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    A Dress For A Queen And Other Short Stories
    A Dress For A Queen And Other Short Stories
    A Dress For A Queen And Other Short Stories
    Ebook137 pages2 hours

    A Dress For A Queen And Other Short Stories

    By Kerrie Noor

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    About this ebook

    Diverse, satirical and deliciously moreish, this comical collection of adult short stories by Scotland's favorite author Kerrie Noor include:-

    A Dress For A Queen

    Lizzie loves to perform daring tricks in strange places- the only trouble is -her day job gets in the way.

    The Story That Got Away

    Deidre works alongside Rodney an editor, who turns up his nose at every story she writes. Until she comes across photos of his mother's past life.

    The Lady In The Box (a Sci-fi comedy)

    Pete thought he knew everything there was to know about yoga until he meets the Lady in the box.

    Boudicca And Mavis

    The tail of a dancer waiting for a chance, she wants attention, she wants adoration but what she gets is a different story.

     

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherKerrie Noor
    Release dateMay 10, 2020
    ISBN9781393276647
    A Dress For A Queen And Other Short Stories
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    Author

    Kerrie Noor

    A few years ago I married into a Bangladesh family often helping in their Indian restaurant on the West Coast of Scotland. Living in a culture so different from my own I began to see stories in outsiders trying to understand. Most of the time I was the only woman and I often wondered about a world without men; before I knew it Planet Hy Man was born, a comedy Sc Fi Rebel Without a Clue being the first in the series. Kerrie has been shortlisted for the Ashram Short Story Competition and has had two radio plays performed.

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      Book preview

      A Dress For A Queen And Other Short Stories - Kerrie Noor

      A Dress For A Queen And Other Stories

      A DRESS FOR A QUEEN AND OTHER STORIES

      Tales From A Funny Woman

      KERRIE NOOR

      Delicious Comedies

      INTRODUCTION

      Nothing is ever wasted when it comes to writing; it is merely work in progress.

      The first few short stories in this collection evolved from messy attempts at funny blogs and short story competitions, when I had two breakdowns and struggled to stay sane. In fact, I would say that writing was my lifeboat through those choppy seas of rejections and successes and kept me afloat for many years . . .

      A Dress for a Queen had so many rewrites I’ve lost count.

      It was one of the first things I ever wrote. I remember writing it and thinking how funny I was and what wonderful sentences I had written.

      The plot, however, sucked.

      It was longlisted for a prize, which I dined out on for years, spurring me to keep trying. In the end, it took me years of experience to mold this story into something that works.

      The Story That Got Away comes from a time years ago when I worked in an office and was bored out of my brain. I spent my spare time (of which there was plenty) working on Thirty Seconds, a novel that in the end never saw the light of day, mainly because the plot, yet again, sucked. I had no idea what I was doing, I was obsessed with creating jokes. However, years later, those characters rose to the occasion, some finding their way into my Diva Diaries Novella series and another here in The Story That Got Away.

      Mavis and Me Do Half-Life was my first commission. While working in said office, I had my first breakdown that led to lots of walking in hilly winds. At the time, there were several outdoor art exhibitions created on ancient stone sites in the area and an outdoor play that was so arty I had no idea what it was about. The exhibition, Half Life, ran for a month, and I (being a local writer) was asked to add something to the Half Life booklet, which gave me free access to everything, including the drinks do afterwards.

      Halloween and Christmas Lights was born from the Nefertiti Has Her Say blog. This was my first blog, which I would say is pretty rubbish; the plotting is all over the place (some would say nonexistent). However, Nefertiti’s voice really developed in those good old blogging days, and despite a second breakdown, that blog led to a second novel, The Downfall of a Belly Dancer, along with my short story Halloween and Christmas Lights.

      Boudicca and Mavis is another born-again story rewritten many times. It comes from a real-life event: me on a papier mâché horse for an autumn festival. So much of that story is true, although I’m not telling which part, except I did have a beard painted on and, thank God, no one recognised me.

      The Red Cross Shop and the Codpiece is a wee piece inspired by teaching belly dancing to a local guild group years ago.

      The group stopped midway through for coffee and to judge their very own craft table, amongst which were two crochet-covered coat hangers. Those women took more time judging the craft table than learning to shimmy, and I couldn’t help thinking there was a story in there somewhere.

      Plus, I am a real sucker for second-hand shops.

      A DRESS FOR A QUEEN

      Every queen has a secret life, even those with a respectable accent.

