The boys were on their second slices of cake when Sam and Anna appeared. For a minute Anna looked a bit shy, but Charlie got up from the table and put his arms around her waist. She smiled down at him.
“Don’t be blushing,” he said, “we’re family.”
“I guess you are. Did you eat all the cake?”
“No. Mum wouldn’t let us. And she also wouldn’t let anybody touch the coffee machine.” He grinned up at Sam. “I really like that frothy cappuccino.”
Sam ruffled his hair.
“Okay. I reckon I can do something about that for you.”
He looked at the crowd around the table.
“Anyone else for beverages?”
Of course everyone wanted a drink, so Sam and Anna got busy, while Patsy found another cake.

Everyone got his or her drink and piece of cake and sat around the table. The twins shuffled their feet a bit then Matt spoke up.
“Sam,” he said, “that bout with Uncle Rod was something to see. We’ve watched a few training bouts, and Uncle Rod usually creams people but you kept up. We was amazed.”
“Yeah, well it would’ve been different if it was a real fight. I’d probably be dead.”
“Not so sure about that,” Rod broke in. “You really are a good kick boxer. Nice balance. Fast. Strong. It’d be nip and tuck I think.”
“We’ve had this argument before. You are bigger than me, and faster. I’d get creamed.”
Jim laughed.
“Can we just agree that it was something to see. There’s another thing we need to talk about.”
“Is there?” Sam looked a bit puzzled.
“Yes. Rod gave us a bit of information. Do you remember a kid that got knocked down by a hit and run driver just before last Christmas?”
Sam scratched his head then grinned.
“Wasn’t his name Andrew? Fifteen-year-old promising footballer?”
Jim nodded.
“Yeah. We did good work there. He’s back playing and is reportedly as good as ever. But why do we have to talk about that?”
“Because he’s a Cracksman.”
“Ain’t. I don’t remember his surname, but I’m sure it wasn’t Cracksman.”
“No. It isn’t. But his mum was a Cracksman before she was married.”
Sam screwed up his face in thought.
“That fits. I’m just calling the family to mind. As I recall, his dad is a little bloke – looks a bit like a jockey. Mum, on the other hand is built like a brick shithouse. She glowered at me a lot until  it became clear that Andrew was mending properly. Then she cried on my shoulder. And so?”
“So the Cracksman family is in your debt…”
Sam stood up and actually banged his fist on the table.
“Oh no. I’m not having that. Nobody is in anybody’s debt. I am a surgeon. Part of a team. We did what we do. Mending broken people is what we do. End of.”
Patsy got up and came to kiss his cheek.
“You do, do you you? Okay Jim, leave it. Sam’s right. Just be glad he’s our friend.”
Little Charlie put up a hand.
“Can I say something?”
“You can, little man,” his mum said.
“Isn’t Sam family? Anna’s family, and he’s her husband. So don’t that make him family too?”
“It does.” Bill put in firmly. “Plus. Even if some people have forgotten what he done for me, I haven’t.’
Sam came around the table and put one hand on Charlie’s shoulder and one hand on Bill’s.
“I’d be honoured to count you two as family,” he said.
“Us too,” Cy spoke for the twins.
“And me,” Jamie said a bit shyly.
“And us grown ups,” Jim, Patsy and Rod spoke in unison.
Sam’s face crumpled. Anna got up and put her arms around him. He buried his face in her hair for a moment before sniffing loudly.
“Sorry about that, but it’s a bit overwhelming suddenly getting a whole new family. Until recently I’ve been pretty lonely…”
Bill got up and threw his arms around Sam’s legs.
“Well you shan’t be lonely any more. We won’t let you.”
“Thanks, Billy boy.”

After that somewhat emotionally charged exchange, Jim looked across the table at Anna.
“You’d better take Sam somewhere quiet and point out the disadvantages attached to becoming an honorary Cracksman.”
“I will. Sometime. But I think it’s already too late. He’s in, and he’s the sort that sticks.”
‘Well in that case welcome to the Cracksman clan you poor deluded fool.”
“Woss wrong with the Cracksman clan?” Cy asked indignantly.
“Apart from you and your brother being part of it?” Rod grinned at the two identically scowling faces.

Before the twins could push their luck with Rod by retorting, their father’s phone bleeped. He picked it up and looked at it, then he frowned.
“Sorry. I gotta take this.”
He strode out into the garden and Patsy stared after him.
“That seems ominous.”
“I expect he’ll tell us,” Anna spoke quietly.
Bill and Charlie went to their mother’s side and put their arms around her.
“Don’t worry Mum,” Charlie stretched his eyes and smiled winningly.
“It’s okay men,” Patsy patted them affectionately.

The silence was tense, and it stretched out for quite some time. Jim came back looking grim.
“Boys. Out,” he said firmly.
Nobody with any sense argued with Jim when he used that particular tone of voice.
“Where?” Jamie asked.
Sam led them across the hallway to the sitting room and gave Jamie the remote for the TV.

