, before thinking of the implications in suggesting Hilary should do some work.

"Excuse me! Are you forgetting who’s in charge here, babes?" Her Essex twang more prevalent with that last word.

She had always hidden her Essex roots until some Reality TV show about pretty people acting like complete twats had made it trendy again. The problem was she had spent so long trying to sound like she was from Surrey that she just came across as fake. Nobody would say that to her face. Hilary was the Office Manager, which she believed was even more important than the CEO.

“It's Christmas Eve, there's a lot to do, people to see and things you don't need to know. Take an early lunch. I'm leaving at twelve.”

"I was planning to leave at four," he replied, leg banging. "I mentioned it weeks ago. I need to get a train. I’m going to see my family."

"You finish at five thirty, and will you stop banging your knee up and down, it makes you come across as a nutter."

He held her gaze, the contempt in his eyes lost on her. She couldn't read anything with one syllable, let alone people!

“Make sure you lock the stationary cupboard before you leave. I don’t want the cleaner thinking she can help herself. There are some hampers we couldn’t get to the clients in there, and the office isn’t open again until after new year.”

“I’m well aware of when the office reopens,” he snapped.

“I’m not sure I like this new attitude. Just remember your place. I say what goes and you’ll stay here until finish time. You’ll just have to get another train.”

He said nothing. If she was leaving at lunchtime, she wouldn't know if he left early for his train. He would just deal with the consequences in the new year and to be fair, he doubted anyone else would be here by four o’clock anyway. Damien would often daydream about what it would be like if Hilary met with a nasty accident. Where was a crane trying to lift a piano into a window when you needed one? That was a particular favourite of his.

"I'll be back in a bit," he said, standing up.

"Err... where do you think you're going?"

“For lunch, like you said.”

“It’s eleven o’clock!”

Breathe. Don't respond. Walk out. Catch your breath. Come back calm.

"Babes, make me a brew," she asked, with a click of her fingers.

Snap!

A few hours later, he was collecting his belongings from his desk. He wouldn't be coming back. He was looking forward to Christmas with his family.

"Where's Hilary?" a colleague asked.

"She left early."

He looked at the stationary cupboard with a knowing smile and put the keys in his pocket, preparing to throw them in the river on the way to catch his train.

"Merry Christmas, bitch!"

The Honeymoon is Over

Sun, 01 Nov 2020 22:00:00 GMT

In life you can find yourself questioning your own motives. What on earth made me decide to do that? Why didn't I do that instead? These questions were a constant drain on one's desire to always be right!

John asked himself these questions constantly and more so when it came to his husband – Luciano. John liked the quiet life and considered himself to be the most undramatic person that had ever walked the earth.

Luciano believed he was god’s gift to men, women, and no doubt God herself! He was nothing special to look at. Oh, he was good looking of course, John didn’t do charity work, but Luciano didn't have that polished beauty that excused him from being a drama queen and an absolute bitch!

Unfortunately, despite all the drama, John loved his husband; he just didn’t like him very much. However, he didn't marry Luciano so they could be friends. He always found those couples who said, “I’ve married my best friend,” rather nauseating.

Luciano was always on edge; his personality ensured that the simplest things in life were major dramas. The latest example was when John had invited his family round for dinner and Luciano had humiliated him by ridiculing the food. There was nothing wrong with the food; it just wasn't part of the latest fad diet. One of Luciano’s more common dramatic outbursts was his inability to put on weight.

“I just eat and eat and can’t put any weight on. Do you know how frustrating that is? Why is life so unfair?”

That was one of the least dramatic statements.

John’s brother had made the mistake of vocalising what everybody else was thinking – first world problems! Since then, Luciano had forbidden him to set foot in the house again.

Luciano’s obsession over his weight was now borderline psychotic. He was on the scales constantly – after he ate a morsel and after anything came out! John could put up with a lot and had over the three days they'd been married, but enough was enough. The situation with his brother had been a step too far. It was a no-brainer – he would have to kill Luciano. Leaving him would involve far too much paperwork!

Now how to do it?

