Matches and Matrimony - A pride and prejudice game

Although I've always thought it was a good idea to create a game about classic books, this was not what I had in mind. Which is not to say I didn't enjoy it.

I discovered this little game yesterday and admittedly played it for a few hours. It is basically based on Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility and Persuasion.

Darcy, the Bingley sisters and Lizzy.

First of all, you can choose your own name. You have two sisters (a red-headed Jane and Lydianne). They only use a few characters so some characters take on multiple roles. Lady Lucas in the game also takes you to the Lake District and also takes you to London (like Mrs. Jenkins), although the fall from Persuasion now takes place there instead of at Lyme. Your sister Lydianne falls and turns into Louisa but is nursed back to health by Brandon, thus ending up as Marianne. 

Mr Bennett, Jane and Mrs. Bennett.

Mr. Wickham is now called Mr. Wickeby (he is a combination of Willoughly and Wickham) and Bingley is now called Edward instead of Charles. He's supposed to be Edward Ferrars. At the end up the Bingley plot, news circulates of him having wed Miss Darcy. This is however false. Instead, Mr. Darcy has married Caroline Bingley!

I really enjoyed having Colonel Brandon randomly show up after my character (in Marianne-mode) played at the piano. However, I didn't care for his red hair and silly beard. I was also thrilled to see Captain Wentworth, who is a favourite Austen man of mine. He was dashing in his red uniform.

The game is fun to play but a few things bothered me. First of all, some of the characters did not look very Regency. Some of them are walking around with their hair down and for some bizarre reason Mr. Bennett and Lady Catherine are dressed from a completely different period - and not from the Victorian era, although it is said that is the setting for the game. I also don't like that the characters are wearing the same outfit throughout the game. It's a period piece. I would have liked a mini-game to choose the most suitable outfit.

It is also quite difficult. To play the game, you select activities to get through the Monday - Friday. Different activities give you different points. You can gather points for: Willpower, Talent, Kindness, Sensibility, Propriety and Wit. Sometimes, you cannot progress because you lack Willpower points to speak up. The first time I played, this caused me to accept the proposal from Mr. Collins! -shudder-

With Lady Catherine the Bourgh's confrontation, I had too many Propriety points to disobey her and if you did not save the game recently, that basically means you're screwed. There are 9 possible endings (one of which is Collins and another is not getting married). 

Charlotte and Lizzy

Once you finish the game once, you can request information on how to get a certain suitor and you have the option to ''get a head start'' and fast-forward to chapter 10 with all the necessary attributes to get to that point. One of the things that amused me is that you can also end up with Bingley, in which case you have to get his sisters to like you. In this ending, Jane marries Colonel Brandon. 

Overall, I thought the dialogue also ran too long and I kept clicking to move on. Especially with verbose characters such as Collins and Mrs. Bennett, it went on and on. Maybe if you are not familiar with the story yet, this will interest you. But for someone who knows the dialogue inside out, it is not very interesting. 

Luckily, once you have gone through a certain dialogue once, you can skip it next time. You progress through the story by selecting dialogue. The options you are presented with depend on your skills. A very kind person might say this but a very improper person might say that. What you say to the characters affects the storyline and it is worth saying that with Mr. Darcy, being difficult and stubborn is what gets him to like you. The first time, I agreed with him, danced with him straight away and as a result, he did not like me. How singular!

So far, Wentworth is my favourite ending. That letter just gets me every time. If you're stuck, there is a walk-through up on YouTube. You should check it out. I do find the narrator obnoxious, though. 

3 1/5 stars

Graphic Sex Scenes in Romance Novels

Maybe I'm old-fashioned but I just don't like gratuitous sex scenes in novels. I don't see why they're romantic or even sexy. If anything, they make me giggle. There's something really over-the-top about these scenes. They just don't seem realistic and especially in historical novels, feel really out-of-place.

Would a shy débutante really let a rake ravish her in the corner of a ball room? The thought makes me cringe. I remember skimming through my mum's dirty novels as an adolescent. I'd enjoy the banter between the hero and the heroine but all the heaving bosoms? These scenes did nothing for me. I usually skipped them completely because romance can be expressed in other, more effective ways. I much prefer witty banter or a stolen kiss.

