Stuart Aken's Blog, page 255

Read Breaking Faith, Free: Chapter 42

Reviews of Breaking Faith, under the 'My Books' tab, might convince you to try this book, unless, of course, you’re already doing so.
If so, enjoy the ride.
I posted Chapter 1 on 13 January. Subsequent chapters have appeared each Friday, and will continue to be posted until all 50 have featured here. You can find those already posted via the archive; just search by chapter number. If you missed the start, you’ll find it here: http://stuartaken.blogspot.com/2012/01/read-free-my-novel-here.html
Read, enjoy, invite your friends along. As an author, I want people to read my writing, simple as that.
Chapter 42
Tuesday 7th September
‘I don’t know why you’re so surprised, Faith, you know I witnessed the Will.’‘I still don’t see how you knew, unless Dad told you.’‘Of course David gave me an idea of what you’d be worth. He knew you’d be better off than me and I’ve a shrewd idea he expected that to have a significant, and adverse, affect on our relationship.’‘Why didn’t you tell me?’‘That I was witnessing your father’s Last Will and Testament? Hardly helpful when you were still trying to fool yourself that he would…’‘Why didn’t you tell me how much I would inherit?’‘David asked me not to.’She gave me one of her soft looks and I knew I had her on my side again, however briefly. ‘At the moment, my major concern is whether you’ll stay at Longhouse …as my Girl Friday and printer, until I can find someone else?’‘You want me to leave?’‘Of course I don’t. But I’ve no doubt you’ll want to be on your way.’She looked as if I’d made the most idiotic suggestion possible.‘Don’t you?’For a while, she was silent.‘I want that holiday, Leigh. I want to go as soon as possible, and I want to go alone.’I allowed my disappointment to show. ‘I’d hoped you’d want me along.’‘Under different circumstances, I would. Heaven knows, I don’t want to leave you alone with Netta any more than I have to. But I need time and space to understand myself and work out who and what I am and what I want to do with my life. And I can do that only on my own.’‘Two heads are better than one.’‘Dad made his decisions alone. I’ll do the same. Don’t waste your breath trying to change my mind; I don’t want us to fall out over this. When can I go?’She had enough money to make her totally independent and yet she was asking my permission to go on holiday. I knew when I was beaten. ‘As soon as the travel agent can fix it, I suppose.’She reached up and kissed me, passing that magic to me so that her withdrawal left me feeling as though some part of my being remained with her. ‘I’ll go into town now. I need to get away, Leigh, as soon as possible.’I watched her leave and wondered how soon I would be saying goodbye to her for good. That prospect wrenched my insides and tore at my heart in a way that should have warned me. Netta approached and I wondered how much of what had passed she’d observed. Her manner was cautionary as she reached up to embrace me and I found myself not just unwilling to respond to her, but almost incapable. She took my limp arm and placed my hand on her warm, round bottom but I felt only flesh and was suddenly certain I wanted none of it, none of her. ‘Sorry, Netta, I’m busy.’ I left her with her mouth open and went into the studio to work, if I could.‘Bastard!’I heard her slam out of the house a few moments later and knew she would make me pay for my act of rejection later. I wondered, however, whether I cared.They returned almost together, Netta, sooner than was usual and in softened mood, ready to give me another chance, and Faith bursting with barely suppressed nervousness. She hadn’t shed a tear since the funeral, perhaps not even since her father’s death. Her tension had diminished during our picnic but it had been smothered rather than removed and had resurfaced immediately on our return. Whatever had passed at the solicitor’s office, in spite of the bequest, had done little to ease it. She might break down completely if she couldn’t find a way to express her grief.Netta claimed me as first arrival and I fondled her and promised I’d make things up to her later. She seemed uncharacteristically ready to accept and I wondered how much she understood of my turmoil. I certainly knew I’d escaped lightly.Faith burst in in a conflict of moods. ‘I’ve booked my holiday. I’m going on Saturday. A woman spat at me in the street and called me a whoring cow. It’s in the papers. Heacham’s trial starts a week on Monday. I’m going to Scotland. An island. It’s a croft and there’ll be no one for miles. She said I was a colluding whore. They were all staring.’‘They’ll need you for the trial, Faith. I don’t think you can go now.’She barely glanced at me. ‘I’ve written it down. No one’s said I have to. You won’t be able to reach me. I’m going on Saturday.’I wondered why the official notification hadn’t already come. Faith was the most obvious material witness to the rapes, although I was certain she’d been completely unaware of what the bastard was doing. I wondered if I should make that clear again, but her manner and her desperation to get away made me cautious about raising a disagreement I hoped had been settled between us.That she was very near to breaking was obvious in her strange manner of speech and the visible tension in the way she held herself. It seemed as likely as not that a good break from the area and from Netta and I would help her come to terms with all that had happened.‘Is Heacham still in custody?’I waved my hand at Netta to silence her but she must know.‘Well, is he?’‘No, Netta. They let him out a short while after he attacked you. On bail. Though God knows why. Apparently, he’s considered no threat to anyone else.’‘Take me to see him.’I stared at her. Faith, poring over a road atlas, seemed to be taking no notice. I moved closer so I might identify at least the area she was planning to visit. ‘When did you buy that?’ I wasn’t interested, merely wanting the opportunity to see what part of the country she was studying.‘I won it on the driving course.’She had never said. I wondered what other secrets, small and large, were locked up in her. I wanted to ask but Netta was insistent and I had to turn my attention to her.‘Take me, Leigh. Or I’ll go alone.’Unlikely as it seemed, I believed her threat. ‘Why? What’s he to you?’‘Hope’s my half sister. I owe her. Take me, Leigh. Now.’I shrugged. ‘We’ll be back later, Faith.’