Jolly Nice Murder

He opens the burger box, his mouth watering. The fat burger with a strip of bacon on the top, smothered in melted cheese makes his stomach growl. He sighs with a long, satisfied sound, just what he needs. A good, hearty burger, red on the inside. None of the fast food chain type burgers, limp flimsy bits of so called beef. No, a Jolly nice burger is what he has been looking forward to. He takes a hungry bite, chomping away, his hands still cold. The large yurt is warm and comfortable and very quiet, but outside the wind is bitter. He thinks about tomorrow, a frown on his face, looking at his problem from various angles. His poem, that is the problem. His St Nicholas’Poem for Brendon. He tuts, taking another bite, relishing the juicy beef with onions. Yes, it was a good idea going here for lunch. Now, Brendon’s poem, or rather, the lack of one. Truth is, he has been putting it off, remembering Brendon’s fury last year. All contained under a pleasant smile of course, but he knew better. Brendon had smelt like murder last year, and if he finds out that he, Johan, has got Brendon’s name again…well, no St Nicholas chocolate will be able to smooth out the evening, he reckons.

Bits of last year’s poem come back to him, and he chuckles in spite of himself. Of course, laughing at your own jokes is pretty poor taste, but then, it had been rather funny to watch Brendon having to read out his poem. He had really enjoyed himself until the poem was over, and Brendon had looked his way, knowing full well that Johan must have been the Saint and Helpers signed off at the end of the poem. Johan had continued laughing with the rest, and so had Brendon, but he remembers the twitching in his eye. He had pretended to sneeze and blow his nose, worried that Brendon might notice the tick, and guess his fear. Brendon had brushed the joke off like flakes from his jacket, but no before Johan had noticed his looks. Now he has got him again,and he will need to produce another poem, but somehow Johan hasn’t got the courage to mention Brendon’s business policies again. Last year he had laughed at the risk it involved, sure that Brendon’s policies were public knowledge anyway, but as Brendon read out the poem Johan realised that he had made the mistake of his life. Literally.

Johan bites and chews through the burger, napkins at the ready, as the burger leaks and bits of coleslaw drop out. Somehow the joy he felt over the first bite or two has started to fade. He will need to come up with a poem soon; one that is funnier than last year’s, but safer. Johan has no desire to be on the receiving end of Brendon’s ire again! Even though nothing ever came of it. Brendon made the odd comment that seemed to hint back to their festive evening, but Johan had expected something a lot more dangerous. Brendon was ruthless, he thinks, I will never forget that poor coffee lady… Brendon had gotten away with it of course, apparently the woman had a heart condition,but Johan is pretty sure Brendon had something to do with her fall. He hadn’t really thought about the consequences of his poem, only when Brendon’s eyes hooked onto him did he think. It was too late then of course, but maybe Brendon saw the funny side of the poem after all? He feels quite pleased for a moment,wondering if maybe Brendon had met his match! He never had expected it to be him, though. Johan pops the last bite of his burger in his mouth, grinning.Yes, Jolly Nice Burger seems a most appropriate name for it! Just when he puts the thin paper napkin down in the box his phone vibrates. He turns his phone on,his tongue dealing with rogue burger crumbs.

“I hope you enjoyed that, as it will be your last. I’ll save you the difficulty of getting me a present and a poem. Have a Jolly Nice St Nick.” Brendon. Brendon sent him a text, but what does he mean? Johan stares at the screen until it fades out. When he turns his phone on again the message has disappeared, it was obviously there to be read just once. What does he mean,last one? And their St Nicholas celebration at work is not for another day. He sits very still, his mind skipping past all the options, and he is only vaguely aware of the tingling in his mouth, the heavy feeling in his stomach. Not for long though, and Johan feels a growing sense of panic as he stumbled to the little toilet block. He makes it with seconds to spare, and is violently sick.When he tries to get up, he finds himself unable to breath, and he frantically gropes for the lock, hoping that the outdoor air will help him to catch some needed oxygen. The last thing he sees is Brendon, grinning, eyes still burning with fury, “Have a Jolly Nice St Nick,” his voice fading away fast.

New Stories

Stories

Do stories differ depending on where they’re set? Staying in the Netherlands has been wonderful as well as busy. We have walked, gone swimming, visited friends and family, as well as just relax. I loved being around people, and it made me think about interactions. I love Dutch humour, I must admit… the way they operate is so different, and it came out in the running group I went with. The banter and chatter was really refreshing, something I have missed, I realised. The run refreshed me, even though I was the one at the back, gasping for breath, with a very red face… it was the way people chat to each other, thoroughly disagree with each other, complain about stuff they don’t like, but still laugh together and have a great time. I loved how they don’t do the male/female divide, the never-the-twain-shall-meet sort of thing. The idea of running with a mixed group would make me think twice in England, whereas in the Netherlands it’s great fun, and adds a dimension to the whole thing. I liked the winding up that goes on, and how people make you feel welcome and include you in their jokes. I missed the male humour, the way guys joke when there’s women around, and how just doing things together works well in the Netherlands, without it feeling weird. I really, really missed that, and I’m grateful for the few chances I had to go running. Everything seemed so relaxed and calm, and their lives are busy and filled, but still organised.

