KDP Select Addiction: 2013 365 Challenge #188

Promo figures so far

For the last 48 hours I have been checking KDP Select (Amazon’s program for self-published books) every hour or so (where possible) to make a note of my download numbers. In case you don’t follow Twitter, and therefore haven’t been bombarded with my tweets, I’m running a free promotion for Dragon Wraiths in an attempt to get back up the rankings, since pulling out of the KDP Select program at the end of May.

It’s addictive.

Particularly the random sites I seem to be getting good numbers and rankings on. For some reason I have three times as many downloads on the German Amazon site than I do on the UK one.

Artistic little lady

I am ranked #1 in the Fantasy genre on Amazon.de (Germany) and #11 in the Sword & Sorcery category on the Amazon.com site (what a great category to be in: it wasn’t one I selected).

Do you think that means I can call myself a #1 Bestseller? In marketing that would have been fine if I’d put an asterix with *in top 100 free downloads in Germany for English Fantasy books!

Frustrating as it is that there are few statistics available from Amazon.com, it’s rather fun collating my own.

Thank you to Rinelle, and her great posts on her last KDP Select promotion, for inspiring me to be a bit more organised with my record-taking (if not more organised at getting my book on free sites. It was a last-minute decision to run a promo). And in encouraging me (unintentionally) to extend my free promo from two to three days.

It’s nice to see the numbers climb, and interesting that the numbers have trotted along whether I was around to tweet or not (I haven’t figured out how to schedule tweets yet). Thank you to everyone who has re-tweeted me!

Sparkly Fingernails

Anyway, this probably isn’t very interesting to anyone but me, but it has taught me to be better at collecting what data I can as I publish books, so I can understand what works and what doesn’t.

Even with the gaps from sleeping, painting kiddy fingernails and taking the children out to the Farm yesterday (so Daddy could build the new playhouse – pictures later) I have a really good idea of how the numbers, and my rankings, are affected by the promotion.

Whether it results in an increase in sales, as it did for Rinelle, remains to be seen! For now, I’m having fun! Ooh another download…

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Below is the next installment in my novel Two-Hundred Steps Home: written in daily posts since 1st January as part of my 2013 365 Challenge. Read about the challenge here.You can catch up by downloading the free ebook volumes on the right hand side of the blog:

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“Hey, Sky, how are you, poppet?”

“Auntie Claire! Mummy didn’t tell me you were coming to visit.” Sky threw her arms around Claire’s knees and hugged hard.

Claire dropped down to return the hug, surprised at how right it felt to pull Sky’s tiny frame into an embrace. Her niece smelled of chocolate and fruity shampoo. Conscious of tears tugging at her throat, Claire loosened her hold, and held Sky at arm’s length.

“Where’s your Mummy? How is she?”

Sky’s face fell into a familiar pout. Claire never thought she would find it endearing. “Mummy’s boring. Nana says she’s still poorly and can’t do anything interesting.

Claire wanted to sweep Sky up into another cuddle. For all her worldly-wise savvy, she was still only a little girl.

“Well, how about a visit to that Farm you talked about so much?”

The pout magically vanished and Sky’s eyes sparkled. She span in a spray of blonde hair, and pelted down the hallway.

“Mummy, Mummy. Auntie Claire is here! She’s going to take me to the Farm. Say I can go, Mummy, please.”

Laughing at the receding sound of joy, Claire followed in her wake, hoping Ruth wasn’t asleep. She found her sister tucked up on the faded terracotta sofa in the lounge. The TV flickered with what looked like an old Cary Grant movie, although there was no sound.

In the three weeks since they had last seen each other, Ruth’s face had filled out and regained some of its colour. Claire smiled as she met Ruth’s gaze, relieved that her sister seemed to have walked away from death’s door.

“Hey, sis, I hope I didn’t wake you.”

She leaned over and gave Ruth a kiss on the cheek. Her skin felt cold and papery. Now she was closer, Claire could see the marks of illness still ravaging her sister’s face. The black scarf tied around her hairless scalp had slipped, and Claire could see the bare skin beneath. The reality of her sister’s treatment swooped on her for the first time, and it felt hard to breathe. Suddenly, gallivanting round the country visiting hostels seemed a frivolous undertaking.

While the thoughts raced through Claire’s mind, Ruth pushed herself up on one elbow, and reached out a hand.

“I’m so pleased to see you. I’ve been following the blog. I have to thank you, it’s keeping me sane. You’ve no idea how boring it is, being stuck in here all day watching the same movie reruns, until I want to scream.”

Claire perched on the end of the sofa, careful not to sit on Ruth’s feet. She grasped Ruth’s outstretched hand briefly, before gesturing to Sky to climb into her lap. She could tell that Sky’s bouncing and urgent desire to speak to her mummy was irritating Ruth.

“Hush, Sky. We’ll ask Mummy in a moment. Let me have a chat with her first.” Claire saw the bottom lip begin to jut out, and she held her finger to her lips. “Would you like to borrow my iPad, while I talk to your Mummy?” Again, Sky’s face lit up in delight and she nodded.

Once Sky was curled up in the corner, happily painting imaginary nails and dressing digital princesses, Claire turned to Ruth.

“Can I get you anything? Tea? Something to eat?”

Ruth shook her head. “I can’t. I’ve gone off tea and mostly I feel too sick to eat. Mum’s always round here forcing food on me. Where is she? She should be here by now.” Her face creased in a petulant frown.

Claire listened to her sister’s words with a mixture of empathy and irritation. Her emotions twisted in her stomach, as she realised how inappropriate her irritation was. Of course Ruth is taking Mum for granted, she has no one else. And who wouldn’t complain when they had been through what she has.

Shaking off the black cloud, Claire shone her brightest smile. “Well, I’m here to take care of you today, to make sure you and Sky eat, and to entertain my niece so my lovely sister can rest and recover.”

She was rewarded by a wan smile.

“That sounds wonderful.” Ruth rested her head against the sofa. “Sky’s been driving me mental. She means well, but she has so much energy. Just watching her leaves me feeling wobbly.”

That much Claire understood, from her time travelling with Sky. Mostly she envied the girl her endless energy, but there was no doubt it was tiring to watch.

“Well, I will take her to this Farm place this afternoon, and to school in the morning.”

“There’s no school tomorrow. It’s May Day. Bank holiday weekend.” Ruth’s voice was low with exhaustion.

A jolt stabbed at Claire. It didn’t seem possible that it was only Sunday; that the wedding had been less than 24 hours before. May Day? M’aidez, s’il vous plais?

Pushing her own troubles aside, Claire sat with her sister and concentrated on doing good where she could.

***

Memoirs of a Geisha Moments: 2013 365 Challenge #187

Romance: all about yin and yang

I seem to have a writing tips theme at the moment. Apologies to blog followers who are not writers or interested in writing! It’s nearly the weekend, so normal parenting-chaos blog posts will resume!

