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TheManchesterWritingSchoolatManchesterMetropolitanUniversitypresents:

TheManchesterWritingCompetition2017PoetryandFictionPrize

ShortLists

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Sinceitslaunchin2008,CarolAnnDuffy’sManchesterWritingCompetitionhasattractedmorethan15,000submissionsfromover50countiesandawardedmorethan£135,000toitswinners.TheCompetitionencouragesnewworkandseeksoutthebestcreativewritingfromacrosstheworld,withManchesterasthefocalpointforamajorinternationalliteraryaward.Thewinnersofthisyear’s£10,000PoetryandFictionPrizeswillberevealedatagalaceremonyonFriday1stDecemberintheatmosphericBaronialHallatChetham’sLibraryintheheartofthecity.ThesearetheUK’sbiggestprizesforunpublishedwriting.

Thisyear’sPoetryPrizewasjudgedbyAdamO’RiordanandformerwinnersMonaArshiandPascalePetit.TheFictionPrizewasjudgedbyNicholasRoyle,BonnieGreerandAngelaReadman.

Forfurtherdetails,goto:www.manchesterwritingcompetition.co.uk.

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Poetry

RomalynAnteNightingale PledgeTransformMolaveAntimeticforHomesickness

EllaFrearsIKnewWhichDirectiontoGoWalkingHomeOneNightTheMoonBathersPhasesoftheMoon/ThingsIHaveDoneIAskedHimtoChecktheRoof,ThenTooktheLadderAway

DonJudsonSittingOutontheStoopAllNight101339Tommy

CarolynKingUnpalatableFlower-bedTheCuckooinThePillow-BookSenryu

LindsayMeansTheSeaCrowTheHospitalAThingAboutMachinesPortraitofMarianadeSilvaySamiento(Unfinished)

LauraWebbTheGreatestLadySwimmerintheWorldTheCoincidenceBrothersCatwoman:AnExplanationsnoek

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Fiction

TheBedbyK.L.Boejden

ConnectiveTissuebyJaneFraser

eventhekidsknowbetterbySakinahHofler

TheBoyandtheBewickbyP.F.Latham

She-ClownbyHannahVincent

ADayOutbyDaveWakely

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2017ManchesterPoetryPrizeShort-listedPoems

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RomalynAnte

NightingalePledge(afterNightingalePledge)

BeforeGodandthoseassembledhere,Ipledge:Iwillcheckthescreentracingyourheartrhythm–thebeepsteadyasabird’scallfromtheshadows.Iwilltieyourgown,sofaithfullystrongitwon’tshowyourbareback,yourleaf-likekeloid.Onlyfilteredairwillstrokeyourunwashedhair.Iwillcarryouttothebestofmyabilitymynocturnalduties–thewarmHorlicks,thecallbell,theajardoor.Iwilldevotemymidnightlisteningtoyouhumasong–somethingthatlessenstheweightofmyeyelids.Iwillattendtothesoundofyourbarefeetastheytouchthestickyfloor.InthemorningIwillexplainwhatthecylindricalbottlesarefor;withoutaword,you’llunbendyourarmtome.Myfingertipwillsearchforthestrongestvein.Iwillnotdoanythingevil.Thedefibpadswillflyoutofthemetaldrawer,Iwillslapthemonyourchest:oneontheright,belowtheclavicle,theotherontheleft,justunderthearmpit.Iwillbethefirstonetogreetyou,Welcomeback.EvenifIknowyou’drathergo.Iwillnotrevealthestoryofyourlife,howyourdaughterleftwhenshelearnedofyourdiagnosis.Iwilldevotemyhourslisteningtothingsyoudonotsay.Iwillmaintaintheprestigeofmyprofession,butreleaseawildlaughwhenIfindoutyoupretendchokingonyouregg-whitetabletssoIwillpatyourback.

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Transform

Thenursetellsstoriesofhercountry–thekapreandespiritosindipterocarps,thetaleofMountMakiling,andnowInolongercountthepillssheputsinthepot.

IcallherMaria,goddessofMakiling.Shecharmsallthedoctorswhovisit.Heretherealsmileasloudasdaylightthatengulfsthelounge.

Soon,thishometremblesintoajungleandthewallrailsonthehallwaybloomintoivyandballoonvines.Thecoatstandatthecornertransforms

intoaficus,andwhenthelightsgooff,glow-wormsrallyonitsaerialroots.Today,Mariadribblesthetherapyballwhichbouncesintoasarimanok–

rubyfeathersflutter.Wejumpoutofourwheelchairsandracetocapturetheharbingerofluck.ButtherearedayswhenMariadoesn’tcome,

whenthewindsoundslikeAnnieLaurieonflute.Therearedaysofsilence,whenacomradepermanentlymovesoppositetheroad–aspidertraceshisnameonthelimestone.

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Molave

ThedoctorandIreadtheMRIscan.Yourlungslooklikeanupside-downtree.

Therightandleftbronchusarethehardtrunksofmolaveyouuseforbuildingbancas.

Yourairsacs,theclustersofpurpleflowers.Ithinkaboutyouroldhabitoftwopacksaday

andwonderifthosecarbondepositsareasblackasthepea-sizedfruitsyouweighonyourpalm.

Therearenightsyouaretoobreathlesstopresstheinhalerinyourmouthanddaysyougivemethatstare

asyoupulloffyournebulisermaskandsayIamrudefornotknocking.Soon,thetreeinyourribcage

willstopreleasingoxygen.IfyouwantIcanwheelyoutothegardentoday,letyousuckinacigaretteortwo

inthecoolshade.Butpleasedon’tbreakoursilencebyaskingmeifIknowthatthoseleavesareresistanttobeetlebites.

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AntiemeticforHomesickness

Adaywillcomewhenyouwon’tmissthecountrynanagluwalsayo.You’llwalkongrittedstreets,lightsnowwillshawlyoulikeaprotectivemother.

Avertigoofdistantlightswillnotdeceiveyou.Youmaynowburyallthekissesofyesterdayinthefoldofyourhandkerchief,theilluminatedstar-shapedlanterns,thetansantambourines.

Butkeeptheafternoonyourfathersoldhisbuffalotorentajeepneytotakeyoutotheairport.Thedriverwhospatoutphlegmwiththesametrajectoryofagrasshopperlandingontheground.

Keepthelistyouwrotethenightbeforeyouleft,promiseyouwon’treturntillyoubecomesomeone.Keepthecassettetapes–yourchildren’svoicesshrillastheedgesofwinterstars.

Restonapillowwhereyoucanhearthebeatofyourlover’sheart.ListentoTagalogsongsthathelpyousleepthroughthecold,scratchesofDecember.

KeepthebookletofOurLadyofPerpetualHelpinyouruniformpocket,powder-bluelikeherrobe.Praytherosary,feeleachkamagongbead.

Here’sthetea-stainedsmileofakababayan,invitingyoutoaparty.Gonomatterhowheavythedayhasbeen,andhowmanycorpsesyouhavecarriedwithin.

Enjoythehome-cookedpansit,theroastedpig’shead,theblood-redappleinitsmouth.Here’sakaraokemic.Singyoursoulouttillthere’sElNiñoinyourthroatandyoucandrinkalltherainofWolverhampton.

Adaywillcomewhenyouwon’tneedanantiemeticforhomesickness.Youwillaccept,wholeheartedly,thegoodandthebad,thepatientwhoalwaysbuzzesforacommode,thesearchforthemissingboot

ofanA&Ehabitué–thevillage’sdrunkard.Youwilllearntohealthewoundsoftheirlives,andthewoundsofyours.Love–eventhepuffofaBlackCountryaccentonyourface.

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RomalynAntegrewupinthePhilippinesandmovedtotheUKin2005.HerdebutpoetrypamphletisRice&Rain.SheisaJerwood/Arvonmentee2017-2018.SheisCommendedinBatteredMoonsPoetryCompetitionandreceivedCreativeFutureLiteraryAwardsforPoetryin2017.AsarecipientofArtists’InternationalDevelopmentFund,shetravelledbacktothePhilippinesinNovember2017towriteaboutculture,identity,andreconnections,andtotalkabouthercraftatDeLaSalleUniversity,Manila.

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EllaFrears

IKnewWhichDirectionToGofromthewaythemoonwastiltedtowardsthesea.Myheart,pulledgentlyfrommychest,wascarriedoverthewavesasthoughsleepwalking.Iheldmybreath,concentratedonthenewspacewithin.Therewaspain,butitwasnotnewpain.Praynow,whisperedthesandandIfelltomykneesthinking:moonlight,moonlight,moonlight————untilitwasnolongerawordbutacolourandthenafeelingandthenthethingitself.

WalkingHomeOneNightIcatchthemoon,winkingthroughthetrees.I’mgrippingmyhouse-keys,sharpendpointingoutwardsbetweenmyknuckles.It’slikeglimpsinganoldfriendthroughacrowd.Isoften.Sheisasliver,leaningtowardsthesoftendofyellow.Ibreatheinthenight,liftmyfingertiptofill-inthecircle,squinting.TurningontothestretchofroadthatIdon’tlike,lamplessandnarrow,Itellher:Iwillbecallingonyouasawitnessifsomethinghappens.Iwilltestifythatyousawthewholeterriblethingthroughonehalf-closedeye.

TheMoonBathersLastnightwesleptunderafullmoon.Ourbodieswoundlikepalesnakesthroughthesilver-tippedgrass.Weopenedourmouthsandletthelightfallin.Haveyouevertriedit?Itistheclosestlighttowater,poolingonyoureyelids,coolandwordlessonyourtongue.Wesleptdeeply,eyesopen.Ourbreathbecomingsomethingpulledfromus.Wefelttheweightofthewaterintheairandwildlaughterbegantowell-upinside.Wethewbackourspotlitheadsandletitpourforthuntilmorning.

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PhasesoftheMoon/ThingsIHaveDoneNewMoon: Iransackedthehouseforsomethingthatdoesnotexist.WaxingCrescent: Iatetwelvepeaches.FirstQuarter: ITipp-Exedanoldletterfromhim,leavingonlytheword:basement.WaxingGibbous: Iputonmyfavouriteunderwearandcriedinthemirror.FullMoon: Iburiedapork-chopinthegarden,walkedbackwards,howled.WaningGibbous:Ithoughtagreatdealaboutdrillingaholeinmyhead.ThirdQuarter: Itoldtheneighbourmyheartbeatsonlyforher.WaningCrescent:Istoodoutsidefacingthehouse,waitedformyselftoappear.

IAskedHimtoChecktheRoof,ThenTooktheLadderAwayAllnightIenjoyedthelie:notfeelingwell,upstairsinbedbutsendshislove.Icouldfeelhisfrustrationaboveme,throughtheceiling;couldfeelitsostronglythatitwasasthoughmychestweretheroofandhewastrappedinsideme.Howwillwegoonafter?Ithought,howwillIendthis?Hehadn’tcalledforhelp.Maybehe’dworkedoutawaydownbutIdidn’tthinkso.Thedinnerpartywaswonderful.AstheguestsleftIlookedupandrealisedthattherewasnomoon.Shine,darling.Iwhispered.Andfrombehindthechimneyrosehislittlehead.

EllaFrearsisapoetandvisualartistbasedinsouth-eastLondon.ShehashadpoetrypublishedinPoetryLondon,TheRialto,POEMandtheMothamongothers.EllaisatrusteeandeditorforMagmaPoetryandwasshortlistedforYoungPoetLaureateforLondon2014.ShehascompletedvariousresidenciesforTateModern,theNationalTrust,NewlynArtGalleryandmostrecentlyshewasPoetinResidenceatRoyalHollowayUniversitywritingabouttheCassiniSpaceMission.Ella’sdebutpamphletPassivity,Electricity,AcclivityisforthcomingwithGoldsmithsPress.

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DonJudson

NotesfromPrison/Florida(1984-1992)101339(PCI)Languagecutattheknees,syntax—Oldmenscatteringfeed/CeremonyofchildrenMotherssistersfriendsifyoucouldbewalkeddownintothisplacewherelanguagebeginsIwouldsayForgivemeThismorning,anointedwithcigarettesandjailhousewine,somewhiteboyleansinandrunsashankdeepinsideaCubanworkingthecanteenThesirensgooffthenCopsinriotgearhustleusbacktoourcellsItwillbedaysbeforeweareoutagainTommy—(UCI/DeathRow)IrememberonetimeshackledtoametalbenchintheprisonvanIwasabletopullupandglimpsethroughthewiremeshbackwindowafishingshackjustoffariver—andanegretworkingtheshorelinethere.Everythingstoppedinsidethatmoment.IswearIcountedallthesecondsofmylife.Ithought,“ThisiswhatI’llholdforever,”butofcourseIdidn’tthoughIcanstillpicturetheskythatafternoonbuildingdarkandmeaningasitdoesduringsummerhereinthesouth,athunderstorm—butIdon’tknowwhatIbelievedanyofithadtodowithme.Yearslater,workingatagasstationinKeyWest,Istoleawoman’saddressfromhercheckbook.Thewomanwasbeautiful.Andpregnant.Mostmorningsshecameintothestationsheseemedillateasearoundme.Idrovebyherapartmentafewtimesoverthenextweek,andthenonenight,brokein.IboundthewomanwithducttapeIfoundinakitchendrawer.Allthathappenednextandupuntil,theysaid,anhourbeforedawnisuntrue.Itdidnottakeplace.Itwasjustadream.Abadone.Tonight,asIsleepinsidethevoicesthatholdeachofustoourownabsolutestillness,IwouldliketodreamaboutthefishingshackonlyandthebirdIsawthere.Iwanttoknowwhattheymeant.