Poison wouldn't work as he never knew what Luciano would be eating from one day to the next, although he knew that Luciano had a fetish for inhaling cheesecake. They’d met at a Golden Girls fan convention, after all.

Smothering was a possibility, although it could take some time for Luciano to die, and John wasn’t sure he would be able to hold the pillow over his face for that long. It could also damage the pillows. They weren’t cheap.

John also ruled out drowning – too long and dramatic.

Shooting and stabbing were too messy, and the cleaner wasn’t due for five days.

There was only one option, he’d electrocute him in the bath. It worked in the films, although he hoped Luciano would not be re-incarnated as a psychotic doll.

Luciano had a bath almost every night, so there was no time to waste. Best to do it now whilst the anger still sat like a heavy stone in John's stomach. His chest tightened with nerves, or was it excitement?

Unfortunately, there was nothing obvious that could accidentally fall into the bath, although he was now at a point where he could quite easily just throw a drill in there. Not his drill; it was the only wedding present he liked. Luciano had not been impressed and was still threatening to return it.

"I can use it to make our home beautiful", John had suggested.

“Darling, our home will be beautiful as long as you don’t touch anything, alright?”

He knew in that moment that he had made a terrible mistake. That was his wedding night! John looked down at his ankle and the tattoo which said Mr Right. That would need to be removed, or he would come across as a conceited twat, especially when he was looking for a new husband.

When he got home, Luciano was already in the bath singing, practising his Adele audition for some god-awful talent show. Adele had nothing to worry about!

Clearly the diet was off again as half a cheesecake lay on the kitchen table. There was a strong temptation to eat it all, yet Luciano would go mad. Oh yes, it wouldn't matter anymore would it?

It tasted heavenly as the chocolate and pistachio melted in John’s mouth. He couldn’t help himself and finished what was left of the cheesecake. He automatically placed the plate in the dishwasher – that would soon be a habit of the past.

John pulled the hair straighteners out from his bag. It would be the perfect murder!

Suddenly, it felt like he'd been punched hard in the stomach. It had winded him so badly that he fell to his knees in agonising pain. His throat started burning and his heart rate increased dramatically. He could feel the blood rushing to his head and knew he was seconds away from passing out.

"Nobody gets one over on me, darling," said Luciano’s cold voice.

The last thing John saw was Luciano’s matching tattoo on his ankle – Mr Always Right!

Night to Remember

Thu, 01 Oct 2020 08:54:43 GMT

Dave was exhausted. He knew it was the fear that was driving him to keep going. It wasn’t his athleticism – being able to say the word was as far as it went. Usually, he didn’t care. He was incredibly happy with the person he was, and the life he had, but there were moments, like this, when he realised that you could still be content whilst wanting for more.

“I can’t run any further, Tom,” he pleaded.

“We’ve got no choice – if we don’t keep going, we’re both dead. Now run.”

Dave looked at his friend before they took off again; the sincerity in his eyes evident, as was the same fear he held. The adrenalin pumped through Dave’s body providing the power needed to keep his legs moving. Tom moved ahead quickly. He was definitely the athletic type. He lived in the gym, gurning in the mirror as he pushed his muscles to every extremity, before stripping down to his underwear and taking photographs for Instagram. It was one of the reasons Dave didn’t go to the gym anymore – he would usually have to play the role of photographer.

“Hurry up,” bellowed Tom, as he turned the corner in front.

Dave remained focussed, not looking back. He imagined people becoming a blur as he zoomed past them, although zoomed would not be how any passer-by would describe it. They probably wondered why some guy dripping in sweat, looked like he was about to drop dead from a mild jog.

Dave turned the corner and saw Tom in the distance.

“Wait for me,” he hollered.

He caught a glimpse of himself in a shop window as he passed by; he really did need to get himself in shape. The athlete in front of him pounding the tarmac effortlessly. It was nauseating; no wonder all the men flocked after Tom. Dave was happily married, and that settled feeling had caused him to make less effort – it wasn’t a great attitude yet based on his other friends who were in long-term relationships, he wasn’t the only one who thought like that. The gazelle in the distance, was still very much single – and enjoying it to the max.

