 
Are We Nearly Famous?

Free fiction tasters and insights into their literary journeys from four writing friends
Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2018 In the layout the copyright belongs to Alfie Dog Limited. In the writing the copyright is retained by the individual authors as shown.

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Printed in the United Kingdom

First Published 2018 Alfie Dog Limited

The author can be found at: authors@alfiedog.com

Published by

Alfie Dog Limited

Schilde Lodge, Tholthorpe,

North Yorkshire, YO61 1SN

Tel: 0207 193 33 90
Dedication

To Suzy and all our writing buddies everywhere
Introduction

This book is about journeys; literal, metaphorical and literary. Those both of the characters and the authors.

Ailsa travels to Scotland and begins the journey of recovery after life-saving surgery. The Smith family take two trips in one, and their reactions to each bring them closer as a family. Esperanza doesn't just switch locations but swaps one life for another, each change taking her away from everything she knows and ever closer to the independence she needs to be truly happy.

In Italy, Pedro learns about the cycle of life, death and rebirth. Lisa's journey also begin with a death, which leads her on a search for the truth about her own life.

Marty, just like her creator, moves to the Island of La Palma and takes strides forward in both her career and love life. Although Saffy and Jess both remain in the United Kingdom, their own emotional journeys are similar in several ways. They each want to make a difference with their work, and meet men who share this passion and ignite their own.

Patsy, Rosemary, Sheila and Lynne are four friends who, although successful in specific writing fields, aren't yet well known to the general reading public. Together we're raising awareness of our work, and hope you'll help us do the same by reading this free collection, telling others about it and leaving us a review. We're not really asking 'Are We Nearly Famous?' as we know the answer!
Contents

Section 1 - Patsy Collins

The Mysterious Stone of Ogham

Leave Nothing But Footprints - Chapter 1

Patsy Collins Biography

Other Books by Patsy Collins

Section 2 - Sheila Crosby

A Decent Woman

Murder by Starlight - Opening Chapters

Sheila Crosby Biography

Other Books by Sheila Crosby

Section 3 - Rosemary J. Kind

The Embers of the Day

The Appearance of Truth \- Chapter 1

Rosemary J. Kind Biography

Other Books by Rosemary J. Kind

Section 4 - Lynne Pardoe

Aunt Matilda's Caravan

Stable Love - Chapter 1

Lynne Pardoe Biography

Other Books by Lynne Pardoe

Section 1

Patsy Collins
The Mysterious Stone of Ogham

by Patsy Collins

Ailsa had lost something. Not just her breast and anyway that might not be permanent: she'd been offered reconstructive surgery if she wanted it. She wasn't sure she did. She'd seen quite enough of the inside of hospitals and once she was wearing one of her special bras she looked fine. She didn't exactly like her appearance without it, but she'd started to accept it and no longer shuddered if she caught sight of her naked reflection.

It was passion she'd lost. Passion for life and for her husband. She was grateful to be alive and she still loved Donald very much but it wasn't quite the same. She missed the passion, the wanting him and being wanted in return. That wasn't something doctors could rebuild.

They'd been looking forward to the trip to Scotland for years. They both had Scots ancestry though their names were now the only trace of it. That's how they'd got together. She'd introduced herself as Miss McSporran on a work thing and, as often happened, a few people doubted such a name existed.

"Come off it, Ailsa. Next you'll be saying you have a twin brother called Craig."

"He's not my twin, but as it happens..."

Donald had laughed good naturedly with the rest over the failure of parents to consider the trauma they might be storing up for their children.

"I think that might possibly be even worse than preceding Duncan-MacTavish with Donald," he'd said.

"It is. I'd happily swap McSporran for your surname."

He'd faked huge surprise. "If I'd known tonight was going to be my engagement party I'd have ironed a shirt!"

It was almost a year before they were engaged for real and neither of them were wearing crease free clothing on that occasion either. There were just too many interesting things to do and fascinating places to visit to be worried about such unimportant little details. Somehow, although they'd discussed it many times, they'd never gone to Scotland.

Until Ailsa's diagnosis it had been a vague 'we must go there sometime' idea but through the months of chemo it became a concrete plan. Something to think about and look forward to during the darker moments. There had been some of those but Donald had been wonderful, helping her through it all and cheering her up. He'd not been annoyingly jolly and made light of everything, but if something had been genuinely funny such as the trouble her Chinese doctor had pronouncing her surname, yet could rattle off thirteen syllable drug names with ease, he'd pointed it out.

"Who says he's saying it right anyway? He's probably just giving you aspirin and calling it cyclophospham-whatsit."

"I wish it was aspirin, then it wouldn't make me feel so bad."

"I'm glad it's not, as it wouldn't be doing you so much good."

Donald didn't shy away from the truth. She was grateful for that. They played 'platitude bingo' awarding themselves points each time someone assured her it would all be fine when that had been far from certain, or had remarked it was 'wonderful what can be done these days'. It enabled her to smile through the well-meaning concern of friends and family.

"I'm just going to sit in the car and be driven around," she'd reassured those same people when they'd asked her if she was strong enough for the trip to Scotland. In fact by then she was physically fairly well again, but had fallen into the habit of reassuring, rather than explaining, when those close to her expressed their worries.

She did sit still too, at least for most of the drive up. They'd broken their journey at a pretty cottage offering bed and breakfast in the Lake District and had gone for a stroll before dinner. They'd not lingered long the next morning though, as they were both eager to cross the border.

As the sign welcoming them to Scotland came into view, Donald had reached out and taken her hand, not releasing it until they'd passed from one country into the other. "We've made it at last."

"I'm so glad to be here." She didn't think it was just the trip they were talking about.

Scotland didn't live up to her expectations; it surpassed them in every respect. The sights and scenery made every photo they took look like a postcard. The air smelled so fresh and clear she was sure it must be aiding her recovery, and the people were so friendly and helpful it felt like coming home. Even the weather was on their side. Sunshine warmed them enough to be comfortable, but not so much that scrambling up hills and over rocks became hot work. The touch of autumn chill in the evenings made their hotel rooms seem extra cosy. The huge number of castles open to visitors gave them more than enough to explore and helped build good appetites for the delicious home-cooked meals of local produce.

Donald had spent the many hours, when her treatment had left her good for nothing, in researching the best places to stay and the things she'd be most interested to see. Time after time she was delighted with his choices. She'd loved the ruined castle in Threave which had to be reached by boat, and the Mull of Galloway lighthouse with its 115 steps to be climbed. She did it slowly with a couple of brief stops on the way, but she got there and earned a certificate for doing so. She'd been charmed with her first sight of Ailsa Craig and had immediately taken a picture which she'd emailed to her brother so he could share the moment.

That night they'd sat out drinking coffee laced with local whisky and watched as the tiny island disappeared into the night sky. Perhaps it was the way it seemed about to vanish which made Ailsa say, "It looks like a perfect breast."

"Not yours. They never looked like that."

"Oi cheeky!"

"Yours were always much rounder." He gestured with his hands and gave a silly leer making her giggle.

Then she told him her concerns over reconstruction surgery. "What I've got left isn't pretty, but... whatever replaced it, or covered it, we'd both know it wasn't real."

"They mentioned skin grafts and using fatty tissue from elsewhere on your body."

"Don't. It sounds like building Frankenstein with spare parts."

"Oh, Ailsa," he pulled her into a hug. "I hadn't realised it upset you so much. That you felt like this."

"I don't really, well not all the time. It's just... well I can see why they do the reconstructions at the same time as the lumpectomy when they can."

"You don't have to have it, love. The doctors made it clear that it's up to you."

"And you. I really want to know what you think. It would help me decide."

"At first I wanted it. I thought it would make everything back to normal, symbolise all that was behind us and I'd kind of taken it for granted it was just part of the process, not a separate decision."

"And now?"

"To be honest, even though looking at you now no one would ever know you'd been ill, I realise we can't just pretend it never happened. And I don't particularly want to see you go back into hospital if you don't need to."

As she'd predicted, his words did help. They'd reduced one of the problems weighing on her mind to a manageable decision. It had seemed all important, but really what was the big deal over how one of her breasts looked?

Mull of Kintyre was the song they'd chosen to have played as they signed the register after their wedding, so obviously it was somewhere they had to visit. The journey there was quite long, with many twists and turns and setbacks as Donald put the car into reverse and edged into a passing place to let tractors and motorhomes by. When they had lunch looking at the wonderful view and listening to Paul McCartney's song they knew it had been well worth it. Again it wasn't just the narrow road they were thinking of.

Ailsa was glad it was she who'd got sick. She had hated it all, but watching Donald go through something similar would have been so much worse. She'd known of course that it hadn't been easy for him, but she was only just beginning to understand how much he must have suffered. In a way he was still suffering because of her changed attitude to her body and reluctance to share it with him. He'd been so patient, such a good friend. Was that enough for him? For her? Ailsa resolved not to hide her body from him so much.

That night he'd not recoiled in horror when she undressed in the bedroom instead of taking a nightie into the bathroom and changing there. She'd slept naked, as she'd always done before the surgery. In the morning she'd not wriggled away as he'd pulled her close. Instead she wrapped her arms round him and kissed him. It was clear he'd have welcomed more but she still wasn't ready. Not yet.

"What's the plan today?" she asked him once she was washed and dressed.

"You know that little island that we're not sure how to pronounce?"

"We do! It's Geiger."

"Gigger!"

"Geiger, Geiger, Geiger!"

"If you'll admit it's Gigger we can get the little ferry over. There's a bronze age burial site and some of those standing stones you like and gardens and a community run hotel who do a nice line in afternoon tea apparently."

"That's cheating, but those ferries are so sweet, so let's go to Gigger."

Over a full Scots breakfast (except for the white sausage which surely nobody really ate) they learned the correct pronunciation of Gigha was much more like 'gear' than either of their versions.

After a short crossing over a sea as smoothly reflective as polished marble they studied the huge map of the island.

"That way for Achamore Gardens, the burial site and the Stone of Ogham, that way for the other standing stones."

A quick look at the scale and calculation, using their ferry tickets to measure with, showed them that attempting to see it all would involve more walking than they wanted for one day.

"The Stone of Ogham gets my vote," Ailsa said.

"Mine too."

During the walk, as well as making frequent stops to take photographs, they talked about ancient mystical places.

"They must have really believed in something to have hauled huge rocks about by hand. It wasn't just something one person did on a whim," Donald said.

"What I like best is that although we see these places must have been important we have no real idea what any of them are for."

"It's odd isn't it? I don't suppose the lives of people living on remote islands have really changed all that much in thousands of years. They still have the same landscape and weather to deal with and the same need for shelter and food."

"And for less mundane things," Ailsa suggested.

"Hmm. Whatever or whoever they got together for, the gatherings would probably have provided companionship and entertainment of a sort."

"I was thinking of druids and magic."

"You would be!" Donald said.

"So where is this magical stone anyway? The map showed it as close to the gardens and we passed them a good twenty minutes ago."

"It also showed it as being twice the size of the ferry. Either the map isn't to scale or the stone will be impossible to miss."

"Missing one stone amongst all these wouldn't be difficult, but this path looks well-trodden so I guess we're on the route to something worth seeing."

They followed the track almost down to the sea on the opposite side of the island from where they'd started. Soon they were in a pretty but rocky cove.

"I was right, this is worth seeing."

"The path continues that way," Donald said. He helped Ailsa scramble over the rocks to a patch of grass edging the curved beach below.

"Lovely soft sand here, you wouldn't expect that, would you?"

"No, nor for everyone who came here to walk straight across it. Oh!"

"Sheep!" they said together as they realised they'd been following a track made by the animals which roamed the island.

"Well the sheep here are a clever lot and recognise a nice beach when they see one. This is lovely." Ailsa lay back on the short grass and wild flowers. "So warm too. I thought it would be breezy over this side."

"Fancy a swim?"

She hadn't brought a costume with her, but didn't point that out. She used to skinny dip when they were younger. He always told her they were alone and he'd keep look out. One time she'd just got out and wrapped herself in a towel when two men, carrying binoculars and cameras, appeared. They spoke reassuringly of the interesting bird life they'd just seen. Too reassuringly and Donald and Ailsa had giggled over the entries they'd put in their notebooks that afternoon.

"I'm too old for skinny dipping." It wasn't just the years and the scars left by the cancer which bothered her, but the extra pounds and stretch marks too. "Oh!"

"What?"

"I just caught myself thinking about cancer as being on equal terms with stretch marks. There really must be something special about this place."

"Then you definitely should swim. I confess I wasn't as lost as I made out. I knew this beach was here and thought it would appeal. I brought your swimsuit."

Donald took a towel and bikini from his backpack. Goodness knows where he'd dug that up from as she'd not worn one in years, but even more incredible was the fact that he'd seen her body that morning and still thought it was a good idea for her to wear a bikini.

"Someone might see."

"No, we're alone."

"Sure?"

"Absolutely." Donald grinned as though he remembered that exact conversation the day they'd met the bird watchers. He confirmed it by saying he'd keep a proper look out this time.

She believed him. Even so she knew he'd be watching her too. He was still that boy who'd dared her to go in, who had been everything to her. Could she be that girl again? The one with a passion for life? She owed it to him to try.

Ailsa pulled off her sandals and took a few steps. The water was really cold. Really, really cold. She told him so.

"Wimp!"

"You won't be saying that when my skin turns blue." She tugged off her clothes and put on the bikini. It sagged where her left breast used to be, but as she sagged where her trim waist used to be she couldn't blame it for that.

The water seemed even colder when she went back and she had to paddle a long way until it was deep enough for her to swim. She couldn't take many strokes in any direction before her legs or arms touched the soft, sandy bottom but it didn't matter. She was swimming and it felt just as it used to. Almost anyway. In other places where she'd swum it felt warmer once she was in the water. Here it seemed she'd not exaggerated about her skin turning blue.

Ailsa did feel warmer once she was striding out and the sun shone onto her skin.

Donald paddled toward her with the towel. "OK, I admit you're no wimp. This water really is freezing."

She reached for the towel. "Is someone coming?"

"No. I just couldn't wait to do this." He kissed her, not like an old friend, but like the young lovers they once were.

As she dried off she knew he was still watching her. She felt his gaze stay on her as she stretched out in the sun wearing only the ill-fitting bikini.

He kissed her again. "How about it? We're still all alone..." They'd made love in the open before, way back then. That had been at the top of a hill though with good visibility of the path in both directions and that time they really were sure they were alone.

"I don't think so. Those bird watchers must be in their nineties now, we might give them a heart attack."

"Oh well, you can't blame a guy for trying."

Ailsa got dressed and they began to retrace their steps.

"I was thinking, I might see if I can get a special swimsuit. You know, like my bras which would fit properly."

"That's a good idea."

They chose a different route back, once they found footpath signs, in the hope of finding the stone. Although unsuccessful in that, they were more than compensated by the views of both Gigha and across to Jura.

"Fantastic, isn't it?" Ailsa asked.

"It is. And if we were over there," he pointed to the mainland, "We'd see Arran, I think. There's so much to explore, we'll have to come back to Scotland."

"It's a deal."

He was right, there was so much more of this beautiful country left to see. And thanks to the surgery and chemo she'd endured she had time left to do so. A country to explore and a life to live. There didn't seem a moment to lose.

"Come on," she said as she pulled Donald to his feet and then dragged him toward the ferry.

"Have you lost something?"

"No, I've found it." It was back, her passion for life, for him.

"What's your hurry then?"

"Quicker we get on that ferry the quicker we get back to our hotel room. We can lock the door and know for sure that we're all alone."
Leave Nothing But Footprints

Patsy Collins

Chapter 1

"Come on, Jess, who is he and how did he break your heart?" Christina asked.

"And how can we help you get even?" Alyssa added.

"I told you, wanting a holiday on Capri and to spend time with my friends has nothing to do with a man," Jess said. That was true; almost. Eliot Beatty hadn't broken her heart, only disappointed her and not in the way they meant.

"So what is up?" Zoe asked.

Jess decided she might as well tell them. They cared and would ask until they got answers. "Nothing serious. It's college. I don't really get on with anyone and I'm not sure the course is right for me."

"There's something wrong with them if they don't get on with you," Christina said.

The others, bless them, nodded loyally.

"They're OK really, just young and..." Actually most of them did quite like her; or at least her generosity in the coffee shops and bakeries. They weren't real friends though and she felt uncomfortable around people so different from herself.

"It must be difficult going back into education after so long," Zoe said.

"It has been. Oh good, I think that's our drinks." Maybe her uneasiness was because she felt she was wasting time. At twenty-six, Jess was already ten years behind most of her fellow students and still not sure she was on the right track. One thing she did know was that coming to this beautiful island had been a good idea. Jess needed time to get over the setback of Eliot's rejection, and a break from her father's expectations, to consider how best to achieve the life she wanted. She was so pleased the others had agreed to accompany her to Capri. They'd been really lucky with the weather too. It was only April and yet they were sunbathing.