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formergangmemberputtodeathtuesdayevening(UCI/DeathRow)4pairofsocks4t-shirts/boxershorts3photographs2booksc/oinmatesentdirectfrompublisher3articlescutfromamagazine1letterfoldedtherewasaslightdelayinlikealion/peacefulasalambnormallyplacedinthecreaseofanarmpronounced:9:24estwhoshotdumpedsetonfirerolledinacarpetwhoinvisiblebutwishingtobelievealongthatriverfrontingbeautifulcorporatebuildings/condosthedelicatewristofjesus—thatjustone,amongstallthatglassthosewindows,musthaveglimpsedifbutforainstantandnomatterhowsmallordistantashedrovepast80kilometersfromthecityagrassfiresomeonethoughtandwhorepeatedlysaidthewordsIloveyouthemostaggressiveoftheshooters/mentallyimpairedjuly2nd/14yrsofficialsfinallyfittedthelinesintohishandsimpossiblethesemilesofemptyroadsemptyfieldsbutastimegoesontheyfillwiththoughtsandwordsspokenlivinganddeadthenights(howmany)andeverydreamnotjustnowbutthefieldsaroomwhohasenteredthecity/itsnationtakingseveraldeepbreathswhileprayingwhomouthedkisseswho18yrsold6daysbeforethekillingswhostartedtosnoreandeventuallyStopped

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101339(APCI)YoutellmepraybutthisisprisonHardmorninglightonthedaytheyreleasemeAllsummerisrepentance,itsvoicearticulatingascrapedblueskyForweeks,hurryingalongacrowdedstreet,pausingatadoor,sittingoutsidethekitchenatworkreleaseIamsuddenlytakenback—caughtinamomentbetweenthisworldandtheother—butitisnevertheCubanIsee,clutchinghiscutwidestomach,orthewhiteboywaitingaloneinatoiletstallforhalfthecell-blocktofuckhim;instead,itistheHaitianinlockdownwhoclimbedhisbars,incessant—dayandnight—preachinghowtheyweretryingtokillhimandwhotheyfinallypulledastheywarnedtheywouldfromhiscellandstrippednakedandbeatandthrewnakeddownanoldstonestairwelltothepsych-tankwithitssteeldoorandsinglecottossedwithoutcareintoafarcornerByfallIambackinthecity—watchingtherenotforanyoneoranything,butjustacomingtheapproachofAndforthat,again,littleprayerYetthis—Icantellyouthis:thatthewhiteboy,whowantedto,couldnotmanageforyearstodiewhiletheCuban,wishingonlylife,did,hisheartstoppedinmid-stepattheinfirmarydoorandtheHaitian,eversince—insistent(asifleanedclose)—bothofus/strippednowliketrees/theseason’swaning

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Attleboro/Massachusetts(2015)

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SittingOutatNightontheStoopFirstcomethedogwalkers Thentatted-outfourteenyearoldswithcellphones(—Motherfuckertheirsoftinsistentcall) Aftertwo,junkiesandskelsopenyetagainAbeautifuloperaofthemselvesacrossthesesamescatteringlotswhereIoncelistenedToFather,aloneinhisroomatnight,prayingDonotuntous Donot/hoursonendThisjustbeforeFloridawherehemovedussoontoplayoutsomesortoffinalstringBydawnthefirstofthetrashpickers:WagonManwithhisRedRadioFlyerSomefewothersfrommyblocktheircartsfastenedtopeelingbicycleframesAndamongthemalwaysthesameRussianwomanIseedeepintowinterrains—TwoorthreebagsovereachshoulderandbentitseemsforeverForwardhairsplayedacrossapaleenduringface—Butit’ssummerIseehermostOnmorningsI’vetakenmydogearlyandwestandtogetherawhileyetintheyardLocaltrainslowingjustbeyondalineoftrees/LightOpeningthenoverrooftopsandacrossroadwaysOpeningaswelltheseparateroomswhereeachinturnwaitsEndlessbutendinginitselfItisenoughforthatDonJudsonisapoetandfictionwriterlivinginAttleboro,MA,USA.HiswritinghonorsinfictionincludeaHowardFoundationAward,aMacCollJohnsonFellowshipandanEmergingFictionWriterAward(foranovel)fromNewYorkUniversity.Amongothers,hehaswona49thParallelawardandtheBoudreauxPrizeforpoetryandbeennominatedforthreePushcartAwards.PoetrypublicationsincludeRhino,TheBellinghamReview,580Split,Palooka,Witness,TupeloQuarterly,andNimrod.

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LindsayMeansTheSeaCowIthinkStellermustneverhaveseenalandcowbefore:

thatbeasttangledinsunkenweedswarmandleatherylikeafamiliaroldcouch

thrownoverboard,upsidedowninthebay.

Tothinkthathertougholdgraysnout,columnedwherelong-agoancestorshadtrunks,lookedanythinglikethegentlenarrowblack-spottedfacesthatmoonedoverthewoodenfenceinmygrandmother’sbackyard–

whileinheroldagetheylivednextdoor,Grandmahadneverseenacowatalluntilshewasseventeen,withtwochildrenalready(itwasthe1940sandherfatherranahotelonSkidRowandnobodywillevertellmewhatwasdonethere.)

TherewasstillariverinLosAngelesthen thoughitwasalreadyfilledwithgarbage,anditishardtothinkthatsamecitysharedanoceanwith

thecoolrockybaysofKamchatka,eagleswhippingdownthroughlowclouds, whereStellerlookedatthecreaturebeforehimandsawamermaid,

sawthepaddle-finswiththeirgentlewrists,thegoblettail,thelongparabolaofherdinosaurspine,

thegleamofahorizoninhercannonballeye. Theabsenceofpowerboatscars.Alandcowistoaseacow whatacaristoanoldsteamtrain,bywhichImean

thealfalfafieldsIgrewupinarepavedovernow.Idon’tknowwhathappenedtothebeastsnextdoor.Idon’trememberwhatitfeltlike toseetheoceanforthefirsttimeandofcourseallofSteller’ssirens

aregonenowtoo, theirbigslowgracetooeasyforthishungrysea.

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TheHospitalSometimesarivermeanderstoofar–yearspassandthelandchanges.Yourgrandchildbecomessomeoneelse’sgrandfather,theriverleavestheriver.Cattailsandcenturieswedgethebanksagainstthemselves.InJapanese,moyamoyameans“puffofsmoke”–atinybonfire,oradragon’sfirstbreath.Onachild’sCTscan,itmeansthatsmallvesselsnarrowandtangle.Theysaycerebrovascularaccidentbecausestrokesoundslikeluck.Sixhundredyearsago,theoxbowlakenearmycousins’housewaspartoftheRioGrande.MycousinstoldmethatithappenedbecauseGodwasplayinghorseshoeswiththeriver.Thatitwashauntedbyghostsofoldconquistadors.ThecureforMoyamoyadiseaseisasurgerytoodelicateforitsownname:Encephalo-duro-arterio-synangiosis.Underthedura,somethinggalactic:luminescentthoughts,theinnerworkingsofanimagination.Glovedhandscanrerouteriversandstreams,creekssmallerthanastrandofhair.Theskullclicksbackintoplacelikealock.Foralongtime,theonlyfishintheoxbowlakewereghosts.Achildwakesupwiththememoryofconquistadors,theriverreturningtotheriver.

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AThingAboutMachinesNothingbutstatic.Allthewayupthestairshesuccumbedtotheoldfears,butwhenhegottothetopfloorhefoundaforestforabedroom.Mosswrinkledoutofthecloset;birchtreesspindledaroundthebedposts.Hestoodankle-deepingrass.Astreamwhisperedbeneaththeradiator.Thewindowwascurtainedinmorninggloriesandhummingwithinsects,butoutsideagainacarenginerumbled,andthemachinesrampagedagainstthedoor.PortraitofMarianadeSilvaySarmiento(Unfinished)Iwouldn’thavepaintedherthatway–allvelvetsandmoonwhitesilk,hairthecoloroffarawayrain.Herlefthandholdsasmallgoldring.Intheright,askeletonkey.Ialwayshadtroublewithhandsandnobodyhasskeletonkeyslyingaroundanymore.Inthosedays,everythingwasturpentineandpatrons.Maybethepatronsranoutofmoney.Maybethegoldchairswerejustgildedwoodafterall,maybesomeoneelsemadehermorebeautiful.Maybetheartistdroppeddeadofaplague.(Inthosedays,everythingwaspentimentoandplagues.)Maybetheartistdidn’tlikethelookofherlapdog,sethispaintbrushdown,andwalkedawayintosomeItaliansunset,leavingherholdingapuzzlepieceofPekinese-sizedblankcanvas.Undertheraincloudhair,wherethefaceshouldbe,nothinglooksback—skingrownoverfeatures,shadowsinsteadofeyes.I’veneverusedthewordmasterpiece,butyoucanbuyanightmareatauction.

LindsayMeanswasborninCaliforniaandlivesinBrooklyn,NewYork.Winnerofthe2015ElinorBenedictPoetryPrize,sheworksasaneditorialassistantatRiverheadBooks.

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CarolynKing

THECUCKOOINTHEPILLOW-BOOK(onfirstlookingintothePillow-BookofSeiShōnagan)Becausetheirsongwasbeautiful,thoseharbingersofsummer,Ilayawakeatnight-longingforittobegin.ThatdaywesetoutearlyfortheTemple,reachingthegatesofUrinandChisokuinrecordtime,theskystillovercasttomatchmymood.Someofthecarriagesweredressedinmaplebranches,fadedhollyhock.TheHighPriestessmovedsilentlyamongus–proud,intangible.Icouldfeelmyinsignificancestiflingme,forcingmeintothewings:untilachorusstartedup–hototogisufillingtheairwithmusic.AndIstoodtall,teeteringontheballsofmyfeettocatchsightofthebirds;rising,likedawn,asecondtime,climbingontoitsfragileshoulders,steppingoutsidemyshadow.

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SENRYUtheriverwillowplantedinouroldhomethentransferredtogoldsandsooncold-shoulderedseawildgardencliffssheerasimagination:diedknee-hightofuchsiagrownfatandpurple-pinkonlazyafternoonsaheadofSpringandhotogisu’sEnglishcousincuckoocall drownedoutbyficklewavesofpassionpromisingmuchdeliveringnothing.Christmas:wecrossthestorm-sweptSolent(sodifferentfromourmuddyThames)–decidetheday’stoofoulforfestiveshopping:Shallwegohome?Thechildren’sfaceslightup, likecandlesonthefirtreeinourclifftopcottage.“Canwe?”AndIknowthen,justonemonthin,thathomeissomewhereelse-yetwepersist diginourheels:thewillow weeps kicksupitsheelsin protest:hara-kiridrownsourChristmascarols.Springrevealsitshrivelled snowedin;saltseaairitslungsrefusetoreconcile.Wesoldieron:it’swhatwedo.Thewhileourchildrenthrive,aschildrendo.Riverwillow time muddiedbymemoriescloudcuckoo-land daydream

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UNPALATABLEWequerythewordwhenshetakesourorder;understandoiseaux,butmeetwithashakeoftheheadwhenweventure“poulet?”–acceptinsteadthediminutiveoiselets.Whentheyarrive,onasilvertray,ourten-year-oldliftsthelidonthecailles:eightlittlequailswithlollingheadsandcurlingclaws,sightlesseyesanddroopingtail-feathers.Six-year-oldSimon’slookofdismaysaysitall.Wesmugglethesmall,sadbodiesstealthilyoutoftheoldauberge–inavanitycasethatheldourlove-letters(longbeforetheholiday,plannedtorevivethem,ricochetedintoanightmare).Youpromisehumanedisposal;but,comedawn,yougobackonyourwordaswehittherain-stainedtarmachardasyourcold-heartedlackofconcern.Idon’tbelievethereweretearsinyoureyes:morelikelythecuckooinournestcausedyoutomisjudgetheright-handturn.Luckytocrawlfromthewreckagealive,weabandontheluggage.Itsinksbackintothemud.Bythetimethey’vereturnedittoEnglandyou’vealreadygone.IretrievewhatIcan,washingourdirtylineninprivate.ThechildrensayI’mwashingyououtofmyhair.Thevanitycaseisn’tthere.Istillwonderwhodisposedofit-openedthelidtolaypuzzledeyesonthoseeightlittleshrouds(tinyshapesdrapedinwhitetable-napkins)head-to-tail;likechesspiecesinacompendium.Maybetheytooktotheair-wingsandheartsbeatingforjoywhenthecatchwasreleased-surmountingthecloudsofahumanstalemateheartlesslyditchedwiththesad,limpbodiesofquails.