‘If you’re going to do him any violence, either of you, make it painful and humiliating and tell him I’d like to see the foul, hypocritical, bastard dead; painfully, lingeringly dead!’Her venom shocked me but I nodded and followed Netta, almost demure in her summer dress, to the car.He was alone in the cottage, his vest and trousers stinking with sweat and the floor strewn with rubbish. Unshaven, unkempt, dirty and dishevelled, he didn’t want us in the cottage. But Netta made it clear she wouldn’t be refused and I just barged my way in with her in close pursuit.‘Why did you beat me, Heacham?’No reply.‘Answer Netta’s questions, Heacham. I’m in no mood for mercy and I’ve shown you once what I can do.’He sulked and glared as he sat in the armchair amongst his filth. I wanted it over with as soon as possible so I took a step toward him and he put up his hand in self-defence.‘All right. I’ll not have my daughter parading naked in public, showing her all to the world and making a laughing stock of me. Whore!’‘I’m not your daughter. Neither is Faith. The only child you fathered is that damaged little girl you repeatedly raped.’‘I never…’‘Oh, shut it, Heacham! Leigh caught you with your prick in the poor helpless baby and you admitted you’d been fucking her for years! I’d have your filthy balls off only you’re not worth it.‘Prison’s where you’re going, Heacham, and they don’t like men, if that’s what you are, who rape helpless kids. They won’t care about your balls. They’ll burn and crush them, tear them off you. And the prison guards won’t even hear your screams. Every day one of the perverts will bugger you. They’ll fuck you till your arse bleeds and you scream in agony and still no one will do anything to help you because they’ll all know you deserve it.‘Your life inside’ll be a living hell. When you’ve been beaten and castrated and raped until your arse is a pulp of blood and shit, they might give you solitary, for your own protection. Of course, you might be dead by then, if you’re lucky. I thought you’d like to know what you’re going to, that’s all.’ She marched over and spat into his terrified face. As he wiped it clear, she raised a leg and, true to form, he was so taken by the sight of what she revealed, he failed to understand her purpose. Her stiletto heel drove hard into his groin and he screamed. Removing her foot, she slapped him several times, her hands making vicious contact with his unprotected face.I let her take her revenge until he tried to protect himself. Then I stepped in, pulled him to his feet by his greasy hair and planted a single straight right that made the satisfactory crunch of breaking bone as my fist connected with his nose, already broken after my previous attack. He reeled back into the chair.‘That’s for Faith and all the years of childhood and joy you denied her. That sweet innocent girl hates you absolutely and comprehensively and wishes you a long and painful death, by the way. Such has been the outcome of your worthless life. Personally, I think you’ve got off lightly. What I’d like to do to you is worse than your wildest nightmares, Heacham.’ Netta gave him one last slapping before she backed away. ‘Why not just do yourself in and put the rest of us out of your misery.’In the car, I looked at Netta with renewed respect. ‘How did you know all that about prison?’‘One of my men friends has been inside.’I almost made a joke in response but managed to refrain.Faith was nowhere to be seen when we returned and Ma had gone home after preparing our evening meal of chicken salad.‘Christ, that’s made me randy!’ Netta was panting with some strange passion.I was seething with unspent rage but I let her undress me in the sitting room and watched her strip her own sweet body before we gave ourselves to lust on the floor.Faith was standing in the doorway when we finished. She stared at us with such contempt I felt compelled to move out of her sight, but the only way from the room was through the doorway she blocked. ‘You really are the most pathetic creatures, aren’t you?’I felt so small.She failed to join us for dinner and we ate in subdued silence without looking at each other.The next day she worked silently in the office and the darkroom and ignored me unless I asked her a direct question. I felt diminished in her eyes and wanted to apologise and make an explanation, but there was none.The weather was no help; oppressive and hot, with a sky clear by day and clouded by night so that there was no relief from the build up of heat.On Friday night, I’d intended a small celebration to mark Faith’s departure for holiday; a private party to send her on her way with our best wishes. But she was absent again from dinner and remained in her room.Netta and I eventually went to bed, having consumed the wine I’d opened for the parting, Netta drinking the lion’s share. I wasn’t in the mood for sex and, to my surprise, she seemed unconcerned by my indifference, perhaps too drunk to care. I suspect she felt that once Faith had gone, she’d be free to have her way with me again as often as she pleased.In the early hours, thunder woke me and I lay awake listening to Netta snoring softly beside me, undisturbed by the violent storm. Booms and rolls and roars echoed from the fells as lightning strobed across the open window. Soon her breathing was drowned by torrential rain that poured over the gutters and pelted on the tiles above and against the glass of the window I had to shut.From within the house I heard the sound of something falling, followed by a heartrending cry of utter desolation.
###
If you're impatient for the next chapter, you can buy the book in paperback or ebook format for whatever ereader you use, just click on the cover picture or visit ‘My Books’. If you do, I’d appreciate a review, posted wherever possible - Amazon, Goodreads, Smashwords, or any other bookish site. Reviews get indie published books noticed, you see.
Tweet with me on Twitter: http://twitter.com/@stuartaken
Like my author page on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/StuartAkenRead on Goodreads:  http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4234877.Stuart_AkenStumble with me: http://www.stumbleupon.com/stumbler/stuartakenPin with me here: http://pinterest.com/stuartaken/Buy my ebooks via Smashwords: http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/stuartakenUSA readers, see my author page on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/author/stuartaken(for some odd reason, this type of link isn't yet available on Amazon for UK)Join my professional connections on LinkedIn: http://www.linkedin.com/pub/stuart-aken/22/1b6/aaa
Related articles Read Breaking Faith, Free: Chapter 41 Read Breaking Faith, Free: Chapter 40 Read Breaking Faith, Free: Chapter 39 Read Breaking Faith, Free: Chapter 38