One of the articles I read on Jungian Archetypes, after writing my post confessing I didn’t know what they were, talked about the use of archetypes in romance (where there isn’t traditionally an antagonist, in the way there might be in a crime or thriller novel).

On ArchetypeWriting.com there is a post on understanding the Anima / Animus Archetype to create riveting romances. The author, Carolyn Kaufman, explains:

Psychological research shows a mere three things are crucial to human happiness, and one of them is love (The other two are a/ satisfying work and b/ personality, most notably the qualities of high self-esteem, extraversion, and optimism.)

This, I suppose, explains why love stories are so compelling. Even in fantasy novels, thrillers and other genres, a love-story theme is often present, if not central. (I think about my favourite TV shows, Stargate SG-1 and NCIS: the interest comes from the characters, particularly the undercurrents of forbidden love, more than the specific story lines. I digress.)

Kaufman goes on to explain:

This basic human need for romantic, sexual, and marital connections is reflected in Carl Jung’s anima/animus archetype. In essence, Jung believed there is a psychological construct in males (the anima) that creates a strong draw to the feminine as it’s embodied in real women, and a matching construct in females (the animus) that draws them to men. One of the best visual metaphors for the concept is the yin-yang

My leading man (and nephew), before we were married

So far, so good. Romance is about ‘Losing and Finding One’s “Other Half”‘ or ‘Chemistry’. However, Kaufman warns of the danger of making the attraction too physical, too related to an expectation of the perfect man or woman, rather than understanding what draws protagonists together.

I know I’m guilty of this. I read a lot of Georgette Heyers, and there is an element of strong man meets quirky, vulnerable female. Or strong woman fights then falls for equally strong man. There isn’t much depth. (The good Heyer books are the ones where love develops unexpectedly, through friendship, humour and shared experience, like Frederica).

What all of this means is that, just like in real life, your characters should be attracted to their love interests for a reason. The potential love interest’s traits and behavior must resonate with your hero because they somehow make him or her more whole.

This idea of resonation has been in my mind since I read this. Trying to understand what draws my protagonists together. In Baby Blues, Helen is drawn to Marcio because he is a family man: he likes children and therefore stands in contrast to her ex, who told her to get rid of her unborn baby. However, their real resonation moment is early on, when they talk about their creativity. Helen is a photographer, Marcio a freelance journalist / author. Both confess that things don’t seem real in life unless they have either put words around it (Marcio) or photographed it (Helen). It gives them a shared view of the world that transcends their moment in time (the fact that Helen is pregnant and Marcio wants children).

‘Gutted it wasn’t a true story’

In my notes I have written, “What is the ‘Memoirs of a Geisha Moment’ in Class Act?” This refers to a moment in my relationship with my husband when we knew we were destined to be together.

Early on in our relationship we were discussing the novel, Memoirs of a Geisha, which we had both read and enjoyed. However we said, at almost the same time, “Gutted it wasn’t a true story”.

That shared reaction was like a cartoon bell ringing: we understood something about the other person because of that moment.

I don’t know what that point is yet, in Class Act. My protagonists, Alex and Jenny (? I haven’t decided on a name yet. It was Rebecca, and then Katie!) are drawn to each other physically, (initially for Jenny, against her will). After that, they share an interest in literature. But I haven’t discovered their ‘Geisha’ moment yet.

Kaufman’s final point, that I need to take to heart, is this:

[T]he danger is that sometimes we’re actually creating love interests for ourselves rather than for our characters. We may assume that everyone would be attracted to the same things we are, and that little explanation is needed to justify why our heroes and heroines would fall for each other

Guilty! I adore Marcio. It’s the main reason I didn’t just bin Baby Blues when I got frustrated with it. Alex is very similar (physically, he’s almost identical). My protagonists (like my husband) all tend to be 6ft tall with dark hair and brown eyes (although Marcio’s eyes are blue). There are parts of Marcio’s dialogue which are almost verbatim to things my husband might say to me. But, then, most of the female protagonists are at least partly me, so that’s okay. I just have to make sure I explain why they love each other, rather than assuming it is obvious!

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“Yes, Carl, I know I took holiday at Easter to care for Sky. Now I’m asking for a few more days. I can continue with the blog – I have plenty of extra material – no one will even realise I’m not still on the road.”

Claire regretted answering the phone. What was Carl doing checking his email on a Sunday, anyway? And on a bank holiday weekend. Didn’t the man have a life?

“Just admit it, Claire, your heart isn’t in this project. You’re dashing round the country here and there, with nothing more interesting that castles to write about. That isn’t fulfilling the brief. If this continues, I will be forced to take action.”

Claire laughed. “What action, Carl? You don’t have the balls to do anything. If you did, you would have sacked me already. And good luck with that, by the way. I’ll have you in court for unfair dismissal before you can say ‘you’re fired’.”

After the words were out, Claire wondered if they were entirely wise. He was still her boss, after all. With everything that had happened recently, it was hard to take it seriously. What had once seemed so important – her career, her reputation – now felt like a shackle around her leg.

She heard the in drawn breath, and waited for Carl to begin his annihilation. The attack didn’t come. Something she couldn’t fathom was churning in her boss’s mind. When he did speak, his words didn’t make sense.

“Look, I appreciate this task has been challenging and I understand that you have some family issues. I’m willing to be lenient in the circumstances. You may take a week, in lieu of the weekends you have worked during the assignment.” He paused, and when he spoke again, his voice was sharp.

“But I want you back on the road immediately after that. And I expect you to continue your posts.”

Claire’s head reeled. What the…? She couldn’t have been more surprised, if Carl had told her she had won employee of the year. What is his game?

Realising the phone was dead, Claire dropped it away from her ear. Was Carl really concerned that she might take AJC to court? It had been an idle threat, she knew what legal action did to a director’s reputation. Not that I care about that much anymore.

For some reason the offer made by Roger Hazleton kept floating through her mind. Her explanation to her mother about why she had come home had been an excuse. It was an unrealistic dream, in the aftermath of the wedding fiasco. Yet still it tugged at her mind.

She thought about Ruth and Sky, and tried to imagine being a 24-hour plane flight away, should something happen. No, travelling to the other side of the world was not an option.

***

Anima and Animus (carljungdepthpsychology.blogspot.com)
Awareness of Our Divided Consciousness, Part I: The Introduction (lostinafantasy.wordpress.com)
Writers, Know Your Archetypes: The Trickster (debravega.wordpress.com)
http://www.archetypewriting.com/articles/articles_ck/archetypes3_anima-animus_partIII.htm

Story Arcs: 2013 365 Challenge #186

Aaron on his new bike (early bday gift)

Following on from yesterday’s post, I was flicking through my notes for Dragon Wraiths today and I came across an eight-point story arc that I found on the dailywritingtips.com website. The eight-points are taken from a craft book by Nigel Watts, called Teach Yourself: Writing a Novel. I have another in the Teach Yourself series (Teach Yourself Creative Writing) which is excellent, so I have ordered Nigel Watts’ book to help me with Class Act.

