Showing posts with label Friday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Friday. Show all posts

Four Weeks in: How Are You Doing?

on Tuesday, January 29, 2013

Been a funny week for me. As many regulars will know, I’ve suffered from ME/CFS for around 10 years. It’s a weird condition, coming and going, fooling you into believing you’ve recovered when things are going fine for a while, and then returning to bite you on the bum when the stress increases. That happened this week and I had to take the last day of my day job, Friday, off. It drains my batteries and makes everything much harder to do. It also means I have to take more frequent and longer rests in order to recharge those batteries. Today, Tuesday, I’m feeling as though I’m back on the road to recovery, so I hope to be up to normal speed shortly. At any rate, I managed an hour’s ballroom dancing with my wife last night and I’m not suffering too much this morning.

So, what have I managed this 4th week of the year?

I’ve edited 2 chapters of the fantasy, written a new short story, started another, edited another 2, submitted 2 contest entries and sent 2 stories off to magazines, thereby catching up on last week’s targets. I’ve reviewed my 6thbook of the year and started reading the 7th of my target of 52, and written and posted another blog post.

All in all, not bad. I’d have liked to have completed the story I’ve started (maybe today I’ll manage that). I’d like to have done a couple more chapters of the fantasy. But one thing I’ve learned over the last 10 years is that I can do so much and no more. Once I try to exceed the work my batteries will power, I simply become drained and then have to spend more time recovering than I’ve used in producing. In the end, it’s not worth the wasted time and energy. So, I have to pace myself in order to get at least something done. I have a theory, which will shortly be either borne out or shattered, that it’s my day job, the part-time employment, that causes the ME/CFS. I cease that work in late March and retire from the wage-slave arena in early April. We’ll see then just how correct have been my suspicions.

So, that’s me for this first month of the year. How about you? Keeping those resolutions? Reaching your targets? Enjoying what you’re doing?

The pie chart, explained:
'Writing' - initial creation of stories, blog posts, reviews and longer works.
'Editing' - polishing of all written work to make it suitable for readers.
'Research' - discovery of info for story content, market research, contests and blog posts.
'Reading' - books and writing magazines.
'Networking' - emails, Twitter, Pinterest and Facebook activity.
'Admin' - story submission, blog posting, marketing, organisation and general admin tasks.
(You’ll note, if you’re a regular visitor, that I’ve substituted ‘Networking’ for ‘Emails’ here; it seemed a more accurate label.)

Share your triumphs and disasters here, so your fellow writers can commiserate, congratulate or simply empathise.

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Read Breaking Faith, Free: Chapter 49

on Friday, December 21, 2012

This is the penultimate chapter. Enjoy what’s left of the ride.

For those who haven’t been following the free read, I posted Chapter 1 on 13 January. Subsequent chapters have appeared each Friday, and will continue to be posted until all 50 have featured 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 along. As an author, I want people to read my writing, simple as that.

