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The Day Chuck Berry Died and other stories

(Bridge House 2022)

A collection of eclectic and original short stories that bring into focus those decisive moments in a person’s life whose significance may not be recognised at the time, but which often have profound and lasting impacts long into the future.

The distorted contours of human nature, as practised in the daily activities of professional footballers; the repercussions of a young man's visit to the battlefields of Flanders to visit his grandfather’s grave; a surprising encounter in a Parisian cafe; a boyhood friendship threatened by the evils of apartheid; the dilemma of parents excluded from their son’s wedding; the search for the author of a mysterious postcard. Choices made on the basis of what we know – or what we think we know – which come back to torment us, challenge us, enlighten us; attitudes and behaviour we can barely comprehend; routine events and situations that bring with them periods of great sadness or unexpected happiness; confusion and clarity when long-hidden truths are finally revealed.

Jude

Popshot 20 (2018) pp 62-67

When my wife handed me the telephone, saying there was a strange woman wanting to speak to me, I experienced one of those inexplicable insights that occur to all of us from time to time, and which have no satisfactory explanation.

'Is her name Jude?' I asked, already knowing the answer.

Brightly Shining

Prole 25 (2018) pp 31-42

The Websters were a rough family. There was no getting away from it. We were a bad lot, we were trouble, we were the kind of people parents told their children to steer clear of, to have nothing to do with. Noisy neighbours. Always up to no good. In America, we'd have been called white trash or trailer trash.

The Beautiful Game

Sentinel Literary Quarterly (April-June 2018) pp 71-81

He was one of the most assured players I've ever seen. Duncan Lacey had it all. Speed, balance, vision, and above all, time on the ball. Even as a youngster, his maturity set him apart from the rest of the squad. At twelve, he was holding his own with the fifteen and sixteen-year-olds. At seventeen, he was in the first team. Some of the older, seasoned professionals tried to intimidate him, but soon stopped when they realised the extent of his talent.

Snow

Crackers: An Anthology (Bridge House 2018) pp 149-158

Whenever the snow fell, he remembered a time from his childhood. Alastair Beech was fourteen years old when his parents decided to move from their three-bedroomed, terraced house near the town centre to a four-bedroomed, double-fronted, detached house in a new housing development on the site of an old convent just half a mile away.

Saying Sorry

Bandit Fiction 6 (2019) pp 28-33

also at

payhip.com/b/COhP

As the years have multiplied, so too have my regrets...slowly at first, then more rapidly, and finally in a rush that threatens sometimes to overwhelm me. I've come to realise, with increasing sadness, that over the seventy-five years of my life, I have slighted, offended, betrayed, disappointed or abandoned scores, perhaps hundreds, of people who did nothing to deserve such treatment. 'All writers are vain, selfish and lazy' - that was Orwell's conclusion. And I wouldn't argue with him.

After Work Drinks

Bandit Fiction 6 (2019) pp 101-110

also at

https://banditfiction.com/2020/07/09/after-work-drinks-by-ian-inglis/

When Clive saw Erica standing at the bar, he was uncertain whether to approach her. He watched as she ordered a large glass of white wine - Pinot Grigio? Sauvignon Blanc? - and carried it, deftly weaving a path through the knots of early evening drinkers, to a solitary table in a quiet corner of the room. She hooked her handbag over the back of the chair and started to read the newspaper that had been tucked under her left arm.

Dog

Aloe 1 (2020) pp 34-37

I wanted him to live forever. But he couldn’t and he didn’t. I called him for his afternoon walk, and when he didn’t come trotting through the house to the front door I went looking for him. He was in the garden, lying in a pool of sunlight. I knelt beside him and stroked his neck.

Au Cafe De La Mairie

Sentinel Literary Quarterly (June-September 2020) pp 45-52

'Est-ce que je peux m'asseoir ici, Monsieur?'

I looked up to see a smartly-dressed woman in her mid-thirties standing before me. She was wearing a black trouser-suit and dazzling white blouse. Beneath her outsize sunglasses her features were unremarkable, but the glorious, blazing red hair that fell below her shoulders attracted envious and admiring glances from the other customers - men and women - sitting at the nearby tables under the pavement awning.

Kite In the Sky

Here Comes Everyone: Green Fiction (August 2020)

https://hcemagazine.com/kite-in-sky-ian-inglis/

reprinted in

Riffs 5.1 (2021) pp 14-18

also at

https://riffsjournal.org/2021/08/11/ian-inglis-kite-in-the-sky/

I was born in the 1970s and grew from childhood into adolescence and adulthood to the accompaniment of all the unruly music of the next twenty years - heavy metal, punk, new wave, disco, reggae, grunge. I bought lots of records and, over time, changed from a mere purchaser into an enthusiastic collector. Only of vinyl. Music on vinyl has a texture, a sound of its own, quite different from the clinical perfection of a CD.

