Covering Letter Tips: Darley Anderson

I previously posted a link to nine, of ten, covering letter top tips from the Darley Anderson Blog.

Tip ten was published today and it seems those polly pockets (as I know them) are a no-no. The latest post also gives a handy review of the other nine tips.

Tip Ten

I have one more to add. If, like me, you sometimes write a letter and stew on it for a few days, before sending, don't forget to change the date. Quite annoying when you notice a detail like that, after you've hit send, and so much time was spent concentrating on the body of the letter.

The Hypnotist's Love Story

This is the first of Liane Moriarty's books that I've read and she's an author who I'll be looking out for now.

The Hypnotist's Love Story introduces us to Ellen; the hypnotist. She's thirty-five, single and internet dating. The latest man is Patrick and when we first meet them she thinks he's about to break-up with her. Instead he confesses he has a stalker. What Ellen doesn't know is that she's already met the stalker; she's one of her clients.

It's set in Sydney. Amongst the buzz of city life and the joy of living by the beach, the author also takes the opportunity to show how easy it is to isolate yourself in a city. I see it as women's fiction that deals with bereavement, pregnancy, the break-up of long-term relationships and family life. A story that tests how far some people are willing to go to keep the life and people they love. Well worth the read.

Liane Moriarty

The Other Side of Crom

I had to record the BBC programme, Keeping the Castle, and watched it tonight.

I've mentioned in several posts how Crom has become one of my favourite spots in Northern Ireland and there is so much for the visitor to the estate to enjoy; the photos I've already posted show the beauty of the landscape and the waterways. Despite all of that, curiosity lingered about the interior of the castle, which is private.

The West Wing is a commercial concern and the South Wing a private residence but both are owned by the Crichton family and cannot be accessed with your National Trust entry fee. So, we had to cycle and walk around the edges of private land, stealing what glimpses we could.

Blandings was filmed at Crom and Sunday nights currently provide Wodehouse humour and a chance to glimpse the inside of Crom Castle. Keeping the Castle takes you into both wings, settling my curiosity a little further.

I noticed some lovely cottages when we cycled around the estate, one in particular on the island - where the walled garden can be found - had stunning views over to the boathouse, castle and summer house. Its garden caught my attention, as did the terrier dog who came out to say hello when we cycled past. He made us wish we'd been able to bring our own dogs with us but it's not easy appeasing a Red Setter during a car journey or taking her along on a bike ride. I realise now that cottage is the residence of a Crichton family member, who maintains a beautiful cottage garden, and Jack Russell's appear to be a family favourite.

So, if you haven't seen any of my other blog posts about Crom, have yet to visit it or are curious about the interior of the Castle I hope you'll take a look round this blog (you can use the Crom tag on the right) and follow some of the links to find out more.

At the end of Keeping the Castle it was suggested by Earl Erne and Viscount Crichton that Fermanagh was the best County. Well, it's a wonderful spot and another one of our gems but as a native of County Down I'll have to argue that our mountains and coastline are hard to beat.

Inside Crom

The BBC will air a new programme tonight about the Crichton family and the measures they take to retain Crom Castle. I've featured Crom in previous posts so thought I'd add a link to the programme and embed the video clip from the BBC.

My Blog Posts & Pictures of Crom

BBC: Keeping The Castle

My Library

When I viewed my current house I discovered it had a mezzanine level over the kitchen/family room. My first thought was, I'd finally found the room I'd always longed for in a house. I could have shelves filled with books and make a little library.

The image distorted throughout the move for two reasons.

When we started packing up to move we realised that we had so many boxes, filled with books, that had been in storage in the attic of our old house for the five years we'd lived there. We had so many new books stuffed onto every shelf we could find, it was time to be ruthless. All the books were unpacked, those we really wanted to keep because we'd collected a series by an author or that we knew would be read and enjoyed again, we kept. The others went to a charity shop so someone new could appreciate them. It was quite a surprise to realise about half the books went to charity.

We moved in, got the bookshelves, unpacked the books and discovered they didn't fill all the shelves. I thought, knowing the rate we read, it won't be long before we'd need to buy more shelves but then along came our Kindles and iPads and we're buying more digital than print books.

Now, I still love to hold a print book. To appreciate the cover, turn the pages, be able to judge how far into the book I am simply by looking at it. I tend to read by chapter so I like to be able to look ahead and see how long a chapter is. The thing is, the town nearest me has no bookshops and I have to travel 10-15 miles to get to one. It's so much easier to go along to Amazon to order the book, so I may as well download it to the Kindle as I won't have to wait for it to arrive. If I'm out and about and come across a bookshop I always go in for a look around, see what's new and what they're recommending. My children love the book corners for kids and will happily sample a few books to see what they'd like to read next. My eldest now has his own Kindle and he'll ask me to download books for him, rather than wait to get an opportunity to vist a shop or for a book to be delivered.

