Savings of 50% Through Smashwords Sale

on Sunday, July 29, 2012
Along with other authors, I've joined Smashwords' Summer Sale. This means you can buy two of my books for half their usual price. Breaking Faith, my romantic thriller (see My Books tab for reviews) is now avail;able for $1.50, £0.95, or Euro 1.18. Similarly, my anthology of 8 hot erotic stories, Sensuous Touches, has also been reduced to $1.50, £0.95, or Euro 1.18. You will need to use the links shown and enter the promotional code of SSW50 to obtain your discount. And please take advantage sooner rather than later. This is a limited time offer.




My other books, Ten Tales for Tomorrow, The Methuselah Strain and Ten Love Tales are already priced only at $0.99, £0.63 or Euro 0.78, so they can't be included in this special offer.


And, of course, But Baby it's Cold Outside, the seasonal short story, is already free anyway.




If you have a look at the tab above, labelled 'My Books', you can get a 
flavour of all the books before you plunge in and spend these huge sums; this way, the risk will be singularly reduced. 


These are all ebooks, of course. Though Breaking Faith can also be read as a paperback edition, available through Amazon and other retail outlets. Because of the publishing arrangements, I'm unable to alter the price on the paperback, but it represents very good value at $14.95 or £7.99 for 340 pages of tense, exciting and emotionally packed romance.


The ebooks can be downloaded to be read on any ereader platform through Smashwords. If you don't have an ereader, you can read them as PDFs using the link for the free Adobe software to the right or using any one of the many free ereader software packages available online.


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Read my Romantic Thriller, Free: Chapter 28

on Friday, July 27, 2012

If you’re a visitor to this blog who hasn’t started reading Breaking Faith, perhaps looking at the reviews on the 'My Books' may persuade you to give it a try.

To those continuing the journey, I say, ‘Enjoy the ride.’

I posted Chapter 1 way back on 13 January. Subsequent chapters have appeared each Friday, and will continue to be posted until all 50 have appeared here. You can find those already posted via the archive; just search by chapter number.

If you missed the start, you’ll find it here: http://stuartaken.blogspot.com/2012/01/read-free-my-novel-here.html

Read, enjoy, invite your friends to join us.