Tom stopped ahead and Dave managed to catch him up, coming to a halt and gasping for breath. His throat burned as he sagged against the wall, his legs ready to give out.

“We can’t stop, you know what’ll happen if we don’t keep moving.”

“Not all of us live in the gym you know.”

“Come on Dave please, you can do it mate. I don’t want to leave you behind. I’d hate to think what’ll happen to you if I do.”

Tom put a reassuring arm round Dave’s shoulders and gave him a ‘come on mate’ smile. Dave nodded and they both set off again. Within a few yards Dave was in agonising pain. Tom was obviously holding back to give him some encouragement, although it just felt patronising, whether intentional or not – it wasn’t. Tom was a self-confident guy who strutted around like a peacock for his half a million Instagram followers, but Dave knew the real guy behind the online persona. The kind, considerate and most selfless person Dave had ever met. He also knew it was the self-confidence he portrayed online which masked the reality, which was someone who needed constant reassurance and validation. He laughed off the online trolls, although Dave knew how much they really affected Tom.

They rounded another corner and Tom picked up the pace a little bit more. Dave was managing to keep up with him, even though his legs were screaming out in pain.

“Come on Dave, we’re nearly there.”

They ran up a flight of stairs that led to a small train station. There was a train with its doors open. The whistle blew. Tom was already through the doors, holding them open. Dave gave one final push and jumped on the train.

They’d made it; they were safe.

“Thank God for that – you know what a drama queen Paul is. He would have killed us if we’d been late for his stag do!”

Do Not Disturb

Tue, 01 Sep 2020 21:00:00 GMT

The killer knew that within seconds the body would be discovered, despite the sign on the door asking for privacy. The maid had only herself to blame. The sign was there for a reason; ignoring it in order to tick off her list would be something she would regret for the rest of her life.

She could see the maid from her view by the pool, who gave only a cursory glance at the sign hanging over the door handle. The bungalow looked no different to the 300 others in the Spanish resort, yet it would be some time before anyone stayed there again.

Within seconds of the maid entering her scream reverberated around the entire complex.

It was exciting to watch it all unfold although logic told her she should have left by now putting as much distance from the body as she could. The pull to remain and watch it all unfold was strong; this was her first kill and she was intrigued to see what would happen next. Staff ran towards what would soon be known as the crime scene – it was a bloody mess!

He had fought for his life yet was no match for her. In the end she had subdued him before cutting his throat – up close and personal. That was the right way to do it, none of this bullet in the back of the head nonsense. This was her first, yet she knew they was an art to it – murder was merely suicide by an extrovert.

There was lots of shouting in Spanish, which she understood perfectly. All the years of coming on holiday here were paying off. She never understood those who visited the same country year after year, yet never felt any inclination to at least get a grasp of the language. It was rude; plain and simple.

There was a crowd forming. The complex was mainly British holidaymakers. You could literally see the north, south divide. The northerners crowding round gossiping and trying to find out what was going on; no doubt making new friends to have dinner with that evening. The southerners acting like nothing was going on, sipping their cocktails, and reading the last bodice-ripping best-seller – and that was the men! Even when the Police arrived there was nothing that would invite even a casual glance – this was simply none of their business and they intended to keep it that way.

The Police were now round the pool area and she was attempting to blend in with the southerners, pretending to read a book. That was until one of the hotel staff pointed in her direction.

Well that didn't take long!

The police officer approached with some apprehension. He spoke to her in perfect English; his accent subtle, easy to understand and rather delicious!

"Senora, can we go somewhere more private?"

Who was she to refuse? What was it about Spanish policemen? They all had a certain look and it was delightful!

As she left the pool area, even the southerners couldn't help but stare. Apart from the couple she knew were from London. They didn’t seem to care, or were just oblivious, as was anyone from that city – a place that wasn’t for her.

She was escorted to the manager’s office where there were several police officers waiting for her. Was the game up? How could they have realised she was the killer so quickly? They hadn’t been here long. Had she been sloppy and left some obvious clue. No, she was certain of that, yet here they were en masse, and no doubt about to slap the handcuffs on her.