A slim waiter weaved his way through the sunbeds around the pool; the tray of cocktails held above head height, balanced on his fingertips. Sunlight lit up the drinks, making it look as though the glasses were prisms refracting its warm rays into jewel colours. Jess was sure the glasses were only held aloft to allow members of staff to move swiftly through the hotel guests without risk of brushing a uniformed elbow against oiled skin. The rainbow effect seemed all the more magical for being accidental.

As he delivered the Cosmopolitan, Blue Lagoon, Screwdriver and Grasshopper the waiter smiled at each girl in turn. "Enjoy your drinks, ladies," he said.

"Thank you," Jess said. Her Blue Lagoon, ordered in appreciation of the Blue Grotto they'd visited earlier that day, looked just as inviting as the cool water had after their flight. She hoped her photographs had done it justice.

"Thank you, Raoul," Christina said, managing to turn his name into a growl. That was kind of appropriate as although Christina wasn't old enough to be considered a cougar, she was looking at him as though he was prey.

"Wow," Alyssa said.

"They are huge." Zoe reached out a manicured hand to pick up the Grasshopper. "And so pretty." The rim of her glass had been dipped in cocoa. The brilliant green drink, the exact shade of her fingernails, was sprinkled with white chocolate chips and finished with a perfect sprig of mint.

"They are," agreed Alyssa. "But I was talking about the waiter. Did you see the way he managed to check us out and yet still seem polite?"

"Nope, I was too busy checking him out," Christina replied.

"No!" Zoe gasped. "Was he really?"

Jess laughed. "You lot never change."

"Here's to staying the same forever," Alyssa said.

All four girls clinked glasses.

As Jess took a sip of her drink she realised she was wrong; they had all changed from the carefree kids they'd been at school. Christina was occupied with her demanding career in accountancy, Alyssa her husband and charities, and Zoe's job, husband and three children kept her busy.

Her mother's illness had changed Jess too, into a responsible adult. After Mum's death she and her dad had grown closer than ever. She'd drifted into working for him before considering what she hoped to do with her life. Gradually she'd realised she was heading towards becoming a clone of her father and, much as she loved him, that didn't appeal in the slightest. It wasn't too late to create an alternative role for herself, as an influential photographer, but she probably had left it too long to return to education as though she were still sixteen.

For a while, the four girls shared memories of their schooldays, most of which seemed to involve what they'd got up to when they were supposed to be on cross-country runs. Then Zoe excused herself and headed back into the hotel.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Christina said, "I'm worried about her, financially I mean. Frankly, when you suggested this trip, Jess, I doubted she'd be able to afford it. I offered to chip in a bit if she couldn't, but she said there was no need and was so embarrassed I let it drop."

"I haven't liked to say anything, but I wondered too," Alyssa said. "She's only choosing things which are covered in the all-inclusive package. Just a single colour nail varnish, not the patterned or tipped options the rest of us opted for. Maybe it's what she wants, but I think she's trying to keep her costs down."

Jess hadn't noticed. Zoe had always been the least flamboyant, most conservative of them. When they'd bought masses of ultra-fashionable clothes she'd stuck with her classic outfits, when they splashed out on loads of sweets at the cinema's pick 'n' mix counter, she'd claimed to be concerned about spots and went without. She'd also had the least money of them all.

"I'll have a word, if you like," Jess said. "Make sure she's OK."

Now she thought about it she realised Zoe had joined them for the massage which was complimentary but declined the hot stone treatment which wasn't, saying she preferred to keep it traditional. When the others had taken a yoga class she'd said she'd find lazing in the shade finishing her book more relaxing. Maybe that was true, but Jess didn't like the idea that her friend might not be enjoying the trip as much as she could due to concerns over money.

"So, that's her sorted, now what about you?" Alyssa asked Jess.

Jess sometimes thought her own problems were partly financial too, though in her case the issue was having too much without the satisfaction of earning it. But as she had no intention of giving up the generous allowance her father gave her, and not purely because of how he'd react, perhaps she should stop trying to pretend his money was a disadvantage.

Tanya, a girl on her college course, had made that accusation. She'd also said Jess had a tendency to make everything all about her. Tanya had a point. Rather than allowing herself to enjoy the luxurious pampering the spa offered, Jess compared procedures designed to remove hair, suck out fat and pump in nutrients with the treatments which had tried, and failed, to save her mother. The unhappiness this brought was marring the trip for the others.

She looked at her friends concerned faces and gave herself a mental shake. "I'm fine, honestly I am," Jess said. Of course she was happy, but hiding things wouldn't convince them of that. "Sorry, it's just that I've been thinking of Mum. When she was ill someone came in and did our nails and hair. She'd have loved it here. And I love being here with all of you."

Zoe was back in time to hear the end of that and join in the group hug.

As they drank their cocktails, the other three persuaded Jess to explain how she'd come to start her college course. "I've been interested in photography for ages."

"Interested in a photographer, you mean!" Christina said.

"That's right. You had some mad crush on a guy who worked for your dad. What was his name?" Zoe asked.

"Eliot Beatty," Jess said. "He didn't work for Dad exactly and I..."

"Oh! I didn't realise it was him," Christina said. "No wonder you had a thing for him. He's gorgeous."

"What you mean is he's male!" Jess teased. "OK I did have a bit of a crush on him when I was twelve, but I haven't seen him since." She remembered him as slightly thin and a bit spotty, yet still good looking. He'd been charming to her too and made her feel like a real person, rather than Daddy's little girl. That was something which never happened in her father's presence and probably the main reason for her crush. It sounded as though Eliot was even more attractive now.

"Anyway, after Dad got engaged to Lizzie I realised I had to do something with my own life. Photography was the only thing which appealed and I tried to get Eliot Beatty to help. Dad had helped him with his career so it seemed only fair. Plus he'd been sweet to me when I was a kid."

"Something tells me he isn't being sweet now," Alyssa said.

"Not particularly, but there's no reason he should."

Jess hadn't forgotten her earlier feelings for Eliot when she'd thought of contacting him, but it was his talent she was really interested in. She'd started by looking at his website to see if he offered instruction. She learned he used to but had since stopped. The website gave a list of others who did offer that service. Jess hadn't clicked those links; she hoped she wouldn't need to.

There was very little actual information about the man behind the lens and no photo of him. Eliot's website was simply a showcase of his work, which she already knew was brilliant, and a subtle advertisement for the projects he was interested in. It was abundantly clear he was an environmentalist and nature lover. That was something they had in common in a way; Jess always bought environmentally friendly products, recycled everything, and adored wild flowers.

She'd emailed, asking for his help. Jess mentioned her GCSE grades and admitted she wasn't sure exactly what kind of photography she wanted to do, although she had ruled out joining the celebrity obsessed paparazzi. Maybe he could suggest what would be the best way for her to make a difference in the world?

The reply, when it eventually came, felt very like a standard, and slightly dismissive, response. He gave her links to photographers who offered training in areas such as landscape, portraits and wedding photography, saying that it had taken each of them years to learn the techniques and develop their skills. If she was serious about becoming a photographer then she should take a course – perhaps something general which would give her an idea of which area she'd like to focus on.

At first she'd been disappointed both that he hadn't remembered her and that he'd treated her like a schoolgirl who didn't know what she wanted to do when she grew up. After rereading her own message she could understand it. For one thing, she'd just signed it 'Jess' and her email address was one she'd created as a teenager, 'no-mess-wiv-jess'. No wonder he hadn't realised who she was and had assumed she was sixteen. She really must set up something more adult!

She told herself there was no reason he should have remembered her even if she'd signed herself as Jessica Borlase. Naturally he'd remember Daddy and might have wanted to help his daughter, but he didn't owe Jess anything. That was good, she almost convinced herself. He'd given her unbiased advice. Why not take it?

"So," Jess rounded off the explanation to her friends, "I signed up for the media studies course at the local college. That was maybe a bit too general. We're starting the photography module on Monday, which involves a visit to Eliot Beatty's latest exhibition. After that, I'm not sure if it's worth me staying on."

"Maybe after that you won't need to?" Alyssa said.

"How do you mean?"

"You can't tell us you weren't hoping for a bit more of a personal response from Eliot Beatty," Zoe prompted.

"I admit I was, but... Oh, you think he'll be there?"

"And see you've grown up to be totally gorgeous and serious about photography and whisk you away on some exotic shoot where you can see what develops? Yes, exactly," Christina said.

"Get your own fantasies, you lot! Now, are we having our next cocktail before or after dinner?"

"After. It's getting cool out here," Zoe said.

"It is a bit. See you all down in the restaurant in half an hour?" Jess suggested.

On the way back to their rooms they passed through the foyer where a selection of magazines was on offer. The front cover of one promised 'Eliot Beatty up close and personal', so Jess bought it and flicked through as she waited for the lift. The article had no more personal information than the few details she'd read on his website, but it did have a large photograph of the man himself. Wow!

Jess inspected her own appearance in the mirror of her suite. Oh dear, definitely not close-up ready! She'd had her hair blow-dried earlier, but the moist air by the pool had made it start to frizz up again and her make-up was smudged from laughing so much. As she sorted out her eyeliner and straightened her hair, Jess thought about what Zoe and the others had said about her hopes for a different reaction from Eliot. Even if she hadn't been then, she was now. In fact, her thoughts had become so Christina-esque that she was late leaving her room to meet the others and then absent-mindedly went the wrong way, so arrived breathless from somewhere she perhaps shouldn't have been. Not surprisingly, her candid explanation resulted in plenty of teasing.

"If he can get you this worked out just from thinking about him, imagine what he could do in the flesh," Christina said.

"I'm not going to just imagine," Jess replied. "I plan to find out."
Patsy Collins

Patsy Collins is known as The Travelling Writer because much of her writing is done from a campervan. Large chunks of her novels have been written 'on location', which helps greatly with research. Literally walking in her character's footsteps and looking at things from their point of view helps her to know them better and frequently inspires her work.

It's not just Patsy who travels; her stories do too. She's had work published in magazines in the United Kingdom, Ireland, Australia, Sweden, South Africa and Canada.

Although none of her fiction is autobiographical, whenever possible Patsy likes to experience the things she puts her characters through. She's got lost in London, visited a crypt and attended an inquest with Mavis from Paint Me A Picture. She's climbed mountains (small ones!) and taken long hikes, plus had extensive photography lessons with Jess from Leave Nothing But Footprints. Patsy and Alice have travelled to Wales, searched for choughs and spent time with men in uniform during the writing of Firestarter.

Perhaps Patsy's writing journey started in infancy, as she grew up surrounded by readers and storytellers, on a farm in Berkshire. However, it wasn't until 2002 she first put pen to paper in creative writing evening classes (swiftly moving on to one finger and a keyboard thanks to her dodgy handwriting). Since then she's had over 700 short stories published, won or been placed in numerous writing competitions (including one for novel writing which resulted in her debut novel Escape To The Country being published) completed five novels and co-authored From Story Idea to Reader – an accessible guide to writing fiction.

Patsy likes to share not only her stories, but also her enthusiasm for writing, with others. In order to do this she frequently journeys to meet writing friends, give talks and presents workshops.

Patsy maintains a blog about free entry writing competitions - http://patsy-collins.blogspot.co.uk and runs the womagwriter blog http://womagwriter.blogspot.co.uk which is handy for magazine guidelines. You can also learn more about her and her writing at patsycollins.uk

Twitter https://twitter.com/PatsyCollins

Facebook https://www.facebook.com/PatsyCollins.writer/
Other Books by Patsy Collins

Short story collections

Over The Garden Fence

Sue fills a room with white carnations to celebrate her twenty-first wedding anniversary. Yvonne looks forward to the garden party and gets hot and bothered by charming Dr Mathews' bedside manner. Maria dreads Valentine's Day with all those red roses to remind her of past hurts.

Maddie longs to visit her brother's wonderful English garden. Dare she go? Luisha Summer was once Lucy Winterbottom, almost everything about her has changed. Does she still love flowers and remember those who aided her success? Old Myrtle promises the kids a trick along with their treats, but they're too greedy to hear the warning.

Adam has the chance to help his hero, PC Mark, and prove himself a worthy deputy if he can only discover who's responsible for stealing a prize-winning marrow and three old roller skates. Will the mystery caller persuade Beverley to make time to smell the flowers? Gran's forget-me-not brooch will lead Mazie to true love... eventually.

Gardens, plants and people all have their stories. Lean over the garden fence and I'll tell you a few.

Up The Garden Path

Eleanor has a traditional garden her grandchildren will love; won't they? Mrs Dalrymple's country home seems the perfect refuge for Daryl and there's no reason Emma can't call the big house home, is there?

Homes and gardens aren't always peaceful havens though. Ted's tranquillity is under threat from a BBQ for teenage twins, Penny the Jack Russell is called upon to protect her mistress from a terrifying intruder, avoiding Frances's annoying neighbour was almost the death of her and Rachel can't bring herself to step out the back door.

A walk in the countryside might be less traumatic, unless your beloved tree has been damaged as badly as your heart or Mrs Bishop is lurking to find fault with all you do. Even the simple act of arranging flowers causes problems if your boss is as mean as Brenda's.

Valerie managed to dig herself out of depression on her allotment but Sally was faced with the perils of half an hour in the potting shed with the attractive yet infuriating Jim.

Gardens, plants and people all have their story. Let me lead you up the garden path and tell you a few.

Through The Garden Gate

Shirley can't see the beauty Hugh pictures in the patch of bare earth, but is happy to help him bury the flower bulbs as deep as she keeps her secret. The Adkins always put on a brave face, something Iris is determined to do, even if she doesn't know why it's needed.

Julie and her cousin are twigs from the same branch, so why does she feel like a sapling in the shade of his mighty oak? Ryan knows he's good at nurturing plants – can he learn to do the same with the family he longs for? Like snowdrops underground, Ollie waits throughout the winter of Jasmine's life, until she's ready to accept the warmth of spring and his love.

Jamie feels safe in the garden. If he's really good, maybe they'll let him stay. 'The lad' hasn't been seen on the allotments for days and Bert has a horrible feeling he's responsible. Everyone says Peace Cottage is a wonderful house, surrounded by a lovely garden, so why won't anyone live there?

Gardens, plants and people all have their stories. Step through the garden gate and I'll tell you a few.

In The Garden Air

Dorothy used to hate the noise of lawnmowers starting up, like a kind of horticultural Mexican sound wave, but that was before Luke was the one in charge of the machine. Betsie used to hate the awful Valentine's gimmicks people used to impress friends and colleagues rather than showing their feelings to one special person. Actually she still dislikes those, but she loves the genuine sign of affection Tim gave her – almost as much as she loves the man himself.

Maria is desperate for it not to rain, she'll die if it does, or at least thinks so. Suzie wants to gather those she cares about close to her as though assembling a posy and Hilary feels as though her new neighbours are like the lily of the valley creeping from their garden to hers; neither use nor ornament. Then they learn to look below the surface and see what's truly important.

When Primrose retired, her colleagues showed they cared about her with gifts of primroses, items decorated in her favourite flowers, or in primrose yellow. Trudie was thanked, and maybe apologised to, with the purchase of flowers. For others the perfect way to get their message across is less obvious and they resort to sharp thorned roses, daisy chains or floral portraits.

Gardens, plants and people all have their stories. Breathe in the garden and let me tell you a few.

No Family Secrets

Perhaps Aunty Louise hadn't wanted to be told the truth about why her bum looked big in that dress. If so, she asked the wrong person; Tracie's mum never lied. Louise did ask though, that's why she was told. That's why there are questions Tracie keeps to herself.

Sue's mother always tells the truth, but people don't always listen. Jemima tells lies. Well, it's either that or get a job and pay her way and she's not really suited to that sort of thing. She's much better at manipulation, although perhaps not good enough.

Angela hasn't been strictly honest about the painting and Mary's mother-in-law has withheld important information. That causes upset in both their families, until the loving, honest support of their daughters-in-law put everything right.

Can lies ever be a good thing? Perhaps if they're told to preserve family traditions, or to allow a sick child to benefit from the help of a superhero, they're forgivable. The made-up stories Jane tells little Charlie certainly have a positive affect and not only on her son.

Families, whether we're born or married into them, or choose them for ourselves all have stories to tell. This collection contains 25 of them.

Can't Choose Your Family

Chloe's dad wishes she'd talk to him. How can he help her without knowing what's wrong? There's a way he can find out, but not without losing her trust. He can't risk that. Doug's dad would rather not have heard what his son, or rather stepson, had to say. He'd destroyed his family's trust; perhaps broken up the family too. Why must an innocent boy and rescue dog suffer for his selfishness?

Paula listens to her family, when she can hear them over the TV, but doesn't like what they say. Drastic action is needed. Maybe she'll go so far as to miss a few of her favourite shows? Jeremy's good at listening to his mother. It's easy when she talks so much sense. He remembers her advice and dishes it out to his friends, helping solve their problems. When will he take that advice himself?

Martha cares for Billy, willing him to talk at last. That would give her one more thing to be grateful for. Children often talk to their mothers, sometimes saying such cute things, but those women don't always have time to listen. When they do, will they jump to the wrong conclusions and repeat the mistakes of the past just as Karen does?