Useful Tips on Writing Good English (Especially for Students)

Testtakingstudent (Photo credit: Wikipedia)I was doing some research for my daughter, who is at university, and, by pure chance, came across this website, which, although intended for university students, is open to the public. If you've ever had questions relating to correct English usage, this is a really useful tool, with easy to follow guides on a number of technical, grammatical and associated issues. Certain worth a visit.
http://www2.hull.ac.uk/student/studyadvice/studyskillsresources/studyguides.aspx

Good luck with your writing.
Related articles Who or Whom? Pearson's New GrammarPrep App Series Takes the Guesswork out of English Usage When to Use I.E. Versus E.G. Which Language Rules to Flout. Or Flaunt? 10 Steps to Better Spelling

What to Do on Those Days the Brain Refuses to Function?

Lobes of the brain, color-coded. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
I suspect it happens to us all from time to time: we have a day when the brain just refuses to do what is required of it. Today has been such a day for me. Why? That’s easy. I’m suffering some sort of stomach bug that has meant I’ve needed to be close to the bathroom all day. I managed a swift walk around the block for fresh air and exercise but that’s all. Now, I’ve had this sort of event before (as a recovering ME sufferer, my immune system isn’t what it was and I’m a bit vulnerable to those idiots at my day job who fail to wash their hands after a visit to the loo: such thoughtful folk, eh?)
Generally, the effect is to deaden the creative and constructive part of my brain so that everything becomes a real effort; like trying to think clearly through clouded water. And, generally, my response to the physical results of such infection is to starve myself for 24 hours, consuming only apple juice warmed and sweetened – a trick I learned from a doctor years ago, which seems to work. But, of course, the energy levels suffer as a result and anything that demands extra effort is just a little too much.
So, what to do with the time? I suppose I could just give in and rest for the day. Read, perhaps? But I’ve been busy recently, devising and publishing a new book. And that means the emails have piled up. So, I spent a good part of the day dealing with those. Most of them are relatively undemanding, so not too difficult to make progress through the numbers and clear the decks for tomorrow, when, hopefully, I’ll be able to do some writing. I also had the basic themes of a review worked out in my head, so I was able to put that together and stick on the blog and Goodreads.
And that’s really what this piece is about. How to make the best of whatever situation you find yourself in. I could’ve given up and spent the day in bed. But what would that have achieved? I’d have been bored to tears and all those emails would still have been waiting for me in the morning to disrupt my return to normality.
I’m very lucky; years of writing have made it relatively easy for me to respond in plain language to messages. As long as I don’t have to get too creative when I’m in this state, I can generally manage to string some words together. But I couldn’t do anything that required the imagination and sheer concentration necessary for making a story. So, I do what I can do and hope to make the time that follows the incident more productive as a result.
I’m curious about how others deal with this sort of brain dulling. How do you cope? What do you do? Let’s share our experiences in the hope someone else may pick up a tip to deal with a similar situation when it creeps up on them.
Related articles Your Brain Can Be Nice or Logical, But Not Both At Once Brain Power Foods May Improve Cognitive Abilities Insight on Brain Development

Free Until the Witching Hour

Heir to Death’s Folly, a new book available exclusively as a Kindle ebook, is free until midnight tonight (that’s PST. For UK readers, you have until 07:00 Thursday), so regular visitors have a chance to obtain it without cost. If you take advantage of the offer, I’d appreciate a review, but you’re under no obligation, of course.
No Kindle, but want to read it? Download free software from Amazon to read Kindle books on your PC, laptop, iPad, iPhone, Android phone, tablet or Mac; use this link from the UK http://amzn.to/Uaqusr  and, for USA readers, this link http://amzn.to/UaqUiu , where you can also add it to your browser, Windows Phone 7, Blackberry, and Windows 8 devices.
The story? I won’t give anything away, but a young woman is in peril…This is the short blurb: At Kasim's insistence, Julie takes him to visit her Aunt Agatha. Desperate for money, he intends to hasten Agatha's death so Julie will inherit her fortune sooner. But their search for the legendary family treasure leads them into dangers they could never have envisaged. Will Julie escape the fate that awaits her in the ancient tower rumoured to house the hoard?
 Woooo! Scary, eh?  Enjoy your goosebumps!
Related articles New Book Published for Halloween Halloween Ebook, Free for 2 Days. How to Read Kindle Books Without a Kindle & for FREE? iPad Mini vs. Kindle Fire HD: Amazon Strikes At Apple With An Ad

Shrivings, by Peter Shaffer, Reviewed.

