CaféLit and the Creative Café Project

Published in September were Jim Bates,Galoti Chimzi, Maxine Flam, Sarah Das Gupta ,Steve |Gerson, Christian P Jacobson Gill James,Lila-Josey James, Leonie Jarret, Rosemary Johnnson Kenneth M. Kapp,Dawn Knox,Henry Lewi, Diane Neilson, Alan J Pawsey,Guy Pratt,Paula R C Readman, Matthew Ryan,Richard Schreck, Jane Spirit, Sally Storr, Sarah Swatridge, Allison Symes, David Uri,Ken Whitson

Judith Younger

Tol hits wer: h22467936575 slightly more than for August,.

Almond Treesby : James Blindell, Red Wine, preferably Jumilla165

very morning, Jake and Alice would stroll the untended land that surrounded their new, doer-upper if ever there was one, home. Their land. All six dusty hectares of it. Originally from Manchester, they’d been at high school together, losing touch once they started university in other cities, but then met again one very drunken rum-fuelled night at a house party. Since then, they had been almost inseparable, taking advantage of online working to travel the world. Jake had tired of it first, and after a little coaxing, had persuaded Alice that they should buy somewhere. Land, sun, and cheap were their priorities, and this led them to Murcia in the south of Spain.

‘Let’s patrol the perimeter, keep out the riff-raff,’ Jake joked one morning, the nearest sign of civilisation being ten kilometres away. The previous weeks had brought little but rain; like bloody Manchester, we must have brought it with us they’d said, but this particular morning, the fierce Murcian sun was back in charge and the contrast couldn’t have been starker.

‘They’re absolutely stunning. What do you think they are?’ Alice wondered aloud as they stared at the trees that had burst into fluttering islands of pink and white blossom. Alice and Jake were many things: newly-weds, best friends, digital nomads, sun-seekers, but gardeners they were not.

‘Not got a clue, love. One sec’.’

Total hith224679 slishtly orethn for August

Sometimes She Bleeds by Lila-Josey James, Death in the Afternoon147

remember yelling at him again. That’s why my throat is sore. Why I walked into the kitchen, however, is as mysterious to me as the bruises on my legs. Something rustles in the shadows outside. Thinking it could be a raccoon or possum, I flick the flood lights on and off several times. I swear I heard a splash earlier. So, I leave the lights on and look towards the river. Nothing. It’s as serene as could be.

My heart sinks as I see him walk to the front door. He’s staring at me with that stupid face on his way up. I see the smile beneath it all as deja-vu sets in. We’re too alike I think.

With a creak he walks in soaked. On deep exhale he gives a pathetic “Hello” from the foyer. He’s fighting his waterlogged boots and making marginal progress. There's dirt slicked all over his hands, and his shoulders are shaking from the cold.

“What did you just do?” I ask.

When Life Gets Messyby Diane Neilson, Double caramel mocha 126 Harry jolted awake as the front door slammed.

Jenny looked flustered as she deposited a cardboard coffee cup on the table and shrugged off her coat.

"Sorry I'm late Grandad, it's carnage out there."

"Well you shouldn't have left it 'till rush hour"

"I know, I know, but ... I had a client and it ran over."

Jenny popped back in and scooped up the ready meal. Hotpot. He preferred the lasagne.