Since Ben and Joss Beckett took over The Fair Maid and Falcon, they have had to deal with ghosts, gangsters and well dodgy goings-on. Despite that they have their own family of twin daughters and dogs, and a fabulous ‘found family’ of friends.

The rain was almost over the edge of what’s credible as it threw itself at the ground in cold sheets. Stan and Ollie got up from where the wet stuff was bouncing in on them and shepherded the staffies inside. Ollie poked his head out of the open door and gave the twins a steady stare. They waved their hands at him but went inside. Sian followed and shut both halves of the stable door.
I shivered and Ben chivvied us all inside.
“Fuck me,” Morgan whispered. “I thought last month’s storm was bad.”
Simeon leered down at her and she blushed rosily, before bouncing high enough to box his ears.
“It’s not nice to embarrass your girlfriend.”
He grabbed her in a huge embrace, and she peered at his face.
“Whassamatter you big lump?”
“That’s the first time you have ever said you’re my girlfriend.”
She lifted a hand to rub against his jaw. “Sorry, love. I’m just not finding it easy to admit to myself how much I…”
She stopped speaking and I thought she might cry. I searched around for the right thing to say, but Ben was ahead of me.
“Take an hour. Go and have a cuddle and talk to each other. You could have the beginning of something good here. Don’t lose it by not communicating.”
They went and I grinned up at him.
“Did you just give those kids shag leave?”
“Possibly. Probably.” His smile turned more than a bit wicked. “It’s a shame we don’t have the time right now.”
I swarmed into his arms. “Sex maniac.”
“Are you complaining?”
“Nope. Just stating facts.”
After a stolen kiss we went to work. Grinning.
Lunchtime turned out good be busier than the weather might have led me to expect though compared the the heatwave days it was a doddle. By three o’clock we were bussing the last tables and the kitchen brigade was standing down. I leaned against the bar and Ben came to stand beside me.
“Buy you a drink, pretty lady?”
“Yes please, handsome hunk.”
“What is madam’s pleasure?”
I laughed idly. “Surprise me.”
A particularly vicious gust of wind had us looking towards the door and a besuited gent who neatly furled a large black umbrella before placing it in the redundant milk churn that was doing umbrella stand duty. As he straightened up I caught a flash of very pale eyes and had to suppress a shiver. Ben must have seen it too because he whistled softly. Stan and Ollie appeared at my side. I put a hand on each noble brow and awaited developments.
The suited gentleman approached the bar and asked if there was any possibility of speech with Mrs Beckett. I lifted a brow.
“Who wants to talk to me?”
“My name would mean nothing to you.”
“Perhaps not, but I’d take it as a sign of good faith.”
He stretched his lips in a polite facsimile of a smile. “Perhaps it would, but what would you trade for my good faith?”
“Honest answers to whatever questions you have.”
He frowned. “And if I refuse to tell you my name?”
“Then we have nothing to say to each other.”
His jaw jutted like a flint axe-head and he attempted to stare me down. I, however, have been winning staring matches with hard men for a lot of years so I stared straight back. He held my gaze for a long beat then smiled, this time a little more naturally.
“My name is Cormac.”
“And I’m Joss.”
He made me a half bow, then scratched his chin. The scraping sound reminded me of fingernails on a chalkboard, but I held my calm.
“I’m not sure how to proceed,” he confessed.
“Just tell me what you want to know.”
“I’m interested in a body that was recently discovered on your land.”
“If by body, you mean a pile of bones…”
“I hadn’t thought, but now I do, it is likely to have been heavily decomposed.”
“And you know this because?”
“Because the young lady in question disappeared, supposed murdered some forty years ago.”
I treated him to a straight look. “This assumes that you know whose bones were found. You didn’t have anything to do with her demise, did you?”
“I did not. And may I ask why you say her?”
“Because the skeleton found in our orchard had a skeletal foetus inside it.”
He took that like a slap in the face.
“I did not know that.”
“No. It seems you didn’t. But what is your interest in a pile of bones? No matter how sad it’s still just a pile of bones.”
“So why did you hunt for her?” he demanded sharply.
“Nobody hunted for her. She was found by accident.”
“Is that the truth?”
I gave him my coldest stare. “Mister Cormac. I don’t know you. I don’t want to know you. But in return for your name I promised you honest answers.”
He had the grace to look shamefaced.
“I’m sorry. But our information was that you had teams of people digging up the ground behind the pub.”
“Whoever you bought your information from is a liar.” I said steadily. “And I could even guess at a name.”
“What name?”
“Proudly.”
“Because?” His eyes flashed a challenge.