Historical novels are also filled with cliché characters, such as:

* The roguish, dashing Highlander
* The innocent, virginal English rose
* The witty, spunky heiress
* The conniving relative

I am sure there are many others. There are few original characters left anymore but unless written really well, these archetypes are tedious to read about. If you are going to flout historical accuracy by writing racy sex scenes, at least make the characters fun. What about a clergyman who falls for a courtesan? What about a woman accused of witchcraft finding love in her cell?

And then there's the covers. What's sexy about an unrealistic fellow rippling with Photoshop masculinity? And then they lean over the heroine, whose dress is half undone and spilling with cleavage. The word tacky comes to mind. I can't help but think that this sort of soft-porn only appeals to middle-aged housewives with expanded waistlines. But looking at the steady sales of such novels, I must be mistaken. Give me the classy covers of Heyer any day. Modern authors like Amanda Grange or Abigail Reynolds, too, use historical covers. And I think they're gorgeous.

The possibilities are endless. I always have a dozen potential stories in mind at any given time. Some are abandoned, others never reach the page. The point is: I write romance without sex scenes because I am more interested in the journey of falling in love. I grew up watching Jane Austen and being a re-enactor of the Regency period. Whether I like it or not, it has affected my writing.

So yes, I am old-fashioned. But is being a hopeless romantic really that bad? I would rather wait for the right one than end up with ten wrong ones.

Mermaids in New Orleans Opening Excerpt

I wrote the first chapter from a New Orleans perspective. I leave the world building for later on (I received feedback that there was too much too soon in the London version). In this version, they have not yet discovered the existence of mermaids.

New Orleans, 1860

Chapter 1

As soon as Heloise entered the drawing room, all went quiet; the family rarely conversed in her presence and when they did, it concerned trivial matters or polite enquiries. But this time, they had asked for her especially and Heloise wondered why. She stole a quick glance at Mrs. Wilder but her expression was as impenetrable as always.

“You rang, madam?” Heloise said in a soft French accent.

Marianne Wilder, a sallow, thin person of forty, inclined her head. “As you might know, we are hosting a soiree tonight.”

Heloise bit her lower lip. She certainly did; she’d spent many hours polishing the silverwork and dusting the carpets for the occasion.

“Mr. Lark has made a historical discovery and means to introduce it to the world from our home. This is a great honor for us and it is of the utmost importance that he leaves this house with a favourable impression. Is that understood?” Mrs. Wilder demanded.

Heloise whispered in the affirmative, her dark lashes fluttering at the prospect.

Mrs. Wilder scrutinized the girl’s face; her sun-kissed complexion, brown eyes and the black curls that slipped from her colourful turban. Heloise took a deep breath, her hands clasped in comfort and Marianne caught a glimpse of her bosom in the tight, cream dress.

“We must find you something else to wear. This would be highly inappropriate.”

Mrs. Wilder eyed her daughter, Sophie – a plain girl of eighteen with a wide jaw and a predilection to pink garments with an abundance of ribbons; Sophie did not listen to the conversation but engaged in needlework. Mr. Wilder, by contrast, read the newspaper.

Marianne sighed. “For tonight, you can wear Catherine’s uniform.”

And, with a glance of disapprobation at the turban, she added: “And you will wear a servant’s cap. That is all. Leave us.”

That did not leave much room for discussion. Heloise wanted to speak out and beg the lady to leave her heritage untouched. But that would not aid her suit. I could be dismissed and then where will I go? Back to the plantation? To the French Quarter like my sister? Never! I would rather beg on the streets than sell my body to strangers.

Heloise nodded, curtsied and left the room. Once the door closed behind her, she balled her fists and muttered under her breath. As the only Creole slave girl in the house, no one would understand or judge. It brought her solitude as well as loneliness. When Heloise returned to the kitchen, Sarah rushed to her side to learn what had been discussed.

“So, what did the family want from you?” she asked.

Sarah could rarely contain her curiosity and sought excitement above all else. They had become fast friends since Heloise joined the household a month ago; however, they had little in common besides their profession and interest in literature.

