Tequila

Francis-Liam Burton

tequila 

What was once a strong relationship had been destroyed, leaving only a pile of busted memories. She had abandoned all their work as a couple when she entered a sordid affair with his best friend. His heart had been shattered. His trust had been thrown away, discarded, abandoned. They were once thought of as inseparable and yet all that changed as she grew more distant. She wouldn’t say why. Then people began to talk. Then he found out. The discovery broke him, it broke his mind. He despised her. That was why the Mexican pushed his wife off a cliff.

About the author 

Francis-Liam Burton lives in Essex. He reads far more than he writes. Biographies are not his strong point. You can visit him at www.francisliamburton.wordpress.com

Film Noir

 Gill James

orange juice 

“To the side a little. That’s it. Now smile. Look down.” 

Snap. Snap.

Cherry’s neck and shoulders ached with the effort of holding her head stiffly for so long. Despite the hot studio lights, she was trying not to shiver. She had to admit: it was just as her mother had promised. Being this thin made her feel the cold. She could hear that constant voice.  “You need to eat. You have to keep your strength up. Young girls don’t need to be that slim.” The trouble was they did. Even if it made them feel cold.

“Come on sweetheart. Where’s that lovely smile. Not long now.”

Snap. Snap.

“Okay, honey. That’s it.”

“I have to give it to you. They look good.”  They were studying the portfolio Gaston Pictures had sent through.

Cherry wasn’t so sure.  “They make me look fat, Mum.”

“Don’t be silly. You’re not at all fat. That red top really suits you.” Her mother frowned. “Even if it does show more than it ought to.”

“Mum!”

“Well at least they’re good pictures.  They ought to get you some work.” Her mother sniffed. “They’d really better with what they’ve cost.”    

Cherry shuddered. Had this really been such a good idea after all? What if it didn’t work? It had to. It just had to. 

“Yes your portfolio was very nice, dear, but we have hundreds of collections like that. You really need to be a bit different to stand any chance these days.”

“Perhaps I should try somewhere else?”    

“Well, I don’t think you’ll find anywhere more efficient than our company.” The receptionist glared down at Cherry from her high stool. She seemed to be turning up her nose as if Cherry was something the cat had brought in. “Anyway, we’ve already gone to substantial time and trouble circulating your portfolio to the top companies. If you withdrew now we would have to charge you.”

“How much?”

The receptionist tapped her long fingernail on the keyboard. She glanced at her computer screen and smirked.  “Five hundred and seventy-five pounds.”

That was it then. She wouldn’t be able to get out of this.

The receptionist smiled a little more gently now.

“You’ll have to be patient. Once they’ve seen you enough they’ll start remembering your face. You’ve got quite a pretty face, really.”  

It doesn’t heIp, though, does it?  Mum was going to be furious.

“Where are you off to in such a tearing hurry?”

Oh no. It was Kevin Hughes. She’d never hear the last of it if he told everybody at school where he’d seen her.

“Aw, you’ve not been to one of those poncy agencies who promise to get you modelling jobs. Rip off or what?”

“Shut up, Kevin Hughes.”

“You’d do better letting me take you on my mobile and pasting it on Facebook.”

“Don’t you dare.”

Snap. Too late. He’d done it. There would be trouble if he did put it on Facebook. The agency would drop her.  It was a strict rule: no promoting yourself on social media.

Kevin was now already half way down the High Street.   

Two weeks later when she called at the agency there was a much younger receptionist there. Candy, said her name badge.  Cherry guessed she was only a couple of years older than herself.

“Hiya. Cherry isn’t it? We’ve had a bit of news.”

Her heart started thumping and her mouth went dry. Was this going to be her big moment?

Candy tapped away at her keyboard. The printer whirred into life and started chugging out paper.

“Modes Gaston. They’d like to actually see you. Only thing is, they want you to lose a couple of kilos. And they’d like you to have your hair cropped and streaked orange. Of course, they’d expected it done at a top salon. The details are here.” She handed Cherry the printout. “There’s a list of recommended salons at the end with a list of charges.”

Cherry looked at the papers. God, her mother was going to freak.

“Now, don’t go getting your hopes up too much. You’ll have to make those changes before they’ll even look at you. They may still reject you. But it’s a step in the right direction and cause for celebration. Go, girl. ”

Kevin Hughes was waiting on the pavement again when she got outside. Before she could stop him he’d got out his phone and was snapping away.

“Please don’t put them on Facebook,” she begged. “It will spoil everything."

Kevin grinned. “Okay. I promise I won’t Give us your phone and I’ll put my number in. Then send us a text so I’ve got your number and I’ll send the pictures over.  So that you can see how much better I am than whoever you‘re paying all that money to. “

Cherry sighed and gave him the phone.

“Oh my god. What have they done to you?” It was the snooty older receptionist again. “I hope you didn’t pay them. In fact they ought to pay you. Compensation for wrecking your career.”

It had looked all right when they’d first got it done. No way would her mother pay those top salon prices and they’d gone to the place in the village her mother used.  But now it was beginning to grow out and her dark roots were showing. Her hair had gone really dry as well. It had taken her quite a while to lose the extra two kilos.

