Felipe, Uruguay

“We can afford it papí,” Mama coos and rests her hand on my shoulder before planting a big kiss on my head. “If it is your dream it is no problem.”

I take her hand in mine, but keep my eyes on the computer screen. An offer of acceptance from NYU.

Everything I have worked for, everything I have sweated for, came through and condensed in an email.

It is almost funny.

“It is a lot of money,” I reply, considering my mother’s genoristy. My family work hard, and I do not know if I can accept more of their hard earned money.

“It is money in exchange for the experience,” she tells me, before walking out of my bedroom.

I look at the images of the city and the university again and again, seeing if I can fit myself into the posed photographs of students laughing in corridors, playing on sports teams.

I can. I can.

But I do not know if I can chase this dream.

Annie, California

“At least you got one offer,” Dad grumbles as he leans over my computer screen. I can smell the coffee on his breath, but it is not half as strong as the Machiavellian look in his eye.

“Thank you Dad.”

After several years of partying and scraping by in tests, I am lucky to have one offer.

But my parents do not accept the idea that I do not want to study.

I want to travel and find passion.

They don’t know the meaning of the word.

My home screen ironically is a picture of the Taj Mahal. My dad couldn’t even point out India on a map. Education is king. He did not have one and he thinks I need one.

He actually did pretty well for not having one.

Me, I’d much rather see things than do things.

“You’ll accept it of course, and then we will start looking into accommodation.”

It is not a question.

Regardless, he’s already left the room.

Antoín, Ireland

The whole family is crowded around my computer screen, a hive of activity and bated breaths. Outside is a stark contrast, the sheep in the fields with the mist rollling in do not have a clue.

They have never had to save money, or study for tests.

I can barely contain myself.

An offer!

An offer to go to New York!

“We know you could do it!” Mum cheers and plants a big slobbery kiss on my cheek. Someone slaps my back proudly but I cannot tell who.

The room is way, way too loud.

You’d think it’s the first time an Irishman wanted to go to the states.

“I did it!” I echo, incredulous.

Every exam, every extra hour studying,

Every back shift, every split shift.

It has all paid off.

I am going to New York, and I cannot wait.

I am always awake before Ben. I usually find myself at the foot of his bed, nestled in his rich bed blankets that smell like him but a little musty. As expected, noise starts on the circle thing on his table and he rolls over with a groan.

I can never understand that.

I am so happy to start another day.

I can already hear my table thumping.

Ben’s paws pat my head as he swings his legs over the bed and presses himself to stand. He puts on his house paw shoes and I follow him downstairs.

My best friend always gives my breakfast first, because he is the bestest thing in the whole world.

I scoff all of my brown biscuits before he has put his food in his people bowl.

“Okay buddy, just ten minutes,” Ben says before he does his dishes and goes into his secret room. He never lets me in his secret room, even though he must be so vulnerable in there! There is so much water and gas that I get so scared and wait outside the door until I see he is okay.

He then clips me on my lead to link us together and we head out of the door.

Outside is so fresh and exciting. Most days we always go on the same route, but I am always so happy just to be outside with him.

We first pass a little human on her bike with a bigger human. The bike is pink and the big human smiles at me as they go past. They smell sweet and like kindness. Ben doesn’t look at them.

I stop as a piece of human clothing, what looks like something pink for human paws is on the ground. I sniff it. It smells like them.

Ben shrugs and pulls the lead along.

I look at the small human cycle away. Her finger paws must be so cold.

It is not long after that that I need the bathroom. I like to go on grass but there is no grass. So I have to go on flowers next to a fence.

The flowers are so pretty but I cannot help myself.

When I finish, Ben tugs me a long and we continue but I do not feel good about the flowers.

Then we approach some other human boys who smile at us. They start talking to Ben and I think I have seen them before. The tallest goes to pat me on my head and I wag my tail, but Ben sticks his paw out.

“He doesn’t like that,” he says and I say yes! yes I do!

The humans stand back a little, with their eyebrows raised.

“See,” Ben says and we move off.

I look back at the friendly humans and then back at Ben, wondering if he isn’t so friendly after all.

But then he gives me a treat out of his pocket and I think he is the best person in the whole, wide world !!

There is condensation on the window

Mould is creeping in

It greets me in the morning

The big wide view of trees and clouds and flashing airplanes

Pink and blue and purple and ice

The mould in the corner grumbles ‘good morning’

I wipe away the drops

I flick the radiator on

I cannot afford it

It doesn’t click on

The mould laughs

In hindsight, I do not think it was a good idea to go on a run this morning.

David swears on a 10k after a night out.

I can see him now, sat on his quilted sofa with his right leg crossed over the left to reveal his navy cashmere quilted socks. He leans in and points a finger at nothing in particular.

“Coffee. Ten K. Cold shower. That’s it.”

David really can be such a prick some times.

Not as much as me, taking the advice of an older brother who only ever sips one glass of single malt before filling his stomach on chocolate and going to bed before eleven.

