The Chestnut Tree

For eighty years I’ve been coming to sit beneath this tree, observing the cycle of birth and re-birth. Emerald springs spent playing under its blossom; golden summers spent picnicking with my children in its shade; fiery autumns like this one spent watching my grandsons gather its chestnuts. But now, as it must, winter is coming.



Sandra-Jane Goddard.

teen breaking up over a text message

The Text Message

Three days and still no word from Dad. Worry is screwing my brow into the sort of deep furrows that his frozen-faced bitch of a girlfriend says will give me permanent wrinkles.

Finally! A message. I start to smile. Then I stop.

“Married Tiffany! Honeymooning in Barbados. xoxo.”

Wonder what she’d say about this expression…?

Sandra-Jane Goddard.


Could it be True?

Looking back at her, his skin flashing hot, he was convinced she was lying; retaliating for his announcement that he was finally to wed.

Four long years since his brother’s revelation that she was with child – since having to tease them about honeymoon babies – and now she was again forcing him into wondering…



Sandra-Jane Goddard


Bouquet of Roses

The Bouquet

It was a gorgeous bouquet but as anonymous as the choice of blooms: red roses. Any other flower might have provided a clue. ‘All my love, Sexy.’ Clearly, the card was no help.

Well, either her husband or her lover was expecting a thank you. All she had to do now was decide which one…


Sandra-Jane Goddard.


Scattering Mum

‘Tess. Scattering Mum’s ashes Friday. The pier. Dad.’

Disgusted, she swiped his message into the trash. The pier? Mum had been right; he really hadn’t known that this peaceful glade was her favourite place. Not that it mattered anymore, since on Friday, all he would now be consigning to a watery end, were fireplace ashes.


Sandra-Jane Goddard.