by Susan Cartwright-Smith
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22 February 2026
Here are the results of the Valentine's Day flash fiction competition. Meet Me Under the Clock by Amelia Alice. Untitled by Margaret McKay. Judged by Jude Davison judedavison.co.uk Jude is a composer, author, musician and recording artist. He has written and produced 21 albums of varied musical styles and genres with songs that include Americana, rock, pop, country, soul, gospel, blues, mariachi, Dixieland, and even a trilogy of spoken word/music albums. His songs have been licensed to numerous TV shows – Baywatch , Cold Squad and feature films – Return to Turtle Island , The Raffle (with the soundtrack album featuring Elton John and Dan Hill), and his first single, Lifeline , reached no. 25 in the USA adult contemporary charts. In 2015 Jude turned his attention toward writing prose. He has now published six books – three novels ( Cybersoul , The Underwater Birds , A Writer's Prerogative ), two collections of short stories ( Cripples and Creeps , Small Cruelties ) and a musical memoir ( Uncertain Heaven ). "So the winning entry is Meet me under the clock. It had an interesting use of setting – what was imagined (film version) and then what was real. Also the idea of love, while not being 'picture' perfect but enough, was good. Perhaps I would place Helen's oldest friend... as runner up. Again, the theme of love being something more ordinary and not so 'picture perfect' as we like to imagine it, was good". First Prize This winning entry will also be published in our 2025 anthology and, at the discretion of our editor, in Link magazine . Meet Me Under the Clock by Amelia Alice Standing under the 'Lovers' Clock' at Waterloo Station holding a bunch of long-stemmed red roses to ask Shona to marry him had always been in Barry's mind since he saw the 1945 classic film Brief Encounter, last Christmas at his Nan's house. Today, Barry held the wrapped roses, as if he were swaddling a baby. His heartbeat rushed, keeping time with the outgoing 10:02 to Chester. Looking around him, the platform was vacant apart from a few pigeons pecking randomly at the asphalt. He looked at his watch. There was no clock here. This was Crewe. Had he made a mistake? He noted the peeling paint on the Victorian iron rafters, showing coloured layers of times gone by. Smoggy debris, cluttered with leaves, clogs the corners of the ornate glass panels above the tracks. He sighed. It didn't match his vision of the perfect romantic meeting place. Too late. The approaching Pendolino 390 from Manchester Piccadilly slowed to a stop. His eyes scanned the seats as they passed. He couldn't see her. Then. 'Hi Barry,' she said with a smile. Her pale porcelain skin was so perfect in the diffused light. 'For you,' he held the roses forward with pride. 'Sorry, it's not like the film,' he nodded towards the station. 'Which film?' Her eyes scrunched as her head tilted to one side. 'It doesn't matter,' he laughed, 'Who needs a clock? You look beautiful.' Reaching for Shona's hand, he breathed out slowly, knowing everything was going to be okay. Runner Up Untitled by Margaret McKay Helen's oldest friend had talked of the elation of falling in love when she had met her second husband. She had felt smug that her own marriage had lasted for so long, but this chance remark had preyed on her mind, today more than ever. Today, she had met a man who had made her heart leap, her legs turn to jelly. She had enjoyed the sensation. After fifty years she couldn't remember having that feeling, ever. In 1976, marriage was the next step after dating for a year or two. This word 'love' was showered over you both with the confetti on your wedding day. The reality was sex whenever it suited, in honesty often the sweeter in previous stolen moments. The thought of her children and grandchildren made her heart swell, but George was only in the background of her mind. He'd always provided for the family, been a good father, never forgotten her birthday. Should that be enough? When had they last watched television together? Gone out for a meal? Had a fight or even an argument? Could she face the next, possibly twenty years lived in this equilibrium? Today the fascinating man who had shared her table in the café had set her thoughts into chaos. When they'd exchanged phone numbers, she'd felt the forgotten thrill of something illicit. Looking at the family photos around her home, she pressed 'delete' and smiled fondly at the kind face always in the background, providing quiet, perfect equilibrium.