I realise now a run is perhaps too big an undertakigg my after last nights antics.

How did I even get home? I must owe someone money for a taxi.

At least all of my thoughts and resurfacing memories keep me going at a steady pace. I’m not as good as I am on eight hours of sleep with less than a bottle or two in my stomach, but it’s decent.

The cold air nips at my cold hands, the cracked crevices of my knuckles as I wind through the park. All of my fingers and cheeks are scarlet already.

I am way too rough for this.

I run through dog walkers and family’s alike, people with much better sense than to have mixed their drinks last night. There are other runners too, other idiots who think this is the best way to spend a Sunday morning.

Somehow, as if by magic, I approach my local pub and feel guided by the waft of roast chicken and vegetables. The ravenous rumble in my stomach asks ‘how on earth did I end up here?’

I stop my tracker and head inside.

I barely broke a sweat.

The glug of my glass makes me smile. The way the crisp white wine exits its bottle and slides down gratefully into my glass, landing with a glug, glug, glug.

I feel the flush of blood tinge my cheeks as Dave pulls the bottle away and I raise my glass to my lips.

Is this my fourth? Or maybe my fifth?

There’s so much chatter and music in the restaurant it’s now very hard to direct my thoughts.

I need to remember to take the bread out the freezer when I get back.

“You were telling us Zoe of your misspent youth,” Mary chimes in, her voice ringing like a bell.

I raise my eyebrows knowingly.

“I think I’ve shared enough stories,” I offer and laugh.

“That sounds like you need another bottle of wine,” Dave announced and gestures to the waiter. The old couple at the table next to us crow at him as he topples out of his seat to get his attention.

In this lighting you can really see how his hair is thinning. Poor Dave.

“Trust me, there are some things you don’t want to know,” Ollie says slyly next to me, knowingly sipping his scotch.

Is that just his first?

“Oh really?” I turn to face him. Ollie isn’t losing his hair. Thank God.

He’s had one or two unfortunate cuts in the two decades we’ve been together, nothing so drastic as to make me want to move back in with my parents.

Not really.

He nods fervently.

“It’ll make your toes curl!”

I playfully hit him on the shoulder, but I think I don’t judge my own strength and he winces, his whisky now sloshing in its dram glass.

“Alright,” Dave clasps his hands together and the waiter replaces our bottle. Zoe’s beady brown eyes are alight. “How about the story of how you got together?”

Silence descends.

“Of how we got together?” I repeat. I’m sure that’s what he said, but it is really so loud.

Zoe nods eagerly and grabs the bottle. Glug.

“You tell it, Mrs Henderson,” Ollie wraps his arm around me. “You’re the storyteller after all.”

I gulp.

Glug.

“Oh now this is taking me back,” I wipe my hair away from my face.

“It wasn’t yesterday,” Ollie chortles to himself and his whisky. He shows no signs of butting in.

Of all the moments he decides to speak over me.

“Well, it was a long time ago,” I begin.

“Yes, we’ve established that,” Zoe throws back some wine. Stupid Zoe.

“Of course,” I smile blandly. Is it really warm in here? “I had just come back to university after the Christmas break.”

“Summer,” Ollie interjects. There’s something off in his tone.

“Summer,” I smile sweetly, he might as well take over but he doesn’t. “And I return to my flat to discover the alarm is losing its battery. I go next door to find help, and low and behold there is my future husband. Having lived right next door for a year then, right under my nose.”

Zoe and Dave look at us adoringly.

“That is sooo cute!” Zoe comments nasally.

“And to think we met on an app!”

Next to me, Ollie is still looking at his dram glass but now the whisky is all gone.

Glug.

“That’s not how we met,” he remarks awkwardly. “That’s how you met Justin, your boyfriend before me.”

Now my cheeks feel as cold as the ice in the wine bucket.

Zoe and Dave have also shut up.

“We met at a postgraduate conference in 2003,” Ollie adds and I slink into my seat. “You couldn’t remember where you parked your car.”

I reach for the bottle.

Glug.

I like a red admiral.

I read about it first on an aged poster in a cabin on the coast. Endless butterflies I hadn’t seen.

I only knew dependable cabbage butterflies.

No complexities.

I thought I was somewhere else.

With crashing waves, black sand and routes my uncle told me not to walk on.

I liked how it sounded. Commanding. Assured. Black and gold and red.

I remember the day I learned they were divorcing. My mum told me she could be ‘hard to love.’

That was something I never wanted to be.

I don’t see butterflies now. I see black and white.

For the most part.

People are bad.

Right?

Have you ever held the door open for someone who hasn’t said thank you?

Smiled at them as they passed by only for them to look straight through you?

Have you ever worked in customer service?

Tell me you’ve never spurted out a naughty word, muttered something about karma or perhaps just even mentally put a bullet between someone’s eyes?

No?

I think you’re lying.

