A to Z – April – 2026 – S

S is for – Speaking of the dead

…

There was no point in asking Jack.

He was the witness who had fourteen different answers for the same situation; in fact, it changed every time you asked him.

I used to think that he did it deliberately, that it was his way of avoiding responsibility, and it worked. No one asked him to do anything or asked his opinion, and that threw all of it on me, the younger and only sibling.

For that reason, I left home as soon as I could. Away from my parents, who expected so much, and my brother, who was oblivious to the problems he was causing me.

Of course, there was always going to be something to drag me back to that place.

Very early on a Saturday morning, the one day I got to sleep in, the cell phone rang at the ungodly hour of 5:03 am. I remember the time because I also remembered who was calling.

My brother Jack.

I was not in a good mood. “What?”

“Fine way to talk to me.”

“I don’t want to talk to you. Don’t call me again.” And then I disconnected the call.

I made the fatal mistake of not switching off the phone.

5:07am. Jack. He was going to keep calling. I sighed, got out of bed, picked up the phone and pressed the green answer button.

“Make it quick, I’m missing out on a much-earned sleep-in.”

“OK, if that’s the way you want it. Mum and Dad are dead.”

Jack was the original little boy who cried wolf.

“Of course they are. Are you sure they’re not at the mall shopping?” He had tried this story once before. He had half the town in uproar until they found him having coffee at a small cafe, and somehow made it all my fault. As usual.

“No. They would have told me.”

“They never tell you anything because you never can relay anything correctly. Just hang tight, they’ll be home soon enough.”

“They’ve been gone a week, nearly eight days. I think they’re dead.”

More than likely, they’d gone on a holiday, told him, and he’d forgotten or got it jumbled up in that complicated mind of his. “There’s nothing wrong with them. They will be back.”

I hung up, this time switching off the phone, and went back to bed.

…

It was never going to end there. Nothing that involved Jack did, and his calling had brought all the bad memories flooding back, bad enough that there was no point going back to sleep.

I had to wonder if, after all these years, my parents finally decided they’d had enough of him and just left. Certainly, the last time I had seen my mother, she was at the end of her tether. They had come to visit me in the big city, as they called it, and I got the impression that being away was a relief.

I tried calling my mother’s phone, and it rang out. It was charged, and on, not the state I’d expect if something had happened to her. My father didn’t have a phone; he said they were the devil’s toys to seduce us, and there were times when I agreed with him.

An hour later, my cell phone rang again. An unknown number. Usually, I didn’t answer them, but for some odd reason, I did.

“Richard Westly?”

“Yes.”

“Sheriff Jackson, Black Ridge County Sheriff’s Department. I assume you live in the old house at the end of Bridge Street?”

“I did. Haven’t been there for a dozen years or so. Why?”

Earlier this morning, the next-door neighbour came over to check on them and found the house broken into, and all three occupants were dead. We believe all three are victims of foul play.”

“All three?”

“Your father, your mother, and your brother Jack.”

“When did they die? When did Jack die? Does anyone know?”

“The medical examiner is here, and the preliminary assessment is that they have been dead between four and seven days.”

“Jack too?”

“Yes.”

“That’s impossible. I was just speaking to him about an hour ago.”

…

365 Days of writing, 2026 – Day 94/95

Days 94 and 95 – Writing Exercise

…

I had a plan.

I just didn’t have a plan B.

And, because of it, I had an extraordinary story to tell the grandchildren.

It started out with the best of intentions.

I had been talking to this girl, Wanda Richardson.

My mother would say that she was not my ‘type’, but her idea of type was someone who was way out of my and the rest of my siblings’ reach.

She thought we were ‘well-to-do’, so much so that the whole of the dating pool we all had access to was beneath us.

Or them.

I did ask once why we were not attending a ‘posh’ school instead of the local high school and got a belting from my father for sassing my mother.

Later, I discovered that my mother had come from a wealthy family that had lost all their money the generation before, but she refused to change her lifestyle.

But that was all later, when I’d gone down a path that I could never come back from.

Like I said, it all started with the best of intentions.

Friday night, Wanda worked in the Diner. Wanda’s parents didn’t have unreal expectations. I didn’t tell my parents I had feelings towards her; I knew what would happen if I did.

I’d seen my older brother Louis go down the same path; they had embarrassed him, and he had to leave town and vowed never to come back.

I was going to do the same as soon as I graduated from high school.

Friday night, I would hang out at the diner and then walk Wanda home. I wasn’t the ostensibly eligible boy, even though I was on the football team, and sometimes made up the numbers for the baseball team.

I just didn’t have that killer instinct it took to get ahead, or the parents who pushed their kids into the top spots in the team.

Academically, I would get good grades, but nothing special, even though I could get a place at a nearby college, if I wanted it.

My mother wanted mt to go to University. My father wanted me to stay in town and integrate into his business. He had hoped Louis would but he didn’t. I didn’t want to either, but it was beginning to look like I wouldn’t have a choice.

Wanda didn’t care. He parents decided she would find a nice boy, settle down, be a wife and mother, giving her parents grandchildren.

The sooner the better.

She wanted to see the world first

As the final reward of high school came to an end, we spoke of many things. They didn’t include dating, the prom, or what would happen next year.

Except this Friday, she was different.

I dropped by about half an hour before the end of her shift, busy as always, and I had a seat at the bar. I ordered a pie and a soda. The same as always.

“You should try something different,” she said as she walked past, just back from cleaning and resetting a table for the next group.

Richie Fincal and Mary, and his offsider, Mickey and Elise, Richie and Mickie in the football team, Mary and Elise in the cheerleader squad.

Children of influential families are often the cause of trouble.

Mary had tried all year to get Wanda into the cheerleaders, but Wanda had no interest. Richie was disappointed I didn’t try harder because he thought I had talent.

The coach had other ideas, and I agreed with the coach.

“I’m a creature of habit,” I said.

“You should think about trying something new. Women like their men to be more adventurous.”

That was a surprise. She often said I should try something different, bur the was the first time she mentioned anything about adventure.

“I don’t know any adventurous women.”

She gave me a hard stare, the one when I knew she was annoyed. “What am I, a librarian?”

I wondered what the significance of being a librarian meant. This year, she had changed and spoke of things I knew little about.

I had to admit that she had grown up and left me behind. For a while there, she had dated one of the football A team players and got to hang out with what were known as the cool kids.

Then they had broken up, and when I asked why, she wouldn’t tell me. It must have had some significance because she cried off and on for weeks.

“No. Too good for me. I’m sorry.”

She shook her head. “I’m going to wait on a few tables. When I come back, I expect better from you. No girl would be ashamed to have you as a friend, Billy.”

She passed by a few minutes later and put the pie with extra cream and I creams and the mistaken in front of me. “Enjoy.”

…

“You going down the cove later?” Richie stopped as the four were leaving. The others kept going.

“Thinking about it”, it was one of the few gatherings before the prom and probably the last time we’d all be in one place before graduation

Richie was just being polite. I didn’t normally go because turning up without a girl with you invited comment.

Kids could be quite horrible, especially to those perceived not to have friends.

I chose not to be too friendly with anyone.

“John’s got a couple of kegs from his dad, drinks all round. It’s going to be a good night.”

We were not supposed to be drinking beer. I’d seen two effects: some of the boys and the girls changed when they had too much. Last time there were fights, and the sheriff had his hands full.

I swore I would never go again.

“I’ll see how the night pans out.”

He saw me looking in Wanda’s direction. “She’s out of your league, Billy. Harry’s gonna ask her out tonight, so leave it be, eh.”

A pat on the back, and he was gone.