Communication, done right, can bring families together. It made friends of Sally and her cousin, and ensured she got to the church on time. Talking about the past brought Frederick and Georgina together. Can they ever be more than kissing cousins? Talking to his wife about the fox might perhaps bring Duncan a step closer to having the family they've always wanted.

Families, whether we're born or married into them, or choose them for ourselves all have stories to tell. This collection contains 25 of them.

Keep It In The Family

Alec thinks he's suffered a medical emergency, Dr Kuttemopen says the same about his patient, and Jake and his granddad will be at risk from one if they carry on as they've been doing. With the support of loved ones, they could all put these predicted and suspected health problems behind them. Uncle Boris's condition will never go away, but neither will Aunt Jonna, so he'll not just cope, but enjoy doing so.

Everyone has problems or concerns from time to time. Some deal with them by always moving on and never looking back, others by asking the right question. They might try to keep them hidden, insist on bringing them into the open, or allow the sea to wash them away. Most will turn to their families for help, but all Miss Frencham's are gone. All she can do, is tell people about the bodies.

Anne's spent a lot of time waiting for her daughter; a whole lifetime, but it's been worth every second. Daniel's mother and Dizzy's father-in-law won't wait a moment for them, until they come to their senses and reunite their families. Stephanie's waiting for the right kind of snow, and Adam's waiting for the wrong sort of Santa. Their reward will be to know they did the right thing.

Families, whether we're born or married into them, or choose them for ourselves all have stories to tell. This collection contains 25 of them.

All That Love Stuff

Richard's gone shopping for romance at the supermarket, Sally tries a smart way to get her man, Kirstey turns arty and Natalie just waits. And waits. And waits. Will their efforts be rewarded?

Heidi has always known she and Carl are perfect for each other. He's much cleverer than her, so why does he continue to search the sky for his sign, when she's standing right next to him?

Moths can't shimmer and dazzle like newly emerged butterflies, people in wheelchairs don't climb mountains, those who're different rarely see themselves as perfect – unless they're helped to do so by someone who loves them. And only if they accept that help. Others use more extreme means to find love; getting bound and gagged, being nice to children – even poetry!

Molly has her husband, but not his attention, the old man had a companion once but is alone again and Siobhan Desire was never the person she claimed to be. Will love return for any of them?

Whether they're together forever, broken-hearted, or still trying to make it work, anyone who has loved has a story to tell. This collection contains 24 of them.

With Love And Kisses

Isabelle was dared to go in search of love, Julia attempts to win it, and Beverly searches in the small print. Anne puts on a lavish dress, Angie dons a nice new waterproof jacket and Tracie removes her clothes. All of them want the same thing – to love and be loved. Others use more extreme methods in their quest for romance; marriage brokers and weird dogs, historic ships, even stolen magic dust.

Andrew has proposed to Jemima many times, as part of plays they've acted in together. It never meant anything, although when she accepted, he always wished it did. Now it's her asking him and he doesn't see the words on his script. What's going on? Whether they're together forever, broken-hearted, or still trying to make it work, anyone who has loved has a story to tell. This collection contains 25 of them.

Slightly Spooky Stories I

Slightly Spooky Stories II

Ghosts, sixth sense and things not of this world aren't always scary, though they can be. Some help or warn, frighten or comfort those who perceive them. Others are here for their own purposes, waiting for a chance to move on. We might see, hear or feel them, perhaps they'll only reach us through our subconscious.

Are ghosts memories and echoes of the past, contacts from another time and place, or figments of our imagination? Whether you believe in them or not, ghosts, spirits and mysterious spooking happenings all provide stories. These collections each contain 25 of them.

Just A Job

Work is a huge part of our lives; from the first time someone asks us what we'll be when we grow up, until we're drawing our pension and looking back with relief or regret. Through training and searching for, obtaining them, travelling to and actually being there, to winding down at the end of a busy day, our jobs take up much of our time.

Whether full time, part time, or can't wait for home time, working from home, working away, carer or career, paid or volunteer, we all have a job to do. Most people have friends at our place of work, and perhaps there are rivals. It's where many of us meet our partners. Love or hate it, like almost everything else in life, our job is what we make it.

Bosses, employees and colleagues all have a story to tell. Just A Job contains 25 of them.

Perfect Timing

Whether we have long hours to fill, or not a moment to spare, time plays an important part in all our lives. We might not watch the clock, but we can't escape the impact of the seconds ticking away. Time waits for no woman, neither will it accelerate at her command. It's no more considerate of men, children and teddy bears.

Being a little early, or late, can have a big impact; it could mean missing a train, inheritance, or much needed meal. Or help us catch a crook, rescue a neighbour, show us what's really important. Maybe it's not our own timekeeping we have to worry about, but that of loved ones, colleagues or adversaries.

You can read each of the stories in this book in just a few minutes, or enjoy all 25 at once over several hours.

Not A Drop To Drink (Ebook only and generally available free of charge.)

'They' say the human body is around 70% water. It's not true.

We could drink straight H20 of course. Usually we don't. More likely it's vitamin rich juice or teeth rotting cola. We like a nice cup of tea to calm us down or cheer us up. Perhaps a nice glass of wine to celebrate or drown our sorrows. Two glasses. Too many glasses.

Our bodies do contain liquid of course. Never just water though. What's in yours; acid and bile or the milk of human kindness? Blood, sweat and tears of joy or sorrow?

It's these waters I hope you'll find running through my stories. Cheers!

Novels

Firestarter

Alice has a fantasy. It starts with being rescued by a hunky fireman, involves the kiss of life and ends in him not needing his uniform. At the New Forest Show, Alice is offered an innocent version of her dream. Reluctantly she turns down fireman Hamish's invitation.

Despite Alice's blameless behaviour, boyfriend Tony's obsessive jealousy kicks in. Hamish wants to take Tony's place, but a hoaxer ensures Alice already sees far too much of Hampshire Fire Service. The threat of an explosive sprout surprise, her mum's baking, sister Kate's mind boggling pep talks and the peculiar behaviour of Alice's boss Miles provide distractions.

Is Alice really in danger? What is Kate up to? Can Hamish possibly be as perfect as he seems? It takes Alice masses of wonderful food, disgusting wine, smelly mud, red footed crows and steamy Welsh passion, but she finds the answers. And rethinks her fantasy.

Escape To The Country

Leah is accused of a crime she didn't commit. Dumped by Adam, the man she planned to marry, she escapes to Aunt Jayne's smallholding in the Kent village of Winkleigh Marsh. Heartbroken and homeless, she strives to clear her name and deal with her emotions.

Jayne treats Leah's unhappiness with herbal remedies, cowslip wine and common sense in equal measure. In return Leah works hard for the delicious home-cooked meals they share. She wrestles with sheep, breaks nails and gets stuck in the mud – learning as much about herself as she does about farming. Soon Leah is happy milking cows, mucking out pigs and falling halfway in love with Duncan, a dishy tractor driver.

Back in London, steps are being taken to investigate what's happened to the missing money. It looks as though the real embezzler must soon be unmasked and Leah will have to choose between resuming her old life or starting a new one.

That's when her problems really start.

A Year And A Day

Despite Stella's misgivings, her best friend Daphne persuades her to visit a fortune teller. Rosie-Lee promises both girls will live long and happy lives. For orphaned Stella, the fortune teller's claims include the family she longs for and a tall, dark handsome man. Stella doesn't believe a word, so Rosie-Lee produces a letter, to be read in a year's time, which will prove her predictions are true.

Stella remains sceptical but Daphne is totally convinced. Daphne attempts to manipulate Stella's life, starting with an introduction to her new boss. Restaurant owner Luigi fits the romantic hero image perfectly. In complete contrast is Daphne's infuriating policeman brother John. Despite his childhood romance with Stella ending badly he still acts as though he has a right to be involved in her life.

Soon John is the least of her worries. Daphne's keeping a secret, Luigi can't be trusted, romantically or professionally and both girls' jobs are at risk. Worse still, John's concerns for their safety are proved to be justified.

John, and Rosie-Lee's letter, are all Stella has to help put things right.

Paint Me A Picture

Mavis Forthright carefully rehearses her jump from Portsmouth's Round Tower. She's existed for over five decades. Lived hardly at all. Will end her misery with a few second's fall into the cold sea. Except she's not quite ready to die. A half day's delay to try a bacon sandwich from the cafe won't matter; Mother's no longer there to disapprove.

She delays another day to lend Janice a book. Then a week to use her new paints. A month. Until the end of term. Mavis makes new plans: to live, to create paintings full of emotion, perhaps even make friends.

As if to balance her survival a number of people connected to Mavis die. At first that doesn't matter. They're people she dislikes. Mavis continues painting, tending her garden, feeding the birds and keeping her home properly clean, without additional concern. Then people who've been kind to Mavis are killed or injured. That shouldn't happen.

Why are people dying? Is it because of charming Norman who's back from her past, or is that strange boy Jake her mistaken guardian angel? Perhaps Mavis herself is to blame. She must learn the truth, stop the deaths and protect those she's learned to care about before she can enjoy the new life she's making for herself.

Leave Nothing But Footprints

Jessica Borlase always gets what she wants. From cocktails in the exact shade of her manicure, holiday on Capri with friends, to a spacious apartment, her father's money makes it possible. She enjoys the luxurious lifestyle and is grateful for his support, but frustrated to always be treated as Daddy's pampered little girl. She tries to break free, by leaving Borlase Enterprises and studying photography.

Now what Jess wants is the utterly gorgeous Eliot Beatty; a world famous photographer who often uses his talents to benefit conservation projects. Her father attempts to bribe Eliot into taking Jess on an assignment in order to teach her the skills she'll need to develop a career. Although annoyed at the interference, she's delighted to discover this means two weeks with Eliot in the beautiful countryside of South Wales and close confines of a campervan. Trouble is, the man can't be bought.

Jess eventually manages to persuade Eliot to take her. She believes she can earn his respect and that she's ready for the hard work, long hours and living conditions far short of those she's used to. She's wrong on all counts. Can Jess learn to cope with the realities of the trip, and is Eliot really worth the effort?

Non-fiction

From Story Idea to Reader

Whether brushing up your writing skills or starting out, this book will take you through the whole process from inspiration to conclusion.

Are you looking to submit your work for publication, enter a competition, or do you want to self-publish? This practical guide will help you every step of the way.

Between them, Patsy Collins and Rosemary J. Kind have sold hundreds of short stories, written more than twenty published books and produced numerous articles for Writing Magazine and similar publications. They've both judged writing competitions and run workshops, and Rosemary has read and edited thousands of short stories and published dozens of books for other writers.

With the information, help and encouragement in this book, you too could see your work in print.

Buy it now and give your writing life a boost.

You can find out more about my work at Patsycollins.uk
Section 2

Sheila Crosby
A Decent Woman

by Sheila Crosby

The sounds of the street faded as they left the reception area and went through to the deserted hotel corridor beyond.

"Goodnight, Esperanza." Then Alan did something she had longed for all day – he learned forward and kissed her. It started as a chaste little peck on the lips, but it deepened. He was much taller than her, so he had to bend forwards and she had to tilt her head right back. Soon Esperanza leaned back against the Staff Only door with Alan's arms around her, heart fluttering, drowning in the kiss. She'd forgotten how good it felt to have strong arms around her. Who would have thought you could still feel like this at seventy-two?

Their lips parted and they stared at each other. To her Canarian eyes, Alan looked exotic with his pale skin and freckles. Presumably her tan looked equally exotic to him.

He stroked her cheek. "See you tomorrow. And do think about coming to Scotland." He went up the stairs to his room, looking back at her several times.

Esperanza hummed as she floated through to the staff quarters. A herb tea before bed would be nice.

She wasn't entirely surprised to see Dolores, her daughter, and Juan, her son in law, sitting in the kitchen, smoking. While older people might stay out late in the big city, Santa Cruz de la Palma was a small, old-fashioned town on a small island. Widows weren't supposed to have fun.

Dolores let her head loll back in relief. "Mother, where have you been?"

Juan crushed out his cigarette and stood up. He towered over Esperanza, his heavy eyebrows meeting in a frown. "Have you any idea what time it is? We've been worried sick."

Esperanza stared at them, eyes wide. "I've been showing Alan dragon trees in the north of the island, swimming at La Fajana, and having dinner in Barlovento. It's now about one in the morning. And nobody asked either of you to worry about me."

Dolores shook her head. "It's for your own good, Mother. You can't trust foreign men."

Esperanza laughed as she put the kettle on. This afternoon, Alan had said that she had a very pretty laugh, like champagne bubbles. "Oh for heaven's sake, if Alan was going to sell me into slavery, he would have done it by now."

Juan said, "We don't think you realise what you're getting involved in. What do you really know about this Mr Gribbin? Only what he's told you himself. It might all be lies."

"I've got his passport, remember? And his address."

Juan paced the room. "What he says is his address."

"I wrote to that address when he booked and got a reply. What have you got against Alan Gribbin except that he makes me happy?"

"But he's English!"

Esperanza sighed. "Scottish. He explained the difference to me. And I'm old enough to know my own mind."

"In your second childhood, more like," muttered Juan, not quietly enough.

Esperanza glared at him. "I'm not in my dotage, and I'm not deaf either."

"But we only want to protect you, Mother."

Esperanza rolled her eyes. "So did my father. It's a miracle I ever got married at all."

Her father had taken his daughter's virtue very seriously indeed. This was Franco's Spain, where a couple had to produce proof of marriage before they could book a hotel room. Esperanza had never been allowed out with a boy, even in broad daylight.

When she was in her late thirties, her father made a deal to supply a hotel in Santa Cruz with fresh vegetables, and brought the hotelier home to dinner to celebrate the village Fiesta, in June. Enrique had looked very earnestly at Esperanza and praised her cooking. Then he had turned up two days later with a bunch of red roses. Father had glowered, but had stopped short of throwing Enrique off the farm. It was easier to grow vegetables than sell them. Instead, he rattled his newspaper beside Esperanza in the living room, while she talked to Enrique through the open window.

Enrique was no film star, but Esperanza began to look forward to his Sunday visits. Hearing about hotel guests' foibles made a change from awkward goats —or aphids on the cabbages. On Christmas Eve, rain dripped off Enrique's umbrella for over an hour before her father flung open the door. "Oh, get inside."

After that, Enrique always shared the sofa with her father, while Esperanza perched on the carved pine chest. They only touched when she handed him a coffee.

At Easter Enrique asked to talk to Esperanza alone.

"Alone?" her father barked. "Of course not! My daughter's a decent woman."

"It's the 1970s," said Enrique, soothingly. "Times change."

Father straightened his spine with a jerk. "And a decent woman's still a decent woman! I absolutely forbid it."

Enrique sighed, then got down on his knees. "Esperanza, will you do me the honour —"

Father bounced to his feet. "What? But you can't be serious. You've only just met!"

"— of becoming my wife?"

Esperanza ignored her father. "Of course I will." While there were no orchestras starting up when Enrique arrived, he was much pleasanter company than her father.

"OUT!" roared her father. "And never come back."

Enrique stood up. "See you next Sunday," he said, and left.

As Enrique's car bumped down the track, Esperanza squared her shoulders, bracing herself for the storm.

Father rounded on her. "Marry him! My daughter, married? Child, do you realise where babies come from?"

Esperanza's jaw dropped. "Father, I'm almost forty and I live on a farm."

"And you're prepared to do that with Enrique? Like a goat?"

She shrugged. "Mother obviously did."

For once Father was completely lost for words, so she went out to feed the hens.

The whole village congratulated her, but Father heaped insults on her every day of the engagement. Whatever her father shouted, Esperanza merely repeated quietly, "I'm marrying Enrique, whether you can tell the difference between a married woman and a whore or not."

In spite of Father's dire predictions, her wedding night was rather nice. Enrique had always treated Esperanza with respect and affection. When she fell pregnant, to their joint astonishment and delight, he treated her like rare crystal. Once their daughter had grown enough to show signs of her grandfather's bossiness, he always backed Esperanza up.

Enrique had died three years ago, and Dolores got bossier by the day. Esperanza wasn't used to dealing with the world. Her shoulders sagged. Maybe they were right.

The kettle boiled and she poured water on the camomile teabag. "Don't worry. If Alan forgets me as soon as his holiday's over, then I'll have a week of happy memories to look back on."

Juan glowered down at her. "And if he's playing with your heart to get his hands on the hotel?"

Esperanza choked on her tea. "He's already got a hotel. That's his address in Scotland. A castle converted into a five star hotel. And it's three times the size of this one."

Juan waved away an imaginary bad smell. "And how do you know he owns it?"

"I'm not quite as naive as you think. I got that nice Manolo at the Cybercafé to check."

It was Dolores's turn to choke. "Nice!" Manolo had a ponytail and an earring, so as far as Dolores was concerned, he couldn't possibly be nice. Or even competent. "It's indecent, the way he dresses."

Esperanza raised her eyebrows. "I suppose that depends on your idea of decency."

Dolores snapped, "My idea of a decent woman certainly doesn't include gadding about after midnight with foreign men. At your age! If you must have a boyfriend, what's wrong with the local men?"