Birthday Story

Fiction Pool (September 2020)

https://thefictionpool.wordpress.com/?s=ian+inglis

As lunchtime approached on the day of her husband’s forty-fifth birthday, the prospect of the empty afternoon ahead decided Jan to contact one of her two lovers. Having one lover (she knew from experience) was too restrictive; having two gave her an element of choice; having three (again, she knew from experience) was far too unwieldy and led to complications. She stepped over her discarded underwear tossed carelessly around the floor, lay back in the bath, and weighed up the merits of each.

The Island (1)

Climate Matters (Riptide/Culture Matters 2020) pp 113-118

also at

http://www.riptidejournal.co.uk/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2020/11/CM-book-Climate-Matters-pdf-FINAL.pdf

This part of the island had stuck doggedly to the ancient traditions of its agricultural past and, although its inhabitants were often derided for an unwillingness to move with the times, or a reluctance to embrace new opportunities, or any number of additional perceived deficiencies,the spectacular beauty of the land and the evident contentment of the people who lived there were powerful rejoinders to those who sought to introduce or encourage change.

What's In A Name?

Secret Attic 6 (2020) pp 51-53

There's not much to tell really, but before I explain what happened,there are two things you need to know about Jacko. First, he's very good-looking...no, not just good-looking - really handsome. Tall,dark and handsome. Like a Mediterranean-style Latin lover. Or a movie star.

Benno, Trippi & Benno

Litro Online (February 2021)

https://www.litromagazine.com/end-your-weekend-with-a-collection-of-the-best-stories-litro-magazine-has-to-offer/benno-trippi-benno/

Yes, come on in...I have a little time to talk, before I'm needed. And I know you must have many questions. Perhaps the best way to answer them is to tell you my story. You might think it a strange tale, but here, now, today, I have to say it seems to me entirely natural.

The Island (2)

Aliens Anthology (Iron Press 2021) pp 30-35

There was nobody left alive who could remember their coming, but the legends told that they had arrived from the East in small boats. Hoping for nothing more than a safe refuge, they were unprepared for the hostility that their language and their appearance provoked. They opposed all attempts to disperse them around the country, and were eventually resettled on a small, unpopulated island and left to fend for themselves.

Sithifricker

Black Lives Anthology (Nottingham Writers Studio 2021) pp 279-290

I was twelve years old when Adrian Wicks came to our school in the Autumn of 1962.

'It says here, Wicks,' said Kerr, our form master and Physics teacher, 'you're from Durban. Is that correct?'

'Yes, sir.'

'And where is that, might I ask?'

'Sithifricker, sir.'

Not Guilty

The Frogmore Papers 98 (2021) pp 8-11

It all began when Robert Dixon came to school one day wearing a denim shirt. In the Lower Sixth, the rules on dress were relaxed and we were exempted from the standard uniform of maroon blazer, white cotton shirt, school tie and grey flannel trousers. That's not to say we could wear whatever we wanted. Far from it.

The New Guitar

Spellbinder 4 (2021) pp 94-103

If there'd been a decent film on at the cinema or an interesting

documentary on television, I wouldn't have gone. But there wasn't, and rather than spend yet another quiet evening in, I decided to go along to a folk club that had recently opened. I was never a true folkie - my musical tastes are much more eclectic - and there were some things about folk clubs I didn't particularly enjoy.

Robbie

The Year's Best Dog Stories 2021 (Secant Publishing) pp 143-156

Derek and Marjorie Brough would probably never have met had they not shared the same birthday. In the early 1960s, they joined Birmingham's 18 Plus group. Both were new to the city (Derek from Somerset, Marjorie from Norfolk), both were living in digs, and both were happy to respond to the promise of regular meetings with other young adults in a range of social and educational activities. They believed it would be good for them.

Uninvited Guests

Freedom? (Nottingham Writers Studio 2021) pp 3-4

'I'll be back in a minute.'

Melinda left her friends arranging the floral decorations on the tables, and walked over to the doorway where a middle-aged woman was looking anxiously around the function suite.

'What the hell are you doing here?' Melinda demanded.

No Man's Land

Call In The Witchfinder General! Inkylab Anthology 5 (2022) pp 17-42

'Who are you talking to?'

We had been together for about six months, enjoying, as all new

lovers do, a mutual trust and affection that we fondly imagined

would last forever. It was a simple enough question, but not an

easy one to answer. Who was I talking to?

Everybody Dreams

Hope For Ukraine (TS Publishing 2022) pp 139-143

Everybody dreams. Every night. But people rarely remember

their dreams, unless they make an effort to record the details

before they slip away. Familiar themes and characters, strange settings, nightmares, recurring dreams, erotic dreams, dreams that make no sense, night terrors, and those unsettling hours

when a person drifts between sleep and consciousness through

a curtain of sensations and images. Yes, everybody dreams.

