Ready, Set, Love!

Posted on by Marie Lott - Writer

“Watch where you’re going!” Paula’s voice shook. Her palms stung as she pushed herself off the gravel. A warm hand steadied her arm. “I don’t need your—”

“I’m so sorry…”

She looked up, her gaze climbing lean, tanned legs to a broad chest, finally settling on the most handsome man she’d ever seen. Frustration melted like snow under a noon sun. Still, he was the reason her new Adidas were scuffed. He wasn’t getting off that easily. “…Look where you’re going.”

“Hold on,” he said, stepping back. “You bumped into me.”

“I was checking my heart rate,” she countered, thrusting her Fitbit toward him.

“And I was checking my pace,” he mocked, waving his own watch. His smile made her pulse spike—something she could easily blame on the cardio.

She held out a hand. “I’m Paula.”

A grin spread across his face. “You’re kidding. I’m Paul.”

They held each other’s gaze, the sun reflecting in his eyes. They stood there, hands clasped, until the first drop of rain caught them by surprise. The heavens opened, making Paula squeal. “That wasn’t in the forecast!”

“I don’t think any of this was,” Paul said. He restarted his watch. “Enjoy the rest of your run. It was nice to meet you.”

Paula inhaled deeply, catching a breath that had nothing to do with the jog. She picked up the pace, her clothes already soaked.

As her house came into view, the rain eased. A rainbow arched overhead. She slowed to a walk, skin cooling, heart rate finally dipping. Her new trainers were a mess, but she didn’t care. All she could think about was Paul. There had been a connection, hadn’t there?

“You again?”

Adrenaline tingled through her. It was him. “Paul? Are you following me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he teased. “I live here.” He pointed to the house across the road.

“You’re kidding? I live right over there.”

“No joke.” He jingled his keys.

Too good to be true, Paula thought. She’d be seeing this man every day. She was already half in love.

Then, his front door swung open. A glamorous woman with golden hair stepped onto the porch. Paula squinted as the woman reached him. A kiss. A casual, intimate lean. Realization hit like the cold rain—they were together.

Paul shot Paula one last friendly wave before disappearing inside with her.

Paula’s cheeks flushed, her pulse racing once more. Obviously just the running, she told herself. Nothing more than that.

Famous Last Words

Posted on by Marie Lott - Writer

★★★★★ 5/5

Author: Gillian McAllister       Genre: Psychological Thriller

Publisher: Penguin                 Published: 3rd July 2025

Started: 3/01/26                    Finished: 8/02/26

Page Count: 416 pages

“And Cam watches the sky and thinks, how somewhere the answer is out there, as obvious as the dawn itself, but still hidden in night.”

Who doesn’t love a good thriller? The tension, the questions, the fear. Having read all of Liane Moriarty’s books, and learning she’s a fan of Gillian McAllister, I had to give this one a read. Liane says Famous Last Words, ‘makes your heart race and then your heart melt,’ and I couldn’t agree more. Famous Last Words is a fast-paced thriller, and it doesn’t leave you much time to catch your breath, so buckle up for the ride.

The book follows Cam Deschamps who is happily married to Luke, and they have a baby called Polly. Cam, a book publisher has the perfect life, or so she thinks. Everything she knows blows up around her when she learns her husband is caught up in a hostage situation, only he isn’t the hostage, he’s the gunman. Cam’s world is thrown into chaos, who is the man she married? And what does this mean for her and their daughter?

At the heart of this gripping thriller is a moving love story, and Cam shows what she’s willing to do to save it. Despite the evidence against Luke, Cam simply doesn’t believe her husband to be a bad man, and she’s desperate to find out the truth, for closure, control, for love.

What stood out to me most is the control Gillian has over the tension between the characters. Cam tiptoes around her sister’s IVF, is never quite honest with the hostage negotiator, and her desperation to find out the truth of what happened to her husband, only raises questions in which the answers are only more questions. It’s like opening a box to discover a box, and then another, I was hooked and craving a resolution.

I also enjoyed Gillian’s writing style which I have already described as fast-paced, but in another sense musical. The stormy language Gillian uses drives this all-encompassing tension to its final conclusion, like a continuous background symphony. For example, ‘the shock repeats on her like rolling thunder’ and ‘rustling forensic bags’. The stormy mood is carried by rumbles, heavy rain and aftershocks, like lots of little music notes pouring off the page and creating a sustained, dramatic drumroll, leading to a crescendo that rings in your ears long after you’ve put the book down.