“Because a certain Miss Proudly came at me and got a bloody nose in the process.”
“That works. Rom don’t like losing to gadjo.”
I lifted a shoulder. “I’m not precisely a gadjo. But. She was told to sit and stay by both the Lovell clan and the Smiths. They really aren’t going to be amused.”
“There may be a queue.”
I judged it best to tell him the truth of how ‘Cherry’ had been found.
“I have six-year-old twin daughters, who are very fond of gardening. They helped to set up a row of fruit cages at the top of the orchard. The plants are immature but require weeding. The girls like to weed. When they were finished, they cleaned their trowels in a patch of thick grass under an old apple tree, during which they saw something gleaming in the grass. Not knowing what it was they called for adult assistance. Once we saw it was bones we called the police. Who took the bones away. And that’s where our involvement ended.”
He looked truly deflated. “I am sorry to have bothered you.”
“So you should be. Are you going to tell me what you expected to find?”
“A shrine to a heroine of the Provos,” his voice was edged with real bitterness.
“Do,I look stupid?” I made my voice as acerbic as I could. “Why would anyone with even half a brain want their pub to become a place of pilgrimage for a group of terrorists?”
“What about if their business was on its uppers?”
I couldn’t help laughing although the insult also made me angry. “The Fair Maid and Falcon is probably the most successful pub in the county. I don’t need dubious characters like yourself, or your enemies, in order to be making a stonking big profit. And now, if you’re finished insulting me, and my business acumen, I think we’re done.”
He gaped at me and I looked at him as if he was something the dogs thad brought in from a walk in the forest. Stan growled softly, but the threat was implicit. Cormac bowed his head.
“We’ve been sold a pup haven’t we?”
“You have. And you could have saved yourself a good deal of the egg that’s currently on your face if you’d just googled the pub.”
He spread his hands. “My apologies. I really have put both feet in it haven’t I?”
“You have. And I’d have thought better of you if you had done some research before you came here.”
“Me too. But that girl’s disappearance has haunted me. It’s worse now I know she was pregnant.”
“Would it help to see where she was found?”
“It would. Though I have no right to ask.”
“Indeed you don’t, but I have the right to offer. It will be some small comfort to you I believe. Plus you can go back to your confederates and assure them that no shrine exists.”
He bowed his head. “I can. But for myself I’d like to see where she lay and offer a prayer for her soul.”
“Okay. But you’re going to get very wet.”
“It will be worth a wetting.”
Ben appeared with my wellingtons and the bright yellow oilskins I wore for wet walks in the forest. He also held a fairly disreputable parka and a pair of scruffy boots.
“Not pretty but waterproof,” he said. “And please remember that I expect you to be respectful to my wife.”
“I will. She’s a woman who inspires respect.”
Ben grinned. “She is. Don’t be backsliding will you.” His voice was pleasant but his meaning was quite clear.
I dressed myself in bright yellow waterproofs and our guest covered his suit with the elderly parka and removed his brightly polished brogues before sliding his feet into the oversized boots. I moved to the door and he stepped up to my side.
“Umbrella?”
I shook my head. “In this wind we’d just be chasing it. I’ve a sou’wester and you have a fairly disgusting hood.”
His smile was the most natural I had seen so far.
“So I do. Though I can’t help wondering where your husband found this coat.”
“Me too,” I smiled, unwilling to admit that the last time I saw the parka it had been lining a dog bed.
Outside it was wet and windy enough to make conversation impractical. I crossed the car park and opened the gate that led to the orchard via the overflow car park. The overflow is grassy and the ground squelched under my boots. Another small gate in the far corner led into the orchard where the ground was actually steaming. Pointing to the venerable apple tree under which ‘Cherry’ has been concealed, I stood back.
My companion moved like a very old man as he walked to the spot. I hadn’t thought too much about what a prayer for her soul might entail, but if I had I’d not have considered a hard man on his immaculately tailored knees in the pouring rain with his head bowed.
I averted my gaze, feeling somehow voyeuristic, and waited quietly.
He wasn’t long, and once he finished he followed me back into the dry warmth of the bar without a word.
Ben helped me out of my oilskins while Cormac wriggled out of his borrowed ‘finery’. He tied his shoelaces with careful precision before making me a sort of half bow.
“Thank you for your time and your honesty, Mrs Bennet. I can promise that you won’t be bothered again.”
He left without fanfare or ceremony, closing the door quietly behind him.

