The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to write a war story – Episode 41

For a story that was conceived during those long boring hours flying in a steel cocoon, striving to keep away the thoughts that the plane and everyone in it could just simply disappear as planes have in the past, it has come a long way.

Whilst I have always had a fascination with what happened during the second world war, not the battles or fighting, but in the more obscure events that took place, I decided to pen my own little sidebar to what was a long and bitter war.

And, so, it continues…

——

Jackerby trusted no one. He had been given orders by someone further up the ranks than Wallace and his people, someone who suspected that some or all of the Englishmen turned German turned Englishmen were traitors.

The only men he could trust fully were those who had come with him in the glider, a dozen at most. It’s why he had just completed a secret briefing with his second in command who would take over the operation if anything happened to him.

Not that it would, but he liked the idea of being prepared, and humoring the others into believing they were essential to the operation. Eckhardt would be a good man in a crisis, battle scarred from the Russian front, and glad to be on this operation for obvious reasons.

He would do anything Jackerby asked, even kill Wallace and Johannsen if he was required to.

That might yet be necessary because Wallace didn’t seem interested in going after Atherton which made him think that Wallace wasn’t all that he appeared to be. Atherton was a thorn in their operation and had to be eliminated. The fact Wallace and Johannsen didn’t agree with him raised suspicions as to their motives.

Was there ultimately going to be a triple cross?

He had been lurking in the shadows when Wallace gave the drunken fool Leonardo his orders to go down to the village. More defectors. Jackerby couldn’t understand why anyone would want to leave the Reich, especially when they were winning the war, and, if it were up to him, he’d executer the lot of them not send them back.

But, orders were orders.

He went back to Eckhardt and told him he was going down to the village to observe Leonardo and his team in action, and that he was in charge of the men in his absence.

Eckhardt, on the other hand, knew that Jackerby, if he could find a way that would not cause them trouble, was going to eliminate Leonardo because they were a liability. The plan was once Leonardo and his men were gone, Jackerby would take over rounding up the defectors. Or, more to the point, they would go missing before reaching the castle. There was only one that mattered, the rest were dead weight. And once the prize had been captured, Jackerby would escort him home and collect the kudos for himself and his men.

The ultimate prize; leave to reunite briefly with their families and a cushy job in Berlin, away from the horrors of war in the trenches.

Leonardo and the five others that made up the resistance left the castle by one of the underground tunnels. Leonardo knew of two, both of them shown to him by Carlo. He knew that Carlo knew where more were, but Carlo was not particularly helpful at the best of times.

He also knew Carlo might be stupid enough to storm the castle, especially after what Leonardo had done to Martina, and, when it hadn’t happened, he suspected Atherton had appealed to him to wait.

Atherton, too, he knew had some idea of the layout of the castle, have been told to keep an eye on Atherton when he first arrived because he was reportedly an archaeologist. Leonardo had, and reported back to Wallace that it appeared Atherton had been surveying the castle. He had simply been told to keep Atherton under surveillance, and make notes of any discoveries, and particularly what Atherton was doing.

He had, not that it amounted to much. Not when he realized Leonardo was following him. Leonardo decided not to tell Wallace Atherton had rumbled him, just that he was roaming the passages looking for something.

It had worked so far and kept Wallace off his back, but it wasn’t going to last.

Bottom line, Leonardo had to find and kill Atherton before any trouble started, otherwise, it would be his neck on the block.

Jackerby followed.

It wasn’t hard to follow Leonardo because he and his man were the last people to know what stealth was. He could hear them crashing through the forest between the castle and the village up to 250 meters away, he was making so much noise.

But, Jackerby thought, perhaps Leonardo didn’t need to worry about alerting his presence to Atherton, not if he was already working with him.

To Jackerby and his paranoia, it made sense. Maybe he was going to meet with Atherton right now and do a deal with the defectors. How many others had turned up at the village in the last week or so, and never made it to the castle?

He was right, Jackerby told himself, not to trust them. Everyone, in the end, was an enemy of the Reich.

It took 20 minutes to reach the outskirts of the village, and when Jackerby could see the edge of the woods, and the barn and remains of the farmhouse just the other side of the tree line, he dropped back, found a suitable observation point, and waited.

Leonardo and his men had stopped at the back of the barn, and one of his men was about to go find the defectors. The rest of Leonardo’s men would wait with him, and surprise their guests, before taking them back to the castle.