Running around the forest, walking around the highest waterfall and seeing places has given me some great story ideas as well…a Body near the waterfall, after all, it’s not that busy, and anything can happen. It’s the reason I don’t really like walking through a quiet wood, wondering if there’ll be a hand poking out from the leaves… Another story could be a stalker in the woods…Jogging along at the back, I just thought about it. I run very quietly, and every now and again, it sounded like there was someone behind me, but there never was… What if I wasn’t running with a group, but alone, and the steps behind me weren’t imagined, but real? That set me off wondering if a slight, but fit and fast girl can outrun or defend herself against a large man intend on harming her… Looking at the woods, the dark trunks, many trees chopped down, the ground turned over rather effectively by wild boar, I could just imagine staying there. The woods are large, with plenty of shelter, so what if there was someone hiding in the woods… We were watching the skating rink, a long line of men zooming round on their speed skates. Speed skates make formidable weapons, their irons sharp and sticking out a good way at the front as well as the back…

Not even sure where to start, or which story to tell first. The best part with Living Vicariously is that you can include whatever you want, like your favourite food! Just two days and NaNoWriMo is over, and as soon as the first draft is done I will start on some stories set in the Netherlands… I can’t wait, and as we’re driving home with the rain pelting our windscreen I’m glad that at least my mind can stay behind a bit longer, wandering through the golden brown forests, listening to the splattering sound of the neatest waterfall ever…

Past

Life moves on. Or life moves away from you, I find. I was wondering this morning whether living in the past is a form of Vicarious Living. You know, forgetting how much life has changed, you have changed; pretending things have stayed the same!

I went running this morning, with Trim Apeldoorn. The last time I ran with them was when I was 20 or 21, so a while back… It brought back lots of memories, although there were changes as well. I always ran in the evening, now it was (early!) morning. Even the starting point has changed a little. The bucket used to be yellow, hanging off a tree. It’s amazing how these tiny details matter, and how they show up change.

It was -4 when I set off in the car, and I had to scrape the windscreen (I had to use a stirring thing from the kitchen, as there was no ice scraper in our car…mmmmm), and I wondered if I would make it in time. Having managed to get up in time, kitted out, and myself brave enough to actually go, I was thinking how annoyed I was going to be if I missed it… I made it in time, just! I went with the slowest group, the group I always went with as I prefer the interval type training they do, but when I was younger I would be running near the front. Now I was right at the back, wondering what happened to my lungs… With age they must have shrunk dramatically, that’s all I can say!

The forest was incredibly beautiful though, and I was quite tempted to stop and take pictures, but as I was slow enough already, I didn’t want to push it… Anyway, I managed to survive the hour, I think I gave my lungs the shock of their life, I’ve been coughing ever since getting back into my car…

It’s funny how change comes so unexpected. Of course, I knew I was really unfit, but to run with a group that you used to run with, through familiar woods, but to find yourself at the back, gasping like a drowning hippo… It’s a change that creeps up, for life is busy, and you forget that time passes. You live vicariously as your younger self, and you see yourself as you used to be. You see others as they used to be.

This week brought grief as well. My aunt died. She had been very ill for a while, and recently her kidneys just gave in. I remember the aunt from the huge house though. The aunt who had a hallway with dark red carpet that could swallow my parent’s house, but you weren’t allowed to run around like a looney, (Too many antiques and ornaments…!) which felt such a waste of the really, really thick carpet and endless space. I remember playing in the park with my cousin, getting muddy in our best clothes… and now the only mud we have to clean off is our kids’ muddy hands and faces… Somehow I got time warped there as well. My aunt has moved houses several times since then, my cousin has her own family. And now my aunt is gone, and reality comes knocking.

I just realised that I like Living Vicariously. I’m only 50 kilo, instead of 11 stone (Ha! Such a nice, natural sounding way to measure yourself… At least you could pretend that it’s any stone you fancy, rather than the set weight…which makes me stare at my scales in horror!) I like people to stay the way they always were, I definitely would like my fitness to stay the way it always was. Even carparks, buckets, and roads should stay the way they were. I really dislike change, I realised.

Of course, it shows in the falling leaves and the golden brown beech leaf carpet in the forest that nothing lives forever, only God. It shows that we are finite, mortal, limited. It shows we are created with eternity in our heart. Just like some leaves we still cling on though, pretending it’s not the end of autumn, and it’s not time to let go and join the other leaves, there is no such thing as change…Reality can be the fact that it’s -4, and not many leaves will cling on for much longer! Vicarious Living just gives you a chance to remember good times, good things. Bringing a smile to reality, even if it hurts. Like the incredible sunbeams lighting up the floating leaves.

Challenges

November is a challenge this year. I am well into my NaNoWriMo story, although the character is starting to get a little on my nerves… The way she feels sick every time something or someone scares her… Never mind, she’s getting stronger, and actually hasn’t been sick for a few days now. Although she’s going to a new church, which might make her be sick all over the floor, who knows?

I do sympathise with my main character a tiny bit, as I got myself into something totally out of my comfort zone. My comfort zone is loads of coffee, a military/police type novel and a comfy sofa once the kids are in bed. I know I gained quite a bit of weight since moving to England. I thought it would never happen to me, but somehow after I turned thirty it did. It wasn’t completely bad, as teachers used to check with friends if I had anorexia (which I hadn’t!!) but nobody has asked that for years now! There’s a difference between then and my weight now though, and I have known for a while that I ought to do something about it. Like, next week. I also know that I’m really, really unfit, as in, walking-up-the-slope-to-the-car-and-I’m-out-of-breath unfit. Which in a way annoys me more than the extra pounds that really could do with disappearing.

The problem is, I really cannot stand gyms. I have been three times in my almost 20 years in England, and I just can’t stand them. I’m quite competitive, but not against my self, by myself. Also, being really unfit doesn’t help. I get really bored, it’s not my thing at all. Running is great but I don’t love it, and causes too many issues. Most things are in the evening, and I haven’t many evenings left free. My writing happens in the evening as well, so there’s another great excuse…I need to get fit though. Next week or so. This month I want to get to the 50,000 words to win the NaNoWriMo. I have 14,000 already, so I’m doing well, but of course it will take up a lot of time. It will also involve a lot of sitting down, with a drink, and maybe even a snack… Getting fit has definitely been struck off the list with Goals For November…

My main character for my NaNoWriMo challenge has been taken out of her comfort zone, and is constantly being pushed further and further out, and I roll my eyes at her for making such a big deal of each and every obstacle. Until it was my turn! By answering a questionnaire about a holiday thing the kids had been to I was offered a free PT session in their new gym facility, and I said ‘yes’ for I know I ought to get fit and all that… then I realised what I had done…! I had signed up for an hour session with a personal trainer to do…well, fitness type stuff. When I explain to ‘people like me’ that I’m really unfit they really know what I mean. I just wasn’t sure that ex-commandos would think of unfit in the same terms though…and that what they call a ‘gentle workout’ would actually make that I wouldn’t be able to walk for a week…?