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FLOWER-BEDThefurrowinthemattressisinrecessionnowthepillowshavesmoothedtheirruffledfeathers;sowhydoesitwoundlikeabedofnails,hardasafuton?Icradlemypillow-book delicatechildfromearlydayswhenSpringandcuckoocameasonesummerwaslongandwinterbroughtcoalfires darknights yourwarmembrace.Youwouldn’trecognizethegardennowmyscythehasstrippedtheterrace;andtheholewhereweplantedthewillowhaslongsincehealedandnurturedscabious,hollyhock montbretia.Thechildrenareirreplaceable:theyflewthenestsoonafteryoudesertedthetemple.ButIstandfirm,risingontheshouldersofeachfragiledawn,knowingIshallnolongerhearthecuckoocallingSpringbutlisteningforhotogisuheraldingSummer:longdays shortnights might-have-beens;andalwaysthesongofthrushandgoldfinchdrownedbytheharshpersistenceofaseagull’scry.****Thecuckoocalled uglierthanhotogisu.AllyouhadtosaywasNO.Thewholenestwreckedforthesakeofasyllable.CarolynKinglivesontheIsleofWight,wheretwoofherpoemsarecastinbronzeatIslandlandmarksandothersarecurrentlydisplayedatFreshwater’s‘DimbolaLodge’aspartofthe19th-centurypioneerphotographerJuliaMargaretCameronExhibition.Carolynwasinvolvededucationallyformanyyearswithlanguage-impairedchildrenandthisisoftenreflectedinherpoetry.Sincebeingshort-listedfortheManchesterPrizein2013shehastakenfirstprizesintheSecondLightannualcompetitionandthe‘formal’categoryofPoetryontheLake,secondprizesintheThomasGrayTercentenary,theSegoraandtheSentinelannualpoetrycompetitionsandanumberofotherawards.

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LauraWebb

TheGreatestLadySwimmerintheWorldforAgnesBeckwithDeargreatestladyswimmer,doeswatertastelikebuckets,likeswallowingafloweronlytofinditblossomedinyourstomachhourslater,castingitsturquoiseshootsinyoursmallintestine,itspetalssurfacingceaselesslyonyourtongue?Youtellyourselftopassthetime,thehullsofboatsthathanglikeheavyheartsbeneaththewater’ssurfacearecloudstheskyhasflippedovertobetterabsorbtherain.Yousmell,youknowthis,likehardboiledeggs.Wewatchedfromheightsasonsandsgreasedmenranlimpet-fingersalongyourflanksandsoftedges.Weheldourdoubttightlyinourfists,likethehandsofchildren.OverlookingtheIrishsea,wesuckedwaterupstrawsintogrowingbellies,brinypregnancieswedidnotregret,monthslaterbirthingstronggirlslikegrainsofsalt.

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TheCoincidenceBasedonthepaintingTheCholmondeleyLadies(artistunknown,c.1600-1610)inTateBritainSister1:Haveyounoticedhowtheskyoutsideiscomingapartinpieces?Sister2:Ihave,sister.Haveyouheededhow,whilstithintsatholdingmanymoons,itoffersnone?Sister1:Exactlythat.Andhowwhenwaterfallsitfallsinclusters,soyounevercatchadropalone?Andhownooneevergivesusareasonforthesethings?Sister2:Afriendtoldmethatattheendsofthecountrytheycollecttheraininmassivebucketstheycalloceans.Sister1:Andwhathappensnext,sister?Sister2:Cowscomeanddrinkfromthem,itpleasesthem.Sister1:Itsoundspleasing,sister.BothlaughSister1:Isn’titterribletothink,sister,thatsometimesheavythingsfallonpeople,andbreakthem?Sister2:Beyondterrible,sister.Sister1:Likemusicalinstruments.Maybeevenlutes.Sister2:Whatmakesyousaythat,sister?Sister1:Iwasjustthinkingofterriblewaystodie,sister.Sister2:Likeanallergytofeathersinahenhouse?Sister1:Exactly,sister.Sister2:Orchokingonyourfingernailasyoubiteit?Sister1:Preciselyso.Sister2:Whydoyouthinkwehavehands,sister?Sister1:Iimagineitistobetterloveeachother,sister.Sister2:Myfingersbendbackwardsandforwards,sister.FurtherthanIthinktheyought.Sister1:Furtherevidence,sister,ifanywaswanted.Sister2:Quite,sister.BrothersYousaidtheywerelikeracehorsesnotinthewaytheyjostledandranorinthewayfolkbetonthemorinthewaytheylivedordiedbutinthewayyouonlyeverknowthemthroughthewaytheyspringandland;theirdarkfacesonthesonogramtheblackriver,thewhitekicked-upsand.

27

Catwoman:AnExplanationWhenshecamehomefromthenightshift,withthreecarrierbagsfilledwithlordknowswhat,hairhalfoutitsplait,bloodunderhernails,youknewshe’dnothaveresortedtoviolenceunlessaseriousprovocationunderfederallaw.Gone,thedays,mixingherownroséfrombottlesofwhiteandred,shetoldyouofherchildhoodinNebraska;how,atnight,shespiedtheshapesofmountainbearsmoveacrossthebellyofthemountainandfromacertainanglethemintonherwindowsilllookedlikeasingulartreegrowinginspace.Oneslowwinter,youtrackedconstellationsfromthepatiodecidingwhichlostcreaturestheywere,howtheirliveswoulddeveloponcetheymovedtoBatonRouge,Louisiana,thecareerpathstheywouldchoose–theirdictatedfates.Nowyoucatchherwordsinstealthlikefish,pullthemoutofthewatertohearherhierarchyrhymingwithkaraoke,overandover.Therewereafewthingsyouneverworkedout:herallergytofur;howsheneverworesuncream,eveninburningsummer;why,whenyouhearglassesclatterinthekitchen,theysoundlikelove.snoekI’veseenpyramidsbeingbuilt,theirstructuresdiggingouttrianglehomesintheskylikebrightmilkshakessuckedoutofglasses.I’vereadbusprintsthewaysomepeoplereadtealeavesandfacesintallwindowsofbuildingsfromthetopdeck.IsaidIwantedtoswimwithdolphinsbutwhenitcametoitIdangledmylegsoffthesideoftheschoonerandwatchedtheirdenseshadowsswimmingunderthesurfacethewaygravitypullsawayfromusindefinitely.Ifoundthetwobrokenendsofmyselfinakitchendrawerandsoldthemforscrap.I’vesmokedthroughaRussianbanknote.I’velookedinyoureyesandtoldyouIcouldn’ttellyouIlovedyou.IwatchedLincoln’smonumentbeingbuilt,caughtsweatrolledoffbacks,feltthegapbetweenunfamiliartoesgaspforair.Idugatunnelunderoceantolaytelephonecabling’sfinewire,anditwasbothfreezingandboilingandmyhandsstucktogether.ItoldyouIwasapolyamorist,atight-ropist,andsometimesboth.

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LauraWebbwasborninBirkenheadin1985.In2006shewontheBlackwellPublishing/TheReadermagazine‘HowtoWriteaPoem’competition.ShecompletedanMAinCreativeWriting(Poetry)attheUniversityofManchester’sCentreforNewWritingandaPhDoncontemporarypoetryatSheffieldUniversity.Amongotherplaces,shehashadpoemspublishedinCAST:ThePoetryBusinessBookofNewContemporaryPoets,BestFriendsForever,PoetryIrelandReview,TheManchesterReview,Magma,PoemsinWhich,PoetryWales,Stand,andTheRialto.ShelivesandworksinLondon.

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2017ManchesterFictionPrizeShort-listedStories

30

TheBedK.L.Boejden

Myfatherdidn’treallywanttodieathome.Itjustworkedoutthatway.Oncehereachedthatpointwheregoingtoahospitalmeantdyingatahospital,wethoughtitwouldbebettertokeephiminaplaceheknew.Wedidn’ttellhim,though.Wejustkeptbringinghimhisglassofwaterwhilewewatchedthefearofdeathslowlysettleinhiseyes.Likeblackgrainsofsandsinkingtothebottomofaforestlake,mysistersaid.Idisagreed.Ithoughtitlookedmorelikesmall,blackseedsswirlinginabucket.Butwedidn’targue.Metaphorsweremeaninglessatthispoint.

Hewasafraid.Thatmuchwasclear.Hewasafraidofgoingtosleep,afraidofclosinghiseyesandlettinggo,leavinghissoul,hisself,hiswhateverintheunsupervisedcareofhisfailingbody.HestruggledtogetupandeventhoughIknewthenursehadtoldhimtostayinbed,Iindulgedhim.Isawhowthestrange,compellingdeathbedlogic–youstayinbed,youdieinbed–lefthimonlyonerationalreaction.

Ihelpedhimup,liftedhimintothewheelchair,rolledhimthroughthehouseanddowntherampthatIhadbuiltoutofbeercratesandplywood.Andoutside,onthepatio,Istoodbehindhim,holdinghishead–onehandonhisbrow,theotheronhischin–tryingtosoftentheraspingwheezeofhisbreathing.

Ididn’tsayanything.Iknewitwastoolateforthat.Thetimefortherealgoodbye,thewrysmileandthemanlytears,hadcomeandgone.Ithadbeendayssincewehadwatcheditpass,floatingbyonwaftsofdeathbedchatter–somewhereinbetweenanareyouthirstyandtheincreasinglyinsistenttrytogetalittlesleep.

SoinsteadoftalkingIlethisheadtiltbackandlethimgazeintothesky,hopingthataglimpseofstarlightwouldsomehowsoothehisbreathingandstillthemotionofthesmall,blackseedssettlinginhiseyes.

Gradually,hisfistsunclenchedandhisbreathingslowedandthewheezebecamesosoftthatIcouldheartheTVintheneighbors’kitchenandthesoundofanapproachingcar.ThenthedoorbellrangandIheardmysistergreetthenurse.

Shesmiledasshesteppedoutonthepatioandputherhandonmyfather’sshoulder.Lookingfirstathimandthenatme,shesuggestedthatmaybeitwouldbebetterjusttostayinbed.Hervoicewasgentle,buttherewasanedgeofirritationinit.Shemutteredsomethingtoherselfasshepushedhimuptherampandbackintothebedroom.

Afterwards,shewentovereverythingagain.Sittingwithmymotherandmysisteratthekitchentable,sherepeatedwhatthedoctorsatthehospitalhadtoldusweeksago,explainingtousindetailtheeffectofwater,theporosityofthemattressandtheprosandconsofawoodenbedframe.

Thesedativewassupposedtomakehimsleepuntilmorning,buthewaswide-awakewhenIlookedinonhimanhourlater.Hewasstrugglingtogetup.So,Iputtheglassofwaterdownandmovedthechairintoposition.WhenItriedtohelphimup,however,Irealizedthatsomethinghadbeguntochange.Icouldn’tmovehimanymore.Ihadcarriedhiminmyarmseverydayforthepastfewweeks,andnowhisshrunkenframeofskinandboneshadsuddenlybecometooheavyformetolift.

Isawthereasonrightaway,glimpseditthroughtheopeningofhispajamashirt.Ontheskinabovethenavel,amongthescalyrashesandthebruisedinjectionsites,asinglebladeofgrasswassprouting.

ItlookedlikesomethingIcouldhavepluckedfromthelawnoutfront.Justaplain,greenleafofgrassthatbrokeoffbetweenmyfingerswhenItouchedit.

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Itriedtohideitinmyhand,butmyfathermusthavenoticed.Hepushedagainstthemattressandbegantodighisfingersintohisabdomen.AllIcoulddowastoclutchhiswristsandtellhimthattherewasnothingelsetoclear,thatitwasjustasinglebladeofgrassandIhadhandleditalready.IsworethatIwouldtakecareofeverything.Everyseedling,everysproutandplantlet,IpromisedtouprootassoonasIsawitbreachhisskin.