As far as “Jackerby was concerned, they would never reach the castle, and this time, he would take care of Leonardo, and the others.

It would be easy to say that Atherton had killed all the members of the resistance, and then got killed himself in a shootout with Jackerby. It was a plausible reason for all the deaths, though he would have to come up with a suitable excuse for leaving the castle and following Leonardo and his men when Wallace had expressly forbidden it.

Wallace.

Perhaps if he got his hands on Atherton he’d ask him if Wallace was a traitor.

——-

A photograph from the inspirational bin – 5

I found this:

The innocuous explanation for this photo is that I took it at my grand daughter’s little athletics competition, now most sensibly being held on Friday evenings.

For those who don’t know how the weather can be in Brisbane, Queensland, it is generally hot, particularly from November when temperatures are between 35 and 40 degrees centigrade.

But not only is it hot but humidity, the real problem, is around 100 percent.

So at the moment we have reasonably cool evenings, ideal conditions for the young athletes.

But, where a photo could be innocuous there can a more interesting, if not sinister description.

Lurking in the back of my mind, and perhaps a lot of others, that there might be an unidentified flying object somewhere in the sky.

Of course, there might not be any, but it doesn’t mean that we stop looking, or assume, sometimes that a moving light in the sky isn’t a UFO.

And its been said that humans are quite arrogant in thinking that we are the only people in the universe.

Personally, I don’t think we are, and I keep an eye on the sky every time I’m out at night, perhaps the most likely time we might see one.

The only issue I might have is that if I am that lucky to see one, or that it lands nearby, what I would do when confronted by an alien.

And, yes, there’s definitely a story in that.

The cinema of my dreams – Was it just another surveillance job – Episode 24

I’m back home and this story has been sitting on a back burner for a few months, waiting for some more to be written.

The trouble is, 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.

Chasing leads, maybe

…

My next call was to Severin, also a number on a card.

It rang five times before he answered. “Yes?”

No name, but I recognized the voice.

“It’s Sam Jackson.”

“You have found the USB?”

“No. But I did find the flat he was supposedly living in, and it’s a front. And so clean you could eat off the floor. Nothing there. And nothing to indicate where his real residence is.”

“That’s a shame.”

“So is the discovery that you are less than trustworthy. Explain why I should continue to help. I assume Maury is your attack dog, so if you’re sending him after me, then you don’t trust me.”

“I don’t trust anyone.”

No hesitation, this was a man to be very careful around.

“That’s fine, you obviously don’t need my help. And one more thing, if I see Maury again, you won’t.”

I disconnected the call.

“That was brave,” Jan said.

“No. Just a test to see how desperate they are. I’ll give it another minute before he calls back.”

It took two minutes.

“Perhaps I didn’t think through the consequences. Let’s take a step back and reconsider the situation.”

“If you’ve got Maury trying to trace this call, then it’s going to be a series of twenty-second calls. If I find O’Connell’s second residence or even the USB, and you continue to act in this manner you will be the last to be told.”

I hung up the phone again. Not enough time to trace the call.

“Are you deliberately trying to piss him off?”

“Do you think it’s working?”

“Why?”

“Angry people make mistakes. They made one huge mistake of killing O’Connell before they knew where the USB was. I’m sure they were hoping he would have it on him. He didn’t.”

My phone rang again.

“You forget I know where you live.”

Bold move.

“Where I used to live. It was getting a little cramped anyway. Call your attack dog off and give me some room to do my job. This phone is in the bin at the end of this call, so don’t bother tracing it. I’ve got your number. Just hope I decide to call you again.”

Call terminated, and a minute later sim removed and tossed down a drain.

“Do you want to call anyone?” I asked.

“Not yet. I’ve got nothing to report.”

“Your people might have an investigation going that might involve cyber currency, and O’Connell’s name might pop up. After all, I don’t think it’s a coincidence that you were living next door”

She was trying to keep a neutral expression, but it didn’t work. She was next door for a reason, and it didn’t include looking after his cat. In fact, I was beginning to think that cat belonged to the building, and just stayed with whoever fed it.

“Despite what you might think, it was a coincidence, because after I moved in, I did a few background checks and his was too squeaky clean.

“Meaning?”

Of course, squeaky clean meant only one possibility, he had a cover identity made, and it only went back so far. Depending on the job, the background could be months old, or a year at the most.