A decent woman. That made it all so clear. Esperanza put down her teacup. "I'll decide for myself what's decent. I'm going to see Alan before he goes to sleep. We can talk in the morning."

Juan's jaw dropped like a hanged man. "But... he's in his room."

"Where else would I see him?"

She left Dolores and Juan gawping at each other, went upstairs and tapped on Alan's door. "Are you still awake?"

He opened the door, eyes shining with hope.

Esperanza shook her head. "No, not that. But I came to tell you that I've changed my mind. I will come to Scotland for a holiday with you. My daughter just persuaded me."

Murder by Starlight

by Sheila Crosby

Chapter 1

Monday, November 21st, 7:00 am.

Juliette loathed showering.

Most of the time she tried to ignore her body. She could stay almost numb if she kept her clothes on and avoided the stranger looking back at her from a mirror. As soon as she undressed she felt she was looking at herself through the wrong end of a telescope. There was a body there, getting clean, but it didn't feel hers at all. She gritted her teeth while she soaped and rinsed and shaved, then towelled. The daily struggle was a little easier whenever she managed to make her body feel less alien, so she painted her toenails and put on silk undies beneath her work clothes.

A final check in the mirror showed that she looked just as usual, which was both reassuring and depressing.

She went to get breakfast, ignoring the demon on her shoulder whispering that she couldn't hide this forever.

Chapter 2

Monday November 21st, 10:00 am

Marty sat on the closed toilet, eyes shut, and took another deep breath, held it for a second then let it out slowly, crooning, "D a a a a a m n!"

This was the only method of stress relief that ever worked.

"H e e l l l l l l."

In the only place where Jack Hinckley couldn't interrupt. The knot in Marty's stomach unwound a little.

"S h i i i i i i i t!"

Coming to work at the Stephen Hawking Telescope in the Canary Islands had been a huge mistake. But Marty couldn't hide in the toilet much longer.

"B u u g g e e r r!"

Aphrodite Martin, generally known as Marty, got up and washed her face. She disguised the red rims of her eyes with eye-liner and mascara, shoved her yard-long plait safely down inside her overall and stowed her make-up in her pocket. She checked her reflection. Her fried nerves didn't show. Good.

She crossed to the door on wobbly knees, telling herself not to be such a wimp. Jack must have gone by now. She took a deep breath and opened the door.

And flinched.

Jack Hinckley, Head of Engineering and Marty's boss's boss, stood in ambush outside the ladies', his face red and hands on hips. His six feet two inches towered over Marty's five foot four, while the grey hair on his temples gave the impression of wisps of smoke rising out of his ears.

He glared down at her. "And you're still saying you're confident about finishing the job?"

Marty braced her knees and put on what she hoped was a poker face. "Yes." Well, she would have been confident without Jack. The equipment had all been checked over and she could recite the procedure backwards.

"Daft lass. You've only been here three weeks. Seth might be impressed by university degrees, but I'm not. It's nowt but paper."

"You'll miss your plane, Jack."

Jack shook his head slowly. "I'll have something to say to Colin when he shows up."

Me too— thought Marty. Colin Ladd was her boss, Head of Mechanical Section, who'd vanished yesterday leaving Marty to cope with Jack's notorious temper and the biggest job of the year. All she'd got was an email, a text and the Head of Department mobile phone.

Jack said, "Just make sure we've still got our jobs when I get back."

Marty watched him stride off like John Wayne. That was the worst part over. Now she just had to move the most expensive mirror in Europe, all sixteen tons of it, through an assault course.

Chapter 3

Monday November 21st, 10:10 am

Marty walked from the office block into the telescope dome. In front stood the telescope pier, a cylinder big enough to hold a dinosaur. On top, the Stephen Hawking Telescope towered another fifty feet. The dome above was as large as a Ferris wheel.

She trotted up the metal stairs round the outside of the dome to the mezzanine-floor island, echoes scurrying around her.

Three men waited for her by the main telescope fork. Out of breath in the thin air at almost 8,000 ft, she slowed to a walk. Terrified or not, she was determined to appear confident.

As she reached the others, her brother Hercules said, "Seven years bad luck if we break it." Marty was a bit surprised. Normally Herc faded into the wallpaper unless you were alone with him.

César glowered at her as usual, broad chest stuck out like a cockerel about to crow, Alejandro, stared at the floor. Marty ignored their attitude and launched into her speech. "Now you all know this, but I'm saying it anyway. Even though it's thirteen feet across and sixteen tons, this mirror's delicate. If we break it, they won't buy another. They'll close the telescope down and we'll all be job-hunting. So no touching the reflecting surface. No leaning over it in case you drop something, even a hair. OK? Good thing we're a great team. Right. Let's get that trolley under the mirror."

Jack Hinkley had spent the first half of the morning yelling at them while they moved the yellow trolley onto the rails at the other end of the mezzanine floor. Now Marty used the handset to drive the trolley along its rails, under the telescope. "Like the remote controlled car I never had," she said.

Hercules smiled briefly. "Yeah, you always nicked mine." He turned to Alejandro. "Dad didn't believe in girls playing with cars."

Marty said, "Or gyroscopes, Lego, Meccano. Anything I was really interested in, basically." Marty had once made a working crane out of dismembered Barbie limbs and elastic bands since she'd had nothing else to build it with. "Is that power line clear?"

Alejandro kicked it away from the rails. "So she take yours?"

Marty stopped the trolley. "'Fraid so. Hercules would have been welcome to my dolls."

César and Alejandro snickered.

Another button raised the trolley up to the mirror support. The mirror itself sat on an air cushion which sat on the support, like a cake on a doily on a plate.

They checked that the trolley was in place, then removed the thick bolts which attached the support to the telescope.

Hercules lowered the trolley with the mirror on top. As he slid it out along the rails, Marty could just see him wink at her over the top.

They set up trestles, so they could reach in and unfasten the mirror from its support.

At the top of his ladder, César went very still. "Marty, you need to see this."

Puzzled, Marty went up the steps and stood beside him. César pointed to the left. Marty felt her mouth sag open.

Chapter 4

Monday November 21st, 11:30 am

Someone had drawn noughts and crosses on the dirty mirror with a finger. The dust at the observatory was volcanic, and highly abrasive. The layer of aluminium would be damaged, which didn't matter since it was about to be replaced . But if the glass-ceramic base beneath was damaged too, Marty couldn't think how to fix it. She took a deep breath and said, "Who on earth would be so stupid?"

"Look there," said César, pointing.

The reflections of the dome were confusing, but when Marty squinted, she could read, "Dave woz here."

She groaned. Dave Price. Mr. Genius-at-software-and-moron-at-real-life. Daft enough to doodle on the mirror and daft enough to sign his name.

Marty didn't like telling tales, but there was no way around it. "Is Seth back yet?"

Seth was the Officer in Charge, and not known for his tolerance. Marty went to the intercom and punched in the number for his office. "Seth, we have a problem. I think you'd better see for yourself."

The intercom went dead, so Marty assumed that Seth was on his way. Two minutes later, the mezzanine doors swung open and Dr Seth Mitchell marched in like a marionette. He was so scrawny that the Spanish staff called him "the skeleton" behind his back. Worse, he looked at everyone as though they smelt bad. He spoke like a machine, fast, clipped and a little quieter than normal. "I've been back from Tenerife for ten whole minutes. What, precisely, have you screwed up now?"

Although she was innocent, Marty's heart felt like lead. As usual, Seth's icy contempt burned worse than Jack's fire. "You can see from the top of the ladder, here." And she nodded her head towards the trestles.

They climbed up together, and Marty pointed out the writing.

"The idiot!" said Seth, coldly. "We'll sack him, of course."

Marty's felt sick, but she took a deep breath. "Somebody else could have written his name. It's not likely, but it's possible."

"Don't be stupid."

Marty gave up. She was climbing down the ladder when a pair of weirdoes marched in. The woman wore a flowing blue robe, her head was shaved, and she appeared to have no eyebrows. The man wore a red tunic and red trousers, and his flowing hair was also red – not carroty, but blood red. Marty realised her eyebrows had gone into orbit, and lowered them. Then she remembered her top priority and hurried to intercept them. "Sorry, nobody's allowed in here while we move the mirror." She gestured towards the door.

They walked past her, towards Seth. The man said, "Dr. Mitchell, you never return phone calls. We are from the Children of the Stars."

Irritated, Marty stood right in front of them and spoke louder. "Members of the public are not allowed in here. Especially not today."

Seth's lip curled. "I see no point in talking to morons."

The woman clenched her fists, and spoke in a determinedly level voice. "We merely wish to observe the meteor shower next week."

Seth snorted. "Then you can merely observe it from home."

Marty said, "Meteors move too fast for a telescope to follow. You'll see them much better lying on a blanket at home. It'll be best after midnight, though."

The couple looked at her, apparently noticing her for the first time. Then they looked at each other. The man said, "Thank you," they bowed and they left.

Seth sneered at her. "Why waste your breath on them?"

She wasn't going to change Seth's world view, so Marty just said, "It got rid of them, didn't it?"

Seth snorted again. "If there's one thing I can't stand, it's religious cretins. Never mind logic and evidence, just steam on regardless. Eat your dead God, drink His blood, and try to pray your child better from a burst appendix while he's screaming in agony. Get a photo of the sabotage." And he walked out, even more jerkily than he'd arrived.

In the loud silence that tended to follow Seth's exits, Marty thought, 'Odd. With a name like Seth, you'd expect him to come from a religious family himself.'

She shrugged. She could think about strange people later. "OK, tea break for everyone while I get the camera."

She photographed the doodles and writing from several angles and left the camera on her desk, then went to find the others in the kitchen. Herc had made her some lukewarm coffee which she gulped down fast. "OK, let's get this mirror downstairs."

They went back into the dome and removed the trestles. The boards were heavy and made Marty's arms ache, but she wasn't going to say anything. Jack was already convinced she could barely carry a screwdriver.

"Right," she said. "César's got the most experience, so he's banksman. Alejandro is on the crane, because he understands César best."

The banksman was the one giving orders to the crane driver. Marty enjoyed the astonishment on César's face, but it was logical. He'd been here five years, which was more use than her degree with this job. Besides, it didn't hurt to soothe his ego a little.

César snorted. "You forget the floor."

So much for soothing the male ego. She gave him her sweetest smile. "So I have. Thank you."

César glowered at her.

Marty strolled over to the safety rails at the edge of the mezzanine and started removing them, humming to distract herself from the twenty-foot drop while Hercules stacked them. Then César cranked up a section of the mezzanine floor like a drawbridge until it touched the telescope fork. Now they had a space big enough to lower the huge mirror with ten centimetres clearance on each side.

César stood beside the hook which would lift the mirror from its support and waved at Alejandro on the balcony, fifteen feet above. The huge dome rumbled overhead as Alejando rotated it until the crane was directly above the hook. Echoes made words useless, so César relied on hand signals – left a little, down, down, down slow, and finally a dramatic horizontal slice and shout to indicate STOP!

Fitting the big three-pronged hook onto the crane and positioning it above the mirror was easy. Getting it through the central hole was a nightmare. The prongs only had a centimetre clearance. César lay under the mirror and shouted to Marty, who gave hand signals to Alejandro. It was a full fifteen minutes before César shouted, "Yes, now. Down now," and the prong slowly dropped through. César opened it out and fitted it to the underside of the mirror.

"Despacio," he shouted.

Butterflies swarmed around in Marty's guts as the huge mirror lifted half a metre, spinning gently as the massive weight untwisted the hawser a little. She almost wished Jack were here to take charge. Except that if anything were to go wrong, he'd likely have blamed her anyway.

César shouted, "Izquierdo," meaning left, and the mirror moved right, towards Marty.

"STOP!" yelled Marty at the same time as César yelled, "¡PARA!" and Hercules yelled something wordless. Alejandro slammed on the crane's brake but the huge mirror continued under its own momentum. Marty dived for the floor, felt the draught as sixteen tons of mirror cleared her temple by millimetres, and cried out as the pain exploded on her hip. She rolled onto her back and watched, frozen, as the underside of the mirror sailed above her nose. Her lungs turned to solid ice. If the creaking hawser broke, she'd be puréed.

Chapter 5

Monday November 21st, 12:30 am

Twenty degrees from the vertical, the mirror paused, then began its slow swing back.

"Wait!" yelled Marty. "Just wait." The first swing had to be the biggest. Since nothing had broken yet, nothing would break on the following, smaller swings. She wriggled out, took several deep breaths and sat up shakily. Her hip still hurt. She shut her eyes and tried to pull herself together.

Strong arms picked her up like a baby and lifted her away. She opened her eyes and found César carrying her. He looked white beneath his tan.

Marty was quivering inside but she was supposed to be the boss here. "Put me down. I'm all right." Then she remembered that she was supposed to be soothing his ego. "But thank you."

He obliged, then said, "Please, Marty. Please don't tell Jack."

Ah. He was worried about Alejandro, not her. "I won't tell." She shut her eyes and breathed deeply again.

Hercules said, "Here, Marty," and gave her a bottle of water when she opened her eyes. He must have been to the kitchen. It wasn't until she took it that she realised her hands were trembling. The water was warm and flat and tasted wonderful.

Alejandro arrived at a run, jabbering in Spanish between gasps for breath.

"He says very sorry," translated César.

Alejandro rubbed his face. "I was talking Spanish?"

And that spoke volumes, thought Marty. Alejandro's English was normally excellent.

Wolf whistles filled the air. Marty closed her eyes and groaned. She really had to change the ring tone on Colin's mobile. Well, head of department mobile. She'd left it on the little table by the door — they weren't supposed to have anything in their pockets this morning so that nothing could possibly fall out onto the mirror. She picked it up and groaned again as she checked the caller ID. Jack. Either he was squeezing in a call between check-in and boarding, or —horrors— he'd missed the plane and was coming back.

She took a deep breath and answered. "Hi, Jack. It's all going fine. We've got the hook in and we're just about to move the mirror to the ground floor."

There were several seconds silence. Presumably Jack was trying to find a fault to pick. Eventually he said, "Double check the hook."

"I did."

"And make César banksman."

"I did. He's very good."

"And be careful."

"We are."

"I don't want any accidents."

Jeez Louise on a broomstick, thank goodness he hadn't seen the last two minutes! "Neither do we."

"Right." And Jack broke the connection without saying goodbye.

Marty gave the phone a dirty look before she put it down.

Herc said, "And I love you too, Jack," which got shaky chuckles.

Marty resisted the urge to rub her aching hip. They were supposed to have empty pockets today, so that nothing could fall out, but the fall had mashed something hard into her hip. "Look, this never happened, OK?" She passed the water to Alejandro. "When you've got your breath back, you'd better go upstairs again."

He gulped down the water, said, "Thank you," fervently, and headed for the stairs.

When nobody was looking, Marty looked in the pocket of her overalls and found her mascara smashed. No wonder her hip hurt. She'd better not admit to having been so careless.

The gigantic pendulum had slowed.

When it finally stopped, César shouted, "Ahora, izquierdo y DESPACIO."

They shepherded it though the hole in the floor and down to the ground floor without further trouble.

As soon as the mirror rested on its supports, Marty felt her adrenaline crash. Her shoulders ached, where she had been hunching them, and she felt tired all over. She stretched and yawned, and realised it was well past lunch time. "Well done, us. Let's tell the optics people it's all theirs, and go eat."

Marty got to the kitchen first. She filled the kettle with bottled water and loaded up the coffee maker. Then she thought, 'Shit. Why do I keep making the drinks? I'm not their mother.'

When the kettle boiled, she poured herself a de-caff coffee and let the others get their own.

As they sat down and unwrapped sandwiches, Marty asked, "I don't suppose anyone's heard anything from Colin?"

Alejandro and Hercules shook their heads.

"No luck," said César, looking gloomy. Marty suspected that if he couldn't have the job himself, he wanted a male boss, at least.

Marty gulped coffee. "Has he disappeared before?"

Alejandro looked at César, then said, "Usually, when he find a woman, he phoned to say he is taking some holiday. Colin is always with a woman."

"Bungalow Bill," muttered Marty.

Alejandro and César looked mystified.

She pointed at her head, "Nothing upstairs," then nodded at her crotch, "everything is downstairs."

César snorted with laughter, spraying coffee over the table. "Yes, Colin is all downstairs. All he think about."

Marty scrunched her nose. "I noticed." She bit into her tuna sandwich just as the intercom crackled.

"Aphrodite Martin, call fifty-three."

She winced. Only three people ever used her full name: Hercules, when he wanted to needle her, her father, and Seth.

She swallowed and walked over to the intercom. "Hi, Seth. What's the problem?"

"We need your people in the aluminising area."

Marty rolled her eyes. "Give us ten minutes to eat lunch, OK?"

"Now, Aphrodite."

Marty turned to the rest of the section and shrugged. "He's the boss. Let's go."

Grumbling, they went. The optics crew was getting ready to clean off the old aluminium coating. Once they finished, the mechanical section would gently place the mirror into the vacuum tank where it would get a shiny, new layer of aluminium.