If I had to be picky, one thing that didn’t quite land for me was the slower pacing into Act 2, but it wasn’t enough to discourage me. In fact, I can see that the plot required it. I think I felt like this because Act 1 is so strong, the catalyst could have been the climax, I couldn’t believe there was still two thirds of the book to go.

Overall, Famous Last Words is a solid read that left me wide-eyed and amazed. I found myself oohing and aahing at every plot twist, reaching my own crescendo with a WOW! If you’re a fan of Liane Moriarty’s The Husband’s Secret and films like Gone Girl, which both explore the destruction of a perfect family unit, or you just love a good psychological thriller, you should definitely add this to your shelf.

Cratchit – A Christmas Carol Continues

Posted on by Marie Lott - Writer

★★★★ 4/5

Author: R.M. Bouknight                         Genre: Christmas

Publisher: Hollybridge Books                Published: August 2025

Started: 02/01/2026                               Finished: 07/01/2026

Page Count: 144 pages

“The fates never leave love to chance”

I was so excited when this book came up as a Facebook Ad last month. As a lover of A Christmas Carol, I was suddenly desperate to read how the Cratchit family was getting on, it was as though R.M. Bouknight knew I needed this in my life more than I did!

Cratchit is set thirteen years after a Christmas carol, leaving enough room for the new world Cratchit now finds himself in to corrupt him into being a selfish, ignorant man. Inevitably, it takes its toll on his family; how he behaves as a father and as a husband. It’s a grim reminder of how our every decision can affect every aspect of not only our own lives, but the lives of those closest to us.

Delving into the first stave, something wasn’t sitting right with me. A self-assured Bob Cratchit? Tiny Tim a ladies’ man? the family split? This wasn’t how I remembered these much-loved characters. I persevered, and was glad I did, because once I moved into stave two, it dawned on me that no one stays the same, people change, especially over the course of thirteen years. Once I became open to this I could see how the world can have a huge impact on man’s weakness in following his desires.

The ghost of Christmas past reminds Cratchit of how he was before Scrooge helped him, and of pivotal moments that subtly reshaped who Cratchit becomes, to the point that he hardly recognises himself anymore. The ghost of Christmas present highlights to Bob the effect this change is currently having on his wife and children, things that he’d become blind to. And the ghost of Christmas yet to come shows him what will be if he doesn’t change. Can the spirits save Bob Cratchit?

R.M. Bouknight explores themes such as women’s roles, social issues and peer pressure, and on a more serious note, bullying and suicide which may serve as potential triggers, but Bouknight handles these issues with great care and sensitivity.

I would recommend Cratchit to any fan of A Christmas Carol. A casual reader may only think about the characters they’ve enjoyed, but more reflective readers may discover some deeper thoughts about their own vulnerabilities that stays with them long after the final page.

In the end, Cratchit doesn’t pretend to be a new idea, it’s better than that. It’s a reminder of how our decisions shape us, for better or worse, and how easy it is to fall. But also, (to quote Aragorn, one of my favourite characters), that there’s always hope.

Good Deeds

Posted on by Marie Lott - Writer

Let me tell you about Eleanor. One day she did something so small, so insignificant, she could never have imagined the impact it would have.

              On a cold day in December, the sky as white as snow covered fields. Eleanor, in her black beanie hat and matching gloves, was drawn to the sound of guitar strings, and words of a song she once knew. They pulled her in, connecting her present to her past. She could almost feel his arms around her as they danced, before he got ill and passed away.

              Overcome with emotion, Eleanor pushed through the crowd and found herself standing in front of a busker, an elderly man, cold and lonely and lost in his song. Eleanor dropped a five-pound note in his guitar case, attached to it was a letter.

              Shivering, the busker counted his earnings with frosty fingers, a wide smile stretched from ear to ear upon finding the letter; thank you for the song, Eleanor. He tucked the five pounds into his wallet, and with his shoulders back and chin high, he strode across the road and into a betting shop. He left five hundred pounds richer.

              He swung his arms and whistled as he walked, unaware of how much his aura warmed the chilly hearts of the shoppers around him. So fulfilled was his heart from the note off a lady called Eleanor, he entered a pub, and bought everyone a drink.