There will be more from Joss, Ben and their friends, courtesy of Jane Jago, next week, or you can catch up with their earlier adventures in Who Put Her In and Who Pulled Her Out.

Dying to be Roman by Jane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook is a whodunit set in an alternative modern day Britain where the Roman Empire still rules.

Interview over, Julia felt the need of a fortifying drink. Being unfamiliar with the city, she let Dai lead the way towards the taberna where his team awaited him. Julia followed, carefully not speaking to allow this proud and prickly man time to absorb what the Tribune had to say.
They were walking along a little-used alleyway between two warehouses when they were attacked. A dozen or so burly toughs surrounded them, coming from both ends of the alley simultaneously. Julia touched the emergency alert tab she wore on her wristphone before putting her fingers in her mouth and whistling shrilly.
“I’d be surprised,” she remarked, noticing Dai touching his own wrist device, “if Edbert is actually out of earshot, even if I did dismiss him, but in the meantime.…”
She positioned herself so that she was behind Dai, facing the opposite way. Knowing him to be weaponless she pulled the nerve whip from the back of her belt and pressed it into his right hand. He grunted as his foot took the first thug between his meaty thighs. The man went down whimpering. Secure in the knowledge that Dai had her back, Julia turned her attention to her end of the alley. A huge tattooed figure was running towards her yelling obscenities, and with his hands clawed. She unholstered her personal weapon and shot him through the thigh. He fell to the floor, and she shot a second man as he vaulted his groaning colleague. While the other four were thinking about their options Edbert and the hounds arrived in the company of two angry Praetorians. Satisfied the threat from her end of the alley had been dealt with, Julia turned her attention to Dai’s side. She was pleased, if unsurprised, to find he had managed to incapacitate four of his assailants. Two were running away. Julia shot both in the legs.
“Sorry if that offends, Dai…”
“It doesn’t. I’m a great believer in making examples.” He looked at the nerve whip in his hand. “And this is impressive; we Vigiles don’t get issued them. Or any personal weapons.” Julia looked at his face, expecting to see bitterness and condemnation. To her surprise, he just favoured her with a lopsided smile, and said: “Not your fault. And you did share.”
Came a small commotion at the entrance to the alleyway and a group of Vigiles sauntered in, looking smug.
“What’s afoot here?” the biggest one demanded in haughty tones.
Dai handed Julia her nerve whip.
“Excuse me, domina,” he said, his tone scrupulously polite. “I have merda to shovel.”
He strode over to the group of Vigiles and without any warning ploughed a big fist into the belly of the leader. As the man folded, retching and coughing, Dai turned a furious face to the other five.
“Since when,” he demanded savagely, “did the Vigiles of this city take money to turn a blind eye when law-abiding members of the populace are attacked?”
“And since when did ‘the populace’ think they can get away with attacking servants of Rome?” the biggest of the Vigiles blustered taking a threatening step towards Dai.
Unfortunately for him, the tall Celt was not in a good mood and the man took a well-aimed boot to his solar plexus that had him rolling on the filthy cobbles alongside his confederate.
“Anybody else?” Dai’s voice was dangerously quiet. For an instant nobody moved, then there came a high-pitched whistle from the street. Dai whistled back. His men came thundering in, screaming to a halt as they took in the scene. Bryn was the first to find his tongue.
“What happened, Bard? Scorpius’ thumbs started twitching so we come looking for you. Then your panic alarm sounded…”
“Somebody thought it would be fun to ambush me and the Inquisitor.”
“Inquisitor?” a voice from the back of the group sounded truly confused. Dai gave what Julia was coming to see as his characteristic grin.
“Bryn has had the pleasure already, but the rest of you, allow me to introduce Inquisitor Domina Julia Lucia Maxilla. And before you lot make your minds up there are a couple of things you should know. First, she swears worse than any of you. Second, she loaned me her nerve whip until the cavalry turned up. Plus. See them dogs and the big guy with the muscles. They belong to her. So drop the hostile and take these gentlemen to the Praetorian Barracks where they can be asked some pertinent questions.”
“What, Vigiles and all?”
“Oh yes. I very much want to know who paid them to turn a blind eye. Oh, and Bryn, you lot are moving in with the Praetorians until further notice. All leave is cancelled and you had better call your spouses or the local lupanar and tell them you are not coming home for a few days.”
The middle-aged Vigiles looked at his superior officer with wise eyes.
“That dangerous, is it?”
“Could be. So if anybody wants out I’ll sign you off, on sick-leave.”
Nobody did, and Dai’s men hustled their prisoners into a hovercart and made for the barracks with one Praetorian along to vouch for them.