Seth stood by the rails where the bottom of the tank would slide out like a drawer, looking annoyed. He said, "Someone's tampered with the rail covers. Look."

One of the hefty, flat chunks of cast iron was missing. Marty hunkered down and looked closer. "The rail looks fine. I'll get another cover piece ordered tonight."

Seth cracked his fingers. "I want the tank opening now, to check it runs."

Marty raised her eyebrows, then shrugged. It would be faster to do it than argue. "OK."

The mechanical section removed the other rail covers. Her stomach rumbled as she took the handset and drove the bottom of the tank out.

She wrinkled her nose at the smell of slightly rotting meat. That wasn't right – the tank should be clinically clean to avoid contamination. She looked in, felt her breakfast rising, then doubled over retching, hearing shouts of horror from the others.

Colin Ladd lay on his back in the tank, limp and dusted with grey powder. Weirdly, his glasses, fingernails and buttons were silver mirrors. It took Marty several seconds to understand that he'd been aluminised.

(Murder by Starlight – coming soon)
Sheila Crosby

Sheila came to the island of La Palma with a six-month contract to work at the observatory as a software engineer, and immediately fell in love with the place. Then she fell in love with a tall, dark, handsome Palmeran, who she met in the Isaac Newton Telescope (under the stars, in the heart-shaped island). Her six-month stay has lasted twenty-eight years so far, and she still feels smug every time she sees a plane leaving, because she gets to stay.

La Palma has amazing night skies. When Sheila got made redundant from her job at the observatory, she retrained as a Starlight Guide, that's a tour guide specialising in astronomy. She mostly shows groups around the professional telescopes at the Observatory at the Roque de Los Muchachos, and she's published a non-fiction guide to the telescopes, A Breathtaking Window on the Universe, aimed at normal people rather than astronomers, available in English and Spanish.

She started writing fiction at middle school in Leeds and never stopped. So far she's published 50 short stories and three books. There's an anthology of children's stories inspired by La Palma's starry skies, The Seer's Stone, also available in English or Spanish, and a science fiction anthology, The Dodo Dragon and Other Stories. She's currently working on a whodunnit set in the observatory.

All this leaves her far too busy for her hobbies of cleaning the house and doing laundry, although she does usually find time to cook. And there's always time to sit on the balcony with a glass of wine and admire the view, go stargazing, or to chat with her friends, the ravens.

Twitter https://twitter.com/sheilacrosby403

Facebook https://www.facebook.com/SheilaStarlightGuide/

http://lapalma-island.com  
http://sheilacrosby.com

Other Books by Sheila Crosby

Twelve adventures under La Palma's amazing starry sky.

Take a journey through La Palma's turbulent past, into its present and out into the exciting future. Chedey will tell you how his world collapsed when the Spanish conquered the Island in 1493, Althay will explain what happened when the volcano erupted, Daida shares her visit from an extraterrestrial and Leyre will take you out into space. As you travel you'll learn what happens when:

•Everyone expects you to tell the future but you don't know how,

•You don't know when you have to save your friend, or how,

•Most people think the world will end on Wednesday night,

•There's no more exploring left to do,

•You find the lost island of San Borondón,

•His Lordship decides you'd make good dragon-food,

•Pirates want to sell you as a slave,

•The volcano erupts,

•Aliens kidnap you, or try to save the world, or get lost on their way to Las Palmas,

•You get lots of weird birthday presents from people who don't normally give you anything.

With 13 black and white illustrations by Jorge Beda and Mercedes Martin

The Dodo Dragon and other stories

Nine quirky stories from the off-beat imagination of Sheila Crosby. They include a bitter-sweet love story, the difficulties of parenting in space, an overly-optimistic alien, a stroppy fridge, time travel, and some truly appalling puns. Two of the stories take place on the island of La Palma, where the author has lived for over twenty years.

A Breathtaking Window on the Universe

Welcome to the Roque de Los Muchachos, where 19 telescopes from 35 nations use the best night sky in Europe to explore the cosmos. Find out what it's like to work in this strange world above the clouds. Learn about each telescope, how they're run, and a little of what they've discovered.

Sheila Crosby knows the observatory well. She worked there as an engineer for nearly twelve years, and has been a tour guide there since 2008, showing thousands of tourists, journalists and students around.

This book is written for the general public rather than professional astronomers, with over 120 photos and diagrams, and a full glossary of all the technical terms for non-geeks.

The third edition has been updated with the newest telescopes and discoveries.

'I've learned more about astronomy, science and astrophysics in an hour's tour of the GranTeCan telescope than I did in 15 years of full time education. Why? Because Sheila made it all such fun.

Her enthusiasm, sense of fun and ability to relate the most complex of scientific instruments and theories to everyday objects and situations make her tour immensely enjoyable and educational. If she had chosen a career in education rather than engineering she would have been one of those teachers or professors who mould young lives and inspire greatness.'

Andrea Montgomery, Buzz Trips (http://buzztrips.co.uk)

'This work fills a void for those who want detailed knowledge of one of the world's observatories, the Observatory of the Roque de los Muchachos. Sheila Crosby knows the astronomical facilities very well and has a special ability to transmit that knowledge and her enthusiasm about the science they do. Now, with this work, she gives the interested visitor all kinds of details about the Observatory and astronomy in La Palma. Enjoy your reading.'

Pedro Álverez, Former Director of GTC, the biggest optical telescope in the world.

Find out more about Sheila's books at http://sheilacrosby.com
Section 3

Rosemary J. Kind
The Embers of the Day

By Rosemary J. Kind

"Stop fussing, Freda. Let the boy come in." Papa lay back against the pillows wheezing, even to him, his skin looked paper thin, his frail hand reaching across the bedspread, quilted by his wife all those years ago. He remembered its many blue and white pieces and the hours it took her to stitch it, in the early years of their marriage. The breeze from the open window was a welcome sensation across his face.

"But you heard what the doctor said, Papa, you need to rest." Freda tidied the covers of her father's bed and took his hand. It was hard to see her father like this; he had been such a strong support for her over the last few years. Even since the old man's eyesight had failed, he hadn't stopped taking care of the family.

Papa turned towards her and taking her hand in both of his said, "Freda, my time has come, we both know that rest isn't going to make any difference. Let the boy come. Let him brighten the final hours of an old man's life." Papa was prepared for what lay ahead. The thought of death didn't frighten him. He was tired. He would be reunited with Anya, but he feared for those he left behind.

Freda knew there was no point in arguing, in truth, her father was right, but she didn't want to believe that the end was so close.

The late spring sun beat down on the farmland that stretched around the house on all sides. She could see men working in the distance. The farm was never idle, Freda thought, as she went out to call her son. This was a lovely time of year in northern Italy and even now, the intensity of the light accentuated the range of colours around the courtyard; the brown stone, the green leaves, and the bright flowers in tubs by the doors.

"Pedro," Freda called, "Pedro."

The innocent brown eyes poked out from around the stable door, "Mama," Pedro replied excitedly, "the mare has had her foal. Come and see."

Pedro took Freda's hand and led her into the stable. Pedro kept the stable clean and tidy, but the gentle smell of the animals hung in the air. A tiny foal struggled to remain upright on legs that wobbled awkwardly on the hay. The foal's mother stood watching protectively as Freda put her hands on Pedro's shoulders. "That's wonderful darling, she's doing well." Freda hesitated, "Papa is asking for you," she said gently.

"Can I go to him?" Pedro's face lit up with excitement. He loved his grandfather. It was Papa who'd taught him to fish and to draw. It was Papa who'd brought home Snuffles. Snuffles was a scruffy little mongrel of a dog, with the sort of face that made you want to take care of him and Pedro had. It was Papa who'd sat Pedro on his knee and told him about the old times on the farm. It was Papa who'd shown Pedro how to train Snuffles to obey his every command and it was Papa who Pedro went to when he was frightened or worried. Papa had been not just a grandfather but the father he had never known. Pedro had been only six months old when his father died and his mother moved them back to live with her own father. Now he was nearly eleven and he knew that soon Papa would be gone too. He'd heard his mother talking to the doctor and although Pedro dreaded the day that Papa would be gone, he knew he had to be brave.

"Don't spend too long with him, Pedro. The doctor says he needs to rest." Even now, whatever her eyes told her, Freda didn't want to believe there was no hope.

Pedro ran across the courtyard to the house, the warm breeze giving his curly hair a tousled look, while the scents of the early summer washed over him with a quite unfounded hope. His grandfather had many dark days as his illness had progressed. There had been days when he had been too weak and in too much pain to allow Pedro to sit with him. On his good days, Pedro would sit with him and tell him everything he'd seen and all that he'd done. Sometimes he would simply sit near his grandfather and draw, describing what he drew as he went along. Pedro loved the times he could spend with the old man, even though he was now so weak. For a boy so young, Pedro had done a lot of growing up. It was hard to mourn for a father you'd never known, but he knew how much he wished his father was alive. When the other boys talked about playing football with their fathers, or told of their fathers reading to them, Pedro remained silent. He was more familiar with loss than most children of his age were, but with his grandfather's help, he learnt to carry his burden without it taking away the joy of his youth. His grandfather had taught him to honour the dead by continuing to live. To build on the legacy he had been left and savour the little pleasures in life. It was a lesson well learnt in one so young.

"Papa," said Pedro quietly as he entered his grandfather's bedroom. Pedro saw the Bible lying on the bedside table and knew it must have been his mother reading from it. A bee flew across the open window, stopping briefly but not coming in.

"Pedro," said Papa, holding out his hand. "Come child, be my eyes." The last two years since his eyesight had failed had been so hard for Papa to accept. He loved the world around him and missed seeing the changing of the seasons on the farm. "Tell me what you see."

"I saw the foal stand Papa. She's all wobbly and can't walk far without falling over, but she stood. It was amazing. Her mother is so gentle with her, but she still lets her fall over and get up on her own."

"What colour is she Pedro? What does she look like?" The hours that Papa had spent teaching Pedro to draw had paid such dividends these last two years. Papa had taught Pedro to look at the things around him properly, to see what was really there and not just to take a superficial glance at the world around him. He'd taught Pedro that to be a great artist he must see the detail, the difference between light and shade, the true lines of the world and not the corrected image that the mind presented if you didn't keep control.

"Buildings are like life," Papa would say, "they never have straight lines and perfect corners, their roofs have twists and curves, their stonework is never even."

Pedro knew how to look for the little variations that others so easily missed.

"She's the most beautiful dapple grey, with hazel eyes and the softest hair. The grey is uneven with flecks of white. When I look at her coat, I can see all sorts of patterns in the colours. It's like seeing the patterns in the flames of the fire. She's wonderful Papa."

"And at the window, Pedro, what do you see?"

Pedro let go of his grandfather's hand and went over to the window.

"Tell me as though you are going to draw it Pedro. What do you see?"

"I see green shoots in the field, Papa. They are waving gently in the wind. There are some places where the shoots are very small and look as though they're struggling to come through. In between the shoots, I can still see brown earth where the field was ploughed. The ploughman did well; the lines are almost straight. They are straight as a hand drawn line is straight and not as a ruler would be. The hedge is a darker green and I can see the vines on the hillside beyond. The sky is deep blue, but the colour is lighter as you look to the horizon, Papa and there are no clouds anywhere. Not even the fine strands that seem so very high up and make the sky look paler. The shadow of the hedge is quite small."

"That's because it's nearly lunchtime, Pedro, the sun is high."

"I know, Papa," said Pedro excitedly. "You taught me how the shadows change as the sun moves across the sky. You showed me how they grow shorter and then longer again as the day goes on."

"What else can you see, Pedro? Is the wisteria still out in the courtyard?"

"There are still a few flowers Papa. They look more white than purple as though the sun has faded them. Most of the flowers have died. They are brown and crumpled, dried by the sun." Pedro turned from the window towards his grandfather as though the very word of death had broken the spell of the beautiful day. "Are you going to die, Papa?" Pedro asked, his voice trembling.

"Yes, child, it's almost time for me to go with the wisteria. It's time for me to join the old family, time to make way for new growth. I've lived a long and happy life Pedro, it's right that I should move on."

"Why do things have to die Papa?" Pedro returned to his grandfather's bedside and his grandfather reached up to touch his tears.

"It's part of the cycle of life, Pedro, the part of the plant that is old and withered must die away to make room for the new growth. Each year the wisteria grows back, beautiful new blooms on the old wood from last year. The old wood hasn't gone away, it's what gives strength to the plant, enabling it to keep growing. And so it is with people, the new generation must take their strength from the old ones. The young build on strength of the old. For two years, you have been my eyes Pedro and together we have seen many things. Now it's time for you to go on and live for me, as I can no longer do that either. Take care of your Mama, Pedro. She's going to need you to be the man of the house now, child. In the same way that you have been my eyes, now you must be the eyes for your Mama."

"But Mama can see," said Pedro confused.

"Everyone can look, Pedro, but not many can see. Be there to see what is real for her. Help her see light when she can only see darkness, help her to see colour when the world seems black and white. There are many ways in which we can be eyes for those we love; your Mama will need you, Pedro. I am tired, I must rest now child." Papa gently touched Pedro's cheek then brought his hand down to his side on the bed. Pedro moved away towards the door, tears rolling down his face. His grandfather's message was confusing. He slipped back out to the courtyard and sat at the bottom of the wisteria looking up into its branches, Snuffles sitting beside him, nuzzling his hands. He watched the greens and pale purple seem to change their colour as the sun moved round. He watched the bees coming to the open flowers and taking pollen; he saw how they rubbed their back legs against the flowers to pick up the pollen for carrying before moving away again and others taking their place. He watched as the sun was beginning to sink lower in the sky, appearing to become a richer orange as it did so. He thought of the sunset he had drawn for his grandfather with the colours of burning embers crossing the sky. He thought too of the morning that he and Papa had woken early and gone out into the field to watch the sunrise. Beginnings and endings, endings and beginnings, a never ending wheel turning from one to the other.

He was still sitting beneath the wisteria when the shadows had lengthened and he heard his mother's crying from the window above. Pedro knew then that the time had come for his grandfather to go to the place the old wisteria flowers had gone and that it was time for him to take care of his mother. Pedro had thought a lot about his grandfather's words and he knew he must give his mother hope and comfort. Together they must see the colour that his grandfather had left behind, his legacy to both of them.

When his mother came out into the courtyard to find Pedro, he went to her and said, "Papa can see again now. The wisteria flowers are still purple where Papa is. The sky will always be blue and there will be no more darkness for him."

Freda ran her hand through Pedro's hair as she held him to her. Through her own tears, she smiled seeing how much of the old man still stood before her in the shape of her son.

Then Pedro said, "Can we take a cutting from the wisteria in the courtyard and plant it on Papa's grave, so that it will flower there every year? Purple is such a lovely colour."
The Appearance of Truth

By Rosemary J. Kind

Chapter 1

Billingbrook, Lancashire. 24th March 2007

Of course, there was no such thing as 'Groundhog Day', not in the sense of reliving the same day over and over again. In terms of the groundhog being used to predict the start of spring that was a different matter. Certainly, the shadow of winter had lingered over the whole of the last twelve months. Now it was the first anniversary of that day and the pilgrimage to Billingbrook Cemetery that Lisa had been dreading. It wasn't her first visit, it wasn't her tenth for that matter, but today felt different. Today marked a period of transition.

Her mum's final words had been "I'm sorry." She never said what for. She never said anything else, just "I'm sorry" and then her breathing became shallower and, a few minutes later, there was no more breathing. Lisa shuddered as she remembered. She wondered if her Mum was sorry for dying before her time, sorry for leaving Lisa on her own, sorry for not paying the milkman; she had no idea. She had spent most of the last year worrying about those words. Perhaps it was scary because it threw into sharp relief how little she had moved on in that year. The milkman had been paid and the day to day inconsequential acts of 'being' had continued, but otherwise life hadn't progressed. It was time for the groundhog to find a new home.

Lisa looked up and saw the sign ahead, Billingbrook Cemetery. The iron railings, surrounding the cemetery, stood like a barrier between the living and the dead. Were they there to keep the dead in, or the living out? She felt the overwhelming sense of trespassing. This was somewhere she shouldn't be, or maybe it was the intense urge of wanting not to be there, wanting it to be some other way. Why had her parents died so young? It seemed strange that both of them had died. A pang of guilt swept over her that she hadn't brought flowers for Dad too. It had been four years since he died; maybe he would understand, today was her mum's day. Mother's Day for the living had been last week. This was Mother's Day for her mum. She plucked a single freesia from the bouquet as she walked along the line of graves. She placed the flower on the grassy mound with the headstone that read 'Hugh Forster 1941-2003'. Her mum had wanted her own plot. Even in anticipation of her own death, she hadn't been able to contemplate being placed with someone who was 'just bones'. There was no logic to it, but it was her choice. It wasn't that her parents hadn't loved each other, they had. They were always so close, happy with just each other's company. She walked two rows along and five graves further up the path.

