
The Turtle on the Stairs by Cath Barton
‘I saw the turtle for the first time on the second night of our stay. It was nestled in a corner of the stairs. Soon will be the time. I come here to wait for it.’

The Last Firework by Philippa Holloway
‘Maria is ironing in the soft warmth of the apartment when the first car pulls up across town and shots are fired into the city crowds.’

Curse by Jess Moody
‘She was nearly caught out this month. His work, her work, housework: she’d lost track of the date.’

Checkmate by Jeanine Skowronski
‘We have to mark the person with our whole hand. Fingers, palm and thumb. No partials, no halves. No strokes, no smears.’

Readings by Jane Snyder
‘The first in line, two girls and a boy, were straight up pigs. The only good thing about holding their sticky palms was knowing they were going to get exactly what they deserved.’

A Good Job by Nicolas Townley
‘The familiar grey had returned to our city. The streets no longer gleamed bright and the colours appeared less vivid. Clouds had crept back.’

Free Lift Home by Andrew Maguire
‘On the evening of his fiftieth birthday, Martin Conlon stood at the exit of Belfast International Airport, digging though the pound coins in his wallet in search of the wedding ring he’d hidden amongst them.‘

Notes On Leaving and Arriving by Elodie Barnes
‘October woodsmoke hangs in the air. It’s fragile, misted with sunshine and sharp on her nose, clinging to the trees and chimney pots of the square. She sits on the wooden bench and breathes. Everything is familiar. Everything is the same. ‘

Utterly by Laura Yash
‘They still call me Mrs Jenkins, but Mr Jenkins and I no longer share a bed, or a roof, or anything like that. It’s just my married name was already on the sign, and it seemed like such a faff to take it down, and get a new one painted.’

Identity by Josephine Galvin
‘The café we choose for our fortnightly meet ups is typical of the town we come from: shabby and change-resistant. Had it been located in an affluent area, some fancying-up could possibly have made it artisan. As it is, it remains authentic in an unstructured, haphazard way.’

The Officer's Wife by Lynda Cowles
‘My husband’s name is Alistair Trent. He’s not Scottish but his mother was. He is an officer in the Royal Navy and he likes to smoke a cigarette after every meal. So far, that is everything I know of him.’