“They want me to wear Catherine’s uniform. They deem my own dress ‘inappropriate’. I can’t wear my turban either.”

Sarah chuckled; her green eyes sparkled when she laughed. “They want that Mr. Lark to marry Sophie. I heard the missus say so myself. They probably think that your attire would draw too much attention – although they still want you to be there to show Mr. Lark how generous and open-minded they are.”

Heloise washed some dishes. “Why? What sort of man is Mr. Lark?”

“He’s a politician – rumored to be the next governor or something. His party believes in equality – even for slaves.”

Although Heloise had no interest in politics, she hoped he would prevail so her kind could soon live life as they saw fit. If she were a free woman, she would seek employment aboard one of those passenger airships. Travel had always eluded her but she found it of great interest. She wished to go to Europe; to visit Paris, the birthplace of her ancestors.

“Would you like to try on the uniform?” Sarah teased and elbowed her.

The uniform fitted her rather well; the two ladies were similar in size and build but as Heloise peeked into the mirror, she scarcely recognized the person staring back at her. She looked almost American, though rather tanned for a Southern belle. A well-travelled woman or an Italian immigrant perhaps.

The rest of the day was spent preparing the house for the rich and powerful of New Orleans. For Heloise, it would be her first social event. She knew little of etiquette and refinement but she often watched Sophie as she descended the staircase looking very grand and fine. Heloise stood in front of the mirror and emulated a few gestures she had observed. Her hands moved with grace and for a moment, she felt like a débutante.

“The first guests will soon be here. We’re expected downstairs,” Sarah warned her and off they went. 

The servants gathered at the front door, ready to take a coat or hat. When the doorbell rang, Heloise swallowed but it was simply an old lady. Many guests flocked to the house and Heloise began to feel secure.

“Mr. Lark!” Mrs. Wilder exclaimed and a tall, blonde gentleman approached her. His bow was deep and respectful; he straightened his back and gestured at the door.

“I have brought a friend – a man of great importance to what I am about to impart tonight,” he said and a man entered.

“Mrs. Wilder, allow me to introduce you to the most feared bounty hunter in the New World, Captain Gabriel Faulkner of Neptune Sorrow, the greatest ship in the Seven Skies.”

In Search of Setting

I've finished the first two chapters of Residue (working title). Not bad for a week, eh?

However, I am giving my setting some second thoughts. Dru Pagliasotti has graciously sent me a link to an article he wrote on Steampunk and it entailed some of the clichés in the genre.

I am guilty of one: setting the story in Victorian London. What can I say? I love England and since I am a great Jane Austen fan, I imagine it as the epitome of elegance for my characters to go there and immerse themselves in the Season.

So, should I change it? I can. I've only written a few pages. But then what should I change it to?

Right now, I am considering Paris. That place where fashion was born, the courtesans were powerful and painters gather on the Montmartre. It has a little something, doesn't it?

I ran it by my Mum and she also had a few suggestions: Dublin, Vienna and Prague. Obviously, having lived in Dublin, I could easily transport the story to that place. It will always have a special place in my heart. Vienna and Prague I have never visited and know little about.

What do you guys think? Steampunk Egyptians? Highlander air pirates?

Or should I stick to London?

Steampunk novel opening excerpt

London, 1888

Chapter 1

Usually, the only enjoyable aspect of the Season was the underground boxing matches. Men were never as agreeable as when they were bloody, sweaty and out of breath. But there was no boxing tonight. Instead, they had been invited to a ball. Everyone who was anyone was present. Unfortunately, every nobody in the radius of 50 miles had bribed a way in as well.  Many miscreants weaseled about the room, begging for a dancing partner. Siobhan MacKenzie beheld the spectacle from the safety of a secluded corner. A light tap on the shoulder made her turn. Her dearest friend and accomplice, Cecilia Stayn. They exchanged a curtsy and a knowing smile.

 “I just arrived. Please tell me I did not miss the compulsory debutante blunder,” Miss Stayn said.

