The Devil's Work

by Mark Edwards

shivering, strapped into the chair. He wheels the metal trolley over, cursing the wheel that has recently started to squeak. On the surface of the trolley is a leather pouch. He unfolds it and I see what’s inside. Acupuncture needles, handles the colour of dried blood, their sharp tips shining in the artificial light. ‘Please,’ I say. ‘Please.’ He takes the thickest needle from the pouch and moves towards me, licking his dry lips.

time to buy a coffee from the stall on the platform and grab a free paper, barely able to believe this was all real, that she was a paid worker again. The last time she’d stood here at this time of the morning she’d been eight months pregnant with Daisy, wearing a little badge that said ‘Baby on Board’, excited and terrified about being a mother. Now she wore a fitted grey suit, bought in a last-minute panic at the weekend, and the baby in her

a space between a woman with sharp elbows and a man who clung to the overhead rail, sharing the smell of last night’s curry with