“He was working undercover and didn’t exist three years ago. So the thing is, maybe he wasn’t investigating cyber currency, maybe he was stealing it, and someone took offense. But I never saw a computer in his flat, and you definitely need one of those if you’re a cryptocurrency trader. All I got to talk about was the cat.”

Since it’s hardly the subject you’d talk about with a neighbor, it was not surprising their discussions were mainly of domesticity.

“Was it his cat?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I think he said he found it in the flat when he arrived, and in feeding it, it just stayed. Cat’s don’t belong to people; you do realize that don’t you?”

“Never had one. And I didn’t see a cat there or signs of one.”

“I was looking after him while O’Connell was away, so he’s been in my flat.”

“Only it probably got tossed about the same time as they visited his, and if the cat had any sense, he’d run. Maury’s the sort who’d shoot the cat, just because it was there.”

“Perhaps we should go back and check. Why the sudden interest in the cat?”

“It’s the only tangible thing he owned. Sorry, he was attached to.”

“And you think the cat might be the clue?”

“Have you got a better idea?”

Not answering the question, was the answer.

“It might not be safe.”

“Then stay at the hotel and I’ll see you when I get back.”

She shook her head. “No, I’m going with you. Besides, you’ll need someone to watch your back.”

Or stab me in it if we found something.

365 Days of writing, 2026 – 17/18

Days 17 and 18 – Writing exercise

On your 18th birthday celebration, eating out with parents and brothers and sisters, your youngest sister blurts, “You do know you’re adopted.”

…

I had always been last for everything. I had three elder brothers and two elder sisters, and then there was me, tail end Charlie, my father called me, a name I didn’t quite understand.

I thought it was because there were six years between me and the older siblings.

My brothers went to the best school, all three excelling in their studies and after high school, college and university. My sisters went to the same school my mother attended, and college, but then chose marriage and children over a career.

Me, I attended grade school, middle school, high school, and had moderate success, but there was never any suggestion that I go to college.

It seemed that as the last one, I had not inherited the smarts of my other siblings and that the farming job I had with the Renfrews, out on the road to Weston, was good enough.

I barely graduated high school, and was discouraged from going to the prom, perhaps because I did not have a girl I could ask, though I suspected my siblings had ruined any chance I might have had with the one I thought would agree.

It was what it was, though I could never understand why they apparently disliked me so much. It was not overtime, but from about the time I turned ten, I began to notice a distinct separation, like I was not one of the family.

I didn’t complain.

But now, school over and prom gone, it was my 18th birthday, and I was heading into town to the family party. Not the lavish affairs that were thrown at the country club for my siblings, with practically the whole town attending, this was just a quiet meal.

Again, it wasn’t a big deal. I heard my parents talking about it one night when they thought everyone had gone to bed or was away.

The hushed voices in the main room.

“It’s not as if we can’t afford it, and he is a member of this family.”

“And if your sister…”

“What? Thrown herself at you, and you couldn’t…”

“I think I’ve more than made up for that indiscretion a hundred times over.”

“But it’s never been the same, second best, if he was lucky.”

“You know why.”

“Well, it’s wrong.”

“He’s lucky he has a home, people who care enough. Your sister, God rest her soul, was never going to cope. He’ll be moving on once Renfrew makes his job permanent, and that’ll be the end of it. God knows we’ve paid him enough.”

It was a conversation that made no sense. I had no idea that my mother had a sister, not one that was referred to in those terms.

The Renfrews had always employed me on and on over the years, but I thought I had got that job on my own merits. Perhaps then I hadn’t, but it was not a question I was going to ask

My father had been irritable of late and not well disposed towards me, and the siblings that remained at the home had taken less interest in me since the eldest John had got married and left to work in New York.

About the time he left, six years ago, things changed. I had seriously believed that the family thought I had driven him away. Certainly, on several occasions, by the youngest sister, she had insisted that I was causing unnecessary problems between ‘her’ parents.

Were they not mine too?

But the day arrived. I was in town with one of the few friends I had from school, and had agreed to join them at a particular time.

When I got there, they had all arrived and had already ordered. It was like they had decided that I was almost irrelevant.

At least there was a seat next to my mother.

She seemed to be the only one who cared whether I was there. The others were arguing over what they were getting and the merits of besting each other with the most expensive dishes.