“I don’t want that drink now.” Even to her own ears, Julia’s voice was as cold as an Appennine snowstorm. “Instead, I’d like a word with the curator of the Augusta Arena. I want to know who paid him to look the other way.”
Dai grinned.
“Not him, her, one Annia Belonia Flavia.”
Their one remaining Praetorian spat on the ground, and Julia lifted a questioning eyebrow.
“Futatrix,” the man grunted. “One of the lady Lydia’s patrician friends. Too good to talk to the likes of the Tribune.”
“Let’s go ruin her day then, shall we?”
“What a perfectly splendid notion.”

Part VI will be here next Sunday. If you can’t wait to find what happens next you can snag the full novella here.

Though the biggers never see it, there is much going on in their own backyard where the ‘nomes make their home…

Jenry chuckled a fat chuckle that went with his snowy beard and generous belly.
“Sup big man?”
“Them lot is looking for aliens. Again.”
“But they don’t see us?”
“They ain’t yet and we been here since before they crawled out of the fragging water.”
Jenry’s wife put aside her knitting. “Do we want them to notice us?”
“Well… I guess…”
“It’d be a lot of work, calling home planet and all that stuff, and I haven’t nearly finished this jumper.”
“You’re right missis. Better to be thought of as garden gnomes than to communicate with the horrid pink things.”

Jane Jago

A dictionary for the bemused by Jane Jago…

ahrd (noun) – inconvenient erection

down’t (adjective) – pale and needy as in children and rejected lovers

greay (adjective) – of civil servants, properly impassive

editititing (verb) – titting about when you should be editing

flookingorward (verb) – catching flatfish with a pole

garcen (noun) – french child with a speech impediment

goig (noun) – zit on the end of the nose

manged (adjective) – of old men looking like a dog with a skin disease

miseray (noun) – a bloke called Raymond in a bad mood

prominenet (noun) – contrivance for collecting hormones from urine

ratehr (noun) – bossy person who works in ‘human resources’

sceince (noun) – calling up the spirits of the dead by means of the microwave oven

specail (noun) –  vegetable with the colour and texture of vomit

tidey (adjective) – prone to the influence of the moon

waery (adjective) – of hair, prone to spring out at unflattering angles

Disclaimer: all these words are genuine typos defined by Jane Jago. The source of each is withheld to protect the guilty.

Telling an entire story in just one hundred words…

The sun rose over the meadow, painting the horizon in crimson and gold.

Leaning on the fence, Reuben watched, as he had every day for fifty years. He should have been overseeing his small flock, sold last year when there was no money left to keep them. He’d had to sell his handful of acres too.

