Another excerpt from “Strangers We’ve Become” – A sequel to ‘What Sets Us Apart’

It was the first time in almost a week that I made the short walk to the cafe alone.  It was early, and the chill of the morning was still in the air.  In summer, it was the best time of the day.  When Susan came with me, it was usually much later, when the day was much warmer and less tolerable.

On the morning of the third day of her visit, Susan said she was missing the hustle and bustle of London, and by the end of the fourth she said, in not so many words, she was over being away from ‘civilisation’.  This was a side of her I had not seen before, and it surprised me.

She hadn’t complained, but it was making her irritable.  The Susan that morning was vastly different to the Susan on the first day.  So much, I thought, for her wanting to ‘reconnect’, the word she had used as the reason for coming to Greve unannounced.

It was also the first morning I had time to reflect on her visit and what my feelings were towards her.  It was the reason I’d come to Greve: to soak up the peace and quiet and think about what I was going to do with the rest of my life.

I sat in my usual corner.  Maria, one of two waitresses, came out, stopped, and there was no mistaking the relief in her manner.  There was an air of tension between Susan and Maria I didn’t understand, and it seemed to emanate from Susan rather than the other way around.  I could understand her attitude if it was towards Alisha, but not Maria.  All she did was serve coffee and cake.

When Maria recovered from the momentary surprise, she said, smiling, “You are by yourself?”  She gave a quick glance in the direction of my villa, just to be sure.

“I am this morning.  I’m afraid the heat, for one who is not used to it, can be quite debilitating.  I’m also afraid it has had a bad effect on her manners, for which I apologise.  I cannot explain why she has been so rude to you.”

“You do not have to apologise for her, David, but it is of no consequence to me.  I have had a lot worse.  I think she is simply jealous.”

It had crossed my mind, but there was no reason for her to be.  “Why?”

“She is a woman, I am a woman, she thinks because you and I are friends, there is something between us.”

It made sense, even if it was not true.  “Perhaps if I explained…”

Maria shook her head.  “If there is a hole in the boat, you should not keep bailing but try to plug the hole.  My grandfather had many expressions, David.  If I may give you one piece of advice, as much as it is none of my business, you need to make your feelings known, and if they are not as they once were, and I think they are not, you need to tell her.  Before she goes home.”

Interesting advice.  Not only a purveyor of excellent coffee, but Maria was also a psychiatrist who had astutely worked out my dilemma.  What was that expression, ‘not just a pretty face’?

“Is she leaving soon?” I asked, thinking Maria knew more about Susan’s movements than I did.

“You would disappoint me if you had not suspected as much.  Susan was having coffee and talking to someone in her office on a cell phone.  It was an intense conversation.  I should not eavesdrop, but she said being here was like being stuck in hell.  It is a pity she does not share your love for our little piece of paradise, is it not?”

“It is indeed.  And you’re right.  She said she didn’t have a phone, but I know she has one.  She just doesn’t value the idea of getting away from the office.  Perhaps her role doesn’t afford her that luxury.”

And perhaps Alisha was right about Maria, that I should be more careful.  She had liked Maria the moment she saw her.  We had sat at this very table, the first day I arrived.  I would have travelled alone, but Prendergast, my old boss, liked to know where ex-employees of the Department were, and what they were doing.

She sighed.  “I am glad I am just a waitress.  Your usual coffee and cake?”

“Yes, please.”

Several months had passed since we had rescued Susan from her despotic father; she had recovered faster than we had thought, and settled into her role as the new Lady Featherington, though she preferred not to use that title, but go by the name of Lady Susan Cheney.

I didn’t get to be a Lord, or have any title, not that I was expecting one.  What I had expected was that Susan, once she found her footing as head of what seemed to be a commercial empire, would not have time for details like husbands, particularly when our agreement made before the wedding gave either of us the right to end it.

There was a moment when I visited her recovering in the hospital, where I was going to give her the out, but I didn’t, and she had not invoked it.  We were still married, just not living together.

This visit was one where she wanted to ‘reconnect’ as she called it, and invite me to come home with her.  She saw no reason why we could not resume our relationship, conveniently forgetting she indirectly had me arrested for her murder, charges both her mother and Lucy vigorously pursued, and had the clone not returned to save me, I might still be in jail.

It was not something I would forgive or forget any time soon.