Chapter 49

Tuesday 30th November

My return from Scotland had been so full of hope and expectation. Reality killed all that along with Netta. I examined my reactions to her death and found, amongst the grief and sorrow, I could blame both her and her attacker but neither Leigh nor myself. I felt no guilt, no responsibility, and Leigh’s insistence on his fault confounded me.
At first, I accepted he must be grieving in his own particular way. He would eventually leave that stage and return to his normal self. It was clear he found comfort in my arms and derived pleasure from our nearness, so I couldn’t understand his determination to avoid me. It wasn’t important, for the moment, that he couldn’t make love. The trauma of discovering Netta’s naked and abused body coupled with his natural grief at her loss caused that. Time would sort it out; time, patience and understanding from me. Alex Comfort’s book had taught me many things but that was a most important lesson.
Leigh, having lived so long through and for sex, seemed incapable of understanding it was just one aspect of our lives together, only part of our relationship.
I wanted him inside me again, I wanted to make love. Of course I did. But I could and did still love him without sex. Just to have him in my arms, to have his arms round me, was joy and pleasure. There was more than comfort in our embrace, more than mutual support.
He couldn’t see it.
And his obsession with Netta made it hard for him to accept she was dead. He had to keep her memory alive, had to keep the image of her clear before him as though that would somehow cover up his guilt. Guilt that was misplaced and unnecessary. It had been difficult enough for me to bear his fixation with Netta when she was alive; to have her form a barrier between us now she was dead was almost unbearable.
Eric’s death changed everything. In practical terms, it brought me a new home without the effort of finding one; and with it, an escape from the claustrophobic atmosphere of Longhouse. It brought me Bruce and his unquestioning devotion and loyalty. And it brought Zizi up from London, ostensibly to give me her support and comfort. When I heard them at it through the night I knew I had to leave. He could find a way to fuck Zizi, but not a way to make love with me.
I’d been in Dad’s old cottage for a week, though it wasn’t strictly mine in a legal sense until much later, with Bruce my only companion, when I received news that Heacham’s old Will had been found in favour of myself and Hope. He’d failed to change it after I’d left. I was surprised to learn I now had two cottages. I’d always thought Heacham’s place was rented. But he’d apparently inherited it from his parents. What, I wondered, had he done with all the rent I’d paid for him over the years? It turned out he, or rather I, had been the sole payer of rent for the old stone barn he and his cronies used as their chapel. The rest he’d hoarded in bank accounts and in a box in cash under the bed.
I found grim satisfaction in regaining what I’d lost to him and great delight in ending at once the informal agreement on the chapel. The few who’d joined him in his grotesque distortion of Biblical legend faded into obscurity amongst the community once their meeting place was advertised as ideal for conversion to holiday accommodation.
I would have to take decisions on behalf of Hope but I went to see her anyway. I wish I had let her be. She was all flab and bedsores; her lovely hair cut short, dry and unstyled, her skin red and flaking. There was no dignity in what she’d become. She was no more than meat kept alive and I wished they would let her die in peace if that was the best they could do for her. But I couldn’t and wouldn’t remove her from their care and knew I shared their guilt in my refusal. I used her share of the funds from the Will to employ a private nurse to see her three times a week and care for her skin and general health. I would do no more for her myself; it was pointless, she didn’t even know me. I’d spent my early life sacrificing my needs to the demands of others. It was time I lived for myself.
Heacham’s cottage was a mess and bore the stench of death. I threw the windows open to bring in fresh air but knew I could never live there. It was foul and full of memories I wanted to erase. For three days, I cleaned and cleared out rubbish, burning everything of his, including a handful of foreign-language, pornographic magazines that lay stained and scattered on the floors.
I restored it to some semblance of tidiness so I might do something with the place. Once finished, I was full of tension, angst and bitterness. I must free myself of the memories of Heacham and that house if I was ever to live in peace. I needed some sort of symbolic act, some spiritual rite to wash me free of the filth I associated with his memory. The tarn offered an attractive solution. It was November but not yet seasonally cold and the autumn rains had filled the lake with clear cleansing water.
I put on my working underwear, grabbed a towel and walked up the hill, Bruce running ahead of me as if impatient to get to the tarn. In the shadow of the trees, with sunlight sparkling on the silent water, I folded my outer clothes; the idea of Mervyn watching me swim naked had spoiled the place to some extent and I wasn’t prepared to risk treating him again.
The water was cold enough to take my breath away but I waded in until I was able to swim. The cold and the clarity of that fresh, untainted water flushed away my tension and I felt my spirit healing within me as the tension left. A few strokes took me to the very centre and I ducked myself beneath the surface and struck into the depths. Kicking hard, I touched the bottom and then pushed myself hard and fast toward the light above. I broke surface and gulped the sweet, fresh air and laughed aloud in exultation.
Bruce barked. I turned to see Mervyn in the trees, a large fallen branch in his hand. Bruce stood, hackles high, menacing the lout as he approached my clothes.
‘Go away, Mervyn! Leave me alone.’
His silence was unnerving. Bruce went for him and Mervyn shook him off his arm. I had no time to decide what to do. He fended Bruce off with the stick. I was swimming, wading, running for the bank before I ever thought of what I was doing. As I emerged from the water, Mervyn turned to me and gave a savage kick to Bruce. My poor dog was hurt and he caught him by his collar in one hand, the other holding the branch over his head.
‘Dog’s fuckin’ dead, less you do as I say. Get them off, cunt.’
‘Leave my dog alone. He’s done nothing to you.’
‘Off. Or the dog’s meat, cunt.’ He waved the bloodied bough and Bruce suddenly seemed so vulnerable. Perhaps I could buy time, distract the pervert. I slowly slipped off the bra and made myself stand proud.