Cecilia had an everlasting smile. Golden locks escaped her fashionable hat and she wore an exquisite red gown with plunging neckline. Siobhan often envied the looks of her friend, especially her fair complexion and light figure. In contrast, Siobhan was rather freckled and curvaceous – though many suitors admired her for it. Sadly, her lack of fortune had prevented them from showing a serious interest. The world could be a mercenary place and in the industrious London, the marriage market mostly consisted of snobs and factory workers. Siobhan was a respectable woman and her father was a devout clergyman. As such, she visited the poor for charitable purposes and had her reputation to think of. Now, as a 25-year old singleton, she was considered a spinster, though she had not lost her bloom; her fiery hair attracted attention wherever she went, though some Englishmen treated her unkindly due to her Irish ancestry. But, having been born and bred in Yorkshire, there were no traces of an Irish accent. She had been brought up a true English lady. Her governess had seen to that. She remembered the many hours of punishment she’d endured at the hands of that woman.

“I am very curious about this scientist we were promised to meet. If it weren’t for him, I would have stayed at home.”

“Gregory Striker? The inventor of the dirigible?” Cecilia asked.

“Yes, indeed. The most brilliant scientist of our time. Allegedly, he will show us his latest discovery. Can you imagine? An exclusive.” 

Siobhan glanced at the door. Sadly, it did not open. She rather hoped for an introduction; perhaps his genius would rub off on her. Siobhan’s genius was in designing her own wardrobe. Most dresses she wore were of her own making and she amused herself by adding brass trinkets to her hats, gloves and belts. She also favoured feathers, beads and unusual colour combinations. Her style was far more conspicuous than her friend’s.

“I wonder what sort of discovery it will be. Everyone expects such great things from him it’s bound to be disappointing,” Cecilia remarked.

But Siobhan had faith in his abilities. Secretly, she hoped it would aid their personal pursuits. A few months ago, a mermaid washed ashore and caused quite a stir. Politicians struggled to decide the best cause of action. Should she be treated as a human or as a fish? Being both, they sent her to the zoo – to be seen by all the world and make them rich. A tradesman invaded the chamber and brutally shot the mermaid; he later claimed that selling mermaid tails would be a lucrative business. The man was executed but that was not the end of it. Local fishermen started hunting for other mermaids. Siobhan and many others feared for the their safety and sympathized with her plight.

As such, they formed the Alliance for Protection of Mythical Creatures and campaigned for equal rights. But the government did not act and snatchers captured dozens of creatures. Their tails were said to be worth thousands a piece. With the black market overrun by their criminal activity, the Alliance started fighting back. The hunters had now become the hunted. Siobhan, Cecilia and her fellow-hunters were committed to their training. They had a club house underground for shooting practice, fencing spars and meetings. Siobhan her favoured weapon was a brass whip that slithered around its target like a snake. Her father did not know she was a Protector. Nor that she wore trousers, suspenders and boots. She did not feel the need to justify her actions to him. Men went boxing. She went hunting. Few encounters with snatchers had a violent conclusion. Protectors always brought their pistols and snatchers were but impoverished fishermen; most could be dissuaded from their present course with a beer.

Still, some were more reluctant to surrender their cargo. Protectors were fast, strong and well-equipped. Vanity caused the occasional hunter to retaliate against them; but without any weapons or wits about them, fights were brief and easily won. Siobhan was still caught in reverie when the doors swung open and a gentleman tall, dark and frowning entered the room. There was no mistaking his authority; he walked with confidence and a sort of intellectual greatness. His dress fashionable and sophisticated, he exuded strength. This was no man to be trifled with. A woman’s lapdog winced and crawled underneath the pillow.

“He does not look like a scientist. Who is he?” Siobhan whispered to her friend.

The stranger found himself the centre of attention but moved through the crowd with the grace of a panther, his dark eyes lively and calculating.

The host, a chubby fellow whose name Siobhan never remembered, hastened to his side to bid him welcome.

“How glad I am you are here, Prof. Striker. We’ve been expecting you.”

The stranger raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not Mr. Striker. Sorry to disappoint you.”

Book Research and Facebook Author Page

Alrighty!