Chapter 28

Wednesday 2nd June

‘Faith, for you.’
Zizi handed me the phone that had woken us. She sauntered onto her narrow balcony for her first fix, overlooking the crowded street below and the office block opposite. She inhaled her chosen poison in a deep, shuddering breath as I brought the handset to my ear.
‘Hi, Faith, how’s things?’
‘Heacham’s beaten Netta broken her skin badly hurt her you’ve got to come home right now she’s been crying for you Leigh I tried to get you but there was no answer and Ma said I had to wait ‘til this morning before I tried again she’s badly hurt she needs you you should be here.’
All in one breath and without a pause. It took a while to get through. Zizi, using her free hand to raise her tee shirt, took some of my attention. ‘What?’
‘Listen, Leigh! Netta’s been badly hurt. Heacham’s beaten her. Mervyn sent him some of your pictures. She needs you here, and she needs you now.’
‘I’ll be there as soon as I can. I’m on my way.’
Zizi turned back, as I replaced the handset, and crushed the fag against the wall before dropping it to the balcony floor. She peeled the tee shirt over her head and came back inside. ‘You promised me all of Thursday, Leigh.’
‘I can give you another hour or so, Zizi.’
I told her what had happened and she shelved her interest in sex with me. Without persuasion, she pack for me and made some breakfast as I showered. She accompanied me downstairs, wrapped in peach silk that left the length of her wonderful legs uncovered.
Two male students in the flat below saw her pass their open door. ‘Our balcony’s in full sun if you want to work on that all over tan, Zoë.’
‘Depends what you’re charging, boys.’
‘Just the usual.’
‘Tempting.’
She left me to wonder whether she’d accept their offer when I’d gone. I hoped she would; I was sorry to disappoint her by leaving so soon. At the door, she slipped the knot in the belt to remind me what I was leaving and then embraced me with love. ‘See you soon, Leigh?’
‘I hope so, Zizi, my love.’
‘Tell Faith to hang on in there for me. And to keep her promise, no matter what.’
Another mysterious message; passed from one woman I loved and couldn’t have to another I was beginning to love and wasn’t sure whether I should have or not anymore.
Zizi stayed shaded by the doorway as she waved goodbye, a shadow promising all and reminding me of what I was missing by leaving.
Faith was in the office watching for me. She ran to the gate, fresh and lovely and bright in the sunshine as she opened the gate. A promise of things to come, provided I treated her with the circumspection and patience Paul had advised. But her expression of concern flickered only briefly to pleasure at seeing me again; at least I hoped that was the cause of the fleeting smile.
‘Leave your bags, I’ll take them. She’s in the spare room opposite mine.’
I kissed her lovely mouth and held her longer than the simple greeting required and was gratified that she relaxed and responded quite naturally. ‘And I’m please to see you, too, Faith.’
She gave a little moue of apology. ‘She’s hurt, Leigh. She needs you.’ And she dived into the car for my things as I went into the house.
Netta rose unsteadily as I entered and turned so I could examine her wounds, many of them dressed in bandages. I took her hand and kissed her ear to avoid the bruised and broken skin. It was an amplified echo of Faith’s beating and it was clear who’d done it. Why, however, was less obvious.
Matilda and Ma expounded their theory as Netta slept beneath her narcotic blanket later that evening. I was inclined to believe they had it about right but determined to discover as much of the truth as I could for myself. In the meantime, since I could do nothing for Netta that night, I made a secret call after dinner and then passed some news to Faith.
‘What’s on tomorrow, Faith?’
‘Nothing for you, since you were supposed to be travelling home. I was going to do some printing, why?’
‘Good. Sort out some glad rags. I’m taking you to see your father in the morning.’ Anyone would think I’d announced her forthcoming execution.
‘God, Leigh, for a man who knows women, you sometimes show precious little understanding of our fears. Why the hell are you taking her to see Heacham after this…?’
I frowned at Matilda. ‘Heacham? I’m taking her to see her father, her real father; David Lengdon. And, naturally, I thought she’d be pleased.’
‘I am pleased. And stop talking about me as though I wasn’t here. I had enough of that in my village idiot days. I’m just terrified, that’s all.’
‘He’s a gentleman. You’ve nothing to fear.’
‘You’ve met him?’ Her eagerness almost undid me.
I very nearly confessed the whole of it to her. But Matilda was suddenly more than just interested and she stopped me ruining the surprise for Faith. ‘How? How did you find him? When? Where is he?’
‘You never told Matilda you’d discovered his address?’
‘I didn’t want to raise her hopes. Not until I knew the situation. He might be married and have a family…’
‘Is he? Has he…?’
I told Matilda of Faith’s search and then told both of them about my meeting, barely hinting at the man’s sickness. I had no wish for Faith to spend the night worrying about his health when there was nothing she could do about it. Time enough for that in the morning. I left Faith to explain to her mother exactly how she’d discovered his whereabouts and went up to spend a short vigil at Netta’s bedside.
I kissed Netta’s sleeping forehead as Faith came to take over; Netta was still showing signs of fear in the night. Matilda had gone to the bathroom earlier and I called a soft goodnight to her through the open door of her room but received no reply. I assumed she must have gone to bed so I showered quickly and went to my own lonely bed.
‘I’ve set the alarm to wake me at three so I can relieve Faith. But I’m hoping not to get much sleep, Leigh. Can’t have you sleeping alone when there’s willing woman free, can we? In any case, you deserve a reward for what you’ve done for Faith, and for me, you lovely man.’
Matilda was absent when I woke around seven. I found her sitting beside Netta’s bed reading in the soft light from the window. For a woman who hadn’t slept, she looked remarkably fresh.
‘Amazing.’ I kissed her.
‘You certainly are.’ Her voice was a whisper to protect Netta’s sleep.
I went to shower, only to discover Faith in there, washing her hair and looking so tempting with the suds running down her skin. ‘Sorry.’
The house was becoming full of women. It was time I considered a second bathroom.
Breakfast was full of anticipation and eager speculation. I let them talk, unwilling to spoil their dreams with reality at this early stage.
Faith’s eagerness continued in the car. ‘Matilda really wanted to come with me, you know, and I said she could.’
I concentrated on the road for a few seconds, putting off the moment I’d have to impart the bad news. ‘She was wise to give you this chance to meet him on your own first. Her own meeting may be less happy than she imagines. There’s something you need to know and there’s no easy way to tell you, Faith. I won’t treat you like a baby because I know how brave you are.’