Hiseyeswavered,refocused,andfixedonme.Forthefirsttimeinweeks,heseemedtoreallyseeme.Itlastedforjustabeat,abriefflickerofrecognitionbeforehisfingersdugintohisabdomenagain.

Mymotherstartedcryingwhenshesawthebladeofgrass.Mysisterlookedawayandsaidthatweknewthatthiswascomingandthatthenursehadsaidthatitwouldhappensoon.Thenshestartedcryingtoo.Ileftthethin,greenleafonthekitchentableandwentbackintothebedroom.

Hishandshadstoppedclawingathisstomachandthesoundofhisbreathinghadthickenedsomehow.Itsoundedwetter;gurglingasifliquidwasaccumulatinginhislungs.HiseyesfollowedmyhandsasIcheckedformoresprouts.Ifoundnothingonhisbodyandlaydownonthefloortolookattherootsunderthebed.

ThereweremorethanIexpected.Somebarelytouchedthecarpetwhileothershadgrownintotheconcreteunderneath.Theywerethickandfibrousandimpossibletopullout.So,Iwentintothegardenshedandfoundasawandapairofshearsandsettowork.

WhenIwasdone,mymothercameinwithabroomandadustpanandstartedsweepingupthecarpetshredsandcut-offroots.Mysistersatdownonthebedandtriedtomakehimdrinksomewater.Eachgulpseemedtocausehimpain,buthekeptdrinkinguntiltheglasswasalmostempty.Thenhethrewup.Blackbileflowedoutofhismouthanddownhischestandstomach.Wetriedtowipehimcleanwithwettowelsandpapernapkins,buttheacrid,penetratingsmellofbileclungtohisskin.AllnightIcouldsmellit.ItwasthefirstthingInoticedwhenIwokeeveryhourtoremovethenewshoots.

Thenursecameataboutseven.ShefoundthreeseedlingsthatIhadmissed.Athistlebetweenhistoesandtwobladesofgrassonhisthigh.Whensheaskedmeiftherehadbeenanymore,Isaidnoandtoldherabouttheblackbile.Itwasnormal,sheexplained.Itwastheliverfailing,thebodyshuttingdown.Ifheneededwaterweshouldjustmoistenhislipswithicecubes.Shelookedunderthebed,atthecut-offroots,andtoldusnottoremoveanymoresprouts.Inoddedandleftthebedroom.Shespokeforawhiletomymotherandsister.IwaitedinthekitchenuntilIheardherleave.

Thegrassonhisthighbrokeoffwithoutanyresistanceatall,butthethistlewashardertopullout.Therootswentdeepanditbledforawhile.Maybeit’stimetostop,mysistersaid.Idisagreed.Ibelievedthatallwecoulddowastoindulgeandpretend.Butwedidn’targue.WebothknewIwouldn’tbeabletokeepupformuchlonger.

Aroundnoon,Istarteddozingoff.Itriedtofightitatfirst,splashingcoldwaterinmyfaceandpacingaroundtheroom.Butmyeyeskeptclosing.Mybodyneededsleep.Finally,Iaskedmymothertowatchthesproutsandwakemeinanhour.Mysisterwassleepinginmyoldbedroom,soIlaydownonthelivingroomcouch.

ItwasdarkoutsidewhenIwokeup.Mysister’seyeswereswollenandshespokeinaquiet,chokingkindofway.Atfirst,Ididn’tunderstandwhatshewassaying,butthenshepointedtothebedroom.

Itstoodmorethanafoothigh.Invariousshadesofgreenandbrown.Grass,clover,groundivy.Therewereflowerstoo.Drooping,long-stemmedwildflowerswithorangepetalsstreakedwithwhiteandsmall,turquoiseblossomsinaknotofpurpleleaves.Underneaththeleaves,attheexactcenterofhischest,Ifoundamassofroot-likebranches.WhenIgraspedthetangle,afewmothsflutteredupfrombetweenthestems.Hewasstillbreathing.Withmyeartohismouthandmyhandonthebranches,Icouldhearandfeeltheriseandfallofhischest.Thewheezewasstillthere,butthewetnesswasgone.Thebreathingsoundedcleaner,moreneutralsomehow.Likeairescapingthroughatinyhole.

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Ontherightsideofhischest,justbelowthecollarbone,therewasabranchasthickashis

littlefinger.Don’t,mysistersaidasIgraspeditwithbothhands.Ipulledandnothingmoved.Evenwith

myfootonthemattressforbetterpurchase,nothingbrokeorcameup.So,Iusedthesawandthentheshearsandwhenthebranchfinallysnappedmyfatherwrithedinpainandstartedthrowingupagain.

Italkedtomomaboutit,mysistersaidasshewipedtheblackbileup.Weneedtocallthenurse,theyhavechemicalsthatwillmakeitstop.Idisagreed,butmysisterwouldn’tlisten.He’snotthereanymore,shesaidandtriedtotakemyhand.It’sjustthebodynow,it’sjustthenervesandreflexes.

Hiseyeswereopenandeventhoughtheyfixedunmistakablyonme,therewasnorecognition,norealcontact,justtheraw,paralyzingfearslowlysettlinginhiseyes.Likeblackgrainsofsandsinkinginaforestlake.

Ipromised,Isaid.Ilefttheroot-likebranches,butpulledupeverythingelse.Newshootsappearedalmost

immediately.Icouldseethemgrow,seetheirstemsextendandthickenastheirleavesshotoutandstartedtounfold.Itallgrewback,denserandmoreresilientthanbefore,spreadingdownhisarmsandupthesidesofhisneck.IbegantostruggletokeepupandfinallyIjustfocusedonthegrowthsthatseemedtocausehimpain.Thedotsofgreenthatsplinteredhisnailsandthegrassthatwarpedhiseyelidsshut.Icleareditall,butthedamagewasdone.Onlyoneofhiseyescouldopenandmoveasbefore.Itfixedonmeandthenthewheelchair,dartingbackandforth,againandagain.

So,Iwentbacktothebranchesinhischest,graspedthethinnestIcouldfindandbegantopull.Afewmothstookwing,butnothingelsemoved.Iletgoandswattedatthemothsthathoveredaroundme.Istartedtochasethemaroundtheroom,hittingthemintheairorwhentheyperchedonthewallbehindthelamp.Alargeoneflutteredtothewindowwhereitdisappearedbehindthecurtains.Iturnedoffthelampandpulledthecurtainsopen.

Thenightwasbrightwithstars.Theyshonesoclearlythatanythingoutlinedagainstthemappearedtoshimmer.Thetopof

theneighbor’sroof.Thetowelontheclothesline.ThevineofEnglishivy.Eventhemoththatsatunmovinginthemiddleofthewindow.

Itswingswerespreadandfulloflightthatseemedtothrobinmeasuredbeats.Witheverypulse,itsbodyswelledandshrankwhileitslegsandfeelersfadedinandoutofsight.Iwatcheditforsometime,disappearingandemergingfromtheglow.

Maybeitwastheeffectofstarlight.Maybeitwasthesoundofacardoorclosing.Ormaybeitwasjustmebeingtiredandunabletofocus.Idon’tknow.ButwhenItriedtoswatthemoth,Imissed.

Myhandstruckthewindowjustbelowthehindwings.Themothwokeupandflutteredoutofreach,bumpingupagainsttheglassandleavingmewithjustthesoundofitswingsagainstthewindow.

Iwentbacktomyfather.Sittingonthebedbesidehim,Itookhishead–onehandonhisbrow,theotheronhischin–

andgentlyturnedittowardtheskyoutside.Ididn’tsayanything.Wejustsatforawhile,lookingatthestars.Ifelthisbreathonmyhandandtheslowriseandfallofhischest.Therewasnosound

anymore.Noraspingwheeze,noairescapingthroughatinyhole.Justadroneofdistantvoicesandtherapidclicksofwingsonglass.

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K.L.BoejdenwasborninSouthKorea,grewupinDenmark,studiedinParis,andnowlivesandworksinNorway.HefindsthearcticcoldanddarknessalmostasinspiringasthecafésinParis.

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ConnectiveTissue

JaneFraser

MaggieMorganhasherheadintheholethat’sbeenmanufacturedtoaccommodateit.Shekeepshereyesopenandstaresdownthroughthedarkspaceatthefloor.She’slyingflatonherstomachontheblackcouchinthetreatmentroom. “Howhavewebeensincelasttime,Maggie?”Jennyasks.“Anypain?Headaches?Tenderness?” “Aboutthesame.Noworse.Nobetter,”shesays. Herownvoicesoundsstrangetoher;distantsomehow,asthoughinagreatvoid.Shewonderswhyitisalwaysnecessarytorefertoherinthefirstpersonpluralthesedays.Shecan’trecallexactlywhenitfirststarted,thoughknowsitwassomemedicalcontextorother.“Stillmobile,arewe,Mrs.Morgan?”“Wearingourdistanceglassesfordriving,arewe,Mrs.Morgan?”“Takingourtablets,arewe,Mrs.Morgan.”“Openingourbowelsregularly,arewe,Mrs.Morgan?” She’dliketoremindJennythatshehasn’tbeena“we”foralmosttwentyyears,thatsheisverymuchan“I”.Singular.Firstperson.Aloneandalmostinvisible.Butshecan’tsomehowbringitup.Andshe’salovelygirlanyway.Doesn’twanttoupsether. “Justgoingtoworkdownyourspinefirst,Maggie.Theusual.Don’tmindifIunclaspyourbra?” “Longasyourhandsaren’tcold,”shesays. “Warmedthemupespeciallyforyou.Feel.” SheknowsJenny’shandsbynow:fleshyfingertips,firm,young,knowwhatthey’redoing.Inthesnugofthehole,shedetachesherselffromJennythegirlandgivesherselfuptothehands. ThereisathicksilenceintheroomnowasJennyworksdownMaggie’sspinefromnecktococcyx,vertebrabyvertebra,feelingtowardsunderstanding.Maggieissoothedbytheprocess,thepressureonherframecreatingastatepoisedsomewherebetweenpainandpleasure,thewarmthandenergyradiatingthoughhercoldbones. “There.Done.Youcanliedownonyourbacknow,Maggie.Haveabitofabreather,”JennysaysasshedoesupMaggie’sbra.“Takeyourtime.” Maggieemergesfromhercocoonandturnstosettleherselfastold.Jennyholdstheblueblankettoherskinassheshiftsround.Itfeelssnugandwarm,protectiveeven.Shefeelscomfortablenow,easinggentlyintotheThursdayafternoon.Fromthisposition,theyellowedskeletonhanginginthecorneroftheroomcomesintoviewalongwiththeclockonthewallsignallingthatsheisalreadyathirdofthewaythroughherweeklyforty-fiveminutesession.That£10hasalreadybeenusedup. “You’retautasastring,Maggie.Knottedup.” “Mmm.Needtorelax.Idotry,youknow.” “Iknowyoudo.Notacriticism…OK.Goingtotrysomeorganwork,thisweek.Seehowwegetonwiththat.” “Organwork?” “Notjustbones,youknow.Ligaments.Tendons.Connectivetissue,”Jennysays.“Ourmysteriousinnerworkings.” “Likejointhedots…You’regoingtorestoremywellbeing,then?Justlikesitpromisesontheleaflet,”Maggiejokes. “Domybest.Can’tpromise,though.Don’tdomiraclesinMumbles,”shesays. “Willithurt?”Maggieasks.