              Sat in a corner at a table for one, a girl twirled a lock of fiery red hair around her ringless finger, her thoughts drifting on an uncertain future. But after hearing the words, ‘the drinks are on me,’ a flicker of hope sprung from within, a sudden sense of calm, everything would be OK.

              Standing, she straightened her clothes, finished the remains of her free drink and stepped out into the fog that had descended on the town. Remembering the mobile blood donation van she’d walked past earlier; she headed in that direction, ‘one good turn deserves another,’ she told herself as she stepped inside. A fresh pint of blood was on its way to the lab.

              Leonie lay in the bed of the emergency room. Her rare blood type, B positive meant she was in critical condition. She was one pint of blood short of having a transfusion. A doctor appeared, ‘we’ve found a match.’ Through falling tears and a loss of words, her parents held on to one another.

              Leonie was saved.

              Saved because of a generous blood donation from a girl, who’d found hope in a free drink from a busker, who’d been moved by a thoughtful tip and a letter from a woman overcome with emotion.

              And all because Eleanor heard a song.

All The Pretty Things

Posted on by Marie Lott - Writer

‘One second,’ Wendy shouted. She pulled up her leggings, slipped on a Black Sabbath t-shirt and ran downstairs, quickly regretting not putting on a bra, her face just about surviving the ordeal.

              She opened the door ready to berate a couple of Jehovah’s witnesses, but was left speechless at the size of the bouquet hovering before her. A tiny woman popped her head around the flowers, ‘I believe these are for you,’ she handed them to Wendy, ‘you lucky thing.’

             A warm feeling came over Wendy, threatening her usually robust character. The only flowers she’d ever received were a tired bunch of dandelions she’d won in a wet t-shirt competition. In the absence of a vase, she filled a pint glass with water, and squeezed the flowers into their new home. They certainly brightened up the faded walls and tatty brown carpet.

             With sparkling eyes, she opened the accompanying envelope, but felt a sense of betrayal as soon as she started reading, ‘My dear Imelda, someone like you deserves all the pretty things. All my love, Jimmy.’

              Wendy let out a heavy sigh. Of course the flowers weren’t for her. Only pretty people deserved pretty things. Still, they looked nice, ‘sorry Imelda,’ she said to the flowers, ‘they’re mine now.’

              An hour later, the door knocked again. Wendy tutted because she’d been napping. She was going to a gig in a few hours and she wanted to be fully conscious for it. She stuck her feet into bat shaped slippers and stomped to the door, flinging it open with more force than she’d meant.

             ‘I’m sorry to disturb you,’ said the hairy 6ft bloke standing before her, ‘but I believe some flowers were delivered here that were meant for someone else. You wouldn’t happen to know what I’m talking about, would you?’

              Typical, thought Wendy, ‘one second.’ She pushed the door to, and when she returned she shoved the pint of flowers into the hands of her unexpected guest, ‘they’re too good for me anyway.’

              He gave her a quizzical look, ‘why would you say that? a hot chick like you should have all the pretty things of this world.’

              She couldn’t help but smile, with the right words, he’d broken down her usually hard to scale defences. ‘Don’t you have a girlfriend, Jimmy?’ She rocked back on her heels, ‘Imelda, isn’t it?’

              ‘Imelda’s my ex-mother-in-law,’ he chuckled, ‘she not been well and…’

              ‘Sorry,’ Wendy blushed, ‘I’m good at putting my foot in it.’

              ‘Easy mistake I guess. How did you know my name?’

              ‘I read the card.’

             He nodded to her t-shirt, ‘Sabbath fan, hey? Hold these a minute.’ He gave the flowers back to Wendy and opened his jacket, revealing his own Sabbath shirt. ‘They’re playing tonight.’

              ‘I’m going,’ she said.

              ‘Me too, perhaps I’ll see you there?’

              She handed back the flowers, he put up his hand, ‘keep them,’ he winked, ‘there’s more than one person in this world who deserves pretty things.’

              Wendy smiled.

Surprise

Posted on by Marie Lott - Writer

‘What’s this?’ Eddie returned the Christmas decorations to the loft and picked up an unwrapped present he’d found tucked away in a corner. He blew off the dust and coughed. There was no name on it, just a ‘K’, which meant it must have been for his wife, Kayla, the only ‘K’ in the family.

         Obviously he’d forgotten about it. Had it meant to be for this year, or a past Christmas? The dust suggested it had been there for a long time.

