top of page
Mrs Danvers calls me sweet cheeks, or my lovely fleshy girl. She buys a scuba mask and unfolds a nautical chart on the kitchen table. We’re trying to locate the first Mrs Maxim De Winter, Danny’s ex. It’s cold down there, she warns, you’ll need extra layers. Have another mug of mulled cider, I’ve been keeping it warm on the hob. Don’t kiss him or he’ll know you’re lying. I play the ukulele on my balcony and yodel in the long corridors. At last the fated day arrives and I struggle into my wetsuit. Danny mans the tiller, her eyes on the flat-lipped horizon. The outboard motor goes phut-phut. Third dive I find the scuttled yacht, Je Reviens. Rebecca lies outstretched on a bunk, patting her gay sailor-trousered baby bump. I goggle at her through the porthole.
Frances Gapper's stories have been published in three Best Microfiction anthologies and in online lit mags including Splonk, Wigleaf, Twin Pies, 100 Word Story, Café Irreal and the Dribble Drabble Review. She lives in the UK.
bottom of page