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“Shouldn’tdo.Buteveryone’sgottheirownpainthreshold.Youmightfeelalittlediscomfortwhenyougethome.Butit’llwearoff.Frozenpeaswilldothetrick.Justsay,ifyouwantmetostop.” MaggiewatchesasJennyliftsherbare,rightleg,raisesitoffthetableandpullsitclosetoherchest.SherotatesMaggie’shipgentlyandthenreleasesthetightgripandasksMaggietopushashardasshecanagainstherhands,andthenletgo.Maggielikesthetask:thetensioninthethigh,theresistanceandthentherelinquishing,lettingthemusclesrelax,watchingherlimplegbeingplacedbackonthetable.Maggieenjoystherepetitiononherleftleg.There’scomfortinthepattern. Sheliesonherleftside,thenherright,Jennymakingsurethattheblanketkeepsherwarmandcoveredassheworkshermagic.JennypressesthesolesofMaggie’sfeetintoherhands.She’dalwayslikedhavingherfeetheld.ShepusheshardintoJenny’spalmsandthenreleases,seeingeachfootinturnflopbackdownontothetable. AsJennyworks,Maggieglancesattheskeleton.Wonderswhotheshelloncewas,nowjustascaffoldhangingonahookinthecornerofaconsultingroominacitysuburb:acollectionofbonesandjoints:femurs,radii,ulnae,tibiae,patellaeandapelvis.Shetakesalookattheclockagain.Almostdone. “You’vegotaveryacrobaticpelvis,youknow,Maggie.Andyourleftpatellaisnotexactlywhereitshouldbe.Nothingmajor.Theaccidentprobably.” “Well,youcan’texpecttocomeoutunscathedwhenyou’vebeenthroughwhatwewentthrough,”shesays,realisingthat“we”isbeingusedinitscorrectsenseforonce.Hewasthelastpersonshe’dactuallytouched;beentouchedby.“Likeyousaid.It’saboutmorethanbones,isn’tit?” “Yeah.Muchmorethanbones,”saysJenny. MaggieliesflatonherbackforthelastfifteenminutessothatJennycancontinueherhealing.ShegazesattheintenseconcentrationvisibleinJenny’syoungunblemishedface,trustshersteadyprobingfingertips,sureonhersternumasitrisesandfalls.It’sworthit,shethinks.Thirtypoundsforforty-fiveminutesonce-a-weekisasmallpricetopay. “I’mgoingtoleavemyhandsonyourribcageforawhile,tofinishoff,”Jennysayssoftly.“Breatheslowly.Nicelong,easybreaths.In.Out.In.Out.Feelyourselfrelaxing.Justbeing.That’sit.Good.” JaneFraserlivesinthesmallvillageofLlangennith,ontheGowerpeninsula,southWaleswheresheco-directsNB:Design,adesignagency,bydayandwritesateveryotheropportunity.ShehasaCreativeWritingMAfromSwanseaUniversityandaPhDforacollectionofshortfictionentitled,TheSouthWesterlies.SheisawinneroftheBritishHaikuSocietyandGenjuanInternationalPrizeforhaibun.Shehasbeenarunner-upintheRhysDaviesShortStoryCompetitionandFishMemoirPrize,beenlonglistedoncefortheABRElizabethJolleyPrizeandseventimesfortheManchesterFictionPrize.Herworkhasbeenpublishedinprize-winninganthologiesincludingAccentandMomayaPress,andbyNewWelshReviewandTheLonelyCrowd.SheisgrandmothertoMegan8,Florence7andAlice3whothinkitcoolthat,“Grandma’sbeengoingtoschooltowritestories”.

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eventhekidsknowbetterSakinahHofler

Inapartofthecitylongabandonedbythosewiththefundstodoso,fivebulletsflythroughthefrontwindowofClinton’sFriedChickenandPizza.Fourofthosebulletsmissthechickenshack’scustomers,whilethefifthpiercestheupperchestcavityofaNJTransitbusdrivernamedJefferson,who’dbeennextinline,tryingtodecidebetween#1(sixwings,fries,andasoda)and#3(2-piecebreastandthigh,fries,andasoda).Hethinkshehasbeenstruckbyabaseballbatthenfeelstheburnofafireballpingpongingaroundinhischest.Hecollapses.Beforehispainrampsup,he’sabletotakeinhissurroundings.Afewcrinklyfriessoclose,hecouldlickthem.Ascatterofsoilednapkins.Twoteenagegirlscurledinfetalballs,theirhandsovertheirears,theirclothingglitteringfromsprinklesofshatteredglass,theirscreamslikeabrokenchorus–longandhighinterspersedwithdog-likeyips.Helooksabovethematthegapingholethathadbeenawindow.Alightrainhasstartedtofallonthecitystreets.Rain,rain,begone,histoddlerRileyoftensings,fudgingthelyricsto“Rain,Rain,GoAway.”Butofcourse,theraincontinues,defyinghumancommand. Oneoftheteenagersscramblestowardhim.She’sdressedinabaggy,midrifftop,athickgoldbellyringtugsattheskinbeneathhernavel.Hisheartratequickens.Heunderstandshehasbeenshot,andthattheshootercouldbeanyone,includingthisgirl.Hispaingathers,intensifies,explodes.Hedoesnotknowthebullethasfracturedhisscapula,fracturedseveralribs,rippedthroughthepleuralliningofhisleftlung,perforatedhisliver,fracturedhisT-8andT-9thoracicvertebraebeforetransectinghisspinalcord.Heonlyknowsaroaringblazeripsitswaythroughhischest,thatithurtstobreathe,andthatthebeefchunksoftheWhiteCastleburgersheconsumedhoursagonowwanttocomeoutthesamewaythey’dgonein. Thegirlleansoverhim.Herfacehasbeenabusedbyadifferenttypeofattack–herlipsarebloodiedandswollen,theskinaroundherlefteyebruisedanddiscolored.“Mister,”shewhispers.“Jesus.”Shepullsaphonefromherpocketandswipestheshatteredscreenseveraltimesbeforeturningaroundandscreaming,“Oneofy’allmotherfuckersneedtocall9-1-1.” Golddoorknockersdanglefromherears,thekindthatspelloutaname,butJeffersoncanonlymakeoutthelastthreeletters,-i-n-a,-ina,whichcouldstandforChristina,Amina,Tina.Hestaresather,sensingheknowstheanswertothisriddle. “They’recalling,”saysthegirl.“I’mgonnagethelp.Onmyword,I’llberightback.” Whenthegirlrunsoutthestore,Jeffersonswallows,attemptingtocontrolhisbreathing,keephislunchdown,andsomehowalleviatethewavesofpain.Therehadbeenamaninlineaheadofhim,wherehadhegone?Theotherteenagegirlremainsinatightball,herscreamsdampeneddowntowhimpers.Inhisperiphery,hespotsathirdteenagegirlcrouchingbehindababycarriage.HismindwhollyrejectstheideatheLordcreatedamotherwhousesherownbabyasaprotectiveshield.Infact,hebelievestheLordwouldnothavewakenedhimat5a.m.thismorningtohavehimdrivethe#25busupanddownSpringfieldAvenue,havehimbreakupafistfight,allowhimtoletthreepeoplewhocouldn’taffordthe$1.60busfaretorideonhisdime,letDonnaatWhiteCastlepleasurehimthenhookhimupwithextraslidersonlytohavehimdieontheoverbleachedfloorofthischickenshack.Katrinarunsontothedampcitystreetwithoutfirstcheckingtoseeiftheshooterhasclearedoutorifhe’sloopingbackaroundtocomeforheragain.Theblockisunusuallyquietforanearlysummerevening,butshefindspeople–acoupleduckingbetweenparkedcars,amanlyingflatonhisstomachonthelawnofashutteredhouse,andseveralpeoplerunningawayfromthechickenshack.

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Katrinascreams,“Help!”thoughsheknowstheywon’t.Normally,shebelievesintimewaitingforher.Whenshechoosestoattendschool,sheneverhurriestoclass;herdetentionslipspileupinherlocker.Hercurrentfostermotherhasgivenuptryingtoenforceacurfewsothegirlreturnstothehousewhenshefeelslikeitthoughsheoftenshowsuptoadeadbolteddoor.Butsheunderstandsthatforthebusdriver,timeiscoldcash,astraight-upstackofBenjamins,gold. Carsspeedpass,theirdriversoblivioustothepop-popsthathadrungoutonlymomentsbefore.Sherunsuptoarustedcarstoppedatalightandbangsonthewindow.Thedriver,asunken-facedwomanwithaheadscarfwrappedtightlyaroundherhead,pressesdownonherdoorlock. “Weneedsomehelp,”saysKatrina.“Please.” Thedrivershakesherheadandtakesoff,runningtheredlight.Katrinacontemplateshowthewomanmustseeher:twilight,strangegirl,troubledcity.She,too,wouldnotrolldownthewindowforherself;infact,ifshewerethatwomanshe’dhaveagunonher,inhand,aware,ready,becauseyouneverknowhowlifemightendup.Shewantstotellthewomanandeveryoneelseshe’ssorry,thatshedidn’tknowshewouldbethecauseoftheirbaddays.She’djustgottenher#3meal-to-gofromthecashierwiththethickEgyptianaccent(popcornchicken,fries,acanofCoke)whenshehappenedtoglanceoutsideandseeWilliamhangingoutthepassengersideofablackcar,guninhand.Thetwolockedeyes.Shebarelyhadtimetoduckandyell“Drive-by”beforehestartedshooting. Backinthechickenshack,Latonyabouncesherhowlingbabygirlonherhip,andSharmetliesonaballonherside,silenttearsdrippingoffherface.Katrinadoesn’ttellthemtheyknowtheshooter,instead,sheleansoverthecountertowherethetwomenwhohadbeeninlinesithuddledonthefloornexttothecashier.Nonedaremeethereye.Sheasksifanyofthemhavecalled. Thecashiernodswithoutlookingup.“Copssaythey’reontheirway.” Thebusdriverliesonthefloor,hisheadcrookedtotheright,hischestshuddersasitrisesandfalls,hisbloodathick,darkcarpetbeneathhim.Shedoesn’twantittotouchher,butshealsoknowswhatit’sliketobealonewhensomethingterriblehappens.FragmentsfromlongagoofanauntsittingherdownonabenchatPennStation,sayingI’llberightback,heraunt’sredcoatastheautomaticdoorsclosedbehindher,ahandfulofstolenbutterypopcorn,running,sneakingonbusafterbustoglimpsethatredcoat,hunching,astranger’shandwrappedaroundhers,asoftvoicetellinghershe’sgoingtobeallright.

Katrinastrokeshishand.Itdoesn’tfeellikeahandthathasnearlyyankedanarmoutofitssocket;thisisnotahandthathasslappedtheshitoutofanyone.Sheclosesherhandaroundhis,wishingshecouldtravelsomewhereintheMiddleEastandcoverherfacewithaveilsonoonewouldeverseeherforwhosheis.ShehasseentheSandalscommercialmanytimesandwantstohavethetimeofherlifesplashingaroundinaninfinitepoolonsomerandomisland.NearlyeverySunday,herfostermotherreturnsfromAtlanticCitygrumblingaboutthemoneyshelostandhowshe’llmakeitupnextweekend,andKatrinasobadlywantstogowithher,toseewhatit’sliketogamblealifeawayandmaybe,foronce,winanewone.BothKatrinaandJeffersonperkupatthesoundofsirens.Botharefilledwithinsanedisappointmentasthesquadcarrushesbythestoretosomeotheremergency.Afterall,thisisNewark.Thishappens.Jeffersonfeelshishandbeingsqueezed,feelshimselfbeingtuggedawayfromthatbeckoningblackholeofunconsciousnesshe’dbeendriftinginto.Thefireinhischesthassubsidedandhetastessourmeatbitsinhismouth:bothherecognizesasbadsigns.

Throughagrayfog,heseesthegirlsittingbesidehimsmile,andhethinks,withabsolutecertainty,heknowsher.Hedigsforaname,can’tfindit,butunearthsamemoryofthatpseudo-

