Back from Spain

Just returned from 7 days in hot, sunny Spain. I tried to get a suntan but I'm still a whiter shade of pale. I begin to get a speckly skin which I think means skin damage so I rush to sit in the shade. Saw an old lady wearing a T Shirt with OAP written on the front. On closer inspection I realised it was GAP. Think I need to go to Specsavers! It was all-inclusive and the food was plentiful and very well cooked so I'm now dreading standing on the bathroom scales. One guest was overheard to say "my jeans have shrunk whilst I've been here". Hope I can fit into my work trousers on Tuesday.

I sent a flash fiction story to a competition and the results were announced whilst I was away. I didn't get short listed and the judge said that many of the stories told more than showed. I think she was refering to mine. So I've edited it again and 'will sit on it' until I decide where to send it. It's all a matter of taste.She did say that she had received two rejections for her own stories from a woman's magazine. My story Josie was included for flashfiction Day May 16th on http://flashfloodjournal.blogspot.co.uk/

'Josie' by Stella Turner

It was the only photograph of me as a child. Standing on my parents’ side board for over forty years, its silver frame ritually polished every week. I was dressed like a girl but my mother said in those days children were always dressed alike! My parents were hidden behind a woman who was holding me like a cherished possession. She looked so impressed with me that I kept asking who she was. My mother would sigh and turn away with a shrug. My father saying only her name was Josie. He spoke the name as if it was magical and it hung in the air tantalising and distressing my mother.

The auctioneer turns the frame over and says “twenty pounds, maybe a bit more”. I feel a tinge of regret, slipping the photo into my jacket pocket, but I need the money. My mother wouldn’t notice it was missing. She now lives in a care home. My father, long gone, is living with some young girl in Bexhill. He says she is his carer but she speaks with an accent and looks like she knows a good opportunity when she sees one. I expect his will is in her favour. 

Not much left to sell. The photo is creased. I flatten it out on the kitchen table and stare at the woman. Maybe I could try and find her. She’s probably dead by now. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll visit my father and ask about Josie. If she’s still impressed with me maybe she’ll give me things to sell.