An unusual piece, this: a published play that appears never to have been performed in the form presented ( I think it’s available only as part of a 3 play anthology including, Equus and Five Finger Exercise). But the author wanted this piece out there, even if it wasn’t performed. And I can see why.
This is a device to project certain philosophical views and beliefs rather than a piece of true drama, though it does contain the usual elements of the stage play. As is commonly the case with Shaffer, the setting and the stage directions are precise, leaving no doubt about the intended platform or the actors’ movements and disposition. In this sense, the writer acts much like a director in determining the staging of his work.
The characters, three men and a young woman, are all exquisitely penned and their interactions jump from the page with credible drama. Set around the end of the 1960s and much associated with the peace movements of the time, the play explores what it means to be a pacifist in a real sense. Using the conflicts and relationships that spring from family, friendship, sex, love and hero-worship, Shaffer puts his players through emotional hell in a way that illuminates the variety and depth of the human spirit. Several of the scenes are so powerful they will stay with me for a long time. What could so easily have descended into banal bickering, is elevated to considered and emotionally charged discussion that resounds with truth and insight. This is not a play to enjoy; in fact, I have my doubts about whether it would be possible to perform it successfully before a theatre audience because of the detail and depth of meaning that dwells within many of the passages. But, as a reading of the text, it works very well and serves to educate in an entertaining manner, whilst throwing some light on the motives of some of those involved in the early peace movements.
It’s a very human play. There is real love behind the depiction of the characters, allowing the reader to empathise with all four, whilst seeing their weaknesses. Something to give cause for thought to both pacifists and warmongers, I recommend this deeply affecting piece of writing to all readers who enjoy challenges to their belief systems, philosophy and lifestyle. Try it; I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.
Related articles Five Finger Exercise, a Play by Peter Shaffer, Reviewed

Halloween Ebook, Free for 2 Days.

Heir to Death’s Folly, available exclusively as a Kindle ebook at present, is published under the KDP flag. And I’m giving it away free for two days, so that my regular readers can have it at no cost, to celebrate Halloween. Should you take advantage of this offer, I’d appreciate a review, but you’re under no obligation, of course. I just want you to enjoy the story and feel the terror.
For those who don’t own a Kindle, but want to read it in the offer period, or later (when, by the way, it will cost you $2.99 or £1.86), you can download free software from Amazon so you can read Kindle books on your PC, laptop, iPad, iPhone, Android phone, tablet or Mac, just follow this link if you’re in the UK http://amzn.to/Uaqusrand click on the appropriate link on the site. For USA readers, follow this link http://amzn.to/UaqUiu  and you can add other devices to the list as follows: your browser, Windows Phone 7, Blackberry, and Windows 8 devices.
What’s the story about? Well, I won’t give too much away, but a young woman is being taken into danger…The short blurb is as follows: At Kasim's insistence, Julie takes him to visit her Aunt Agatha. Desperate for money, he intends to hasten Agatha's death so Julie will inherit her fortune sooner. But their search for the legendary family treasure leads them into dangers they could never have envisaged. Will Julie escape the fate that awaits her in the ancient tower rumoured to house the hoard?
And the period of the free offer? From now, PST (Monday), to midnight PST on 31 October (07:00 Tuesday to 07:00 Thursday, here in UK). So, get your copy sooner rather than later, or you may miss out. Of course, if you wait, I earn a bit of cash for my work and that’s great. But, either way, I’m happy as long as I have readers. Enjoy.
Related articles Updated Weather HD Gets Into The Halloween Spirit New Book Published for Halloween How to make your Kindle eBooks work on iPad Portable Ebook Reader

New Book Published for Halloween

I’ve a new book out for the coming holiday. It’s a story of around 10,000 words in the Gothic horror tradition, so should get those goosebumps rising.
Heir to Death’s Folly is available exclusively as a Kindle ebook at present, under the KDP flag. And it’s going to be free for a couple of days, so that my regular visitors have a chance to obtain it without cost. Of course, if you take advantage of this offer, I’d appreciate a review, but don’t feel under any obligation to write one.
If you don’t have a Kindle, but want to read it in the free period, or later, you can download free software from Amazon to allow you to read Kindle books on your PC, laptop, iPad, iPhone, Android phone, tablet or Mac, just follow this link from the UK http://amzn.to/Uaqusrand click on the appropriate link on the site. For USA readers, follow this link http://amzn.to/UaqUiu  and you can add other devices to that list as follows: your browser, Windows Phone 7, Blackberry, and Windows 8 devices.
So what’s the story about? Well, I don’t want to give too much away, but a young woman is in danger…The short blurb is as follows: At Kasim's insistence, Julie takes him to visit her Aunt Agatha. Desperate for money, he intends to hasten Agatha's death so Julie will inherit her fortune sooner. But their search for the legendary family treasure leads them into dangers they could never have envisaged. Will Julie escape the fate that awaits her in the ancient tower rumoured to house the hoard?
And, what’s the timetable for the free offer? From midnight PST tonight (Monday) to midnight PST on 31 October (which is 07:00 Tuesday to 07:00 Thursday, here in UK). So don’t delay, get your copy sooner rather than later, or you may miss out.