‘Them an’all. Get the fuckers off.’ He waved the bough close above Bruce’s head and I knew I had no choice.
I stood naked before him and understood what he did not; that he had no way to rape me whilst holding Bruce. If I were to run, he’d be forced to make a choice. And I was certain I knew what choice he’d make. Bruce would be safe.
He took a step forward. ‘On the ground, cunt. Legs apart an’ arms underneath. Or I’ll whip your tits with this.’
I stooped and grabbed a handful of wet pebbles. He was so engaged by my body, he failed to notice what I was doing. As my stones peppered him, he was startled into dropping his weapon.
I took my chance and ran. ‘Come on, Bruce!’
The fool moved to my clothes. As if I cared about that when he threatened my very existence. I ran for the cottage as fast as I could, his mistake giving me the lead I needed.
Heavy, fat and unfit, he wasn’t as fleet as I. But I had to watch for sharp stones that might damage my bare feet and disable me. And I’d misjudged him. He paused only to batter Bruce hard enough to stop him running with me. I stopped, uncertain what I should do; concerned for my dog.
But he moved away from Bruce and started toward me. I turned and ran again. I gained on him only slowly and he was still within sight as I reached the cottage. I’d left the back door unlocked and I opened the garden gate, closing and bolting it behind me, and was quickly inside the cottage and safe. I locked and bolted the back door, top and bottom, and leant with my back against it, breathing hard and fast but relieved to be secure inside whilst he was locked outside.
The front door opened. I’d left the key in my coat. He’d watched me leave by the front door, seen me pocket the key, and followed me to the tarn. I suspect he took the key whilst I was in the water, just in case.
He took his time, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. He locked it and put the key in his pocket. I desperately tried to return to the back door I’d just secured. But he was in the kitchen before I’d undone the top bolt and I had to dodge round the table to escape him.
There was blood above one of his cold eyes. My stones had been more effective than I’d thought.
‘I’m gonna fuck you, cunt. On the table, on the floor, over the chair, up your cunt, up your arse, in your mouth. Then I’m gonna beat your fuckin’ brains out, just like I did that other lyin’ cunt. Onny, wi’ you, I’ll leave my cock in when I come ‘cos no-one’s ever goin’ to know what happened to you. Your body’ll burn with this house once I’ve ‘ad enough. But I’m gonna teck me time. I’ll tie you up an’ come back to fuck you every day for as long as I like. An’ no one’ll know.’
He studied me as he took off his coat. He eased each of his boots off in turn. He untied the string he used for a belt. ‘Gonna tie your ‘ands together wi’ this. Tight, so it hurts.’ He removed his trousers. ‘This is gonna split you an’ meck you bleed an’ scream before I’m done wi’ you.’
I was shivering now that I’d stopped moving, still damp from the tarn, cold from the air as I’d run, and terrified by his threats. ‘Leigh’ll be here soon. You’d better go, if you know what’s good for you, Mervyn.’
Fear flashed briefly across his face and then he sneered. ‘Think I’m fuckin’ stupid? You ‘aven’t seen Leigh in days. I bin watchin’ you ever since you come. Seen you around the ‘ouse in nowt but your knickers. See you now in nowt at all.’
‘I don’t understand why you hate me, Mervyn. What have I done to make you dislike me so?’
‘You and your whoring sister got me sacked. Cunts! Well, I did for her and she were beggin’ for mercy before I finished her. Your turn now. You’ll teck longer, be more fun. No one comes up ‘ere since your pervert father topped hissen. They say it’s haunted. Soon be haunted by more’n ‘im. Like being a ghost, will you?’
‘What do you want from me, Mervyn?’
He moved suddenly but I reacted as quickly and kept the table between us.
‘Want? I’m gonna ‘ave what I want, cunt, whether you like it or not. I’m gonna ‘ave you. Any way I want and as many times as I like. You can’t make no bargains wi’ me. I can do what I like wi’ you.’
I put my hands on the table to steady myself, emotion and physical fatigue making me suddenly unsteady. My hand caught the edge of the table. My finger caught the handle of the drawer. I opened it and grabbed the large carving knife that Heacham had kept razor sharp to slice the Sunday roast.
Mervyn saw the blade and backed involuntarily from the table. He searched for a weapon and I took my chance, grabbing the teapot from the sink behind me and throwing it at him as hard as I could. Caught off guard, he moved too late and it hit him on the side of his head. I dashed from the kitchen and slammed the door closed behind me.
Desperate, I pushed the armchair against it before he had time to recover. For a few seconds, I stood, uncertain of my next move. It gave him time to recover and barge through into the sitting room. He was armed with the wooden rolling pin and came straight at me.
I dodged his first blow and struck out blindly with the knife. I felt resistance and saw blood drip from his free hand.
‘Cunt!’
He swung at me again and I ducked, the end of the rolling pin crashing against my shoulder. I turned and side stepped. This time I held my ground as he rushed at me. The knife stabbed through his shirt and into his midriff as he brought the rolling pin down, hitting the top of my head.
I was stunned for a few seconds, blackness fighting my instinct to remain conscious. I won through the pain and dizziness to find blood flowing across my left eye. Mervyn was staggering nearby with the knife still in his body. I picked up the empty coalscuttle and slammed it as hard as I could across his head. He stumbled and turned to face me. His hands were scrabbling at the knife and his face was drained and white. I picked up the rolling pin from the floor and hit him back and forth across his face and head. He put up his hands to defend himself and rose from his knees to try to reach me. I moved aside as he came forward and he fell onto his face. I hit him again on the back of his head and then dashed to the front door. It was locked and he had the key.
I jumped hard on his writhing body as I passed and rushed for the back door. Frantic with terror, I undid the top bolt, turning to see if he was behind me. There was no sign of him in the kitchen as I ran from there into the back garden and opened the gate. I peered round the cottage, fearing he might have opened the front door. But he wasn’t there. I ran down the stony lane, heedless of the sharp stones cutting my feet.
Mrs Greenhough’s shop was closed. Early closing day.
I stumbled across the Green to the red telephone box, picked up the receiver and dialled 999.
‘Police and ambulance. I’ve been attacked and I think I might’ve killed….’