So now I feel a bit guilty towards my main character for my eye rolling and tutting…for I was really, really nervous before my PT session, the sort of “Ave, Imperator, morituri te salutant” Caesar-type greeting nervous… There was no way I would back out though (too stubborn), so I got myself to ACE Commandos, wondering if I would be able to drive home at the end…

It was great! I enjoyed it, loved the challenge, it wasn’t a killer or making me feel embarrassed for be soooo unfit, cringed that the lightest kettle bells were pink…(I hate pink anyway, just thought it was hilarious!), could still move at the end, and actually managed to stop off at Tesco and lug a heavy bag with loads of milk to the car! My next session is in a few weeks, and I honestly can’t wait! It’s set me back on a track that I’m very happy with. Ha, never thought I would count the days till I can do more exercise…!

Now I just need to write another 36,000 words, and get my main character to stop being sick altogether, and to realise that being challenged is good! Honestly, working in sunny Crete should cheer anyone up, you’d think, although she has some scary stuff waiting for her round the corner, which she doesn’t know about yet. It says so in my story notes though…I wonder if she’ll be sick when it gets really dangerous, or whether she’ll be able to handle challenges with more ease by then…?

Lamb

Lambs

“Nathan, you have come to see me?” the king’s smile is tight as he looks at the prophet. His face shows no pleasure this time. Nathan is shocked to see the paleness of the king’s face, but he hides his concern in his bow before the king. He stands right in front of the king, looking at the older man. Time hasn’t been very kind to his king! The king slouches back onto his throne, leaning on an arm, his ginger hair hiding his hand. “Well, tell me what this is about, Nathan” impatience sounding through, eyes wandering round the large throne room. The king frowns a little, finding his heart beating restlessly. “Surely I have nothing to fear from this prophet,” the king clenches his fist, hidden in the curls, “After all, I have served God this year, haven’t I?” He can feel that dark corner in his heart stirring whenever he thinks of the Lord, a corner that he has kept locked up this year, ever since…well, that’s just it. Ever since.

Nathan leans forward a little, his usual calm stirred up about something, the king’s interest piqued. “You see, oh King, there are these two men in your kingdom,” he raises his hand as the king raises an eyebrow, opening his mouth to interrupt. “I know, it sounds like a case for your judges, but hear me out, oh King,” Nathan says hastily. “You see, it’s not just a standard dispute. Please allow me to continue, oh King.” The king shrugs, how could he argue with a prophet; after all, they both serve God, and Nathan has come especially to see him. His breath comes a little easier as well, he did wonder if Nathan would mention his youngest son, but it seems to be a dispute between two men. So the king nods at Nathan, whose calm voice carries on, “The one man is very rich, I won’t mention any names, but he has large herds of cattle and many sheep. Some of his sheep are on the far pastures, some are closer to his house, to make sure they always have what they need.” The king looks at Nathan, the frown still in place, relief in his eyes though, and Nathan continues, “He is an upstanding member of the community of course, with many contacts. His family is from a well known tribe, and he is known for hospitality.” Nathan pauses, looking at the king, noticing his eyes reflecting boredom. There are so many wealthy people around as it’s a good time in the kingdom. They have had peace in the country itself for a while now, so many inhabitants have extended their herds and flocks. Nothing special about that, and certainly not worth a busy king’s time.

“Near his house is a small cottage, with a poor family. They work hard, but they have very limited resources. The mother has not been well, and the man has several young children. It’s a happy family, making the best of their circumstances. Most of the time the father works for the rich landowner, who isn’t an easy man to work for. In all their struggles, this family have one thing they value above all else. One thing they do have in their poverty, and that’s a little lamb. The father loves this lamb, as he has brought it up by hand. They couldn’t afford anything else, and the whole family adores the little thing. It lives in the cottage with them and has been a source of great joy and comfort to them all.”

The frown has been replaced with a dreamy smile. Yes, King David knows about bringing up lambs by hand; the tedious, regular feedings, the wriggling lamb on your lap, its tiny feet dancing on your legs whilst seeking the milk. He knows the love a man can feel for this sweet creature. The special bond that will always be there, even when the lamb turns into a sheep, stubborn, wayward. He dreams back to the fields around Bethlehem, hears their quivering voices echoing around, feels their soft curly wool. Nathan inclines his head, knowing he now has the king’s ear, “You see, the man fed the lamb, allowing it into the house. It actually ate off his table, played with his children, and the man loved this lamb like a daughter.” The king nods, yes, he fully understands, and a sense of being a kindred spirit with the poor man grows in him.

“Well, King, the rich man had a visitor stay over. He wasn’t expecting anybody, the man turned up at an awkward time. Of course, a meal had to be prepared straight away.” Hospitality is of the utmost importance, the guest would have to be served. Any guest has to be served well, treated with respect and care. “The problem was, the rich man didn’t want to sacrifice any of his sheep for this traveller. He didn’t know him that well, and to lose a valuable sheep just to feed a stranger went against his business sense. So he went to the poor man’s cottage.” Nathan stops, as the king sits up in shock, guessing where this is heading!

“Yes, your Lordship, he took the poor man’s lamb, in spite of their cries and protests; deafening himself against their pleas, and used this lamb for the evening meal.” The king is outraged, his fair skinned face red with anger, his fists balled on the arms of his throne, dark eyes filled with fury.