She felt really ill. She’d not slept because she’d been so hungry.

“Listen, sweetie, we’ll have to get you fixed. I‘m going to make you an appointment with one of our recommended salons.  ”

“I don’t think I can afford it,” Cherry mumbled.

“You can’t afford not to. And we can’t afford for you not to have this put right.  We’ll just take the fee out of your first pay packet. Take a seat over there.”

The woman seemed to take ages on the phone. Cherry felt really sick and thought she might have to rush out at any minute to throw up.

“There. You’ve an appointment in half an hour at Gregor’s. There’s a taxi waiting outside.”

Thank goodness she could get out now.

She rushed down the stairs. The fresh air made her feel a little better straight away. There was the taxi waiting for her. And so was Kevin.

Snap. Snap. Snap.

Why must he keep taking photos?

The flash made her blink. But when she tried to open her eyes there was just blackness.       

 

“Oh you’re awake now then?” 

Cherry’s head hurt.  She couldn’t make out where she was.  Her arm was sore. There was a tube sticking into it. It led to a bag of clear fluid that was hanging off something that looked a bit like a hat stand.

“The doctors say you were dehydrated.  And that you’re much too thin. This lark has got to stop my girl.”

“Leave me alone, Mum.”

What was she doing here?  What about Gregor’s and Gaston? She guessed that would all be over for a while, if not for good.

“Okay, I’ll leave you for a bit. He wants a word.”

She looked to where her mother was pointing.

Oh no. Kevin Hughes again.

“You scared us. Are you all right now?”

“What do you want, Kevin?”

He took a large brown envelope out of his shoulder bag. “This came. I thought you might like to see it.”

“Bog off, Kevin.”

“Okay, I’m going.” He put envelope on the bedside table and held his arms up in the air.

“What did he want?” Her mother was holding a cup of what looked like dishwater but she suspected it was supposed to be weak coffee.

Cherry nodded towards he envelop.

“Aren’t you going to open it?”

 “Shall I?”

Her mum opened the envelop before she could even pick it up. “Oh my god.” She put her hand in front of her mouth.

  “What is it?”

Her mother handed her a large black and white photograph. It was of Cherry with her hair tousled and looking just a little bit tired.  Yet there was something extraordinarily good about it.  She looked, well, glamorous.

“It’s fantastic, isn’t it?”

Yes, it was good. But she didn’t want to agree with her mother too soon.

“Oh, wait. There’s something else here.”  She pulled out a closely typed document.

“What is it?”

Her mother took a few moments to read it.

“Apparently you’ve been invited to work for the Nouveau Fim Noir Company.”

“What’s that?”

“They make old-fashioned black and white films. Did I leave my phone here?” Kevin was back and was now on his hands and knees searching under the bed.

“Only they want you to put on a bit of weight. Listen. Grow the orange hair out, they say. But keep the tom-boy look.” Her mum looked up from the letter.  “See. I told you.”

“You didn’t mind me sending them off, did you? Only I knew you would be exactly what they were looking for.” Kevin scrambled up on to his feet, the phone now in his hand. “The photos look really good in black and white.”     

END
Gill James asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

About the author: 

Gill James writes all sorts of fiction - novels, short fiction, flash fiction and experimental fiction. She is also a publisher and editor. Visit her blog at http://www.gilljameswriter.eu/  

Crucifix

Gill James

communion wine 

 

The sky went black. The cool wind that came along at the same time felt nice. A few drops of rain began to fall. They tickled and made Tom want to giggle.

‘I told you we’d have a storm. I said we should have brought our macs,’ said Mum. She pulled him and Maisie and Daisy towards her.

‘Don’t be daft,’ said Dad. ‘We’d only have had to carry them. This’ll be over in no time. It’s just a summer storm.’

There was a flash of lightning and then almost immediately a loud bang.

‘Is that the clouds bumping into each other?’ said Tom. ‘That’s what Alfie always says.’ Alfie was his best friend at school, a bit of a clever clogs. He was usually right about most things, though.     

His mum and dad ignored him.  

Maisie and Daisy were now clinging on to Mum’s skirt. The rain was falling faster now. Their dresses were beginning to stick to their legs and were becoming see-though. Red dye was running out Maisie’s dress, making it look as if her legs were bleeding.     

‘Come on let’s get out of this,’ said Dad. ‘Look, let’s shelter in the porch of that church.’

Tom wondered what a church was. He’d seen them before, of course, but he didn’t know what they did. He knew all about shops, hospitals and schools but not about churches.                

Several other people had had the same idea. It was a bit of a squash in the small doorway. Mum accidentally leant on the big wooden door and it opened a little.

‘Oh look,’ she said. ‘It’s not locked. We could go inside. Take the weight off our feet a bit.’ 

She took the little girls by the hand and ushered them in. Dad guided him from behind.

It smelt funny, a bit like the soil after the rain has fallen on it. The cold seemed to come up through your feet. Maisie and Daisy were shivering now. It was hard to believe that last night none of them had been able to sleep in Mrs Quinn’s stuffy old boarding-house.

A few other people sat in some funny chairs that had hard-looing backs.