There were other reasons why I was reluctant to stay with her, like forgetting small details, an irregularity in her character I found odd.  She looked the same, she sounded the same, she basically acted the same, but my mind was telling me something was not right.  It was not the Susan I first met, even allowing for the ordeal she had been subjected to.

But, despite those misgivings, there was no question in my mind that I still loved her, and her clandestine arrival had brought back all those feelings.  But as the days passed, I began to get the impression my feelings were one-sided and she was just going through the motions.

Which brought me to the last argument, earlier, where I said if I went with her, it would be business meetings, social obligations, and quite simply her ‘celebrity’ status that would keep us apart.  I reminded her that I had said from the outset I didn’t like the idea of being in the spotlight, and when I reiterated it, she simply brushed it off as just part of the job, adding rather strangely that I always looked good in a suit.  The flippancy of that comment was the last straw, and I left before I said something I would regret.

I knew I was not a priority.  Maybe somewhere inside me, I had wanted to be a priority, and I was disappointed when I was not.

And finally, there was Alisha.  Susan, at the height of the argument, had intimated she believed I had an affair with her, but that elephant was always in the room whenever Alisha was around.  It was no surprise when I learned Susan had asked Prendergast to reassign her to other duties. 

At least I knew what my feelings for Alisha were, and there were times when I had to remember she was persona non grata.  Perhaps that was why Susan had her banished, but, again, a small detail; jealousy was not one of Susan’s traits when I first knew her.

Perhaps it was time to set Susan free.

When I swung around to look in the direction of the lane where my villa was, I saw Susan.  She was formally dressed, not in her ‘tourist’ clothes, which she had bought from one of the local clothing stores.  We had fun that day, shopping for clothes, a chore I’d always hated.  It had been followed by a leisurely lunch, lots of wine and soul searching.

It was the reason why I sat in this corner; old habits die hard.  I could see trouble coming from all directions, not that Susan was trouble or at least I hoped not, but it allowed me the time to watch her walking towards the cafe in what appeared to be short, angry steps; perhaps the culmination of the heat wave and our last argument.

She glared at me as she sat, dropping her bag beside her on the ground, where I could see the cell phone sitting on top.  She followed my glance down, and then she looked unrepentant back at me.

Maria came back at the exact moment she was going to speak.  I noticed Maria hesitate for a second when she saw Susan, then put her smile in place to deliver my coffee.

Neither spoke nor looked at each other.  I said, “Susan will have what I’m having, thanks.”

Maria nodded and left.

“Now,” I said, leaning back in my seat, “I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation as to why you didn’t tell me about the phone, but that first time you disappeared, I’d guessed you needed to keep in touch with your business interests.  I thought it somewhat unwisethat you should come out when the board of one of your companies was trying to remove you, because of what was it, an unexplained absence?  All you had to do was tell me there were problems and you needed to remain at home to resolve them.”

My comment elicited a sideways look, with a touch of surprise.

“It was unfortunate timing on their behalf, and I didn’t want you to think everything else was more important than us.  There were issues before I came, and I thought the people at home would be able to manage without me for at least a week, but I was wrong.”

“Why come at all.  A phone call would have sufficed.”

“I had to see you, talk to you.  At least we have had a chance to do that.  I’m sorry about yesterday.  I once told you I would not become my mother, but I’m afraid I sounded just like her.  I misjudged just how much this role would affect me, and truly, I’m sorry.”

An apology was the last thing I expected.

“You have a lot of work to do catching up after being away, and of course, in replacing your mother and gaining the requisite respect as the new Lady Featherington.  I think it would be for the best if I were not another distraction.  We have plenty of time to reacquaint ourselves when you get past all these teething issues.”

“You’re not coming with me?”  She sounded disappointed.

“I think it would be for the best if I didn’t.”

“Why?”

“It should come as no surprise to you that I’ve been keeping an eye on your progress.  You are so much better doing your job without me.  I told your mother once that when the time came I would not like the responsibilities of being your husband.  Now that I have seen what it could possibly entail, I like it even less.  You might also want to reconsider our arrangement, after all, we only had a marriage of convenience, and now that those obligations have been fulfilled, we both have the option of terminating it.  I won’t make things difficult for you if that’s what you want.”

It was yet another anomaly, I thought; she should look distressed, and I would raise the matter of that arrangement.  Perhaps she had forgotten the finer points.  I, on the other hand, had always known we would not last forever.  The perplexed expression, to me, was a sign she might have forgotten.