###

Impatient for the final chapter? It’ll appear after Christmas. If you’re really that impatient, perhaps you can persuade someone could give you it as a Christmas present. It’s available in paperback (through online or high street outlets) or ebook format for whatever ereader you use, just click on the cover picture or visit ‘My Books’. I’d appreciate a review, posted wherever possible - Amazon, Goodreads, Smashwords, or any other bookish site. Reviews get indie published books noticed, you see.

Tweet with me on Twitter: http://twitter.com/@stuartaken
Like my author page on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/StuartAken
USA readers, see my author page on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/author/stuartaken
(for some odd reason, this type of link isn't yet available on Amazon for UK)
Join my professional connections on LinkedIn: http://www.linkedin.com/pub/stuart-aken/22/1b6/aaa

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Read Breaking Faith, Free: Chapter 48

on Friday, December 14, 2012

You’ve come so far with me and the end is close. Continue to enjoy the ride.

For those who haven’t been following the free read, I posted Chapter 1 on 13 January. Subsequent chapters have appeared each Friday, and will continue to be posted until all 50 have featured 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 along. As an author, I want people to read my writing, simple as that.

Chapter 48

Sunday 12th September

‘Sorry? Sorry? Does that bring back Netta’s laughter and joy? Does sorry make it better? Will sorry restore her to me? You think you’re sorry, you shit of shits; you will be when I’m done with you.’
‘Matilda! Leigh was out all night looking for her. It wasn’t his fault she ran off the way she did, she was always doing it.’
‘You would stick up for him. You’re as good as his mother, you’re bound to side with him.’
‘Want someone to blame, Matilda? And you do. Blame the devil who chased her across that fell and threw her into the pit.’
She looked at Old Hodge’s face and something reached her. He had a way of getting through to people with few words.
She broke down and wept without restraint and allowed me to comfort her this time. Ma made the ubiquitous pot of tea as I nodded my thanks at Old Hodge.
When she’d sobbed herself into exhaustion, she asked me to explain, to tell her exactly what had happened. It was a chance to explain to Ma and Old Hodge as well and they listened with few interruptions.
‘When’s Faith due back home?’
‘Week on Saturday.’
‘Netta’ll be long underground by then. I don’t know what…’
‘Not if there’s been foul play. They may not release her… her body, if there has to be a trial.’
But they did. The inquest followed on the Wednesday and they found her to be the victim of unlawful killing by a person or persons unknown. She’d been brutally raped and one of the fractures to her skull had occurred before she’d been thrown into the pit. Conjecture was she’d been chased, caught, bound and raped. She’d then been knocked unconscious, and dumped in the pit, probably still alive until she hit the bottom. It sickened and enraged me but I was powerless to act in any way at all.
Heacham had been the obvious culprit except his own time of death coincided with Netta’s. Whilst the forensic and medical evidence allowed a short overlap between the two events, it was unlikely he could have made it back to his cottage and done away with himself in the time allowed. In any case, there was nothing at the cottage to indicate he’d been out in that rain. His clothes were dry. His note, confessing relatively minor sins other than the multiple rapes of Hope, made no mention of Netta’s death.
To our relief, the coroner released Netta’s body for burial, though not cremation, once all tests were done. There was little forensic evidence to help the case. The rapist had either used a condom or removed himself before ejaculation. The only semen found was mine. There were no foreign pubic hairs mingled with hers, no skin, raked from his back, beneath her fingernails. And the rain had washed her skin clean of any pollution from her murderer, no fibres, nothing on her that wasn’t her own. Only one thing puzzled them; the grit and tiny shreds of vegetation lodged within the flesh of her bruised vulva. The conclusion was she’d been kicked by a booted foot. But whether before or after the rape, no one could say.
The guilty rock he’d used to club her was belatedly discovered on the hillside where I’d waited for the dawn. Nearby, in the heather, lay the cup from my flask. I hadn’t even missed it. When they arrested me for the crime and I admitted my complicity, Ma’s strident denials were treated with indifference. But Matilda came to my rescue, explained to them in terms they understood and secured my release. She drove me home in time for me to change for the funeral.
She remained at Longhouse, as Faith was due back the next day and she wanted to be there. I spent the afternoon in a state of restlessness that drove Matilda and Zizi almost to despair. They sent me to the office with instructions to do something useful and to get out of their hair. Going through the backlog of mail on my desk, I came across Faith’s letter.
I read her words with growing disbelief and almost tore up her pastel sheets of pain. I almost took her things and threw them on the drive. I almost laughed at her amazing innocence and honesty and callous indifference about my feelings. How could she do that in cold blood and then write to me about it in such candid detail? How could she say she loved me and then go off and screw a stranger, just for some peculiar experience? How could she…?’
I was so confused and bitter, I gave the letter to Matilda and Zizi, asked them the questions, how?
‘How could she, in perfect innocence, do just once what you did all the time in full knowledge of the facts before you finally took her? How could she fulfil what she saw as a sacred duty to her dad? How could she not?’
‘How could Faith forgive you all the pain and rejection you heaped on her? How could she hang on to her love for you when all you gave her was hurt and dismissal? I know how, Leigh, because through all the hopelessness and pain I love you just as she does.’
‘Oh, Leigh, what’ve we done to them, to Netta and to Faith? What have we given them? What lessons have we taught? I hope they’ll forgive us.’
We went to separate beds and slept uneasily. Zizi, who’d come up, at Ma’s request, to support me for the funeral, spent the night in Faith’s bed and left first thing on Saturday morning. I’d slept alone since Faith had left.
I saw her car come up the lane. Matilda stood beside me, waiting in the office. Faith was getting out of her car when I went out to meet her. The smile of joy and expectation on her face died in concern as she looked into my face.
‘Leigh, what’s happened?’
I had it all planned; how I would lead up to the events, skirt around the final tragedy, leave out the gruesome details and break it to her gently.
‘Netta’s been raped and murdered.’
She looked at me for the briefest of moments as if I’d uttered some meaningless foreign phrase, then she took me in her arms to comfort me. She, who’d lost the sister she loved, supported me in my grief.
She had to know it all and I felt compelled to tell her. Matilda was silent throughout and let me tell the tale in its entirety. At last I made my confession to the woman I loved. ‘It’s my fault. If I hadn’t taken advantage of you, she would never…’
‘If that makes it your fault, Leigh, it makes it mine as well. You took no advantage. I invited you. If our making love caused Netta’s rape and murder, then I’m as much to blame as you.’
‘No. No, you were an innocent party in all this.’
‘Leigh, you’re wrong. It must be both or neither of us. You did nothing to me Leigh. What we did we did together, with each other. I was no more innocent, or guilty, of our making love than you were. What we did was make love with each other, not you to me, nor me to you. If not making love, then what can be mutual between two people?’
‘You’re not to blame, Faith.’
‘Then neither are you. Did I run off to the hills to sulk every time you had sex with Netta?’
‘You found other ways to retaliate.’
‘Once, and under extreme provocation and for reasons far more complex than your display of mutual obsession.’
‘There’s no one else to blame.’
‘Except Netta herself.’
Matilda drew in breath sharply and looked at me. But, though I found it hard to think of Netta being culpable, I couldn’t argue with Faith’s logic and I was too drained to fight.
Faith understood the quandary she’d given me and softened her attack. ‘There’s only one person to blame, Leigh: the brutal bastard who did it.’
‘They don’t know who it was.’
‘I do.’
I saw my own incredulity echoed on Matilda’s face.
‘Have they interviewed Mervyn?’
‘He’s got an alibi.’
‘With those brothers, I bet he has. It doesn’t mean he didn’t do it.’
‘No one can prove it.’
‘Perhaps.’
Matilda thought we needed time and space. She went home, her way of life under review, her head and heart full of ‘if only’ and ‘what if?’ and the joy in her eyes extinguished.
Faith and I went to our separate beds that night, until she came to me in the early hours seeking and offering comfort. We embraced and found some help in that, but for the first time ever, I was incapable of making love.
‘It’s not important. It isn’t what I came for, Leigh. I just wanted to hold you and be in your arms, be next to you, that’s all.’
But I didn’t sleep that night. When she woke, I tried again, but the image of Netta lying used and broken in that pit wouldn’t leave my mind and I couldn’t respond to Faith’s touch. All I could see was Netta’s cold abandoned body, hurt, abused and defiled. I left my bed, disturbed and anxious at this new torment.
‘Come back and hold me, Leigh.’
But I wanted more than that, I needed more. I feared each time I moved to touch her I would find that appalling image of Netta excluding all else from my mind. I went down to breakfast alone.
So, the days and nights went by and nothing changed except that the lack of sex grew like a cancer between us, cold and cruel in its isolating force.
Faith came to me later that week with pictures from her holiday, pictures of her at the cottage, in the sea, lying under the sun, all taken with me in mind and all wonderful but useless now. Netta, lifeless and defiled, invaded my mind every time I looked at her.
She undressed me one evening, in the sitting room, and removed her own clothes, simply and without ceremony, slowly unveiling her beauty for me. She knelt before me, and all I could see was the image of Netta, damaged and used in the pit.
So, at my unexplained request, we slept in separate beds and I avoided her touch for the pain of the memory. Netta lived on in my mind when I was alone. I printed the series of pictures I’d taken of her in the hills, intending to produce a book. But the prints became mine and I wouldn’t share them with others; I didn’t deserve the acclaim they would bring. As long as I kept her mine, she would still be around and untouched.
Faith did her work and daily tried reaching toward me, but I couldn’t bear the pain of her disappointment.
Four weeks after we buried Netta, Faith came to me with tears flowing unchecked down her cheeks. She was desolate and needed comfort only I could give.
‘Eric’s dead. The doctor’s just phoned me.’
It did something to her, that news. She seemed to withdraw into herself, seemed to lose her will to reach me. The funeral, another that year, brought Zizi faithfully back up, this time to offer support and comfort to Faith.
And that night I took Zizi to my bed and fucked her and fucked her and fucked her all night.
‘Bastard, aren’t you, Leigh? I came to comfort Faith and you take advantage of me, instead. I’m glad I’ve been some use to you. I can’t hate you; I still love you too much. But I don’t like you, Leigh, I don’t like you one little bit.’
‘It’s because I love her I can’t…’
‘It’s because you love yourself too much, you selfish shit.’ And Zizi returned to London.
Faith rescued Bruce from certain death at the local vet’s and brought him, with my grudging acceptance, to Longhouse. Later that week, she found she would inherit the cottage that Eric had shared with her father. She and Bruce moved out of Longhouse the following day.