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smile.Thiscouldbethegirlfromfiveorsixyearsagothat,afteradoubleshift,he’dfoundhidingbehindthedoubleseaterduringhisfinalwalkthrough.Whenheaskedthegirlhername,heraddress,herhomenumber,herparents'names,she’dfake-smiledandansweredeveryquestionwithI’mhungry.Thiscouldbethegirlwhosehandheremembersholding,whosmelledofurineandunclean.Hehadcontemplatedcallingchildservicesorthepolice.Buthe’dseenhowthestatelikedtoseverfamilies,andhehadfirsthandexperiencewithhowthepolicetreatedpeoplewholookedlikehim,evenwhenpeoplelikehimneededhelp.Hefiguredshe’dtalkaftersheateandbroughthertotheapartmenthesharedwithhiswifetwoblocksaway.Withoutcomplaint,Beverlyfixedthegirlaplateofmacandcheeseandmeatloaf,andthenthetwoofthemretreatedtothebedroomtodiscusstheiroptions.“ChildServices”wasBeverly’sverdict,butitdidn’tmatterbecausewhentheyemerged,boththegirlandtheplateweregone,andthefrontdoortotheirapartmentstoodopen.Theywenttothepolice.AnofficerwithgreeneyesglaredsuspiciouslyatJeffersonwhileherecountedtheencounterandJeffersonglaredattheofficerwhentheofficeraskedwhyJeffersonoptedtobringhertohishouseinsteadoftothestation.Theofficereventuallyleftthemalonewithfournotebooksofthemissing(“Everyone’stryingtogetoutofhere,”theofficergrunted.“Eventhekidsknowbetter”),butnoneofthephotoswereofthatlittlegirl. Onthefloorofthechickenshack,Jeffersonmoveshislipsyetonlyagurglingsoundemerges. Katrinasqueezeshishand,ignoringthedampstickinessspreadingthroughtheseatofherjeans.Shenoticesaglintinhiseyes,oneofmaybejoy,mayberecognition.Shedoesherbesttosmileandtriestorememberthefleetingmalesofherlife,somegood,somebad;buthermemoryisaslipperyslopewithtoomanynooksthatwillcausehertotumbleintoanabyssofceaselessgriefsosheturnsaway,focusingonthesoundsoftherecedingrainandtheoccasionalwhimpersandwhispersofthosearoundthem. Jefferson’seyeslockonsomethingbeyondher–perhapsSharmet,perhapsthedrizzle–andtheydonotcloseagain. Katrinaraiseshislimphandtohermouthandkissesthebackofitlikeshehasseeninthemovies.Shewilltelltherespondingofficerwhoquestionshersheknowstheshooter,butlater,atthestation,afterherfostermothertakesherintothebathroomandremindshernottobringtroubleintothehouseandthat“snitchesgetstitches,”shewillchangeherstory.Herfriendswilloffervarioustheoriesnamingeveryoneandnoonebecausethey,too,understandretaliation.Shewillnottellthedetectivesintheinterrogationroomaboutthefightshe’dgottenintoearlierthatdaywithWilliam.She’dbeenwalkingwithSharmetandLatonyaupHawthorneAvenuewhentheyspottedWilliamsmokingonhisporch.Thetwohadslepttogetheronmorethanoneoccasion(fuckedtheshitoutofher,hebraggedtohisfriends;madesweetlove,shetoldhers),andshe’dbeenpregnantonce(notmines,hesaid),buttheonlyremainingevidencethere’dbeensomethingbetweenthetwowasapitofangerthanranlonganddeep.Hetoldhertotakeherragamuffinbrokeassoffhisblock.Shecalledhimallthenamesshe’dbeensavingupforhim:Momma’sboy,apussy,alittlebitchthatlikesitintheass,asmalldicknigga. Itmightnothaveescalatedhadhismothernotstormedoutthehouseanddemandedthattheygetoffherpropertyandleavehersonalone.Thegirlwillnotunderstanduntilmuchlaterinlifewhyshebecamesoangrywiththiswoman.Shewillnottellthedetectivesthatsheandherfriendshungaroundandhid,waitinguntilWilliamleft,thenpoundedonthefrontdoor,tellingWilliam’smothertobringherassoutside.Shewillnottellthemshethrewthefirstpunch,northatSharmetandLatonyajoinedinonthestompingofhismother,orthatwhenhissisterranoutthehouse,theybeattheshitoutofher,too.Katrinahashadtofightherentirelife;sheisanexpert.Forher,itisjustanotherday. ArespondingofficerwiththenameL.SanchezembroideredinheruniformpriesKatrina’shandawayfromJefferson’s.SanchezpullsKatrinaoutsideofthechickenshackandsternlytellshertolettheEMTsdotheirimportantwork.Otherpeopleontheblockstarttorevealthemselves:

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pointing,reenacting,arguing.SanchezguidesKatrinatothepatrolcarwhereshehurriedlyspreadsablanketacrossthebackseat. Katrinaplopsdownonthecurb,wavingahandinfrontofherstingingeyes. “Ohhon,”saysSanchez.TheofficerdigsaroundthefrontseatthenreemergeswithapackofKleenex.ShesitsonthewetcurbnexttoKatrinaandgivesheranawkwardsidehug.“We’regoingtoneedastatementfromyou.We’llaskyouafewtoughquestions,butthenwe’llcallyourparentssothattheycantakeyouhome.” Katrinathinksofreturningtoherfostermother’shouse,ofsharingaroomwithsevenotherkids,ofthecoldmeals,ofthefighting,ofitall.Butasthesethingsgo,therewillneverbetherighttimenorplaceforherstory.Sheleansontheofficer,ballinguptissueaftertissue,andtellstheWilliamstoryforthefirstandlasttime.SakinahHoflerisaPhDcandidateattheUniversityofCincinnati,wheresheisaYatesFellow.In2016,shewasshortlistedfortheManchesterPoetryPrize.ShereceivedherMFAfromFloridaStateUniversity,whereshewasarecipientoftheKingsburyFellowship.HerworkhasappearedinHayden’sFerryReview,EunoiaReviewandCounterexamplePoetics.Aformerchemicalandqualityengineer,shenowspendshertimeteachingandwritingfiction,screenplays,andpoetry.

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TheBoyandtheBewickP.F.Latham

Afterfiveyearsexposedtothesaltairtherustedwar-timecoilsofbarbedwirewerenowjustdisconnectedstrandsinthemudoftheestuary.Onthewetlandsandmudflatshundredsofwildfowlfedastheyhadonandoffallday–teal,mallard,shelduckandwidgeonamongflocksofsnipe,geese,redshanks,oystercatchersandavocets.Everynowandthenscatteredflocksofthemwoulderuptintoflightwhenstartledbytheblastofatrooptrain’swhistleacrosstheestuary.Ateverywindowofthetrainmenladenwithkitbags,rifles,greatcoats,steelhelmetsstaredoutblankly.Ontheedgeofthemudflatsaheronliftedoffastheseabegantosurgebackin,flyingwithouthasteupstream.ThetugoftheincomingtideseemedtorousethesolitaryBewickswanfeedingcloseintothenearsidebank.Headupitrearedoutofthewater,wingsfullyextended,beatingtheair.Theboysittingonthebankwrappedinthesackheshouldhavefilledwithfirewoodobserveditintensely,absorbingeverymovementoftheswan,shivering.Hewantedtocalltheswan,giveitthebread,potatoandcabbageleaveshehadstuffedunderhisshirt.Now,seeingtheswanbeattheair,hehesitated.Twoweeksbefore,whenhehadfirstseentheswan,hehadbeendrawntoit.TheBewickwasnotlikethemuteswansheusuallysawontheestuary.Itwassmaller,itsneckshorter,notcurved.Yet,atthatfirstsight,somethingabouttheBewickonitsown,isolated,solitary,hadcalledtohim.CrouchedonthebanktheboyknewStubbswouldthrashhimwhenhegotbacktothefarm,orthrowhimintothehorsetrough,toscrubthemudoftheestuaryfromhimwiththeyardbroom.Atthatmoment,though,nothingmatteredsavetheswan.FromthemomenthefirstsawittheBewickhadcometohim,theboysharingwiththeswanwhateverfoodhehadbeenabletofilchfromtheStubbses’larder.Theswan’strustfilledtheboywithagratitude,awarmth,hedidnottrytounderstand.Itwasenoughthatfromthetimehefirstsawittheswancametohim,asitdidstill,whenhecalled.Itwasenoughforhimtosense–morethanthattoknow–thattherewasabondbetweenthem.Nomatterhowsoftlytheboycalledeverytimehegottothewater’sedgetheBewickcametohim.HoweverfaroutintheestuarytheswanmightbetheBewickheard,andcamesurgingtowardshim.Andeverytimetheboyspentlongerandlongerwiththeswan.Eachtime,despitethecold,andthemud,heneverhesitated.Heignoredthebitterlycoldair,themud,thetugofthetideintheblackriverwhenhewadedintofeedtheswan.Tobewiththeswanwasallthatmattered.Thecold,hiswetclothesclingingtohimafterwards,watersquelchingfromhisbrokenshoes,thethreatofbeatings,stripes,iftheStubbsescaughthim,heacceptedasinevitable;asimmutableasthesunrisingandsetting.HedidnotknowthattheswanwasaBewick.Hedidnotknowthatasthedayslengthenedtheneedfortheswantotakeflightwouldbecomemoreandmorepressing.Allhedidknowwasthatwhilehewaswiththeswanhehadpeace;thatpeacenowunsettledashewatchedtheBewickstretchoutitswings,bobitsneck.Alreadyinpastdayshehadseenthedrawn-outformationsofwildfowlhighup,headingnorth,backtotheirnestingsites.Now,seeingtheswanrearingoutofthewater,theboyfeltastirringwithin

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him;asenseofsomethingtroublingyetyearnedfor.Afeelingthatwasinexpressible,atavistic,growing.Thetimehadcome.Thesenseofit,thefeeling,wasover-powering;animperativetobegone.Hehadtoleave,ashesensedtheswanwaspreparingtodo.Toleavebehindthefrozenfields,thefarm,theStubbses;hisunbelievablyharshexistence.Theboycalledtheswan.Hewasshiveringsomuchfromthecoldthatthesoundwasslurred,almostamumble.ButatoncetheBewickcametohim.Hisheartlifted.Theywereone.Barelyconscious,thelightfastfading,heknewthenthatnothingontheearthorundertheskiescouldpartthem.Whatboundthemwasbeyondtimeorplace.Hedidnotknowtheword‘empathy’andinanyeventthatworddidnotfullyexplainwhathefelt;whatexistedbetweentheBewickandhimself.Comforted,piecebypiecetheboyheldoutthebread,thepotatoandthecabbageleaves.Piecebypiecetheswantookthefoodfromhim.Piecebypiecetheboyatetoountil,suddenly,theBewickceasedfeeding,lifteditsheadandlookedupdirectlyathim.Inthatinstantswanandboyseemedasone.Theboynolongerfeltthecold,orthehunger,orthepainfromtheweltsonhisbackandhislegs.Inhimalongsuppressedmemorywasstirring,nebulous,faint,growing.Hisheartbegantoraceasifoutofamistrecollectioncame–amemoryofthetimebeforeStubbsandthefarm.Somethinghehadseenwhenhe’dhadarealhome,withhismother,beforethebombsfell.Beforethemendughimoutoftheruins.Beforehewastoldhismotherwasdeadundertherubble.Hebegantorememberthepictureonthewallofhisbedroom;thepictureofswansandtheirgreatjourneynorth-eastwardstowardstheArctictundraofnorthernRussia.Torememberhismotherreadingtohimabouttheswansflyingvastdistancesoverdarkpineforests,overmountainsandlakes,overice-bergsandlandsthickwithsnowasfarastheeyecouldsee.Atthatmomentitwasasifhecouldfeelthewarmthofher,hearhervoicecalminghim,reassuringhimasshereadtohim,hisheadonherlap.Itwastohimatthatmomentreal,vital,nodream.Itwasasifheknewnotonlywhathismotherreadtohimbutalsoinsomewayhedidnotseektoexplain–couldnothavearticulated–hehimselfhadexperiencedflyingdayafterdaywiththeBewickandothersinalooseV-formation,eachswangettingliftfromtheslipstreamoftheBewickinfront,theswanssometimesrisingto10,000feetforthecalmerair,atothertimesflyinglowovertheseawherethefrictionofthewaveslessenedtheforceoftheheadwindsagainstthem.Itwasasifhehimselfknew,hadexperienced,theflightsgoingonandonfor2,600miles,togettothenestinggroundsintheRussiantundra.Asifheknew,astheBewicksknew,thelong-establishedfeedingandrestingpoints;knewhowtheswansdroppeddown,webbedfeetforwardtobrakeuponthewater,withscoresoftheBewickscalling,rearingup,fanningtheirwingsrapidlytoeasetheirgreatflightmuscles,stretchingtheirnecks,bobbingtheirheads,beforesettlingdowninfamilygroupstofeed.Howallthatcametohimtheboydidnotknow.ForhimitwasasrealashisbeingthereofferingfoodtotheBewick,duskdeepening,coldintensifying.Hisexcitementgrew.Soon,verysoon,hewouldleavebehindtheStubbses,thebeatings,theover-workandthesemi-starvationwhichtheStubbsesalwaysmanagedtoconcealwhentheBoardingOutOfficermadeoneofherrarevisits.SoonhewouldbeatonewiththeBewicksflyinghighup,nowcallingtotheswanintheestuaryfeedingfromtheboy’shand.Soonhewouldbeclearofalldistress.Soonhewouldbegoinghome.Nottothegapintherowofhouseswherehishomehadbeen,therubble,thedebris,longsincecleared.Hewouldbegoingtowherehismotherwaswaiting,smiling,holdingherhandsouttohim.