Then, her expression changed.  “Is that what you want?”

“I wasn’t madly in love with you when we made that arrangement, so it was easy to agree to your terms, but inexplicably, since then, my feelings for you changed, and I would be sad if we parted ways.  But the truth is, I can’t see how this is going to work.”

“In saying that, do you think I don’t care for you?”

That was exactly what I was thinking, but I wasn’t going to voice that opinion out loud.  “You spent a lot of time finding new ways to make my life miserable, Susan.  You and that wretched friend of yours, Lucy.  While your attitude improved after we were married, that was because you were going to use me when you went to see your father, and then almost let me go to prison for your murder.”

“I had nothing to do with that, other than to leave, and I didn’t agree with Lucy that you should be made responsible for my disappearance.  I cannot be held responsible for the actions of my mother.  She hated you; Lucy didn’t understand you, and Millie told me I was stupid for not loving you in return, and she was right.  Why do you think I gave you such a hard time?  You made it impossible not to fall in love with you, and it nearly changed my mind about everything I’d been planning so meticulously.  But perhaps there was a more subliminal reason why I did because after I left, I wanted to believe, if anything went wrong, you would come and find me.”

“How could you possibly know that I’d even consider doing something like that, given what you knew about me?”

“Prendergast made a passing comment when my mother asked him about you; he told us you were very good at finding people and even better at fixing problems.”

“And yet here we are, one argument away from ending it.”

I could see Maria hovering, waiting for the right moment to deliver her coffee, then go back and find Gianna, the café owner, instead.  Gianna was more abrupt and, for that reason, was rarely seen serving the customers.  Today, she was particularly cantankerous, banging the cake dish on the table and frowning at Susan before returning to her kitchen.  Gianna didn’t like Susan either.

Behind me, I heard a car stop, and when she looked up, I knew it was for her.  She had arrived with nothing, and she was leaving with nothing.

She stood.  “Last chance.”

“Forever?”

She hesitated and then shook away the look of annoyance on her face.  “Of course not.  I wanted you to come back with me so we could continue working on our relationship.  I agree there are problems, but it’s nothing we can’t resolve if we try.”

I had been trying.  “It’s too soon for both of us, Susan.  I need to be able to trust you, and given the circumstances, and all that water under the bridge, I’m not sure if I can yet.”

She frowned at me.  “As you wish.”  She took an envelope out of her bag and put it on the table.  “When you are ready, it’s an open ticket home.  Please make it sooner rather than later.  Despite what you think of me, I have missed you, and I have no intention of ending it between us.”

That said, she glared at me for a minute, shook her head, then walked to the car.  I watched her get in and the car drive slowly away.

No kiss, no touch, no looking back. 

© Charles Heath 2018-2025

strangerscover9

In a word: Light

Yes, I see the lighthouse, what’s it doing all the way out there?  The thing is, these places are sometimes so remote, I start thinking I should rent one for 6 months and then, without any distractions, I’ll get the blasted book finished.

Until there’s a shipwreck, of course!

Light is of course light, duh.  Turn on the switch and let there be light.

Hang on, didn’t someone else say that, millennia ago?  Someone famous?  It’s on the tip of my tongue.

No! It’s not cyanide…

So, whilst we need it to see everything, it has another meaning…

My, that’s a light load your carrying today, which means not very heavy.

Or, that’s a light-coloured jumper, which means pale.

Oh, and did you light the fire?

And, after you light the fire, do you light out to a safe haven in light traffic because really it was arson, and you got a light sentence the last time enabling you to do it again.

If you are trying to rob someone, then it was a kilo light.

And after a long hard struggle, did you light upon the correct answer?

This is not to be confused with another similar word, lite.

It seems this is only used for describing low-calorie drinks and food, such as lite beer, which seems to me to be a lazy way of not using light

Still, there’s not much other use of the word except as a suffix -lite, but then you’d have to mention -lyte as well.

The message here – just use the damn word light and be done with it.

 

“The Things We Do For Love”

Would you give up everything to be with the one you love?

Is love the metaphorical equivalent to ‘walking the plank’; a dive into uncharted waters?

For Henry, the only romance he was interested in was a life at sea, and when away from it, he strived to find sanctuary from his family and perhaps life itself.  It takes him to a small village by the sea, a place he never expected to find another just like him, Michelle, whom he soon discovers is as mysterious as she is beautiful.