Sometimes I think people are good. I think they can chose to be.

I think everyone actively makes the choice to be good or to be bad. In the same way the chose what route to take to work, or what to have for dinner. It’s so mundane it isn’t even funny.

Do I give this homeless man my lose change? Do I ask the child who’s alone where their parents are?

I mean really, how hard is it to crack a smile? Or say ‘thank you?’

My mother always said manners cost nothing.

Neither does murder. It requires only method and conviction.

Believe me, I have conviction enough.

There are annoying people of course, but then there are bad people.

People who when they talk to you, you just know they’ve done something bad.

There’s something in their eyes that warns you there’s something bad putrifying in their core.

You don’t want to believe it, but deep down you know you’re right.

Janey ignored this feeling. Janey’s eyes are closed now.

That is my conviction. I do not need anything more.

“Oh.”

Grandma looks at me expectantly, excitement spilling out of her big hazel eyes.

“Thanks Grandma,” I respond. I wasn’t expecting this. Since Grandma was diagnosed with dementia, Mum has been in charge of her presents, which usually means some cash and a hastily signed card.

It’s been years since I’ve had a physical present.

I couldn’t even tell you what the last one was.

In my hand is a small box wrapped in glittery paper. Grandma certainly didn’t wrap this at any rate.

“What are you waiting for? Next Christmas? Hurry up!” she says hurriedly, the most animated I’ve seen her for a while.

Usually she’s moody and bitter on Christmas Day. The only shreds of her mind remaining burnt into bitterness; bitterness about being widowed, bitterness about being physically and mentally incapacitated, bitterness that her family don’t do enough for her.

Even though I see hard it is for my Mum. It’s never been enough.

Not even when she had her marbles.

Which is why I’m surprised she’s so excited about this. Her giddiness actually makes me feel slightly festive.

I unwrap it to find a velvet jewellery box and inside an antique gold locket. On the back is the inscription

_Elizabeth. Happy 21st Birthday. _

This locket is 70 years old.

I open the clasp and find a black and white picture of my grandparents. They’re smiling. They’re young. They’re happy.

“Thank you Grandma,” I say, feeling love flood in my chest. It’s the nicest thing she’s done in a while.

“Well, I’m not wearing it anymore,” she chuckles to herself before her eyes sort of glaze over and the fatigue seeps in again.

For a second I saw the Grandma I once knew, and that makes this Christmas feel more like the ones I used to know, even for just a moment.

“I don’t understand,” he says blankly, spinning around in my chair.

I’ve kept my window open tonight, so X can see the stars. He likes to look at them from here, with his big big eyes. His shadow spins on the floor as he goes, four arms going round and round.

“I don’t either,” I reply and collapse into my covers.

“I thought you had to prove yourself as a mate? You proved yourself.”

“So did I,” I sigh and recount today’s unfortunate event when my promposal went spectacularly wrong. Last time I checked, it had one hundred thousand views on TikTok.

“Perhaps bigger plants next time. Females like plants on my planet too.”

I think of the roses that Cindy threw back in my face. I think she knew roses had thorns.

“What kind of plants?”

“Oh, the biggest the better. My male parent once got my female parent a plant so big it took up the majority of our entry room. It almost broke the ceiling.”

“Did she like it?”

X nods.

Every night since I was twelve, X had visited my room. It’s part of his school exchange programme, however they work it in out of space. He was to write a report at some point, sadly if I did the same I’d probably be locked away.

It was scary at first, but his questions have always been pretty strange.

“What is better for the human diet? Red fruit or green fruit?”

“What is the purpose of bath salts?”

“Why was Constantinople’s name changed?”

Tonight he surprised me with a profound question for once. And for once, I didn’t know the answer.

It stung as well after today’s events.

But then again, maybe I shouldn’t have dumped Cindy two months ago for her best friend and then dumped her too.

I just thought we’d be better as friends.

Now I don’t know.

“Bigger plants next time,” X confirms and keeps spinning.

I pull the duvet cover over my head, relieving the horrible event over in my head and wondering how I’ll face my peers tomorrow.

“Noted.”

The Free People of England: An Alternative History

The rivalry between Scotland her southern neighbour is as infamous and as tedious as that of the rivalry between cats and dogs. Scotland has always had Englands head locked between her arms, as aggressive as any big sister could be. But this book seeks to imagine what life would have been like if the Scots had not successfully conquered England in 950.

Over a thousand years ago, Constantine II grew greedy as he sought to cement his reign as the first King of Alba and his gaze reached the hills of the ancient seat of Strathclyde and drew down into the midst of what we now call England. But what if he hadn’t?

This book, against common theories, proposes that England had the potential to be a domineering world force. I discusses the potential successes but also the potential dangers if England had escaped Scotland’s clutches. Would Scotland have still become the most environmentally friendly country in Europe? Would the British Isles be as diverse in religion and culture as they are today? But most importantly, would England be remembered not as a second, but as a first?