Emily Howarth
Emily was runner-up for Ashish Ghadiali's masterclass with 'He's Been', runner-up for Kirsty Logan's masterclass with 'Stars', and runner-up for Laura Dockrill's masterclass with 'Xmas Shopping'
"I’m Emily, a final year economics student and avid writer. I really enjoy reading, particularly fiction that makes me laugh, which has heavily influenced my writing style and focus. I try to incorporate witty dialogue, drawing from unusual situations I always seem to find myself in, and love romanticising everyday life.
What If YOU spoke? drew me in thanks to the range of varied and interesting masterclasses, and the potential to broaden my writing horizons. In the future, I’d love to see novels of mine printed and become an author full time. At the moment, my attention has been grabbed by ancient mythology, and I’m working on a longer story piece inspired by the stories they tell. "
-----
“HE’S BEEN!” (excerpt)
The chaos was immediate. Ten years later, on a trip down memory lane during a particularly festive holiday, the pair would be asked if they remembered what they bought the kids that year. Even if he’d have asked on the day itself, neither of them would have any clue whatsoever. Only that it was loud and required a great deal of dancing about and shouting. It was the kind of pandemonium where your brain only starts processing things much later, with a much-needed coffee and biscuit. Even then, the dulcet tones of year 2 of Lower Worthing Primary School threatened to drag them back into semi-lucidity.
Everything had gone as smoothly as could be expected (apart from when the tutorial cooking video Adam was using to do Christmas dinner started buffering, which made the man himself start buffering) and the children were winding down after wearing themselves out. Tom and Zack had claimed the sofa on one side of the room, while Luke lay trapped beneath a bundle of sleepy Henry on the loveseat. Adam went to put the kettle on, leaving his significant other in that liminal space that is a warm, untidy living room with the TV on silent. Colours flickered, turning the tinsel all sorts of shades.
Katherine hadn’t said when she’d be picking the boys up. Luke didn’t care one whit. They had a flat full of people who were safe, loved, and so full of Christmas food they might pop. For all of Katherine’s promises, she wasn’t doing much better than she did with her eldest.
The thought stabbed a cold pang through Luke’s chest.
“I’m sorry that things didn’t go as your mother promised,” he murmured to the bundle on his chest.
Henry hummed from where he lay on Luke’s torso, soft and warm and minutes from sleep, “It did though. She said… We would have the best Christmas ever. A proper Christmas. And it came true.” The little speech seemed to take it out of him, and within moments he was snoring. Luke could hardly tear his gaze from the child, tears beading at the edge of his vision as he stared in awe. He glanced up at the doorway; the single look was enough to tell him that Adam had heard it all.
“See?” He struggled to keep the waver out of his voice. “You gave them a proper family Christmas. They won’t forget that, Adam.” Luke nodded towards the other two sleeping boys, curled towards each other on the far sofa after a long day of playing. Adam went and sat on the arm of the loveseat, running gentle fingers through his little brother’s hair.
The song on the CD player changed; the first bars of ‘Silent Night’ filled the apartment. After repetitive listening, Luke had concluded that it was by far the best on the album. It was one of the few songs on there that sounded sweet rather than just shit.
<Do you know why we have this CD?> Adam signed.
Luke looked up at the older man. “I found it in one of the old boxes that came from your mum’s house… Wasn’t it your old Primary school?”
Adam nodded. <My class. There was a winter performance. Katherine didn’t come.>
“And she thought buying the overpriced CD was a worthy replacement.” It wasn’t a question.
<She’d have done the same to them, I think. Promise them the world and try to buy them instead. I wanted them to have a Christmas that was special.>
“Well, you’ve done it. Anyone could tell that they couldn’t have had a better one, love.”
Adam leaned in to kiss him, a quick peck on the lips. He hummed into it, Luke’s favourite sound in the world.
“Hang on a f**king second,” said Luke, brain finally engaging. Zack and the twins were firmly asleep, and he’d manage to wriggle free of Henry, with no little help. “Katherine bought a CD of your primary school class singing? Not a video or something?”
Adam grinned as he watched his tiny boyfriend work himself up into a furious incredulity.
“A CD? Of her mute child?”
The taller man gave him a thumbs up.
“Ok, your family might be officially worse. The adults, I mean. The children are a delight. What is wrong with her? Wait- what even was your role in the performance?”