Or… maybe, just maybe, they had something else to tell her…

"Senora, I'm afraid I have some very bad news about your husband..."

Silver Networker

nick@nicklennonbarrett.com (Nick Lennon-Barrett) — Sat, 01 Aug 2020 15:21:54 GMT

It was chaos!

The noise horrendous. It took all her effort to block out the din, so she could focus on what she had to do. There was no other option, she simply had to join the queue and wait her turn.It was going to be a long day!

She was so immersed in her own thoughts that she jumped when someone tapped her on the shoulder.

“Edna Poxy, is that you?”

Nobody had called her by her maiden name for years. The stranger looked the wrong side of eighty yet had a cheeky boyishness about his features and his smile gave her goose bumps. Her brain scratched around in the vaults, trying to place the person standing in front of her.

“John Parker,” he offered.

“Oh, my God – John! How are you?”

“Well, apart from being in the same predicament as you, my dear, all is fine and dandy.”

“How on earth did you recognise me? It’s been over fifty years.”

“It’s the look you give when you’re annoyed. Shows up your dimples. I knew it had to be you when I saw them.”

John had always been a bit of a charmer. He’d proposed to her when she was young, although she’d turned him down. He’d never had the same free spirit as her, and she’d thought married life would have been a bit mundane. Maybe she’d been wrong, though she’d met her husband, Wilfred not long after. She had no regrets.

They reminisced about their time together, talking about their respective spouses. John’s wife had also died. He’d had a colourful life and travelled. Edna had got it wrong. They spoke about the ballroom dance competitions that they did together. They agreed it had been made far too sexy by the dance shows on TV, although both thought it was wonderful to see the younger generation taking an interest in dance again.

Before she knew it, they were at the front of the line. It hadn’t been as bad she thought. Then she looked at her watch and realised they’d been chatting away for two hours. A holler of, next, led them both to different counter assistants.

“What is your destination please?” he asked, looking fed up.

“I was supposed to fly at three o’clock to Heathrow.”

“Next available flight is Thursday.”

“Thursday? But today’s Friday. Could I not fly into Gatwick or something?”

“That’s the first available flight to anywhere in the UK.”

She didn’t have much choice.

She was so upset, she completely forgot about John, marched out of the airport, and got in the first available taxi. There were dozens available dropping irritable looking people off, all complaining and moaning. Everyone immersed in their own problems, with only one common audible phrase coming from every group of harassed looking holidaymakers – bloody volcano!

Back at the hotel, Edna managed to contact home by use of a payphone, which she eventually worked out how to use – she had resisted calls to get a mobile phone. A teenage boy, who reminded Edna of her grandson, James, had helped her. The boy was very friendly and patient, something that was a rarity in the young nowadays.

Edna hadn’t thought about James for some time, and it was not something she would ever say to her granddaughter, Chloe. Edna had been nothing but supportive when James had transitioned into Chloe. It was something she hadn’t really understood at the time, so she had read everything she could to change that. Her love for her grandchild was unconditional, and she couldn’t relate to people who ever thought any differently.

Edna decided to make the most of her extended holiday. Despite looking she didn’t see John again. Her lack of technological skills had scared her a little in those first few hours. Edna knew she would need to change that, and she would need Chloe’s help.

“Can you show me how this Instaface thing works?” Edna asked Chloe once she was home.

“I think you mean Facebook or Instagram, Nan.”

“The one where you find all your old school friends?”

“That site doesn’t exist anymore, but Facebook works for that as well.”

“So, what is Instagram?”

“Just for pictures.”

“Of what?”

“Anything that you think people will like and comment on.”

“Are there any others?”

“There’s Twitter, although that’s not really a place to find people, you just tell your followers what you’re doing or thinking.”

“How egotistical and invasive – is nothing private these days?”

Chloe smiled. Edna idolised her granddaughter. She was due to go traveling for a year after finishing university and she would be greatly missed, but having travelled herself, she knew it was something Chloe had to do. They would often spend evenings talking about where she would go and what she would do.