###

Impatient for the final chapters? You can buy the book, or someone could give you it as a Christmas present, in paperback (through online or high street outlets) or ebook format for whatever ereader you use, just click on the cover picture or visit ‘My Books’. If you do, I’d appreciate a review, posted wherever possible - Amazon, Goodreads, Smashwords, or any other bookish site. Reviews get indie published books noticed, you see.

Tweet with me on Twitter: http://twitter.com/@stuartaken
Like my author page on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/StuartAken
USA readers, see my author page on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/author/stuartaken
(for some odd reason, this type of link isn't yet available on Amazon for UK)
Join my professional connections on LinkedIn: http://www.linkedin.com/pub/stuart-aken/22/1b6/aaa

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Read Breaking Faith, Free: Chapter 47

on Friday, December 7, 2012

You’ve come so far with me and the end is close. Continue to enjoy the ride.

For those who haven’t been following the free read, I posted Chapter 1 on 13 January. Subsequent chapters have appeared each Friday, and will continue to be posted until all 50 have featured 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 along. As an author, I want people to read my writing, simple as that.

Chapter 47

Monday 20th September

A small, ancient tractor blocked the road as I drove to the village but the driver moved into the first passing place and waved me by. I recognized him at once. At the next passing place, I got out of the car and waited.
‘Coincidence, or have you been peeping?’
‘Faith, I’ve seen every bonny inch o’ you. I’d no peep like that. I’ve been down yon, checking the water for the beasts.’
‘Serendipity, then. I want to thank you, Hamilton, for your lovely gift. The drawings are beautiful. How did you find the time and opportunity?’
‘Just wee sketches. They didna teck long, and, och, ye were far away at times. I’m glad you like them.’
I studied him for a moment. ‘I wonder if you’d do me a real favour, in return for a small reward?’
He waited for my offer.
‘I know it’s tempting for a young man to tell his friends what’s happened and I don’t mind that. But would you keep it secret until I’ve gone? I don’t want hordes of young men coming to the croft in the hope of similar treatment. They won’t get it and I don’t want to cause disappointment, and my holiday would be ruined. Would you do that for me?’
‘I’d no gossip about what passed between us, Faith. That was private. Far too special and wonderful to be bragging. You read my note. You must know I love you. I’d no betray that for the passing glory tall tales might win.’
‘Not tall tales, Hamilton, the truth’s impressive enough. And you’re not really in love with me. It’s no more than infatuation and it’ll pass when you find the girl you want to marry.’
‘Tis no crush I’m feeling for ye, Faith, an’ the lass I’d wed is right before me. But I’ll no argue.’ He smiled shyly through the longing, and the blush came to his cheeks again. ‘I’ve no need of reward for being a gentleman, Faith. But I’d like to hear what you were offering.’
‘It’s still on offer. Come first thing on Saturday and sketch me for yourself, that’s all, if you wish. But you’ll have to be there in time to finish before nine o’clock when I’ll be off home.’
He looked at me with the hunger of lust that he called love. ‘I’ll take your gift, Faith. I’ll be there for eight, if that’s no too early?’
‘Weather permitting, I’ll be finishing my last swim by then. Until Saturday.’ I stretched to peck his cheek and drove into the village to post my letter to Leigh and collect fresh groceries for the coming week. But I decided against posting the letter. There was a postscript to add and I could put it in a box on one of the trips I intended to take now my retreat had become a holiday.
No one in the village looked at me any differently from my other visits and I knew Hamilton had been as good as his word. I was still no more than a mysterious wee Sassenach lassie visiting the island alone.
Back at the cottage, I took my dip in a sea that grew wilder by the minute. It soon became too dangerous to stay in the water. Within moments of my return to the cottage, as I towelled myself dry in front of the fire, the breakers began crashing on the shingle and tossing spray against the window so hard it was like a rain storm. Closing the door, I realized I was probably stuck indoors for the rest of the day. I would review and complete my letter to Leigh.

My dear, adorable, sexy, wonderful, magical, delicious, wicked Leigh,
I love you.
I’ll save the description of my holiday home for my return. In any case, I’ve taken loads of pictures in and around the cottage, some including me in a state I believe you’ll find pleasing. The sea is wonderful and the isolation perfect for my intentions.
First to my admission. I found a suitable young man to fulfil Dad’s wishes. He was a virgin, so no worry about disease and I’m on the pill, as Mum insisted, so no danger of pregnancy. We had sex eight times in the time I allowed. First time, he climaxed almost as soon as he entered me. He wasn’t a patch on you physically and I only reached anything like an orgasm on the couple of occasions I was on top. I sent him away after just one day and night and I’m back on my own now and missing you like mad.
It seems to me, Leigh, that your sexual adventures have left you with one impression about sex and love, whilst my inexperience has given me an entirely different view. Because I came to love first and only experienced simple sex afterwards, I’m sure I was bound to be disappointed by sex on its own. The physical enjoyment is nowhere near as great when there’s no love involved, it’s a bit like… well, actually, there’s nothing else like making love at all.
Making love with you is the most wonderful experience I’ve ever had. I can fully understand the compulsive, even obsessive nature of such lovemaking. Sex, on the other hand, whilst a pleasant enough diversion, is so far below the experience of love making that it pales into insignificance. With you, I felt alive in every cell of my being, I felt passion and elation, ecstasy and such delight and joy as I never thought possible. You brought me an awareness of myself as a woman that I had not known. You loved me so thoroughly and completely that no other man can ever come near to bringing me the same sensation. I always thought lust was dreadful, but when it’s mixed with love, it’s extraordinary. I certainly lust for you. I want you just thinking about you. Just writing your name makes me ready to take you inside me. But it’s more than that: somehow, in a way I can describe only partly, my soul bonded with yours when we made love. Our spirits combined so we became one and there were no boundaries between our essences, no barriers to our sensations and emotions.
With Hamilton, I felt some pleasurable physical sensations, especially once I’d led him to my clitoris (horrible, ugly word for such a lovely part of my body). But, not only was he unable to bring me to a climax until I took the lead, I felt no soaring of my spirit, no joining of souls, no harmony of bodies as I did with you, Leigh.
No, there’s no comparison between making love and having sex. I ache to be with you again, to have you deep inside me, to have your hands and mouth on my breasts, our lips and tongues together, our limbs entwined, our bodies made as one. I yearn for you to take me to that space where time ceases to exist and there’s nothing but us in the world and we two are one. I yearn just to be with you. To have you in my sight and hearing. To know you are but a step away.
But I promised us a fortnight to understand ourselves and although I’ve no need of further self discovery, I don’t know how you’re doing with your test. So, I’ll stick with our original agreement, hard as it is. In any case, if I return now, I’ll probably have to get involved in Heacham’s trial and I’d rather avoid that for the moment.
I know I made conditions about our togetherness, Leigh, and I understand those will be difficult for you to keep. But I can’t share you. I really can’t. I’ll give my whole self to you on my return, without reservation and for the rest of time. I had to have my experience with Hamilton; I could not have gone through life knowing I’d failed Dad in that way. And it had to be now, because when I return I intend to be yours alone, for the rest of my life. I need you to have the same sort of commitment and I hope to find Netta gone and you celibate until I come home to you.
If you can’t manage this, I need to know at once. It may sound foolish, but I couldn’t bear to see you now if you can’t agree to what I ask. Please, let me have a sign that you agree: if you don’t want me on my terms, please put my things outside the door of Longhouse so I’m not forced to come inside and face your rejection. I can collect my things and leave without seeing you again and go away to make a new life for myself.
If that’s what you decide, I’ll always be alone, since no one else will be to me what you are, Leigh. I shall not die but my life will be diminished and incomplete. I don’t tell you this to make you feel bad but to make you understand what you mean to me. Without you, I am but a shadow. With you, I can win the world.
I love you, Leighton Longshaw and I want to spend my life with you. I want to marry you and have your children. I want to lie each night with you in our bed and know that I may share your love forever as you will share mine.
Until Saturday, my darling love. Be there for me.
Always, your adoring Faith.