I'm busy with research for my book. I will soon share a short excerpt so you can all get a taste of what is to come. At this point, I'm still exploring all the possibilities of my steampunk adventure so if you have any suggestions, leave me a comment and I'll take it into consideration.

There are some Victorian books I'd like to read (about Victorian asylums, hospitals, cemeteries, homes, etc) for inspiration and ideas. I love history and my book will be a mixture of history, humour and plenty of steam and spunk. ;)

Apart from airships, what is your favourite steampunk element? What absolutely NEEDS to be included?

In the meantime, I've started looking up agents interested in the genre so I can start sending out queries sometime soon (read: when I have written more than 1 page). This weekend will be dedicated to fleshing out the plot, potential characters and hopefully finishing chapter 1.

I will also try to keep my Facebook Author Page up-to-date. I just created it and it can be found here: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Renate-Linnenkoper/125803740834565

All 'Likes' would be greatly appreciated.

A new start

It was going well. I had 18 sales, a 3-star rating on Goodreads but something was missing. At first, I didn't know what it was. Somehow, I wasn't completely happy with the book.

But the literary consultancy helped me figure it out. They assessed my manuscript and had many useful comments and suggestions. One of the suggestions was that I change the time period. They observed that I have an old-fashioned writing style (from reading all those classics) and some aspects of my story had a period vibe. Truth be told, I'm not a huge fan of contemporary literature and that showed in my writing.

Well, I gave it some thought and initially considered changing it to the 50's. They mentioned the 70's but I have no connection with that decade - too much orange and green for me to cope with. But the 50's prevented me from using the technology that had become an important part of the sequel (which, I had started writing in my mind).

Then I remembered how I had actually wanted the story to be Victorian. That's when it struck me. Steampunk! I should set the book in the Victorian age as I had always wanted to and add steampunk elements for technology. This way, I could still write a paranormal fantasy and it would fit perfectly. I could be myself, write period.

I also ended up agreeing with the editor about another comment: there were too many characters. So I started over with the plot outline and eliminated the characters that weren't crucial to the plot. I gave my main character her mother back (in Exogenesis, her parents were divorced) and reduced the love interests from two to one. Much better. I scrapped a few nosy neighbours and resolved to remove the early focus on the police investigation and instead, work on building a credible relationship with the love interest.

I'm really getting somewhere now and my best friend and illustrator already supplied me with a fabulous drawing of Siobhan in steampunk attire. I kept the opening of the story and picked up after the first paragraph. So far, I'm pleased. I love history and as a retired re-enactor I feel knowledgeable enough to paint an accurate picture of the time. That being said, I fully intend to do the necessary research. Amazon has some excellent Victorian books I will explore.

10th sale of Celestial Mists: Exogenesis!

I can't help but be proud.

It's a good month for me so far. I had seven sales in the last three days :D


Three sales last month (only started doing promo little over a week ago).

-huggles book- 


Well done, you!

Everyone....drinks are on me!

Chocolate for Breakfast

I have a day off today and what better way to celebrate my recent sales (I'm up to 6 now!) than with home-made milkshakes and Guylian chocolates? I just love those. Every calorie of them. 

I bought a blender a few weeks ago and we've been vast friends ever since. I'll tell you right now that I'm not much of a culinary princess, but everyone can whip up a smoothie, right? So I've turned it into an art form. Fresh fruit, yoghurt, ice-cream, juice. I mix it all up. Sometimes, I add a bit of honey for sweetness. Yum.

But my favourite is the milkshake. I buy vanilla ice-cream, add caramel sauce and start blending. It's best if you wait until the ice-cream is beginning to melt. That way, it's easier to drink. It's delicious with the full flavour of ice-cream instead of that crap they use at McDonald's. I am never going back!

Why do my posts keep showing as date undefined? Things like that really tick me off.

First sale for Exogenesis!

Sooo.....I've started doing promo for my book but it is a lot more difficult than I thought it would be.