Five Finger Exercise, a Play by Peter Shaffer, Reviewed

First performed in 1958, this is a play of its time. I’m not sure the modern generation would understand the subtleties of the upper middle class family and its seething social and class tensions. The addition of the German tutor as a fulcrum for change, so short a time after the war, would nowadays not have the power and relevance it must have had for an audience of the day. Of course, those of my own generation, and earlier, would appreciate these factors, but whether the play could be enjoyed by a younger audience is open to debate.
In the written text, there’s an ambiguity surrounding the relationship between the tutor and the son that could hint at homosexuality. But the resolution of this in performance would be dependent on the actors playing those parts and the direction they were given, and I’m still unable to decide whether their attempt at friendship is platonic or subconsciously sexual.
Employing a girl developing into early womanhood as the object of the young tutor’s teaching, enclosed, as they are, in a tight and intimate setting, would now be seen through different eyes. In fifties England, paedophilia was a taboo subject and one not considered for public exposure or discussion as it now is. Again, the playwright may have had ulterior motives and may have been adding a layer of complexity to the plot by suggesting a sexual longing on behalf of the daughter. Certainly she develops a crush on her tutor, and this, once perceived by the mother, is a cause for the older woman’s jealousy, since she also fancies herself in love with the young man. But the crush may have been intended as no more than the sort of puppy love displayed by young girls for objects of devotion, without the sexual connotation it would inevitably acquire for today’s audience.
The relationship between the businessman father and the social climbing mother with artistic pretentions is almost clichéd, though here it is rescued from that fate by making the woman of French origin. The tensions formed by her sensitivity and his pragmatism, especially as these pertain to the raising of the son, are classic in their portrayal. The fight about his education at university, studying English Literature, instead of taking the route of practical apprenticeship in his father’s furniture business, is so well drawn that it may well be based on the author’s own experience. I don’t know whether that’s the case, however. This sort of conflict, where the mother wants her son raised to appreciate the finer things in life and the father wants him to be moulded into his own image in order to carry on the business, is a fairly common element of fiction and drama or the era.
This is a play about class war, the then prevalent theme of the war between the sexes, prejudice regarding nationality, and the ever-present conflict between those who make money and those who merely spend it. Whether it would work for a contemporary audience I couldn’t say. Certainly, however, if it were to be performed locally, I’d attend. As a study of the times, this is an excellent example of drama, and, given the pedigree of the creator, is as   well written as you’d expect. I enjoyed it.