              He had form for buying early gifts and forgetting about them. A few years ago he found a present in his boot that hadn’t even been wrapped, but it had worked in his favour. It turns out women don’t appreciate anti-wrinkle products as gifts because a few days later, an advert for an anti-wrinkle cream came on, she’d pinched her eyebrows together and said, ‘Imagine receiving that for Christmas.’ Eddie shuddered at the thought of his close call with that one.  

              December sun shone through the landing window, making visible the dust particles drifting like snow. He squinted at the sudden brightness.

              ‘Kayla,’ he said, bounding down the stairs. He paused at the bottom to catch his breath, he wasn’t getting any younger. ‘I’ve got something for you.’ He couldn’t remember what he’d brought her, but it had all the feels of a lovely piece of jewellery. Kayla would love it when she saw it, and it was bound to give him a few brownie points.

              ‘The answer’s no,’ came the short sharp reply of his attentive wife. ‘I’m too busy and I’m too tired.’

              He found her in the kitchen in her apron and rubber gloves, washing the dishes, bubbles spilling over the bowl. He leaned against the breakfast bar, arms out in front of him, ‘I think you’ll like this.’

              She turned around and saw him holding a present, a rare smile spreading across her face. ‘What is it?’ She pulled off the gloves and wiped her hands down her apron.

                He let out a loud breath and handed her the present, ‘open it and you’ll find out.’

              ‘Looks like something special,’ she said, bouncing from foot to foot. ‘Shall we dim the lights and sit by the fire?’ Her eyes sparkled.

              He felt a tingling in his limbs, he was definitely on a promise. They shared a look as she gently pulled the wrapping from the package, eyes wide as she lifted the lid. ‘Oh,’ she said, frowning as she picked up a note. Eddie rubbed his chin, his mouth suddenly dry.

              What had she opened?  

              Kayla read out loud, ‘Katrina my naughty little minx, someone as beautiful as you deserves something beautiful to wear.’ She pulled a beautiful red heart on a golden chain from the box, her gazed fixed on her husband, ‘you’ve spelt my name wrong.’

              Eddie gasped.

The ‘K’ was for Katrina, how could he have forgotten? His heart raced as he remembered his affair with the buxom blonde with skin so fair, almost ghost like. It happened so long ago, he’d put her out of his mind completely and yet here she was, back from the past, haunting him. ‘It was…I, a…’

              A tear dripped down Kayla’s face. He reached out for her but she pulled back, her sparkling eyes now red. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out, besides, what would he say? Sorry didn’t seem enough. But he had to say something, the truth perhaps?  He swallowed hard, ‘honey, there’s something I need to tell you.’

Believe and Become

Posted on by Marie Lott - Writer

When Christina Mathers stepped inside the church for the first time in her life, she wasn’t expecting to feel…what was that feeling? Hopeful.

            She was only there to watch her friend’s daughter Holly perform in the Christmas nativity. Holly was a Christmas star and was waving frantically at her mother, Dee, who waved back as Christina’s gaze wandered to the stained glass windows and glistening fairy lights. Her nose twitched as she breathed in the scent of burning candles.

              She’d never been excited by the Christmas season, just couldn’t see the point. Being single and never having had children of her own gave her even less reason to celebrate. She had family, and although she loved her sister, she struggled with her passive aggressive manner that could only be managed in small doses. And her parents argued about the same things every year, how the tree should be decorated, how the turkey should be cooked, who made it on to the Christmas card list. She felt like she didn’t belong.

              Christina hated Christmas traditions altogether. They were stupid and pointless, but the one she hated the most was these blasted nativity plays where children dress up to act out something they probably didn’t believe in.

              No amount of mulled wine, mince pies or carolling could put her in the festive mood. Christmas day was just another day, and she couldn’t wait for it to be over. She slouched in the pew with her arms folded, and sighed.

              ‘Cheer up, you’re going to love it, I bet by the end you’ll be smiling.’

              ‘Dee, I love you, that’s why I’m here, but telling someone to cheer up has never cheered anyone up.’

              The vicar, who looked about 98, stood at the front and hushed everyone as the play was about to start. Around 30 children in various costumes broke into an interesting rendition of Oh Little Town of Bethlehem. Christina shut her eyes and yawned, but was quickly elbowed awake by Dee. ‘Ouch,’ she said rubbing her arm. Sitting up straight, she watched as Mary and Joseph took to the stage.