With a roar heavy plant began tearing up his old meadow. A luxury development the sign said.

Sighing, Reuben headed home.

Thank goodness he’d sold with planning permission. Maybe, after he got back from the cruise, he’d put a jacuzzi in his refurbished cottage…

E.M. Swift-Hook

Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV takes time from his immensely important life to proffer profound advice to those who still struggle on the aspirational slopes of authorhood…

Buenos Dias!

It is indeed I, Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV, writer, agony aunt and astrologer to the famously credulous.  The renowned author of the speculative fiction classic ‘Fatswhistle and Buchtooth’.

One had been racking one’s cranium for a topic for this week’s tutorial (yes, even I sometimes find inspiration needs to pursued vigorously), when a question prompted one to consider the vital importance of symbols and symbolism to those who would create literature.

Even that bastion of unthinking vulgarity, that outpost of alien mindset, that epitome of hard-handed hard-headedness, that creature one calls Mater has in the recesses of her underused and underdeveloped brain a vestigial understanding of the importance of symbols. Only last week, she was watching some interminably boring panel programme sur le téléviseur, upon which the current Archbishop of somewhere was being castigated about yet another cover-up of ecclesiastical child abuse. Mater looked across the room at me and smiled a twisted smile.

“Moons,” she said a thought sadly. “Moons. If that churchman was to have worn his episcopal regalia, instead of sitting there like a mouse in a poorly fitting lounge suit, I reckon most of them oiks would’ve been a lot more respectful. It’s the symbols of office doncha know.” Then she refilled her gin and Guinness and no more was said.

But that brief moment of lucidity is proof, if proof were needed that the power of symbols reaches deep into the psyche – even of those as sunk into alcoholism and depravity as one’s unlovely parent.

However. En avant.

Symbols

When one seeks to create literary magic one needs many tools at one’s disposal. Not the least of which is the noble quest. A device by which your hero may be dispatched wherever your imagination chooses in search of some artefact or some creature without which the story can progress no further. But what does that have to do with symbols, do I hear you cry? Yes, of course, I do as your tiny crania cannot hope to make the leaps of understanding that come to one’s mind as easily and gently as a bluebottle lands on a plate of rotting meat.

Of course, the noble quest is to do with symbolism. It is one of the most symbolic of all the storylines.

First. The quest itself is a metaphor (or symbol) for the struggles that beset all humans from cradle to grave.

Second. Your hero’s solid helpmeet – uplifted from the lower orders to become his right hand – is symbolic of the common clay’s need for a god to worship and of the need gods have for worshippers.

Third. Whatever or whoever is searched for, the vicissitudes of the search are the symbolic harbingers of events in human life which must be overcome with stoicism and bravery. Tempting though hysteria and Tia Maria may be.

And finally. That which is sought is the most powerful symbol of all. It symbolises human love and human endeavour. It shows us the beauty that may be found in the depths of the human soul as we try ever harder and climb ever higher in our quest for perfect beauty.

Some common symbols explained
The dragon. Strength, coldness, avarice, and sex.
The virgin. Unattainability, truth, and the desire for sex.  
Water to cross. The struggle to be loved, and the desire for sex.
A cup or grail. The thirst for knowledge, and the desire for sex.
A dove. Hope and sex.
A raven. Despair and sex.
A knife. Cutting the thread that binds a child to its mother, or sex.

One could continue almost infinitely, but I am sure you are following by now.

So, my bambinos, choose your symbols with care and write them with delicacy.

Until next. Do not have nightmares and ecrit bon.

Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV

You can find more of IVy’s profound advice in How To Start Writing A Book courtesy of E.M. Swift-Hook and Jane Jago.

A cloud behind the mountain
Greets the rising sun
Moon floats in the sky although
Day’s almost begun
Our eyes may see the mountain
As if it was brand new
But mother moon for a thousand years
Saw that selfsame view

©️jane jago 2024

Since Ben and Joss Beckett took over The Fair Maid and Falcon, they have had to deal with ghosts, gangsters and well dodgy goings-on. Despite that they have their own family of twin daughters and dogs, and a fabulous ‘found family’ of friends.