Edna spent the next few weeks getting to grips with all the various social networking websites. She found them incredibly addictive and Chloe had commented on Edna’s status updates getting wittier and more frequent. She wasn’t like others of her age who posted pointless quizzes and shared stories about missing cats from three years ago. Here posts were intelligent and witty observations about life in general. Most of Chloe’s friends now followed Edna.

Edna’s main objective had been to trace John. She’d had no luck. With a common name like John Parker she had trawled for hours and contacted numerous John Parkers that showed no face picture on their profiles. She’d received a few racy responses.

“There are some very forward people on these sites.”

Scanning the latest messages Chloe looked shocked, Edna took it in her stride, she’d seen it all, and done most of it – guys like this were all talk!

“You can report people for messages like that you know.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it dear. I’ve heard worse,” she answered with a chuckle.

Whilst Edna was looking for John, she’d found other people from her past. Friends she hadn’t seen for years; decades even. People were starting to contact her, and she was amazed at how geographically close some people were. She’d met up with some old friends and thoughts of John started to drift.

A few weeks later, Edna saw Chloe off at the airport. They wouldn’t see each other for a year, and it would be a wrench. Edna had rebuilt old friendships however it wasn’t the same as the friendship she had with her only grandchild. It was wonderful to see the young woman she had become and how happy she was – her happiness was all that mattered to Edna.

When Chloe was out of site, Edna turned to leave and gasped. She pushed her way through the crowd of people, towards the person she’d seen. Edna was never one for shouting out in public; she did it anyway.

“John, John.”

He hadn’t heard her.

She caught up and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned; the disappointment must have been evident on her face, as the stranger looked mildly concerned. It wasn’t him.

She’d lost sight of her original goal and that was to find John again. From her few weeks experience of the online world she knew that anything was possible. In her heart she felt that perhaps she would never see John again, yet her determination and spirit brushed that pessimism aside.

“John Parker, I’ll find you!”

Explosive Love

nick@nicklennonbarrett.com (Nick Lennon-Barrett) — Wed, 01 Jul 2020 16:18:03 GMT

Anthony was panicking whilst trying to project a cool facade. He didn't want her to know how scared he was. He could handle a bit of danger, although he had no idea she could be things dangerous. There had always been something about this woman which unnerved him. It was one of the many reasons he had broken up with her.

“You need to let me go, before you do something you’ll regret?" he demanded, his voice shaking with anger.

“You’re in no position to issue threats,” came Glenda’s sharp response.

"You’re completely insane. You can’t bully me into having a relationship with you.”

“You messed with the wrong woman this time. I'm not like other women.”

“You’re right there, you’re crazy.”

“Oh, if it only it was that simple,” she laughed. It was a cruel, cackling laugh. He’d never heard that from her before.

“What makes you so special?” he asked.

He probably shouldn't goad her, but he knew she wouldn’t take things too far. She was a meek little thing, and very needy for attention. He knew he shouldn’t pander to her. Suddenly he heard an explosion right behind him. It felt like his heart had stopped for a second. His hearing distorted for a moment before he heard her laughing.

“That’s why I'm so special.”

“Are you going to kill me,” he asked, annoyed that there was a pleading in his voice,

“Of course not, Anthony. I love you and I want us to be a family – the three of us.”

She had told him a week after the relationship had ended that she was pregnant. James had made it clear he would support the baby and be a part of its life, yet he would not be getting back together with her. It was clear from her reaction at the time that it was not the reaction she had been expecting.

“If you start throwing explosives around then you might hurt the baby.”

“Oh, now you care about the baby. What about us?”

“We’ve had this conversation.”

“Okay, well if you won’t listen to reason, I’m going to have to tell you the truth. I’m not throwing explosives around. I said you were messing with the wrong woman. That’s because I’m not a woman, I’m a witch!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” James replied laughing.

“Silence,” she bellowed, as four explosions were heard in different corners of the room.

Now he was scared. It wasn’t that he believed her. She knew he had an interest in magic and witchcraft. It was a part of history which fascinated him as there were stories of women surviving the ducking stool, and even being burned at the stake. He knew she was playing up to that. It was just another tactic to try and win him back. She was doing the complete opposite. He just wanted to get as far away from her as possible.