I re-read the letter and decided not to alter it again. It was my fifth attempt and I could think of no improvements to it. But I wanted to be honest with Leigh and I felt I should let him know about my bargain with Hamilton and my reason for it. My postscript was brief and to the point.
The rain continued for the rest of that day and I added one more line to the letter, telling Leigh I’d been nude whilst writing, knowing he’d gain pleasure from picturing me that way. I reflected on that thought and realized it came from love. Both Mum and Dad had said that love was giving the loved one what they wanted and that was what I was doing for Leigh and it felt good and right.
The rest of my time on the island, I was a tourist. I visited the sites my map highlighted and saw a castle that had been occupied continuously for six centuries. Its dank, small dungeon haunted me for ages with its single stone to seal the entry hole above and cut out all the light, and the irons on the cold stone floor to hold the prisoner in chains in a space too small for anyone to lie down.
I saw seals basking on the rocks and got soaked by breakers in the small boat I sailed in with half a dozen other tourists. I watched golden eagles soar above the mountains and sat in total silence by the shores of isolated lochs with sunlight shattering their mirror surfaces into a million bright shards. I even visited the island distillery where I tried their twenty-five-year-old single malt. Talisker tasted like liquid gold and I bought a case for Leigh.
Everywhere I went, I took photographs. The light was wondrous, the skies alive, the seas so changeable, the hills and mountains grand and magnificently indifferent in their beauty. I felt insignificant in that landscape, irrelevant to its beauty. I was there, amongst mountains of red and black ancient as time itself, and falling, living water and the shimmering lochs, but my presence made no difference; the rocks and hills were oblivious of me. I was of less matter than an ant, a falling leaf, a whisper of sound on the breeze. Wind and water and sun and the gentle ticking of the universe were all that mattered here, to sculpt and form the land into shapes anew over eons of time. I was not even a blink of the eye.
My week ended and the weather was kind enough to let me take my final swim. Hamilton was waiting as I strolled back to the cottage. I asked him where he wanted me and how and he drew his pictures and departed sadly after pleading only with his eyes.
‘I’ll no forget you, lassie, not if I live to be a hundred.’
I hoped that wasn’t true, but I could do nothing to prevent it.
The journey home was more tedious than the drive north had been and I was weary as I entered the area I knew. But, approaching Longhouse, knowing Leigh would welcome me with open arms and whisk me to his bedroom, I felt my tiredness drop away to be replaced by the elation of promise.

###

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Read Breaking Faith, Free: Chapter 44

on Friday, November 16, 2012

If you’ve come this far, you’re obviously reading Breaking Faith. We’re close to the denouement, moving towards the climax now. So, continue to enjoy the ride.

For those who haven’t been following the free read, I posted Chapter 1 on 13 January. Subsequent chapters have appeared each Friday, and will continue to be posted until all 50 have featured 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 along. As an author, I want people to read my writing, simple as that.