Exogenesis has been up on Smashwords, Amazon.com and co.uk and Lulu.com for a week now and not not one single sale. -sad face-

EDIT! My first sale! Things are beginning to look up. Slowly. haha. I actually have a rank now on Amazon.com

Amazon Bestsellers Rank: #56,265 Paid in Kindle Store
Amazon Bestsellers Rank: #39,409 Paid in Kindle Store
Amazon Bestsellers Rank: #37,598 Paid in Kindle Store

I posted at some forums and emailed at least two dozen blogs for a review but haven't received any feedback yet - except to say that they're busy (and one person said she felt uncomfortable reviewing a book about demons and the Devil).

EDIT! The first positive reply. I will start a list of blogs that have agreed to review Exogenesis.

1. Kindle Obsessed: www.kindleobsessed.com (she has June off so probably sometime in July)

My book is also featured on: http://paradox-theangelsarehere.blogspot.com/

http://paradox-theangelsarehere.blogspot.com/2011/06/r-linnenkoper-debut-novel-exogenesis.html

On a more positive note, I sent off my manuscript to a literary consultancy for an assessment so I hope I will learn a lot from that.

Although my book now counts 81,000 glorious words instead of a mortal 77,000. Let's see what they say to version one before we continue with anymore edits.

I also tried to create a book video because that might help sales but my software abandoned me twice and I didn't want to start over a third time so I gave up for now.

Photography: A weekend in Madrid

Having spent last weekend in the lovely capital of Spain, I took plenty of pictures. It is a vibrant city, filled with sights, tastes and delights. Unlike last time I visited, I didn't need a fan this time. Only on Sunday did the temperatures exceed 30 degrees.

Not sure why this looks like a painting. 

Never noticed the bald head when I took this picture.

Celestial Mists: Exogenesis

After a brainstorming session with my sister (in the form of an impromptu association exercise), we came up with a more genre-appropriate title for my book. We decided to stick to Exogenesis for the book itself and renamed the series to Celestial Mists.

My sister also created a new cover (plus covers for two sequels, for kicks), using Ciska's drawing for the illustration.

I have also decided to try a literay consultancy and I await their verdict. I think it would be beneficial to get a professional editor to take a serious look at my manuscript so we can polish and perfect it for (paperback) publishing. But I am sure it will be a long process. However, I am prepared to put in the work.

Eurovision Contest 2012 ideas

If it were up to me, I would send:

UK: Take That
Ireland: Westlife
Spain: Enrique Iglesias
Netherlands: Within Temptation
Turkey: Tarkan
Italy: Eros Ramazzotti
Germany: Tokio Hotel
France: Celine Dion (although she's Canadian)

Battle of the fanbases!

Any ideas for the other countries?

Short Story: Bedroom Confessional

At first, she believed herself to be dreaming; just another one of those vivid nightmares you cannot shake. Until she heard it. The sound of sellotape torn from its roller. Close. It made her jump and she sought the origin of the sound in the dark of her bedroom. A single shadow near the open window. The curtains billowed in the summer breeze.

Her lips parted to issue a scream. But then the figure stalked closer, the tape extended like a weapon and she could scream no more. She tasted it and reached for her mouth to remove the impediment; but he was so much stronger.

Angry tears trickled down her cheeks – the only objection she could muster. Her muffled threats did not delay him. Quite the contrary; he smiled a smile of Victory.

His touch was harsh and coarse. She noticed when he tied her wrists and feet together. The warmness of his skin caused her to squirm. Dark, unflinching eyes settled on hers with no explanation but to drink in the panic from her face.

Roughly, he grabbed her by the hips and pulled her closer as if to kiss her. She registered his heavy breathing and whimpered without a voice. The stench of beer of cigarettes repelled her. The man pushed her to the floor and flipped her over on her stomach. A knife appeared from his pocket and he held it against her cheek, gently tracing her wrinkles with the blade; the woman nearly fainted.

When he spoke at last, his voice was deep and filled with authority. “Do you remember me? Do you?”

She examined his face in search of a familiar feature and dug deep in her memory; photo albums flashed before her eyes; her whole life did. Her eyes widened in surprise and he pulled off the tape with a flick of his wrist, awaiting her reply. She sat down on her bed and stared at the burglar. Her lips quivered as they struggled to shape words – turn her thoughts into coherent sentences.

“Why? After all this time.”