Morning arrived, and with it another bank of thunder clouds rolled ominously in from the west. The air was so charged with electricity that the twins’ hair stood out around their heads like primrose haloes.
“We looks like dandelions,” Ali remarked. “Why would that be?”
Sian, who was wielding a wide-toothed comb and refraining from swearing, took the opportunity for a small teach.
“Do you pair remember how we talked about static electricity?”
“We do.”
“Well there’s a thunderstorm coming, and what is thunder and lightning made of?”
“Electricity.”
“Correct. And the air is so full of electricity that it’s sort of coating your hair. Go and stand in front of the mirror in the hallway and rub your hands on your heads.”
Roz and Ali ran out and Sian went to the doorway to watch them.
“Now lift your hands slowly.”
The shrieks and giggles told me what was happening, but I had to sneak a peep. The girls were surrounded by a cloud of soft blonde hair that was following their small hands.
“This is so cool.”
Sian looked at me. “It’s gonna take me half a day to calm their locks, but I don’t believe little kids should be scared of stuff.”
I put an arm around her. “Me neither. And in my bedroom there’s a pump spray of leave in conditioner. It’s Ben’s. Without it he looks like a dandelion all the time. It’ll help sort out the gruesome twosome, I think.”
“Is that the stuff he sprays in my hair before he cuts it?”
“It is.”
“Then I’ll give it a go.”
She ambled along the corridor and I kissed my daughters before heading for work.
Ben was in my office leaning casually against the wall. I wasn’t fooled by the apparent idleness of his posture.
“What’s pissed on your strawberries?”
“A very politely worded request for a table for eight next Tuesday morning.”
“From?”
“One Seanmóir.”
“Oh. Right. But there’s bugger all we can do. And at least we’re no longer getting visitors with evil on their minds.”
“True. But. Danilo also called me. Says he and Finoula, and some muscle, will be burying ‘Cherry’ at sunrise on that day.”
“Will she have a proper coffin?”
“He said you’d want to know. Wicker he said. Lined with moss. Also says they will leave a hole in which the twins can plant their tree. Jed will get it.”
“And you are annoyed because?”
“Because I have the willies.”
“I’m not all that comfortable in my skin now you come to mention it. High level vigilance I think.”
“Me too. I shall go and arrange a maintenance crew for the house.”
“Good idea. Maybe they can do the cracked window pane and the squeaky doors.”
He grinned a bit more naturally and scooted off. Having little confidence in the power remaining connected, I decided against booting up the office computer. Instead I rounded up any large young men I could find lurking and had them light fires in the pub’s cold grates. One of the quietest looked at me as if I’d run mad. I quirked an eyebrow.
“It’s thirty degrees in the bloody shade,” he grumbled.
“And, according to the met office, and my own instincts, when that storm over there hits it’s gonna drop to about fifteen. Which, with pissing rain, is gonna feel bloody cold.”
He thought that through and went for another basket of logs.
Ben cantered back into the bar and smiled widely. “Good thinking, love. I reckon we should get the wood burner lit at home.”
“Yes and in Neil and Stella’s flat and the bothy, and Morgan’s place. I have a feeling this storm is set to make the last one look like a weakling.”
“Maybe that’s what’s giving me the willies,” he said.
I nodded but felt a worm of doubt. “Can you get Neil to check the generators?”
“I can. And I’ll keep well away from the bloody things. I don’t know how he is so fond of them.”
I laughed. “Neil likes engineering. You don’t.”
The man himself spoke from the doorway beside the bar. “Generators ready to cut in at a moment’s notice. Sian knows how to switch yours on, and Simeon has the ones for the outbuildings under his eye.”
“Thanks Neil.”
He grinned and disappeared.
The fires were beginning to take nicely when Simeon appeared in the doorway.
“Anything else need doing before the storm hits?”