She stiffened, waiting for the shock.
‘David has cancer.’ I let that sink in.
‘He’s dying, then? How long; do you know?’
I should have expected her matter-of-fact bravery but she continued to surprise me with her ability to overcome her emotions with practical considerations.
‘Maybe a few weeks, perhaps as long as eighteen months.’
She remained silent for the rest of the journey until we reached the cottage. I stopped the car.
‘I could just say I won’t meet him, I suppose. And risk breaking his heart.’
‘Or you can meet him, knowing for certain that you’ll break your own.’
‘So. No choice at all. Are you coming in with me?’
I walked her to the cottage where Eric was already waiting. Bruce, beside him, made no sound this time, but looked up at me through soulful eyes before giving his attention to Faith who scratched behind his ears.
‘I’ve an errand after all. Be back about four, if that’s okay?’
Eric nodded and appraised Faith’s clothes rather than her body and I suddenly understood. The thought initially fed my subconscious conditioning and I was momentarily revolted. Then I saw that David wouldn’t reciprocate and I was visited by the pathos of such love unrequited for so long. Eric must be a sad and lonely man. I shook his hand in a gesture we both only partly comprehended and then left him to discover Faith and to care for the man he loved.
It was not the most fitting way to begin a journey I expected to end in violence. Too tender by half. But, driving over the fells, I recalled the stripes and cruel wheals that marked my gorgeous Netta’s skin, the damage to her beautiful face, and my anger rekindled.
The hot dry weather had continued and the track leading to the farm was no longer the usual muddy path but a narrow road littered with hard ridges and deep, dry dips. I drove carefully and parked at the edge of the filthy farmyard. There was animal muck everywhere. Rusting machinery lay abandoned where it had been left. Barbed wire tied rotting fence posts to rails, forming inefficient and dangerous barriers.
‘Merv!’
My voice carried only a short distance, deadened by the heat and the muck that seemed to overlay the whole place. The back door was ajar. Beside it, a small pile of fresh cow muck steamed and buzzed with flies and cleggs. I pushed the door and a Rhode Island Red jumped off the kitchen table and fluttered, clucking in panic, further into the house.
‘Merv?’
No reply and no sign of life.
I knew they had an ancient Land Rover but there was no sign of it. I toured the cowsheds and barns but found no one. As I turned back toward the house, my eye caught a movement through one of the upper windows; a brief glimpse of a body that could belong to only one man.
I pushed the back door fully open and walked through a kitchen fouled by farmyard birds and stinking with uncovered food and unwashed crockery. There was chicken shit on the floor of the next room and at the foot of the stairs, staining the threadbare carpet. I stopped to listen. The stairs were stone and made no sound as I ascended.
There were three single beds in the room. Merv was lying on the one in the far corner, adjacent walls plastered in pictures stolen from Longhouse, pictures I had taken. His hand stopped abruptly as I entered and he tried to cover himself with the filthy sheet under him. It suited me to have him vulnerable and I pulled the cover from him, tearing it with a satisfying ripping sound. He cowered, huddling into a foetal position and staring up at me in fear.
‘Why?’
He pretended not to understand. I was out of patience and the room stank. ‘I asked you why, Merv? Why send pictures of Netta to Heacham? Did you hope he’d get your revenge for you?’
‘Did, didn’t he?’
‘And you told him where to find her, and when, because you’ve been spying on her ever since she got you sacked.’
‘Twat deserved a fuckin’ thrashin’ after what it did to me.’
‘Refused your advances, you mean?’
‘It said it wanted a proper shag an’ I could if I wanted. An’ when I were goin’ to screw it, it screamed its fuckin’ ‘ead off.’
‘You think she deserved to be beaten black and blue?’
‘That twat got me sacked for nuthin’. I never did nuthin’ to it! I ‘ope Heacham skinned the fuckin’ twat.’
Maybe because I suspected there was some truth in his allegations, and I was in no mood to admit it, I lost it. Before I knew what I was doing, I had the bed tipped over and Merv on the floor at my feet. He tried to scrabble away but I grabbed his throat and lashed at him with my spare fist and my feet. He’d damaged my Netta just as surely as if he were Heacham and I made the bastard pay. He was begging me to stop before I got control back again. I gave him one last kick and left him bleeding and sobbing on the floor, naked and shamed.
I cleared the walls of pictures, pausing to stare at a single shot of Faith amongst the other girls who’d willingly and trustingly posed for me. I shuffled the pictures into a pile, my turmoil turned to utter confusion by that single picture of innocence corrupted.
Downstairs, his brothers and father faced me in the yard. They knew me, of course. I was in the mood to deal with them in the same manner, in spite of their number, and it must have shown.
‘Had to have a word with Merv.’
They parted and let me through. In the yard, I turned to face them. ‘He has a little story to tell. It might amuse you.’
They stared at me with what amounted to incomprehension and I realized the rumours about Merv’s mother were probably true after all. Poor woman. Faced with that brood, there was no wonder she jumped off the crag.
Their Land Rover was badly parked, but I got past it. Flies followed me the full length of the track and I felt contaminated and fouled by my contact.
At Longhouse, I showered immediately.
‘Where’s Faith?’ Matilda stood in the doorway and watched me towelling dry, a knowing smile on her lovely face.
‘Picking her up later. Is Netta awake?’
‘Sleeping like a baby.’
I was still coming down from the height of my anger and I wanted a word with Netta. I wanted to know if Merv’s accusation was true.
‘You look as though you could do with a drink. Or something.’
I nodded. ‘Nothing to drink. I’m driving in a couple of hours.’
‘Something else, then.’
She took my hand and led me to my bedroom where she urged me onto the bed, face down. There was a brief pause as she studied me before sitting astride me, her skin in contact with mine. Her hands and fingers worked magic on my muscles as she loosened the knots of tension and anger. She worked all the rage from me, relaxed me into a mellow state and then gently urged me onto my back.
I hadn’t been aware of her removing her clothes but she brushed my chest with her breasts and used her lips to ready me. It was the perfect remedy and I surrendered to her completely, allowing her to take complete control. She repaid my trust by playing the ministering angel and left me satiated and utterly relaxed.
At half past five, I recalled I hadn’t collected Faith.