‘You must be really quiet and sit as still as you can,’ said Mum. ‘These people are trying to pray.’

He didn’t understand what that meant. ‘What’s praying?’ he asked.

‘Talking to God. They’re talking to God,’ said Dad.

‘What’s God?’

Dad sighed. ‘Well I don’t believe none of it myself. But some people think this very clever man – God  - made everything and it’s a good idea to talk to him now and then. That’s what churches are for.’

Tom noticed the coloured glass and the paintings on the wall. ‘Can I go and look at the pictures?’ he said.  

‘As long as you don’t touch anything,’ said Dad.

‘And don’t make a noise,’ whispered Mum.     

He walked along the narrow passage between the funny chairs and stopped from time to time to look at the pictures, the coloured glass windows or the statues. There were some interesting things here- like the man who was guiding some animals into a great big boat, the tower that was falling down and the bush that seemed to be on fire. ‘Dad,’ he called. ‘Can you tell me what these stories are about?’

‘Ssh!’ said Dad. ‘You mustn’t make a noise in Church.   

  Mum was cuddling the little girls, whispering to them and occasionally stroking their hair. Why didn’t she cuddle him like that anymore? Dad stared towards the front of the church and didn’t say a word to Mum, or to him or to Maisie and Daisy. The other people sitting in the funny chairs kept their heads bent low.

There was a big table covered with a very posh looking cloth and it had candlesticks on it. There was something near the door that looked like a big stone baby bath. He remembered helping to bath Maisie and Daisy until one day he got soap in Daisy’s eyes and she screamed the place down.

‘What have you done to her?’ Mum shouted.

After that he wasn’t allowed to go anywhere near the girls at bath-time.  

Never mind. So, you came here if you wanted to speak to God, the really clever man who had made everything. This was incredibly cool. Tom wondered whether he should say something but he couldn’t think what and he felt a bit shy actually. Besides, he didn’t know exactly where God was.    

At the side was a little room without a door and with proper chairs facing away from the main part of the church. Why were the chairs like that? In front of them on the wall was a huge wooden cross and on it a man with nails through his hands and his feet. There was blood coming from them and from his head on which were thorny branches, woven together to look a little like a crown. Oh, it made him feel sick. That must really hurt.   

There was a woman sitting on one of the chairs. He couldn’t help himself. He just had to know. ‘Miss, who’s that?’

‘That’s the Lord Jesus. He’s the Son of God. God sent his only son to us. Died for us, he did. So that God would forgive us for being so wicked. He did it because he loves us.’

That was terrible. What a horrible thing to do. Fancy sending your only son away.  He was Mum and Dad’s only son. Were they going to send him away? And would somebody put nails though his hands and feet and make him a crown out of brambles? 

He screamed. Then he started sobbing. Great breathless sobs.

‘There now, there now,’ the woman muttered.

Dad came running into the little space.  ‘What are you making a racket like that for? We told you you’d got to be quiet.’ He turned to the woman. ‘I’m so sorry.’ 

The woman shook her head. ‘No problem. I was just telling him about what Jesus did.’

‘He’s cruel, that God. You’re not going to send me away are you Dad?’ 

‘He’s probably never heard about that before,’ said Dad. ‘You see, we don’t go to church.’

Mum and Maisie and Daisy wandered along.

‘I think we can go now anyway,’ said Mum. ‘I think the rain’s stopped.’ She pointed to the sunlight that was now streaming through the stained glass windows and making patterns on the floors.

The other people who had been in the church were beginning to shuffle out. They looked away from Tom and his mum and dad and his two sisters. He was probably going to get a ticking off now for embarrassing them.

He took some deep breaths and tried to calm down. He began to hiccough, and each hiccough was followed by a shudder. 

It was sunny again outside. The puddles were steaming. The sun was getting warm again but it wasn’t so sticky anymore.  

‘No wonder the kid was scared,’ said Dad. ‘That figure was as large as life. It looked like something out of a horror film. That’s one of the reasons I hate the whole business. And all that stuff about the bread and wine becoming the body and blood of Christ and eating and drinking him. Barbaric!’ He ruffled Tom’s hair.

Tom really was sure he was going to be sick now. If you went to church you had to eat God’s son? No, he must have got that wrong.

‘Come on then,’ said Dad. ‘Let’s get going.’ 

Tom wanted to tell Dad that the man on the cross hadn’t frightened him. That he knew it was only a carving and not a very good one at that. It was the idea of God having a son and that son loving everyone so much that he was prepared to let them put nails through his hands and his feet and he would die for him. Would his mum and dad do that for him? Would he do it for them and his sisters?

He couldn’t say a word, though. If he did he knew he would start crying again and he didn’t want to look like a wimp in front of his dad and his sisters. He’d done enough damage already, getting into a tizzy like that.

‘I think the best thing we can do now is go and get an ice-cream, don’t you?’ said Dad.

The little girls clapped their hands and jumped up and down on the spot. Tom tried his best to smile. 

About the author: 

Gill James writes all sorts of fiction - novels, short fiction, flash fiction and experimental fiction. She is also a publisher and editor. Visit her blog at http://www.gilljameswriter.eu/