Harry was an ass. I hoped she had the sense to say no.

…

Wanda’s shift ended, and I asked her if she wanted me to walk her home.

She refilled the coffee mug while I reckon she was deciding yes or no. “I’ll sign off and get my coat.”

I finished the coffee and waited outside. When she came, Harry stepped up.

“You want to go to the cove?”

He had an interesting way of asking, direct and with no please or thank you. He just took it for granted you’d agree. She had told me he just expected she would be acquiescent. Girls were meant to do as they were told.

I guess he was a product of most men in town, my father and mother included. It was why my mother was constantly at odds with her daughters.

“Not tonight.”

“Why?”

“Do I need a reason?”

“The gutless are expecting you. I said you were coming.”

“You don’t have the right to decide what I do and don’t do.”

“That’s not how this works.”

“This is exactly how this works. Billy is taking me, you see his boat.”

“What boat?”

“His father’s boat.”

Was I? I never said I would or could, for that matter. He had banned everyone from going near it because, firstly, it was his pride and joy, and secondly, it was his hiding place from home and responsibility. He had only shown me once.

“He’s lying if he told you that.”

“He doesn’t tell me what I can and can’t do, Harry. Good night, Harry.”

The look he gave her didn’t augur well. For her or for me. Especially after Richie warned me.

…

“Why did you tell Harry about the boat?”

“Because I’m tired of him bossing me about. I told him it was over, but he just doesn’t get it. Besides, you can show me where it is, what it looks like.”

“But you told him a lie?”

“And you can make it the truth. This is your one chance to prove to me you care about me, Billy. I’m sick and tired of being disappointed by every boy in this place.”

The gauntlet had been thrown down.

And to be honest, I should have taken a little longer to consider the consequences, but here’s the thing, I felt like this was the first and possibly the only chance to find true love.

As much as any teenager who’d never experienced it before, and was feeling a range of sensations that had no rational explanation.

Of course, I had absolutely no idea what love was, but I did have these feelings towards Wanda, and I assumed that it was love.

“I didn’t know you were interested in me or in boats, or anyone else.”

“There is a lot you do not know about me that anyone knows or has taken the time to find out. Take me home, and then I will meet you near the Fisherman’s Cooperative.”

I knew the place.

Her grandfather had a small chandler’s store next to the Fisherman’s Cooperative, which I had collected from her one weekend when she asked me to take her home, after visiting her grandparents.

She had been upset at the time, and I had got the impression she had been in an argument with Harry and had gone to be with her grandparents rather than her parents.

I found her grandparents to be far more reasonable people, and that her parents were much like mine, with unreasonable expectations.

After doing as she asked, I left her at the front gate and then slowly made my way to the wharf precinct. Standing on the wharf, it was possible to see the cove and the bonfire in the middle of the sand, looking almost like a signal to guide a ship in or away from the rocks.

There was a lighthouse on the point.

It was dark, and the wharf was lit by a series of single bulbs that didn’t cover much area. From the car park it looked like a weird if lights heading out to sea.

When I arrived, the full moon was out and made it very bright, but since my arrival, dark clouds had rolled in from the horizon out to sea, blocking the moon. Then, lightning appeared, way out to sea, putting on a spectacular light show.

Just after the first cracking of lightning appeared to hit the end of the wharf, the lights sent out, the breeze picked up, and you could feel the rain in the air. Wanda appeared beside me, almost scaring me.

“You’re jumpy,” she said.

“It’s a bit spooky in the dark, and the storm that’s going to hit very soon.”

“I’d been quite warm. What’s not to like about cooling rain?”

What indeed. Clearly, the thunder and lightning didn’t bother her.

“So, show me this boat.”

It was moored a short distance from the wharf and an area with a series of sea anchorages. My father didn’t like the idea of mooring in the marina bays because when he had, and a storm hit, it caused a lot of damage.

Riding it out moored to a block on the sea floor and a stabilising anchor seemed much safer.

The sea had been rising with the increased onshore wind, and while the moon had been out, old could see the sea-anchored boats rocking on the waves.

There were several people aboard their boats, but if the seas got higher, they might have to row ashore.

I took her to the middle of the wharf, where there were steps down to the sea, now washing over the bottom level, usually a foot over the water level.

The tide was coming in and would be at its highest in another two hours. If the waves got higher, they would break over the wharf itself. It had happened twice in the last year.

A bolt of lightning illuminated the bay, and I pointed to the boat. A crash of thunder, followed by more lightning, gave her an extended view.

“That’s not a boat. That’s more of a dinghy.”

What did she know about boats?

“It’s quite large when you are aboard.”

Rain started, just drops, picked up by the gusty wind. I turned to tell her we’d better find cover, to find her on the other side of the wharf, looking towards the beach party.

The bonfire was blazing, the flames picked up by the wind. There were quite a few people there, defying the weather.

“They’re going to get wet,” she said.

“I don’t think they care. Two kegs of beer make people apparently waterproof.”

“And stupid.”

Last time I went on one of Richie’s beach parties, more than innocence was lost.

I saw Wanda shudder.

“Bad experience?”

She didn’t say anything, bur it wondered if the tears were from the rain or horrible memories.

Another gust of wind, and the rain increased.

“We’d better find cover,” I said.

She stepped closer and wrapped her arms around me. In my ear, she whispered, “Hold me.”

I did as she asked and we stood there, in the rain and the wind, her head on my shoulder, and I could feel her shuddering.

It was more than just the cold.

Then she spoke again, and it was like we were in a cone of silence. I could hear nothing else but her words, “I think I’m pregnant. I don’t know what to do. I can’t tell anyone, and the fact that you are holding me now is the only reason I haven’t thrown myself off the end of the pier.”

…

The rain didn’t matter, it was the least of her concerns, and it want bothering me. It had been hot during the day, and the storm was expected.

I gave her time, waiting until she wanted to speak, or not. It had taken great courage to tell someone who, in truth, wasn’t all that close or had earned her trust.

But then, who could she trust with that news?

I felt her move slightly, and she looked at me.

“What do I do? What can I do?”

“Breathe for starters.”

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Her eyes were watery, tears leaving streaks down her cheek. There was a look of utter despair in her expression.

“Does anyone else know?”

“That Harry raped me, only my grandparents, who are sworn to secrecy. They don’t know about the baby.”

“Are you sure?”

“As anyone can be. Things happen or don’t happen, and it didn’t happen.”

It was about as oblique an answer she could give me. I wondered if my sisters knew what she was talking about.”

“But it might not be the case?”

“I have to go with the worst-case scenario.”

“Right. How long before anyone can tell?”

“One of my cousins got pregnant, and my mother said she knew the moment she saw her. You’re supposed to have this glow thing. Do I look like I’m glowing?”

I shook my head. “You look very wet, I’ll say that much.” I think it was the first time I realised that it was raining.

She smiled. It was a sad smile, but it broke the gloom. “Can we run away somewhere?”

“Would you want to run away with me? I mean, we know each other, but,” I shrugged, “if you believe you can trust me, I’ll do anything you ask of me.”

“Can I trust you?”

It was as an interesting question. I had never been put in a position where someone had to take me at face value. I mean, I hadn’t done anything wrong, not like Richie and his cohorts, but then girls hadn’t taken much of an interest in me.

“I give you my word I would never knowingly hurt you. I can’t say the same for my parents, though.”

“Nor could I mine, but it’s as much as I can expect. We are both so not ready for this, but it have been thinking about what I was going to do. The thing is, he’s just going to deny it, and being the son of a deputy sheriff, who’s going to believe me?”