I was never that lucky and rarely got to choose. The others would say that, as the youngest, I should be having the children’s meal. Even when I got older, it was a running joke, one that neither parent stopped.

But today I was 18. At the same time, my older brother got the keys to a new car, and a wad of money. The same sort of gifts flowed down through the others.

I had expected the same, but that morning, there was a card with seven names scrawled on it, without any well-wishes or anything. There was definitely no money, and had I been expecting a pleasant surprise now, I honestly believed that that ship had sailed

Perhaps they no longer had the money, certainly they no longer bragged about how well off they were, and the last time John was home, I had heard him asking for money, and my father telling him things were tight.

So, no car and no money. And by the look of it, no present. Of course, when the food came out, I could see that no expense had been spared for them.

It was going to be just like I had been told it would.

…

A question that I never thought would enter my head when old man Renfrew handed me a small boat wrapped in plain brown paper, tied with common garden twine.

Underneath the twine was an envelope with my name on it and the words “For your 18th birthday”. When I asked him who it was from, he simply said it was on the front porch when he came home.

That was two days before my birthday.

Inside the envelope was a card, but mysteriously, it didn’t say who it was from, and a letter in an envelope that looked quite old and yellowing at the edges. My name was written on it in rather exquisite lettering, Aloysius Charles William Henry.

What did that mean? Was my last name Henry? I didn’t think so.

Under my name was, ‘Do not open this until after your 18th family birthday party’.

I was curious, and had I not exercised the patience my mother had tried to teach the rest of her children, I might have torn the envelope open in the hope of finding a large cash reward or a loaded credit card.

It’s what seemed to motivate the other siblings.

I guess inadvertently, my parents had taught me all the virtues of patience and no expectation, but by all the wrong methods.

I then asked Mrs Refrew, who was less grumpy than her husband, and I knew she recognised the writing, and quite possibly who it was from, but she said that the good Lord had his reasons, and patience was a virtue.

So, without the benefit of whatever sage advise or revelations that lay within that envelope, I went, with a promise to myself that I would not show any emotion because I had reached the conclusion that there was something in my past that had been covered up or omitted, and that best guess, my father or mother had had an affair and I was the product of it.

It was the only explanation for my treatment over the years and the change in the way my siblings treated me, at least from six years ago. That was when they must have told them, the last of their children turning 18.

The youngest sister, still unmarried and prone to having bad relationships and bouts of drug addiction, was currently clean and had been for nearly a year, and this party was more about her achievement than my birthday.

As a reward the had given her a multi-thousand-dollar gift card. I had seen it as a put-down, and I think it was deliberate on her part just to put me in my place. I simply smiled, which seemed to annoy her.

In her sickly sweet voice, she said, “I hope you’re having a wonderful birthday.”

“Every bit as much as your year of sobriety, Anna. At least I won’t be having another 18th Birthday.”

OK. I didn’t mean to be that harsh, but I was human after all.

The dulcet tones turned into her angry squeak. “What do you mean by that?”

The table went quiet, and all eyes were on me. I’d just attacked one of their own, and the pack mentality came out. Hyenas circling the dying animal.

“Three times now. And given your choice in bad boys, I expect we’ll be back here next year. You’re only 18 once. Thankfully.”

“You’re an ass, Charlie. You do know you’re adopted and you’re not one of us. You don’t even deserve to sit at this table.”

My so-called mother looked horrified. My so-called father and the rest of them looked smug.

What were they expecting? For me to turn into a blubbing mess so they could laugh at me.

“That was uncalled for, Anna.”

“It’s true. Why did you bother wasting your time? I hope he’s not getting anything in your wills. He’s not even family.”

Then I saw something I had never seen before in my life. My so-called mother was angry.

“It depends on your definition of family, and unfortunately, no one in this family ever taught you the meaning of it.” She turned to her husband. “You promised.”

“They deserved to know.”

“Do you remember what I said back when you made that promise?”

“God, woman, that was 18 years ago. Who cares?”

“You will. And every one of these spawn of the devil you’ve created. You know who I am. You know what I gave up. Well, I suspected you had betrayed me, so I took the appropriate steps.”

She stood and looked down at me with moist eyes. She was genuinely ashamed. “Charlie. I’m sorry you had to find out this way. I was going to tell you the truth tonight. Well, it seems that time has arrived early.” Then she looked around at the sea of astonished faces. “In what you might all call a cruel twist of fate, you are all now going to pay for your father’s sins. No more money, no more handouts.” Then to her husband. “Start looking for a job. You’re going to need one.”

