Behind Closed Doors


Behind Closed Doors contains the following stories:

Wasted offers a tantalising glimpse into the derelict life a father attempts to keep secret from his wife and children.

He grabbed the bag of pills and made his way to the crumbling bathroom. Leaning over a mouldy sink he cupped his hands to capture some of the rust streaked water. Raising them to his cracked lips, he gulped the water down, pushed two of the pills into his mouth and gulped some more. He stood there, holding tightly to the rim of the sink as his teeth chattered – Wasted.

Please Stay highlights Ebony’s confusion when she awakes to find her long-term partner, Ryan, has disappeared in the dead of the night without explanation.

I open the cupboard beneath the sink; his shaving cream, his razors, his sleeping pills and cologne are all gone.  I race back into the bedroom, flinging open his wardrobe door. It’s empty. I search the whole apartment; living room, kitchen, the spare bedroom. He isn’t here and nothing of his remains, not even his musty old trainers that lived, untouched and forgotten, at the bottom of the shoe stand – Please Stay.

The Good Cop, the longest of all seven stories, follows the struggles of three characters whose lives are not what they seem, as observed by the main protagonist.

This girl is leaning against the wall, expertly inserting a needle into her vein. She injects and as the drug flows through her she throws her head back and moans. She has the look of a homeless person; unwashed skin, grimy, lank hair and muddied mini-dress. I know, even before two men approach her down the dark alley, that she is a prostitute. In this black and white image, I see one man hand her money as his buddy stands guard at the mouth of the alley. Once he is done they swap positions and his friend moves to the girl – The Good Cop.

Breakfast Time dives into the mind of a ten year old girl as she tries to make sense of the adults around her.

“Use your initiative,” she yells. Using my initiative means knowing what she wants and doing it before she has to shout, “or else!” Or else! Is a belt on the leg, cool leather marking my skin, or a slap across the face, the sting of a palm on my cheek. This morning something manages to pull me from my own head. It’s a box of flying cereal. It lands in the kitchen, spilling sugary puffs of grain across the floor. Dad had already stormed out, leaving his empty bowl on the table. There is only my little brothers and I. And mum, standing in the pantry, mumbling to herself. I look from her to the cereal. Am I going to be in trouble? – Breakfast Time.

In Followed you stalk a young university student, innocently slipping into her life to wait for a chance…

I am careful to make sure I saunter down to the same carriage as her. The train is practically empty at this time of day so it is easy to choose a seat directly across from her. I pull out my phone and pretend to be absorbed in it whilst flicking my gaze to her at every chance. Should I take a photo? I feel my pulse quicken and my cheeks burn – Followed.

In Dreamer Evelyn visits her family’s favourite picnic spot where she makes a life changing decision.

Reaching into her pocket she pulls out a small camera, moving carefully she raises it to her eyes, recalling how her mother had held it so delicately poised before her, and snaps a picture of the tree, the soft click of the lens echoing in the silence. Smiling, Evelyn slides the camera back into her pocket. Tomorrow she will bring some rope for the tree – Dreamer.

Too Much to Lose takes readers into the reality of life with anorexia; the obsession, the isolation, the silence…

With any luck it might just burst into flames and I could leave, or the building might burn down and I could die. It is hard to feel anything about that thought. Wanting to die isn’t something I really do- it’s just a vague thought, almost a joke. I hear the creak of a chair and spy Carroll’s legs under the desk as she sits back in her seat. Her thighs spread out before her looking ready to burst from her stretched skirt. I’d bet anything that her thighs touch even if she stands with her feet apart. I glance down at my own thighs, poking at the hard bones that define them. I look up and meet Carroll’s eyes, my mouth twisted to the side in a smug smile – Too Much to Lose.

Check out both of my free e-books on Smashwords. You can also follow the Black Ink Quill Facebook page or friend me on Goodreads to read more brief books reviews.


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