There are still some authors who I'll only buy in print. Terry Pratchett's Discworld series is one example  because I've collected all of the series and they have pride of place in my library. So, whilst my little library is a comfortable room, with views over the fields of County Down and the Mourne Mountains in the distance, I find there are still empty shelves, the children have encroached upon it with their Wii (they have their own over-flowing book shelves in their bedrooms and playroom) and I don't spend anywhere near as much time in it as I'd envisioned. I thought I might put a desk in it and set it up for when the writing bug bites. In reality, I use the laptop at the kitchen table.

Do you have a room that you dreamt of, which didn't work out quite as planned?
Do you prefer print or digital books?
If you are a writer or blogger, where do you write?

Cold County Down

We've woken to a very white, muted morning in County Down today and the temperature hasn't risen above freezing yet.

Snow Ball: Short Story

Snow Ball

Lying on the bed, my back resisting the cold, thin mattress I stare at the ceiling. The paint is flaking and the vibrancy of the white is reduced to a dull cream, as dirt and neglect have collected on it.

I can't help but wonder what sort of view I could be focusing on if only I'd followed my own instincts. I should've ignored the demands and expectations of others. Maybe we'd have passed each other by, our lives never intertwining. I doubt it.

My father was the first to insist I attend that event. As an equity and managing partner of the law firm, he'd insisted their newest qualified solicitor, his pride and joy, eldest child should be there to represent the future of the firm and the family name. I was harder to convince.

'Daddy, I agreed to go Susie's gig months ago. What's she going to think of me if I back out now?' I said, pacing the length of his mahogany desk, waving my arms in protest.

'I'd be more concerned about what your employers and your father thought, if I was you,' he replied, leaning back in the chair, the hard, new leather squeaking as he did so.

'I doubt the partners would notice one meagre employee not attending their Snow Ball but Susie's going to be pretty pissed and disappointed if her best friend doesn't show up for her first concert.'

'She's a big girl and it's about time she learnt to cope without you. I pulled a lot of strings to get you that position and you will be at the ball.'

'But...'

'Unless you want to assist me with this Brief for Counsel, this conversation is over.'

He might have bullied me into a job pouring over legalese Monday to Friday but he wasn't getting my weekends too.

'I'm meeting Susie and I better go give her the bad news.'

His head buried in his work, he didn't even manage a grunt or a wave when I turned to leave.

I glanced around the circular table at the other new solicitors, all enjoying their food and wine. They'd qualified six months before me, after training together in the firm. They'd been groomed for their positions within departments. Me, I was the outsider. The one whose father had used his position to get her a role. The girl opposite me smiled, when she caught my look, but turned away to chat to the man next to her. Two men flanked me but, after saying hello and acknowledging my existence, they became engrossed in their food or those on the other side of them.

I heard my phone ring in the silver clutch that lay on the polished, wooden floor. I tried grabbing for it but the stupid thing rang off before I could answer it. Checking the missed calls I found Susie's number. Talking to her was preferable to the cold-shoulder.

The chair scraped as I pushed it back and stood. I was going to make my excuses but no-one looked up so why bother.

I squeezed out through the tables, mostly filled with animated people, the talk flowing in ratio to the wine. I saw a sign indicating the toilets and followed it, finding a quiet hallway.

'Hi Suse, how's it going?

'God Ash, I'm sick as hell.'

'Really sick or nervous sick?'

'About to throw up all over the stage sick.'

'It's just nerves,' I said. Throwing my clutch on the floor and slumping against the wall. 'You'll be fine when you get up there and start singing.'

'I don't think I can do it. What if I can't even get my voice out, never mind sing in tune.'

'Listen to me. You're amazing and all those people turned up because they loved your You Tube channel. If you could put yourself out on the internet, you can do this.'

'That was different. It was just me and a camera. I couldn't see all those faces.'

'Then just forget about them and pretend you're looking at a camera.'

I heard a puff of breath.

'I wish you were here,' she said, her voice quieter, timid. Not my Susie.

'Believe me, so do I.'

'Is it that bad?'

'Dad's watching me like a hawk to make sure I behave and the whole table is ignoring me,' I said, wincing. 'They all hate me.'

'They just don't know you.

'And they don't want to.'

'Did you wear that silver dress?'

'Yep,' I said, smoothing the shimmering fabric over my stomach before pulling on the short hem. 'But it's not working its magic tonight.'

'Give it time.'

I nodded. 'Sure. You okay now?'

'As good as I will be. I better get going, I'm due on stage in a few minutes.'

'Good luck and ring me when you've finished.'

I was still leaning against the wall, scrolling through my social media feeds, when the double doors swished open. A guy I hadn't met before walked into the hallway. Like every other man at the ball he was dressed in a tux but his accented a toned body. The stark, white shirt in contrast to his tousled black hair.

'Hiding?' he asked.

'No, just answering a call,' I said, straightening up and waving my phone.