She was right. Harry was almost untouchable, and Richie and his friends fed off that implied immunity. It was wrong, but it was a small town. Her word against his, and the others who would close ranks, iy was to was easier just to disappear.

“Then we need a plan.”

“You’ll help me?”

“Anything to get out of going to the Prom, yes. But, sure, I’m sure I can come up with something.”

She kissed me on the cheek. “You know, I could get to love you.”

…

A to Z – April – 2026 – R

R is for – Release

…

I woke up that morning believing it would be the first day of the rest of my life.

I stretched and luxuriated in the comfort and warmth of the bed, after a dozen years of suffering a very hard, uncomfortable, cold cot, if it could be called that.

Prison life had been harsh. Being unjustly imprisoned had been harsher, and the years of battling to have the evidence that finally exonerated me finally paid off.

Release.

Perhaps it was not a coincidence that the day I stepped out of the prison was the day the snow started, the first of the season, bringing with it the winter chill. I would not have survived another winter in that place.

Perhaps it was also not a coincidence that the ex-girlfriend of the man I had supposedly murdered in a jealous rage arrived on my doorstep the same day I was released. It was her evidence, circumstantial at best, but convincingly relayed in the courtroom, a performance even the newspapers said was worthy of an Academy Award.

She still firmly believed I was guilty, evidence or not, and that I would be damned to hell.

That might be true, but not from the so-called murder of her ex-boyfriend, but the deeds I had to do to survive in what could only be described as hell on earth. I tried to tell her that I’d paid my dues, as unjust as they were, and that was the end of it. She had got her pound of flesh.

The parents of the ex-boyfriend were not as unforgiving and wished me well. They had never believed that I was guilty, no surprises because their son and I had been the best of friends from a very early age, when they moved into the house next door.

Those years were gone, as was the house, and everything else. It had been burned to the ground by a bunch of vigilantes riled up by Samantha, who marched on the house just before my arrest. Nobody was blamed for the deaths of my parents, caught in the fire, but the judge did admonish Samantha in a monologue that all but handed the blame to her. It was, he said, going to be a battle for her conscience.

Now I had nothing.

My lawyer said it was a clean slate, and to put what I needed into a backpack, and get on the first train out of town. There was nothing for me, no reason to stay.

The very thought in my mind when I woke and looked out at the sea of white, and the steady downfall of snow drifting down from the sky. The forecast was snow for a day or so, then clearing. It would halt the trains, so I would be here for at least another day.

Enough time for Samantha to round up another mob and come burn down the hotel.

That was reason enough not to get out of bed.

Except…

The phone beside the bed rang, one that had a shrill insistence about it.

I slipped out from under the covers, shivered slightly in the cool morning air, then picked up the receiver.

“Yes?”

“There’s a Miss Whales here to see you.”

Miss Whales. It was a name that lurked on the fringe of my memory, in the life before prison section, and was not quite coming to me.

“Did she state her business?” I assumed it was a reporter here to get my story, one that they were hoping, no doubt, I would be suing the state for false imprisonment.

“No, but she is insistent she sees you.”

“OK. I’ll be down in fifteen minutes.”

…

During the time it took to throw on some warm clothes, I ran the name through my recollection of people I’d met, and her name didn’t come up. I expect she was a reporter, or perhaps a junior from a law practice looking to get me to hire them for the law case against the state.

I took the stairs; it was only two floors worth, and I needed to warm up. For some reason, the passageways and then the foyer felt cold. The front desk clerk saw me step off the last stair and nodded over towards the fireplace, where some large logs were burning.

Sitting on one of the chairs was a woman, about my age, who looked like someone’s mother. I had no doubt she would appear to be disarming and polite, but then strike like a cobra. It was how I came to view both Lawyers and reporters.

She had seen me coming from the stairs and stood as I approached.

“Mr Peverell?”

“You could hardly mistake me for anyone else.” Maybe not the first words I would have said, but I was still tired and steeling myself for a pitch.

I saw her mentally brush aside my attitude and smile. “How are you this morning, not that the weather is being polite.” I saw her glance outside through the large panoramic windows. The carpark was slowly disappearing.

“Not the sort of day to be out on a whim,” I said. I still couldn’t place her.

“No, indeed. Please,” she motioned to a chair by the fire, two together.

I sat. She sat, then arranged the layers. It had to be quite warm with the coat she was wearing. She had removed the fake fur hat. It actually looked good on her.

“What is so pressing that you had to see me?”

“I need your help.”

“How could I possibly help you or anyone with anything. You do realise I have just spent twelve years locked away from the real world. I’m lucky to remember my name, let alone anything else.”

Yes, the warden and his officers had tried very hard to take everything from all the other prisoners, some of whom would never get out of that prison.

“Of course. But let me introduce myself. My name is Bettina Whales. I’m a private investigator, and I have been commissioned to find out who murdered David Lloyd-Smythe.”

Odd, but then, it just occurred to me that now I was exonerated, the real killer was still out there. It had been on my mind briefly the day before, but I decided I was over it. The murder had robbed me of 12 years of my life. Enough was enough.

But there was an element of curiosity. “By whom?”

“Your wife, of course.”

I shook my head. She had dumped me so fast once I was arrested, it made my head spin. Of course, her parents had probably kidnapped her and kept her prisoner from the day I was arrested until yesterday, but I thought if there was a way she could just tell me why she had abandoned me, it might have been tolerable, but she didn’t.

I had decided long ago that she was gone, and I would never see her again.

I shook my head. “I don’t believe you. You are here for some other reason; one I’m not going to like.”

She smiled. “She said you’d say that. And I’ll admit when she explained why you would, I had to say I agreed with you. But she can tell you herself. She’s right over there, coming in the door.”

I stood, faced her, and watched mesmerised. Twelve years had not aged her, not like they had me, and she still had that ability to take my breath away. And she still could command a room simply by walking through it. All eyes, and particularly the men, were on her.

Then she was in front of me. That loose way of standing, the smile, the disarming manner.

“You thought I had forgotten you?”

“I didn’t know what to think, other than a part of me had died.”

“And I am sorry about that, but you know my parents. I had to disappear, lest shame be brought upon the family. Been in Europe, in a castle no less. It took me an age to find the people running your case to get you out, and then I had to surreptitiously hire an army of lawyers. The lady behind is the one who found the evidence that got you off. She’s the best of the best. Now we’re going after the person who put you there, the real killer.”

Just like in the old days, the take-charge girl, even if you didn’t want to do anything. She, like her father, had no ‘off’ button.

“And if I don’t want to?”

“Don’t be silly, Pev.” She looked at the private investigator. “Get yourself a room if you haven’t already. Pev and I had things to talk about.” She looked back at me. “I can see you threw something on, so we can go back to your room and talk. Or whatever.” She took my hand. “We have twelve years to catch up. Then we’re going to hunt down the bastard that took you away from me. Miss me?”

I gave her hand a squeeze. “I did.”

She smiled. “Good. I hope you have a good room.”

…

365 Days of writing, 2026 – My Story

An old story resurrected

…

Eight out of eight passengers and crew never thought they’d find themselves in what was, literally, a life and death situation.

The air hung heavy with cigarette smoke, for nearly all smoked (and some for the first time). Tension thickened the atmosphere to a point where it could almost be cut with a knife.

In the deathly quiet, all had time to reflect on the fate that had befallen them, and the resume of events read like the script of the archetypal disaster movie.

The first hint of trouble came when they’d lost one engine. The pilot had been quite nonchalant about it because, he said, they had three others. Only Harry thought he could detect a note of apprehension in his tone.

Then, after a short time, they lost another engine.

An hour later, they crashed.