###

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A Plea for Uniformity in the Presentation of Writing for Editorial.

on Thursday, July 26, 2012
Typographic quotation marks (top) versus strai...
Typographic quotation marks (top) versus straight quotation marks, or "dumb quotes" (bottom). (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

If you’re a writer, you’ll understand my frustration at the multitude of different formats we’re required to adopt in presenting our work to various different organisations, I’m sure. You may even share it.

You write a story and want to send it to a British magazine. So: wide margins, double spaced lines, double, curly quotes for speech, indented paragraphs without space between, a standard proportional font like Times New Roman or Ariel, and, of course, British English spelling and idiom. The latter two are understandable; though, more on that later.

You then decide to send it to an American magazine. So: wide margins, double spaced lines, single, straight quotes for speech, no indents for paragraphs, but each separated by a line space, a non-proportional font like Courier, which makes the piece look as though it’s been produced on an old-fashioned typewriter, and, depending on editorial policy, either your original or American spelling and idiom.

Next, you wish to produce it as an ebook. So: strip out all formatting, reduce margins, single line spacing, use straight quotes and avoid any ‘special’ characters, paragraph formatting again requires an indent, but a smaller one than for the printed text, and a proportional font again. Here, it’s a personal choice which linguistic idiosyncrasies you choose to adopt, though consistency throughout the work is advisable, of course.

These are just three of the varied styles we’re required to adopt. There are many small variations, dependent on the house style of the publication chosen. And, as the writers, we’re expected to adapt to each individual set of requirements. The fact that we are the creators, the originators, of the material is immaterial as far as the publications are concerned. It is we who have adapt to their specific peculiarities.

Almost without exception, the reasons for these idiosyncrasies of presentation are based on simple tradition. The publishers have always done it this way; therefore, that is the ‘right’ way for it to be done. I’ve argued, in a previous post, that tradition is not always a good thing. In fact, it can frequently be a very bad thing. It’s tradition, after all, that maintains the custom, prevalent amongst certain ill-educated and socially backward clans, of violating their women by the horrendous imposition of female circumcision. I doubt there’s a single modern individual who would uphold such a tradition.