              ‘The time came for Mary to give birth,’ narrated Miss Cain.

              But no one could find the baby Jesus.

              Mary glared at Joseph with her hands on her hips and mouthed something to him. Joseph glanced around the church before raising his arms and shrugging. Mary stamped her foot, Miss Cain released a heavy sigh and everyone laughed, including Christina who found herself intrigued by the whole thing.

              ‘Everybody look for the baby Jesus,’ Miss Cain said through clenched teeth.

              And that’s when chaos erupted.

            Children ran around like little wound up toys all bumping into each other. Two angels knocked heads, the donkey skidded on some hay knocking over a king in his wake. A little girl cried, another shouted, ‘I need a wee,’ over and over again. Holly was still waving, ‘hello mummy,’ she called over the chaos.  

            Miss Cain hurried around the altar, hair stuck to her sweaty forehead, trying to calm her students, and she was regaining control, until a shepherd and an angel shouted out, ‘I found the baby Jesus,’ at the same time.

            ‘No I did,’ said the angel.

            ‘I found him’ said the shepherd.

            They tugged at the doll, pulling and stretching its arms and legs till eventually they both let go and the baby Jesus went flying up in the air.   

            The congregation broke into laughter and despite herself, Christina laughed too. ‘Is it always like this?’

              ‘Every year,’ said Dee, ‘told you you’d smile.’

              ‘Back to your places,’ shouted Miss Cain, her voice rising in pitch.

              The laughter continued, but speaking out amongst the clamour, a little boy with red cheeks and a squeaky voice said, ‘everyone who believes that Jesus is the Christ has become a child of God.’

            The play continued as if no one had heard it, but Christina had. Wow! She didn’t understand why she felt a stirring in her heart or a tingle over her skin. She felt stuck in a moment while the rest of the play moved on until finally, her bubble was broken by the sound of Away in A Manger. Even Christina knew this one, and she was pretty sure the lyric wasn’t “no crisps for a bed.”

            The children had a very forgiving audience and received a standing ovation. Christina remained in her seat, the words still on her mind, believe and become. It sounded like a good deal. Amongst the mistakes and the mayhem, her best friend at her side, she could suddenly see a meaning to the season, and it was a meaning she felt she could get on board with. Perhaps there was somewhere she belonged after all.

I Owe You One

Posted on by Marie Lott - Writer

‘Damn it,’ said Mr Bridges, ‘damn.’ He soaked up the spilt coffee in a napkin, then holding it up, he called to the waitress. ‘Could I have another one please?’ he said, pointing at his stained white shirt. And then feeling his cheeks burn with embarrassment he added, ‘you’d think my mouth was big enough wouldn’t you?’ The waitress handed him a fresh napkin and a pitiful smile, before walking away. Mr Bridges berated himself for his pathetic attempt at a joke. He rubbed away at the stain unaware that he was making it worse. He might have a brilliant legal mind, but he certainly didn’t know how to launder clothes.

            You see Mr Bridges was a judge and he was due in court in, he looked at his watch and gasped, 20 minutes. How had he let time slip away like that? He hurried out of the café and into a shower of rain. Could anything else go wrong? Well he was going to regret that thought any minute now…

            His car wouldn’t start.

            ‘That’s it,’ he said out loud, ‘for the first time EVER; I’m going to be late.’

            He stepped out of his car and popped open the bonnet. Again, he had no idea what he was doing, so he did the only thing he knew how to do; he glared at the engine, judged it, and decided that this car was the most useless, untrustworthy most pathetic car he had ever had and it was most definitely being sentenced to the scrap heap. He couldn’t fix this on his own, he needed help.

            ‘Need some help?’ said a voice from behind him.

            Mr Bridges looked over his shoulder to see the scruffiest looking teenager he’d ever laid eyes on. He wore grey jogging bottoms that clung to the ankle and an oversized grey hoodie that swamped his skinny frame. His trainers looked as though he’d just had a run in the brook. To Mr Bridges, who usually only made contact with people like this in court where he was safe behind the bench, this kid looked intimidating. The spider tattoo on his cheek didn’t help. ‘I’m fine,’ he said turning back to the engine.

            ‘Suit yourself,’ said the teenager.