“Believe me yet?”

“No, you’re being ridiculous.”

Suddenly the rope tying his hands together behind his back loosened and fell away.

“How about now?” she asked.

“How did you do that?” he replied.

He pulled off the blindfold and saw her standing by a doorway. His feet were still tied to the chair. He wanted to loosen them, but he didn’t want to take his eyes off her. Would she be able to do any of her party tricks when he could see what she was doing.

She gestured with her hands. He heard an explosion behind him, which made him jump. He swung around and saw that some bricks had exploded. I t was true!

“Believe me yet?”

He didn’t say anything, just watched her closely. He hated the fact that he was intrigued to learn more, but that macho pride kicked in and he refused to back down just yet.

“I can see that you still don’t want to be with me, so I’ll leave you to it. You’ll have to make your own way back to the city.”

She turned and exited before he could speak. Within seconds he heard a car screech away. He quickly untied his legs from the chair. He examined the ropes to see if they had been cut; they hadn't. It looked like they had been untied, yet she was nowhere near him at the time. He could tell from the direction of her voice and he knew there was nobody else in the room as being blindfolded for hours had heightened his other senses. She had been alone in this room with him, even if she’d had help in kidnapping him. Could she really be a witch? The more he thought about it, the more it excited him. This time she’d piqued his interest.

“Thanks for the explosives and that rope trick. I think they did the job,” Glenda said to her passenger as she drove back to the city.

“They are great as they leave no trace. He will be examining the room and genuinely think that you caused it with your hands. Do you think it worked?”

“Oh yes, he’ll call me by tomorrow,” she laughed. “Thank you for your help. Having a magician for a brother really comes in handy!””

“That rope is brilliant, always freaks people out,” he added, joining her in laughter. “Anything else you need?”

“Well, I need to get pregnant, but I’ll let Anthony handle that!”

Dirty Little Lies

nick@nicklennonbarrett.com (Nick Lennon-Barrett) — Mon, 01 Jun 2020 15:22:14 GMT

Jack froze.

The enormity of what had happened slowly sunk in. He could face up to what he had done, or he could revert to type and simply hide the evidence.

The conflict of emotion was so difficult that his chest contracted painfully with the anxiety. He had done it – finally. She always said this would happen. Was she merely mocking him, or was she related to Mystic Meg?

This could be it... forever. He couldn't go back to normal now, after everything he had said. All the boasting. The bravado, and yet here was the reality. He had failed. Given into his weakness; a moment of madness had changed everything, and yet how could it feel so good. What was that all about? He should feel remorse, yet as he calmed from the shock, there was none.

He'd proved her right, and yet he wasn't sure it mattered any more. How can that be right? Jack looked in the mirror. There was a glint in his eyes. A flicker of something sinister. Maybe nobody would find out, but he would know. Could he live with it? He liked to think of himself as an honest guy and yet here he was contemplating something utterly deceitful. It excited him!

For once in his life he would know something that nobody else did; it was an exhilarating feeling. He could feel his legs trembling. Could he really carry on as if nothing happened? What if people found out? They'd judge him, of course they would. Friends and family are the worst judges, yet they stick by you, despite knowing all your dirty little secrets.

Jack was talking himself round; for once he was going to selfish. It wasn’t a quality he intended to exercise often, but at times he knew he needed to put his own needs first, so he didn’t become resentful. That was what mattered. Yes, he should probably be setting a better example to his kids, but they wouldn’t know, so there was no negative consequences. The only ones were in Jack’s own head and he didn’t intend to confess and put himself through the drama. They say once you cheat, it’s easy to cheat again. However, he was strong, he would prove that theory wrong. This one night of madness could change everything, yet Jack wouldn’t allow that. He knew he could resist further temptations.

His wife and kids were away for the night, so he had the place to himself and he’d made the most of it. His body tingled. Excitement at being so naughty... if you're going to do something bad, then you had to do it right... he was going to cheat again.

It was time for dessert!