Read Breaking Faith, Free: Chapter 41

Hendrick van Balen - The Judgement of Paris - WGA01228 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
The reviews of Breaking Faith, under the 'My Books' tab, might convince you to read the book, if you’re not already doing so.
Still along for the journey? Enjoy the ride.
I posted Chapter 1 on 13 January. Subsequent chapters have appeared each Friday, and will continue to be posted until all 50 have featured here. You can find those already posted via the archive; just search by chapter number. If you missed the start, you’ll find it here: http://stuartaken.blogspot.com/2012/01/read-free-my-novel-here.html
Read, enjoy, invite your friends along. I’m an author; I want people to read my writing, simple as that.
Chapter 41
Monday 6th September
I drove Eric in relative silence to the solicitor’s office in Garsington. He was drawn and haggard, his hair unkempt, his clothes untidy and dirty.‘You’re not looking after yourself, Eric.’‘No point.’I understood his despair. He had lost his love to death; I had barely discovered mine only to have him snatched from me by experience.Mum met us in the car park and the three of us walked the narrow, steep hill to the grey stone building where Dad’s Last Will and Testament would be read.Mr Strunglove, which he pronounced “strun glove,” crouched behind his huge, document-strewn desk like a toad, blinking over the top of rimless bifocals. The wall behind him bore a cockeyed, framed print of Hendrick Van Balen’s “The Judgement of Paris.” It seemed an odd accessory for a solicitor’s office; its fleshy sensual heroes and pagan gods at odds with the dry dusty greyness of the room. I recognized it as twin to one in the library at Longhouse.‘Good morning, Miss Heacham, Mrs Ashington, Mr Pandleston, please be seated.’I sat in the central one of three identical hard wooden chairs ranged in an arc before his desk. Mum sat to my right, Eric to my left. Mum’s unstockinged thighs, exposed by her miniskirt, drew Mr Strunglove’s eyes throughout the interview. Clearly, his picture of half naked women would have served him better opposite his desk.‘Sad times, sad times. Can I get my secretary to provide any refreshment?’‘Just get on with it, Strunglove and let us get out of here.’His glance at Eric, almost the only one he made, was brief and poisonous. I wondered what caused their mutual dislike.‘Miss Heacham, Mrs Ashington?’I shook my head and Mum smiled as she improved her position and declined the offer.‘Very well. The matter before us, then. Mr David Lengdon was my client for much of his adult life and I pride myself that I grew to know the man as well as the client. He called me to the cottage, which he shared with Mr Pandleston, on the fifth day of August, the day preceding the occasion of your twenty first birthday, I understand, Miss Heacham?’I nodded and he tore his eyes from Mum’s legs to see my acknowledgement.‘Precisely. He told me then that he was to attend the celebration and I must confess I advised him against the visit due to his deteriorating health. No matter, Mr Lengdon was a man of strong opinions and he was wont to do as he would. The matter he wished to discuss with me was the drawing up of a new Will to replace that we had arranged when he first became a partner to Mr Pandleston.’ This time he made no effort to release his stare from Mum’s crossed legs.I noted Eric’s look of distaste. ‘Get to the nub, man.’For the briefest of moments, I feared Strunglove might accuse Eric of being impatient to learn of his bequest, but he thought better of it and continued his account as though it hadn’t been interrupted.‘The new Will is the one I shall now present to you. It names the three of you as sole beneficiaries and was witnessed by someone I believe you all know well.’ He paused for effect. ‘Mr Leighton Longshaw.’ Again a pause, during which I wondered whether Mum was as surprised as I was. Eric, of course, already knew. ‘All necessary legal functions to permit the release of funds have been completed and, in accordance with Mr Lengdon’s express wishes, those of you who are to receive monetary bequests will leave this office with cash in hand, so to speak.‘Mr Lengdon was very insistent that there should be as little inconvenience for his loved ones as possible and I have therefore been at great pains to obviate the need for any of you to have dealings with the financial and administrative houses concerned and to secure all necessary deeds and covenants in readiness for this day. It will not surprise you to learn that he also stipulated that his wishes be expedited within a previously agreed timeframe and I am proud to declare that I have arranged matters in such a way as to fulfil my functions with one day to spare.’‘In other words you did the job you were handsomely paid to do. None of us is impressed, Strunglove, not even Mrs Ashington. Get on with it.’Again, Mr Strunglove failed to look at Eric but he did flinch and remove his glasses to clean them on a cloth, which he took from the case on his desk. ‘That is the conclusion of my preamble. Mr Lengdon required that I merely read his Last Will and Testament to you, and I request that you hear it without interruption, if you please. Apart from my own advice, given for legal and technical reasons, the words are his own.’He picked up the sheaf of papers and held it in front of him, I suspect to hide Mum’s legs from his eyes so he might concentrate on the document. He coughed, to clear his throat.‘I, David Charles Longfellow Lengdon, being of sound mind and frail but competent body, do hereby declare my wishes for the disposal of my worldly goods upon the event of my death.‘First, I wish my body to be burnt rather than buried. This is at odds with the wishes of my long time friend, Eric, but he understands my reasons. My ashes may go on the compost heap for all it matters to me, but should any of you wish, please spread them on the fields around your chosen spot for remembrance. I leave that entirely to you.‘As to the wealth I have accrued during my lifetime, I wish it to be disposed of as follows to the three people named in full at the foot of this document.‘Eric, you gain possession of the half of the cottage that is in my name. Dispose of it as you wish when you grow tired of life and decide to join me in death, where I believe we will merge as spirits more closely than we did as men when living. Keep whatever items of furniture remain in the cottage; it is your home and I have no wish to reduce your comfort. Please, have some personal effect, should you desire it, as a memento of me.‘Matilda, you should have been my wife. As the mother of my child and the only woman I ever had as a lover, you brought joy and colour into my life and into my dying weeks and I thank you for that renewal of our early days of passion and wonder. Take whatever personal effects you wish for your memory of me. One half of the accrued settlements from my various insurance policies are to go to you, Matilda, as is the entire income from my pensions both occupational and private. This should provide you with adequate support and leave you free to lead your life as you wish. I loved you from our first meeting. I loved you all my life. I loved you, Matilda, at my death. Live free and well and remember me.’Mum cried silent tears, dabbing her eyes with a tissue.‘Into my life, almost at the end, came the most wonderful person I have ever known. Faith, you have been a source of enormous pride and joy to me. Your innocence and naivety, although the product of another man’s idiocy, have found a natural home in the goodness of your unselfish spirit. You are a strong, kind, loving, pure and wonderful woman and I have grown to love you more dearly than life itself. That you found me in spite of barriers I placed against discovery is testament to your determination and intelligence.‘You were brought up by an amoral creature without shame who gave you rules to live by for his own dark purposes. The puritan ethic he claimed to espouse, for public consumption, is strong on blame, sin, punishment and guilt. It holds no place for love, mercy, forgiveness and joy. Inevitably, you have been indoctrinated into his view of the world. But I ask you, Faith, to be aware always that he brought you up within that strict code in order that he might control and abuse you. There was no spiritual subtext, no measure of worship, no ethical concern. He wanted you to live in fear, to obey without question, to do his bidding and appear to the outside world as a fool not worthy of attention. That you developed as you did in spite of his cruelty, his propaganda, his bullying and his perverse desires, shows what a truly remarkable person you are. Some day you will make a marvellous partner for your chosen man. I hope and pray you choose well and are not defeated by the foibles of fate.