“Seriously, Martha, all this over a bastard son of a prostitute?”

I saw a small shudder going through her and the clenching and unclenching of fists. She was beyond angry now, and the look on her face was one of pure hatred and disgust.

“You forget one important detail. She was a prostitute who had a three-hundred-million-dollar inheritance, which she left to me to look after her son. You have all benefited. I’m willing to bet he did not tell you about the conditions that came with the benefits.”

“Anna was the one who blabbed. None of us. We’re not at fault.” John was in full panic mode, seeing his never-ending well dry up before his eyes.

She glared at him. “You sat back and laughed along with the rest of them. You are the eldest, supposed to set an example. Of what, greed, and ambivalence. All of you had a chance to prove yourselves, and you missed it. One chance. You are all cut off; there will be no inheritance. Now, get out of my sight.”

Dinner half eaten, drinks about to be served, not one of the siblings wanted to irritate her more than they already had. I suspect all of them believed, as they shuffled out, that things would be back to normal tomorrow.

My so-called father didn’t move.

Her eyes rested on him. “You don’t mean any of that; it was just a wake-up call to what I admit have been a few annoying children. But let’s face it, we both spoiled them. It’s as much….”

She picked up her glass of wine and threw it at him, the wine not the glass.

“Rethink those words, Roger. If that’s the defence you’re going with, you’re in big trouble. Leave now before I pick up the phone and call my lawyers.”

He stood slowly. “We can talk later. How will you get home?”

“Charlie can take me.”

I could see his nose wrinkle at the thought of my so-called mother being seen in a ’60s Ford truck.

Another repentant look at her, he left, joining the others out on the pavement. They hadn’t gone, still stunned from their mother’s outburst.

She sighed, then sat.

I was stunned, still trying to come to terms with what had been said. Adopted. My so-called mother had a sister worth 300 million. How? I was my mother’s sister’s child. And something else I remembered, my father was my father in a weird twist of fate.

I was, in a sense, family. But my aunt, who was my mother for all intents and purposes, hadn’t done a very good job.

…

It was five minutes, maybe more, before she spoke. I think that at that time she ran through every scenario, and not one of them would suffice.

A sigh, then, “You should be angry. I don’t think there’s anything I can say that you would believe just how sorry I am. That’s on me. I want to use the excuse that both my twin sister and I were stupid spoilt drug addled kids who honestly believed life had no consequences, that we could do whatever we liked.

“I met your father, Susannah stole him, he dumped her and picked me, then shagged her anyway. She got pregnant, couldn’t handle it, killed herself, and it was a miracle you survived. We agreed to adopt you and call you our own. After all, there was no difference between my sister and I. I just went away with you for nine months, and everything was fine.

“My problem was in marrying your father; I had to forgo my inheritance. I got an allowance, but I didn’t really care all that much about money, and let him manage it. I had no idea how much he disadvantaged you to the benefit of the others, not until a year ago, with Anna and her endless visits to rehabilitation. And all the money he’d poured into John’s black hole was caused by idiotic investments. The others are not much better.

“I’m sorry you got nothing.”

“It doesn’t matter. It taught me lessons they will never get. If you have nothing to start with, then every step up is appreciated all the more. Perhaps the best birthday present was to see them finally look as scared as I have felt all my life. It won’t hurt them, but It might be too late to make a point.”

“It’s never too late. And the point will be made. Did you get the box?”

“With a card and a letter?”

“Yes. Did you read the letter?”

“No. It said not to until after the party.”

“You have it?”

I took it out of my pocket and showed her. I knew now who it was from. My mother. My real mother.

She took it with shaking hands and tears running down her cheeks. There were eighteen years of pain etched on her face.

“I was there when you were born. She had one last breath in her; as she breathed life into you, she exhaled her last. I loved you like you were mine, until I got lost in a sea of self pity an post natal depression. We were twins; I felt her pain, I felt everything that she would have felt. I’m sorry I wasn’t made of stronger stuff.”

“I think I’ve always regarded you as my mother. Though preferring the other five, well, that took a little understanding, of which in the end I had none.”