She had not expected him to seek vengeance; not now. Not anymore. She had been a fool; believing the past could be outrun – that she was safe.

“I have been watching you all this time. You thought yourself to be alone but you never were,” he said matter-of-factly and seated himself in her favourite armchair.

Years ago, she lost her virginity in that chair; the memory struck her suddenly and she saw herself sitting astride Jonathan, the biggest nerd in school, with her knickers at her ankles. Five years later they were married. He became an accountant. She worked in a beauty salon. Somehow, their relationship worked.

“Are you even listening to me?” her unwelcome visitor demanded and seized her arm.

“Y-yes! Let me go. Please, don’t hurt me.”

He relinquished the hold of her arm and scoffed at her whimpering. “You deserve what’s coming to you. I’ve been building my case against you for some time.”

“If you are taking me to court then why are you here? Do you honestly think I won’t tell them you were here? That you broke into my home, tied me up and raped me?”

Her eyes shot fire and she relished the surprise in his face at her last accusation.

“Rape? I hardly even touched you, woman.”

She flashed him an angelic smile. “But they don’t know that, do they?”

Her intruder grimaced. “I wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole. Not now I know what you’re capable of. And to think I loved you once.”

But his words did not penetrate the stone wall she had built around herself. “Till death do us part. That’s what you said all those years ago, remember? You broke your promise to me, Jonathan.”

For a moment, he gave no reply and silence enveloped the room. Both reminisced of yesteryears; their wedding day, the first happy years and then the painful separation. It seemed a lifetime ago. Twenty years had passed since then. He dragged himself out of his memories to return to the conversation.

“I only came here so I could see the look on your face as I told you. Well, perhaps I also wanted to frighten you a little bit. But you can’t blame me, surely. Not after what you did.”

She did not know what to say; they did not share the same sense of justice. To him, her conduct had been abominable; one decision had rendered her an ill excuse of a human being in his eyes. But it was a crime she did not acknowledge. Not even to herself. And yet he had guessed the truth. It proved difficult to commit the perfect murder.

“After all these years, are you still trying to get me to confess?” 

She almost sounded amused and sat with a half smile. She did not look at him; instead, her gaze lingered on the Van Gogh above her bed. How many nights they had spent in that bed. The things they had whispered to one another after a moment of passion.

“A lot of memories in this room. The bed, the chair. I kept it all. Sometimes, I lie there at night and I can almost smell your scent,” she said. Repulsed by her as he was, she knew exactly where to strike.

His brows contracted and he turned his back on her; he could not think when facing her. Hate consumed him and some distance was required to get his brain functioning properly again.

“You look good. I did not recognise you at first. New haircut, contacts, fake tan. No longer the boy I knew. You look almost handsome.”

He closed his eyes and wished the pain away. Being with her made him remember that night. That awful night 20 years ago. It had been a long day at work and when he arrived at their house, his wife was cooking dinner. Chicken. At first, he did not suspect anything. It seemed business as usual; small-talk about their day and an exchange of complaints about the weather. No matter how trivial it seemed at the time, he memorized every word. Every word in case they contained a clue.

“I never understood why you did it. Why would anyone do such a thing?”

She sighed; the topic bored her and she wished she could simply turn him out of her house and go to bed.

“Why did you even think it was me? The police didn’t think. They say he died of natural causes.”

Her unwillingness to admit to the crime angered him most of all. The police conducted a long and thorough investigation but no motive for murder had been found. Natural causes my ass, he thought.

“I saw the look on your face when we found him. Complete and utter indifference! You clearly didn’t care. I knew then it was you and I’ve hated you ever since. Please, just tell me why. For all these years I’ve been trying to think of a reason. Linda, please. It would help me sleep at night.”

She did not answer; hearing her ex-husband say her name again after all this time extinguished all hostility she felt towards him. Linda looked up and for a moment, she felt vulnerable and young again. She wanted to make amends.

“I’m sorry, Jonathan. But your son had the devil in him.”

Perhaps he had been wrong to ask.

Festa da Flor / Flower Festival

We're having a flower festival in Funchal right now. As if it weren't colourful enough already.