‘I cannot be at hand now to guide you and would only advise you to take your time in choosing a mate. It is clear to me that one man in particular has caught your eye and, perhaps, even your heart. But I hope you sample more than one man, taking care to avoid disease and unwanted pregnancy. It is impossible to know the delights available by tasting one source only. I was fortunate in Matilda. Such good luck is rare and you, Faith, deserve the best possible opportunity of happiness. Do not squander your chances on the first man to turn your head. You do not, of course, have to savour every fruit in order to make an educated selection. A few well-chosen representatives should do. I will lecture you no more on that subject.‘To you, Faith, goes the residue of my estate, being the remaining half of the insurance provisions, all stocks and shares and all material possessions that remain at my death. This should amount to a sum that will render you independent of other means of support. You should not need to work to earn a living, if you invest wisely, and you should be able to live comfortably for the rest of your life, inflation and politics permitting. I must pass on a further warning, however. Be wary of suitors. Once it is known that such a lovely and accomplished young woman is also relatively wealthy, you will become the target of treasure hunters who will try to beguile you with promises and charm you with intentions that may not be as honourable as they pretend. Beware those with neither proven talent nor independent means of support, Faith; they may persuade you that they love you but take care it is not your wealth that is their real objective.‘You will note that no conditions or restrictions are attached to these bequests, in spite of Mr Strunglove’s attempts to persuade me otherwise. I lived my life as I saw fit and rarely took advice. That I made appalling mistakes is evident from the recently revealed history of events. Much as I would wish to prevent others making the same or similar mistakes, attaching conditions to these bequests would not prevent errors of judgement or alter actions or behaviour. In any case, such interference with free will is abhorrent to me and I feel I am the last person qualified to impose restrictions on others.‘Finally, I ask that your grief be short and that you recall me, if at all, in the moments of happiness we shared.‘Matilda, I bid you dwell not on the past few desperate weeks but on that final day of our young love when, reckless and abandoned, we feasted on each other’s unclad forms on that deserted frozen hill and felt only the heat of our love. Remember how we loved that day and, as far as can be ascertained, made with our love the daughter I now hold so dear.‘Eric, look on our days under the summer sun, stripped to the waist and sweating side by side to build a wall to split the hillside into two distinct pastures and thus prevent a war between neighbouring farmers.‘And, Faith, recall not the day I died but the day we found each other and I knew you to be the fruit of my love with Matilda. On that day, you brought more joy into the life of one dying man than any other single event before or since.‘Know, then, that I love you all and wish you joy and pleasure in your futures. Live fully and believe you are the best a man could know. Farewell, until our spirits merge into the force that lives beyond the grave.’Tears trickled down the cheeks of Eric and Mum. Even Strunglove seemed moved enough to wipe moisture from behind his spectacles. But, although I felt full of strong emotions, I could not release my feelings there and then in tears.The solicitor gave us a short time to absorb Dad’s words and recover from them. ‘Mr Pandleston, your Deeds. I need only one signature, here, to conclude your part of the business.’Eric scanned the title deed and signed his name.‘I will post the document on once I have informed the Land Registry. Is that in order?’Eric nodded curtly.‘Mrs Ashington, I have here a cheque to cover the insurance bequest together with a receipt requiring your signature, and covenants you must sign to accept the benefits of the pensions, which will, of course, be paid directly to you in monthly amounts.’Mum read the cheque and I heard her gasp. She examined it again and frowned, looking at Strunglove for confirmation.‘It is correct, I assure you. Mr Lengdon may have made mistakes in his personal life as he himself admitted, but he was shrewd and well informed regarding investment. The sum represents the total of the insurances as detailed here, divided by two as required by the Will.’Mum signed the documents and remained in a daze that combined her grief and shock with surprise at her material good fortune.‘Miss Heacham, your father made no suggestion to you in his Will, but I think you should know that he conjectured that you might at some stage consider changing your surname to match your parentage. I will say no more on that, other than to offer you my services, free of charge, should you wish to make such a change.’It was a thought I’d played with and, since I had no wish to bear Heacham’s name for the rest of my life, I looked at Mum for her opinion. She nodded.‘Please do whatever’s needed to change my name to that of my father, Mr Strunglove. I’d appreciate that.’He again tore his gaze away from Mum’s legs to look at me and nodded. ‘From you, Miss Heacham, soon to be Lengdon, I need four signatures, one of which is a receipt for this cheque. Should you require advice on investment, I am happy to act for you in that capacity.’I looked at the figure and registered six figures preceding the pence but the actual amount didn’t sink in. ‘Did you advise my father on such matters, Mr Strunglove?’‘I did not, Miss Heacham. Your father was a man who rarely took advice on any matter. However, he seemed to have a knack for selecting the most beneficial areas regarding investment. Perhaps you have inherited it.’I signed the documents and picked up the cheque. Our business, it seemed, was concluded. I wanted to be out of that office. I stood at once and held out my hand to the solicitor. He rose and shook my hand, then, perfunctorily, Eric’s. Mum’s hand he seemed reluctant to release and she was apparently content at his extended contact.We left together. Once beyond the office door but in a voice loud enough for Strunglove to hear, Eric touched Mum’s shoulder. ‘I reckon David’s advice about fortune hunters mightn’t apply just to Faith, Matilda, eh?’Mum stopped in her tracks and looked at Eric speculatively for a second before she turned slightly to face the door of the office we had just left. ‘And I thought he was only interested in my body! Thanks for your timely observation, Eric; I’ll bear it in mind.’We all wanted a spell of relaxation after what had been a strangely demanding ordeal but my first port of call was the local branch of my bank. That cheque was heavy in my bag and I wanted it secure.It was only as Mum and I completed our paying-in slips that I realized how much I’d inherited. As Dad had said, I need never work again. Strangely, that thought increased the pressure and tension that had been building in me for the weeks following his death.I’d thought independence would bring freedom and relief but it seemed to amplify my sense of responsibility to those around me. Because I was now in a position where I really could do as I wished, I felt obliged to look more closely at the effects my actions might have on others. How, I wondered, would Leigh react to the news of my sudden wealth?
###
If you're impatient for the next chapter, you can buy the book in paperback or ebook format for whatever ereader you use, just click on the cover picture or visit ‘My Books’. If you do, I’d appreciate a review, posted wherever possible - Amazon, Goodreads, Smashwords, or any other bookish site. Reviews get indie published books noticed, you see.
Tweet with me on Twitter: http://twitter.com/@stuartaken
Like my author page on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/StuartAkenRead on Goodreads:  http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4234877.Stuart_AkenStumble with me: http://www.stumbleupon.com/stumbler/stuartakenPin with me here: http://pinterest.com/stuartaken/Buy my ebooks via Smashwords: http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/stuartakenUSA readers, see my author page on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/author/stuartaken(for some odd reason, this type of link isn't yet available on Amazon for UK)Join my professional connections on LinkedIn: http://www.linkedin.com/pub/stuart-aken/22/1b6/aaa
Related articles Read Breaking Faith, Free: Chapter 40 Read Breaking Faith, Free: Chapter 39 Read Breaking Faith, Free: Chapter 38 Read Breaking Faith, Free: Chapter 37