“I come from an era of women who preferred to hide behind their husbands. It was drummed into us, but Anna was never going to be like that. Still, that’s not an excuse.” She handed the letter back.
You should read it now, then we can decide what to do.”

“Is there anything we can do?”

“Yes.”

…

If you are reading this, you will have just turned 18, a very important moment in your life.

If you have not been told, you will have been adopted by my twin sister, and she has promised me she will look after you better than I could.

I was not very good at managing anything. Our lives were ruined from the start by parents who did not care at all what happened to us, that if they threw enough money at the problem, it would go away.

Money does not solve problems; it simply amplifies them into bigger problems.

I hope she has not gone down that path. If she has, then I am sorry that I trusted her, that you did not get a life that was not as it should have been.

And if, on the other hand, she has managed to teach you the value of life, and more importantly, that it is family, those we choose and those we have to live with, and others who will have a guiding influence that will make us who we will become.

Given the five examples that constitute her current children, I’m not holding my breath that she will make a good fist of it.

Still, on my deathbed, I can only hope. Perhaps there is some afterlife where I can come down and reprimand them if they falter. You will be the judge of that. Try not to be too critical. Her upbringing, like mine, was terrible, and it’s hard to break out of a cycle you’ve known and been subject to for most of your life.

But, whatever the circumstances you find yourself in, if you are reading this letter, my sister has had the wherewithal to give it to you. It means even if she is ashamed of what happened, it cannot be so bad that you might unequivocally hate her.

In the box is a key to a safety deposit box. It is where your inheritance is. The other key’s location can be obtained from the family lawyers, name and address with the key. It can only be given to you, so you will have to undergo a DNA test and a few other identity tests that Freda will help you with.

What you do with your inheritance is up to you. I can only hope that you will not take a leaf out of my book and waste the opportunity to do some good, the good I realised far too late that I could have done.

Remember that I loved you then with all of my heart, and will to the end of tine.

Susannah.

…

“Were you that bad?”

“What did she say?”

“Your parents threw money at the problem, hoping it would go away.”

“Then yes. I married your father to break that cycle and find some normality, but he was a poor fool who found himself in a world he couldn’t cope with. My parents were right to disown me.”

“You had your sister’s fortune.”

“No. We never mentioned that to him, only that she would provide a certain sum for your upbringing. We had money, but that boost allowed helping to help indulge his children, where in the end they were no better off than my brothers and sisters were. He wanted the life I hated.”

“And by a quirk of fate, you both brought me up the way in which mother had hoped you would, by a totally different method. Resentment. I have not once ever had to thought i could have anything I wanted, not like the others. Cars, gift cards, credit cards with no limit, houses, and apartments. None 9f them really work for a living, and I can’t see how they’re going to function.”

“They can come and see you for advice on how to live within their means.”

They were still outside the restaurant, trying to come to terms with what just happened. They’d turned on Anna, then the father, then each other.

“Did you mean what you said to them?”

“Yes. No more.”

“I don’t think they quite get that. They’re still outside.”

She shrugged. “Then it’s going to be a cold day in hell tomorrow. We have a road trip. New York. I want to tell you everything about your mother before we go home, our home, where she came from, and where you will be welcomed.”

“How could that be possible?”

“That you will discover is the advantage of being a firstborn Rossiter. My sister was born three minutes before me, and therefore, is the eldest child. The eldest Rossiter then becomes the heir. You were her first and eldest child, and therefore the current heir to the Rossiter legacy.

“And you have a sister, something my husband never knew about, a twin sister. The caretaker. There is a world that my husband and my other children know nothing about because I was excommunicated.

“Because now you are of age and can accept the inheritance, if you want to, of course, there’s no obligation; it has to be your choice, you can give me the chance to come back, but that too is only at your discretion, and I will understand if you rule against it.

“But its complicated and messy and swamped with rules and protocols and its the reason both my sister and I ran away. You might too when you discover the full extent of it.”

“I can make their lives easier,” I waved a hand in their direction.

“You could, but they never made it easy for you. None of us did. By choice or by ignorance. That might never have changed if it had not been for Anna’s outburst.”

“But you said you were making changes. That means you knew you were wrong and wanted to do something about it.”

“After 16 years of neglecting my sister’s wishes?”

I shrugged. “We will have much to talk about. Shall we go? Out the back. I had a feeling, one way or another, I would be slinking out of here.”