Running through the eight-point arc against Class Act, I realise that I am about 70% there, and it has really helped clarify the remaining 30%.

In summary the eight points are:

Stasis (normal life)
Trigger (external to protagonist, sparks the story)
Quest (caused by trigger)
Surprise (all the conflicts and complications of the story)
Critical Choice (reveals real personalities)
Climax (result of critical choice: highest peak of tension)
Reversal (consequence of critical choice and climax – should change status of characters)
Resolution (return to fresh stasis with characters changed and story resolved)

Interestingly I also found notes on the story arc for a Teen Romance by Mindy Hardwick (I’m always impressed when I discover that I did more research than I remembered!) The story-arc for YA Romance is Infatuation, Flirtation, Friendship, Commitment, Love. I think DW follows this, apart a comment Mindy Hardwick makes on the last point. She says

“…teen romances do not necessarily have a happily-ever-after. In fact, most teen romances will not have them. Why? […] Each teen has been changed by this first love, and now the characters will find themselves pulled apart by life events..”

I thought about leaving Luke behind at the end of Dragon Wraiths, unable to join Leah, but – what can I say? – I’m a sucker for a Happy Ever After!

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Claire froze, unsure how to react. She had never seen her mother cry before. Melanie Carleton did not show her feelings; it was vulgar. The most extreme portrayal of emotion thus far, in Claire’s experience, was irritation or chiding. Nothing to compare with the shuddering sobs shaking her mother’s shoulders. She knew she should offer comfort. Words, a hug. Somehow her body wouldn’t rise from the hard kitchen seat. She sat mute, and waited for the storm to pass.

Eventually, her mother raised her head and brushed at her cheeks, as if angry to find tears there. Claire willed herself to speak, the words dredged from her.

“Can I get you anything? Tea?”

Melanie shook her head. Her lips twisted, as if a bitter taste had filled her mouth.

“I’m fine. I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“Oh, Mum.” Claire rose, finally galvanised into motion. Moving round the table, she wrapped one arm awkwardly around her mother’s shoulders. Melanie reached to grasp her daughter’s hand, and they remained for some time in silence.

After a few minutes, her mother patted her hand, and Claire took the signal to sit back down. She pulled up a chair, sitting knee to knee.

“Why do you think he’s having an affair? That doesn’t seem like Dad.”

Melanie sighed. “Oh, it’s probably nothing. I’m never here, what with picking Sky up from school and making sure Ruth takes care of herself. I can understand your father needing to find something to fill his time.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s another woman.” Claire thought, guiltily, about the conversation she’d had with her father, last time she was home. She wanted to tell her mother, reassure her, but she’d revealed too many secrets recently. But surely it would be better than her mother thinking she was a cuckolded woman.

“There is only so much golf a man can play,” Melanie declared, more spirit in her voice. “But if he’s not playing golf, where on earth is he? He was out all day yesterday, in the pouring rain, but when he came home he wasn’t even damp. Since when did they have indoor golf courses. Besides, I didn’t even think he liked the game.”

Claire inhaled, not knowing what to do for the best. She watched as her mother twisted her fingers, bemused to see that the skin looked papery and thin. When did Mum get old?

Looking up at her face, she saw the weariness dragging at her mouth and darkening her eyes. Poor Mum.

“He doesn’t.” Claire’s words fell into the silence.

“What?” Melanie looked up, her face showing her confusion.

“He hates golf. He told me, last time I was here.”

She watched as the tiredness gave way to fury. That settled it, she had no choice but to give at least something away.

“I don’t think he’s having an affair though. I’m pretty certain you’ll find he’s been at the library. Don’t ask me why,” she added, before her mother could speak. “I’ve broken enough confidences. Ask him.” She put her hand on her mother’s knee, then took it away again and rested it in her own lap.

“You need a break. I’ll go and stay with Ruth for a few days. I’ll look after Sky, make sure they both eat, anything you tell me I need to do. Spend some time with Dad. Talk to him. You might be surprised.”

Relieved to see the fury seep away from her mother’s eyes, Claire got up and went to fill the kettle, wondering what she was going to say to Carl about taking more time off to look after her niece.

***

Don’t Force It: 2013 365 Challenge #185

Creativity in the garden

This morning I read Kristen Lamb’s latest post about the Five common tactical errors in Self-Publishing:

I’ve read this before on Kristen’s blog, but it is always useful to have a refresher, and compare where I am against where I should be.

This is the list of common errors:

1. Publishing too soon (before understanding and honing the craft of writing)

2. No prepared platform (that is, author platform – blog/website/social media etc)

3. Believing that, “If We Write it They Will Come” (self-publishing doesn’t mean less work, but more)

4. Misusing FREE! (giving your book away for free without understanding the benefits)

5. Shopping one book to DEATH (instead of sitting down to write the next one. It usually takes 3 books to have any kind of success)

Giant paint pallet

I agree with them all: Reading Class Act now, I can see why Mills and Boon rejected it. I sent it off way too soon. There’s so much back story at the beginning even I can’t work out what’s going on. I’m still working on the others, and learning painful lessons (like coming out of the KDP Select program with Dragon Wraiths and not selling a book for five weeks!)

The only bit I struggle with is a line she uses often (it comes here under point one): “Too many new writers do not properly understand the antagonist. They don’t grasp three-act structure, and most don’t have any idea what I mean when I mention POV, Jungian archetypes, or the phrase, “scene and sequel.””

Of course, I struggle with it because I have no idea about half those things, particularly the Jungian archetypes. I’m sure my writing would be better if I did (if I understood structure better, for example, I might be able to fix Class Act quicker). However, I think you could write a great novel without knowing what all these things are called. I know a reasonable amount about writing grammatical English but, until last week, I’d never heard of a comma splice. I have looked through my writing and, instinctively, I write to a three-act structure, I use scene and sequel and I at least understand POV, even if I don’t always use it well in my writing (Baby Blues is a prime example).

Daughter’s Masterpiece

Before I get a hundred comments telling me I really need to understand these things – I know I do (there are some interesting posts on Jungian Archetype in the related articles below). I also accept what Kristen says, that self-published authors need to be better than traditionally published authors, to compete in the same field. I am working to get better, and I read as many writing craft books as I can fit in around my writing.

Another blog I read today, which reinforces point one (don’t publish too quickly), was over on Karen Woodward’s blog. Her post, Stephen King on Storycraft has a main message: Don’t force it.

When trying to pull a story together, wait until all the pieces click, rather than trying to make it work. I guess it’s the difference between learning scales and playing a concerto (Kristen uses music as an example of how you need to know the nuts and bolts of something to excel at it). You need to know the craft of writing, but you also need the story to flow (and these things, for me, can be mutually exclusive).