            But fiddling about aimlessly with leads and some weird oily stick was getting him nowhere. And the teenager had been polite. In fact, now he came to think of it he was the one who had been rude. ‘Excuse me,’ he called. The teenager turned around, ‘I really could do with your help, if you’re sure you know what you’re doing.’ He offered his hand, ‘I’m Mr Bridges.’

            ‘Spider,’ said the teenager accepting his hand. ‘To be honest, I can’t do worse than you, ent it.’

            Despite the temptation to correct Spider’s grammar, Mr Bridges couldn’t help but smile, and in no less than five minutes, Spider had the engine running. ‘You’ve been ever so helpful,’ said Mr Bridges, ‘thank you, I owe you one.’

            ‘Cool,’ said Spider, ‘any chance of a lift then?’

            Mr Bridges wasn’t expecting to owe him one so fast, but he was thankful to Spider for getting his car started, so he said, ‘of course get in, but I can only take you as far as the court.’

            ‘What are the chances’, said Spider, ‘that’s exactly where I’m going.’

          Mr Bridges arrived at court a whole 10 minutes late which was completely unheard of. But the criminal due in court for today’s first case hadn’t arrived yet either, so it was OK. ‘All rise,’ said the Clerk when he entered the room. The first case for sentencing was a young lad who had been found guilty of car theft. Mr Bridges couldn’t stand those thieving little scrotes, he was going to teach this lad a lesson. But when the criminal was ushered into the court room, Mr Bridges had to conceal a snigger, standing in front of him was Spider. They locked eyes and smiled. He was known for making an example of people but Spider had helped him when he didn’t have to, and this was a first offence, he didn’t deserve to have the book thrown at him just yet. So he gave him a good talking to and 12 hours community service. And he thought that, perhaps, knowing someone with Spider’s skillset might not be such a bad thing.

Teddy

Posted on by Marie Lott - Writer

It was too good to be true. Zara hadn’t had a successful trip out since Emily realised she could say words and get out of her pushchair. And today was no different. It was going well right up until they passed a dirty old teddy in the middle of the road. Zara had planned to walk straight past it but of course Emily had spotted it. ‘Teddy,’ she said.

            ‘That’s right,’ Zara agreed, ‘teddy.’

            She walked on hoping that that was the end of it, but Emily was a strong-willed little girl. Like mother like daughter. And deep down she knew where this was going.

            ‘Teddy, Mama, teddy,’ Emily said more urgently.

            ‘I know Emily, but it’s not yours, we must leave it here in case the owner comes back for it.’

            ‘Mine. Teddy mine.’ Emily arched her back and tried to free her arms from the constraints of the straps. Zara stopped and pushed her back down. An Emily tantrum was imminent. Zara had seen this many times before but she was never prepared. She was about to move again when Emily let out the most ear-piercing scream Zara had ever heard. She was sure that Emily’s screams went up few decibels with each new tantrum. It echoed down the cobbled street. It bounced off the walls and off the ground and spread across the rooftops. The whole town had probably heard the commotion. ‘My teddy, Mama. My teddy.’

            Emily kicked her legs and thrashed her arms; the pushchair shook from side to side. Tears rolled from her eyes and into her little mouth. Zara gave in as she so often did; anything for a quiet life. She walked back to the teddy and picked it up, wincing at the thought of all the germs that had probably made a home in its fur. She shook it off and gave it a wipe with her sleeve. The teddy’s face was familiar. Didn’t Emily have one like this? Didn’t it have a missing eye though? Then the label caught her eye because Emily’s name was written on it. Zara couldn’t believe it, this was Emily’s teddy. She lost it a few weeks ago on this very route. She’d spent ages retracing her steps to find it but it was lost, and now here it was. She’d forgotten all about it. Poor Emily she thought; now riddled with guilt that she hadn’t listened to her daughter. No wonder she was so upset. She handed the teddy to Emily whose tantrum had now reduced to a sniffle, but she was smiling. ‘My teddy,’ she said as she squeezed him tight.

            Zara was relieved it was all over, another tantrum she could tick off the list. But as she was about to move off she felt a tap on her shoulder.

            ‘Um, excuse me.’ Zara turned to see a woman standing in front of her, she was holding a little girls hand. ‘I think you’ve picked up my daughter’s teddy, thank you for finding it.’

            Zara looked from the woman, to the teddy, to Emily and imagined the shit storm that was about to occur; and she ran.