Is there, in reality, any reason why there should not be a single, straightforward style of presentation that could be used for all manuscripts submitted to journals, publishers and ebook producers? I can think of no technical reason. The oddities of ebook formatting requirements are largely down to lazy and/or non-standard software programming; something that could so easily be changed. Such standardisation would be of benefit to readers as well, since it would make it very straightforward for them to read their purchased books on any given ereader.

All the individual publishers, publishing organisations, national bodies and organisations would no doubt come up with reasons why their particular style should be the one adopted, of course. Such is the nature of tradition and habit. But such objections could be negotiated into a sensible solution and, in reality, once a standard form of presentation was adopted, users would very quickly become familiar with it. We, the writers, the creators, the originators, would then be left free to get on with our job of making instead of having to mess around with all the variations we’re currently required to deal with.

The linguistic elements I alluded to earlier represent a more difficult area of change. However, it’s clear from current developments that English will be the language most widely spoken (and, perhaps, written) for the foreseeable future. Perhaps, instead of allowing it to deteriorate organically into the more or less incomprehensible Panglish that is the predicted outcome, we should organise ourselves into a guiding role and consciously modify the language to make it more understandable by the majority? Clearly, the use of phonetic spelling would help non-native speakers to learn and use the language; a plus in the spread of our means of communication. There will always be a need for irregulars, of course. But, surely, we could determine that plow is a more sensible version than plough. I’d even argue for the more sensible thru to replace through.

I know the purists will hate the very idea. But we live in a world with a growing population and shrinking borders. Surely it makes sense to help our decedents get along with each other and remove one of the many barriers to cooperation and mutual understanding. It’s been said, with some justification, that wars have been started because of linguistic misunderstandings. Let’s actually do something to avoid future incomprehension rather than allow events and tradition to dictate ever increasing chaos in our methods of communication. Language is how we swap ideas. Let’s work to make the exchange easier, rather than increasingly difficult.

Or am I being idealistic here? What do you think?

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Silver Bay by Jojo Moyes, Reviewed

on Wednesday, July 25, 2012

Jojo Moyes has produced a superb piece of modern fiction in Silver Bay. Set mostly in Australia, with some action taking place in London, UK, the story deals with the effects of threatened development on the tranquil eponymous location of the title. But it is the relationships and interactions of the protagonists that drive this story of tragedy, romance, coming of age and redemption.

Presented in 3 parts, with a short prologue and epilogue, Jojo uses first person narration by five of the major characters, four female and one male, to explore emotional, motivational, mental and spiritual aspects of her protagonists. Her research has clearly been thorough and the novel displays the author’s deep knowledge of the subjects she uses for theme and background. The book starts slowly but builds relentlessly until the denouement is reached in a way unflagged and unexpected.

This was a book I would have read at one sitting, had I been able. As it is, my life being a little hectic at present, I was obliged to fit in reading between many other commitments. It’s testament to the quality of the writing and storytelling that I found myself looking forward to my occasional bus journeys, as they are opportunities to read. Normally I dislike this necessary part of my working day, but I was eager to get on that bus and have the chance to read. In fact, had I not finished the book shortly before the end of my journey, I suspect I’d have missed my stop.

Jojo has drawn her characters with skill, care, and love. This is appropriate, since the love stories that run through the narrative form a major thread of the tale. Each passage is in the voice of the chosen character and the author manages to make each unique and totally credible. She has managed to get as squarely inside the mind of her male characters as she has her females.

The main setting for the book, Silver Bay itself, performs the role of an additional character and the reader is immersed in the tranquil location to the extent that he feels all the anxiety, fear, resentment and disgust at proposals that will alter the place beyond recognition. Wales and dolphins, and the occasional shark, play interesting and informative roles along the way.

I thoroughly enjoyed this moving novel and have no hesitation in recommending it to readers of all types.

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Read This Romantic Thriller, Free: Chapter 27

on Friday, July 20, 2012

Are you a new visitor, or even a regular, who hasn’t started reading Breaking Faith?  Looking at the reviews on the 'My Books' tab may change your mind.