One of the great things about self-publishing is the ability to get a wide range of feedback on your novels, rather than waiting a year to find out why agents are rejecting it (assuming they even tell you.) So, yes, you can publish too soon, but you can learn from it too (I hope).

This evening I sat with a pad and pen, while Andy Murray played his nerve-wracking fifth set (I needed a distraction) and worked out an additional six scenes that should hopefully remove most of the pesky back story in Class Act. I’ve been musing on it all day and then it just clicked, without forcing it.

I don’t know if the story fits in a three-act structure or exactly who the antagonist is (harder in a romance than, say, a crime novel I think). I know it still needs a heap of work. But I really enjoyed reading it this morning: reminding myself who the characters are, and getting absorbed in the dialogue.

Now on with the work so I can hurry up and publish! Assuming my three books need to be in the same genre, I’ll only have one more to go to find success 😉

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Claire looked at her mother over the top of her mug of Earl Grey and waited for the interrogation. Her mother’s restraint thus far was beginning to unnerve her.

Perhaps it’s too early for the Spanish Inquisition stuff. Or maybe she doesn’t care that her youngest child just turned up on the door step at 7am when she was meant to be at a wedding.

She tried to remember if her mother even knew about Kim’s marriage. As she’d only found out herself a few weeks ago, it seemed likely that she hadn’t told her about it. I seem to have told all the wrong people all the wrong things.

Claire sighed, and wondered why her mother was being so reticent. I guess there’s only one thing on her mind. Deciding that was as good an opener as any, she set down the mug.

“How’s Ruth?”

“She’s okay. A bit low. Sky wants to be outside playing – now the nights are getting lighter – and she doesn’t have the strength to keep up with her. I think the poorly-parent novelty has worn off.”

Claire tried to read through her mother’s words, searching for the accusations. If they were there, her mother was adopting a subtler approach than usual. The only impression Claire got was of a tired woman battling on with the hand life had dealt her.

“I’ll stop by later, take Sky to that farm she kept raving about.” Claire recalled that she’d promised to take Sky there with Kim and Jeff, and hoped Sky’s memory wasn’t as accurate. She didn’t want to think about them, not yet. She waited for her mother to start the questions, but she had disappeared back into her own thoughts, head bowed.

“Mum, is it okay if I stay for a night or two?”

Her mother glanced up, and nodded, without speaking. Claire felt wrong-footed. In the still of the kitchen, she listened to the clock ticking until it felt like the countdown of a bomb.

The silence stretched like a gaping void, pulling her in. Oh, what the hell, she’ll find out eventually, even if she clearly doesn’t give a toss.

“It was Kim’s wedding yesterday. We had a fight.”

Her mother nodded again, without looking up.

“I’ve had an offer of work, which will mean going overseas. I came home to get my passport, and to talk it over with you and Ruth.”

Again the silent nod. Claire swallowed down an urge to scream.

“Mum, are you listening? I said I might be flying halfway round the world. Do you even care?”

Her mother raised her head at last, and Claire saw that her mother’s eyes were red and circled with dark smudges.

“Mum, are you okay?”

Her mother dropped her eyes again, as if making eye contact were too hard. She gazed at the table and twisted her fingers.

“I think your father is having an affair.”

And then she let her head fall on her hands, and her shoulders shook with sobs.

***

RUE (Resist the urge to edit!): 2013 365 Challenge #183

Cheeky Thomas

I finally sent Baby Blues to the proofreader today.

I like that sentence. Somehow it makes me feel more like a proper author.

Even though I know the person I chose is more used to working on business documents, I have every confidence that she will pick up all the typos and poor grammar in my novel. And, the bonus part? I don’t have to read it again and find another dozen things wrong.

A book is never finished. But, having a deadline, giving it to someone else, that marks an ending.

I used to find the same with my paintings. Often they were better if I worked to a tight deadline, because I didn’t over-think or over-work them. In the end, my paintings became too bland, too safe, as I worried about giving them a professional finish. I think the same could happen with a novel. I merrily hacked out sections of Baby Blues, to both reduce the word count and resolve point of view issues.

I’m as happy as a little boy on a train!

Once you start hacking, though, it’s hard to stop. There were at least two chapters I thought about pulling but kept in, lest the story become too bare. Has the manuscript suffered from losing 7000 of mostly internal thought? Probably not, although possibly some of the depth of understanding about character motivation may have gone. Unlikely.

There’s an acroynm, a phrase, in editing. RUE. Resist the Urge to Explain. Trust your readers get it, without hammering it home with a mallet. The first time I edited BBWS, I wrote RUE all over the manuscript. It’s easy to want to make sure your readers know what you and your characters really mean.

I think that’s why so many scenes ended up with me presenting the internal thoughts of both protagonists (and I can also see how confusing that can get).

I really hope Baby Blues does well, but for now it’s out of my hands. Time to get back to Claire, back to the children, back to Wimbledon and walking the dog. What would I really like to do right now (it’s 5pm)?

Go back to bed!

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Claire strode down the corridor, hoping the surge of anger didn’t fade before she reached her room. In her head, she replayed Michael’s words, and pushed all thoughts of Kim aside. Time enough to worry about her friend when she had her things and was safely away from the wedding. She had no idea where she would go, but that, too, could wait.

As she stalked past guests, she caught occasional glimpses of their faces. Some merely looked shocked to see her striding past like the grim reaper. Others glared and made noises as if to berate her. She shook them off like pesky flies.

At last the bedroom door was in front of her. She hoped, for a moment, that Michael had been bluffing and had re-joined the party. It would be a relief to collect her things and leave, with no more words spoken. Then his voice echoed in her mind, as he called her childish. His smug, arrogant voice, as he’d explained how he intended to brow-beat her into submission.

Bastard.

Claire flung open the door and had the satisfaction of seeing Michael jump. Before he could gather himself, she swept in and began collecting her things together. Hot words filled her mouth, but she knew the shaking in her limbs would betray her if she spoke. If she could gather everything up before Michael had a chance to open his mouth, he could hurl whatever accusations he liked at her retreating back.

It was a vain hope.

“What are you doing?”

“Packing.”

“I can see that.” He leant back against the headboard. “I mean, where are you going? It’s nearly midnight. We’re miles from anywhere. You can’t leave.”

“Watch me.”

Michael sat up, narrowly missing head-butting the top bunk. He swung his feet to the floor and glared up at her.

“Claire, you’re being childish. Go and find Kim, apologise. We’ll sleep on it and everything will seem a hundred times better in the morning.”

“Apologise? I have nothing to be sorry for. It was you who blurted her secret out to the whole party.”

“And who told me that secret in the first place?” He raised an eyebrow at her, and she itched to slap him.

“I only said she wanted a baby. You put it together in your mind, because you’re obsessed. Honestly, Michael, what is it with you? I didn’t think men had a biological clock?”

She looked over at him, on her way to the bathroom to get her things, and saw something in his expression, a vulnerability, that made her hesitate. There was a reason behind his desire to be a dad. For a moment she wanted to know what it was. Then his face shifted and resumed the smug expression he had worn since the party. Resuming her journey to the en-suite, she spoke over her shoulder.

