by Hannah Howe
“Have you patched up your differences with your dad?” I asked.
She offered me a mini-pout, pushing out her bottom lip. “Dad gave me a rollicking. I apologised for lying to him. He said sorry for not understanding about how I was feeling, for not appreciating that I’m not a little girl anymore.”
“You’re his only daughter, his only child; you’ll always be his little girl.”
Alis looked up. Her eyes met mine for the first time that evening. “I guess you’re right.”
We slipped into silence. Alan wandered into the room, then back into the kitchen. He returned a few moments later with a glass of white wine, which he set at my side. The warmth that Alan and Alis shared had cooled, which was understandable. They were both hurting and, as I knew only too well, recovering from hurt takes time.
“Have you heard from Mickey?” I asked, finally breaking the silence.
Alis shook her head. She replied decisively, “I never want to see him again.” She gazed into her lap. I sensed that she wanted to talk, to unburden, that she was searching for the right words. With her head bowed, she said, “We didn’t have sex. We were going to. I wanted to. I thought I loved him.”
“You’ll find someone genuine to love. You’re beautiful, Alis; you’ll have no shortage of offers.”
She glanced up. The look of surprise on her face was genuine and for the first time I recognised in Alis a kindred spirit, someone who didn’t fully appreciate what she was worth. Now, it became apparent to me that we had misread each other. I was not the violent ogre of Alis’ imagination and she was not the super-cool minx without a care in the world. Her mother’s death had scarred her, emotionally, and there was a vulnerability to her, which to her credit she hid well.
“Thanks,” Alis smiled, her eyes bright with unshed tears.
Alan wandered into the living room. He was wearing a plastic pinafore over his jeans and lambswool sweater. A man at home in the kitchen; I like the sound of that.
Alis glanced at me, then at her father. In her silky, languid way, she eased herself off the sofa and walked towards the living room door. “I guess you two want to talk,” she said while hesitating by the door.
“Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes,” Alan announced.
Alis nodded. “Okay, dad.” She stepped away from the door, only to hesitate further. “Sam...” she said, stepping back into the living room, “I’m sorry for the things I said about you. I guess I’m going through a difficult time. I guess I was jealous. I guess I thought you were going to take my dad away from me...”
I stood, stepped towards Alis and we embraced. Alis’ tears, held back for so long, found their release and, as we hugged, I felt them drip on to the shoulder of my blouse.
After a long hug, Alis eased herself away from me. She flicked her cheeks with her index fingers, sweeping aside her tears.
“Are you okay?” I asked and Alis nodded. She had cried the rain, but there was still plenty of sunshine in her life and that sunshine would produce a rainbow.
Alis retired to her room to freshen up, walking past her father, who paused to offer a look of parental concern and support.
Alan, wine glass in hand, joined me in the living room. He took a sip of wine then said, “Thanks for helping out, Sam.”
I shrugged. “You’ve been very good to me, I owed you.” Then, suddenly, my nerve ends tingled, as I feared rejection. “How do you feel about me?” I asked, my words tentative, my throat, despite the wine, feeling dry.
“I love you. Nothing’s changed in that respect.”
“When the dust has settled and Alis is feeling better about herself, do you think we could go to the cottage.”
Alan grinned and I saw another layer to the man, a hidden depth of joy. “You want to spend a long weekend with me?”
“I guess I do.”
“You’ve crossed the bridge.”
“I guess I have.”
“How? When? Tell me.” Alan took hold of my hand and we sat together, close, on the sofa.
“In my office, when I told you about Vincent Vanzetti and my fears for Alis. I thought if there’s a time when Alan’s going to lose his rag with me, it’ll be now; I thought you’d hit me because I’d placed Alis in danger. But you were calm; all the way through that episode, you were in control. The moment we met I was strongly attracted to you, but I feared you’d hurt me. I suppose that fear has faded. I’ve crossed the bridge. Do you still want to take me to paradise?”
We embraced and kissed, passionately. We were still kissing when the timer on Alan’s stove shrieked and we had to break for dinner.
Later, over dinner, I realised that Alan hadn’t answered my question. However, that evening, when Alis had retired to her room, we did spend more time on the sofa together. And I guess actions do speak louder than words.
SAM’S SONG
by Hannah Howe
Love Hurts. For Derwena de Caro, songstress, female icon, teenage dream, success brought drugs, alcohol and a philandering boyfriend. It also brought wealth, fame and a stalker, or so she claimed. And that’s where I came in, to investigate the identity of the stalker, little realising that the trail would lead to murder and a scandal that would make the newspaper headlines for months on end.
Love Hurts. For me, Samantha Smith, Enquiry Agent, love arrived at the end of a fist. First, I had to contend with an alcoholic mother, who took her frustrations out on me throughout my childhood, then my husband, Dan, who regarded domestic violence as an integral part of marriage. But I survived. I obtained a divorce, kept my sense of humour and retained an air of optimism. I established my business and gained the respect of my peers. However, I was not prepared for Dan when he re-entered my life, or for the affection showered on me by Dr Alan Storey, a compassionate and rather handsome psychologist.
Sam’s Song. This is the story of a week that changed my life forever.
Also from Goylake Publishing
BLIND JUSTICE
by Mansel Jones
The summer of 1976 was a hot one, especially for blind authoress Naomi Parker. A sixth sense told Naomi that someone was following her and when her friend, psychologist Dr Jesamine Garner, confirms that fact they decide to enlist the services of private detective Max Gwyther.
As Max delves deeper into the case, he discovers that Naomi has attracted the attentions of three stalkers: a local crime lord, a respected enquiry agent and a mysterious American. What is their interest in Naomi? Why do they want Max off the case? And is there a connection to a journalist’s murder?
http://jonesthebook.com
http://manseljones.com
Also from Goylake Publishing
MAKING MOVIES
by Mansel Jones
In March 1977 teenager and wannabe movie star Laura Marsh disappeared. A year later two men were desperate to find her. On behalf of her parents private detective Max Gwyther was pounding the seedy streets of Cardiff looking for Laura. Meanwhile Dutch crime lord Jan van Leer also had designs on Laura, though his motives were less honourable – he wanted to kill her.
What had Laura been up to during her year on the run? Why was Jan van Leer so keen to murder her? And what part did local crime boss Paul Tregenna play in Laura’s life?
http://jonesthebook.com
http://manseljones.com
Web Links
For details about Hannah Howe and her books, please visit http://hannah-howe.com
For more details about Sam the Private Eye, please visit http://sam-private-eye.com
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