Of the eight, during those precious seconds before impact, none believed they would survive, that only the pilot and co-pilot perished. All admitted it had been a spectacular piece of flying on the pilot’s part, all, that is, except Rawlings.

…

“A fine mess this blasted pilot has got us into,” Rawlings said for the umpteenth time. No one had taken much notice before, and it was debatable whether anyone was taking notice now, for Rawlings had hardly endeared himself to the other passengers.

As the only person travelling first class, he made sure he received the best service (and the only one to receive any service, for that matter) from the moment he came on board. The fact that the airline had allocated only one stewardess for the flight was the airline’s (and his fellow passengers’) problem, not his.

“After telling us how clever you are, Rawlings, why don’t you do something about it?” An indistinguishable voice came from the rear of the plane. It was an indication of the undercurrent of hate simmering beneath the icy calm.

Rawlings, still in the forward section of the plane, glared at the group, trying to put a face to the voice. “To whom am I speaking?”

No one replied.

“No matter.” He shrugged it off. “Had the pilot managed to get the plane down in one piece, I could. Since he didn’t, you can be assured I’ll think of something, which is more than I can say for some.” It was, to him, a simple statement based on his assessment of the situation, but it served only to further alienate him from the others.

…

Harry had known better days, and, not for the first time, he wished this were one of them. He’d had a premonition the previous night when he’d woken, bathed in sweat, an unconscious warning of an impending disaster.

Not that the threat of death was significant to him, for he knew it would come eventually, despite the doctor’s optimism, but not yet, not here, in the middle of nowhere, atop a mountain range in the freezing cold.

He glanced at his fellow passengers, a curious mixture of travellers he’d ever met.

Rawlings was the egotistical, bombastic, thorough son-of-a-bitch. He had gone out of his way to make the trip as miserable as possible for the others. Status, to him, was all-important, even after the crash.

Harkness, Rawlings’ assistant (and relegated to Economy class because he was a servant), was the sort who said little and suffered a lot. His defence of the pilot had caused Rawlings to ‘vent his spleen’ on him, after which, to Harkness, the silence must have been golden.

Daphne and her mother, Mrs Gaunt, two of the three women on board, were congenial, cheerful people who bore up well considering they were terrified out of their wits. Daphne, in fact, had taken over stewardess duties for the Economy passengers, a job much appreciated by them.

The remaining two passengers, geologists, were odd sorts who arrived late and drunk. After taking off, they’d fallen asleep and, in fact, had slept through the crash. They were, Harry thought, in for one hell of a shock when they finally woke.

Above all, however, the stewardess had fared the worst, after the pilots, having, after the discovery of the death of the pilots, become hysterical. It was an interesting development because she had kept a tight, calm grip on the situation all through the calamity.

Harry huddled closer under his blanket, only to remember his sore arm. He didn’t think it was broken, but it certainly felt like it. And the hell of it was, he couldn’t remember how it happened. He shuddered as a gust of icy wind came through the rent in the fuselage near his seat. But it was not only the cold which left him with almost uncontrollable shakes – it was also the onset of shock.

In the back of his mind, he relived those cataclysmic minutes after successive engines failed. It was then he wished he hadn’t been so insistent on having a window seat.

As the plane lurched sickeningly, the pilot calmly said they’d have to land immediately. Of course, he added equally as calm, it would be difficult in mountainous country. However, they were fortunate it had been snowing recently. All except Rawlings took the news with equanimity. It was odd, someone said later, that with all his knowledge and self-praise, Rawlings didn’t take over the plane and fly them to safety.

The plane was barely in the air when the order came to brace themselves, and all were prepared when the plane hit the ground moments later.

The plane came to rest abruptly in a snow-covered valley; the silence, after the cacophony of tearing metal and involuntary screams, was almost maddening. The first realisation each had was that they were still alive – the second, the icy wind coming in through the large cracks in the fuselage.

Harry was the first to move himself into action and to make an appraisal of the situation. The other passengers were more or less unharmed, except for the stewardess, who was slightly dazed. Then, Harkness joining him, he went forward to the flight deck. When they managed to wrench the door open, they were greeted by a scene of total destruction. Both pilots were dead, unrecognisable in the mass of twisted wreckage. Harry quickly reclosed the door before he was physically ill.

At least it explained why the plane had stopped so abruptly: they’d crashed into a rock in the last stage of the slide. It was miraculous that the plane hadn’t caught fire.

Harry had no intention of taking charge; it just happened. He told the others what the situation was, briefly and down to earth and then suggested they search for food and other items such as blankets. Everyone noted Rawlings’ lack of enthusiasm to help, and if it had not been for Daphne, he would not have received blankets or food. Most ignored him, wondering at the fact that he could still be so aloof in such tragic circumstances.

Because of the cold, they quickly organised themselves so they could wait for their rescue. It wouldn’t, they reasoned, relatively cheerfully, be long.

…

Whilst the others may have considered Rawlings little more than a pain in the neck, it would have surprised them to learn that he despaired for them. He couldn’t understand their attitude towards him, for all he wanted to do was make them feel better, and, if he could, help.

But there was little chance of that occurring, and, in fact, as much chance as him receiving the treatment he considered he deserved. It was clear in his own mind that there were two types of people in the world: the leaders and the led. By virtue of his station in life, he was one of the leaders. Why, he asked himself rhetorically, didn’t they realise that? He glared at them, all studiously ignoring his presence. There was, he thought bitterly, little prospect of getting any assistance from those people.

…

Conditions were unbearable during the first night. Darkness had fallen quickly, and with no hot food to ward off even a fraction of the coldness that had settled on them, their relatively good spirits quickly dissipated.

To Harry (and the others) the night seemed interminable, and he found it impossible to sleep for any length of time. He was shaking uncontrollably, despite the warm clothing and number of blankets, and, as dawn broke, he wasted no time getting up and about to get his circulation going again, urging the others to do likewise. It was something he remembered having seen in a film once: if the cold was allowed to take over, a person quickly succumbed and died.

His first venture outside was something of an experience. In the first instance, it was colder outside than in, if that was possible, and in the second, the landscape was as bleak, in his opinion, as their prospects of rescue.

After trekking some distance through the rather solid snow and up a rise, he found he had a good view of the plane, and the fact that there were, strangely, no trees from one end of the valley to the other. The same could not be said for the surrounding country. It seemed an impossibility that the pilot had been able to find such a place, and, desperately unlucky, he should hit the only rock Harry could see in the line of the plane’s path.

The plane was half covered in snow. It was apparent it had been snowing during the night, and by the look of the sky, more was on the way. Low clouds continually swept through the valley, obscuring everything from view, and that, he considered, would make discovery from the air nigh on impossible.

What it really meant was that they would have to come up with their own plan of action rather than wait for hypothermia to take its toll. It was something he had been thinking about most of the night, but he had been unable to progress to any sort of workable alternatives.

During a clear period, Harry saw Harkness coming towards him slowly. He was rapidly gaining respect for Harkness, as he was not only surprisingly cheerful (despite being blunted by the more dominant Rawlings) he was resourceful.

By the time he reached Harry, he was out of breath and needed a few minutes to recover. Harry noted he looked a good deal older than he had first estimated.

“What a hike, but it sure beats the hell out of waiting down there,” Harkness said when he’d recovered sufficiently, nodding towards the wreckage. “And, God knows how, I feel warm.”

“So do I. It was one of the reasons I came here.”

“Those two geologists, or whatever they are, are finally awake. Boy, you should have seen their faces. One swore he’d give up drink forever.”

“He may get his wish sooner than he thinks.”

“You don’t rate our chances of discovery high, eh?”

“Take a look.” Harry beckoned to the mist, swirling through the valley, obliterating everything in their view. Harry, in fact, could hardly see Harkness.