“I will apologise to Kim when she’s had a chance to calm down. I won’t encroach on her special day any further. Walking back into the bedroom, she stood facing him, hands on hips.

“As for staying here tonight, I don’t think that’s appropriate, do you? I shall find a motel. Make yourself scarce tomorrow. You are not welcome, and I do not want to see you here when I return.” She stuffed the last of her things into her bag, enjoying the stunned silence.

Soon everything was packed, and it seemed she would escape without any more words from Michael. As she reached the door, he spoke.

“You’ve changed, Claire. You’ve grown hard. You never used to be this confrontational.”

She turned and smiled. “Well, more fool me. I haven’t grown hard, Michael, I’ve grown up. You should try it some time.”

With that she wrenched open the door and stormed down the corridor.

***

Tears for Thomas: 2013 365 Challenge #182

Enjoying a tractor ride at Nene Valley Railway

Goodness me, it’s 1st July. I’ve made it through six months of my daily writing challenge. Last night, the sixth volume of Two-Hundred Steps Home appeared on Smashwords and has already had 25 downloads.

Baby Blues (Part One!) went to the proofreader last night too. It should have been all of it, but a crazy-busy weekend meant it didn’t quite happen. I hope to have finished editing the last 20 pages today, so the proofreader can have the whole manuscript, and I can get back to just worrying about Claire, promoting Dragon Wraiths (which will probably mean putting it back in the Select Programme, seeing as Smashwords has not produced additional sales), and catching up on some of the other projects that have been waiting for my attention.

July also means my daughter starts school in two months, and my son is ten weeks from his 3rd birthday. I know parenting continues to be challenging, but I do feel like I’ve survived a hurricane and can start rebuilding my house.

The penyy-farthing following us on the tractor ride

The penny-farthing following us on the tractor ride

Yesterday, visiting Thomas the Tank Engine, at the local steam railway, was a perfect example. We went to say farewell, as the little blue steam engine is going to hospital for his ten-year check up. The day was still tiring, still stressful, but oh so much easier than it would have been a year ago. No pushchair, no nappies (unfortunately it also means dashes to the toilet and forgetting to pack wet-wipes for the ice cream mess. Ah well.)

We watched the model railway, with James and Thomas, Emily and Percy (trains), as well as cameos from Postman Pat and Peppa Pig. (Photos will follow, when my computer stops being a pain). We sat in a cream and blue carriage while Thomas pulled us along the track and through a long tunnel. We went to a Victorian fair and had a tractor ride, sitting on straw bales. We had ice cream. We saw a man on a penny-farthing. A great day.

I watched mothers with pushchairs, with a toddler and a baby, and I wanted to help. I wanted to say, it gets easier. I wanted to reassure them it was worth the effort. I couldn’t, I don’t know how to do that without sounding patronising. But I hope they saw me with mine and saw a future where their children could both climb on the train unassisted and didn’t need carrying!

And now my daughter has tears for Thomas. She woke up crying last night, because she missed Thomas. This is a steam train we have visited maybe four times, which is going for a boiler overhaul and won’t be back for a year. My daughter’s capacity for empathy is bewildering and amazing in equal measure. One more thing to be thankful for, I guess!

________________________________________________________________________________

Claire dragged at the car handle, but it wouldn’t open. She aimed a kick at the tyre and immediately regretted it, as her toe stabbed through the skimpy sandals she’d purchased to go with her maid of honour dress.

Behind her, she could hear that the band had started their next song. Slowly, the conversation returned, almost drowning out the sound of approaching footsteps. They weren’t the light ones she wanted to hear, but the heavy tread of an unwelcome male. For a moment she hoped it might be Jeff, come to reassure her that Kim wasn’t really that angry. Then she caught a hint of aftershave on the night breeze, and hope died.

Praying she could escape into the dark, Claire scurried round the car and wove through the others in the car park until she reached a Range Rover. Without thinking, Claire ducked down in the shadow of the 4×4 and listened. The footsteps stopped, and she felt he might hear her heart thudding in the silence, despite the sounds of the party in the distance.

“Claire?”

Michael’s voice rang out, closer than Claire expected. She flinched, but stayed ducked low, trying not to dwell on how absurd her actions were.

“Come on, Claire. I saw you come over here. The Skoda’s locked. Why are you hiding like a child?”

Because you sound like an angry parent. Claire clenched her jaw, and dug her nails into her hand. She concentrated on keeping her breathing shallow. Go away, Michael. You’ve done enough damage. Let me skulk off in peace.

The footsteps came nearer, crunching the gravel underfoot. Claire tensed, ready to run. She wondered if she should remove her sandals, but they were preferable to running barefoot across the stones. Michael stood between her and the hostel entrance.

“What are you going to do, Claire? Hide out here all night? I’m going to go and wait in our room, so you’ll have to face me eventually.” He stopped, as if listening for a response.

“You’re being childish, Claire. So Kim’s angry, so what? She’s the bride and, from what you say, she’s pregnant. Tears and tantrums go with the territory.” His voice sounded amused, patronising. Claire wanted to fly at him and gouge his eyes with her pink nails.

What did I ever see in him? What a self-satisfied prig. Kim was right. Thinking about her best friend – and the look of anger on her face as she inadvertently revealed her secret to all her wedding guests – brought bile to Claire’s throat. Her head thumped with too much champagne and she swallowed hard against the urge to vomit. That would give her away for sure.

Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. What a mess. She shivered, realising it was bitterly cold out in the car park, away from the heat of the hostel. Come on Michael, go away! She wondered if he was going to stand there all night, cornering her until she had to break cover or freeze. Then she remembered his threat to stand guard over her bag and car keys. What a tosser.

“Okay, Claire. Have it your way. I’m going to sit in the warm and wait for you to come to your senses.”

She heard the sound of gravel crunching, fading into the distance, as Michael carried out his threat.

“Damn!” Claire whispered, when she was sure he was gone. She stood and stretched out cramped muscles, resisting the temptation to lean against the Range Rover in case it set off the alarm. “How am I going to get my stuff back, without facing him?”

She stood in the dark and brushed away the tears, as options ran through her mind. She could bribe a member of staff to distract him, or call the police and tell them Michael was harassing her. Or she could get the RAC to get her into the car, tell them she had dropped the keys down a drain. Or she could just face him, and get it over with. Get the hell out, and leave him and his self-righteous preaching behind.

Shoulders back, chin high, Claire strode towards the building.

***

Lesson from a steam train (starrystez.com)
nvr.org.uk

Tidying Futility: 2013 365 Challenge #181

Playroom Carnage: We’re taking Baby Annabelle to France

I have taken to saying / tweeting lately that Cleaning with children in the house is like trying to paint a boat that’s still in the water. Utterly pointless.