<Stand at the back and mime.>
“You’re taking the piss.” His eyes were like saucers.
<Am not.>
“What the f**k? They asked six-year-old adorable baby you to mime at the back of a choir performance?”
<I got to do the tambourine, too.> He was having far too much fun.
Luke goggled at him. “Where in God's name is the tambourine? We’ve listened to this for the best part of twenty-four hours and haven’t heard it!”
<I didn’t say I was very good.>
The younger man stared at him for a long moment before turning on his heel in exasperation. A minute later, the sound of the kettle came from the kitchen.
Adam chuckled to himself, leaning up against the wall to look out of the window - the only place to stand without risking a slip on torn wrapping paper. He sipped his own coffee and gazed out at the moon.
He could tell himself all he wanted that he’d done it for his brothers, and he really had. All the stress and work and last-minute prep, he’d done to make them happy. He couldn’t deny that he’d done it a bit for himself though, too. Done it for the little boy who stood at the back of the stage, always left out of everything, but allowed to take part in his own way. The little boy who’d put down the tambourine he’d been clutching all day and left it there, when the parents filed in, and a face was missing.
He’d done it for Luke, too. The boy for whom Christmas meant shouting and arguing and slammed doors, and money under the tree rather than real presents. The mismatched pair who’d moved away from their pasts to forge a new future together, one that didn’t involve celebrating what they’d never had.
They’d have many more to come. He’d make sure of it.
© Emily Howarth, 2021
-----
Stars (excerpt)
“That is not strictly true.”
Asterius sat with the fallen shade in some quiet corner in Elysium, shared bottles of ambrosia lying between them. The bright light of Ixion was as strong as ever, drenching their surroundings in an ethereal white-blue.
“What isn’t true?” the man asked, taking another lengthy swig, “I seem to have quite forgotten what I said.”
The minotaur bowed his head and snorted, as if giving the matter consideration. “That I saw nothing outside of the maze. I was not born there.”
A lengthy moment passed between them, enough for a couple of errant butterflies to settle on Pat’s hair. He made no move to brush them off.
“Queen Pasiphae-”
“Your mother?”
“Yes… My mother. She hid me for a time, I am told. A handmaiden of hers resides here in Elysium.”
“A nurse, perhaps?”
“No,” Asterius said slowly, “I am told that the Queen- that my mother cared for me herself.”
If Patroclus was surprised, he betrayed no trace of it. Merely nodded, allowing the bull to continue.
“I remember almost nothing from that time - before the labyrinth. In the tunnels, when I was still very young, I once found a piece of chalky stone. I took it to an enclave I favoured and drew white marks on the ceiling. The light was strongest there. The marks were dull… But visible.”
“Stars…” Patroclus breathed, realisation washing over him like a cool tide.
“Yes. I didn’t understand what they were; nor could I recall where I had seen them. I can remember a woman though, with dark hair and skin. She always spoke my name… That is how I knew it.” He spread his palms before himself, frowning at the splayed fingers. “She was warm.”
The Myrmidon tilted his head, disturbing the butterflies. One settled on the minotaur’s nose for a moment. He snorted.
“It sounds like a wonderful memory.”
“I will never truly know whether it was a memory at all. I had thought of her as some benevolent goddess, made to watch over me. A dream that faded to an ideal as I aged.”
The ambrosia they had consumed made the already heavy topic like lead. Patroclus had a lifetime of experience dealing with rash, brash, and dramatic, but melancholy was his forte. He had little idea of how to react when presented with such solemn reactions. He thought of his own mother, the memory of a perfect moment on a beach. Such a memory could surely not have been real, though the feeling that surrounded it had remained with the Myrmidon well beyond the bounds of life.
Patroclus tilted a bottle to his lips. “I suppose that is why you favour Theseus, eh? As he was your saviour in death?”
Asterius let out another snort, this one akin to a laugh.
“A common misconception. Theseus has been nothing but good to me.”
“You are a kinder one than I then, for dismemberment would rather put me off someone.”
Asterius ignored the comment. “People are quick to their judgements. In life, I did not want to leave the labyrinth. I wanted it to end.”
“It is entirely understandable. Though I have known men achieve the same without the aid of another.” Patroclus slumped down to lie on his back amongst the soft emerald grass.
The bull had begun wringing his hands; it was rather an odd look for one as large as himself. Finally, for Patroclus realised it had been a while, he spoke.