Henry had long since given up the notion of finding romance, and Michelle couldn’t get involved for reasons she could never explain, but in the end, both acknowledge that something happened the moment they first met.  

Plans were made, plans were revised, and hopes were shattered.

A chance encounter causes Michelle’s past to catch up with her, and whatever hope she had of having a normal life with Henry, or anyone else, is gone.  To keep him alive she has to destroy her blossoming relationship, an act that breaks her heart and shatters his.

But can love conquer all?

It takes a few words of encouragement from an unlikely source to send Henry and his friend Radly on an odyssey into the darkest corners of the red-light district in a race against time to find and rescue the woman he finally realizes is the love of his life.

The cover, at the moment, looks like this:

lovecoverfinal1

Is love the metaphorical equivalent to ‘walking the plank’; a dive into uncharted waters?

For Henry, the only romance he was interested in was a life at sea, and when away from it, he strived to find sanctuary from his family and perhaps life itself.  It takes him to a small village by the sea, s place he never expected to find another just like him, Michelle, whom he soon discovers is as mysterious as she is beautiful.

Henry had long since given up the notion of finding romance, and Michelle couldn’t get involved for reasons she could never explain, but in the end, both acknowledge that something happened the moment they first met.  

Plans were made, plans were revised, and hopes were shattered.

A chance encounter causes Michelle’s past to catch up with her, and whatever hope she had of having a normal life with Henry, or anyone else, is gone.  To keep him alive she has to destroy her blossoming relationship, an act that breaks her heart and shatters his.

But can love conquer all?

It takes a few words of encouragement from an unlikely source to send Henry and his friend Radly on an odyssey into the darkest corners of the red-light district in a race against time to find and rescue the woman he finally realizes is the love of his life.

The cover, at the moment, looks like this:

lovecoverfinal1

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to see the planets – Episode 29

Sometimes the easiest solution…

If I was to assume the recent visit by one of the so-called pirate ships as a benchmark for transporting a person between ships, then we’d have to get closer to the larger transport vessel where our crew member, logically, was being held.

The fact I was contemplating it was after the discussion with O’Mara, which, quite frankly, was like something out of a science fiction novel.

He’d started it with, “We have been working on a plan “

The same plan, I presumed, that the Lt Colonel had been referring to, only this time with more detail.

“You might not be aware that every member of this crew has a specific marker in their system that both enables us to track where they are, within a reasonable distance, and monitor their well-being.”

I was going to ask exactly what he meant by that, but amongst the reading material I’d been given before boarding, was a paper on the advances in medical science and how this related to space travel.

We all had a series of vaccinations, and I assumed one was to give us that specific marker. I suspect another was to give us nanites that would aid in our recovery as well as maintain our health in somewhat trying circumstances.

And, no, we’re were not meant to become super-soldiers, though work was being progressed on that too.

“It gives us the ability to track our people, and, yes, the two crew members’ life signs came back when we arrived here, and we are currently monitoring the scientist. That’s to say we know where she is, and that she had not been harmed.”

There was only one point about the plan that held any concern, we just didn’t transport people, not because we couldn’t, but because of the risk. Cargo was fine, but people were a little different. There had been testing, and it had worked, but then problems occurred, and it took only the slightest of issues during the transfer, for it to go wrong. After three accidental deaths, it was decided to ban it until the process could be more refined.

Of course, in line with everything else of this ship, the transporters were the latest versions with considerably upgraded hardware. The distance was still a problem, but getting a lock onto an individual was easier with the new markers provided to this crew.

We were, for all intents and purposes, guinea pigs for the new system, something else I didn’t know until now.

The question was, would she want to be transported? The fact the pirate ships were able to transport people with success was interesting given they would only have the old equipment, but they had an incentive to use it, it was a primary means for them to escape.

And that, too, had raised another issue, they had to have a marker, not necessarily the result of a vaccination, it could be a small device, and that could only be given to them by the guards, which meant it was likely the off-world prison authority was corrupt, not unheard of since it had been contracted out. It was just another paragraph in a report that was growing exponentially in size.

The Admiral was surprised to hear from me. I thought it best, in one of those cover your rear moments, to give him a heads up on what we were planning to do.

But to a more important matter I was sure he would be interested in hearing, “The trial for running at a much faster speed was a success, and that we are closer to travelling at the speed of light. But it seems we are not the first people to do so. It seems the people who stole the plutonium have the same capability.”