'You're Michael's daughter, aren't you?' He leant against the wall, next to me.

'How did you guess?'

'Probably from the fact every woman at my table has been talking about you.'

'Let me guess. Bitching about the little girl whose daddy had to get her a job.'

'Wishing they could wear that dress,' he said, his eyes focusing on the garment.

'It seemed like a good choice earlier.' I crossed one stiletto covered foot over the other. As if that would help hide my embarrassment.

'I'm Patrick,' he said, holding out his hand. 'I'm one of the Commercial Litigation team leads.'

'Oh right. Lucky you. One of dad's right-hand men.'

'He's a good boss, taught me a lot.'

I raised an eyebrow, all too aware of how much attention my dad gave his job. I picked up my bag and dropped the phone back into it. 'Guess I better get back to my table.'

'They're clearing them away, making room for dancing.'

'Great,' I said, rolling the r and emphasising the t.

'The bar's open. Can I buy you a drink?'

I wasn't getting any other offers and even if he did come across as a slick charmer, at least he was speaking to me.

At the end of the night, I was deciding how to answer his last question, as I drained the last of my glass. He took his hand of my leg and sat backwards, gesturing over my shoulder. 'Someone's looking for you.'

I swivelled round to find my father striding towards me, unlike Patrick, his shirt was still done-up to the last button, his bow-tie pristine.

'Patrick,' he said when he reached us. 'I noticed you've been looking out for Ashleigh this evening.'

'She's been gracious enough to put up with me monopolising her.'

'Yes, well, the hotel have to close the bar in here now. I'm going to join a few of the other partners for a drink in the residents bar. Would you like to join us?'

'I'm pretty tired, Dad. If you don't mind I'm going to head up to my room.'

'You'll join us, won't you?' He directed the question at Patrick and it was obvious he expected him to say yes.

'Look, I'll leave you both to it,' I said. 'Night Dad.' I kissed him on the cheek. 'And thank you, Patrick.' He stood and I leant my upper body against his in a brief hug. Thanks to the low-backed dress I could feel the warmth and pressure of his hand rest against my skin.

I didn't look back. I knew the view he was getting as I walked away.

I found reasons to visit commercial litigation. Seeing my father for one, showing him I was making an effort to get-to-know the new solicitor who had joined his department; the woman from the table, turned out her name was Caroline. She'd smiled and I took that as an invitation to talk to her. The first time I'd made an excuse to speak to dad, I stopped at her desk on the way by, asked her if she'd enjoyed the ball, suggested we meet for coffee. Hovering round her booth gave me the chance to look for Patrick. I spotted the dark head behind a wall of glass, bent over a desk, his hand embedded in his hair. I glanced over at him again as I left the department, this time his head was raised and he smiled over at me. Maybe I should go in, say hello. Answer that last question he'd asked me. My hand rested on the exit as I considered my choices but in the brief moment that I hesitated a blonde woman, perhaps a few years older than me, entered his office. She dropped papers on his desk and as she did so, placed a hand on his shoulder. His attention distracted.

He never sought me out in the office but each time I visited his department, I glanced his way. He was always busy, always surrounded by others, that woman never far from his side. I found out she was the assistant solicitor in his team. Her name was Karen and she was married. I didn't warm to her.

As a friendship grew with Caroline, the other new solicitors began to accept me. I worked hard, proved my worth but I hated every minute of it and, even though some had thawed towards me, my own department was like a freezer. Forced together, the contents cold and resistant to me.

I was supposed to meet Caroline after work that Friday night but my team lead found an urgent job, only I could undertake. I was alone in the department when Patrick came in and reminded me about that unanswered question.

We were always cautious at work. We didn't want the gossip, the eyes watching us and I didn't need anymore reason for people to hate me or think I was using anything other than my brain to garner favour. I introduced Susie to him, just the once.

After a month I started leaving small items at his flat; a toothbrush, a change of underwear, a hairbrush, some make-up, then a pair of jeans and a clean top. A few more things each weekend. I had to. The more time I spent there, the more things I needed. One Friday I brought a suit to work, I left it in the car so no-one would see it and since dad let me move into the London flat, it's not like anyone was keeping a track of me.

'What's that?' Patrick asked when I threw the suit bag over the back of his sofa.

'It's a suit for Monday morning, so we can have the whole weekend together.'

He pulled me into his arms, unbuttoning my shirt as he kissed and nipped my lips, my neck. He pushed the jacket and shirt from my arms, unhooking my bra and throwing the clothes to the floor.

'Let's talk about that later,' he said, lowering me onto the sofa.

Turned out he'd agreed to play rugby on Sunday morning, so I packed the spare suit back into my car and took it home with me.

I suppose I should've become suspicious when he became busier on Friday nights. I blame dad. I'd been so used to him working the same long hours in that department, I thought it was part of the course. I didn't mind waiting until Saturday night to meet-up. Gave me more time to catch-up with Susie and I could join Caroline and the others again for the Friday night after work drinks. If I hadn't done that I'd probably never have found out.