“Outrageous!” His splutters in anger, “What a terrible, cowardly act! As the Lord lives, Nathan, that man shall be put to death, that is certain. He will restore the lamb four times over to the poor family, although nothing can replace their precious lamb, of course. To have such an outrageous act done in my kingdom! I will personally see to this, for the man has shown no pity to the poor family at all!”

Nathan stands there, quietly, his face showing none of the king’s outrage, as he slowly lifts his arm, pointing at the furious king, his words ringing round the deadly quiet throne room, “You are that man, oh King, it was you!”

Writers’ Day

Saturday started early. The coach left Cirencester at 05.10, which meant I had to leave at half past four. Isn’t it interesting how an exciting day out means that getting up at four is no problem whatsoever?! I would hate to do it every day…

The coach was in time, and comfortable. I dozed most of the way there, checking emails and Facebook as I went along. London was busy as usual, and the noise is always a bit of a shock! Walking into the large station I had another shock, a pleasant one this time. There was a tiny HEMA! Selling all things Dutch… So before I knew it I was toting two bags. Somehow travelling light never works out for me. I had one heavy bag already with my tablet, snacks, diary, more snacks in case I really got hungry, more paper as I might need it… Now I had another bag full with Dutch food!

The conference was near Holborn, so I had plenty of time for breakfast. I found a lovely Swedish place, with the most amazing cinnamon swirl ever. It was the perfect place for breakfast, apart from the Swedish prices… Whilst having the large coffee that actually tasted like coffee, an email came in. From the Publishers!

Sadly they explained that my manuscript wasn’t quite what they were looking for, as Christian fiction is hard to sell etc etc. They were very nice about it; I just wonder how dreadful they thought the manuscript was… They did recommend another Publisher though, so it can’t have been too dreadful, unless they can’t stand the other publisher, and this is their way of taking revenge? You know, send all the awful manuscripts to them…flood them with trash…?

So I googled the Publisher, and wrote a synopsis of the book. It’s actually quite hard to do, for what is essential to the story, and what isn’t? It was especially hard as I really enjoyed writing the story, remembering Zahra and her ups and downs. Before I knew it, it was time for the conference! So I grabbed all my bags, and wandered off, using Google maps to show me the way. As I got there I saw a few people I recognised, which was great!

The conference itself was very useful, and I met some wonderful people. The whole writing territory is new, and there are so many interesting angles to it all. New jargon, new names, new vocab. Plenty of coffee to keep me going though!

The journey back was just as quick, and again I slept for most of the journey, in spite of my writing plans… Just one little bit of excitement as the coach got coned in somewhere in the middle of Swindon. The driver took us down a road to drop off several people, then some road worker placed cones behind and in front…and refused to move them! After calling the police another roadworker saw sense, and just moved the cones long enough for the coach driver to turn us round…!

My first Writers’ Day, and I thoroughly enjoyed it, looking forward to NaNoWriMo even more now!

Conference

Tomorrow morning I’m off to my first Writers’ Conference. “Oh, are you a writer?” is people’s reaction when I explain that I won’t be around on Saturday. It feels rather fake to say, “Yes, I have just written down my first novel, and it’s at the Publishers, and they are looking at it.”

The idea of the team of reviewers wading through my eighty three thousand words is rather embarrassing, as it’s the first time I have written something like that. I also realised that I used tons of adverbs…I like adverbs, but apparently they are a no no… There are also many other hidden traps and pitfalls it seems, so the next few days could be interesting. It’s like a game of minefields, and I always dread the sudden shock of the little squares blowing up. It usually happens when the game is going along nicely, and you start to think ahead to maybe doing a bigger Minefield square…

Tomorrow is different though. Tomorrow I will be in London, a treat in itself! The conference sounds very interesting; it’s like exploring a new world! Fortunately, there are a lot of very kind and helpful people in this new world… The talks sound very good, and I like workshops, even though I have no idea what I’m letting myself in for. There are plenty of coffee breaks, which makes me hope that I’m amongst people who get their priorities right. I love writing, for it has opened up so much for me, and even the children have caught on now! It’s all about stories in our house at the moment, and we’re all eagerly awaiting the first of November when we can all get down to business, and start writing down our daydreams!

So I am looking forward to the conference. I love meeting new people, and I love books, so it should be a wonderful day! And maybe I will learn about a few more mistakes to be avoided at all cost, just in time for NaNoWriMo. So who knows, my second novel might not be as embarrassing as the first one undoubtedly is!

Finished Manuscript

Finished

At least for now, although thinking about it, it’s probably only just started! Maybe I should just say, “I have written the very first draft of my very first complete novel.” It was an incredible feeling though, to see all the chapters put together, with a word count of more than 83 thousand… People around me have been so positive and supportive, but now it’s up to the Publishers! I sent off the manuscript of my novel, still struggling with the title… I have called it Bellcombe Heritage, as I really have no idea what else to call it!

Now I’m just waiting, checking my email regularly, dreading to see the words, “Sorry, but this manuscript would need to change 90% to make it work…” or words to that effect… I keep telling myself that it’s not finished, and will need lots of work, no doubt. It’s hard to see where the changes will have to be though, as we see our writing differently from those around us. I absolutely loved writing the story, and feel that really the main character’s story is by no means finished. If I had continued, it would have been a different story altogether. It’s hard to let go, and to feel that this part of her life is finished, the story of her life at this time is finished.

My concern is that a rejecting will be the finish of my enjoyment of the story. I know it shouldn’t be, as I have just loved doing it. Will it feel as if I have liked the wrong thing though? Like thinking the world of a person, watching their shows etc, and then they get arrested, and it’s as if you have liked a lie all the time. You look back on the great moments, and suddenly they’re not great anymore, for it was based on lies.

