Creative Writing Competition 2025 Winners: Elaine Waterhouse

Adult Winner: Elaine Waterhouse

This year’s winner of the adult category is Elaine Waterhouse with Inside the Cover.

Inside the cover

Elaine Waterhouse

She had to ask three times. Honestly. Three.

Frankly, if there had been any other free seats, Edna wouldn’t have asked at all. The boy was in urgent need of a haircut. A tattoo leaked beyond the sleeve of his Iron Maiden T-shirt. Holes ventilated the knees of his jeans which were in any case about two sizes too large, and his left ear was pierced so liberally that it reminded her of the curtain-pole in her dining-room. 

Twenty, maybe. Samuel had never looked this way. She had to count her blessings.

Worse, this lad looked decidedly peaky. The complexion of a serial video-gamer – pale, drawn, haunted. Although the reddish rings around the eyes hinted at something darker. Drugs, no doubt. Such a waste.

The familiar nausea stirred. No. Don’t go there. 

“Excuse me.” Her voice was louder now. Several other passengers turned, and she met their glances with a withering stare. Out of embarrassment or annoyance she wasn’t even sure herself. Is any of this my fault?

His ears were plugged with small white lollipops, the quintessential accessory of youth. They wore them everywhere. Heaven knows what would happen in the event of a fire alarm. A whole generation could be burned alive.

He was slumped down in the seat, knees propped up against the one in front – a pose that anyone above the age of twenty-five would consider torturous. But more remarkable yet was that, propped up on his thighs, was a book. 

He was reading. 

The bus lurched. Steadying herself against the handrail, Edna leaned over and poked the young man’s arm. 

He started so violently that, had she been less exasperated, less tired, less jaded, she might even have laughed. 

“Please move your bag.” She over-accentuated the words, jabbing a finger repeatedly at the seat beside him, as if his removal of an ear-lollipop might not be sufficient to remedy his apparent stupidity. 

Replying in kind, the young man held up a hand in apology and tossed the bag to the floor, completing the manoeuvre with a grin and a thumbs-up before returning to his book. 

Edna shuddered. His nails were painted black, potentially disguising a multitude of germs and filth. At least he wasn’t the hand-shaking type. She’d have needed her Marigolds. 

She lowered herself into the seat as the bulbs above her head flickered into life. It was already dusk outside. Her neighbour repositioned his book towards the light. 

Hardback, but definitely second-hand: dust-jacketless edges softly fraying and a legacy of dog-ears splaying the pages. She squinted at the faded cover. Middlemarch. 

She sniffed. “Takes all sorts, I suppose.”

“Excuse me?”

Now he hears me. The young man was looking at her expectantly, one earbud still absent. 

“Oh – just talking to myself.” She opened her bag to look for nothing.

“Sorry about before. Noise reduction.” He tapped his ear, sensing further explanation was needed. “Blocks out all the chatter so I can read.”

Laughter erupted from the back of the bus, and he raised his eyebrows in silent vindication. Edna smiled and her eyes fell back to the book. 

“You’ve read it?”

She sighed. “Forty years ago. Are you enjoying it?”

“Not my usual genre.”

You don’t say. 

He slid a purple-tasselled bookmark between the pages. “Present from Mum.”

“She likes Eliot?”

“Yeah. Eliot, Austen, the Brontës – but Middlemarch is her favourite.” He smoothed his hand over the cover. “Well – was.”

“Was.”

“Died last month.”

Another wash of nausea. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “Stupid thing is, she gave me this years ago. Said she’d look forward to talking about it together. I thought it was a dumb idea. What the hell did some old novel have to do with me.” He cleared his throat. “And now – it’s too late.”

Edna gripped the seat. Too late. The feeling was familiar. “But you’re reading it. That’s what she wanted.”

“Yeah. Well. Irony is, I love it. Get lost in the story. Feels like she’s still talking to me. All the underlinings. God, she would have killed me for writing in a book. Bloody hypocrite.” He brushed his cheek roughly. “Said Eliot could teach us all a thing or two. Look.”

He turned the book and pointed. The line was marked with asterisks. 

What do we live for, if it is not to make life less difficult for each other?

And Edna was back there. Ten years ago. The hospital. The tubes. The whispers. Samuel. Accident. Overdose. 

Such a waste.

And when she looked up, she no longer saw the tattoo, the piercings or the ponytail. She saw the mirror of her grief. 

“I think Eliot wasn’t the only one to teach us something.” She spoke so quietly that she wasn’t sure he’d heard her.

So she took his hand.

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Judges remarks:

“Elaine demonstrates her skills from the opening line, with arresting phrases such as 'the holes ventilated the knees of his jeans' or 'lollipops' to describe the young man's earbuds.  A strong voice drew me in.  This brief story is a character study, and an exploration of the profound value of novels (George Eliot's Middlemarch, to be exact) to help us to connect with a stranger, just as the two characters do.  A moving, assured and understated story. Our unanimous winner.”

On discovering her win, Elaine responded: “I am both surprised and delighted to be selected as the winner, which is truly humbling. I’m so grateful for the opportunity to participate in the competition and this recognition has strengthened my confidence and determination to continue developing my writing. Thank you!”.