'Come on, Caroline, you must've noticed something,' Paul was saying when I returned to the table.

'Noticed something about what?' I asked.

'Paul's been chasing after one of the paralegals in his department. Turns out she's friends with a secretary in my department and she reckons Patrick and Karen are an item.'

'But she's married,' I said, trying to control my voice.

'Oh yeah and no-one married ever had an affair,' Paul said, lifting his pint and knocking it back. 'Gotta love ya and leave ya ladies. Hot date waiting for me.'

I made my excuses after that. Rang dad and found out he was still at work but on his own and finishing up. I tried Patrick's phone but it went to voicemail. There was only one thing left to do.

The coffee shop opposite his building was still open. I bought a creamy, frothy latte and found a comfy armchair by the window. I like to soak up the smell of the freshly filled cup but I couldn't concentrate on it that night, the milk moustache was wiped away without the hint of a smile. The light was on in his bedroom.

I rang his phone again but he still didn't answer. An hour and three cups of coffee later she walked out the front door. Smoothing that blonde hair down and buttoning up her coat.

I couldn't answer the phone when it rang. I listened to his message.

'Sorry I missed your calls. Had to turn the phone off to concentrate on the job. On my way home now. Come over after your drinks.'

It started so easily. Checking his phone to see if they were texting each other but I guess she was too protective of her secret for that. Seems he liked to keep his call and text history clear as well, deleting everything. I realised he didn't even have my number saved under my name. I kept my visits to his department as regular as before but I watched her. She was good. An odd glance, maybe standing a little too close to each other but never anything obvious. For a while I even began to believe it was over. He wanted me again on Friday nights but then the text came. He had to cancel our plans, some urgent work he couldn't avoid. Told me to go out with my friends and he'd meet me later.

I waited in the car park. Watched her leave first, an hour after most staff had fled for the weekend. He rang me from the office phone to ask where I was and after I'd replied, saying I was home, he followed her out.

I parked round the corner from the coffee shop and found that armchair with the view. The lights in the windows of his flat betrayed him.

She left after an hour again. Fifteen minutes later he rang me.

I tried to wait thirty minutes but after twenty my patience wore out.

I'm sick of the travelling now. Glad to have reached this island. I'm adjusting to the heat, the humidity, even the bugs but the loneliness is killing me. I can't sleep. I think about how everything snowballed that night. Keep seeing the knife, his blood dripping from it as I pulled it out of his leg. I failed my biology A-level, you know. If I'd passed it maybe he'd still be alive; I'd have known about that femoral artery. The blood ran quicker than I could clean the knife and put it in my bag. I was glad I'd only left a few things in his flat. It didn't take me long to pack them up. I wanted to kiss him before I left, say I was sorry, I didn't mean it. His eyes were so black and the lids were half-closed, like he was going to sleep. I couldn't do it.

I guess Patrick never told Karen about me. After dad helped me get on the plane, he stayed in touch. Said the police found out about the office gossip and questioned her. They suspected a woman was the killer and she'd been the prime suspect. They took her fingerprints and DNA and matched them to what they found in his flat; the indignity of being revealed by a used condom, fished from a bin. The firm took care of her. It was all too circumstantial. They still haven't arrested anyone and my name hasn't been mentioned.

It's getting cooler now and my little lizard friend is coming in off the porch to say hello. He visits me every day; even if I leave the bottom half of the shutters closed, he climbs over the top of them. He finds his way into my life, whether I want him to or not.

I get up off the bed and stretch, the white linen dress falling back into place, the hem skimming my knees. It's creased and I decide to change it.

Opting for a clean dress, I slip on a pair of sandals and fill a glass with cold water, from a bottle in the fridge. Sipping it I lean against the porch railings. The sweet, heady smell of the pink flowers that trail along it is overpowering.

I pick-up the binoculars from the rusting, iron table and train them on the house down the hill. An old banyan tree obscures most of it. Yesterday there was a lot of commotion around that previously empty colonial building and today I thought I glimpsed a man on the balcony. I wonder if he's alone like me. I'll take a stroll down there in a minute. Everyone needs a friendly neighbour. Right?

Vanity Case Books: New Review Site

On joining one online writing community I discovered an active chick-lit circle and five talented writers; Natalie, Caroline, Janny, Gemma and Jo. Between them they've written a cross-section of the women's fiction genre and I've seen each of them provide constructive and honest, but fair, reviews.

Today they launch a new website, Vanity Case Books, in which they will review women's fiction books, with a particular emphasis on self-published authors. They'll also have a fan of the month who will be pictured with their favourite book.

So, if you're looking for something new to read, check out their comments at:
Vanity Case Books

You can also follow them on twitter - as a group and individually:
@vanitycasebooks 
@vcbcaroline 
@vcbgemma 
@vcbnat
@vcbjo 
@vcbjanny

One For The Parents

Ever feel like you're in one of those tv shows about the things kids say?