Well, finished with the gloom, and I will remind myself that I enjoyed the writing, and I particularly enjoyed thinking from the character’s perspective, answering questions about trust, faith and God from her viewpoint. Very enriching, as well as encouraging. Now I’m looking ahead, thinking of the next story…

Reedsy 1

New leaf: “You’d always wanted to fall in with this crowd. Now that you had, you weren’t sure about them anymore”. This was the fourth choice of the topics set by Reedsy. I wrote the following story, entering the competition. I didn’t win, but really enjoyed the writing!

Tempest

Thunder flashes, rain absolutely buckets down. She stares out of the window, “The kind of weather just right for a police drama. Bring in the murder scene, or whatever else they have lined up.” She sighs, letting the heavy brocade curtain drop. “Come on, Alex, where are you? You said you would be here in time…for a change,” she adds with a bitter sneer. She gasps, only now spotting the quiet butler standing near the cabinet, topping up the drinks, arranging the glasses. “He creeps me out too,” she mutter on, feeling her breathing speeding up whilst getting more and more shallow. What has happened to Alex? Her eyes scour the driveway, just wishing the car to come along, flinching every time lightening flashes. She tries to ignore Thoms, and after a while, when the room has gone quiet, she glances over her shoulder. She swallows, feeling her heart miss a beat or two, then start up twice as fast, as if to make up for lost beats. Thoms the butler is still there, straightening things out, looking at her, seemingly observing her.

“Is Sir Alex delayed, M’lady?” Thoms asks calmly, his cool sea green eyes steady as always, unnerving her. She shrugs, and assures him that she is expecting Sir Alex any minute now. Which is true, as any other alternative would be too ghastly to consider. Thoms lowers his head sideways respectfully, apart from she doesn’t get any respectful vibes from him. Alex laughs at her complaints about Thoms. Alex usually laughs at her complaints, she thinks, pouting like a child.

“It’s the way he looks at me, I’m convinced he’s laughing at me, looking down at me,” she had whined when Alex had rolled his eyes at her paranoia. Again. “I don’t know why you chose him anyway; I liked that Italian guy, he could have helped the chef as well, you know, give him some pointers,” she had said, pulling her mouth down at the corners, as far down as possible. “The chef is very willing, but useless when it comes to producing edible meals. An Italian butler could have meant decent lasagna or pizza at least a few times a week.” Alex hadn’t rolled his eyes at this, but frowned at her.

“You wanted the whole shebang,” he had said, his voice curt and his words clipped, not a good sign. “You insisted on a butler and that’s what we have. If I have a butler I want one that seems trustworthy, competent and quiet. That’s what we’ve got. Maybe if you hadn’t insisted on him addressing you with M’lady all day long he wouldn’t be looking down on you as much. On the other hand, you do give him plenty of opportunities for contempt,” he had just filled his glass, and considered the conversation over. She knew when she was beaten, so didn’t say anything, didn’t even sniff delicately. Guilt trip tactics didn’t work with Alex.

After going to the huge bathroom, just to look in the mirror, pat her hair down a little here and there, check her make up, she wanders down to the large sitting room again. When she spots Thoms in the distance, further down the luxurious hallway, she makes her steps more purposeful. Nothing has changed outside though. The rain is still horrific, the thunder still rumbles and growls in the distance, the odd blue flash of lightening lights up the extensive grounds. She hugs her slight frame, notices that she has started to rock to and fro, and stops herself. Just in time too, as Thoms walks past the door, his cold eyes sweeping round the room, narrowing a fraction when he spots her near the bay window again…

“I just hate autumn,” she whispers, “absolutely detest it. Somehow I wished I had never gotten myself involved. Why did I let Alex and his friends talk me into it?” She blushes a little, knowing that she had been a very willing victim of their schemes. Her fingers fiddle with the curtain, enjoying the lush material, it’s coolness soothing her. Yes, some weeks it seems worth it. Other days, like these sort of days, she regrets it thoroughly. “It’s the weather, the wind, the falling leaves…and now that awful butler as well, it gives me the creeps. Come on Alex, it’s so late!” She can feel the fear seeping in, its cold tentacles slithering all over her, whispering words of discouragement and abandonment. “What if something has happened,” she breathes, “what if a tree fell down or something? Cars get struck by lightening, don’t they?”

In the end she can’t cope any longer, and hurriedly leaves the room, and almost rushes up the huge staircase, her feet silent on the thick, rich carpet. She slips into her large bedroom, locking the door quickly behind her. Almost in a panic she checks her dressing room and en suite bathroom. When she gets back to the bedroom she stops herself from looking under the bed. “Not even Thoms would lower himself to hide under my bed,” she says, then laughs, a very nervous sounding giggle. She walks over to the little tray with her drinks bottle made of real crystal, and fills a glass. Just before she takes a sip she stares at the dark red liquid. “What if it’s spiked?” she wonders, glaring at the bottle. She hesitates, then spotting the alarm clock on her bedside table she gulps down her drink in one quick draught. She struggles to return the glass to the tray, her hands shaking uncontrollably. Even Alex is never this late! She walks up and down her bedroom, her hands cold and shaking. “What will I do if he doesn’t come soon? Where can he be? If he has just left me…” She drops onto the bed with a rather pathetic sob, and lies there, staring at the beautifully decorated ceiling.

“Could it be to do with my old mobile? I know what Alex explained, but that was ages ago. Anyway, it was just a game I played on there, and if he hadn’t been away from the house so much I wouldn’t have been bored enough to go rummaging through those old bags in the storeroom.” She smiles a little, thinking of her old phone. “It must have been my first phone ever, I can’t believe it had those pictures still on there…” She smiles dreamily, tears nowhere to be seen now. “Alex got me the phone, I can still see him, all excitement, helping me to set it up and all! It’s been fun, really,” she grins, then an extra loud thunder clap makes her sit up, and hit reality. She peers out of her window, overlooking the extensive grounds at the back, but drops the curtain as if it’s on fire. “I saw something move! I’m sure I did! Oh no, it is like those police dramas… Mind you, they get hysterical people for most roles, and I won’t be one of them, not if I can help it,” she adds, not feeling too sure about her suitability for a firm, calm, decisive actress. “It must have been the storm, probably some large branch or something. I’m sick of the whole thing though, I just want out!”