“The aliens?”

“No. Our scans of their ships and personnel show they are not. We believe the ships are older vessels discarded on the edge of space, refitted, and manned by escaped convicts from the Mars mining prison.” Saying it out loud didn’t quite sound the same as it had in my head.

“Or it is the result of a country that is not exactly playing by the rules that everyone agreed to for the exploration and exploitation of space.”

“So it was known we might run into some people who have another agenda?”

“Not in that direction, no.”

“Well, it seems they have a base on or under the surface of one of Uranus’s moons called Oberon. I suspect the plutonium is to fuel their base, which is far enough out of the mainstream that we might not have discovered it for years.”

“You then have to wonder why they told you about it?”

That answer was provided in a sudden and alarming manner.

“Bridge to Captain, we have three incoming vessels, and I think they are not here for a social visit.”

To the Admiral, “I have to go. Let’s hope the weapons we have are adequate.” I cut the call, saying, “Be there ASAP. Is the gunnery sergeant at her post?”

“Yes.”

“Then tell her she has permission to return fire if they attack.”

“Very good.”

I had considered why they hadn’t attacked when they had the chance earlier, but perhaps that visit was just to return the Captain’s body. If they were privy to information about our vessel, they might know of its capabilities, and not wish to engage. Of course, there was another reason, perhaps they were waiting until all three ships were free, and assume there was safety in numbers.

Whatever the reasons, we’d soon find out.

© Charles Heath 2021

A photograph from the inspirational bin – 45

A photograph of a plane sitting on the tarmac is hardly the stuff of inspiration, is it?

Or could it be?

So, firstly, it looks like it’s at a regional airport, it’s a relatively small plane, and it’s a bleak sort of day. To qualify all that, it’s at Hobart, Tasmania, a capital city of one of the southern Australian states, but not a large one, so the airport doesn’t have airbridge gates, you still get that walk-out-to-the-plane feeling.

Not fun when it’s raining.

The aeroplane is a Boeing 717, so not very large, and the photograph was taken in June, the first month of winter.

In thriller style, to escape the mainland and try to hide out, if you’re trying to hide, coming to Tasmania might just be the ticket. Or not, if you are somewhat ostentatious.

Hobart, to a certain extent, isn’t much larger than a country town on the mainland, so to hide in plain sight might be more difficult than it seems.

If, on the other hand, you;re looking for a complete change of scenery…

Then there’s the possibility of disappearing deeper into the southern mists, getting a job as a scientist on Antarctica (or maybe something else) and leave Hobart on one of the regular ships leaving there.

In thriller speak, our protagonist could swap places with a real candidate, and head south to definitely hide away, or even for some other more sinister reason.

This was possibly the plot line of an Alistair McLean story, Ice Station Zebra, only it was the north pole.

The cinema of my dreams – Was it just another surveillance job – Episode 64

This story is now on the list to be finished so over the new few weeks, expect a new episode every few days.

The reason why new episodes have been sporadic, there are also other stories to write, and I’m not very good at prioritizing.

But, here we are, a few minutes opened up and it didn’t take long to get back into the groove.

Things are about to get complicated…


There were so many pieces to this puzzle that most of it defied logic.

According to Quigley/O’Connell, Severin and Maury were the security guards at the lab where the USB secrets originated.  Their job had been to make sure the data wasn’t stolen and failed miserably.  But the inference was made that they had helped the person smuggle the data out.

At that time the data was stolen by a male scientist and put on the USB.  That scientist had a wife, Anna. Sometime after the data removal, the male scientist was murdered, and Anna, his wife, got a hold of the USB.

Quigley/O’Connell also asserted that he believed Severin and Maury helped her smuggle the data out of the facility.  Was it possible she was having an affair with one or the other, possibly Severin.  He seemed the more potential candidate.

So fact: data is stolen, data finds its way to Anna, and Severin let her leave the complex with the data.

The next question:  when did the data go up for sale, or, as Quigley/O’Connell said, become available for the newspapers to bid on?  And, following that, when did Dobbin find out, and use O’Connell to arrange for the purchase and delivery of the data.

That then led to when Severin and Maury realised that Anna had double-crossed them because that would be the only reason why they would set up an oversight surveillance team to follow the man they assumed was going to buy the data from Anna.

Why was there a six-month hiatus?  Was it because Anna had to stay in hiding until the ruckus about the theft blew over.  Did the owners of the lab actually tell anyone what had happened?  No, it seems.