Dragged myself out of bed this morning to tidy up, after a night if calpol and cuddles for fever boy. (Fever broke at 4am) I found craft sand all over the playroom after Daddy and daughter craft last night, so cleaning had to start there.

After ninety minutes of sorting, tidying and hoovering I found the playroom floor. It looked lovely.

Then Saturday morning TV ended and the children decided they wanted to go on holiday to France. They packed bags and babies and buckets of other junk (they’ve watched Mummy pack too often!) and the cushion corner became their car. I’ve been reading recently about the importance of play for the sake of play, and that mess is good. So, I am turning a blind eye.

Sometimes it takes effort to do nothing. No one said it was easy to be the parent you want to be. Lord knows I don’t manage it very often. But for now I’m off to hoover the lounge, and then LOCK THE DOOR!

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________________________________________________________________________________

“I, Jeffery Philip Westwood, take you, Kim Louise Jenkins, to be my lawful wedded wife…”

Claire stood next to her best friend and tuned out the familiar words. It was the first time she’d been part of a wedding, although she had attended a few. It felt different, standing at the front, with the registrar so close. She was almost scared to breathe, in case she interrupted the ceremony. Gazing at the side of Kim’s face; her eyes sparkling, her lips quivering in a smile as she locked eyes with Jeff, Claire thought she could set off a firework and the bride and groom would be oblivious.

Her shoulder-blades itched. She could feel Michael sitting behind her; could sense his eyes boring into her back. It wasn’t hard to imagine his thoughts, as she stood this close to an altar. Although they’d never discussed marriage, the fight that had ended their relationship gave her a pretty good idea where Michael’s desires lay. People didn’t want children without wanting the full family experience.

The formulaic exchange of promises droned on. Claire recalled the awful night, four months ago, when her rosy view of the future had ended. When she’d realised how desperate Michael was for children. Their discussion had confirmed for her how equally-desperate she was not to have them. There hadn’t been anything to say after that.

And now, my best friend is married and with child. Wouldn’t Michael have a field day, if he knew. Resisting the urge to look behind her, Claire squared her shoulders and prayed for the weekend to be over.

The sun hovered low on the horizon. Dinner had been survived, and the free alcohol was going down a storm. Claire stood in the corner of the terrace, watching groups of friends mingling and separating in a slow, elaborate dance. Laugher echoed on the breeze, and through the people, the occasional flash of cream silk showed the bride at the centre of things.

Kim had managed to persuade some high school friends to turn up with their drums and guitars, and live music drifted out from the great hall. Claire had sent Michael for drinks, glad to get away from his pervading presence. Now the chores were done, he had taken to standing behind her shoulder like a bodyguard, scaring away anyone else brave enough to attempt to approach for a chat.

Claire mused that it would have been infinitely preferable to have come alone, and feel like the awkward spinster, rather than have the dark cloud of her past literally following her around, raining on her parade.

She felt a touch at her elbow and turned to see Michael holding out a glass of champagne.

“Have they run out of gin?” Claire frowned. Champagne made her giddy. What she needed was good, hard liquor.

Michael looked awkward for a moment, before saying, “Tonic. They’ve run out of tonic.”

It was clearly a lie. Claire sighed, the pent-up frustration of four months gusting forth like a hurricane.

“Enough, Michael. Stop trying to control my life.”

Michael’s head jerked back, as if she had slapped him. “I’m not trying to control anything.”

“Then why bring me champagne when it’s obvious they have plenty of gin and tonic. This is a licensed bar, not a village hall party. Are you hoping I’ll get drunk and you will get me horizontal? You can scrap that idea right now.”

Michael’s eyes hardened. “That’s not fair, Claire. You asked me to come, and all you’ve done is avoid me. Now you’re acting like I’m your father one minute, and some oik in a bar trying to get laid the next. I am none of those things.”

“Then stop acting like it. What happened, Michael? We used to work, once. What went wrong?”

“Nothing.” He took a step closer and she unconsciously stepped back, avoiding his outstretched hand. “Nothing went wrong. We had a misunderstanding, that’s all. I still love you.”

His words made her shiver. “If you do, then leave me alone. Please. I’ve moved on, Michael.” She wanted to add, I’ve out-grown you, but managed to hold her tongue.

“Is it still about the baby? We can talk about that. We never talked about it properly.”

“There was no baby, Michael, except in your mind. I was late for my period, that’s all. I wanted you to reassure me I could do what I needed to do, if I was pregnant. And you went all doolally on me, practically picking the baby names and decorating the spare room.” She glared at him. “I wasn’t ready for happy families, not then, not now.”

“But, I thought… All that time with Sky.”

“You thought, because I had fun with my niece, I was ready to be a mother? That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? You want to start again?”

He didn’t respond, but the shift in his expression told her she was right.

A boiling heat rushed through Claire, darkening her vision and causing her hands to tremble. “Get the message, Michael. I am not interested.” Her voice rose. “I do not want a baby. Kim can go ahead and have one, if she wants. Get married, have the happy ever after, but not me. I’m not ready for that kind of responsibility.”

“Kim’s pregnant?”

Michael’s voice rang out across the terrace, just as the band finished one song and were about to start another. His words caused a hush to fall across the assembled guests.

Claire felt the world close in. Me and my big mouth. She turned, seeking out Kim in the crowd. Her friend stood several feet away, her face white. Claire took a step forward, apologies on her lips. Kim gave her a furious stare and swept away.

Dropping her arms to her side, Claire prayed for the world to end. Of course it was a secret. Now her Director knows, everyone knows. How much trouble is she going to be in? She’s never going to speak to me again.

Michael reached out a hand, whether to blame or reassure her, wasn’t clear. She shook him off, and ran from the terrace towards her car.

***

Tennis and Temperatures: 2013 365 Challenge #180

Murray having a dip in the 3rd set

Today was meant to be about cleaning (my Mum and her in-laws are coming for lunch tomorrow) and my son getting his new bike.

We managed the second part – collecting the bike from the friend who kindly picked it up from the ebay seller. Unfortunately, it’s been raining most of the day and, during the short time he had a go, he fell off twice. The downside of buying online is not being able to feel how heavy the thing is. My son’s new bike is much heavier than his sister’s. He’ll get used to it. Of course now my daughter has decided she needs a new bike, because the new one is a bit bigger than hers.

We got back from the supermarket to discover that littlest Martin had a temperature of 38.9C (102F). Then Mummy Martin began to feel poorly too. So this afternoon has been about survival, paracetamol and running round with no clothes on (him, not me!)

It’s raining, the roof is shut on Centre Court

We fell asleep watching Tangled and littlest Martin got a bit hotter (39.9C). Started planning a trip to the walk-in centre, but thankfully ice cream seemed to bring it down again. Darn bugs.

Now we’re curled up on the sofa, kids are watching TV on the iPads and I’m watching Wimbledon. I’m meant to be editing Baby Blues to send to the proofreader on Sunday (haven’t abandoned the cleaning. They’ll have to take us as they find us), but my brain is fuzzy. Wondering if I should put her off for a week or two, but I’d rather not.