Having a six year old and an eight year old I get to hear some right crackers, as we'd say in Northern Ireland. 

Last week my son asked me how old he had to be before he could go to a nightclub. When I explained that you had to be eighteen he asked me if I'd ever been to a club. He seemed pretty shocked to hear at a time they felt like my second home and that his parents met in one. As the conversation went on we got talking about music and despite the fact that he still hears me listening to it (among other things) he seemed even more surprised to discover that I was a fan of dance music. He soon managed to put me in my place and remind me I'm from a different generation when he informed me that was all very good but in the old days we didn't know how to dance and that moves are far more complicated now. It crossed my mind to tell him I've waved my arms on a Ministry of Sound dance floor and question his taste (he's had One Direction on his iPod and daughter thinks Harry Styles could be her boyfriend) but what could I do but use that all-knowing parental smile.? I'm sure I had similar feelings towards my own parents music tastes and dance styles. 

On another note, I'm finding time to write this on a Saturday evening and there was a time pre-kids when Saturday evening was only good for one thing  - getting ready to head out for the night. Maybe the dear son was onto something after all...

Charlie & Pearl

A link for a new blog from Tammy Robinson, indie author of the fabulous Charlie and Pearl. A story I was lucky enough to enjoy on its way to a gold medal on the Authonomy writing site.

Charlie and Pearl

Covering Letter Tips

I wish I could say I loved writing covering letters and considered myself a genius at them but the truth is, I hate them. It's the attempt to instil an entire novel, that you've given all you energy, thoughts and time to, into one paragraph and then find the relevant, interesting facts about your life to squeeze into another.

Then there's the issue of the paranoia and dread you feel, knowing someone will be judging your personality and marketability on one A4 sheet. I'd rather write an entire novel than a covering letter and synopsis.

So, I was very pleased to come across these top tips, from Vicki Le Feuvre, on the Darley Anderson blog. Well worth a read to anyone considering submitting a manuscript. The only problem  - Number 10 hasn't been posted yet.

Darley Anderson: Top 10 Tips

Prose For Thought

A fellow BritMums blogger has started a new challenge I thought I'd share.

Whilst I like reading it I don't have a clue how to write poetry and, despite the fact that I like writing short stories, maybe I'm too long-winded to distil my thoughts into the structure of a poem. My time on writing sites and reading blogs has shown me there are lots of poets out there so if you fancy having a go at penning some why not share it with Victoria.

This is what she has asked for:


Every Thursday I would like to publish a poem or piece of prose on my blog in the form of a link and I would love other creatives amongst us to join in!

It can be written in anyway you like. All I ask is that you follow the linky conditions:

1. Write a poem or piece of prose on your blog

2. Include a link to the Prose for Thought page that week so that everyone can share their creativity.

3. Come over to Verily, Victoria Vocalises every Thursday and link your post to that week’s Prose for Thought post.

4. To help other poets, and help publicise our creativity, I would love it if you would grab my badge code below and display it on your sidebar or in the post you write. This, of course, is not obligatory but would be very much appreciated!

5. Tweet about your latest poem on Twitter using #prose4T

You can find out more on Victoria's blog: Prose For Thought

The Glass House: Chapter One

I've been playing around with the chapter order to decide where best the open The Glass House. In the end I opted to keep the first chapter as originally drafted but I've edited it further.

I've tried to give a sense of place in this story, both within the landscape and buildings but also within the people and culture of their lives. I felt it was important to give a taste of the relationship between the sisters from the offset but I hope the editing also starts to show more of the family and their Northern Irish roots.

Am I getting there?

Chapter One

Caitlin sighed as she looked at the gardening manuals spread across the island worktop in her sister's kitchen. The sound of her exasperation muffled by the grinding of ice as Niamh refilled a glass with cold water.

'Sure you don't want one?'

'We live in the West of Northern Ireland and it's January. Freezing cold water isn't going to warm my bones.'

'More fool you for choosing a career that leaves you outside most of the day.'

Caitlin rifled through the pages, finding the next one, marked with a sticky note.

'Look, just tell me what you think about these.' She gestured towards the page. 'What about the clematis montana, this honeysuckle, maybe the winter flowering jasmine and an evergreen cistus?'

'I've no idea what any of those are. You choose.'

'Won't you at least look at the pictures?'

'As long as you get rid of what's out there and plant something new I couldn't care less what it is. Besides, I trust you.'

'Sometimes I despair of you,' Caitlin said, pushing a stray blonde hair back into her pony-tail. 'I'm never going to convince you gardening is good for the soul, am I?'

'You inherited those genes,' Niamh replied, holding up one hand, the sparkling, well-tended talons on display. 'I much prefer nail extensions to green fingers, thank you very much.'

