Tristan Aries snuck in through the back of the pub—the owner, Rue, left the rear door on the latch during the day for deliveries, and sometimes forgot to lock it after hours. Sneaking into the lounge with his balaclava pulled on tight, Tristan spotted Rue from behind, cashing up at the bar. He flipped open his flick-knife. His stomach churned, and he almost turned back. But then he thought of Make...

“I didn’t think you’d let me in,” Rochelle said, taking a seat next to him.

He looked at her with a sneer, as if she’d walked in wearing a dress made of cockroaches. Then he looked forward, at the stage. His heart was pumping hard, furious.

“Don’t be like that,” she said. “It’s not like you don’t have history.”

He snapped his head to her. “Excuse me?”

“Lila’s wedding? You humiliated me.” ...

I’ve been waiting for this knock on my door for almost 50 years.

I know it’s not the milkman or the postman—I can feel it in my brittle bones. I’m in my mid-70s now; I forget how old exactly. When I crossed into the UK, I paid for a new ID and I’ve forgotten my original date of birth. I’m probably around 76, give or take a few years, and I doubt I’ll reach the upcoming millennium. I walk with a c...