“I did not want to die alone.”
There was no reply Patroclus could give, so he let Asterius continue.
“When I met him, he was young and unsure of himself. A son of Poseidon with no proof of his parentage. He had to cover himself in a glory that most men could not imagine, else be denounced as a liar and a bastard.”
Patroclus nodded to himself, all too familiar with the destructive miasma of honour and pride that followed a demigod.
“He had long, golden hair and not a thought under it of what to do or expect. He did what nobody else had thought to do. He spoke to me.” A short silence hung in the Elysium glade, seemingly silent of even the gentle whisper of butterfly wings. “Most see me and assume. He was thrilled when he discovered my sentience.”
“I imagine he began ranting no end.”
“He did. Theseus saw me as a rival, not an animal for slaughter.”
The ensuing quiet was pleasant, allowing the pair to soak up the story alongside the remainder of their drink. Elysium air was strangely still, the dead having little need for fresh gusts of wind, and the roar of battle was a distant memory in the little glade. It was a place that assured you eternity existed, rather than remaining some abstract idea. Patroclus let a smile tug at the side of his mouth as he remembered a time when he believed no such place could capture his ever-moving, ever-inconsistent lover.
As if his thoughts had been audible, Asterius picked up the thread of conversation once more.
“I have heard that you yourself have experience with unruly blond heroes.”
Patroclus laughed at that. His Achilles always had a way of breaking a silence, seemingly without needing to be present. He picked up another bottle of ambrosia, readying himself to tell his own tale as he took a swig.
In a palace in Crete, far beneath an inky black sky, a young woman hides in the shadow of a column. The gardens are ostentatious, architecture ornate, but that is not what she has come for.
They will find them soon. They will take her and beat her into submission, defenceless as she is with what little magic she has recovered since the birth. Her healing has been a long process; even years later her frail arms strain to lift the little boy from where he hides beneath her robes.
Little boy. For that is what he is; a tiny baby unprepared for a world that hates him. She moves the fabric covering his short snout, cloth catching slightly at the nubs of his underdeveloped horns. He reaches for her, dewy eyes sparkling as a tiny fist is wrapped into her dark curls, as if for comfort.
Soon though, his soft ears twitch as they capture the noise of nightlife, minute rustling of animals and leaves to which she is deaf. Turned-up nostrils flare with the fresh scent of the sea; his downy fur ruffled for the first time by a breeze. He looks up from her face, towards the sky. The child’s eyes are a mirror, filled with every constellation that Pasiphae dares not face. Their time is short, and the tears pricking at her waterline know it well.
“Look, Asterius. Stars.”
© Emily Howarth, 2021
-----
Xmas Shopping (excerpt)
The pair shared a moment of awed silence as the back of the hearse closed snugly around their purchases.
“Seventeen-year-old Adam was a genius.”
<He was a broke goth> Adam signed back.
“Nope. He was a genius ahead of his time who knew that one day, this hearse would have to live up to greatness. A visionary with foresight to rival a psychic.”
<I barely had regular sight. The sunglasses I used to wear may as well have been blacked-out.> Adam replied as he wedged himself into the driver’s seat, pausing to swipe Luke’ feet off the dash. His boyfriend gave him a rather pointed look, raising his brows at the round pair of sunglasses the other currently wore. At night-time.
<These are purple.>
“Sure thing, hun. Isn’t there an Ed Sheeran song about that?”
Adam flipped him off as he started the car, pulling onto the road to the sound of Luke’s laughter.
It was a short drive to their apartment, where they managed to unload the shopping with surprising efficiency. Adam engrossed himself with putting away the ludicrous amount of food while Luke sorted the decorations, whirling around with tinsel and baubles like the ghost of Christmas consumerism. He had a habit of singing as he worked; It brought a smile to the older man’s face as he reached for a packet of bacon. Adam’s apartment had been quiet for so long, in the beginning. The silence had felt oppressive… dead. There had been nights where he’d lain awake, eyes burning and hand clutching at his own chest for a heartbeat, anything to reassure him that he was still there. It was no way to live.
He checked his phone again, rereading his mother’s message.
It was no way for anyone to live, and he’d do everything in his power to make sure that history didn’t repeat itself.
He slipped it back into his pocket as Luke stuck his head around the kitchen door.