"Hello, Mum," she laid the bouquet on the grave. "They're your favourites." She felt her vision start to cloud with tears and dabbed her eyes with a tissue. "How've you been? Silly question, I suppose, it's just I don't know what to say. I can't believe it's been a year. I miss you. There are so many things I wish I'd asked you, so many things I should have said. Your house sold in January, there's new people in it now. I wonder if they'll be as happy as we were." She looked down at her watch, ten past eleven; she watched the hands turning and felt a wave of gulping sobs rising up from the pit of her stomach. She closed her eyes and bit her lip, fighting to hold them down. Her hands were shaking as she opened her mouth and drew in a huge gasp of air. She let it out slowly. "I can't say it's the first Christmas since you died anymore, or the first birthday, or the first Mother's Day." The hands ticked to eleven-fifteen. She felt as empty as she had ever felt. "I guess I'll be off then. I'll see you soon."

She stumbled away, head down, lost in a flood of grief. At another time, when her thoughts were less distant, she would have registered the creak of the rusty iron moving on its tired hinges. Instead, she jolted to a stop as she walked straight into the man who had just come through the gate.

"Sorry. I'm sorry," she sobbed and went to move round him. She blew her nose on another scrappy old tissue from her coat pocket and tried to regain some composure. It was a gusty day and she felt the wind driving a tear across her cheek. She'd given up wearing make up on the days she visited the cemetery. It would have needed industrial strength materials to stop it from running into tear-stained clumps.

"Hey, wait. Are you O.K.?"

Lisa felt her neck and back stiffen. She'd struggled through her grief very much on her own. She hated to be seen this way.

"Come and sit down," said the voice, as the man led her towards a bench.

She flinched. He could be anyone. However, there was no real fight left in her and she followed his command.

"I'm Pete," said the stranger. "I hate coming to this place, but it's the only way to talk to Mum these days."

She looked up, shocked by the openness of someone she'd only just met. Pete's approach had seemed confident, not the type of person she imagined talking to a grave, but then she was there, so she supposed that it proved nothing.

"I was visiting my parents too," her voice faltered. "It's a year since Mum died. I've been dreading today." Her hands were trembling as she clutched the shreds of tissue. "I needed to be here at the same time she died. I don't know why."

"I didn't mean to intrude," said Pete. "Are you going to be all right? I was going to the pub when I've finished here, if you need someone to talk to who understands."

"I'm not much company at the moment," she said, wondering if it was a way of finding an excuse. "But thanks, anyway."

"Me neither. At least it would be someone to mope with. I'll be in the Red Lion if you change your mind. "

She studied the even features of Pete's face, with his gentle blue eyes and rugged chin, as he broke into a smile and Lisa began to feel better than she had done all morning.

"I'll be there about midday. It usually takes me twenty minutes to have a chat with Mum. Maybe I'll see you there." Pete smiled again, before setting off at a brisk walk into the heart of the cemetery. She watched him go. It felt quite a surreal situation; she almost wondered whether the conversation had taken place at all.

She stayed on the bench for another five minutes, regaining her composure and then started to walk home. She could see the Red Lion from the gate of the cemetery. She walked at least two hundred metres past the door of the pub when a little voice inside said, "What harm could it do?"

Lisa turned and walked back past the pub in the other direction before pulling herself together and approaching the door. The Red Lion was set back from the road behind a gravelled forecourt, with a jaded sign swinging soundlessly back and forth. It had a squat, white stucco exterior, which belied its cavernous, rambling interior. The pub was quiet for a Sunday lunchtime, but she presumed it would get busier over the next hour. She was grateful there were so few people to stare at the 'single female stranger' as she went up to the bar.

She chose a table in a quiet corner of the lounge and was reflecting on her happy childhood and how close she had been to both her parents.

Pete came in on the dot of twelve. She looked at him biting his lip, seeming anxious to see if she were there. He was medium build and height, maybe a couple of inches taller than she was, with dark wavy hair, cut short, but not too short, just enough to prevent a stray curl forming here and there. She struggled to place his age, older than she was, but she couldn't gauge by how much.

"Can I get you a drink?" Pete asked, smiling.

"No, thanks, I'm fine with this." She glanced down at the still full glass of wine. "I probably shouldn't be drinking. I didn't have much breakfast."

"Here, have a look at this." Pete passed the Sunday lunch menu to her when he returned with his pint.

She had thought earlier that a pub lunch would be nice. It was either that or a walk out on the hills. When she was young they would take a picnic up to the lower slopes and eat before heading off for a couple of miles with her dog, Spotty, darting behind every rock in a vain search for rabbits. It had been a while since she'd been up to Low Hill; it never felt the same walking without a dog for company, so she was more than happy to settle for the pub, particularly with someone to share it with.

"I didn't know whether I'd find you here or not."

"You nearly didn't," she looked up from the menu. "I don't go in for meeting strange men. Are you eating?"

"I prefer not to think of myself as strange. I'll have the roast beef if you're having something."

"I didn't mean..." she looked back at the menu, feeling the colour rise in her face. "I'll have the lasagne," she said without looking up.

She opened her bag and took out her purse. Pete put his hand onto hers. "Please, let me. I know today will be tough. Let this be my treat."

For a moment she stared at him. Her instinct was to argue for equality, but there was something in the gentle firmness of Pete's words that allowed her to accept. "Thank you, that's very kind."

As Pete sat down after placing the order, Lisa leaned her head to one side and asked, "Are both your parents in the cemetery?"

"No. Dad was cremated. He was killed in an accident. There was no time to talk about what he wanted. Cremation seemed like the right thing to do. Mum had time to think before she died. I was glad when she chose burial. It doesn't feel as easy to talk to Dad at the crematorium. It doesn't feel as though he's there in the same way that it does with Mum in the cemetery. I've been there a couple of times, in the early days, on the anniversary of his death, but it's been a while now."

"I'm sorry. Was today a special occasion with your Mum?" Lisa knew she used questions as a way of preventing people getting too close to her; it was a habit, a security mechanism. If she was asking, then people couldn't ask her.

Pete was quiet for a moment, "Yes."

She realised she'd touched a nerve. "I didn't mean to pry."

They sat for a while, contemplating their own thoughts. "What do you do?" she said, breaking the silence.

Pete looked relieved to be given an escape route. "I'm an electrical engineer and before you ask, that doesn't mean I run on batteries."

He smiled as she laughed. She was glad the tension had been broken. She found herself starting to tell this stranger about herself. "There was this one time I'd fallen off the climbing frame in the playground and cut my arm open. Mum came rushing over, all efficient practicality as she tied a handkerchief over the wound and bundled me off to hospital. You can still see the scar where the five stitches held it together." She glanced down at the left sleeve of her jacket, where the scar lay cosseted by the layers. "Dad was usually the calm, quiet one, but in a crisis Mum was never flustered. She only really flapped over the things that didn't matter, like the time I spilt my drink all down my dress when we were on the way to someone's wedding. I don't remember whose it was. Neither of my parents seemed to have many friends. I think it must have been one of Mum's work colleagues from the college. She was a teacher."

"And you?"

She looked up, almost surprised to find Pete there. "I'm a librarian. Can't you tell by the clothes?" She laughed. "Mum used to say I could have looked quite something, if I made the most of my appearance." She ran her hands through her light brown, shoulder length hair. "I wondered about having highlights, but it's not really me and besides, I'd stand out too much in the library if I started looking stylish."

"You look all right to me." Pete grinned and then looked into his pint and took a deep swig.

Lisa felt herself blush and added, "I always loved reading as a kid. I wasn't allowed out on my own very often, so I built a fantasy world at home. I just wanted to be surrounded by books. Now I suppose I've got my wish. When you're an only child, there's no one else to play with and torment, you have to find your own amusement. Mine was books."

"I know what you mean. I used to make things. More to the point I used to take them apart. I couldn't always put them back together in the same way they were before; Mum got through three kettles before I got that right and the train set was never the same again. It would have been nice to have had a brother or sister, but I was quite happy in my own little world creating things. I suppose as kids go, I was rather dull."

"And you think sticking your head in books makes you exciting?" They both laughed. It was easy laughter, miles from the tension of their meeting. "I seem to be in another world now, than the girl who spent hours sitting in the crook of the apple tree branches, reading about my latest heroine. I used to love "White Boots" by Noel Streatfield. I don't suppose that was a boy's book."

"I tend to read non-fiction. I've often thought about researching my family tree. There must be books in the library for that."

She smiled. "Yes, I'd wondered about that too. I might be descended from someone rich and famous. I never thought about it when Mum was alive. I know virtually nothing of my family history at all. Maybe if I did, it would help to fill the gap."

"Me neither. We could be related. Maybe you're my long lost sister?"

"I think I'd have known if I had a brother, besides I don't think we were from here way back then."

"Are you saying I'm old?"

"No, I... er, it's just, well you look older than I am."

Pete laughed at her embarrassment, but put her at her ease saying "You do look younger than me, by a few days at least."

It was Lisa's turn to laugh. She hadn't felt like this for ages. The companionship felt very welcome. She had never stopped being the bookish loner of her childhood. She hoped that Pete would keep his word of dropping into the library to look for some books on genealogy. It would be good to see him again.

As she walked home later that afternoon, she reflected on the lightness of spirit she felt, on what could have been a very dark day. Lunchtime had provided such an enjoyable interlude, new shoots in an otherwise barren landscape.
Rosemary J. Kind

Rosemary J Kind writes because she has to. You could take almost anything away from her except her pen and paper. Failing to stop after the book that everyone has in them, she has gone on to publish books in both non-fiction and fiction, the latter including novels, humour, short stories and poetry. She also regularly produces magazine articles in a number of areas and writes regularly for the dog press.

As a child she was desolate when, at the age of ten, her then teacher would not believe that her poem based on Stig of the Dump was her own work and she stopped writing poetry for several years as a result. She was persuaded to continue by the invitation to earn a little extra pocket money by 'assisting' others to produce the required poems for English homework!

Always one to spot an opportunity, she started school newspapers and went on to begin providing paid copy to her local newspaper at the age of sixteen.

For twenty years she followed a traditional business career, before seeing the error of her ways and leaving it all behind to pursue her writing full-time.

She spends her life discussing her plots with the characters in her head and her faithful dogs, who always put the opposing arguments when there are choices to be made.

Always willing to take on challenges that sensible people regard as impossible, she set up the short story download site Alfie Dog Fiction which she ran for six years. During that time it grew to become one of the largest short story download sites in the world, representing over 300 authors and carrying over 1600 short stories. Her hobby is developing the Entlebucher Mountain Dog in the UK and when she brought her beloved Alfie back from Belgium he was only the tenth in the country.

She started writing Alfie's Diary as an internet blog the day Alfie arrived to live with her, intending to continue for a year or two. Twelve years later it goes from strength to strength and has been repeatedly named as one of the top ten dog blogs in the UK.

For more details about the author please visit her website at www.rjkind.co.uk For more details about her dogs then you're better visiting www.alfiedog.me.uk

Twitter https://twitter.com/therealalfiedog

Facebook https://www.facebook.com/rjkind/
Other Books by Rosemary J. Kind

Novels

The Appearance of Truth

Lisa Forster's birth certificate belonged to a baby who died. Her apparently happy upbringing was a myth and her parents had a dark secret.

With Pete Laundon's help Lisa sets about searching for the truth. She follows up all possible routes, until with no options left she goes to the newspapers for help. After 30 years, who if anyone knows: Who is Lisa Forster? Why was she never told? And who was the baby who died?

The Appearance of Truth is the gripping tale of one woman's search for identity.

New York Orphan

From fleeing the Irish Potato Famine, to losing his parents on the ship to New York, seven-year-old Daniel Flynn knows about adversity. As Daniel sings the songs of home to earn pennies for food, pick-pocket Thomas Reilly becomes his ally and friend, until he too is cast out onto the street.

A destitute refugee in a foreign land, Daniel, together with Thomas and his sister Molly, are swept up by the Orphan Train Movement to find better lives with families across America. For Daniel will the dream prove elusive?

How strong are bonds of loyalty when everything is at stake?

Based on real history, the strength of the characters in New York Orphan will move you with their desperate plight to survive. A gripping story of love, loss, betrayal and bonds of kinship.

The Lifetracer

A death threat. An inexperienced private eye. Now his young son is in danger.

Connor Bancroft is one of life's good guys, but he's more used to dealing with infidelity than murder. Now someone has sent a countdown clock showing 'Time to Death'. The police won't take it seriously and Connor is called in to investigate. Soon other connected murders come to light and Connor tries to piece the case together.

As the clock is ticking down, Connor is unwittingly drawn into a complex story of revenge, but he is nowhere close to finding who sent the threat.

If you like rooting for an underdog, then you'll love this book. Connor is struggling. Now Mikey, his eight-year-old son, is at risk and time is running out. – Can Connor find who's behind the murders before it's too late?

Who is the Lifetracer?

Buy this book today and find out if Connor can save his son.

Alfie's Woods

Alfie is fascinated when Hedgehog is recaptured following his escape from the Woodland Prison. Too young to understand money laundering, Alfie assumes that Hedgehog should be given sympathy for washing his money.

Hedgehog, overwhelmed that any other creature should care about him, finds the strength to change his life. As an ex-convict, Hedgehog meets with opposition at every step and it is only the faith of his friends and their unwavering support that enables him to turn his life round.

Alfie's Woods is a story of the power of friendship and the difference it can make to all of us.

Short Stories

Embers of the Day and other stories

From the movingly beautiful, to the laugh-out-loud funny. This collection of short stories covers the breadth of Rosemary J. Kind's fiction writing in her usual accessible style.

Be inspired by The Old Oak Tree, consider what can go wrong when murdering your husband in The Perfect Crime. Be careful what you wish for in Princess Isabella and the Tale of the Three Wishes. Be moved by the life-changing events of Music Saved My Soul.

You'll even learn the truth behind the real story of Snow White, at least as far as her step-mother sees things! You can laugh with Sandra at her excessive purchases of chocolate. Be inspired by Alison in finding a new use for junk mail, or follow PC Dave Jones as he gets on a bicycle for the first time in years. This collection has it all.

Creative Non-Fiction / Humour

Lovers Take up Less Space

Lovers Take up Less Space is a humorous review of the addictive misery of commuting on London Underground. A blow by blow account of everything from how to find breathing space on a packed Tube train, to the psychological torture of passengers eating a fresh hot bag of chips and not passing them round. It includes games to transform underground travel from a necessary evil to a recreational activity, together with surprising facts and figures answering questions you had not yet thought to ask.

Pet Dogs Democratic Party Manifesto

PDDP manifesto is a humorous look at key political issues from a dog's point of view. Alfie Dog is a self-styled political leader who believes that for too long pets have been seen as the underdogs, working tirelessly for little more than a pat on the head. He believes it is time for the country to go to the dogs literally instead of metaphorically; for the prejudice dogs face to be swept aside; time to vote for a more equal and just society.

Alfie's Diary

An entertaining and thought provoking dog's eye view of the world. His unique blend of observational humour and satire enables him to highlight the peculiarities of humans and comment on their idiosyncrasies. Behind all of this Alfie talks about all the normal processes of growing up and the insecurities and emotions faced by any young puppy. Through his revelations, his humour and his pathos, Alfie will make you laugh and at times make you cry.

Non-Fiction

From Story Idea to Reader

Whether brushing up your writing skills or starting out, this book will take you through the whole process from inspiration to conclusion.

Are you looking to submit your work for publication, enter a competition, or do you want to self-publish? This practical guide will help you every step of the way.

Between them, Patsy Collins and Rosemary J. Kind have sold hundreds of short stories, written more than twenty published books and produced numerous articles for Writing Magazine and similar publications. They've both judged writing competitions and run workshops, and Rosemary has read and edited thousands of short stories and published dozens of books for other writers.

With the information, help and encouragement in this book, you too could see your work in print.

Buy it now and give your writing life a boost.

The Complete Entlebucher Mountain Dog Book

This book provides a complete insight into the Entlebucher Mountain Dog. Whether you are looking to add an Entlebucher to your family, get the best out of your relationship with a dog you already own or are interested in the story of the breed itself and its development in the UK, this is the book for you.

Illustrated with over 160 colour photographs, The Complete Entlebucher Mountain Dog Book will charm, educate and delight everyone who has a soft spot in their hearts for dogs of this or any breed.

This authoritative guide will help you to understand how to train your Entlebucher before he trains you and how to get the best out of your relationship with this wonderful breed.

Poetry

Poems for Life

A collection of poems by prize winning poet Rosemary J. Kind, including the inspirational 'Carpe Diem'. Published to raise money for Age UK, all profits will go to support their work.

Rosemary's work has appeared in a wide range of publications including Hand Luggage Only, England's Standard, The Leicester Mercury, The Methodist Recorder, Cooldog Publications and many others. Her work provides inspiration and at times much humour. Her style is easily accessible and will strike notes of recognition in many readers.

Find out more about my books at http://www.rjkind.co.uk
Section 4

Lynne Pardoe
Aunt Matilda's Caravan

By Lynne Pardoe

It started off just like any other Saturday morning in the Smith household. Rick and Josh were sitting at the table doing a jigsaw, Kirsty had just finished her breakfast and sat with her legs wrapped around her in a chair, about to open the day's post.