“No. Unless.” I had a quick think. “Can you tell Morgan not to open the ice cream parlour? She and her girls can pinch hit wherever needed this morning. And have you lit the wood burner in her flat?”
“I can. And I haven’t but I will.”
He saluted me ironically, then was gone like an oversized wraith.
“Cheeky bugger,” I leaned on Ben, who draped an arm round me as the sky darkened and a sudden wind whistled around the building.
“Show time,” he murmured.
Even though I was expecting it, the first crack of thunder was loud enough to make me think of Armageddon. I might even have jumped and squeaked like a proper girl if I didn’t have my reputation as a hard bitch to consider. The lights flickered and died as did the coolers behind the bar, and for a few seconds the purplish light made everything seem eerily threatening. Then the generators cut in and the lights came back on. Ben went and shut the big oak door in the outer wall of the porch.
“I know a closed door doesn’t look hospitable, but…”
“But it’s better than the flood that could happen if this ‘weather feature’ decides to dump its rain hereabouts.”
The storm was pretty much overhead, as witnessed by simultaneous flashes and booms.
“I hope the littles are okay.” Ben was trying to sound nonchalant but I could hear worried daddy threading through his voice.
“Whyn’t you go and see? I’m sure Sian has everything in hand, but it would ease my mind.”
He was gone almost before I’d finished speaking.
I heard a giggle from behind the bar and realised Morgan had appeared. I grinned at her.
“Yes. I do know what you’re thinking. But let’s not make an issue of it.”
“I wasn’t going to. Anyway it’s kinda nice how you two always have each other’s backs.”
“That’s how it needs to be, Morg, if we want our relationship to keep flourishing in the midst of whatever.”
She nodded her head and blushed.
“That’s what Dad said about me and Simeon. Says his first wife didn’t give a damn what was going on in his head so long as he brought home the money and didn’t interfere with her ideas of what a woman ought to do. He reckons it killed his desire for marriage until he met you and Ben and saw there was a better way.”
I could feel myself blushing and she came over to hug me.
“I’m sorry, I never meant to embarrass you.”
“It’s okay lovey. That’s on me. I just sometimes wish we didn’t live in a goldfish bowl.”
“You don’t really. It’s only because a lot of us love you that we pay attention.”
I squeezed her and kissed her soft cheek, but I had no words.
Ben rescued us from emotional meltdown. He poked his head into the room.
“You have to come and see this.”
We followed him to the back door from where we could look across the private garden to the house where Ali and Roz were standing on the wide veranda studying the sky with upturned faces. To my surprise, not one of the dogs was on obvious guard duty, being flopped out at their ease on the weathered flagstones. Sian was behind the twins and she waved a hand.
“How the heck does she have them pair keeping still?” Morgan was impressed.
“Look in her right hand,” Ben chuckled.
I looked, and looked again as my brain caught up with my eyes. Sian had two leather dog leashes held in a firm grip. Each leash was firmly clipped to the back belt loop of a small girl’s jeans. I found myself laughing into Ben’s eyes.
Morgan was about ten seconds behind me but once she sorted out her thoughts, she laughed until tears ran down her face and she had to be banged on the back. Simeon appeared as quietly as a professional poacher. He put his arms around a still giggling Morgan, who pointed a shaking hand at Sian and the twins.
“Well, I’ll be…”
“Novel isn’t it?” I was proud of how deadpan my voice was.
He grinned widely. “Well, I don’t reckon you’d find it in any child psychology book. But the people who wrote them never met your girls.”
“Are they truly that much bother?”
“Absolutely not. But they are a force to be reckoned with.”
Which was unarguable.
Roz spied us and poked Ali in the ribs, pointing to where we stood. They both lunged forward, but Sian had a wiry strength that was more than a match for them. They turned to give her the stink eye and the heavens opened.

