He watched them walk to the bus stop and catch a bus into the city.
They would not be back for hours.
He entered the yard by the side gate. There was one large window in the rear wall of the house. It was shut. A gentle slide with his gloved hand revealed that it was not locked. The window opened into an open-plan kitchen. He stepped through into a cool interior, saturated with the smell of the bacon and eggs they’d shared for breakfast.
I walked to the bus stop and there it was – on the ground, under the seat. An envelope with her name on it, torn along the long edge, with a letter inside. Unresisting, I extracted the paper and read his words to her.
What a jerk, I thought. He didn’t even have the courage to confront her and confess his reasons for desertion.
When I’d read his excuses for leaving her to bring up their kids, I understood why she had discarded the letter or not exercised sufficient care to keep it safe.
If you’re anything like me, you prefer a murder mystery to be solved by the time you get to the end of the book. Even if the sleuth doesn’t work it out, you expect the author to reveal who did the deed and why.
Most of us do not commit murder, except in our fantasies.
It’s okay, you can admit to those murderous thoughts you’ve had about killing your boss, your spouse, that idiot that cut you off in traffic, or the one that got the promotion you know belonged to you. Continue reading “Writing murder”
I’m writing Sanity Savers, a third book for the Living Alone series, to provide men, living alone after the end of a long-term relationship, with a range of options to help them maintain their sanity. Continue reading “Living alone – sanity savers”