Chapter 44

Saturday 11th September

‘Bastards! Fucking, shitty bastards!’
I looked up, squinting in the bright sunshine streaming through the open window, to find Netta, hands on hips, staring down at us. Faith was still sleeping in my arms and I smiled at the pleasant pressure of her body against mine.
‘What’s so fucking funny?’
Naked, of course, her posture of jealousy threw her into a caricature of anger that held more amusement than alarm for me. My smile of pleasure at Faith’s slowly stirring presence, transformed into a smirk of scornful humour at Netta’s unjustified indignation. I struggled to prevent a laugh escaping me.
‘You fucking shit!’ She stomped from the room.
I felt Faith slowly rousing in my arms, stroked the hair off her face and kissed her lovely mouth until she struggled to free herself so she could yawn.
‘Sorry, not very romantic, but I had to do that.’
I smiled at her. From beyond our private world, I heard Netta leave the house in her usual state of dudgeon and sighed my relief. I could make love with Faith confident that Netta wouldn’t disturb us.
‘Make love…’
‘Pardon?’
I eased away the cover we must have drawn across us in the night. ‘I was just thinking of making love with you again. I’ve never thought of it that way before. It’s always been just sex. With you, it’s definitely love. In a sense, we both lost our virginity last night. You taught me as much as I taught you.’
‘Teach me more. Did I hear Netta?’
‘She’s, er, gone off.’
‘Oh.’
‘You seem disappointed.’
‘Only that I missed her discovery of us. Is that wicked?’
I laughed. ‘Considering the way she’s treated you, I think it’s generous. She’ll be back when she’s hungry. We’ll help her pack then.’
‘Heacham!’
‘He’ll not touch her after our visit. Netta’s safe. And she’s taken up enough of our time; I want to see what else we can discover about each other. But first, I want to look at you as I’ve never looked at you before.’
She smiled up at me, stretched, raising her arms over her head, and then relaxed with her hands under her head and her legs slightly apart. It was an invitation I couldn’t ignore and one I took to heart. I realized, as I took in her shape and form, I was looking at her in a way entirely different from my normal appraisal of a woman. No longer was I searching for imperfections that might render her unsuitable for modelling. No longer was I viewing a lovely body as a lovely body. This was Faith. I was looking at Faith. I was looking at the woman I loved and I understood comparisons were not only invalid but pointless and stupid. No other woman would ever look as good to me because no other woman was Faith.
Learning that lesson was extraordinarily easy. At that moment, I was interested only in her and the way she looked to me.
‘It’s unfair; the closer I move to you, to kiss your beautiful skin, the less of you I can see. I want all of you all the time. Your look, your touch, your smell, your taste, your feel, your laughter and your love.’
‘You have as much of me as there is, Leigh. You have all of me.’
As I gazed and touched, and tasted her, I was readily aroused. I lay on my back and discovered she needed little instruction, understanding she was in control.
We caught our breath and slowly came down from the mountain. My hands palmed her back from shoulders to thighs, tracing her contours and marvelling at the smoothness of her skin.
‘I begin to understand.’
I waited for expansion but she said no more, only breathed softly in my ear as her face lay on the pillow beside my head. I wanted to remain that way with her forever and it was she who made the move to separate us at last, sighing heavily.
‘Much as I would love to stay with you like this, Leigh, I’ve a long journey. I’ll have to be off straight after breakfast if I’m to be on time.’
‘You’re not going on holiday alone after this?’
She was already standing at the bedside and bent to kiss the tip of my nose. ‘Of course I am, silly. I know now, without any doubt, I love you. I know you think you love me. I still need to understand who and what I am and where I fit into the world. You need to decide whether you’re ready for me, to have me as your only love. Because, Leigh, I won’t share you with any other woman.’
‘But I love you, Faith.’
‘If you do love me, you’ll wait for my return and then we’ll be together for the rest of our lives. If you only think you love me, Netta will return to your bed and keep you company during my absence. When I come back, I’ll move out of Longhouse and leave you to it. I can love you only if you’re mine alone, Leigh. I’m sorry, but that’s how it is. And, once I’ve fulfilled Dad’s wishes, I’ll be as faithful to you as you must be to me.’
‘Wishes?’
She took my face in her hands and looked down at me with such tenderness, I melted. ‘You read his Will. Dad said I should try several but one other will do and then I’m yours forever. I think that’s fair, bearing in mind your extensive sampling, don’t you?’
How could I argue? I’d had hundreds of girls. I had no right to protest at her trying one other man. But how could I let the woman I loved have sex with some stranger? ‘Who have you got in mind?’
‘Oh, I’ve no idea, Leigh. I’m sure I’ll find someone willing enough, in view of all the offers I’ve had before. Anyway, I must shower or I’ll be late.’
And she was gone. I sat for a moment stunned by the whole situation. Usually I was in charge, or at least felt as if I was. Now, this young woman, whose virginity I’d claimed only that night, had taken over and was telling me what was going to happen. I went into the bathroom intent on showing her who was in charge in this new relationship and, much to my embarrassment, found her flushing the toilet.
She raised an eyebrow. ‘I don’t in the least mind you watching me shower, or sharing it with me, Leigh. But I’d prefer to use the toilet alone, if you don’t mind.’
‘Sorry, I just didn’t think. I wanted to … God, but you’re beautiful Faith. Please don’t go.’
She turned and got on with her shower. ‘We’ve been through that, Leigh, and you know I’ve got to go. It’s only two weeks. You’ll see; it’ll fly by. Give you time to catch up on some of that work you’ve let build up during your obsessive coupling with Netta. I know you’ll miss me. I’ll miss you. I’ve found something wonderful with you during the night and I want more. I don’t actually want to leave you, Leigh, but I must, and it must be now. My grieving and healing started last night but it isn’t over and I’d rather do the rest of my weeping in private. You know how hard it is for me to cry with others around, even you. Believe me; I do know what’s best for me on this occasion.’
I watched her wash, enjoying her open, uninhibited display that owed nothing to exhibitionism and everything to trust. It seemed that now we’d made love, all her inhibitions about being naked with me became irrelevant. I felt hugely privileged to be the one on whom she bestowed this trust but I was deeply concerned about her plan to let some other man invade her.
I knew it was irrational and even unfair, but I couldn’t let her share herself with some other man now that I loved her. I’d been indifferent to my women having sexual adventures with other men; had been supportive and encouraging, in fact. Even Netta, who’d been the closest to becoming what I might consider my woman, hadn’t worried me when she had sex with another. I knew my obsession with her was purely physical, my infatuation based solely on the wonderful combination of her physical appearance and her instinctive carnal abilities. Netta was made for sex, but not for love, and I knew I had no love for her. I’d grown fond of her, attached in a way I hadn’t known with any other woman, even Zizi. But there was no comparison with the way I felt about Faith. I wanted Faith, needed her and wanted to be with her, wanted to protect and provide for her, wanted her to have my children.
That thought stopped me in my tracks. I’d always considered children a nuisance to avoid at all costs. In any case, I’d always said I had no wish to bring a child into the world as it was with the perpetual fear of mass oblivion and the violent turmoil of modern society. But now I was considering the idea of a family with Faith. And the idea didn’t seem so bizarre, so awful, so undesirable after all.