“Yes. I see what you mean. What do you think we should do?”

“God knows. But one thing is for sure, I don’t think we can afford to sit and wait for someone to come and find us. Not under the current circumstances, with more snow imminent. It’ll take only another fall to completely hide us from any viewpoint.”

Harkness looked at the sky, then at the surroundings, and nodded in agreement, adding, after a minute, “It seems odd this is the only part of the country that’s clear of trees. Do you think there’s any significance in that?”

“Exactly, would you believe, what I was thinking?”

“Do you think we might be near help?”

“Who knows. But, because of the urgency of the situation, I think we should find out. The question is who the ideal person is.” There was, however, no doubt in his mind.

…

“You’re mad, stark, staring mad,” Rawlings said when Harry told the others of the plan he and Harkness had formulated on their way back to the plane.

“I agree there is an element of risk….”

“Risk?” Rawlings exploded. “Risk? It’s bloody suicide. My own view is that we should sit tight. We have enough to eat, and we’re relatively warm. It won’t be long before the search parties are out now we are overdue.”

“You haven’t been outside. Circumstances dictate that we must seek help. It’s been explained in detail. If you cannot understand the situation, then don’t interfere.” Harkness glared at his old chief, for the first time feeling more than a match for him. Rawlings would never again dominate him.

“Then you’re fools, as are all the rest of you if you condone this idiocy. I wash my hands of it.” And he ignored them, going back to his book. If that Davidson character wanted to kill himself, that was his business.

There were no other objections. The others understood the realities of the situation, both Harkness and Harry had explained at length. Harry would seek assistance. Harkness would do his best to keep the others alive.

Then, after a good meal (in the circumstances) and taking enough food for two days, Harry left. At the top of the rise, he stopped, briefly, looking at the scene. It was, he thought, exactly as it had been in the dream.

For two days, it had snowed continuously. The sub-zero temperatures had virtually sapped them all of whatever energy they had left, and, on the morning of the third day, they were all barely alive

At the end of the second day, Harkness had requested everybody to huddle together, including the standoffish Rawlings, who finally agreed, despite inner misgivings. It was probably this single action that saved them.

Harkness, though he said nothing, had given up hope that Harry would still be alive. No one could have survived the intensity of the blizzard.

Harkness had woken to inky darkness and a death-like silence, the storm having abated. His first thought was that he had died, but that passed as the cold slowly made itself felt. Soon after, finding his torch still worked, he roused everyone and cajoled or browbeat them into doing their exercises to ward off frostbite.

It was then that they heard the strange throbbing sound, and Harkness instinctively went to go outside and found they’d been snowed in. As the throbbing sound passed over them again, Harkness didn’t need to ask for assistance to make an opening in the snow. They frantically dug their way through; luckily, the snow wall was only of powder-like consistency. Not long after daylight showed through, and then Harkness was out. But the plane, or what he assumed to be a plane, had gone.

Instead, he was alone, by the snow mountain that covered the plane, greeted by a perfectly blue sky and the sun’s rays. It was, he thought wryly, perfect skiing weather, but awfully lonely if no one could see where you were.

In a minute, he was joined by Daphne, and the disappointment was written on her face. They waited, wordless, by the plane for an hour, glad to be out of the confined space of the fuselage, and were, at various times, joined by the others, escaping what Mrs Gaunt had said (now, after the rescue plane had gone) would probably be their grave. The disbelief and joy of having survived the crash had now worn off, and Harkness knew that if they had to try to survive another night, some might not make it.

He was alone, striking out for the rise when the throbbing sound returned, coming from behind him. And judging by the sound, it could not be a plane. It was too low and too slow. Thus, he was not surprised when a helicopter hovered over the rise and slowed as the occupants sighted him waving frantically, and yelling, quickly being joined by the others.

They all couldn’t believe they’d been rescued, all, that is, except Rawlings. In every instance, Rawlings had been the exception, and it was not to his credit. He was the only one who had suffered severely from frostbite. He was, however, the one to say, when they finally reached what he called civilisation, that he’d been right: that all they had to do was sit tight and wait. They’d be rescued sooner or later.

That was when the leader of the rescue operation shattered his illusion – and shocked everyone else. “That’s not necessarily so, Mr Rawlings. You would have been discovered, but late in spring, after the thaw. The plane was terribly off course, and to be honest, after the second day, we’d given up any real hope of finding you. The country around here is very rugged. No, you owe a great deal to a fellow called Davidson.”

“Davidson, you say?” Harkness muttered. “He’s alive?”

“Unfortunately, no. He died soon after he told us about the plane and where it had crashed. If he hadn’t, you’d still be there.”

“My God.” Harkness slumped into a chair, only barely able to hear Rawlings say, quietly, “I told him it was suicide, but no one listened to me. Suicide, I said. And, as for that damn pilot…..”

…

A to Z – April – 2026 – R

R is for – Release

…

I woke up that morning believing it would be the first day of the rest of my life.

I stretched and luxuriated in the comfort and warmth of the bed, after a dozen years of suffering a very hard, uncomfortable, cold cot, if it could be called that.

Prison life had been harsh. Being unjustly imprisoned had been harsher, and the years of battling to have the evidence that finally exonerated me finally paid off.

Release.

She still firmly believed I was guilty, evidence or not, and that I would be damned to hell.

Now I had nothing.

My lawyer said it was a clean slate, and to put what I needed into a backpack, and get on the first train out of town. There was nothing for me, no reason to stay.

Enough time for Samantha to round up another mob and come burn down the hotel.

That was reason enough not to get out of bed.

Except…

The phone beside the bed rang, one that had a shrill insistence about it.

I slipped out from under the covers, shivered slightly in the cool morning air, then picked up the receiver.

“Yes?”

“There’s a Miss Whales here to see you.”

Miss Whales. It was a name that lurked on the fringe of my memory, in the life before prison section, and was not quite coming to me.

“Did she state her business?” I assumed it was a reporter here to get my story, one that they were hoping, no doubt, I would be suing the state for false imprisonment.

“No, but she is insistent she sees you.”

“OK. I’ll be down in fifteen minutes.”

…

She had seen me coming from the stairs and stood as I approached.

“Mr Peverell?”

“You could hardly mistake me for anyone else.” Maybe not the first words I would have said, but I was still tired and steeling myself for a pitch.

“Not the sort of day to be out on a whim,” I said. I still couldn’t place her.

“No, indeed. Please,” she motioned to a chair by the fire, two together.

I sat. She sat, then arranged the layers. It had to be quite warm with the coat she was wearing. She had removed the fake fur hat. It actually looked good on her.

“What is so pressing that you had to see me?”

“I need your help.”

“How could I possibly help you or anyone with anything. You do realise I have just spent twelve years locked away from the real world. I’m lucky to remember my name, let alone anything else.”

Yes, the warden and his officers had tried very hard to take everything from all the other prisoners, some of whom would never get out of that prison.

“Of course. But let me introduce myself. My name is Bettina Whales. I’m a private investigator, and I have been commissioned to find out who murdered David Lloyd-Smythe.”

But there was an element of curiosity. “By whom?”

“Your wife, of course.”

I had decided long ago that she was gone, and I would never see her again.

I shook my head. “I don’t believe you. You are here for some other reason; one I’m not going to like.”

Then she was in front of me. That loose way of standing, the smile, the disarming manner.

“You thought I had forgotten you?”

“I didn’t know what to think, other than a part of me had died.”

Just like in the old days, the take-charge girl, even if you didn’t want to do anything. She, like her father, had no ‘off’ button.

“And if I don’t want to?”