      The Secret Apprentice

      Lizzie’s favourite pastimes were juggling and acrobatics, which she loved to do while sliding down a banister or swinging from a chandelier. After dinner, before the servants even had a chance to grab a tray let alone clear the debris, Lizzie was on the table spinning plates and tossing cups—oblivious to the flying food.

      The rest of the family ducked . . .

      Watch out, lovers, Lizzie would shout in her best Cockney voice before propelling herself onto the nearest light fitting and swinging across the room. The family, grabbing their whisky, would scatter like dogs on a hunt.

      She loved to cartwheel, somersault, and juggle, sometimes together. She practiced in the kitchen when the servants had finished, in the garden when the sun was down, and in the reception on the footman’s day off, always concluding with a few splits. Lizzie liked to end with panache.

      All it took was one vodka, a gin, or a couple of glasses of bubbly and Lizzie, roots forgotten, became the real Lizzie: an adrenaline junkie who loved to shock.

      And it was all thanks to Jimmie Black, a distant cousin . . .

      Jimmie Black had left the family business after an embarrassing incident with the gamekeeper. He joined a circus, and Lizzie wanted to follow; she was a teenager at the time and thought she knew all there was to know about bunking off.

      I’m sick, she moaned to her nanny and took to her bed.

      Later, with the good ol’ pillows-in-the-bed trick and a Lizzie is at death’s door note on her bedroom door, Lizzie escaped. She slid on her red Annie wig, pulled on an off-the-peg dress from the Lost Properties Department at the palace, and slid into the night.

      That night, as she watched the jugglers and the trapeze artists, Lizzie fell in love. She too wanted to balance on the back of a white stallion in a frilly skirt, swing from the tent tops, and feel the heat of a fire stick as she twirled it about her plump body. She discovered a passion for performing deeper than any feelings for her family—or the Firm, as some called them—until her nanny found her.

      Lizzie, posed at the front row clutching a bag of leotards, didn’t see her coming. She didn’t recognise the plump woman in a grey tracksuit, the smell of mothballs, or the face beneath the knitted hat. Nanny also knew about the Lost Properties Department.

      Leotards are not for the likes of you, the nanny finally whispered, and the incident was never spoken of again.

      The Honeymoon and Beyond

      After her marriage to Philip, Lizzie insisted on a private celebration of their own involving chandeliers, a leather rope, and a very large polished oak table. Clutching her bouquet between her teeth and sporting a black outfit designed by Cecil B. DeMille, she swung from the lights, leaving a trail of confetti behind her. Philip’s vision of instructing a shy young girl in the arts of intimacy were shattered as he watched her firm round rump twirl through the air covered in little more than black lace.

      He had been warned by the nanny about our Lizzie and her secret ways, but nothing could prepare him for what he saw . . .

      Or the pleasure it would give him.

      Philip soon learnt to expect the unexpected from his wife. He had a trampoline installed in his bedroom, devised a network of tightropes from his den to her bedroom, and regularly cleaned out the fireplaces for Lizzie and her fire stick juggling. With just one ring of a bell, he could have her bouncing, swinging, or balancing—rose in her mouth optional. And if feeling particularly frisky, he’d give the stairs a good polish, toss his hat in the air, and shout . . .

      Where’s my girl?

      Lizzie, in her best working-class persona, would appear balancing a tray of teacakes on her head.

      Afternoon tea, sir? she’d say.

      Philip always said yes.

      And when Philip was feeling oppressed with his duties, Lizzie, a woman of surprising intuition, would grab a top hat, slip into her fishnets, and backflip across the hall with one of the corgis.

      The servants learnt to run for cover as Philip, clutching his Polaroid, snapped away.

      One picture of Lizzie’s round rear sailing through the air was enough to cheer up any dreary day, and Phil had a collection of them—the most recent living in his pocket, making any tedious ceremony a breeze to sit through.

      Of course, Phil knew all about Jimmie Black; Lizzie had told him, spread out on the oak table like a Renaissance princess glowing with pleasure.

      It’s all about entrances and exits. She sighed. Jimmie taught me that.

      Phil told Lizzie her entrance was the best-kept secret he had ever seen. A secret Nanny kept from Lizzie’s mother until the day Nanny left for the Sunset Retirement Home.

      The Burning Question

      For years, Lizzie’s antics had gone unnoticed by her mother, a round-faced, cheery-looking woman whose permanent smile and tilt of her head gave folks the idea she was deaf. Gran was, for the most part, a kindly woman who liked to see people happy.

      But she did have her limits.

      At night, after a respectable amount of gin, Gran (as she was called by those close) often wandered about the palace. Passing the servants with a regal wave, she liked to breathe the evening air, make sure everyone was smiling, and perhaps sit by one of the

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