Good to see, also, it had started snowing. It was the first of the season, and it meant Christmas was around the corner. It might not be fun at home, but as a member of the town’s Christmas committee, the pageantry, the fete, the Christmas tree plot, and charity events always made it worthwhile.

Perhaps this year I could do more.

My mother, so-called, was my mother, good and bad. She was the only mother I’d had, and I’d learned from school that it wasn’t always a luxury for all the kids there.

I gave her a hug, which surprised her, a hug that had every one of those 18 years her twin had been gone, but rather strangely was still with her in body and spirit. I realised then I didn’t have to imagine the woman I had never met because she was the woman standing there in front of me.

It was the best and only present I could ever want for what was the most memorable and remarkable birthday of my life.

…

If I only had one day to stop over in – Paris – what would I do?

Parisian Odyssey: Making Memories in 24 Hours at the Eiffel Tower
Subtitle: How to Craft an Unforgettable Day in the City of Light

Paris—the city where every cobbled street hums with history, every café table holds a story, and every landmark feels plucked from a dream. But when time is your most coveted luxury (and you’re stuck with just 24 hours), where do you begin? While the Louvre, Notre-Dame, and Montmartre all clamour for attention, there’s one icon that transcends mere sightseeing: the Eiffel Tower. More than a landmark, it’s the heartbeat of Paris. Here’s how to make your brief stopover a day you’ll remember forever.

Morning: Conquer the Iron Lady

Start your day early at the Eiffel Tower to avoid crowds. A pre-booked ticket to the top is non-negotiable—trust us, skipping the queue will save precious minutes. Ascend the 125 meters to the second floor for a panoramic view of the city: the Seine slicing through neighbourhoods, the distant dome of Sacré-Cœur, and the green sprawl of the Bois de Boulogne. If you’re energetic, the 164 steps to the first level (1,710 total to the top) are free, though the lift is worth it for efficiency.

Pro Tip: Grab a pastis or croissant from one of the restaurants on the first floor. It’s breakfast with a view!

Midday: Stroll the Champs-Élysées Backdrop

The Eiffel Tower isn’t an island—it’s a focal point for some of Paris’s most iconic scenery. Walk west toward the Champs-Élysées, a 1.2-mile boulevard that’s the epitome of Parisian glamour. Stop at the Arc de Triomphe for a photo (and climb for an even more divine view), then cruise past luxury shops like Dior and Louis Vuitton. You don’t need to spend a cent—just bask in the je ne sais quoi of Parisian elegance.

Unexpected Detour: Veer south to Trocadéro Gardens, a sprawling park with fountains and shaded paths. It’s a peaceful respite and the perfect spot to picnic with a baguette and fromage from a nearby market.

Afternoon: Seine Secrets and Hidden Gems

By 3 PM, head to the Seine River. The Eiffel Tower is visible from nearly every bridge here, but two spots are must-sees:

Pont d’Iéna (military museum) for a photo-perfect view of the tower against the sunset.
Rive Gauche Promenade for a leisurely walk past Left Bank cafés and the Institut de France.

If time allows, hop on a 1-hour Seine River cruise. As the boat glides past bridges and monuments, the Eiffel Tower will loom like a guardian, its silhouette contrasting with Haussmann-era architecture.

Evening: Twilight Magic and Farewell Glows

As dusk falls, make your way to Port de la Conférence (just south of the Eiffel Tower) or Pont National. Here, you’ll witness the tower’s daily ritual: a sparkling display every hour, where over 20,000 bulbs twinkle for five minutes. It’s romantic, awe-inspiring, and utterly unique to Paris.

Culinary Finale: Dine at a Seine-side restaurant like Le Jules Verne (inside the Eiffel Tower, reservations essential) or Café de l’Escargot for a jazz-tinged bistro vibe. Either way, you’ll cap off your day with the tower as your backdrop.

Why the Eiffel Tower?

In a day, you can’t do everything in Paris. You can’t visit every museum, every bakery, or every cabaret. But with the Eiffel Tower as your anchor, you’ll experience the city’s soul:

Iconic Energy: It’s the symbol of Paris you’ll recognise in movies, music, and literature.
Versatile Vibe: From bustling tourist hub to tranquil riverside retreat, it adapts to your dream.
Time Efficiency: Its centrality lets you explore adjacent neighbourhoods without exhausting yourself.