Setting the glass down on the gleaming surface, Niamh pushed the gardening manuals closer to her sister. Caitlin accepted them revealing stubby finger nails. The skin on her hands coarser than Niamh's and indelibly stained from the green and brown of plants and soil, the tools of her trade.

'Lucky you found a rich man to marry then.' Caitlin tucked her hands between her jean clad legs, shifting on the uncomfortable bar stool, watching her younger sister bristle as she grabbed the edge of the granite.

'Don't knock my man, it's his generosity paying for your gardening services.'

Caitlin opened her mouth to reply that he hadn't paid for anything yet but the noise of the phone ringing stole Niamh's attention.

Opening the glass door of the stove, Caitlin rubbed her hands in the heat that emanated from the fire, the strong peat and charcoal aroma of the coal and turf escaping into the room around her.

The two dogs unfolded their long limbs and stood, shaking their mahogany coats before moving to her side, pushing their soft, brown noses closer to the warmth.

'Don't get too close you pair,' she said, ruffling their long, floppy ears. 'Don't think Niamh would appreciate singed setter hair.'

She rotated, warming herself all round and closed the door again. 'Where did she get to anyway? That has to be the longest phone call in history,' she muttered at the dogs. Roise lifted her large paw to rest it against Caitlin's leg. 'I know you want a bit of attention but I'll have to go soon.' Caitlin pulled the dog beds closer to the stove and went in search of her sister.

Standing in the doorway, between the kitchen and the hall, Caitlin could hear Niamh's voice drift from the drawing room. Following it, intending to indicate she'd call back later, she stalled as Niamh's voice rose.

'I don't bloody care. I'm sick of you trying to manipulate us and if I had my way your life would be a lot less comfortable. I will tell him you rang, this time, but you're getting nothing more out of us.'

Caitlin heard the sound of the phone clatter onto a table. She padded quietly on the wooden hall floor, her thick woollen socks muffling the sound as she retraced her steps back to the kitchen.

By the time Niamh returned to the kitchen Caitlin was sitting by the granite island. Niamh set the phone down on the gleaming worktop. 'Sorry about that. Mum called to remind me that Tom and I promised to have dinner with her and dad tomorrow night but you know what she's like. Couldn't get her off the phone.'

'Mum? Surprised she didn't want to speak to me.'

'Like I said, it was hard enough getting her off the phone.'

'Suppose I should call round and see her later. I must be due another lecture on coming to my senses and moving back in with her and dad.'

'She worries about you. Can't blame her for that and you must see why we all do. Living like that can't be healthy.'

'Don't start.'

Sounds from the hall that lead to the rear door, stopped the conversation.

'Hello. What are you two plotting? Tom Whitley asked, his leather soled shoes, clipping on the white travertine tiles, as he crossed the kitchen to join his wife.

Niamh turned to him, pointing at his feet. 'Thought I told you to leave those shoes by the door. Look at the black marks they're leaving all over the floor.'

'I'm only gonna be a minute,' Tom said, reaching across the island to draw a manual towards him, while pushing away the transparent, crystal vase and the five white lilies it contained. 'Wish you'd stop buying those damn things. Hate the stench of them. Remind me of funerals.'

'Some inspiration for the garden,' Caitlin said, watching him leaf through her book, its corners worn from folding, notes scribbled alongside the photographs and fluorescent colours highlighting the black print.

'Nothing wrong with it the way it is,' Tom said, flipping the manual closed. 'No need to spend any money on it.'

'It's the last reminder of your ex-wife in this property and I want it gone,' Niamh said, prodding his shoulder.

'That's not playing fair,' Tom said, pulling her into his arms. 'You know I can deny you nothing.' He kissed her glossed lips. 'If you insist on changing it, I'm sure Caitlin will be offering me family rates.'

Caitlin, immune to Tom's placating smile, remained silent. Having no intention of offering him anything she retrieved her book, flicking back to the pages she'd been trying to show Niamh.

'Anyway, I don't have time for this right now,' Tom said, releasing Niamh. 'Just popped home to pick up my passport, had a great tip about a property in Marbella that would be prime a-list rental. Rushing out to see it before the family of the recently deceased little old dear sell it to someone else for a song.'

'Wait a minute.' Niamh pushed her hands under his open blazer, holding the shirt, tucked into his jeans. 'You're going to Marbella, now?'

'That's what I said, isn't it?' Tom muttered, side-stepping her to rifle through a kitchen drawer and retrieve his dog-eared passport.

'You're not going without me. Give me an hour to get ready.'

'Be serious pet, the flight leaves at four and you know it'll take me two hours to get to Belfast. I wish I could, but I don't have time to wait for you.'

'All I have to do is pack a bag, change my clothes and freshen my make up.'

'And we all know how long that takes,' Caitlin said, forcing a mocking smile onto her face, when Niamh narrowed her black-lined eyelids, obscuring her blue eyes as she cast a withering look at her sister.