Murray was playing really well, until I started watching, and now Robredo is fighting back. Oops. Oh, he won. Good stuff.

Is it bedtime yet?________________________________________________________________________________

________________________________________________________________________________

“Claire, thank God you’re already here.”

Kim ran across the terrace and threw herself into her friend’s arms. “I’m so nervous. Find me gin, please. Tell me I’m doing the right thing.”

Claire laughed and hugged Kim tight. “You’re doing the right thing. The bar will open soon. Everything is going to be fine. The ceremony isn’t until 4pm, and it’s only 9 o’clock. Calm down.”

“I’ve been awake since 5am. Poor Mum, I’ve been driving her bonkers. She didn’t want to leave so early, but I insisted.”

“You stayed locally last night?” Claire cursed under her breath. If only she’d known, it would have been the perfect excuse to escape Michael. “I thought you had rehearsals.”

“I told them I couldn’t make it and they should give the understudy a run through. The director didn’t like it, but as they’ll all be drinking at our expense this weekend, they can just lump it!”

Claire’s brain reeled with the barrage of words. “I thought we were paying our own way? Wasn’t that the point?”

“Jeff’s parents are insisting on providing alcohol. They’re horrified that we asked everyone to cough up the cash. Jeff’s Mums says it’s common.”

The girls linked arms and walked to the edge of the terrace, taking a moment to appreciate the rolling hills spread out in front of them.

“What are you doing out here, anyway? Have you had breakfast?” Kim turned to face Claire.

“I’m hiding from Michael. I had breakfast early, and I’ve been out for a walk.”

“Michael, what’s he doing here already?” Kim frowned and pursed her lips, the sparkle in her eye fading.

“He came last night, the same as I did.” She saw Kim’s expression, and grimaced. “Not with me! I came to make sure I was here when you arrived. He had the same thought. Actually, I suspect he came to talk to me before I became caught up in wedding fever.”

Kim made a face as if she felt sick. “And did he? Come over all mushy?”

“Didn’t give him the chance. You’ve never heard so much relentless nonsense spilling from my mouth.”

Kim raised an eyebrow. “I probably have. Poor Michael, I almost feel sorry for him.”

Claire glared and swung out at Kim’s arm. “Cheeky cow!” She laughed. “Come on, I need a coffee. Let’s go and find the bridal suite and get you settled in. I want a bounce on your four-poster bed!”

“Oh, Kim, you look amazing.”

Claire stood in front of her friend and felt tears well up. Brushing them away, she reached forward to tug at a ringlet and straighten Kim’s string of pearls. Between them, she and Kim’s Mum had curled the red locks and pinned them up carefully to hide any blonde roots. The cream charity shop wedding dress fitted perfectly and contrasted beautifully with the red roses and stargazer lilies in her bouquet. Claire smoothed down the pink bridesmaid dress they’d managed to find for her, in the same shop. It didn’t fit quite as well as Kim’s, and she’d had to pin it to her bra to make sure it stayed in place.

Time had drained away like bath water, too fast for comfort. Claire had successfully avoided Michael, who’d been sent to put up signs, usher arrivals to their rooms and generally make himself useful. Every time they bumped into each other, he opened his mouth as if to speak, and Claire found a reason to escape. Flowers to be collected, the cake to be checked, hair to be dressed, make-up applied.

Now, it was ten to four, and everything was ready. Jeff had arrived and been whisked to the room allocated for the civil ceremony, while Kim hid in the bridal suite.

“Having it all in one building is genius,” Claire said to Kim, as she whisked a final brush of blusher across her cheeks. “You don’t need to worry about cars breaking down, traffic, parking or anything. I once knew a girl whose limo didn’t turn up, and she was an hour late. No one told the groom: he thought she’d changed her mind. It was awful.”

Kim shook her head, as if brushing off a pesky fly. “Don’t tell me things like that. Knowing my luck I’ll trip on my dress, fall down the stairs and break a leg.”

“That’s why you have a maid of honour. It’s my job to hold your dress and, if need be, carry you to the altar to say your vows before the paramedics arrive.”

Giggling, the friends linked arms and headed for the door.

***

School Clothes and Climbing Frames: 2013 365 Challenge #178

In the boat with Iggle Piggle

I had a morning away from the laptop and away from writing today. Foolish, maybe, with pressing deadlines looming. But I think sometimes the body and mind need to be replenished. Sitting in the lounge editing for long periods of time is playing havoc with my knees, as I end up sitting with one leg tucked under me without realising.

I do now have a study, but it has a plastic roof so is impossibly hot, and too sunny to see my screen.

So, today, I got out in the sun. Mowed the lawn (and a metal dog bowl, oops), cleaned out my car, and went to collect our new (second hand, thank you ebay) climbing frame. It’s brilliant.

Unfortunately it was still assembled when I arrived and it took the two of us half an hour to get it into enough pieces to fit in my Saab. By the time I’d reassembled it at home, I didn’t have a nail left whole. But we’re so happy with it, and the kids love it. They’ve been climbing and building tents all afternoon.

I also learned first hand today how much nicer it is to complain politely. Valerie, over on Speak Happiness, advocates it, and I admit it’s not always my strong suit. But, today, it felt good. The saga is all about my daughter’s school uniform.

Fabulous new climbing frame

On advice from friends I ordered it all from the M&S website, as they have 20% off, and you can’t always get everything in store. So worth paying the delivery charge. Only apparently I ordered all the wrong sizes (they come up large), so I was a bit worried that I should have just gone into town.

Anyway, yesterday I got an email saying it wouldn’t be delivered until August. Arrggh. Not much time to try stuff on and no opportunity to get the discount on extra things. So today I dragged the poor kids into town after playgroup and we hit the shops. On our second M&S, and with much cursing and searching and some distraction of small boy with ipad, we found all the items we needed, tried them on and bought the lot.

Got home, attempted to cancel my online order: couldn’t. Called them and they said, Oh you should have an email, it’s out for delivery. Due tomorrow. Well, if I’d seen the email I would possibly have been less polite! As it is, I couldn’t fault their charming customer service. The lovely Richard promised me he would try and stop the delivery, or refund it if I managed to turn it away at the door.

Really, though, they need to sort their emails out. I very nearly shopped elsewhere, but their uniform is good value. Thank goodness it will be so much easier with my son. Today I bought three styles of dress, two lots of trousers, two different colour tops, tights and socks, and she already has two different colour jumpers and a cardigan. None of which can be passed down, as none is unisex. I’ve always said I’m happy to have one child of each gender, but clothes is definitely one area where I’m not!

Oh, but she’s going to look adorable! 🙂

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“Good afternoon, is that Ms Carleton?”

“Yes.” Claire looked around the tiny courtyard garden and tried to work out who would be calling her. She didn’t recognise the voice.