A 24-hour stopover is fleeting, but a day spent weaving through the Eiffel Tower’s orbit? That’s an hourglass filled with light, history, and memories.

Final Thought: Paris isn’t just seen—it’s felt. Choose the Eiffel Tower, and let it sweep you off your feet. After all, you’re not just visiting a city. You’re stepping into a masterpiece.

Bon voyage, and bon appétit!

What I learned about writing – Writing, spelling, punctuation and style are acquired over time

It’s about writing English, the perfect words, the sentences, the paragraphs, the use and abuse of punctuation.

What is it that we are supposed to start learning seriously in Grade 3 or 4 when we are 8 or 9 years old, when there are far more interesting things to learn about?

Oh, and you start to write in ink, not those terrible biros that used to leak everywhere and smudge on the page, but a real pen, nib, and ink, with ink wells that an ink monitor would fill every Monday morning, and discover what the rodent children stuffed in them.

(Usually blotting paper).

I remember my first attempt was a disaster, and the teacher sent me back to writing in pencil.

Then there were the words, adjectives, adverbs, nouns, verbs, subjects, predicates, etc.

That was four words too many.

Then there were commas, full stops, semicolons, colons, exclamation marks, question marks and other things that I think I have forgotten about.

Then all those words are so confusing, they are spelled the same, spelt differently, but when pronounced, are exactly the same to the ear. Blue, blew, so, sow, you get the idea.

I’m with Truman Capote, I do not practise what I preach!

That’s called writing style, and yes, I spell the words correctly, I review and correct any grammar errors, and then have an editor tell me it all runs like a well-oiled machine.

But that has happened only after 50 years of practise!

“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:

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.

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

But can love conquer all?

The cover, at the moment, looks like this:

If I only had one day to stop over in – London – what would I do?

One Day in London: Making the Most of Your Stopover

Are you lucky enough to have a one-day stopover in the vibrant city of London? With so much to see and do, it can be overwhelming to decide how to spend your limited time. As a seasoned traveller and blogger, I’m here to share with you the one place to visit that will make your day in London truly unforgettable: The British Museum.

Located in the heart of the city, the British Museum is one of the world’s greatest museums, housing a vast collection of artifacts from ancient civilisations. With a history spanning over 250 years, this iconic institution has something for everyone, from history buffs to curious travellers.

Why The British Museum?

Unparalleled Collection: With over 8 million objects on display, the British Museum boasts an incredible collection of artifacts from around the globe, including the Rosetta Stone, the Elgin Marbles, and the mummies in the Ancient Egypt gallery.
Iconic Landmark: The museum’s stunning Greek Revival architecture is a work of art in itself, with its grand entrance, sweeping staircases, and beautiful courtyards.
Free Admission: The British Museum offers free admission to all its permanent collections, making it an accessible and budget-friendly option for travellers.
Central Location: The museum is conveniently located in Bloomsbury, within walking distance of several major tube stations, including Holborn, Russell Square, and Tottenham Court Road.

Must-See Exhibits

The Rosetta Stone: This ancient Egyptian artifact is one of the museum’s most famous objects, and for good reason. The stone’s intricate hieroglyphics and Greek inscriptions helped scholars decipher the secrets of ancient Egyptian language.
The Mummies: The British Museum’s Ancient Egypt gallery is home to an impressive collection of mummies, including the famous Gebelein Man, who is over 5,500 years old.
The Elgin Marbles: These stunning marble sculptures from the Parthenon in Athens are a highlight of the museum’s Greek collection.

Tips for Visiting The British Museum

Plan Your Visit: With so much to see, it’s essential to plan your visit in advance. Consider purchasing a guided tour or using the museum’s mobile app to navigate the collections.
Arrive Early: Beat the crowds by arriving early, and take advantage of the museum’s peaceful morning atmosphere.
Take a Break: The British Museum has several cafes and restaurants on site, offering a range of refreshments and meals. Take a break and recharge before continuing your exploration.

Conclusion

If you only have one day in London, make the most of it by visiting The British Museum. This world-class institution offers a unique and unforgettable experience, with its incredible collections, stunning architecture, and rich history. Whether you’re a history enthusiast, a curious traveller, or simply looking for a memorable experience, The British Museum is the perfect destination for your one-day stopover in London.

So, what are you waiting for? Book your ticket, grab your camera, and get ready to discover the wonders of The British Museum!

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.