'Look, if you've got time to pack, then so have I,' Niamh said, turning her back to Caitlin.

'Not packing,' Tom said. 'I'll pick up a few things at the airport. Besides, I haven't booked you a seat,' Tom continued, 'and, even if I could get you one, you'd be bored whilst we try to get a good deal out of the family.''

'We. Who's we?'

'Just a business contact who's interested in investing in this property with me.'

'Male or female business contact?'

'Would it matter?' Tom said, glancing over his shoulder at her, while pulling out the next drawer. 'We're still newly-weds after all and you know I only have eyes for you.'

'You better have.'

Clutching the passport, Tom reached around Niamh, tucking his hands into the rear pockets of the jeans that clung to her slim legs, pulling her close and swivelling her around, resting their hips against the island.

'Why would I need to look elsewhere when I have my gorgeous wife waiting here to welcome me home?'

Niamh stroked the lapels of Tom's jacket and cradled into his embrace. When Caitlin saw her stick out her lower lip, a gesture she'd developed as a child and used to great effect on everyone ever since, Caitlin smirked. Tom's escape was about to become conditional and she was glad his condescension was about to be parried.

'You better make sure you bring me home something expensive and dazzling.'

'As always. I'll call you later.'

Caitlin was relieved to see him break the embrace and turn to leave the room. The man repelled her and she couldn't imagine how Niamh could bear his touch.

'Wait a minute,' Niamh said. 'I need to speak to you about...'

'Can't. Tell me tonight.' He ruffled the ears of the two Irish Setters as he spoke, before striding to the back door. When he slammed it behind him, Caitlin realised he'd side-stepped the issue of who he was travelling with.

'How can you stand him talking to you like that?' she asked.

'Oh don't be such a feminist. Your attitude is the reason why I'm happily married and you're alone.'

'I'm alone because I have standards and anyway, I'd rather have no-one than an old man groping me and talking down to me like some brainless doll.'

'Tom's not old. He's only fifty.'

'Exactly. He's twice your age.'

'He looks after himself and he's fitter than some of the men I know in their twenties. Sometimes I think you're jealous. I have a loving husband and two beautiful homes whilst you dig around in the dirt every day, just to pay for a scruffy van and that crumbling house. Tom says if you knocked it to the ground and sold the plot you could make a fortune.'

'He would, but how can you be so soulless? You know how much I love that house and I happen to like digging around in the dirt. It's more honest than digging for gold.'

Gathering the catalogues, and heading for the door, Caitlin found her muddy wellies.

'That's typical, throw insults at me and then run away,' Niamh said.

'Goodbye, Niamh,' Caitlin called, not looking around and letting the door slam behind her.

*

The headlights of Caitlin's van picked out the change from wild to neat, curving hedgerow that marked the entrance to her parents home. Turning off the tarmac road onto the concrete driveway she could see lights shine from the rear side of the house. The kitchen window illuminated, her mother would be preparing dinner.

The 1950's farmhouse didn't offer the luxury of a utility room or the convenience of the scullery that older properties provided. Instead, when Caitlin opened the backdoor with the accustomed shove of the hip, she walked straight into the kitchen.

'Ah Cate, I didn't hear you drive up. You near made me cut my finger off barging through the door like that,' her mother said, brandishing a small, serrated knife.

'Not a bit of wonder. You've that tv up so loud a bomb could go off in the yard and you wouldn't hear it.'

'Well, turn it down then and pull up a chair. I'll stick the kettle on.'

Forcing one foot against the heel of the other, Caitlin shook off her boots and sat in a wooden chair by the old cream Aga, its lids scratched and worn from decades of use. 'Want a hand with that,' she asked, watching her mother enact the daily ritual of peeling the potatoes and throwing them into the pot of boiling water. For more than half of its life the thirty year-old range had been fuelled by coal and Caitlin's head swam with delightful memories of her father sticking his feet on the edge of the fire to warm his toes, her mother scolding him for yet another pair of charred socks to be darned. Now oil-fired, the coal and the darning needles had long ago been discarded.

'No, it's grand. Almost done. Thought you were going round to Niamh's?'

'I was,' she answered, pulling out another chair and putting her woollen sock-covered feet on it. 'Didn't she tell you I was there when you rang?'

'I didn't ring. Popped over to see her last night. Such a gorgeous house.' Mary Maguire said, covering the pot of plumping potatoes with a lid. 'She's so lucky but Tom works so hard for the pair of them. He was holed up in that study of his most of the time I was there. Did you see him?' she asked, turning to Caitlin.

'Briefly,' Caitlin answered, shrugging.

'He looks after our Niamh so well but I thought he looked tired. Hope he's taking care of himself.' She flicked Caitlin's feet from the chair, sitting down on it. 'I wish you could find someone like that.'

'I don't want to be looked after and certainly not by someone like Tom.'

'Why do you have to be so hard on him?'