So, need to find out why it took six months to seal the deal.

Next fact, Severin’s surveillance operation swings into action when O’Connell; goes to pick up the data.  The date was specific because it had been on Severin’s calendar at the training facility.

The surveillance goes awry.

The café where the meeting is to take place explodes when a bomb goes off.  O’Connell did not go in and was spared.  Whoever was in the café was thought to be killed and the USB was lost.  Later analysis of the CCTV footage at the time showed Anna rising from the ashes.  She still has the USB.

But…

Everyone believed because O’Connell survived the explosion, he had obtained the USB and became the focus of their attention.  And forces the continuation of the surveillance operation, when I tracked him to an alley where he was shot and killed.

Question:  How did the sniper know to be at that alley for the shot?

It is at this point that O’Connell advises he is working for Dobbin.  Thus, Dobbin knows about the USB and the history of it.  Dobbin had arranged to meet O’Connell at that alley, and had he been killed by the sniper or not, was taking him away.  Dobbin no doubt discovers at this point there is no USB in O’Connell’s hands.

Inference:  Dobbin was tracking O’Connell.  He had to be, to know where he was and for his squad to get there so quickly.

New Twist:  O’Connell discovered something about Dobbin, and disappears, presumably to re-hook up with Anna, who is now Josephine.  Dobbin employs me to find O’Connell and the USB but doesn’t say why O’Connell had gone rogue.

Assumption:  Josephine/Anna kills both Severin and Maury.  Why then does she torture Maury before killing him.  He doesn’t have the USB or any information useful to her.

Fact:  Dobbin has Jan on secondment from MI6.  Why, and for what purpose.  Jan is also working with Severin.  Why?  Dobbin says she is using initiative, but what is she after?

Supposition, did Jan kill Severin and Maury.  Based on what I saw at the park when I went to see him, it looked like Jan, but when we caught her, she furiously denied the accusation.  A good act or the truth? 

And if it wasn’t her, then who did kill them, and then more recently O’Connell, and why?

Fact:  Anna still had both the USBs and was running.

Fact:  O’Connell was with Anna up to the point where he was killed.  Logically it had to be Anna, not wanting to share the five million.  Greed trumps common sense.

What was left out of all of this was Monica and what she knew of and was party to, along with her operative, Joanne.  She had always been lurking on the fringe of my investigation, but I was beginning to think I’d been tiled by Joanne the whole time.

They were not in the room, so I had only the people in front of me to fill in the gaps.

© Charles Heath 2020-2023

365 Days of writing, 2026 – My Second Story 9

More about my second novel

We are now up to the part where we introduce Isobel properly and find out why such a talented person is drifting in the doldrums of Rupert’s private detective agency.

Aside from being a once high-flying legal eagle, she is also a computer hacker, or perhaps that’s what she evolved into in a devil finds work for idle hands type person.

This hacking is going to be useful, but it’s also going to bring problems, especially when she starts tracking down Zoe.

And, it seemed she had struck up a dark online relationship with another hacker with the handle Tzar.  What are the odds he is Russian?

She’s digging for information, and Tzar helps, and, suddenly, it appears, briefly, then is gone, with a warning.  Stop digging.

And if she doesn’t.

People were coming for her.

Meanwhile, in the basement, Zoe has had enough time to devise a mask that might stave of the effects of the gas long enough to effect an escape.

And, it almost works, the mask that is.

She manages to get past all of the guards, but Romanov is waiting.

He doesn’t kill her, but he does give her some information, then leaves.  He knows how dangerous she can be, especially when wounded.

Searching for locations: Port Macquarie – Day 1 – Part 3

The old cemetery

This cemetery, no longer used, has graves dating back as far as 1821. 

Not all of the graves are identified, but there is a monument that has the names of everyone interred there.

This monument has the names of those buried and the date they were buried

Unfortunately, there are not many headstones left, and those that are there are not necessarily readable.

What I learned about writing – Some days are great, a lot are not

Great are the days when writing flows easily, and bad are the days when it doesn’t flow at all. What you’re striving for is somewhere in the middle.

If that is at all possible.

Conditions have to be conducive, which means it doesn’t necessarily follow that you can write just anywhere.

That means you need, if it is at all possible, to set up a little or big writing nook somewhere in your residence where you can write.