“Ah, Ms Carleton, my name is Roger Hazleton.”

Claire searched her mind for a clue, but none presented itself. He wasn’t a client. God, I hope he doesn’t work for Cocoa Cola or the YHA. Now was not the time to discover Carl’s assignment was indeed a genuine one, only to admit she was spending the weekend at a wedding.

“You recently contacted our newspaper with regards to your blog, and the possibility of writing a regular column for us.”

Claire’s heart began to beat a little faster. She had forgotten about her impetuous email to as many editors as she could find, after Kim’s suggestion that she try her hand at freelance journalism. She never expected anything to come of it, except the satisfaction of doing something that would irritate Carl if he found out.

“We have looked at your blog on the YHA and are impressed with your writing style. And your sense of adventure.”

Claire tried to gauge whether the man was being sarcastic. Deciding he had to be genuine, if he was bothering to contact her, she bubbled with enthusiasm. Roger’s next words stalled her.

“Unfortunately, we can’t offer you anything for your existing journey. There isn’t quite enough excitement to captivate our readers.”

With a wry smile, Claire thought that he would have a different view if he knew the half of what had happened to her since she left home in a battered Skoda, two months before.

“However, I wanted to ask whether you had any intention of continuing your adventures overseas, for example the hostels of New Zealand or Australia?”

Claire’s brain fizzed with the unexpected idea. Her skin tingled. With in-held breath, she asked the burning question. “Why, are you offering to pay for me to go?”

Roger laughed, as if Claire had told an entertaining joke. She laughed too, realising she would only look like an amateur if she confessed she was serious. Clearly that was not what was on offer.

“Wouldn’t that be lovely? No, I’m afraid you would have to pay your own travel expenses, although we would, of course, pay you our standard freelance rate for your column. We can discuss the details later, if you’re interested.”

Claire felt like she’d been walloped with a wet flannel. Leave the UK? Travel somewhere hot and sunny, with attractive surfer dudes and long sandy beaches. It sounded even better than the Maldives. Then images crashed in on her daydream: The look of smug victory on Carl’s face, if she were to resign; Giving up her salary, her career, for a short-term opportunity to earn peanuts; Another stretch of time sleeping in bunk beds. The appeal quickly tarnished.

“Roger, I am flattered by your offer. I’m glad that you believe my writing would appeal to your readers. Unfortunately, I’m not in a position to travel overseas at present, unless my expenses were covered.”

There was a slight hesitation and Claire imagined Roger steepling his fingers, trying to decide how to respond. Would he shrug and tell her she was making a mistake, or would he be graceful. She heard him suck air in through his teeth, and prepared herself for rejection.

“Well,” he stretched out the word, as if it were being pulled from him. “I suppose we could advance you a week or two’s salary, if that would help?”

Claire didn’t need solutions, she was already too tempted. Her mind crowded with all the reasons to stay. Ruth, Sky, Kim, they all needed her here. A thought popped into her head unbidden. Josh lived in Australia. With his wife and children.

“I’ll have to think about it.”

“Of course, I understand. I’ll email you our terms. We’d want to get started as soon as possible.”

Claire hung up the phone and dropped it into her lap. Looking round the raised beds and red brick walls of the hostel garden, she tried to imagine temperate rainforest and endless desert. Ayers Rock and the Sydney Opera House. Her lips twitched and she felt a smile light her face.

***

Friends: 2013 365 Challenge #177

Tranquility

I caught up with two good friends today and nattered for five hours in total, not including my normal interaction with the children. Needless to say, I’m a bit low on words. (Like yesterday’s Claire installment. That rubbish 400 words took me all evening to write!)

I think my brain is in full-on edit mode, too, which makes it hard for the ideas to come. Unfortunately I have a double deadline of Sunday to finish my first pass on Baby Blues and write my Two Hundred Steps Home month-end cliff hanger (and work out what it’s going to be, as I haven’t decided yet, although I have done the front cover!)

I realised, though, that it’s nice to be out of words, instead of having them crowd my head. It was nice, too, to be with friends that require no masks. I don’t have to wonder if I’ve said the right thing, or wonder what they’re really thinking, because they wear no mask with me. It’s like getting out of a stuffy car and feeling the cool breeze, smelling the cut grass and wrapping your hand around a hot cup of tea. In other words, like coming home. Glorious

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Claire gazed around Ludlow Castle with jaded eyes. She’d visited three castles in Wales, and now this one over the border. They were all starting to merge in her mind. Any novelty, if there had been any two months before, had long since worn thin. With Sky as a companion it had been just about bearable, but coming along, merely to say she’d been and take a picture, felt utterly futile. She could learn as much on the internet without leaving a hostel.

For that matter, I could talk about the hostels without visiting them. A few web pictures, a few visitor reviews, and I could write a convincing story in my sleep. The hostels were all pretty much the same, anyway. All that varied was the colour of the decor, and the quality of the food. And they don’t change much. I guess it’s like any convenience product, chain store or restaurant- the predictability is the selling point. Makes for a boring trip, though, if that’s the sole purpose.

She thought about the rest of her assignment. Of course, there’s that. Even that had become a bit predictable. Once you’ve climbed up a few things, jumped off a load more, what was so exciting about it? I’d rather read a book, at least the character’s names change, even if the plot doesn’t.

With a gusty sigh, Claire pushed away the heaviness and trudged further into the castle complex. Her target was the tower, where she hoped it might be possible to climb up for an aerial photograph without scaring herself stupid.

When she reached the tower, she noticed a buggy at the bottom, by itself. Her heart picked up tempo as she approached it, searching all about for the parents.

Oh, God, someone’s abandoned their baby. Crap.

She didn’t know what to do. A closer inspection revealed a sleeping infant about the age of Sky’s half-sister. The gnawing sensation in Claire’s tummy grew stronger, until it dragged bile to the back of her throat. Her hands itched to hold the child and offer comfort, but it was sleeping.

Claire searched around again, expecting to see, what? She wasn’t sure. Maybe a young mother, watching to be certain her baby would be cared for. Claire reached forward, about to grab the handle, when a sound intruded at the edge of hearing. Giggling. The sound got louder, nearer. And then she was no longer alone.

A couple, she guessed in their thirties, skipped out of the tower towards her. They looked surprised to see her. The man smiled in greeting, but the woman’s forehead wrinkled in a suspicious frown. It took a moment for Claire to realise what it must look like. Not that she was rescuing an abandoned child, but that she was about to abduct their daughter.

Claire took a swift step back and raised her hands, as if to reassure them of her good intentions. For a moment she had an urge to berate them for leaving their infant unattended in a public place. The words hung hot in her mouth, but she swallowed them. It was none of her business. Instead she smiled as sincerely as she could.

“She’s adorable. Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She took another step back, relieved to see the frown ease on the woman’s face. The couple closed in on either side of the buggy, both focussed on the child inside. Claire felt their bubble of exclusion as her presence was forgotten.

***