She looks around her large room, beautifully decorated, and pulls a face. It is done exactly the way she wanted; Alex and his friends always made sure of that. Somehow it doesn’t feel enough anymore. Maybe it’s the sizzling air, the bright flashes and torrential rain, but she just feels…empty. Empty and bored and in a unexpected flash of honesty she whispers, “Actually, I wished I had never gone along! It was a crazy thing to do, it wasn’t right, it never will be. Alex just made me feel…” She stops, yes, how did he make her feel? He made her feel welcome, he gave her a sense of belonging, so she stuck with them. She thinks of her suitcase, ready packed in her wardrobe. He told her not to ever check on it, not to go near the wardrobe at all. The urge to feel secure is too strong though, and after double checking that her door is still locked, she lightly runs to the wardrobe, unlocks the double doors, and peeks in. Yes, her case is there, safe and sound. She locks the door meticulously, even giving the key a wipe clean. Feeling her breath coming more calmly now she tops up her glass, downs it only a fraction slower than the first one, and decides that she’d better go down again. Just in case Alex turns up. He doesn’t like her being upstairs for too long, always worried that she’ll go near the storeroom or do something foolish. Like use her old phone, she grimaces. “He’ll go nuts if he finds out. If he does, well, this storm will be nothing compared to the thunder and lightening in the house,” she giggles, feeling a tiny slither of apprehension making its way into her heart.

When she gets to the large bay windows, she spots the car lights straight away. She stands there, her hands clasping and unclasping, relief fighting with fury, and the outcome is by no means certain. She wants to rush up to the front door, but what man wants a clingy, weeping woman to be the first thing to behold when coming home? He must have had a terrible time, driving in this storm, she argues with herself, already formulating excuses for Alex. So, rather than standing in the bay window, she sits down on the sofa, carelessly flicking through one of their expensive magazines. Then Alex marches in, his face drawn, his eyes looking rather wild. Thoms the butler has followed him in, and she looks at Alex, wondering what has gone wrong. He crosses the room in two gigantic steps, and when he stands in front of her, she sees his shaking hands and sweaty face. He breathes in heavily, clearly struggling, and the thought flashes through her mind that he is fighting down sobs! She starts to reach out to him, feeling her own hands starting to tremble, when he hisses, “That phone! You…don’t you ever listen? Didn’t I tell you to never touch that room or anything in it? You’re the worst sister ever and…” He stops, for two large men appear in the door opening, making her look up. Her mouth drops, and she stares in total shock as they stand on either side of Alex, who just glares at her, breathing through his nose like an angry bull. The men take hold of Alex’s arms, looking grim and menacing, as well as oddly satisfied. She opens her mouth to cry out, but shuts it again when she feels cold metal clicking shut round one of her wrists!

She gasps, and looks round in horror, straight into Thoms’ face, his hard eyes gleaming with morbid pleasure, and his calm voice says, “You’re nicked, M’lady!”

Choices

The wedding went through, of course. “I’m so happy,” a grinning Ralph gushes, staring at Anselma with shining eyes. “This is definitely the happiest day of my life, and I feel so richly blessed! To think that I married the most beautiful woman in SiMobile!” Anselma nods, her eyes shining too, but hers are wet with unshed tears. Not the happy variety either, as this day definitely doesn’t fit her idea of the happiest day ever! In fact, the day would probably come in the category of Worst Days Ever. She hasn’t the heart to say that, of course, so she manages to pull her face in a smile. Ralph just sighs with sheer happiness, and after giving her another squeeze, walks over to some of the guests to thank them for coming.

“I just can’t believe it,” Anselma mumbles, feeling that the struggle against her tears might be lost any moment. “What will my friends say? How am I going to photoshop all my wedding photographs for those fans following my vlogs?” She looks around, smoothing her sweaty hands over her dress. “At least I can do some reports on the standard SiMobile wedding dress, that will help others too. Then at least everyone has an idea what to buy if they want different personal pictures, rather than the standard issue dress.” She relaxes a little, her mind busy with the few options for blogs and vlogs this might bring. “I could use the webcam, although it does break rather easily,” she mumbles, checking the dress in various lights and angles. This cheers her up, and she even manages to accept people’s congratulations without breaking down. Some of her friends seem rather puzzled over her choice of husband, which confirms to Anselma that she’s really trapped. She knows it’s actually not a big deal, but still, for a beauty queen like her surely she should feel it’s important to have a very handsome spouse?

Life soon settles down, and Ralph blossoms. He spends a lot of time cooking, with a grace and flair that surprises Anselma. Her vlogs are attracting more and more followers, in spite of the odd snide comment about some of her pictures… Soon she realises that Ralph hasn’t damaged her career, and she relaxes a little. Until Ralph suggests that they fill the bassinet… He spotted it in the main bedroom, and that evening he suggests it’s their turn. “You know Keziah and Nicholas have just met, and their courtship is going very well. Soon they will be married, and as Nicholas has to move in, coming from another well known family, they might want to start a family sooner rather than later…” He looks at Anselma, his huge mouth grinning, so she quickly looks at his beautiful eyes, suppressing a shudder. She takes a deep breath, clutching her sides, wrapping her arm round herself. Filling the bassinet? What if they find themselves with a houseful of little Ralphs? “We might have a little girl,” he continues, oblivious to her distress, “one as beautiful as her mother,” he laughs, looking pleased and excited. So the bassinet is filled, and a little boy is born, Roald. Anselma leans over the bassinet a lot that day.

