The girl had been born with a flamboyant red curl on the top of her head, and so her father labelled her ‘Ginger’. The label quickly became a name, inscribed in royal-blue ink on her birth certificate, and maybe that was part of the problem. A problem that grew as she grew. Because Ginger was the name of a spice (or a cat) and not a woman’s name at all…
A short story about the things we hide from others, and even from ourselves.
This story is dedicated to all those who breathed their last breath in ‘the war to end all wars’ – if only that were true – and to the memory of Harry Redman, my great-grandfather, who managed to live through it all. Unlike so many of his fellow soldiers.
This wee story is in response to my early-motherhood days in England, when the rivalry for motherly perfection was knives-out serious. I just thought, wouldn’t it be nice if… My sister flung a cushion onto the floor, then another one. She caught hold of the throw on the sofa and wrenched it so that it…… Continue reading The Un-Amy Mess