Everyone seemed wrapped in the last of the night's sleepiness, they were happy, content and looking forward to the rest of the weekend.

Kirsty opened a couple of envelopes, briefly glanced at the contents and put them aside before going on to the next letter. The pile she had just read grew bigger, but one seemed to command her attention especially closely.

"What..." She ran her fingers through her hair her brow furrowed with confusion, "you have..." she muttered under her breath. All of a sudden her expression lit up with joy and excitement. "Oh wow!"

"Mum be quiet," Josh explained, "we're at a tricky bit and I really want to get this right."

"I think this might be the right piece," Rick mumbled, taking a bit of the puzzle that looked like many other bits laid out on the table and fitting it into the already completed parts. "There, how's that then?"

But nobody replied. Kirsty was still scanning the letter with concentration, and Josh seemed to have had the idea that something was going on with his mother, and he was watching her intently.

"Listen to this," Kirsty said, holding the letter straight out in front of her and reading from it. "I am delighted to tell you that you have won the Absolutely Buttery competition for this year. We had many excellent entries but our panel felt your catchphrase stood out above the others and we had no hesitation in awarding you first prize, a holiday at the Sunny Sands hotel."

Josh was looking at his mother with growing excitement, and even Rick stopped searching for new pieces of jigsaw as he listened to his wife intently.

"The hotel is set in glorious countryside with a garden that leads straight onto the beach. Your stay is in a suite that has two bedrooms, a sitting room and its own bathroom. There is a large television and internet connection and a wide variety of entertainment is available for your family to enjoy. Three meals a day will be served at our award-winning restaurant and you will be greeted with a complimentary welcome pack. We have reserved one week in August for you and look forward to seeing you then."

Josh and Kirsty were brimming with excitement, but Rick took the letter that his wife held out to him. He skim read it, then announced, "That looks fantastic!" He called, "it is exactly as you said. You have won a week's holiday at a luxury hotel!"

Josh punched the air in front of him, "Yes! So no aunt Matilda's caravan this year then?" He asked.

Every year to save money, they had been to Rick's aunt's by the seaside in Devon. There wasn't enough room for them to sleep in the house so they had used an old caravan that lived in a field outside. It was very old, and a little bit leaky. But if you knew where the leaks were you could avoid them and the setting was beautiful, right by the sea. It meant they could have some time away from home. They helped Matilda with the cooking and various jobs in return and Josh got to see his cousins so everybody gained.

"I expect we'll be able to go for the second week," Rick calculated with the aid of a calendar. "So we won't miss out altogether."

"Great!" Josh called, "I'm going to tell my mates." As he ran out of the room.

Two weeks later they set off for the hotel. They followed the directions exactly, since the letter had said satnav wasn't too helpful in that area. Eventually they came to two stone pillars on a quiet backwater road, just as explained. The entrance looked imposing, the pillars were huge and carried a stone dragon on the top of each which seemed to look at them with an angry gaze.

They ignored the dragons and turned in to the waiting drive.

For a long time they just seemed to be getting deeper and deeper into the countryside, the route was twisting and turning through woodland, alongside a field of horses over a little brook, until eventually they came out at the huge Georgian building, built in local sandstone right next to the sea. The weather was excellent now and the building was bathed in light. It could only be the hotel.

It was bigger than they had expected. A huge fountain in the garden gave out a magnificent stream of water. A large porch on the front of the building was held up with four marble pillars, a lush garden full of topiary and formal planting wrapped itself around the building. And, just as the letter had explained, a path led away from the building to the beach. The whole scene was idyllic, although perhaps just a little bit formal.

"Goodness." Rick took the scene in. "I hadn't expected it would be that grand."

"Well it will be a treat," Kirsty stated. "I've never stayed anywhere so posh. Come on, let's get moving!"

Rick drove the short distance to the car park and paused as he entered the area, looking around for a space.

"Wow, Dad!" Josh pointed at the top of the range sports cars as he spoke. "Look at those! They're the latest models, they must have cost a fortune! Let's park next to them."

"Our car would stand out a mile next to those!" Kirsty said.

They heard a little knock on the passenger side window and turned to see what it was. It was a chap in a green uniform with gold buttons on and white gloves. He seemed to want to speak to them, so Rick wound the car window down to listen.

"Excuse me, sir. I am Robert, one of the porters here, and these two gentlemen are my assistants," he indicated in the direction of another two men in uniform, one of them pushing a big brass trolley. "We will park your car for you, whilst Michael here takes you indoors." He gestured to one of the gentleman behind him. "You needn't worry, we are insured and are very careful."

"That's very kind of you," Rick replied with surprise, "I didn't expect you to go to such trouble for just us."

"Oh!" Kirsty exclaimed, glancing around her And gathering her things. "Well we better get our bags then."

"That won't be necessary either," the gentleman explained. "We are here to do that for you." The gentleman indicated in the direction of his colleague with the brass trolley.

"I see," Kirsty replied.

The family left the car, leaving the keys in the ignition and followed one of the men into the house. They stepped through the marble pillars at the front of the house into a hallway. The flooring was marble, black-and-white, laid out in a chequerboard design. To each side were smaller stone pillars each carrying a marble urn dressed with an enormous bunch of flowers elegantly arranged so they cascaded down from high to low. The walls were panelled with deep chocolate colour wood and a staircase swept down in front of them with a banister that looked as if it had been polished lovingly over the centuries.

Beyond that they could see into a sitting room also decorated with huge vases of hothouse flowers and sofas that were so big they dwarfed the people sitting in them. Tables spread around them with glossy magazines arranged carefully on them. Neatly uniformed staff walked briskly here and there carrying trays with sumptuous looking food and taking away the empty crockery. Each table had on it a little bell, which Kirsty thought was probably to summon the staff. To Kirsty it looked like a different world and each of them stood for a moment, taking in the scene before them.

"If you wouldn't mind following me," the gentleman indicated.

"Of course," Rick agreed and was followed by his wife and son.

The staircase was dominated by oil portraits, each of them appearing to look down on the group. Their destination was a large wooden door not far from the top of the staircase. The Porter opened the door and stood aside for the family to enter.

"Oh my!" Kirsty stood in the middle of the room looking around her, followed by Rick.

Josh headed straight for the room to the side. "Look at this TV!" he said, picking up the remote controller and flicking through the channels.

"May I take this opportunity remind you that the dining room will close shortly?" the Porter said. "Will that be all?"

"Oh yes," Kirsty scrambled about in her handbag for some loose coins, which she gathered up and passed to the gentleman. "Thank you very much

The chap left them, bowing as he exited the room, leaving the family to explore further.

Long white net curtains billowed in the breeze from open windows. Josh moved them aside and discovered the windows weren't just windows but doors that opened out onto their own private balcony which overlooked the beach.

"Mum this is ace! Come and have a look!"

Rick and Kirsty followed him.

Kirsty stepped towards the edge of the balcony and leant on the solid stone railings gazing out to the beach beyond. Rick wrapped his arms around her, dropped a little kiss on her shoulder and said, "I wish I had the money to treat you like this all the time."

Josh interrupted, "Let's go and eat, I'm starving!" He rubbed his tummy at the same time.

It took them a little time and a few wrong turns to find the dining room, but just in time before they closed they located the room and were ushered in to a table in the corner. Each of the tables were covered in pristine white tablecloths and laden with cutlery which it seemed would be sufficient for many courses. Saying nothing, they all sat and were given menus by the staff.

Ordering meals took a little time because none of the list was familiar to them, but Josh quickly found the sausages on the children's menu and they each chose something they would like.

It wasn't too long till the meals arrived, but rather than the whoops of joy they had expected, a solemn mood overtook them as the meals were placed directly in front of them.

Each of the meals, even Josh's, looked as if they had been created by a graphic designer with tiny little snippets of each item snuggled up in the middle and gravy dotted around the outside in tiny puddles.

"Dad..." Josh frowned at the sausages on his plate. They were tiny and perfectly round, not like what he was used to.

"Sshh," Kirsty interrupted, guessing he was about to complain and before he could say more.

The waitress came up to them with a large silver tray laden with bread rolls. Josh examined them and went to pick one up, but the waitress briskly moved it out of his reach with a grumble and showed Josh the tongs that she had and lifted the roll for him, placing it on his side plate.

The same procedure happened when the waitress took the rolls to Rick and Kirsty. They pointed to the one they wanted the waitress dutifully placed it in front of them.

The formality of the dining room had somehow spread its solemn mood to the family and they couldn't wait to leave. As quickly as possible they finished their meal and changed gathering their things to go to the beach.

The afternoon was everything the family had hoped for. They swam in the sea which wasn't too cold, enjoyed all sorts of ball games, buried Josh up to his neck in sand and ate ice creams under the hotel parasols. It was a very tired and sleepy family who returned to the hotel that evening.

"Oh heck!" Kirsty said, "I've just realised, we can't take Josh in like that, he has sand right up to his neck!"

Kirsty found a towel and began wiping Josh down.

"We will have to go in the back way," Rick suggested.

The family walked towards another path that led to a smaller door which might have been used by servants and found a Porter to show them the way to their room. They managed to get in without making too much mess.

The rest of their stay seem to pass by quickly and it seemed in no time at all the family were packing to go to aunt Matilda's. They arrived on Saturday night and could hear the gathering even before they could see anyone, as they bumped down the uneven farm track that led through the family farm to the beach. The scene in front of them couldn't have been more different than the one they had just left. A motley crowd of people stood around the bonfire on the beach in the dusk. Their clothes, far from being smart and pristine seemed like old favourites; clothes that were designed for comfort not fashion. They held up an assortment of plastic glasses and tins of drink chatting or sitting in small groups dotted around the beach.

"So you got here at last then!" Matilda laughed as she approached them. "You must be starving!" She held in front of her a platter with different sorts of sandwiches which she passed towards them. "Go on, get stuck in. There's more over yonder!" She pointed in the direction of a makeshift table laden with food and bottles.

"Thanks, sis," Rick said, tucking into the fare. "We are so glad to see you."

The rest of the revellers gathered on the sand also tucking into fat sandwiches made from bread that was almost as big as doorsteps and huge chunks of cheese and sausages.

"Great to see you!" Another chap patted Rick on the back in greeting. "You've turned up at just the right time. My mate Dave has just started up a new band. He indicated a group of revellers on the beach, some of whom were chatting whilst others were turning in range of guitars and other instruments.

"Good to see you, mate," Rick replied, taking the can of beer he was offered. "I am so glad to be here!"

Kirsty looked towards the caravan that they would all squash into later that night. Each year she expected it to have crumbled into a rusty heap, but somehow it seemed to keep going, staying up somehow as if in loyalty to the family. But the nearest they would have to the ensuite they had just left, was a battered old bucket they kept inside.

The evening passed in a haze of meetings with old friends and long lost family that was exhausting although very pleasant. The band was...well, let's just say it was their first gig, but whatever they thought about their future in the music industry, they had provided a few jolly tunes for the group to jig around too.

As the sun went down and the moon rose Kirsty and Rick sat on a tussock of grass a can of drink nestled in the sand in front of them, watching the waves lap gently over the shore as people began slowing down and getting into a more mellow mood before bed.

"You know what," Kirsty said, "In the hotel you said you'd like to be able to pay for us to stay there more often. But, I don't think I'd want to. You can't beat family and friends for atmosphere and fun."

"I know," Rick agreed as he hugged his wife to him. "You can have all the luxuries money can buy but it doesn't necessarily make you happy."

"I have something very important to say." Josh strode up to them with a serious expression on his face and something behind his back. He pulled his arm round to his front and with a very stern expression held his hand in front of them. In it, on the end of a fork, was the biggest and juiciest sausage he could find, it was a bit misshapen with parts hanging out where they should be straight, but there was no doubting the luscious smell and juice which was oozing from it.

"Do not take me ever again to eat anywhere where they do not use proper sausages." The little lad took a bite of the item and turned it towards his parents pointing to the delicious-looking insides. He pointed to the filling with his free hand. "Now that, is what I call a proper sausage!"

The couple looked to each other and laughed. "Well, at least we've raised a lad who knows exactly what he wants!"
Stable Love

Lynne Pardoe

Chapter 1

Saffy stopped the car at the entrance to a field and got out. After years in a stifling relationship by night and a busy social work department by day, the fresh air and open landscape was a welcome change to her. Leaning over a gate and taking in the view, she took a deep breath that felt like the first for many years.

The scene in front of her was idyllic. Bright spring green fields were bordered by little lanes, cows and sheep were feasting on new grass and a brook was bubbling in the background. A gentle breeze tousled her hair and filled the air with the scent of meadow herbs.

Dorset is what I need right now, she thought, drinking in the scenery ahead. This was just the tonic she needed, it felt like the fresh air was blowing all the troubles of her past life away.

That was all that mattered to her at the moment. Not offices or forms and computer systems, or bosses who really shouldn't have crossed the line into personal friendship or colleagues who said nothing for fear of upsetting anyone.

It was horses and people that really mattered to Saffy. People who were struggling, people who hadn't had the same opportunities that she had. People whose bodies didn't work very well. So her plan to work with Riding for the Disabled for a fortnight before starting her new job seemed a great idea. Now, after weeks of planning, she was almost at the stables that would temporarily be her home.

Two weeks helping was all as she could spare, and that was only because this voluntary post had offered full board, She had just enough money to last her until her first payday in Axbridge Social Work Team.

Taking a deep breath she reached for the map. Running her index finger along the road she had just travelled, she compared it to the road and buildings in front of her. It looked like her destination was just a short distance away, so she drove to it.

The farm seemed to be in the right place. It was just across a river and before the road turned right. But even though there was a sign on the buildings, some plants had hidden it, so the writing that may have confirmed it as her destination was completely hidden.

There was only one thing to do, she decided as she drove into the yard. Find someone to ask. Once parked she looked all around for an office or reception of some sort, somewhere she could check if she was in the right place and get started.

All around people were busy and no-one seemed to have noticed her. A team of people were mucking out a stable, busily piling wheelbarrows with mess. Others swept the yard. A little girl in a wheelchair stroked a chubby grey pony. A young boy, probably in his early teens, was about to climb aboard a big bay horse from a large mounting block surrounded by helpers.

It did look like it must be the right place, but there didn't seem to be anywhere to report to. There was certainly no sign saying reception or similar to point her in any particular direction, and no-one seemed to be in charge.

Puzzled she looked all around her whilst trying to decide what to do next, when a voice interrupted her reverie and made her turn round.

"Can I help you?" a man roughly her own age asked, walking towards her, causing her to stop in her tracks. It wasn't just any voice, but a deep male voice, soothing and soft with a gentle Scottish lilt.

Saffy's heart stopped for a moment as she turned towards him, taken aback by his good looks. He struck a chord deep inside her and it took her minute or two to gather her senses and speak to him.

"I'm looking for Cherry Orchard Riding Centre for the Disabled," she said. "Am I in the right place?"

He stopped just by her and pushed his hands deep inside his pockets, a broad and welcoming smile on his face. "Yes, it is. This is Cherry Orchard. And you must be our new volunteer. Saffy isn't it? Your arrival is scheduled in the diary." He looked at her directly as if checking her out. "Welcome. I'm Dr Douglas McGlone. I'm in charge for the next fortnight whilst the centre manager is away. Call me Doug, most people do."

Saffy's tummy did a big flip, she tried to tell herself it was relief that she was in the right place but she was lost for words and simply muttered, "Hi".

He held out his hand to shake hers as he spoke. It had never occurred to her that hands could be attractive, but this one was. It was a lush mid bronze tone, well muscled as if accustomed to physical work and life in the open air. Saffy took it hesitantly, instinctively wary of skin to skin contact, and avoided meeting Doug's gaze. Okay he's attractive she told herself ignoring the nagging voice inside her. You know you decided no more men in your life for at least a couple of years. End of.

"Nice to meet you too," she replied with a lump in her throat, realising she had to concentrate and put romantic thoughts out of her mind. "Yes that's me. I'm Saffy Sutton, social worker. I'm here to help out for the next fortnight." She lifted her gaze to meet his.

He was a little taller than her which meant he had to bend his head and look out of the corner of his eyes to speak to her because he was standing slightly to her side. That made him look really cute.

"It's an unusual name Saffy I've never met anyone called that before."

"Well that's me." She shrugged her shoulders hoping her name hadn't met with disapproval. "It's short for Saffron."

"I see." He looked at her as if he wanted to know more about her, as if there was something about her that intrigued him. "You have hippie parents then?"

"Suppose you could put it like that," she replied, not wanting to go into details. It seemed to her a bit of a cheek to comment on her family life after only having just met her. Hunky and handsome he might be, but that comment suggested to her he was a little bit strait-laced. Why does it matter what her parents were like? It was something she'd remember, but ignore for the moment. Keen to change the subject she answered, "Well, I suppose that counts for the wanderlust in me."