It doesn’t necessarily have to be free of distractions, except, of course, the electronic kind.  Of course, if you are writing on a computer of any sort,t it would be better if it were not connected to the internet, where every few seconds there’s an alert, an email, a phone call, or breaking news headlines.

Nor do you really want to be near a phone, except if you’re expecting a call from your agent telling you you just got a multi-million dollar three-film contract.

OK, I’m projecting my own desires here…

But…

A writing room or nook would to me be a room with a view, my preference overlooking the ocean high on a cliff so that I could see the roiling ocean and dhimips battling against the odds.

Distraction.

Not necessarily, but on summery days it can provide the background for a lengthy piece of prose, or even a poem, an ode to days of leisure.

And to dream…

Yes inspired.

In such a computable and familiar place, it is possible to write without hindrance.  I do not have a room with a view, but I am surrounded by a thousand books, lounge chairs, and the tools to inspire me.

Writing isn’t difficult. It’s more about getting out there because the daily routine often gets in the way

But my best writing happens at night after everyone has retired for the day, and the words come.  Often, it is no trouble to write a whole short story or several chapters of a novel.

But, then, having participated in the yearly A to Z blog month and twice yearly NANOWRIMO novel writing month has conditioned me to getting the job done. 

An excerpt from “If Only” – a work in progress

Investigation of crimes doesn’t always go according to plan, nor does the perpetrator get either found or punished.

That was particularly true in my case.  The murderer was incredibly careful in not leaving any evidence behind, to the extent that the police could not rule out whether it was a male or a female.

At one stage the police thought I had murdered my own wife though how I could be on a train at the time of the murder was beyond me.  I had witnesses and a cast-iron alibi.

The officer in charge was Detective First Grade Gabrielle Walters.  She came to me on the day after the murder seeking answers to the usual questions like, when was the last time you saw your wife, did you argue, the neighbors reckon there were heated discussions the day before.

Routine was the word she used.

Her fellow detective was a surly piece of work whose intention was to get answers or, more likely, a confession by any or all means possible.  I could sense the raging violence within him.  Fortunately, common sense prevailed.

Over the course of the next few weeks, once I’d been cleared of committing the crime, Gabrielle made a point of keeping me informed of the progress.

After three months the updates were more sporadic, and when, for lack of progress, it became a cold case, communication ceased.

But it was not the last I saw of Gabrielle.

The shock of finding Vanessa was more devastating than the fact she was now gone, and those images lived on in the same nightmare that came to visit me every night when I closed my eyes.

For months I was barely functioning, to the extent I had all but lost my job, and quite a few friends, particularly those who were more attached to Vanessa rather than me.

They didn’t understand how it could affect me so much, and since it had not happened to them, my tart replies of ‘you wouldn’t understand’ were met with equally short retorts.  Some questioned my sanity, even, for a time, so did I.

No one, it seemed, could understand what it was like, no one except Gabrielle.

She was by her own admission, damaged goods, having been the victim of a similar incident, a boyfriend who turned out to be an awfully bad boy.  Her story varied only in she had been made to witness his execution.  Her nightmare, in reliving that moment in time, was how she was still alive and, to this day, had no idea why she’d been spared.

It was a story she told me one night, some months after the investigation had been scaled down.  I was still looking for the bottom of a bottle and an emotional mess.  Perhaps it struck a resonance with her; she’d been there and managed to come out the other side.

What happened become our secret, a once-only night together that meant a great deal to me, and by mutual agreement, it was not spoken of again.  It was as if she knew exactly what was required to set me on the path to recovery.

And it had.

Since then, we saw each about once a month in a cafe.   I had been surprised to hear from her again shortly after that eventful night when she called to set it up, ostensibly for her to provide me with any updates on the case, but perhaps we had, after that unspoken night, formed a closer bond than either of us wanted to admit.

We generally talked for hours over wine, then dinner and coffee.  It took a while for me to realize that all she had was her work, personal relationships were nigh on impossible in a job that left little or no spare time for anything else.

She’d always said that if I had any questions or problems about the case, or if there was anything that might come to me that might be relevant, even after all this time, all I had to do was call her.

I wondered if this text message was in that category.  I was certain it would interest the police and I had no doubt they could trace the message’s origin, but there was that tiny degree of doubt, about whether or not I could trust her to tell me what the message meant.

I reached for the phone then put it back down again.  I’d think about it and decide tomorrow.

© Charles Heath 2018-2020