On the other hand, if you're continuing the journey, I assume you’re hooked.

I posted Chapter 1 way back on 13 January. Subsequent chapters have appeared each Friday, and will continue to be posted until all 50 have appeared here. You can find those already posted via the archive; just search by chapter number.

If you missed the start, you’ll find it here: http://stuartaken.blogspot.com/2012/01/read-free-my-novel-here.html

Read, enjoy, invite your friends to join us.

Chapter 27

Monday 31st May

‘I’ll be back when I’ve had enough. See you.’
Netta sauntered out of the house and across the lawn to the private stile in the corner. Both of us enjoyed walking the fells, though I wouldn’t have ventured out dressed like that. My interests, apart from the joy of walking, were nature and the landscape. I wondered what Netta derived from her walks alone. She said she needed some exercise with Leigh away in London.
Mum had stayed the night after bringing Netta back to Longhouse and I’d spent the evening learning as much as I could about my real father from her, without letting on that I’d found out where he lived.
‘David was thirty-seven; I was eighteen and fell in love with him the moment I laid eyes on him. I liked clean-shaven men; David had a long, straggly beard. I liked men with short blonde hair; David wore his dark brown hair to his shoulders. I liked men of action; David’s only sport was a walk round the quad with a poetry book in his hand. But he reached me, Faith. He spoke to my mind and my heart and his eyes saw right inside me and touched my secret inner self.
‘He was never a really accomplished lover. In fact, I was probably his first and taught him as much as he did me. But he was passionate and truthful and caring and full of a love for life and things creative and I adored him.
‘He used to worry the authorities would discover us and split us up. In the fifties, romances like ours were condemned. He cared about me and loved me more than any man I’ve known since. I thought he should write; his way with words was wonderful. He would make up poetry as we walked together. Not just love poetry for me, but poetry about the world we lived in, about nature and death and life. He was a remarkable man and when I discovered I was pregnant, I couldn’t let him know. I couldn’t ruin him. So, I had to be cruel. I told him there was someone else. I asked him not to write back, even to that letter and he didn’t. I received that small book of poems with no note, sent anonymously, just two weeks before you were due and I wept all day and all night.’
The unshed tears in her eyes warned me against further questions.
When she left that morning, she hugged me and invited me to spend a weekend with her once Leigh returned from London. I looked forward to that.
Netta was still out after Ma, Old Hodge and I had eaten on the lawn under the sun. With Leigh absent, Mervyn no longer a threat, and Old Hodge almost like an uncle, whatever Netta might say about him, I risked my new bikini to soak up some sun. As I lay on a blanket, reading on the grass, Old Hodge worked at a nearby flowerbed.
He looked at me and grinned. ‘By ‘eck, lass, you look grand.’
That remark, from an older man I respected, made me feel so good about myself. I smiled my thanks at him and turned over to tan my front. Movement near the stile caught my eye. A shape struggled to reach the top of the wall from the far side. I was up and running even as I recognized her.
‘Netta!’
Old Hodge came after me as quickly as his old legs would take him. She was in a dreadful state. Her dress was in shreds and her beautiful skin beneath was a mass of raised wheals and bleeding stripes. One eye was so swollen she couldn’t open it, the other was red and weeping, both her lips were split and her nose had been bleeding.
I helped her down from the stile and she collapsed at my feet, exhausted. I sent Old Hodge for Ma and sat with her head in my lap, stroking her hair away from her wounds.
The doctor arrived shortly after we’d carried her to the spare room. He examined her thoroughly whilst I remained in case he needed my help. We turned her very carefully onto her back and he examined her front where the stripes were less numerous and not as raised or broken. One crossed her left breast and marked her nipple, making me wince. I helped Paul apply ointment and dressings and noticed his frequent glances at me.
We could make no sense of anything she said through her damaged mouth, but she seemed incoherent more with rage than with any other emotion.
In the kitchen, with Netta asleep under the influence of a sedative, the four of us shared a pot of tea.
‘I’ve seen this before. Almost identical, except that time it was only your back, Faith.’
‘You think my fa... Heacham, did this?’
‘I’m neither policeman nor forensic scientist, but this is the work of one man.’
‘Why would he beat Netta? She’s not even his daughter.’
Paul raised his eyebrows. ‘That, at least answers a few questions. As to “Why?” I’ve no idea. I hoped you might know.’
‘I can’t imagine. Shouldn’t we inform the police?’
‘That’s for Netta to decide, really. But I’d do it anyway. She can always withdraw later if she doesn’t want to prefer charges.’
‘Not prefer charges? Why wouldn’t she want…?’
‘I’ve dealt with more cases of domestic violence than I care to think about, Faith. Women frequently refuse to press charges because the men who bully them brainwash their victims into believing they’re worthless and therefore responsible for their own beatings. Did you press charges after the monster beat you?’
I hadn’t. It was the first time I asked myself why that might be and I understood his reasoning and learned another lesson about myself.
‘Yes, inform the police now, before she has a chance to prevent them at least knowing.’
Ma examined the remains of Netta’s dress. ‘This is for the bin.’
‘Save it for the police. Where’s her underwear? They’ll need it in case there was any sexual…’
Ma explained and the doctor nodded as though he’d heard it all before.
‘Do you really think he might’ve raped her?’
‘It’s a possibility we have to face, in light of what he did to Hope.’