He seemed to grasp the 'no further questions' tone to her voice. "Nice way to be brought up." He stated and left it at that, changing the subject. "Listen, I don't know how you feel about this, but tell me if I'm out of order. Usually we allow new volunteers their first day here without work, to help them get used to the place. But we are desperately short staffed this week. Somebody hasn't turned up. Would you be able to help straight away?" He held his hands palm outwards, as if not wanting to put pressure on her. "Do feel free to say no if you want to, I mean you must be tired. You've probably had a long drive to get here. We'll get the work done somehow. I can work late, maybe others would too, though I usually work late anyway."

She listened to his explanation, pleased that her studies had gone into detail on non-verbal communication. He was certainly passionate about the place. That came over in his words. Yet she could hear there was also a note of sadness of some sort in his voice, a certain tone that led her to think there was more to him than just the happy face he presented to her. She wasn't quite clear what it was but she ignored it for now.

"I'm not too tired. And there's no time like the present. I'd love to get stuck in straight away," Saffy replied cheerfully, pleased that she was needed. "I've been looking forward to working here. I love horses and helping people with all sorts of different needs. Yes, I'm quite happy to start now." What she was thinking but didn't say was having something different to do meant more to her than just a change in surroundings. It wasn't just that she was looking forward to being here, but also that she was miles away from her former life, physically and emotionally. That freedom had been a long time coming, and so far it was every bit as exhilarating as she'd hoped.

"Thank goodness for that!" A look of worry fell from his face as he spoke. "Thank you so much, I really appreciate that. Listen, why don't I take you to your room so you can leave your bags there, then I'll show you around and you can meet the riders. Some of them I know from their visits in previous years, but for others this is their first time so they're new to me too. You'll soon get to know them, they're very nice. Everyone has a different condition but all have disabilities of some sort or are carers for someone who has." He gestured, walking in the direction they should take. She fell into step beside him.

They reached a small modern building. "This looks nice and cosy," Saffy said as they approached it.

"It is." He opened the door and stood aside, allowing Saffy to walk in first. "We had this hostel built a few years ago. We began by using the farmhouse, but it was impossible to make it wheelchair friendly so we expanded."

Saffy could see a little kitchen straight ahead of them, a coat rack was to one side with lots of old coats and wet weather gear hanging on pegs. Beneath them was a shoe rack, piled so high with shoes that they spilled over onto the floor.

"At this end, it's women and girls," he waved his hand one way, then in the other direction. "That corridor is for the men and boys," Doug explained. "Over there is the main dining room and a bigger catering kitchen. On the left we have the sitting room. And that's it really. Further along the corridors it's bedrooms and bathrooms. Your room is just up there, number seven."

"Thanks. I'll go and put my suitcase in."

Minutes later Saffy's bags were in her room and they were walking through the stable yard. Being here was good, she thought. She felt at home already.

"Our residents are all people who usually attend their local riding for the disabled group," Doug explained as they walked.

Saffy listened eagerly, lapping up every word of a subject she had long been eager to know more about.

"We are one of a few in England," Doug explained. "There are Riding for the Disabled groups in most towns and they have people that come to ride once a week. But we are different. We have the whole group to stay on holiday. We find if people ride most days their exposure to it is quite concentrated and it helps them get stronger quicker.

That's very satisfying for us. We can really make a difference to people."

"What a good idea! It must take an awful lot of fundraising to set this place up," Saffy tried to concentrate on the practical things to take her mind off the handsome doctor. "Am I right in thinking you don't have any paid staff? Surely you must have to have a lot of volunteers then? How does that work in practice?"

"It can be difficult to have enough volunteers, like today. But people usually rally round. We have two paid members of staff, whose frugal wages are paid for by donations, the rest are volunteers. We often find that the local groups don't have enough staff able to come away with them, so we have our own local helpers all year round." Doug gestured towards people in the stable yard, which was still busy with horses and people. "These riders arrived yesterday and many are new to us. It takes us a little while to get used to each member and their abilities. Our motto is, 'it's what you can do that matters'. We try to maximise the potential of each person. Riding helps both physical and psychological abilities and it's a good feeling when you help somebody do things they couldn't do before."

Saffy listened attentively. It was a philosophy she agreed with exactly.

He stopped and turned to face her, his gaze quizzing hers, as if something worrying had just occurred to him. "How does that sound? It is what you were expecting isn't it? You're new to volunteering for us aren't you?"

"Yes, this is my first time helping with any riding for the disabled group. Though I love horses and working with people with any sort of physical or mental health problem. What you've described is exactly what I thought I would be doing. I've read up about it, and I met the permanent staff here in interview. I've been looking forward to it," Saffy reassured him.

She could see the tension falling away from Doug as he listened to her reply. "I'm pleased to hear that," he replied, the flicker of a smile spreading over his face. "It sounds like you and I will get on famously then."

"I think so too," Saffy agreed.

"To me, having that reward in your job is what makes life worthwhile," he continued. "I've never worked for money alone. It's helping the riders that I enjoy, because I've seen it make a big difference to people's lives."

"I'm the same," Saffy agreed. The whole place seemed like a breath of fresh air to her. The lack of interest in money was just what she was looking for after years of living with a man obsessed by status and possessions.

"That's good. This is no get rich quick scheme that's for sure!" Doug laughed. "People love to spend time in a beautiful setting like this, surrounded by ponies and people whose only motive is to help others. That's why I spend all my holidays here. It's addictive. There's a few of us who do the same. Who wouldn't want all this in their life?"

"I totally agree," she replied. Doug's words rung true to her. She stepped away slightly from him and looked down, anywhere but at him. He was starting to feel like a kindred spirit, they had so much in common. He might be a handsome and committed individual but he was still a male and for that reason he was out of bounds and staying that way.

Changing the subject she asked, "What do you do when you're at work?"

"I'm a GP. The job is very pressured hence the need for time off." He seemed not to want to dwell on the subject. "And you? What do you do for work?"

"I'm a social worker," Saffy replied.

"That'll be very useful here, we haven't had a social worker before. We have a few people from other health related jobs which is useful at times. Anyway, come and meet Bumble and her rider Jess, who is five. It's her first time here and she's new to horses. Jess has Down's syndrome and hypothyroidism, that is an under active thyroid that makes her lethargic. It's harder for her to move so she's more likely to gain weight and we hope that riding will help keep her fit as her physiotherapist suggested it. She'll be in the indoor riding school now." They strode across the stable yard and reached a large building like a huge barn but with walls to keep out the wind and rain. Doug reached for the door and held it open for Saffy. "This is where we do most of our teaching, especially when it's wet," he explained.

She entered the building, slowing for a second as her eyes adjusted to the changing light, then taking in what was around her. The school was designed for horses and riders to ride indoors in shelter away from the weather. It was divided in two. The first few feet of it was for people to use whilst they watched the riders, with a concrete floor and some seats in it. A thick wooden fence separated this part of the school from the larger part, the arena, which was designed for the ponies and riders. The flooring there was a deep sand like substance, probably used because it was easier on the ponies' feet and for the, hopefully few, occasions when riders fell off. It was lit by a mixture of electricity and natural light from clear panels on the roof. Mirrors were placed along the walls so riders could see how they were doing. It looked like it would always be welcoming, warm and dry. "Wow!" Saffy said. "It's lovely! It must have cost a fortune!"

"You can say that again! I have never sold as many raffle tickets, handed out as many sponsor forms or drunk so much coffee at coffee mornings as I did during the eighteen months it took to raise the money for this!" Doug laughed, gazing at the place with affection. "Anyway, come on in and get to know the people."

Saffy followed Doug into the arena. They approached the fattest little pony Saffy had ever seen. He was light grey in colour, not much taller than the small child who stood next to him, and with a huge tummy that was probably wider all the way round than he was high. A long shaggy forelock almost hid his eyes but he managed to peep around the pearl grey fringe as if curious as to who the newcomer approaching him was. His gaze was kindly, welcoming, wise. With him was a young girl about five years old, all dressed in riding gear, standing next to him. Cute wisps of soft, light brown hair stuck out from under her riding hat. She was concentrating very hard and didn't notice the visitors at first.

A woman wearing a T-shirt with the logo of the centre on it was with the pony, totally engrossed in talking to the girl. As Saffy got closer, she could see that she was teaching the girl how to hold the leading rope.

The little girl looked a bit apprehensive. She was wearing riding clothes, jodhpurs several sizes too big for her, short boots and a tee shirt on her top emblazoned with a pony. A black riding hat threatened to dwarf the girl's head and whilst Saffy could see the facial signs of her condition, Down's Syndrome, it didn't stop her being incredibly sweet and pretty. But although she was dressed for the part, her manner said she wasn't entirely comfortable with something.

"Good morning," Doug said to the group. "Are you not riding Jess?" He asked her directly.

Jess stuck her finger in her mouth. At first she didn't reply then eventually she nodded shyly, no.

"No. Not yet." The helper replied on her behalf with a smile. "Jess doesn't want to ride today. She's a little nervous because she's new to horses, so she's just getting to know Bumble. Isn't that right? We're going to take him for a walk in a minute. I've just been showing her how to hold the lead rope." She looked at Jess, who nodded agreement in return still with a finger in her mouth.

"Look! I what I can doed now!" The little girl held her hands up. "She showed me how to hold the rope the right way." Jess had a smile that could power the National Grid. She pointed at Joy, her eyes lit up with delight in her achievement and held up her hands to show she was holding it exactly the way she had been shown.

"Don't forget to tell Doug you chose the colour of the lead too," the helper added.

"It matches my tee shirt!" The little girl said holding it out for Doug to see.

Doug chuckled and crouched down to her level to admire her work. "Well, look at that. You are so clever. You've done really well." He looked straight at Jess and she at him with pleasure. It was a heart warming scene.

Saffy often watched how children reacted to people in her work. It told her a lot about the adults in a child's life. The younger the children, the more like little barometers they were, if they liked someone it was easy to see. If they didn't, she'd wonder why. If they were wary of someone, there was often a reason. But this meeting was quite the opposite. Doug had made a good bond with Jess quickly, since she'd only been here a short while. It made him very likeable.

"Well, there's plenty of time for you to get used to ponies. I'm sure you'll love Bumble once you get to know him better and maybe then you'll want to ride him," Doug said to Jess. "Anyway, I've come to introduce our newest volunteer, Saffy." He stood up. The helper gave a cheerful welcome, stepping boldly towards Saffy in greeting.

"Hello, it's nice to meet you. I'm Joy."

The helper was tall and broad, as if she'd been built for physical labour. She held out her hand towards Saffy. It was rough and gnarled with the marks of many years of outside work, but the gesture was full of warmth.

Saffy couldn't help but smile in return, the woman was so sincere. She shook the proffered hand. "Nice to meet you too."

"If you need anything, just ask," Joy continued. "I don't live far away so I'm here most days and know the horses and their routines well. I can remember when I was new, I'm sure I bored everyone by asking the same questions over and over again, there is such a lot to take in! But I never mind, so if you've got any queries, come and find me."

"That is just what I needed to hear, I've a memory like a sieve!" Saffy laughed.

"Well, I think we're nearly ready to walk around the school, don't you Jess?" Joy looked all around, as if looking for someone or something, "the only trouble is I've got no one to walk with me or lead Bumble. I should have a helper to walk on the other side of Bumble with me on this side, just in case. But she's not here."

"I'm sure we can help with that, can't we?" Doug turned to Saffy and asked.

"Yes, I can do that," Saffy responded, guessing Doug's intention.

"Thank you," Joy replied. "We need one person on Bumble's other side making sure he doesn't wander off in the wrong direction whilst Jess and I lead him from this side. Is that okay?"

"Yes," Saffy said, moving to Bumble's side.

"I'll wait for you here," Doug agreed.

"Are you ready now Jess?" Joy asked.

The little girl hung onto the rope very, very lightly and at its full length, as if she was wary of being too close to Bumble. She had turned to face the direction they would be walking and didn't exactly look happy, but dutiful, as if she was proud to have a job that gave her such responsibility, but wasn't sure of something.

Doug pointed over to the people's end of the school and spoke to Jess. "Your mum, Lisa, is over there and she'll be watching. She's going to ride one of our bigger horses later, Jupiter. He is more her size."

They shot Lisa smiles and she waved in response.

"Are you ready to go then love? I think Bumble is," Joy asked.

Bumble stood beside the group, with a look of importance about him, his hooves neatly placed, ready for action. It was as if he took his job and the need to care for children very seriously.

Jess nodded, a slightly exaggerated nod of the head, her expression serious, showing that she understood the importance of her task.

Joy looked around as a last safety check. "All is well. So we're going!" she called.

Bumble moved off, stepping carefully. Joy was cheerfully chatting to Jess who was concentrating very hard and listening to Joy.

It seemed like no time till the group were back where they started, their mission complete.

"You did very well," Joy said to Jess, preparing to take Bumble back to the stables.

"Especially since you're so new to ponies."

"I totally agree," Doug said. "I think you might be getting one of those good horse care rosettes whilst you're here, you're doing so well."

It was impossible not to be moved by the care the organisation offered and especially Doug's part in it. He was patient and kind, and the little girl was clearly eager to learn from him. He must be a super dad, she thought. He's lovely with children. But not so good for social workers with unusual names, she recalled.

Jess's mum waited for her daughter at the side of the school looking very proud. Once the tour of the school was complete, Jess ran to her mother, beaming with smiles and the pair sat discussing her new-found skill.

"They're a very nice family aren't they?" Doug said as he turned to lead Bumble away.

"They certainly are." Saffy ignored the hole in her heart whenever anyone mentioned families. So many people take them for granted she thought, never giving a thought to those who don't have anyone.

"It often feels like there isn't very much for us to do here," Doug said to Saffy. "Most of the time our work is uneventful like this and you feel you could have coped with half the staff. But you can never be quite sure what horses are going to do, even though ours are especially chosen because they're so quiet and calm. It's still best to have plenty of people to hand."

"Better to be wise before the event than after," Saffy quipped.

"Should I take it that you were happy with that?" Doug asked, with a quizzical tone to his voice. "I just wondered because sometimes we get volunteers who only want to do the horse care and no leading, and some who only want to lead with no horse care. Everybody is different and there is a place for everyone."

It had been a long time since anybody had wanted to know how Saffy felt and Doug's question touched her. He looked at her with genuine concern as if he really wanted to know how she felt. It made part of her feel uncomfortable. Being in the spotlight of this very attractive man was so different to her recent experience of being the subject of attention by a man. But at the same time his attention was lovely and gave her a wanted feeling deep inside. But she quickly crushed any warm feelings towards Doug. The risk of problems was just too great.

"It was great. Exactly what I was expecting to be doing." She answered briefly.

"Jess is a character isn't she! But everyone has something about them to like." Doug laughed.

"I'm sure that's true!" Saffy agreed.

They were so engrossed in their conversation they barely noticed a scream from nearby. Doug's senses were aroused instantly. Both spun around to see what caused it. Their gaze moved from one building to the other, but all seemed well.

"Did you hear that?" Doug asked briskly, tension showing in his expression. "I thought I heard a scream. It sounded like someone was in pain. I think it came from either the feed room or the stables, but I can't be sure?"

"Yes. I heard it too." Saffy looked around her, puzzled.

Soon, it was followed by another scream, then another in quick succession, followed by a loud thud. This time it was clear where the sound came from.

Doug moved fast towards the feed room. He entered the doorway seconds later holding onto the frame of the door for balance as he swerved in.
Lynne Pardoe

There's something special about being a social worker, you might only be in someone's life a short while, but that could be their most difficult time. Being able to help people is a reward like nothing else and that's what I try to capture in my stories.

I thought I'd write about life as a social worker, because it's not always obvious what we do, as it is for doctors and nurses. I change little bits so no-one recognises their story, but at their heart the stories are true. I hope to give a view of life in one of the toughest jobs.

Having said that though, I write light-hearted fiction too, and enjoy the variety. The story I have listed here is fun. I was about to plan a holiday and I thought... well, actually I won't say more, or I'll give the story away.

Go and get stuck in, then see me on social media if you've a minute!

Twitter https://twitter.com/LPsocialwork

Facebook https://www.facebook.com/lynnepardoeauthor/
Other books by Lynne Pardoe

No Home for Chelsea

A girl too difficult to foster – for all sorts of reasons, Chelsea's life in care has not gone well. Yet there is a glimmer of comfort in the future. To take it, Chelsea has to learn to trust the very thing that has caused her trouble – families. Can she be brave enough to try?

Please Adopt Me

Sometimes working with other people's problems brings you face to face with your own. Can social worker Louise Kimber untie her toxic links with her past?

Stable Love

Social worker Saffy Sutton has always believed working with animals can help emotional pain. So she plans to spend time working with Riding for the Disabled. But little does she realise, it's not always the clients who get healed. Sometimes the magic can apply to those who least expect It – like Saffy herself.
About the Book

This book has been put together by four writer friends, to help us share our love of stories and writing with a wider range of readers. We hope you enjoy this free sample of our writing. If you like what you read here, please do go on to try our other work.

Between us we produce a great mix of short stories, novels and non-fiction. We'd appreciate it if you could leave a short review for this book – and spread the word to those who might be interested in downloading it.

Happy reading and thank you for your support.

# Alfie Dog Fiction

Taking your imagination for a walk

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