Excerpt from The Move
“Don’t touch that you fool! Honestly, people these days... can’t trust them with a bloody thing.”
“Aunty Mildred! You can’t talk to people like that,” moaned Lucy, wringing her hands as the thickset man in overalls forced a vase into a box with a rather nasty thud.
Mildred turned to Lucy, her electric blue eyes flashing with anger.
“I’m sick of people telling me what I can and can’t say - all this political correctness nonsense. Well, now I won’t be able to say a thing since you’re sending me to that “home,” filled with decrepit old plebs.” She slammed her fist down on the counter so the whole thing rattled.
“Oh Aunty, you know it’s not like that. Just, just, have a seat, I’ll make tea,” Lucy said, running her hands through her hair. She pulled up a chair by the kitchen table, pushing aside a magazine opened on ‘A Scottish Review of French Wine’, then gestured for Mildred to sit.
“I think I’ll need something stronger than tea… how about a dram?” asked Mildred sitting down.
“Aunty it’s only 11!”
“Oh bugger the time! If you’re taking away my freedom by sending me to that god-awful place, don’t take away my whisky.”
Our first anthology of short stories from The Scottish Arts Club Short Story Competition 2014-2018