‘Hope couldn’t fight back. Hope couldn’t even tell anyone, not even me.’
‘I still wouldn’t rule it out. The man’s a brutal pervert. I’m just thankful you escaped that side of his exploitation, Faith. Netta will have to be asked when she comes round from the sedative. The more I consider, the more I think I should contact the police. May I?’
I showed him the phone in the office. When he returned, he changed the subject abruptly to me.
‘Are you well, Faith?’
I told him I was. ‘And happy; Mum’s more at ease now you’ve given me the pill. She cares about that sort of thing, so I just went along with her wishes to keep her happy.’
‘A wickedly personal question, Faith, but I have my reasons, and they are medical. Do you need the contraceptive pill?’
‘Mum said I would one day and I should be prepared.’
‘So, no change from when you first asked me to prescribe it? No mood problems?’
I shook my head. I didn’t think my anxiety over Leigh had anything to do with taking the pill.
‘And I can see you’ve only put on weight in the places it’s to be expected. No problem in that area. Good.’
I wanted to get the conversation away from personal matters about me. ‘Should we call Leigh, do you think?’
‘Not yet. There’s nothing he can do. But do call Matilda.’ He smiled at me and I felt there was more than professional concern in his friendly look as he left.
There was no answer when I tried Zoë’s number anyway. Matilda said she’d be at Longhouse as soon as she could. I tried Zoë again in the evening but there was still no reply.
‘Probably out on the town.’ Matilda suggested. She’d come down for a break from Netta’s bedside and was drinking coffee laced with Leigh’s scotch.
‘Will they press charges, do you suppose?’
‘No doubt about it. Bastard was on conditional bail. How did he know where to find her and why did he do it?’
‘I should’ve said before, I suppose, but it was all done and over with and there seemed little point. Tell the truth; I was glad to see the back of him.’
We waited for Ma to explain.
‘Merv never tried to rape Netta. She tricked the poor fool to get him sacked…’
‘She did what?’
‘Sorry, Matilda, but I’m sure that’s what happened. She asked me what Leigh would do if Merv attacked a girl in the house. I told her he’d fire the young sod on the spot. You can’t tell me it’s coincidence Netta accused him of attacking her that very day.’
‘Why would Netta want him sacked?’
‘You’re still so naive, lass, for all your growing up. She’s your sister. She knew Merv upset and frightened you.’
‘But that’s terrible. I never asked her to …’
‘Of course you didn’t. You didn’t have to. It’s called sisterly love.’
Matilda nodded. ‘It’s the sort of thing Netta would do, love.’
‘Poor Merv! No wonder he swore to get us both. But this was Heacham, wasn’t it?’
‘Merv would be too scared to do anything on his own. He’ll have sent pictures of Netta to Heacham, knowing the shit would do it for him because she threatened his reputation.’
‘His reputation’s already ruined.’
‘He still wouldn’t want the world thinking his own flesh and blood would pose naked for the world to see, Faith.’
I thought of the pictures of me Merv had helped print and was thankful he hadn’t been able to take any with him. ‘But Netta’s not his flesh and blood.’
‘He knows that, but the village folk don’t.’
I was amazed at the way the pair of them had apparently worked out what had happened. ‘How did Heacham know where to find her?’
‘Merv again. He’s a peeping Tom. Wouldn’t mind betting he’s been spying on this house ever since the day he left, in the hope of seeing you both without your clothes.’
‘I’ve been in my bikini in the garden. Those horrible piggy eyes looking at me. Ugh!’
‘You were feeling sorry for him a moment ago.’
‘Not if he did that. Do you really think he’d go to all that trouble, Ma?’
‘I’ve little doubt, to be honest. That lad’s got a strangely determined streak when it comes to spying on female flesh and to getting his own back.’
‘What’ll happen to Heacham, do you think?’
Ma shrugged.
‘They’ll hold him for the night and charge him with assault. In the morning, he’ll be back out and free as air. It’s only a girl he’s beaten half to death, after all.’
‘I thought you believed we were equal now, Mum?’
‘There’s no fundamental change. And cops are generally right wing and chauvinistic. As are the courts, come to that. No, I love men and their company, but I hate what they’ve done and continue do with society. It’s still a man’s world; for all we burn our bras, take the pill and enjoy sex without fear of pregnancy. Women are still second class citizens. That’s why I use my sex to get what I can out of the little darlings.
‘I’ve no illusions, Faith, so don’t look so scandalized. They don’t love me. They love sex and my body, even if I am nearing forty and I’ve had three kids. I keep myself in trim so they’re not disgusted when I take off my clothes. I can still excite them, still make their willies stand up and perform. But I make sure they pay; in pleasure for me, and clothes and food and other services. I’ve never paid a tradesman to do a job. And my little bungalow’s a palace with all mod cons.’
‘I’d far rather my Old Hodge with his faults, than all your passing men friends.’
‘Ah, but then you love Old Hodge and he loves you.’
‘You loved David, Mum.’
‘But I lost him. You can’t live on memories and dreams of what might’ve been. Anyway, I’d best get back up there. I don’t want Netta waking up alone.’
‘I’ll take over during the night, Mum. Then you can sleep.’
‘You’re a good woman, Faith. I’m very proud of you, proud to call you daughter. Proud to know such goodness has come from my love for David.’ Mum smiled at me and went back upstairs.
‘What was that about?’
‘Your Mum’s had a sad, strange sort of life, with lots of disappointment. But you do exactly the right thing at every opportunity. In you, she sees a sort of redemption for all the mistakes and badness there’s been in her life.
‘Now, away with you to bed if you’re going to be up in the early hours.’
‘I’ll just try Leigh once more.’
‘You won’t. Leigh and Zoë’ll be in bed. There’s no point interrupting them with news he can do nowt about. Call him in the morning. Bed, now.’