'Aside from the fact that he is a misogynistic dinosaur?'

'That's nonsense. He's good to your sister and she's more than happy to be looked after, so who are they hurting?'

Caitlin stared at her mother wishing she could answer, almost speaking the words which boiled in her head. If only she could be sure of what she saw the night of Niamh's wedding. She wished yet again that she'd gotten a better look at the man, then maybe she could voice her suspicions. She knew Tom was from a world she wanted no part of and she hated the way Niamh had succumbed to his cash, however he'd earned it. Instead she hung her head, knowing her mother would assume she was sulking.

'Anyway, were you able to help her out with the garden?'

'Sort of,' Caitlin said, drawing out the words.

'What does that mean?'

'I made some suggestions but we had a bit of a disagreement before I left.'

'You two don't know how to have a bit of a disagreement; blazing row would be more like it. I've never met two sisters who fight as much as you two do.'

'That's not fair, Mum. All siblings squabble.'

'I remember that day we brought Niamh home from the hospital. You were four years old and kept telling us how excited you were to be getting a sister, then you looked at her and you both burst out crying.'

'We're very different people,' Caitlin said, standing to lift the lid on the pot, relieving the pressure, as the cloudy water forced against it. A plume of steam rose, carrying the starchy smell into the kitchen.

'Niamh was always more like me, I'd love to have had the advantages she has, but you're so like your father and your grandmother. Never happier than when you're up to your elbows in muck.'

'Speaking of which, I better get back to work.' Caitlin scraped the chair legs on the tiled floor as she slid it back under the table. Pushing her hands into her pockets she wondered if she'd ever gain her mother's approval in the way Niamh managed.

'Aren't you staying for dinner? I've done enough spuds for you and your dad.'

Eager to leave the conversation, but equally keen not to look any more of a petulant child than she already felt, Caitlin acquiesced, thankful that her father would be home soon and she could update him on the glass house.

I spotted the boathouse

I'm watching the new BBC series, The Blandings. Whilst enjoying Timothy Spall's panic over The Empress I spotted a familiar boathouse in the background. It seems the series filmed at the beautiful Crom Estate. The boathouse featured in the photos I posted after visiting the estate in summer 2012.

Crom Estate Blog Post

Write a novel and get published – Kerry Fisher tells you how

Write a novel and get published – Kerry Fisher tells you how

Christmas Fun

It's time to bring the decorations down and start facing real life again but for my first blog post of the new year I'm going to mention Christmas one more time. We usually have a reasonably quiet festive period which suits us as we seem to have such hectic lives and are glad of the wind-down time.

This year we had visitors for the Christmas week in the form of my sister-in-law, her husband and their two children. With a household of four children and four adults we had a busy time of it but it was fabulous. Christmas is never so magical as when there are children enjoying it, wrapped up in the joy of Santa and all the excitement the expectation of his visit brings. I really enjoyed seeing the children all together and it was great to catch up with family we just don't get to see enough of because of time and distance.

We had some upheaval as well. One minor in the dishwasher deciding to pack-in just after Boxing Day causing a call to a local electrical store and the speedy arrival of a replacement. One much more worrying with my dad being admitted to hospital on Christmas night and remaining there for a few days whilst they tested him for a suspected heart attack. Very relieved that he's home and okay but frustrating that the tests seemed inconclusive, different doctors gave different opinions on whether it was a heart attack or angina and finally discharged him with little clue what happened and the instructions he was to attend a clinic if it happened again. His own GP said the clinic could have a four week waiting list and wasn't best impressed so has advised him to get straight back to A&E if he has any further problems.

On a lighter note, one of my favourite things about Christmas is the time we get to spend together as a family. No working away, no clubs and sports, school or homework. Not even any writing or blogging.  Instead we got the bikes out and went cycling, we went walking and of course there was the obligatory building of the construction sets that are always an aspect of our Christmas.

My six year old has discovered a love of Enid Blyton and my eight year old has decided to tackle the Lord of the Rings (a tome I first read when I was thirteen but have read again a further five or six times) whilst I reread The Hobbit in anticipation of watching the new film.

This year my daughter is very into Lego Friends and she got four sets of it. My son likes the mechanical K'nex and he got a new character (Chomp - he already has the spider) and the roller coaster. Two things new to us were the Lego games. We've now got the Hogwarts and Hobbit sets. Together with an electronic version of Guess Who they've kept the four of us amused and entertained. There were new Wii games in the house as well but I love how much time we've spent together playing these new board games, without the kids begging to escape and play on a games console. The Hogwarts Lego is more strategic, the Hobbits based on the memory game so both require some thought. The Hogwarts board is a lot sturdier than the Hobbits one but I'd highly recommend both.

Lego Games: Harry Potter & The Hobbit

Christmas Construction Sets

Lego Friends Stable & Horse Trailer

Lego Friends Camper Van & Sea Plane

K' nex Chomp

K' nex Rollercoaster