Dead By Breakfast

Posted on by Marie Lott - Writer

Dead By Breakfast is a dialogue only short story that I wrote for a competition…I didn’t win (cries) but it means I can now share it here for my lovely readers to enjoy. It was weird writing a story without dialogue but I enjoyed the challenge. I’d love to know what you think.

‘What have you done?’

            ‘Nothing! One minute he was tucking into his fish the next he, he…’

            ‘Calm down Max, hysteria won’t help anyone.’

            ‘Claire it’s the third one this month, we can’t keep burying them in the garden.’

            ‘What’s the alternative, call the police?’

            ‘That might not be such a bad idea, they were all accidents. We haven’t intentionally killed anyone, have we?’

            ‘Of course not, but if this gets out they’ll close us down. We can’t afford to be closed down, Max.’

            ‘So now what?’

            ‘Make sure the other guest is busy so we can bury him, it’s the only way. Stop pacing, you’re making me nervous.’

            ‘Oh I’m sorry, dead bodies seem to have that effect on me. Why do we only have a couple of guests at a time anyway?’

            ‘There’s only the two of us. We take on what we can handle.’

‘But we don’t handle it. Men arrive and never leave. How can you be so calm?’

            ‘Getting used to it I suppose. We’ll cover him up ‘till we’ve dug a hole, then you won’t have to look at him. Pass me that table cloth… better?’

            ‘Not really.’

            ‘Right, come on, we’ve got work to do.  Let’s get digging before someone else is dead by breakfast.’

            ‘Not again Claire, I don’t think I can.’

            ‘We’ll get the job finished much quicker if you quit being such a baby and help me. You look like you’re gonna puke. Are you gonna puke? Come on, grab the spade.’

***

‘What if the police come sniffing around?  I’m scared, what if they arrest us, I don’t wanna go to prison.’

            ‘Max, don’t make me slap you. We’ve already buried two, did the police show up?’

            ‘That’s what makes me paranoid, why hasn’t anyone shown up? No police, no family members. The only reason nobody would be looking here would be if no one knew they were here in the first place. What’s with the face Claire? Is there something I should know?’

            ‘Like you said, you’re being paranoid. Right, let’s get the body.’

***

‘Wipe your feet, I don’t want that mud in my kitchen.’

‘I know, I know. Poor bloke, he had no idea today would be his last day.’

            ‘He was an asshole, Max.’

            ‘How would you know?’

            ‘Oh, you know. This steak isn’t cooked enough, the room’s too cold, the wine is cor…’

            ‘The wine! Claire, what if…?’

            ‘There’s nothing wrong with the wine.’

            ‘It wouldn’t hurt to check.’

            ‘Get back here, I said there’s nothing wrong with it.’

            ‘We might need to get rid of it.’

‘Max.’

‘Ouch! There was no need to slap me.’

‘Yes there was, you’re losing it. I need you Max, I can’t do this on my own. Go and check that the other guest is in his room before we move the body.’

 ‘Ssssh! What was that?’

‘What was what?’

‘Didn’t you hear it? Listen…’

‘Um, excuse me.’

‘Mr Pechman, you made me jump. How can I help you?’

‘I just thought you should know; there’s a dead body in your restaurant.’

‘It’s all part of the, um… role play, Mr Pechman. Tomorrow there’ll be a nurse, then the fun will begin. Close your mouth, Max.’

‘Well he’s either a great actor or he really is dead, because I checked his pulse and he definitely don’t have one.’

‘I’m sorry Mr Pechman.’

‘For what?’

‘For this.’

‘Claire, don’t …’

‘Sorry Max, he left me no choice.’

‘You’ve killed him.’

‘It was just a smack on the head with a frying pan, he’ll be alright.’

‘He’s n…not alright. We have to call the police; we can’t just keep burying people in the garden.’

‘I get that you’re scared, Max, but crying isn’t helping. We stick to the plan. Let’s go back and dig deeper, we’ve got two bodies to bury now.’

***

‘Any chance you could dig a bit faster? I wasn’t anticipating two deaths tonight.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Nothing. Gees, what’s with all the questions?’

‘It’s just a strange thing to say that you weren’t expecting two deaths tonight. It kind of suggests that you were expecting at least one.’

‘You’re so weird.  Right, after three we lift and drop him in. Ready?  1, 2, 3… Next!

‘You know something, don’t you?’