“Do we still have Spotify premium?” he asked.
<No.> Adam replied, long used to his boyfriend’s unorthodox conversation starters.
“How come?”
<You cancelled it.>
Luke squinted at a bag of sprouts on the counter as if racking his brains. “Why?”
<You got drunk on Halloween and said the only skips you were paying for were the crisps.> Adam was holding back a smile.
“Oh… yeah. At Sam’s party?”
<Yep.>
“Ah. Not to worry hun, I’ll come up with something.” He disappeared again, leaving his boyfriend with the memory of a party to chuckle at and a punnet of grapes that wouldn’t fit in the fridge no matter what he moved. ‘Something’ made its appearance a little while later when a chorus of twenty-four six-year-olds came merrily (if also tinnily) from the corridor, singing a rather shit version of jingle bells. A triumphant cry came from the living room before joining in. He wasn’t any more in tune than the children were. Adam thought it sounded wonderful all the same.
He’d moved on to wrapping presents when he noticed the lack of singing. Lower Worthing Primary School had gotten halfway through ‘Grandma got run over by a reindeer’ without their twenty-five-year-old soloist; a song which Adam (and a bar full of people circa 2018) knew for a fact that Luke knew off by heart. He looked up from his final present to see the man in question leaning against the doorframe, twirling a glittery decoration in his hands as he looked on fondly.
“You’re a little tall for an elf, aren’t you?”
<You’re not.> he shot back, catching the infectious grin that spread across the other’s face.
“Oi,” Luke replied, pretending to throw the ornament at his head, “do you want to see the fruits of my labour, or what?”
Adam dutifully smoothed the last piece of tape into place before rising from the linoleum, joints protesting.
“Ok Christmas cracker.”
Adam smacked him an empty wrapping paper tube.
The hallway looked much the same, with the addition of tinsel and fairy lights winding their way up the banister. When they reached the living room though, he felt his breath catch. Tinsel in all shades of orange and gold covered every surface that would support it, interwoven with shining fairy lights that filled the whole room with an aura of warmth. They had no fireplace, yet the space felt as if it were lit by flame and festive cheer. Sparkling baubles and ornaments covered a large tree in the far corner of the room, the sofa wedged against the other wall to accommodate it. The tree was real, casting the light scent of pine and a dusting of fallen needles over the couple of presents that lay messily wrapped underneath. It looked like something straight out of a children’s bedtime story, or a Christmas romcom. It was perfect. Adam felt a pricking feeling rising to his eyes.
<It looks beautiful.>
Luke fidgeted with the ornament, chattering even faster than usual, “It’s nothing at all hun, just what Tesco had lying around at such short notice. Only needs this to complete it.” he held up the ornament in his hands, and Adam realised it was a star. Sparkly and golden, just like the rest of the room, it had covered the shorter man’s hands in cheap glitter.
<Do you need me to reach?>
“I mean, I probably will sweetheart, but… I was thinking that maybe we could wait until the boys are here, and have them help put it on? I hear it’s what people do, and they won’t have much time for anything else before they need to go to bed, so…” he trailed off, tops of his ears flushed.
The pricking feeling returned tenfold. Adam hiccoughed slightly as he wrapped his arms around Luke, burying his face in his nut-brown hair. The other man pulled him closer still, rubbing between his shoulder blades.
“I’m glad you like the idea, love. Now, when do they get here?”
Adam checked his phone again, to no avail. <She said she’d call when they got here.>
“Well, let’s hope it’s soon, or the little buggers’ll be shattered tomorrow. Being woken up at 5am by screaming children is part of the experience,” mused Luke, picking at an invisible piece of fluff on the front of Adam’s shirt. The taller man noticed that his hands were nowhere near as glittery as before- it was no doubt spread all over his own back instead.
The pair looked down as Adam’s phone screen flashed with a new message.
From: Katherine
I’ve just dropped the boys off. If there’s a problem, contact me through my work channels.
Have a good Christmas, Adam. - K
“Adam, I’m not trying to insult your mother, but even UberEATS wait until they can hand you the food before leaving.” He was already reaching for his keys and shoes. Adam felt inclined to agree with the sentiment, though he might have thrown in a few insults to his mother for good measure, but Luke was already bounding downstairs.
Things would be better. History wouldn’t repeat itself; he’d make sure of it.
© Emily Howarth, 2021