I gave her hand a squeeze. “I did.”

She smiled. “Good. I hope you have a good room.”

…

“The Things we do for Love”, the story behind the story

This story has been ongoing since I was seventeen, and just to let you know, I’m 72 this year.

Yes, it’s taken a long time to get it done.

Why, you might ask.

Well, I never gave it much interest because I started writing it after a small incident when I was 17, and working as a book packer for a book distributor in Melbourne

At the end of my first year, at Christmas, the employer had a Christmas party, and that year, it was at a venue in St Kilda.

I wasn’t going to go because at that age, I was an ordinary boy who was very introverted and basically scared of his own shadow and terrified by girls.

Back then, I would cross the street to avoid them

Also, other members of the staff in the shipping department were rough and ready types who were not backwards in telling me what happened, and being naive, perhaps they knew I’d be either shocked or intrigued.

I was both adamant I wasn’t coming and then got roped in on a dare.

Damn!

So, back then, in the early 70s, people looked the other way when it came to drinking, and of course, Dutch courage always takes away the concerns, especially when normally you wouldn’t do half the stuff you wouldn’t in a million years

I made it to the end, not as drunk and stupid as I thought I might be, and St Kilda being a salacious place if you knew where to look, my new friends decided to give me a surprise.

It didn’t take long to realise these men were ‘men about town’ as they kept saying, and we went on an odyssey. Yes, those backstreet brothels where one could, I was told, have anything they could imagine.

Let me tell you, large quantities of alcohol and imagination were a very bad mix.

So, the odyssey in ‘The things we do’ was based on that, and then the encounter with Diana. Well, let’s just say I learned a great deal about girls that night.

Firstly, not all girls are nasty and spiteful, which seemed to be the case whenever I met one. There was a way to approach, greet, talk to, and behave.

It was also true that I could have had anything I wanted, but I decided what was in my imagination could stay there. She was amused that all I wanted was to talk, but it was my money, and I could spend it how I liked.

And like any 17-year-old naive fool, I fell in love with her and had all these foolish notions. Months later, I went back, but she had moved on, to where no one was saying or knew.

Needless to say, I was heartbroken and had to get over that first loss, which, like any 17-year-old, was like the end of the world.

But it was the best hour I’d ever spent in my life and would remain so until I met the woman I have been married to for the last 48 years.

As Henry, he was in part based on a rebel, the son of rich parents who despised them and their wealth, and he used to regale anyone who would listen about how they had messed up his life

If only I’d come from such a background!

And yes, I was only a run away from climbing up the stairs to get on board a ship, acting as a purser.

I worked for a shipping company and they gave their junior staff members an opportunity to spend a year at sea working as a purser on a cargo ship that sailed between Melbourne, Sydney and Hobart in Australia.

One of the other junior staff members’ turn came, and I would visit him on board when he would tell me stories about life on board, the officers, the crew, and other events. These stories, which sounded incredible to someone so impressionable, were a delight to hear.

Alas, by that time, I had tired of office work and moved on to be a tradesman at the place where my father worked.

It proved to be the right move, as that is where I met my wife. Diana had been right; love would find me when I least expected it.

…

365 Days of writing, 2026 – My Story

An old story resurrected

…

Eight out of eight passengers and crew never thought they’d find themselves in what was, literally, a life and death situation.

The air hung heavy with cigarette smoke, for nearly all smoked (and some for the first time). Tension thickened the atmosphere to a point where it could almost be cut with a knife.

In the deathly quiet, all had time to reflect on the fate that had befallen them, and the resume of events read like the script of the archetypal disaster movie.

Then, after a short time, they lost another engine.

An hour later, they crashed.

…

Rawlings, still in the forward section of the plane, glared at the group, trying to put a face to the voice. “To whom am I speaking?”

No one replied.

…

He glanced at his fellow passengers, a curious mixture of travellers he’d ever met.

In the back of his mind, he relived those cataclysmic minutes after successive engines failed. It was then he wished he hadn’t been so insistent on having a window seat.

The plane was barely in the air when the order came to brace themselves, and all were prepared when the plane hit the ground moments later.

At least it explained why the plane had stopped so abruptly: they’d crashed into a rock in the last stage of the slide. It was miraculous that the plane hadn’t caught fire.

Because of the cold, they quickly organised themselves so they could wait for their rescue. It wouldn’t, they reasoned, relatively cheerfully, be long.

…

By the time he reached Harry, he was out of breath and needed a few minutes to recover. Harry noted he looked a good deal older than he had first estimated.

“What a hike, but it sure beats the hell out of waiting down there,” Harkness said when he’d recovered sufficiently, nodding towards the wreckage. “And, God knows how, I feel warm.”

“So do I. It was one of the reasons I came here.”

“Those two geologists, or whatever they are, are finally awake. Boy, you should have seen their faces. One swore he’d give up drink forever.”

“He may get his wish sooner than he thinks.”

“You don’t rate our chances of discovery high, eh?”

“Take a look.” Harry beckoned to the mist, swirling through the valley, obliterating everything in their view. Harry, in fact, could hardly see Harkness.

“Yes. I see what you mean. What do you think we should do?”

“Exactly, would you believe, what I was thinking?”

“Do you think we might be near help?”

“Who knows. But, because of the urgency of the situation, I think we should find out. The question is who the ideal person is.” There was, however, no doubt in his mind.

…

“You’re mad, stark, staring mad,” Rawlings said when Harry told the others of the plan he and Harkness had formulated on their way back to the plane.

“I agree there is an element of risk….”

For two days, it had snowed continuously. The sub-zero temperatures had virtually sapped them all of whatever energy they had left, and, on the morning of the third day, they were all barely alive

Harkness, though he said nothing, had given up hope that Harry would still be alive. No one could have survived the intensity of the blizzard.

“Davidson, you say?” Harkness muttered. “He’s alive?”

“Unfortunately, no. He died soon after he told us about the plane and where it had crashed. If he hadn’t, you’d still be there.”

…

A to Z – April – 2026 – Q

Q is for – Quid Pro Quo

…

Perhaps if I’d thought about it long enough, I might have seen it coming, but it was taking that light at the end of the tunnel as a good thing, not the double-headed train pounding towards me at breakneck speed while I was tied to the tracks.

It would be easy to blame my mother. She was the one who taught us to take everyone at face value, to see the good in the world, and, of course, eight times out of ten, everything was fine.

Until it wasn’t.

I was on the balcony overlooking the bay, the house that my grandfather had first built as a getaway shack, expanded into a holiday home, and then into my retreat, the place I could hide away from the world.

It was the same for my sister, who was still recovering from a bad relationship, one that she blamed herself for, but the truth was, she was not at fault, not for any of it.

But the scars ran deep, deep enough that in the pit of despair, she did the unforgivable, and it was a sixth sense that sent me to her in her time of need.

Now, she was well on the road to recovery, older and very much wiser.

For both of us.

…

“Did you see the report Jenkins sent?”

She was stretched out on the deckchair, taking in the sunshine that came with early spring. It was warm but not hot, a gentle breeze rustling through the surrounding trees.

There were white caps out to sea, and there was a ship slowly plying its way past the bay. It was a busy shipping lane, and it was the perfect distraction to watch the ships go by.

“I did.”

Jenkins was the company’s head of security, and I had asked him to investigate the man who had deceived and nearly destroyed my twin sister. In an attempt to get justice, he had gotten off on a technicality and walked free.

It wasn’t justice, but justice sometimes could be blinded.

“Did you have any idea?”

I had to say I didn’t. Who would when the woman of your dreams, a woman who ticked all of the boxes, comes into your life when you least expect it.