He went straight back into the kitchen. Jim was standing by the open back door staring unseeingly into the garden with his shoulders absolutely rigid. Sam went over to his side.
“Spill it Jimbo.”
Jim came back from wherever he had been with a jolt.
“We have a problem.”
“So I gathered,” Rod’s voice was a dull, dangerous rumble.

Jane Jago

The Sunday Serial is taking a short break but will return soon.

Elspeth was a big, plain girl, with wide hips and hands like washboards. But she was the innkeeper’s only child. 

She refused all offers of marriage, and her father would not push her into anything she didn’t want, so she remained unwed.

During the worst winter in living memory, a handsome, clerkly looking man and his servant were snowbound in the village and spent some weeks at the humble inn. They rode away without a backward glance as the snowdrops pushed their noses out of the warming loan.

Elspeth smiled a secret smile.

In the autumn, she bore a son.

©️jj 2019

Today nobody knows my name
They patronise with ‘dear’
I’ve been nameless for so long
My identity’s unclear
I’ve been child and daughter
I’ve been sister, I’ve been wife
I’ve been mum and mother
In the different hours of life
I’ve been grandmother and granny
Been a number on a bed
But now I’m just an elderly
All of whose friends are dead
I sit here in this window seat
With one thought in my brain
I’m sure I’d feel the benefit
If I anyone knew my name
I think no-one knows or cares
Who lives inside this skin
All full of bags and wrinkles
And uncomfortably thin
I sit and I remember
And the memories crowd my mind
Of all the things I used to be
Back when I had the time
Of how I burned so brightly
Until life snuffed out my flame
I think I might die happy
If just someone spoke my name

 ©️Jane Jago 2018

A flavour of Who Put Her In? by Jane Jago. Just one of the books that isn’t free...

…not a word to the gruesome twosome until we have everything settled. Speaking of whom…”
My ears caught the sound of small bare feet on parquet, then came a polite tap on the door.
“Mummy, Daddy, it’s Roz. May me and Ali come in?”
Ben went and opened the door, as the latch was too high for them to reach. They beamed up at him and dashed over to me.
“Have you got treats, Mummy?”
“Might have.”
The girls scrambled up onto the bed and surveyed the bedside table with some interest.
“Cappuccino,” Ali said with some satisfaction, “and chocolate biscuits. It’s a good job we came in time to help you Mummy.”
I couldn’t help laughing, and Ben’s face was filled with unholy glee as the twin tyrants stacked his pillows against the carved wood of the headboard before sitting back expectantly.
“Please Mummy and Daddy,” Roz was scrupulously polite, “may Ali and me have a biscuit.”
I held up my hands in defeat and gave each of them a chocolate digestive. They sat side by side eating tidily and carefully, with expressions of absolute bliss on their small faces. They are not identical twins, but they are very alike, both have smooth blonde hair, and peachy fair skin, but while Roz has her father’s startlingly blue eyes Ali has inherited dark brown from me, which is arresting against her hair and skin. I sipped my coffee and just watched them, thinking how lucky I was to have two perfect daughters after years of failing to conceive. Ben must have read my thoughts because he came and stood behind me rubbing my back through the fine cotton of my jammies jacket. The girls finished their biscuits and looked hopefully at me. I handed over the last third of my coffee, which they shared with careful fairness holding the cup in gentle hands and scraping out every inch of froth with a teaspoon. When they finished, Ben took the cup.
“Thank you Daddy.”
I stretched until my bones popped.
“Time for a shower. You two showering with me this morning?”
They beamed and scrambled off the bed, heading for my bathroom as quickly as possible. Presumably so I wouldn’t have time to change my mind. Ben grimaced.
“Darn it. I was just working up to a quickie in the shower.”
“Were you? Oh dear. That would have been a good kickstart to the day…”
I batted my eyelashes and gave the little wriggle he could never resist. He grinned, with a hint of retribution at a later date in the back of his eyes, before ambling into the bathroom to collect his towel and shower gel.
“I’ll just go use the twosome’s shower then shall I?” He turned back in the doorway with his face full of laughter. “They are sitting naked in the bath, batting their lashes at the bubbles.”
I grinned and went to break the news that it was a shower and a hair wash. 

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Anne answered the door to a thin woman with a sour mouth.
“You get your claws out of my father, or you’ll be sorry.”
Anne chuckled, and her uninvited visitor hissed.
“I only have to click my fingers. Especially when I tell him how you slapped my face.”
Anne shrugged an ample shoulder and obliged.
“Now piss off before I decide a black eye might suit you.”
She shut the door and turned a laughing face to the tall man who came out of the kitchen.
“Sorry about the slap.”
He smiled.
“Maybe I should have done this years ago.”

