Now It Won’t Happen Again has been self published, I need to consider other projects I haven’t finished. I wrote, because I read Marley and Me, a book about my old dog Scamp. I will send it to my daughter so she can put some pictures inside of my faithful friend. I have also written, Orvieto, Food for Thought, A Hero’s Tale, and I’m at home in the dark.
All are finished, but need a lot of editing before I even think about self publishing. My main project is I’m at Home in the Dark. It is about a blind, female food critic. Sarah’s husband dies in a motorbike accident. Everyone says she should move on, but she never stopped believing that it was murder.
This is the first few lines of my story – what do you think?
I’M AT HOME IN THE DARK.
Graham’s smart watch rang out of nowhere.
He grabbed it from the bedside cabinet before Sarah even heard it ring. A tense shoulder against her outstretched arms. ‘What now? Surely you know what time it is? Okay, okay keep your hair on. I’ll be there in ten.’
A chill rushed through an open window. Merlin, Sarah’s guide dog stirred.
‘What’s going on?’ Sarah asked, and nuzzled closer to her husband.
‘Sorry, just got to pop out for a little while.’
‘It’s one in the morning. Surely this can wait,’ Sarah said, her arm still around his shoulders.
‘I’ve got to go.’ He said, with a kiss on her arm.
‘Leave it till it’s light at least. You know I don’t like you going out on your motorbike in this weather.’
‘I’ll be okay.’
‘It’s below freezing out there and what with the snow.’
‘I don’t have the time for this.’
‘Your precious story will still be there in the morning, but I might not.’ Sarah said.
‘I promise I’ll explain when I get back.’ Graham said, and kissed her stiff cheek.
Sarah pulled away. What did his promises matter? He probably wouldn’t talk about it when he got back. All those clandestine calls. Meetings with Richard. The last only a few days ago.
The front door slammed shut. She buried her face in the soft folds of the pillow. Aftershave still lingered. A few minutes later, his motorbike spluttered into action. Within minutes, the only thing to show he was there was the smell of petrol strangling the air.
Sarah rolled over into his groove. It was still warm, but she couldn’t settle into any sort of proper sleep. On her back. On her side. With one leg out of the covers and back in again. Finally she turned. Settled briefly on her front. The constant tick from the clock was so loud it battled against her brain. On her back again – it was no use – the cover was pushed to the end of the bed.
Merlin whimpered – he wasn’t sleeping either.
A brief listen to the time on her mobile. How had it got to two o’clock in the morning? No missed calls. No missed messages. She went to text Graham. She was worried he was still riding his motorbike.
Could he already be on his way home, with an apology? Worry turned quickly to anger. He could have at least texted to put her mind at rest.