There will be more from Joss, Ben and their friends, courtesy of Jane Jago, next week, or you can catch up with their earlier adventures in Who Put Her In and Who Pulled Her Out.

Dying to be Roman by Jane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook is a whodunit set in an alternative modern day Britain where the Roman Empire still rules.

The Tribune breezed into the room like a beak-nosed hurricane. She rather wished that she could see her new partner’s face when the formidable Decimus Lucius Didero lifted her in his brawny arms and kissed her on both cheeks. She wriggled and kicked and he put her down.
“Llewelyn,” he grunted, “you take care of my little foster sister.”
Dai looked as if he couldn’t think what to say. Julia was very sure this was not the way he usually saw Romans interacting. The Tribune grinned.
“She will grow on you, and she can’t help being Roman any more than you can help coming from a place where they make up songs about everything and shag sheep. Now. I’ll assign you a contubernium of praetorians.”

Julia winced inwardly knowing how that would sound to the Briton and was not surprised that Dai’s looked furious although he said nothing. Decimus smiled a wolf’s smile.
“Calm down, you and Julia will still be in command and you can keep your own posse too, if you can trust them all. It’s just that my lads can get away with doing things you and yours never could. And they don’t have to wait for anybody’s permission. I’m thinking that by the time your boss has consulted all the people who are paying her, our bird could easily have flown the coop,”
Once again, Dai kept his mouth shut and Julia could see the knowledge that Decimus was right, openly warring with his loyalty to the force to which he belonged. She gave him a sympathetic look and he actually smiled back at her, a thin smile to be sure, but definitely an upward tilt of the lips. The Tribune, who she knew would have missed nothing, grunted at them, but it wasn’t an unfriendly sound.

“Right. Listen carefully. There are some things you need to know but I’m not supposed to tell you. Privileged information, praetorian confidentiality and that kind of merda. Well I’m not having it. My little sister doesn’t go to war unprepared.” He pointed a thick finger at the pair of them. “You need to know about your corpses. Bellicus and Docca were in big trouble. They were being targeted by a betting syndicate who try to get players taking money to fix Games. And I don’t mean any of your little Londinium locals, I mean the big boys from Rome. Those people do not play nice when someone says ‘no’. They also don’t take kindly to anyone poking a nose in their affairs, no matter who it might be.

“More of a worry, though, is this Luca. He left Rome under a cloud. It was either exile or death. He chose exile. You don’t need to know precisely what he did but you do need to know that at least six very powerful families had reason to want him punished. Whether or not they succeeded at arm’s length, I don’t care to speculate. Just be aware that he was very good at making enemies. The interesting thing is he was supposed to stay in Gallia Lugdunensis where Daddy has extensive estates around the town of Lutetia, under a form of house arrest. But clearly he didn’t and I heard today his wife didn’t either. We have no idea where she is right now.”
Julia looked at her old friend.
“That explains a lot. That old cunnus Marius looked as if he was eating merda when he had me in his office and sent me on this mission. He about halfway forbade me to bring Edbert and the dogs.”
“I hope you ignored him.”
“I did.”
“Good. You’ll need them. But you will also have an apartment here. Inns are insecure at the best of times. This is starting to smell bad.”
Julia opened her mouth to object, then thought better of it. Things were indeed smelling bad. She began to formulate a thought, but before she had time to work it through, Didero turned his attention to Dai.
“You’ll move your men in here for the duration of this case.”
Again, Julia could see the flare of pride in the Briton’s blue eyes being quickly damped by rational thought. She realised, at that moment, that she was dealing with a man who lived in a steady state of war with his own passions, a very Celtic trait. Somehow that thought just made him more intriguing.
“As you will, dominus,” Dai said. “And I see that would be safer. We’ll be in the barracks?”
“They will be, yes. They can share with the men assigned to you and Julia. I’ll arrange your accommodation too.”
Dai bowed his head.
“Dominus.”

Part V will be here next week. If you can’t wait to find what happens next you can snag the full novella here.

Though the biggers never see it, there is much going on in their own backyard where the ‘nomes make their home…

The gnomes were fascinated. They had no idea what the biggers would be about.
First they moved all the gnomes to the shrubbery. Putting planks of wood over the lawn, a crowd of strange biggers in heavy boots made a big house from flapping sheets.
Big Norma shook her head. “Got me beat”.
The strange house was furnished with chairs and flowers, before it filled with biggers of every sort.
To the sound of loud music the bigger they called ‘father’ escorted a small female, dressed fine, to where a man in a long dress waited.
“Dearly beloved,” he said.

Jane Jago