©️jj 2019

Give up the booze, they said
Look what it’s done to your life
Seventeen children, they said
And not even once a wife
Give up the fags, they said
And you shouldn’t be dressing like that
Give up the choccies and cheese
Or you will wind up friendless and fat
I have no regrets, she said
My children are straight and strong
I conceived them all sober, she said
And that’s where you’re getting it wrong
Life’s not the place, she said
For your poor-mouthed censorious ways
I’m living the way I think best
And I’ll dance to the end of my days

©️ jane jago 2017

.... or 'How To Speak Typo' by Jane Jago

anyib (noun) – the proper way to make stew, grasp handfuls of whatever you have lying about and bung in pot with wine

anythign (noun) – a large thighed man who has lost the ability to cross his legs

devous (adjective) – crablike and with unpleasant breath

ignose (adjective) – of social influencers having little or no education or empathy, consequently peddling click bait as if it was gospel

lical – (adjective) something small in the neighbourhood

lipump (noun) – the mouth of a woman who is addicted to plastic surgery

may flk (slang) – to slap an annoying teenager with a smoked haddock

pecenaket (noun) – peanut toffee sweetie that gums up your mouth

shalol (ejaculation) – laughing greeting

startistic (noun) – the number of stellar bodies in a constellation

tryign (verb) – testing the flavour of rocks

tyhan (group noun) – marks left on wrists by enthusiastic bondage session

yoi (noun) – contraction of oy you shouted by persons of little refinement when they espy acquaintances in the street

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

He expected to live his life a widower. But the elders thought differently, so he found himself a reluctant participant at the church door, with the innkeeper’s plain daughter at his side.

Once married, they walked towards his home in frigid silence. When they were almost at the door she put a timid hand on his arm.

“I’m sorry.”

He looked at her obvious misery and felt ashamed.

“Not your fault.” He took her hands in his. “Shall we make what we can of this.”

She searched his face with her eyes. “Yes please.”

They found friendship and laughter together.

©️jj 2019

I walked my brother’s only daughter around the sights, snarling at street corner conmen and would-be pickpockets. The kid just drank everything in open-mouthed and adoring every moment. After four leg-weary hours even she was ready for a sit-down, and I guided her into Frankie’s Grill.

It’s not the most salubrious joint in town, but the food is good and they know me. I ordered burgers and fries and while we waited I just listened as she babbled. When she suddenly stopped speaking and swallowed as if her mouth had gone unaccountably dry I turned to follow the direction of her eyes.
“Shit,” I said with some feeling, “what’s he doing here?”
“I don’t know. But I wonder if he wants company.”
“Probably. But we ain’t it.”
She regarded me solemnly for a moment then nodded.
“If you say so. Though he sure is pretty.”
He was more than pretty, with the sort of hard-edged handsomeness that turns the knees to water. I laughed.
“Pretty dangerous, kid.”

Right on cue, the server came with our food.
The kid waited a beat. “He a John?”
“He is. Although not one of mine. Now eat your burger before it goes cold.”
The kid applied herself to her plate with a healthy appetite, even managing to finish my fries before she sat back replete.

The man now occupied a booth opposite us, from whence he stared at me with his mesmerisingly blue eyes.
“He looks at you,” the kid remarked, “as if he don’t know whether he wants to fuck you or strangle you.”
“Oh. He wants to do both. Simultaneously.”
The kid looked sick for a minute then firmed her chin.
“Nope. Not my bag,” she gave a nervous half giggle.
“Mine neither. If anybody is getting beaten up I reckon to be doing the beating.”

Then my stalker made a mistake. He turned his gaze from me to the kid, undressing her with his eyes and enjoying the blush that spread from her neck upwards.
“Can you make him stop that?”
“Sure. You just pop to the restroom. I’ll come get you when it’s sorted.”

It wasn’t more than thirty seconds before he came and slid onto the banquette next to me, sitting so close I could feel the heat of his lean thigh. He put his big hands on the white tablecloth and I looked at where the black hairs marched across their backs. He spoke first.
“What is it worth to leave the little one alone?”
I didn’t answer, merely turning my head to meet the icy heat of his eyes.
“I asked you a question.” His voice had quite nearly the cut of a whip.
“And I chose not to answer.” I kept my own tones cool and sweetly reasonable. Something I knew would both irritate and excite him in equal measure.
“I will have you,” he groaned. “I will have you bound and naked and at my mercy.”
“I think not.”
“Not even to save the child.”
“You are not interested in her.”
“Maybe not. But I will take her if nothing more challenging is offered.”
I half turned towards him, showing him the white column of my throat. He swallowed and slowly clenched and unclenched his hands.
“Do you want me to call you master?”
“I want more than that. How far are you prepared to go to save the child from the bite of the cat o nine tails?”
“About this far,” I licked my lips and slipped the knife between his third and fourth ribs.
“About this far..”

© jane jago 2017

The earthly representative of the god was a mountain of stinking flesh, ruled only by his own appetites. 

The little priestess was seven years old when they brought her to the temple. Her delicate beauty caught the priest’s jaundiced eye and he ordered himself carried over to where she tended the temple snakes.

“Come here,” he commanded.

She went obediently to his side and stood mute under his pinching fingers.

A single tear ran down the childish cheek and the salt taste awoke the snake that slumbered in her bodice.

The bitten man took quite a long time to die.

©️jj 2019