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Then,inallhisexcitementheheard,faintlybutpersistently,Stubbsroaringouthisname.HeknewatoncethatStubbshadfoundthecartbythecoppicewhichtheboyshouldhavefilledwithdeadwoodandlogssawnuptofeedtherangeinthekitchen.BythelightofhislanternStubbswouldhaveseenthatAshleyhadcollectedverylittleandthatnologshadbeensawn.TheboyknewthatifStubbssawhimontheestuarybankhewouldbecaughtandwhipped,drivenbacktothefarmwithblowsraineduponhisback,hislegs,hisarms.ItseemedthenthatontheestuarytheBewickfelttheboy’sfear.Oncemoreitrearedoutofthewater,beatingtheairwithwingsfullyextended;wingstoliftit,toliftAshley,uptothestars.AtonceAshleywascomforted.Stubbsandthefarmnolongerneedtroublehim.Heknewthatatlastthetimehadcome,theswanturning,swimmingout,reactingtothecriesofotherBewicksabovestillcalling;callswhichtheboyhimselfnowheardabovetheshoutsofStubbs,aboveeveryothersound;thewashofthetideracingin,themoanofthewindamongthetreesandlowbushesonthebanks,thewhistleofanothertrainonthefarbankpackedwithmoresoldiers.ArmsoutstretchedAshleymovedintothewater.Standingtherehebegantobendhishead,tobobupanddown,againandagain,ashehadseentheswando,crouchingandrising,risingandcrouchinginacopyoftheresponseoftheBewickontheestuarytothecallsoftheswanshighabove.InhimthecompulsiontojointheBewickontheestuarywasgrowing;thesensethathecouldtakeoffwithit,flywithithighupintothenight.AndatthatmomentitseemedthattheboyandtheBewickbecameasone,theswanfaroutintotheestuaryturningbacktowardshim,bendingandstretchingitsneck,rearingoutofthewater,wingsextended,asiftoshowtheboywhattodo.Strugglingagainstthepullofthesearushingintheboywadedindeeperanddeeper.AgainandagaintheBewickcalled,softsoundswhichseemedtohangupontheair,enticing,joyous.Totheboyitwasasiftimeweresuspended.Furtherandfurtherouthewaded.Behindhimtheseaalreadycoveredthemudflatsbeneaththebanks,surginginfast,black,strong.Outintheestuarytheswanstoppedswimming.Oncemoreitturned,asiftocheckthattheboywerefollowing.Abovetheboy,abovetheswan,flightafterflightofBewicksnowflew,callingastheywent.Itwasasummonstheswanontheestuarycouldnolongerresist.InafewswiftstrokestheBewickliftedoff,dropsofwaterflashingbacktowardstheboy.Upanduprosetheswan.Twiceitcircledtheboy,flyinghigherandhigher,callingandcalling,beforeturningnorth-easttobeginthesix-weekjourneybackoverthepineforests,thelakes,themountains.Intheestuarytheseafloodedthesmallinlets.Thetidescouredoutmoreearthbeneaththebanks.Thebrokenbarbed-wirewasoncemoresubmerged.Farout,onlyjustvisiblefromtheshore,asmallblackbundlewassweptalongfasterthanthepanic-strickenStubbscouldrun.Abundlesilent,tumbledoverandoverbytheriver’srace.Nowandthenapalefaceappeareduppermost,andthenwasgone.

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Nowinhis86thyear,P.F.Lathamgrewupinthewarandwonhisfirstprizeforwritingagedtenyearsandtenmonths(oneispreciseatthatage).Areaderallhislife,hehasbeenasoldier(briefly)amanagementconsultant,directorofaHousingcorporation,andthenTownClerkatStratforduponAvon.Currentlyhehasachildren'sstoryonoffertohalfadozenliteraryagentsandalovestorytoanothersetofagents.Sofarnonehasofferedtotakeoneitherbook.

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She-Clown

HannahVincent

She-Clownparkedhercaroutsidethehouse.Shewasearly.Thearrangementoftheupperwindowsandthefrontdoorgavethehouseaquizzicalexpression.Whatareyoudoinghere,itseemedtoask.

‘I’mShe-Clown,’shetoldthehouse,practisingthevoiceshewouldusewhenthefrontdooropenedandshegreetedtoday’scustomer.Shesmootheddownthevelvetofhercostume,strokingitonewayandthentheother,fromsmoothtoroughthenroughtosmooth,likeacat’sfur. Shecrumpledthemapshehadprintedofftheinternetandtosseditintothewelloftheemptypassengerseat,whichwasankledeepinothercrumpledmapsandtakeawaycartons.Aftercheckinghermake-upinthedriver’smirror,shegotoutofthecarandputonherbowlerhat.Theywerealongtimeansweringthedoor.Shepressedherfaceagainstthecoolwallofthehouse.Eventuallyawomandressedfromheadtotoeincreamappeared.

‘Youmustbetheladymagician.’‘I’mShe-Clown.’Twingirls,wearingidenticaloutfitsofleggingsandsequinnedT-shirtsslidsilentlyeitherside

oftheirmother.Theydidn’tnormallydressthesame,theirmothersaid,butbecauseitwasaspecialoccasionwell,theyhadalloweditjustthisonce.SheinvitedShe-Clowninsidethehouseandthegirlsranaheadofthemintothegardenwhereseveralothergirlsbouncedonatrampoline,hairflying. ‘ThisistheShe-Clown,’thewomantoldherhusband.

HewasabearofamanwithdarkhairandatanthatfinishedbeforetheneckofhisT-shirt.‘SheClam?’hesaid.‘She-Clown,’hiswifecorrectedhim.Herhairwasfastenedwithatortoiseshellclip.Anotherwomanwithsimilarhairandclothes

dressedinsimilarclothesstoodnearbyholdingabouquetofwineglassesupsidedownbytheirstems. ‘I’vegotmorestuffinmycar,’She-Clownsaid,andsheaskedifitwouldbealrighttoleavethefrontdooropenwhileshefetchedtherest. ‘Ohno,don’tdothat,’themothersaid,openingthedoorofthefridgeandtakingoutabottleofwine.‘JustknockandTonywillletyoubackin.’

‘JustknockandI’llletyouin,’herhusbandrepeated.HewouldbeanothernotchonShe-Clown’sfigurativebedpost–figurativebecauseshe

nevergotnearabedwiththesemen.Sheusuallyadministeredherswiftmagicinhercar,orinasmalldownstairstoilet,orinashed,andonceinasparebedroomclutteredwithmountainbikesanddryingwashing.Themenoftenseemedsurprisedthatsomeonelikeher,inbowlerhatandshapelesspantaloons,wasasexualcreature.Sometimestheywouldofferpaymentinadditiontoherclownfee,whichgavenewmeaningtothephrase‘turningtricks’,oratleasttothekindsoftricksostensiblyreferredtoonherchildren’sentertainerwebsite.Sheneveracceptedthetremblingtenners-suckingoffthesemenwhiletheirwomenstage-managedtheactiontakingplaceinotherpartsofthehousewaspaymentenough.

Shereturnedtohercar,openedthebootandliftedouthertrestletablethenluggeditawkwardlydownthestreetbacktothehouse.Onthedoorsteponcemore,waitingforsomeonetoanswer,shesmoothedthevelvetofhercoatthiswayandthat.

‘Needahand?’thehusbandaskedwhenheopenedthedoor.Hetookthefoldedtableinonebighandandcarrieditthroughthehousetothegarden.The

motherandherfriendswatchedfromthekitchenashehelpedhererectit.She-Clownspreadher

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embroideredtableclothoveritandlaidouthergiantwand,herfishingrod,herChinesefansandping-pongballs,herspinnyplatesandsticks.

‘I’mready,’shetoldthefather,andhecalledtohisgirlsthatthemagicwasabouttostart.Thetwinsleapedoffthetrampolineandranaroundthegardenwhiletheirfathercalledtothemtocomeandsitdown.Theirfriendschasedthem,spillingandleapingoveroneanother,snatchingleavesofftrees.Aslightlyoldergirl,thetwins’oldersister,askedthefatherifshehadtowatchtheshow.Thefathertoldherinalowvoicethatitwouldbeniceifshewould,please.Thetwinsandtheirfriendscontinuedtorunaroundthegarden,legsandarmsatanglestotheirbodies,untilatlast,answeringtheirfather’scall,theyfellontothegrass,reachingupforthecupsoffruitjuicehehandedthem.Twogirlstoldhimtheyhadatricktheywantedtoshowhim.

‘Goon,then,’thefathersaid.‘It’scalledthe‘‘tank’’,’oneofthemsaid,andtheirfriendsgroanedandsaidtheyallknew

howtodothetankbecausetheyhadlearneditatgymnastics.Undeterred,oneofthegirlslayonthegroundbeneathherfriend,holdingontoherfriend’sankles.Thenthestandinggirlcatapaultedherselfforwardsheadfirst,performingaforwardrollbetweenherfriend’slegs.Overandovertheywent,keepingholdofeachotherandmovingaroundthegardenasone.Thefatherlaughedandtoldthegirlstheylookednothinglikeatankandthatwasagoodthing.

‘Dowegetaprize?’oneofthegirlsasked,buttherewerenoprizes,hetoldthem,onlymagic.

‘Magicandjuice,’hesaid,handingthemadrinkeach,oneinagreenplasticcupandoneinaredplasticcup.Thecupsglowedinthesunlikeemeraldsandrubies.

Itwastimetostarttheshow.She-Clownbangedhergongandblewherkazoo.Shebeganwiththepingpongballtrickandwhenthegirlsdemandedtoknowhowtheballsappearedundertheircupsshetoldthemamagicianneverrevealshertechnique.Theyshoutedbackthatshewasn’tarealmagician.Bywayofananswershejuggledthepingpongballsthenthrewthemintothegirls’upheldcups,aimingthemcarefullyandnotmissingasingleone.

‘That’snotmagic!’thegirlscried.‘No?’shesaid,cockingherhead.‘Whatisitthen?’‘It’ssport,’thetwins’bigsistersaid.‘It’ssport,’chorusedtheyoungergirls.‘It’sharderthanyouthink,’thefathertoldthem.‘Togeteachofthoseballsineverycup.’Shegaveeachoftheguestsasticktoholdandsetplatesspinningonthem.Thensheputa

tutuonoverherpantaloonsandtwirledaroundchasingapaperbirdthatshedangledfromafishingrod.

‘That’snotmagic!’thegirlscried,clutchingeachotherindelight.‘That’sballet!’Sheopenedheroversizedsuitcaseandfellinsideit.Thegirlsshriekedwithlaughtertosee

herfeetwavingaboutupsidedown.Shecouldseetheirmotherdrinkingwineinthekitchenwithherfriend.

Shefinishedtheshowwithbubbles,whichbobbedsedatelyoverthehedgeintoaneighbour’sgardenandsentheraudienceintoakindoftrance.Theyclappedwhenshebowedandsodidthefatherbuthiseldestdaughterdidnot.ThenthetwinsandtheirfriendsboundedbacktothetrampolineandShe-Clownbegantopackawayherthings.

‘Thankssomuch,’thefathersaid.‘Youwerebrilliant.’Hewatchedherputthelidonthebucketofbubblemixtureandfoldawayhertrestletable.‘Whereareyouparked?’heasked.‘Justoutside,’shesaid.Hetuckedhertableunderonearmandtookheroversizedsuitcaseinhisotherhandwhile

shecarriedthebucketofbubblemixturethroughthekitchen.‘Oh,goodbye!’themothersaid,gettingupandfollowingthemtothefrontdoor.‘Wepaidyouwhenwebooked,right?’shesaid.‘That’sright,’She-Clownsaid.

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‘Wellthankyouverymuch,MrsShe-Clown.’‘IthoughtyournamewasSheClam,earlier,’thehusbandsaidasheledthewaydownthe

tiledpath.‘She-Clown,’shesaid.Sheindicatedwhichcarwashers.Sometimesthemanwouldsuggestsittinginhercarwith

herforamoment,withtheexcuseofescapingpartymayhem.‘There’snodifferencebetweenmaleandfemaleclams,didyouknowthat?’thetwins’

fathersaid.She-Clownopenedthebootandheliftedthetrestletable,slidingitinsidethecar.‘Nodifferenceincolourormarkingsormatingbehaviour,’hesaid.‘Soonlytheclamknows

who’swhoandwhat’swhat.’She-Clownwedgedthebucketofbubblemixturesothatitwouldn’ttipoverandslammed

thebootshut.‘We’reseparated,mywifeandI,’hetoldher.‘We’renottogether,ifyouseewhatImean.’Herewego,shethought,andshewalkedawayfromhimtounlockthedriver’sdoor.‘Iverymuchenjoyedyourshow,’hesaid.‘Thanks.’Sherubbedthefabricofhercostumebetweenherfingers,feelingtheresistanceofthe

velvet,feelingitsfibresmovebackwardsandforwardsunderherfingertips.‘Well,I’dbettergetbacktotheparty,’hesaid.Buthewaitedonthepavementuntilshehadstartedtheengineandbeforeshepulledaway

fromthekerbhebenthisbodytosmileatherthroughherdriver’swindow.Itwasamomentofrealmagic.HannahVincentbeganherwritinglifeasaplaywrightafterstudyingdramaattheUniversityofEastAnglia.Sheworkedasachild-mindertohelpfundherMAinCreativeWritingatKingstonandiscurrentlycarryingoutdoctoralresearchincreativeandcriticalwritingattheUniversityofSussex.HerfirstnovelAlarmGirlwaspublishedbyMyriadEditionsin2014andhersecondTheWeaning–aboutapsychoticchild-minder–isforthcomingfromSaltinFebruary2018.