###

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Cutting Through the Academic Crap, by April Taylor, Reviewed.

on Thursday, July 19, 2012

Are you a university student, or the parent, best friend, trusted sibling or confidante of such a student? If so, I strongly advise you to read this little book. It took me 40 minutes, that’s all. So, it’s hardly an imposition, is it?
Written in a friendly, approachable style, it details the methods, pitfalls, techniques and crucial points in the process of writing that all-important dissertation. I learned a good deal I didn’t know about this specialist academic topic and was prompted to read the book because my daughter is currently attending university and will be required to produce a dissertation in her final year.
The book is presented in easily digested bites, each of which deals with a specific aspect of the whole. Breaking it down in this way makes a difficult subject more easily understood. The author has personal experience of the needs, having two degrees herself. She demonstrates empathy with the lot of the student and uses some vernacular with which the student should be familiar. But she provides her advice in an authoritative manner without that off-putting arrogance and superiority that defines so much academic writing.
Students who follow her advice and take account of the various pitfalls and distractions she highlights will stand a very good chance of not only completing the dissertation on time, but also of gaining maximum marks. Such a chance to increase the success of all that hard work and study that exemplifies the lot of the student must surely be worth the short time and attention that this essential little book deserves.
So, if you’re studying for that degree, or supporting someone involved in that demanding task, I unconditionally recommend the reading of this book: BEFORE you start.

BTW: this is an ebook, available on Smashwords , Amazon.co.uk and Amazon.com  

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