At first, I believed it was too good to be true. Jenkins checked her out, and everything was irreproachable. It was not that I was the one who didn’t trust her. It was the people around me.

Once the investigation was over, I decided it was time. We had been dating off and on for over a year, and it had been a slow burn.

Then Alisha discovered just who and what her boyfriend was, just in time to prevent a travesty. She was worth a small fortune, and Jackson Pearce had very nearly stolen it all.

He only made one mistake. He told, no, bragged, that he was about to take down the Bernadines, one of the wealthier and blue-ribbon families.

He very neatly got away with it. He was free, but he was penniless, and oddly not concerned or angry.

I asked Jenkins to find out why.

It was in the report sitting on the coffee table beside Alisha’s deckchair.

About the woman I was about to marry in the wedding of the year, after letting her take control of the preparations and ceremony and spending close to three million dollars.

A lot of that money was channelled back to her brother Jackson Pearce. Her real name was Milly Pearce. She’d stuck to the Milly but was using her father’s mother’s birth surname, making it difficult to trace in a first scan of a family tree.

Or lack of one, which matched her assertion, she was an orphan, from an orphanage that no longer existed, and all records of her had been destroyed in a fire.

Only Jenkins thought it was suspicious, but we were all prepared to give her the benefit of the doubt.

“No. She is such a lovely person.”

“So was Jack, until…” It was still painful for her, but not so much that it hurt that much. “What are you going to do?”

“Play. Do you think you’re strong enough to join me?”

“Can I shoot her?”

I gave her a curious expression. As much as I understood how she felt about that family, it was not worth the jail sentence.

“No.”

“Spoil sport.”

She sighed. I took her attitude and the determination in her voice as good signs that she was all but over her calamity.

Up to the unmasking of Jack, she had been almost like a sister to Milly. I had thought it was the sort of bonding one would expect between the women. Milly had been suitably disparaging towards the dastardly boyfriend, but whatever had been between them had been broken.

Knowing what she did now, it was difficult to imagine how she could be nice to her.

But it would be settled the next day. I had promised to take Milly to a special lunch with just our family, my mother, who was kept oblivious of the details of Alisha’s breakup and subsequent events, my older brother, Wally, who was the current CEO of the company, the one I would eventually take over, and myself, basically to talk about where she would fit into the echelons.

We had talked about it, and she had suggested a role suited to her standing. She had also considered that she was part of the family and, therefore, entitled to a parcel of shares. That alone should have set off alarm bells, but since Mother and Wally had suggested it, who was I to disagree?

“Are you going to tell Mother and Walter?”

It was like she was reading my mind.

“No. Let’s play her game out and see where it goes.”

“Are you prepared for it?”

I don’t think I would ever be. I had been hesitant to make our budding romance public, and on the eight-month anniversary, we had been ambushed by the media. She swore she had not told anyone, but she and I were the only two who knew.

It was the catalyst needed to push us to the next level. Even then, I was not suspicious, accepting her explanation. It was not impossible that I was being followed by a photographer looking for a scoop.

“What would be the upside for her?”

“Without sounding catty, Henry, if she is cut from the same cloth as her brother, there’s always a reason.”

“Fair enough. We shall see.”

I rose early and took my time getting ready. There were a few calls I had to make, one a long chat with Legal, with the only lawyer I could trust, a chap I went to university with, and funded his start in the legal world.

Disillusioned with run-of-the-mill legalities, he took a break, married his childhood sweetheart, and asked if I could find something for him.

I asked the head of Legal to appoint him as my personal lawyer, and he did. Sworn to secrecy, he was the fourth person who knew about Milly’s perfidy. Surprisingly, he was not surprised.

I was having a coffee after considering a stiff Scotch. Perhaps later, when I get back.

Alisha came out, looking like her old self and looking stunning. She had toyed with the idea of being a model but decided against it after working on a shoot as an assistant.

“How do I look?”

“Like an angel.”

“Then she will not see me coming. All sweetness and light, Henry. I’ve been out of the loop, so I can play dumb but not too dumb. I’ll make her work to restart our friendship.”

“Promise me the secret is safe.”

She smiled. “You have my word. I would not want to miss this for the world.”

“Good. Now I must make the call. Phase one is about to begin.” I picked up the phone and made the call.

I put it on speaker.

“Darling, is everything alright?”

Her usual, what I called adorable, tone. Today, it didn’t give me shivers.

“Just a little hiccup. I’m running late, so Wally will be collecting you. I should be there on time, or a few minutes later. Try not to miss me too much.”

“Will you be staying tonight?”

I took a deep breath. I had been planning to, but things had changed. I didn’t think I could keep up the pretence at close quarters for as long as all night.

“We talked about this. The wedding is in two days. I think the few days’ absence will make our hearts grow fonder. Besides, I must complete all the legal formalities of setting you up as a family member. You’re about to become a very well-situated wife.”

I could hear her considering what that all meant. Wealth, power, everything her brother had tried to take. I wondered what her plan was.

She sighed. “Lunch will have to suffice, I guess. See you soon.”

Alisha looked at the phone and then at me. “That was a bit abrupt.”

“Wedding jitters, perhaps.”

“Given the Bollywood production she’s planned, hardly.”

I shook my head. “You mean there’s going to be elephants?”

She laughed. “Don’t be surprised if there are.”

There hadn’t been any at the rehearsal. But the fact that there were nearly a hundred people at the rehearsal was scary enough in itself. I’d seen the running sheet, and yes, it was a production, being filmed, with a Hollywood director.

Sadly, it was neither Steven Spielberg nor James Cameron. I would have liked some tap-dancing star troopers or the set of the Titanic as a backdrop.

We flew to the heliport and were picked up by a chauffeur-driven limousine. I made sure that Mother, Wally, and Milly were in situ before Alisha and I entered the restaurant.

We entered by a side entrance to avoid causing a stir out front or interfering with the other diners. I had prebooked a private room in a nom de plume.

Only the Maitre’d knew who really made the booking. If there were any surprises…

It was a priceless moment when Milly saw Alisha not as the broken spirit she had been for the last few months, but back to being a rival.

And taking the position of the real Bernadine, where Milly would only be one by marriage. The look, if only for a millisecond, was one of pure malice.

As soon as mother and Wally saw her, they were up and making a fuss. After all, they hadn’t seen much of her since the event. Nor were they across everything that happened.

I went over to my family and gave them a hug, trying to be my usual self, which wasn’t hard. In public, with Milly or anyone, for that matter, I was aloof.

Waiting for her turn, Milly gave Alisha a hug, and they spoke briefly before we all sat, and the head waiter appeared, and the discussion about drinks and what was on the special menu.

Orders taken, we settled into the chairs.

Alisha was the focal point.

“It’s so good to see you back to your old self.” Mother was particularly pleased as she had been at her wits’ end on how to cope with such a distressed child. That was where I took over, looking after her.

“I couldn’t mope forever. Henry has been an angel, looking after me.”

“Where?” It was out before she could stifle it, and not the question I expected. “I mean, sorry, that came out a little strange. I had been asking after you,” she said to Milly, “but no one seemed to know where you were.”

“I needed to get away for a while. No one needs to know, and you’ll understand soon why it’s a blessing to have somewhere to escape from the outside world. Your life is about to become public property.”

And with that, Alisha avoided the question. I was sure both Mother and Wally knew where I went to hide and that it was where Alisha had gone. Mother had trusted me to look after her. Wally had too many other matters to attend to.

Milly looked at me. “Perhaps you can take me there. It sounds wonderful.”

I smiled. “One day, if or when you suffer a malady. Otherwise, it will be for Alisha until she finally returns to work. She needs the space.”

