***Peal Quinn is asked, by a gendarme, to enter a small room to be interviewed about a friend of hers who has just been found dead. It is the friends studio and office.***

So she entered ahead of him, going straight to a sideboard where she knew Jean had kept his journal. There it was, and then it was in her bag, it might come in handy, she thought, and Jean wouldn’t want gendarmes reading his private stuff.

The art community generally had a poor view of the French police. Pearl definitely did.

“ Madame? If you would sit here please.” he said. At least this one said please.

“Was he murdered? Where was he found? She threw at him immediately.

While he was momentarily dumbfounded, she glanced down at his notebook, he noticed and held it to his chest. She’d caught the words “papiers perdu? Ou vole?” and what looked like a time, either 19:30 or 23:30.

“ Madame. There he goes in that condescending tone. Clearly fed up with her already. “ Were you a close friend to the deceased?

“ Fairly close yes. We shared lunch now and then. Went to gatherings together. Though sometimes we didn’t see each other for weeks on end. You didn’t answer my questions-”

“ But you have to answer mine. When did you last see him?

“ Yesterday. Lunchtime. I only open for mornings on Mondays, so I just stopped by to see he was ready for his meeting, on my way home.”

“Meeting?”

“Oh you didn’t know? Am I the first person you’ve interviewed?”

“Yes, madame, what meeting?

“ He had wangled a meeting at the Mairie. About the improvement of culture opportunities here in la Souterraine. It’s a thing he’s keen on. He’s-was- head organiser of our group. You know about “L’Art et Vous”?

“ Ah, yes. We know about them. And are you part of this “group”?

“ Of course, that’s why I came to see Jean today, I wanted to know how he’d gotten on last night. He was supposed to be presenting it to everyone tonight. They be very upset when they hear the news…

“Do you know who he was meant to be meeting? And at what time?

“I didn’t know specifically. But it should be here somewhere, I’ll help you look! She said quickly eagerly jumping up and opening the drawers of the bureau before he could react.

“ I don’t think you should do that Madame, we haven’t searched through his belongings yet.

“Here! I found it, he had a habit of writing important things on scraps and losing them.”

I showed him a piece of paper, probably ripped from a form of some kind, knowing Jean, on it was written in his messy handwriting : “Mme Carole Roubeau, 20:30, big building up the hill. “

“Merci Madame, he said taking it, now if you could give me your address and contact details, we may need to question you further.

On her way out of the building, Pearl was very slow at closing the door, she heard :

“Anything important?

“Yes sir we might know where he was before he was murdered sir.

“Good, check it out would you.

“Yes sir.

Not if I get there first, she thought heading back for her bike as quickly as possible.

That's it. It's done. It's over.

Well the police are still here, but they won't stay long and nothing will come of it, they've said as much. I've just brought tea in, Bill is nodding numbly to the things they say, clearly, in my eyes on the way to resentment rather than sorrow. That's good. Marie, standing, arms crossed, looks furious and not at all grieving. Serves her right.

On the modern-looking tacky coffee table is a collection of the items they recovered, each in a little plastic bag for fingerprints, though they won't find anything there either. In one of the bags holds the clock from off the mantlepiece. It had stood there in the same place since the day they moved in. It was an ugly little thing, Louise chose it herself.

Louise.

She won't be choosing anything ever again now.

How sad, they'll say, They seemed so happy together. Who'd have thought?

That's just the way it should be. Marie will go somewhere else, Bill will get over it, and everyone will have what they deserve.

Just as Molly said that time not so long ago, although it feels like years, everything will turn out for the best. It did.

It just needed a little help.

Eyes meet across a crowded room. Hers and his. Classic romance beginning.

It was a crowded room. Very much so : it happened to be a party.

Somehow or other they ended up dancing together, without a word being spoken on either side. None of the songs were rememberd afterwards, but they must have been known by both because they were singing along in loud, alcohol-tinted voices.

Nothing but lyrics left either pair of lips, and yet, through mutual friends and others, by the end of the evening they each knew enough to have been life-long acquaintances.

After that first glance neither had anything but fruit-punch, and though not sober, were both fairly clear-minded.

A peaceful walk to a commun bus-stop was a perfect ending to the evening. Both were satisfied till next time as his bus pulled up, still not a non-sung word between them. A kiss on the lips was their only goodbye.

She'd wanted to her whole life. And now she finally had. Discovered a new world by dream-travelling. She'd found it more than twice now so she was able to find it awake too.

On those visits, she'd done a complete survey of the land. There were no humans, so it was all hers. Along with the animals. There were Rabbits, obviously, what place didn't have Rabbits, there were also Kangaroos, Klipspringers, Grasshoppers... And plenty of Frogs.

Now all she had to do was name it. That was easy, the first thing that had come to mind. Or sprung to mind.

I stopped walking.

To listen

to the sounds

all around

of birds

and the wind

through the trees.

If you sniff

you can smell

the few

remaining blossoms

on the Hawthorn.

Scattered on the ground

are violets,

daisies,

clovers and more.

Walking barefoot,

the stones

of the road

are cool

and slightly damp

from morning dew

As I brush past

the long grass

my jeans

become wet

with heavy drops

off the tall blades.

A feeling of well-being

has settled on my mind

though I know

of the many dilemmas

waiting

back at the house.

Nothing that can't

be put aside for

a few moments peace

in the mornings

when

taking out the goats.

I'm sure you know I love you but to be sure, here it is : I love you.

I remember when I was given a book to fill in when I was very little, there was a question that went something like : " Who do you want to be like when you grow up?" I don't think I ever answered anything, but I know now that I would put you.

You are the person I most want to be like. You're so strong, so caring, and after all you've been through you are still kind and patient and always want to believe the best of people ( though with a much-needed pinch of scepticism).

I've noticed, over the years how similar I am to you, in many ways. I can only hope that I will always be as respected as I respect you, and as thoughtful as you have always been.

Thank You for always being there,

I Love You.

Sometimes there is no coping. All you can do is curl up into a ball and cry your heart out, until you realise you're just doing it for effect. Out of self-pity. Life is still going on, it won't help.

I'm lucky, because living on a farm there is always work to do.

That's what does it for me. Work. Fixing fences, building gates, digging hoes, chopping trees, mucking out, even just watching the animals is very important. And it all helps. To take your mind of things, off everything. To think only about what you're doing at that moment. It doesn't take your troubles away, or solve your problems, but a clear mind is the only way you can get through all the overwhelming stuff.

There are other ways such as walking, sometimes walking up our long lane will calm me down enough, either listening to nature or singing as loudly and as badly as possible to various songs. Playing a musical instrument has a very calming effect on people, if I happen to be cross, playing something loud like an accordion is great for letting out frustration.

That's how I get through a bad time. Different methods for different moods.