‘Pass my towel, Leigh, please.’
I returned to the present and reached for her towel from the rail. She stood there dripping water down her skin and I wanted her again and she smiled at my obvious desire.
‘Me too. But I’m wet. And I do have to set off as soon as possible.’
I passed her the towel and watched her dry herself, loving every movement, every aspect of her. ‘Don’t go.’
She shook her head at me and stepped out of the bath, pulled the curtain across behind her to let it dry and draped her towel over the rail again.
I followed her into her bedroom and took her into my arms and she embraced me and kissed me and stroked my back. But, although she allowed me to put her on the bed and kiss her skin, she playfully smacked my bottom when I persisted. ‘Behave yourself. You know I want to make love again every bit as much as you do. Don’t make it more difficult than it already is. If I spend another hour or two with you in bed, I’ll be late arriving for the ferry and there’s no other way to the island. I’ll never find my cottage.’
So, I had at least learned that she was going to an island. It was something. I let her go and watched her cup her lovely breasts in a redundant softline bra in white. She stepped gracefully into scandalously brief panties, courtesy of Netta, and donned a sleeveless tie-dye tee shirt in greens and yellows before pulling on a light cotton maxi-skirt in a yellow-based paisley print. White ankle socks and flat suede driving shoes covered her feet last of all. She sat briefly before her dressing table mirror and brushed and combed her hair into a loose ponytail.
‘You look lovely in those clothes; get them off.’
She laughed and then looked down and stroked my erection, a soft pity in her eyes. ‘Will it hurt if you don’t use it?’
I could have lied but found I was incapable. ‘It’ll go once I stop thinking about how much I want you.’
‘I’ll make it up when I come back. Promise.’
I knew it was as much as I was going to get from her and I decided to give in and go along with her wishes. ‘I’ll get your breakfast whilst you pack the car. Go on.’
‘You’d better put something on first. It’s difficult enough leaving you as it is; when you’re as ready as that for me, it’s almost impossible.’
‘In that case, I’ll stay naked till you drive out of the gate.’
‘You’re a wicked, inconsiderate man, Leighton Longshaw, and I love you.’ She removed the pants I’d watched her don so gracefully and pushed me to the bed where she brought me quickly to a climax with remarkable skill and ease. I was still recovering as she parted from me.
‘Now I’ll have to wander about without knickers until I stop leaking. Wicked man.’
I was struck by the difference between the way she’d pleasured me entirely for myself and the way Netta had mounted me that first time and taken her own pleasure first.
‘Oh! My poor wren. This is what made me cry and what made you come to me in the night. I was fond of it before. Now it means so much more to me.’ She picked up the broken carving and brought it to show me.
‘I’ll get Old Hodge to mend it. It’ll be good as new, don’t worry.’
I made her breakfast as promised. She packed her car and then ate, watching me with mischief in her gorgeous eyes.
At the gate, she poked her head out of her car window and kissed me. ‘Be good and take care of yourself. I expect to return to no backlog and plenty of free time in which to make love with you.’ She handed me the morning’s post, which I could’ve sworn was on my desk when I’d gone down to make the breakfast. I frowned and she gave me a cheeky smile. ‘Might be a summons in there for me, but if I don’t know, I can’t be made to stay, can I? And no one knows where to reach me. See you in a fortnight, Leigh. I love you.’ And she was off down the lane, waving as she drove toward the road.
I watched her out of sight before I closed the gate and returned to the house to find Ma looking at me with an expression of glee.
‘At last.’
I turned back to the direction Faith had taken and looked at the empty space. The two weeks till she returned would be long and lonely.
‘I love her, Ma.’
‘Obviously; taken long enough to realize it, haven’t you? Where’s she gone?’
I explained.
Ma was intrigued. ‘I doubt he expected her to fall so completely for one man at the first attempt, otherwise her dad was wise enough to know comparisons mean nowt. I hope she doesn’t get herself in bother with some kilted highlander, that’s all. If I’d known what she had planned, I’d not have hung on to this.’
From her apron pocket, she produced a brown envelope. It was the dreaded summons and Ma had had it for days. She looked a bit shame faced as she handed it to me. ‘I didn’t want her worried by even more anxiety. I was going to give her it just now but she was out that gate before I crossed the lawn.’
‘She was determined to escape that summons. Looks like she’s succeeded.’
‘I’m so pleased you’ve finally decided you’re made for each other, Leigh. I’ve been wanting you to marry that girl almost since the day you took her on.’
‘Well, you’ll have to wait a couple more weeks at least. God, I’m going to miss her.’
Ma looked suddenly anxious. ‘She’ll not be in trouble if she fails to attend the court will she, Leigh?’
‘Only for contempt, Ma. Just a couple of years inside. Nothing to worry about.’
Ma looked at me and I saw the anxiety grow sharply on her face.
‘Tell the truth, Ma, I’ve no idea what might happen. I doubt she’ll be in any bother when we explain she didn’t receive it. But I think we’d best try to let her know and then, if we can’t find her, let the court know this arrived too late.’
‘You know where she’s gone?’
‘No idea, except it’s a Scottish island. You?’
Ma shook her head. ‘Still, the travel agent’ll know.’
I hadn’t thought of that. ‘I’ll pop in on Monday. Good thinking, Ma.’ And I put that anxiety at the back of my mind. ‘Think I’ll have some breakfast, need something to replace that energy.’
‘Is yon hussy likely to join you?’
‘Unlikely, Ma. She did a runner when she caught Faith and I in flagrante delecto. No doubt, she’ll return later and attempt to show me what I’m missing. But I’m packing her bags after breakfast. She can go back to Matilda’s.’
‘Best of British, Leigh. It’ll not be easy parting company with that one.’
I knew. It was a task I was dreading, but I was determined to carry it through and, after breakfast, I carefully packed everything I could find that belonged to Netta and put the cases in the back of the car in readiness. I assumed she would be decent enough to travel home in whatever she’d slung on to walk the hills.
When she failed to arrive back for teatime, I began to be a little concerned. My anxiety became serious when she failed to show as darkness began to fall. I called Matilda and spent a long time persuading her that there was no need for her to come over.
‘I’ll let you know as soon as she returns. Now I know how a parent feels when a child goes missing. I don’t know whether I’ll spank her backside or hug her so tight she’ll not be able to breathe.’
‘Leave the spanking to me, Leigh. She might enjoy it too much from you.’
Later, I called the police to report her missing, just in case she’d fallen somewhere out there. The storm clouds had regrouped after the beautiful respite of the morning and the afternoon had seen some rain and a little distant thunder. The oppressiveness had returned by evening and the threat of a renewed storm was imminent. I thought of that little lass out on the hills, alone and probably frightened, and decided I’d better try to find her.

###

Impatient for the next chapter? You can buy the book in paperback (through online or high street outlets) or ebook format for whatever ereader you use, just click on the cover picture or visit ‘My Books’. If you do, I’d appreciate a review, posted wherever possible - Amazon, Goodreads, Smashwords, or any other bookish site. Reviews get indie published books noticed, you see.

Tweet with me on Twitter: http://twitter.com/@stuartaken
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