Then I turned to Wally. “Legal tells me they have a lead on the whereabouts of Jackson Pearce.”

It was a calculated move, one I had warned Alisha about, knowing it might have an effect.

I was watching Milly, and it got the expected reaction, one I would not have seen if I hadn’t been looking for it.

“I thought I read he left the country.” Milly, if she had been smarter, would have left it alone.

“That was a rumour he spread to the media. I have questions, and I suspect now that Alisha has recovered, she would like five minutes alone with him.”

“Why. He’s a rat. Why would you want to rake over those coals?”

Alisha smiled. “I want an apology. I will get an apology. One way or another.”

Yes. Milly looked at Alisha with a whole new perspective. The determination in her voice was stirring and set a tone for the lunch.

Milly had been caught offside and didn’t recover. She was caught between brother and sister, where the sister was the priority, and I got the impression she had just realised there was a slight shift in our relationship.

When we parted, she tried very hard to recover our usual easy manner, and I relaxed to the point where she felt she had succeeded. I could tell she had questions, not the sort she could ask then, but perhaps it would be a call later.

She asked again if we could spend the rest of the day together, but I told her there were too many matters I had to attend to before the wedding. Otherwise, there would be no honeymoon.

She had planned that too, and it was all the places she had dreamed of going, first class or better. I had been looking forward to it as well, though I had been to a lot of the places, and travelling coach and backpacking as you did when wide-eyed and adventurous.

I had suggested it, and she had laughed. The Benadines didn’t travel in coach class in any mode of transport.

I shook my head. Absence, I said, made the heart grow fonder. After all, we would be spending the rest of our lives together.

After we parted, I was left with the impression I was not going to survive the honeymoon.

It was odd that after two days, and knowing the truth, I felt so cold that I shivered. Alisha took my hand and squeezed it.

“If it makes you feel any better, she is a very cold fish pretending to be something else. Even I could feel it, and it made me shudder more than once. That whole family are monstrous. They have to be to prey on people like us.”

We went to my city apartment and waited.

Jenkins had suggested that he have a team keep her under surveillance and see where she went or did. I had told him we were going to make a few suggestions about her brother and see if she tried to call or approach him.

I said she wouldn’t be that stupid.

But if we were close to finding him and telling her, she might think he would drag her down with him and demand that he go away. It was an interesting theory.

Several hours passed. I rested; Alisha was reading a Mills and Boon romance novel. She said it gave her hope there could be a happy ending.

When we both least expected it, the phone vibrated. A message. It was an address and a request to come.

“Pearce and Pearce?”

“Possibly.” I couldn’t believe it would be that easy.

When we arrived, there were police outside the building, and Jenkins was with a detective in the foyer. No one said much, only that I was needed for an identification.

We went up the elevator to the fifth floor, and down the passage to the last door on the left, the one where a policeman was standing outside.

He stood to one side, and we went in.

Milly was standing between two large policemen, and on the floor, being attended by paramedics, was her brother, Jackson. He had a head wound and was barely conscious.

Milly looked at me. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same question. Why are you here with Jack? You said he’d left the country.”

“I said I read he left the country.”

“And yet here you are.”

“It’s not what you think.”

“And what do you think, I think? Because from where I’m standing, a woman I hardly know has attacked her brother, the man who tried to rob my sister, and contributed to her suicide attempt.”

“He’s not my brother.”

“Perhaps not from the same parents, but for at least a dozen years in the same foster home until you ran away together.”

“Am I getting a family lawyer?”

“You’re not family, Milly. You’re a thief and a liar, and I have no idea who you are, nor do I want to. The engagement and the wedding are off.

It turned to the detective. “Any details you need on Miss Pearce, detective, Jenkins here will give you what we have. I believe there is new information on her brother’s crimes against my sister. If that’s all?”

It was. Alisha looked down at the man on the ground and took no pleasure in what she saw. It was perhaps justice of a sort. As we left, I saw her texting. When I asked who, she said I would find out soon enough.

The late edition of the paper, with a headline, “All that glitters”, and below the story of a grifter and her brother trying to take down the Benadine family, and very nearly succeeding.

It was a story my father would have had suppressed because it made us look foolish. When I asked her why she did it, she said no matter what the public thought of us, we were transparent, far more than any others in our situation. But, she said, more than anything else, it ensured no one else would try.

Well, not in our lifetime anyway.

…

365 Days of writing, 2026 – 93

Day 93 – This is your life!

…

The Art of Timing: When is the Right Moment to Write Your Memoir?

You’ve lived a life full of twists, turns, heartbreaks, and triumphs. You feel the itch to put it all on the page—to organise the chaos of your past into a narrative that others can learn from. But then, the nagging question creeps in: Is it too soon?

We often hear that “everyone has a book in them,” but not everyone understands that a memoir is not just an autobiography—it’s a carefully curated work of art. If you’re wondering when to sit down and start writing, consider this your guide to finding the right moment.

The “Age 20” Trap: Why Gravitas Matters

It’s easy to feel like you’ve lived a lifetime by the time you hit your twenties. Perhaps you’ve travelled, fallen in love, or survived a difficult season. While your story is undoubtedly valid, it may lack the perspective required for a compelling memoir.

Writing a memoir requires emotional distance. If you are still in the thick of the trauma, the anger, or the immediate aftermath of a life-changing event, you are likely writing a diary, not a memoir. Diaries are for processing; memoirs are for reflecting.

At twenty, your life is still in the “active” phase. You are the protagonist, but you aren’t yet the historian of your own existence. Gravitas—the weight, the wisdom, and the “so what?” factor—usually comes when you can look back at your younger self with compassion rather than reactiveness. You need enough time to have passed so that you can see how the dots connected, not just how they hit you in the moment.

The Key Ingredients of a Compelling Memoir

A great memoir isn’t just a chronological list of dates and events. It is a transformation arc. To move your story from a personal journal to a page-turner, you need to infuse it with these three ingredients:

1. The Universal Theme

The biggest mistake aspiring memoirists make is assuming people want to read about them. The truth is, readers want to read about themselves through your experiences. Your memoir needs a universal theme—grief, resilience, the search for identity, or the complexity of forgiveness. If your story can act as a mirror for the reader, you have a winner.

2. The “Reflective Narrator”

Readers don’t just want to see the person who was making mistakes at 22; they want to hear from the person you are today. How has your understanding of the past shifted? The tension between who you were then and who you are now is where the “gravitas” lives. You must be willing to analyse your own motivations, even the ones that aren’t particularly flattering.

3. The Vulnerability Threshold

If you aren’t sweating a little bit while you write, you probably aren’t being honest enough. A compelling memoir requires you to strip away the ego. If you portray yourself as the hero of every chapter, the reader will lose interest. We connect with human flaws, failed ambitions, and the quiet moments of realisation. Ask yourself: Am I holding back to protect my image, or am I laying it all out to serve the story?

So, How Long Should You Wait?

There is no specific year on the calendar that signals “you are ready.” Instead, ask yourself these three questions:

Can I write about this without wanting to exact revenge? (If you’re writing to settle scores, it’s not ready.)
Do I understand the “Why”? (Can you explain what your story teaches you about the human condition?)
Is the wound a scar, or is it still bleeding? (If it’s still bleeding, use your journal. When it becomes a scar, start your memoir.)

Writing a memoir is an act of archaeology. You are digging through the layers of your identity to find the fossilized truths that remain. Take your time. Let the story settle. When the urgency to scream your story matches the clarity to understand it—that is when you are ready to write.

Are you working on your story? What’s the biggest challenge you’re facing in capturing your past? Let’s discuss in the comments below.