Does it Matter if the Words Are Not Right?

This might seem an odd question from a writer. I was prompted to ask by a fit of annoyance over poor language used by a journalist on television. She was reporting on a local news item and used the expression, ‘This problem is, of course, very unique to…’ and went on to ask her interviewee just ‘how unique’ he felt the issue was.
So what? Well, ‘unique’ is an absolute. There are no degrees of uniqueness. Something is either unique or not; it can’t be partially unique, very unique or, indeed, almost unique. We have other words to express such things. ‘Rare’, comes to mind, as do ‘uncommon’ and ‘scarce’. Because rarity is an elastic concept, we can use qualifiers with impunity. It’s fine to discuss degrees of scarcity, that degree dependent on the amount by which the object under discussion veers from the commonplace. 
If we begin to use absolutes in such a way, we diminish their real power in describing an event or quality. If I say that a woman conveys a ‘unique beauty’ I paint a picture of someone who is singular, incomparable. If, on the other hand, I describe her as a ‘rare beauty’, then I put her in a class along with others; the number contained in that class can be defined more or less by using qualifiers such as ‘very rare’, ‘unusually rare’, ‘moderately rare’, etc. So, in the ‘unique’ case, the reader is clear that the person described has no equal. In the ‘rare’ case, we know that there are others, though not a great number, who are comparable. It’s a fine distinction, but one worth retaining, I think.
In another example of poor journalism, one increasingly repeated these days, I heard a reporter talking about how ‘…there are less people involved in…’, when, of course, he should have said, ‘...there are fewer people involved in…’.  This is a slightly different matter, however. The use of less or fewer always provides the information that a smaller number is involved than the comparison. Whilst the use of the correct word is preferable, it doesn’t actually alter the basic idea being communicated. So, whilst I find the usage lazy and inaccurate, I can reluctantly accept its adoption because meaning isn’t changed when the error occurs.
This, then, is my question: If meaning is maintained, does it really matter if the wrong word is used to convey that meaning?
Are we concerned about correct usage simply for the sake of correct usage? Or is our concern, as writers, more to do with style, perhaps? Does wrong usage, whilst acceptable to many non-writers, merely illustrate a lack of care, education, or intelligence to those of us who write?  Language is primarily a means of communicating ideas. So, if those ideas are expressed without confusion in spite of wrong usage, does that incorrect usage really matter?
I pride myself on knowing correct usage, most of the time, but do my readers care, or even notice when such errors occur? As a writer, I feel duty bound to utilise the many fine shades of meaning possible within the English language. I feel that allowing such distinction to be eroded by ignorance, carelessness or expedience is a step along the road toward ultimate confusion and bedlam, as fine discriminations disappear under a carpet of banality. The poet in me abhors such laziness. But, apart from other poets and writers, do my readers care? That’s what I ask you. And I welcome your responses.
Related articles What's the difference between grammar, punctuation, and mechanics? Who Is in Charge of Language? Two Stuffed Shirts Walk into a Bar: Strunk and White Want to Tell You What to Do (and Why to Ignore Them) Grammar, orthography, word choice, and other esoteric things