Pursued By A Bear

East Of The Web (February 2023) https://www.eastoftheweb.com/shortstories/UBooks/PursBear1346.shtml

She'd laughed and laughed when George told her about it.

'No, honestly,' he'd said. 'I'm not making it up. The Winter's Tale. It's there in the stage directions. One of the characters - Antigonus, I think he's called - has been ordered by the King to abandon a baby girl. I'm not quite sure why. Anyway, he has second thoughts about it, and puts the baby somewhere out of harm's way. Then a bear suddenly appears from out of nowhere and chases him away. Exit, pursued by a bear!'

Departure

Popshot 40 (2023) pp 68-74

'How many of you,' asked Kay, addressing her class of nine

and ten-year-olds, 'have been to a Departure Ceremony

before?'

Around half of the thirty pupils raised a hand.

'Then you'll be able to tell the others what a very special day

it is.'

Moira

Beagle North Halloween 13 Tales Of Terror Anthology (2023)

pp 67-79

Dougie waited for two hours before he realised Jimmy wasn't

coming. The invitation had come out of the blue, and even

though he'd said it was urgent - 'a matter of life and death,

mate' - Dougie had fully expected he wouldn't turn up. He

finished his third pint of beer and promised himself that he'd

know better next time. But there wouldn't be a next time.

A Fairy Tale In Newcastle

Disabled Tales (February 2024) https://www.disabledtales.co.uk/fiction/a-fairy-tale-in-newcastle-by-ian-inglis

On the afternoon of my return to Newcastle, the town of my birth, I took a taxi to my brother's large and impressive

semi-detached house, set back some way from the road. A For

Sale sign jutted out between two cherry trees. A woman I took

to be his wife evidently saw me making my way along the

driveway and was standing at the foot of a short flight of steps leading up to the front door, a concerned expression on her face. It's an expression to which I've become accustomed.

The Reception

WriteTime Anthology 3 (Shoreham Press 2024) pp 143-148

After a gap of many years, I'm invited to weddings again. As

a young man, of course, there were always plenty to go to.

We - I include myself - seemed to be in a race, a contest to

make public the transition into independent adulthood, and

getting married was a first step on that journey. Now, when I

look back at those days, I'm reminded how inexperienced,

how unworldly, how ill-prepared we all were.

The Actor

Pomegranate 6 (2024) pp 25-27

Arthur Cope loved routines. They gave his life a structure, a

certainty, a sense of order. For fifteen years, he'd worked on

the assembly line of the sprawling Japanese car plant that

now employed more than 5,000 men and women. While some

of the workers disliked the monotony and wished that their

duties could be more diverse, Arthur never complained.

Beginner's Luck

Crossing The Tees Anthology 7 (Sixth Element Publishing 2024) pp 179-189

Graham Lomax's victory in the Colbeck Teesside Marathon

was unexpected. It was his first marathon, and his time of 2

hours 8 minutes was the fastest ever achieved by a British

athlete in Britain. The race was run over a predominantly

flat, urban course that followed a circular route connecting

Middlesbrough, Redcar, Billingham, Stockton and Thornaby,

and crossed the River Tees several times.

Barbara

Twelve Winters IV (2024)

https://twelvewinters.com/inglis-barbara/

Yesterday, I saw a woman in the park who reminded me of

Barbara. The woman's hair - jet-black, cut with a short, spiky

fringe - and her clothes - yellow tee-shirt, faded denims and

open-toed sandals - were almost identical to Barbara's. The

way she held herself, the way she walked, the way she scanned

the landscape around her were so familiar.Even the travel-stained

backpack slung casually across her shoulders seemed the same.

From The Top

Macrame Literary Journal (Summer 2024)

https://macramelit.com/articles/from-the-top/

Edgar Pearce stood in the middle of the rehearsal space and

looked around optimistically.

‘Very well. Act I, Scene 1. Remember, Bobby, the audience can only hear your side of the conversation. Leave decent pauses, so they can fill in the gaps. And keep moving, this is theatre-in-the-round. Let them get a good look at you, from all angles That’s the essence of this kind of theatre – a collaboration, a negotiation between actors and audience.’

Raymond And Ruby

The Year's Best Climate Change Stories 2024 (Secant

Publishing) pp

Raymond Thorley hated the heat. He always had. As a youngster,

he'd sweated and struggled through every summer, and despite

his best efforts to keep out of the sun, stay indoors, and take

two or three showers a day, nothing seemed to help. When his

discomfort continued into adolescence, he sought medical

advice. The doctor explained that it was his metabolism, and

that he would simply have to learn to live with it.

Doc's Last Trip

Good News? An Anthology (Bridge House 2024) pp 19-33