‘You have what they call an over-active imagination. Ready?  1, 2…

‘I’m just finding it all hard to take in, why is it that everyone who stays here ends up dead? Come to think of it, there are lots of things that don’t make sense about this place. I need a break.’

‘Max get back here, we haven’t finished filling the hole.’

‘Do it yourself.’

‘Fine. I don’t know why you’re so worked up, it’s not like you knew them. But I can tell you they won’t be a huge loss to the world. There, that’ll do the job. We can make a nice flower bed here; it’ll be beautiful by March. Cup of tea?’

***

‘They’re bound to have family that’ll miss them.’

‘It’s quite cute how much you care. Pass the sugar will you.’

‘What’s this?’

‘Looks like anti-freeze to me.’

‘Why do you need anti-freeze in the kitchen?’

‘I’d hate to state the obvious. Max, where are you going?’

‘It’s in the wine, it’s you isn’t it? You’ve been killing the men that stay here. Oh my…get off me Claire. What are you gonna do, kill me as well?’

 ‘If I have to… Damn it. I didn’t mean that.’

‘I think you did. I don’t want to work here anymore, I quit. You’re on your own, I can’t trust you.’

‘You can’t quit.’

‘You can’t stop me.’

‘Max, you’re as much to blame as me.’

‘Don’t you dare. This is on you, you killed these men, I can’t believe I didn’t see it before. You’re a murderer; you’re in so much trouble.’

‘About as much as you, Max, you’ve been helping me bury the bodies.’

‘Until tonight I thought they were accidents.’

‘The police won’t see it like that.’

‘You’ve got to help me. Make it stop, make it stop.’

‘Max, deep breaths, you need to calm down. There’s nothing we can do but carry on. We’re in this together whether you like it or not, you’re just gonna have to suck it up.’

‘Easy for you to say.’

‘Easy for you to do if you have any sense. But by all means, report me to the police. I’ll admit everything, including how you helped me bury the bodies. It’s only 15 years inside for assisting a murder, I’m sure you’ll cope.’

‘You’re mad.’

‘And this has all been thirsty work; we may as well enjoy a cup of tea.’

‘I could still call the police; you’ve manipulated me. I helped you, but it’s only your word against mine.’

‘You could. But it’s much more than words, there’s evidence. Your finger prints will be all over that spade, and now they’re on the anti-freeze and that bottle of wine. In fact, you could say I’ve been manipulated by you. There’ve only been deaths since you started working here. A poor scared lonely woman like me out in the middle of nowhere, vulnerable.’

‘Bitch.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Why do it Claire? Why are you killing our guests?’

‘They deserve it; I don’t kill anyone without good reason.’

‘Good reason? What do you mean good reason?’

‘Did you know they all come here to cheat on their wives? They think they’re here for a “gentlemen’s weekend”. This place is a man’s dream, what happens here stays here.’

‘Why haven’t I clicked before now? There’s a reason why we only accept cash, why nothing goes through a computer, why no one turns up in their own cars, and why we’re out here in the middle of bloody nowhere.’

‘All of those things would have been suspicious to anyone else, but not you, faithful, gullible, trusting Max. An untraceable naughty night away, how could any man resist such benefits?’

‘How do you even advertise this place?’

‘I seek them out; I know where to find men like them. I offer them the best night of their lives, they’re all so desperate they can’t refuse.’

‘This is messed up; you know that?’

‘Messed up feels good. Think of the favours I’m doing for those poor women they’re married to.’

‘But no one deserves to die, no matter what they’ve done.’

‘Only a man would say something like that. They don’t believe they’re doing anything wrong; how will they ever change if they can’t see what they’re doing is wrong?’

‘Maybe they do know that it’s wrong, but they just don’t care.’

‘Even more reason for them to die.’

‘So what happens now?’

‘First things first, I need to know I can trust you. Remember Max, if you tell the police you’ll be in trouble too, 15 years.’

‘You’ve left me with no choice, have you? I’ll keep quiet, and I’ll even keep working for you. But I’m not burying any more bodies. You kill them, you bury them.’

‘You’re such a baby, Max.’

‘I’m serious.’

‘OK, OK, leave the killing to me. Don’t tut.’

‘What do you expect? I don’t know about you but I’ve had enough drama for one night, I’m going to bed. Why are you grinning like that?’

‘No reason. Sleep well Max, we have a guest arriving tomorrow.’