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ADayOutDavidWakely

JonathanandBarryareGeorge’sDaddies.Georgeissixyearsold.TheyalllivetogetherinahouseinWestLondon.JonathanisaPublicRelationsExecutive.DoyouknowwhataPublicRelationsExecutivedoesallday?Barrydoesn’t.BarrystaysathometolookafterGeorge.Canyouseehowuntidythekitchenis?Jonathancan.

GeorgecallsJonathan‘ProperDaddy’andBarry‘DaddyBarry’.Barrydoesn’tcomplainbecausehelovesGeorge.Today,JonathanandBarryaretakingGeorgeforadayoutatthearboretum.Doyouknowwhatanarboretumis?Georgedoesn’t.Jonathansaysitwillbeeducational.SeeBarryshudder.

GeorgewouldratherplaywithJoshuawholivesnextdoor.‘CanJoshycometoo?’asksGeorge.SeeBarrylookuncomfortable.Hesays,‘IdidaskJoshy’sMummy,butshesaid,“No,Barry,notafterlasttime”.’CanyouimaginewhatJoshy’sMummymeant?

SeeBarrytellingGeorgehowmuchfunitwillbeanyway,justthethreeofthem.Doyouknowwhat‘harassed’means?Barrydoes.

HearGeorgeaskwherehistoysareandifBarrywillcarrythemforhim.BarryhasfoundGeorge’sboomerangandhismodelaeroplane,buthecan’tfindhisfrisbee.Jonathanisn’tlooking.CanyouseeGeorge’sfrisbeeanywhere?

SeeJonathanusinghisshinynewsmartphonetocheckthebustimetableandbookthetickets.Jonathansays,‘Well,I’vetakenadayoffforthis.Weneedtobeorganised.’HearBarrysigh.

SeeBarryhelpGeorgetiehisshoelacesandhuntforhisglovesinthepocketsofallthecoatsinthehallway.Seehowmanycoatsthereare.JonathanbuysGeorgelotsofthings.BarrysaysGeorgeisspoilt.SodoesJoshy’sMummy.Jonathansays,‘Can’tyourememberwhereheputhisgloves?’Barrysays,‘IknowIshould,butI’mexhausted.I’msorry.’DoyouthinkBarrylookstired?

Seethemwalkingtothebus-stop.SeeGeorge’sbrightredcoat.SeeJonathantellGeorgenottoputhishoodupsothathecanhearwhathisDaddiesaresaying.SeeGeorgeputhisfingersinhisears.Barrysays,‘Takemyhandwhilewecrosstheroad.’Jonathansays,‘Ihopeyou’retalkingtoGeorge.’Doyouknowhowtolookdaggersatsomeone?Barrydoes.

GeorgeasksBarry,‘Whyaren’tyourhandsassoftasProperDaddy’s,DaddyBarry?’HearBarryhummingthetunefromanoldtelevisionadvertisement.Jonathanknowshowtolookdaggerstoo.

Whenthebuscomes,JonathangetsonfirstandthenGeorge.‘Hurryup,Barry,’saysJonathan.SeeBarrytrytogetalltheirbagsthroughthedoorway.Canyouseehownarrowitis?MrEmmanuelisthebusdriver.MrEmmanuelhasblackhairandabrownface.SeehimlookingatJonathanandGeorge.Theybothhaveblondhairandblueeyes.Barryhasblackhairtoo,buthisforeheadismuchtallerthanJonathan’s.Doyouknowwhatmale-patternbaldnessis?Barrydoes.

SeeMrEmmanuellookingatBarry.Canyouguesswhatheisthinking?HearMrEmmanuelsuckhisteeth.

Whentheygettothearboretum,Jonathancollectsthetickets.JonathantellsGeorgethatanarboretumislikeapark,onlymoreup-market.Doyouknowwhatup-marketmeans?Georgedoesn’t.SeeBarrygetstuckintheturnstilewithallthebags.

Georgeispointingandsaying,‘Theyhavegreenhouses.Joshy’sMummyhadagreenhouse,butsheneverhasanytomatoesonherplants.Shesaystheyareforadifferenttypeofconsumption.Whatdoesconsumptionmean?’SeeJonathanchangethesubject.

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Thewomanattheticketofficeasksiftheyknowthatthere’sanorchidfestivalintheTropicalHouse.SeeJonathanlookinginnocent.SeeBarry’sreaction.Canyoucanraiseyoureyebrowsthatfar?

Barryasksifthat’snearthechildren’splayarea.SeeJonathanrollhiseyes.Barrysays,‘Well,someonehastothinkofGeorge’sasthma.Goinginandoutofatropicalgreenhouseonacolddaywon’tdohimanygood.’

Georgesays,‘CanIplaywithmyaeroplaneintheorchidfestival?’Jonathansays,‘Notinthegreenhouse,darling,butDaddyBarrycanplaywithyououtside.Icanmeetyouatthecafélater.’SeeBarrytakeGeorge’shandastheywalkaway.HearBarrytalkingunderhisbreath.Howmanynaughtywordsdoyouknow?

SeeBarryhelpGeorgeclimbontotheroundabout.SeeGeorgewavinghismodelaeroplaneoverhishead.Hearhimshout,‘Faster,faster.’Seethewomansittingontheparkbenchreadingabook.Seeherlookupforamomenttowatchthemplay.Seehowshesmilesasshegoesbacktoreadingherbook.

SeethebeadsofsweatonBarry’sforeheadashepushestheroundabout.HearGeorgesay,‘ThisismorefunthanwithProperDaddy.Youpushmuchharder.’SeeBarrypantingasheleapsontotheroundabouttoo.SeehowhelandsontopofGeorge.HearGeorgesqueal.‘You’rehurtingme.Getoff!Getoff!’

Seethewomanonthebenchlookupsuddenlyfromherbook.Canyouthinkwhyherfacelookssoangry?Seehertakehermobilephoneoutofherhandbag.Canyoutellwhethersheistakingaphotographorcallingthepolice?

SeeBarrystoppushingtheroundaboutandmarchtowardsthebench.SeeBarrypullpiecesofpaperoutofhiscoatpocketandwavethematthewoman.Seethesweetwrappersandtissuesfalltothegroundaroundhim.HearBarryshouting.‘Adoptionpapers,okay?’Seethewoman’sfacegopink.Haveyouevermadeanembarrassingmistake?

Barryisstillshoutingatthewoman.‘Icarrythemforpeoplelikeyou.Satisfiednow?’Seeherfacegoscarlet.

‘God,thestateofsomepeople’sminds,’saysBarryashewalksbacktotheroundabout.Whatdoyouthinkisthestateofthewoman’smind?AndwhataboutBarry’s?Seethewaitressinthecafélookingoutofthewindow.Seehowsadshelooks.

HearBarrysay,‘George,wouldyoulikeanicehotdrink?’Georgesayshewouldlikechips.SeeBarrycountthecoinsinhispockets.DoyouknowwhyBarryiswincing?‘Okaythen,’saysBarry,‘butdon’ttellDaddyJonathan.’

Inthecafé,thewaitressisstandingbythecounter.Sheiseversotall,withverybighandsandfeetandaverylargeAdam’sapple.SeehowshesmilesatBarryandGeorge.‘Hello,’shesayscheerfully,‘comeinandmakeyourselvesathome.’Hervoiceisverydeepforalady.

‘HelloMary,’saysGeorge.‘Youknowthislady?’saysBarry.Hesoundssurprised.‘Maryusedtoworkatourkindergarten,’saysGeorge.‘She’sveryniceandshemakesbrilliant

chips.’MarylooksatBarry.‘Usedto,’shesaysinherbigdeepvoice.‘Untiltheyletmego.’Seehow

Marylooksoutofthewindowatthewomanontheparkbench.Doyouknowhowtofurrowyourbrow?Marydoes.

MarylooksdownatGeorge.‘Sohow’smylittlesoldiertoday?’shesays.‘Hungryasusual?’MarytellsBarrytotakeatablebythewindowandbringstwomugsofteaandtwobigplatesofchips.Assheputsthemonthetable,Barrynoticesthehairsonthebacksofherhands.MarybendsdowntowhisperinBarry’sear.‘Justpaymefortheteas,’shesays,veryquietly.DoyouthinkMaryiskind?

Georgeislookingoutofthewindowandpointing.‘Look,DaddyBarry,’hesays,‘it’sProperDaddy.’Jonathaniswalkingtowardsthecafé.Canyouseewhathe’scarrying?It’saverylargecactusinabigblackpot.Doyouthinkit’sanamusingshape?Barrydoesn’t.

49

JonathansitsdownatthetablewithBarryandGeorgeandputsthecactusonthetable.‘Isn’titmagnificent?’heasksBarry.‘Whereshallweputit?’

Barryhasasuggestion.Howmanywordsforpartsofthebodydoyouknow?MaryasksGeorgeifhe’dliketocomeandhelpherputtheknivesandforksintherightplaces

inthecutlerydrawers.‘Awoman’sworkisneverdone,’shesaystoBarry.Doyouknowhowtowink?Marydoes.SeeBarrysmile.HearMarysaytoGeorge,‘Ifyoudoagoodjob,youcanhaveacake.’SeeGeorgesmile.

SeeMarylookatBarryandJonathan.‘Ithinkthesetwoneedsomequalitytimetogether.’Doyouknowwhatqualitytimeis?Georgedoesn’t.

HearBarrytellJonathanaboutthewomanontheparkbench.‘Itisn’tfair,himnothavingafriendtoplaywith,’hesays.

‘You’reright,’saysJonathan.SeehowheisplayingwithhismobilephoneandnotlookingatBarry.‘Weshouldgethimalittlebrother.’SeeBarrysnaphisplasticfork.

‘Perhapswecouldlookthroughthecataloguestogether,’saysBarry.‘Because,youknowwhat,Istilldon’thaveovaries.’Doyouknowanypregnantmen?Barrydoesn’t.‘It’sallright,’saysJonathan,‘I’llpayforeverything.’Barrysays,‘Ialreadyhave.’DoyouthinkBarryistalkingaboutthechips?

‘Andwhateverhappenedtochallengingthesuffocatinggender-assignedparadigmsofheteronormativity?’asksBarry.HearMarylaugh.SeeJonathan’sface.DoyouknowwhatBarrymeans?Jonathandoes.

HearthenoiseasJonathanscrapeshischairacrossthecaféfloor.Haveyoueverbeentoldthatscrapingyourchairisrude?‘Whereareyougoingnow?’saysBarry.Seehowangryhelooks.‘Backtowork!’saysJonathan.Hearhimslamthecafédoorbehindhim.

SeeMarycarryingatray.Onthetrayisateapot,amilkjugandtwocleanmugs.AndacakeforGeorge.‘He’sbeensuchagoodlittleboy,’saysMary.‘Youmustbeveryproud.’Seeherputthemugsonthetableandlifttheteapot.

‘ShallIbeMother?’asksMary.SeeBarrysmile.Doyouknowwhatironyis?

RaisedinSouthLondon,DaveWakelyhasworkedasamusician,universityadministrator,poetrylibrarian,andeditorinlocationsasdisparateasBucharest,NottingHillandMiltonKeynes.Currentlyafreelancecopywriter/editoraftercompletingaCreativeWritingMA,helivesinBuckinghamshirewithhiscivilpartnerandtoomanyguitars.HisshortstorieshaveappearedinAmbit,BestGayStories2017,ChelseaStation,FictiveDream,Glitterwolf,Holdfast,TheMechanics’InstituteReview,Prole,ShooterandToken.ApoetrysalonMCandoneoftheorganisersofMiltonKeynesLiteratureFestival.

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TheManchesterWritingCompetitionwasdevisedbyPoetLaureateCarolAnnDuffyandisrunbyherteamintheManchesterWritingSchoolatManchesterMetropolitanUniversity:www.mmu.ac.uk/writingschool.PresentedinpartnershipwithManchesterLiteratureFestivalandsponsoredbyMacdonaldHotelsandResorts.Thecopyrightineachstoryandpoemsubmittedremainswithitsauthor.Ifyouhaveanyqueries,orwouldlikeanyfurtherinformation,abouttheManchesterWritingCompetition,pleasecontactwritingschool@mmu.ac.uk;+44(0)1612471787.Pressenquiries:DominicSmith:dominic.smith@mmu.ac.uk;+44(0)1612475277.Thejudgesandfinalistsareallavailableforinterview.The2018ManchesterPoetryandFictionPrizeswillopentoentriesinJanuary2018:www.manchesterwritingcompetition.co.uk.Wearelookingtobuildrelationshipsandexploreopportunitieswithcommercialandculturalsponsorsandpartners,sopleasegetintouch:writingschool@mmu.ac.uk;+44(0)1612471787.