“He’s beautiful,” she whispers, gratitude flooding her, cracking her voice. “Let’s hope he stays that way too, but at least he hasn’t got an odd shaped face…or gigantic ears, or…” she stops, feeling bad even whispering these things. She glances over her shoulder, but the room is empty, fortunately. “I’m glad it’s a son, though, and it does warm my heart to see Ralph so ecstatic! Having a new baby gives me a new fashion thread as well,” she smiles at Roald, tugs his bedclothes straight, and hurries back to her computer. Nicholas and Keziah will be here soon, ready for their reception. She can feel the little jealousy dragon flicker its tongue in her heart, seeing those two together… Nicholas is so handsome, probably helped by his Italian background, with a wonderful name, Ferraro…Such an improvement on Snowdon, she sighs. She just hopes that the little baby in the bassinet will do her proud, so that at last she has more options for family pictures!

Nicholas moves in, and as soon as Roald is a toddler, Keziah and Nicholas retreat to the large bedroom, and soon their baby Alonzo is sleeping peacefully in the bassinet. Roald is a sweet looking toddler, and Anselma feels herself relaxing, watching her little boy with anxious eyes. She is relieved though when he doesn’t show much in common with Ralph, even though his father is very fond of the boy. He spends a lot of time with Roald. “He is such a handsome little boy,” he says to Anselma, pride filling his rich voice. “Have you seen the way he walks, so certain of himself! He’s an absolute delight,” and his eyes drift towards the door to the large bedroom. “I wonder when Alonzo will be walking,” he says, an odd smile twisting his fleshy lips, making his ugly face even more out of shape than usual. Anselma swallows the panicky feeling she can feel deep down, as she still remembers her anxiety during the baby stage… They have a sweet, handsome son, should they really risk having another child?

Of course, Ralph prevails, and soon Ramon is born. Anselma cringes a tiny bit when saying her sons’ names, as they sound too modern and not stylish enough by half. “I mean, names are important, I did like Ralph, but that was before…” she explains to a friend over coffee at the café. “You see, I feel names say a lot about a person, their background, that sort of thing. Like Alonzo, Nicholas has an Italian background, so they chose a name to reflect that. They’re hoping for a girl, really, but Alonzo is really sweet.” She looks out of the large window, watching people walking round the park. She sighs, knowing that feeling jealous is definitely unhealthy. Every fashionista knows that your thoughts will have an effect on your face, and bitter, harmful thoughts definitely leave a bitter, ugly trace on your face… Subconsciously she rubs a hand over her face, as if double checking that her face hasn’t been ravaged by her envy. Alonzo is a name she likes a lot, he is very cute, and Keziah and Nicholas make a lovely couple. Her vlog, on the other hand, will never display her husband, and her sons are quite cute and handsome, for now at least, but somehow saying Roald and Ramon makes her vlog sound cheap and common. She sighs, feeling down and lonely. Her friend giggles, breaking through her morose thoughts.

“You look tired, why not go to the party tonight? You know it’s held at the Knight’s house? Their parties are amazing, if only for their four pools! Four! Imagine that, and the rest of the house is beautiful as well. You do realises that they’re a bit hush hush most of the time, although they cover it well? Just don’t ask too many awkward questions, and definitely keep them out of your vlogs, blogs and whatnots!” They both laugh, Anselma feeling a tiny thrill. The Knights! Some of her ancestors were Knights, and the whole mysterious aura around them is delicious in itself! Maybe she will manage to unearth something? She could always blog about it with made up characters? “Just don’t be too late, you know how SiMobile government disrupts most parties nowadays? The worst one is when they won’t allow you to let people know about your party, that’s just awful! The invites just never arrive, all party activities are hidden, and it’s impossible to attend most of the time! Some people have actually moved because of it, setting up in another town altogether!” Anselma had heard about party issues, and how most parties only seemed to last a short time. Somehow she hadn’t really thought about it, as she was relieved when their parties ended! Last time, just before the party was stopped, somebody had pointed at Ralph, and asked her in a whisper where on earth that guy came from… She had blushed, coughed, and escaped…

A party at a beautiful, stylish home is just the remedy, Anselma decides soon after arriving at the Knight’s abode. She smiles at people, a real, genuine smile this time, feeling free without anything to hide. She’s just a beautiful woman, mother of two sweet boys, with a caring husband, who isn’t here to show her up… She tries out the hot tub, giggling, “I haven’t been in one of those before, it’s so relaxing! Maybe I should do it more often, and then do a vlog about it, as it must be good for you,” she sighs with contentment, leaning back in the warm water. Some friend introduces her to Alex Knight, a tall, smiling, polite man. She can’t remember who introduced them, she has just eyes for Alex. “Why didn’t I get married off to a Knight,” she groans, “they are so handsome and tall. I know I have ancestors not too far down the line from the Knight family, but even so…” She feels sad and somehow finds herself spending quite a bit of time with Alex that evening. Alex is a real gentleman, polite and kind. Not once does he hint that she’s making a nuisance of herself, but entertains her with a kind smile. Anselma comes home with lots of happy stories. Ralph smiles and listens, his kind eyes never leaving her glowing face. If he is worried about the frequent mentions of Alex Knight, he doesn’t show it.

The next few days Anselma manages to contact Alex a few times. She has his SimMail address, and they even meet up for a coffee. Meeting Alex in her home would be very awkward, so they have a coffee at the café. Will, the waiter, is there as well, of course, his dark eyes taking in everything and everyone. He has a good memory and actually has the audacity to enquire after the other man she was with, the one with the large ears… “You mean my husband?” she asks, rather shocked. She glares at Will, who smiles, and winks at her! She gasps a little, honestly, who does he think he is! Then she giggles a little, for it’s a while since a man has made her blush. Alex is happy to chat, discussing various friends from SiMobile that they both know through parties. They talk about the awful way the government is clamping down on parties, driving people away from SiMobile, in order to meet more friends. The hour in the café is over before Anselma realises, and she has work waiting for her at home; so has Alex, who had explained that some of the work is a cover more than anything else. “I understand,” she had laughed, “if you tell me more, you’d have to kill me, and that would be unheard of in SiMobile!” They both laughed, then get up to go. Anselma wonders how to ask Alex to meet up again, but just as she thinks she has found a good way to ask, he dashes her hopes.

“It was nice meeting you, Anselma, but let’s leave it at that, shall we?” He smiles at her, still kind and polite, “I did enjoy the coffee, but we Knights make it a point to not get involved with anybody. So, yes, thanks for the nice time, and goodbye.” They shake hands, Anselma smiling, and assuring him that she’s really enjoyed it, making sure she mentions her husband and sons a few times, to show that there never had been any shady intentions on her part…! Once Alex has gone she does a quick walk round the park, then decides to grab a coffee to go before going home to update her blog. Will serves her, a cheeky grin on his face. When he hands her the latte, he leans over and says quietly, “As you come here with others for coffee, how about having one with me?” He waggles his eyebrow at her, a grey eyebrow, as he is definitely an elder. Anselma just manages to swallow the sharp retort, when she realises that he is actually still quite handsome. He is funny and flirty too, and she does feel bad for the older NPC’s, as they don’t often get to retire either. So she agrees, and a date is set.

The date with Will is a swirl, leaving Anselm breathless with laughter. His jokes are sometimes a little off, but she likes the naughty feeling it gives. “Ralph is always so serious, I’m only young once!” she whispers when she washes her hands, looking at her flushed cheeks in the little mirror. Anselma does feel twinges of guilt, but Will’s attentions and clear interest in her flatters her, and makes her forget everything. After all, it’s just a bit of fun, isn’t it? The date at the café leads to another date, and the two of them become quite close. Anselma feels uncomfortable, especially when she’s at home, watching the two boys, seeing Ralph’s steady walk around the kitchen, his grey eyes warm and alight whenever he sees her. “He trusts me completely,” she whispers in dismay, “not once will he think it strange that I go out, nothing in him makes him wonder what I do when he’s not there.” The whole thing is starting to feel wrong, and she wants to explain to Will. That’s not as easy as it seems though.

“What do you mean? You can’t just walk away now, and pretend we never met!” Will’s eyes flash with anger. “I’m an old NPC, you know that, and you are my one chance to have a full bassinet. At least give me that, so I have something to leave behind if I ever get to retire,” he pleads, his dark eyes calculating, unblinking. Anselma sighs, fill a bassinet with Will? No chance! Will pleads and explains, and when she still doesn’t give in, he threatens. “That business you’re always on about? I’m good with computers too. Easy enough to hack the stuff, and let all your followers know what you’ve been up to… that ugly husband of yours too…” he adds, sneering at her, laughing his horrid laugh. Anselma realises that she is trapped. Honesty would be the best policy, but shame keeps her stuck in bad decisions. “Just one baby, that’s all I want, I promise to stay out of your life,” he whispers, dark eyes gleaming like a snake’s, knowing the battle is won. Too late Anselma realises that Will meant the Mortina bassinet… Will just laughs at her tears, and soon the bassinet has another sleeping baby in it.

Ralph looks a little surprised, and assumes the baby is Nicholas and Keziah’s baby, and they assume the little boy belongs to Anselma and Ralph. Anselma finally realises how much she actually loves this large, sweet man, and is heartbroken over her betrayal. She sees now that she has moved past his face and lumbering figure, and learned to love his heart and his kindness. Now she has thrown it all away, just for a bit of fun. How could she? How could any Mortina break the most sacred bond in SiMobile? Granted, there are many loose relationships in SiMobile, but never in the Mortina Line. She cries bitter tears, and that’s how Ralph finds her. “What’s wrong?” he asks, his deep rumbling voice surprised, “I didn’t realise you were so desperate to have another baby too, so once theirs has become a toddler we could fill the bassinet, you know,” he smiles gently, thinking she is jealous. Anselma breaks down, and blurts out the ugly truth in heart wrenching sobs, wailing her regrets and remorse. Ralph is stunned. His beautiful wife has betrayed him? For an old NPC? He sits down, all strength drained from him. “What…what did you call the baby?” he whispers hoarsely in the end.

“Zachariah,” Anselma sobs, “meaning the Lord has remembered.” Silence reigns for a while, only Anselma’s sobs can be heard. “I’m so very, very sorry Ralph, and if you wish to return to your parents, I will totally understand,” she whispers, wondering how she will explain his absence to her family, and to Roald and Ramon… Ralph shakes his head, and goes to her, taking her in his arms.

“No,” he whispers, “no, I won’t go. You see, I know our marriage was very much one sided, and I can’t blame you. I think you’re wrong to judge people based on their looks, but I have my own faults too. I think this little baby is a reminder for you, but also for me. Your attitude to me hurt, you see. It hurt an awful lot, and I have been so incredibly lonely. In it all I trusted the Lord, though, and leaned on Him. I have found that in it all He was enough. This little baby has the right name, for it reminded you of what is important in life; and the name you chose is a reminder from God to me, that He has been with me all this time. Zachariah, yes, Jehovah has remembered me, and vindicated me as well, I think.” Ralph hugs her, kisses her head. Anselma just cries and cries, feeling ashamed of her terrible treatment of this man, this solid man. How she hurt him, and how sad he must have been to see her looking down on him, just because of his looks…

When she has calmed down they go to look at little Zachariah, walking to his bassinet hand in hand, one comforted, one taught, both wiser and kinder. Both remembered, with a sweet little boy as a daily reminder.