Hello everyone

For a change, I thought I’d share something I’m working on and introduce you to two new characters, Stink and Angus Quillan.

This work is very new and I don’t know if it will see the light of day—there’s lots still to be done and I’m unsure if I can get it good enough (or at least, good enough to satisfy myself). And there’s also the question of whether the idea will stretch to fill an entire novel. But these are concerns for another day; for the moment, I hope you enjoy meeting these new characters.

As an aside, Stink is a teenager and has a tendency to use bad language—I’ve toned down some of his excesses for this extract, so if the words feel wrong in a few places, I hope you’ll understand and will let your mind fill in the obscenities.

Until 2023

That’s me done for 2022. Thank you for reading me for another year.

If you’re celebrating over the next few weeks, I hope you and yours have an enjoyable time.

I’ll be back in January 2023.

Until then, all the best

Simon

Introducing Stink

Stink looked at the suit and knew the man should not be, and could never be, trusted.

“So, Darren—”

“Stink.” Stink stopped the man in the suit.

“Stink?”

“Stink.” Darren Watts—Stink—fixed the man with a stare, in the same way he’d fix a wild tiger with a stare; not letting the beast out of his sight until he was away from danger.

“Stink it is.” The man’s voice was deep; a grin was spreading across his face. Stink flinched, stepping back when he thought the man was about to chummily slap him on the back. He kept moving until he had the lino-topped desk between himself and the two adults.

Stink never enjoyed being in the manager’s office in Waterlily House, the Secure Children’s Home where he had been a resident for seven months. The only time he felt relaxed in the office was when he was there on his own, without permission, in the middle of the night when he was bored and couldn’t sleep.

The room had been regularly—and sloppily—painted with white emulsion. There was little furniture; apart from the desk which Stink was standing behind, and two chairs, the only other pieces of furniture were three four-drawer filing cabinets, each locked by a vertical iron bar padlocked at the top. Not that the padlocks, nor the lock on the door to the office, posed any sort of a challenge for Stink.

“I should introduce myself,” said the man in the suit. “My name is Angus Quillan, I’m the Director of Operations for Lochcarron Security.” He spoke as if Stink should be impressed. Then he indicated the woman standing just inside the door, her hands clasped in front of her. Stink had never seen her before, but she seemed more concerned about Quillan than Stink. “This is Missus Wardley—she’s a solicitor who has been appointed to represent your interests while we chat.”

Stink said nothing and ignored the woman as he flicked his eyes between the man and the possible exit routes. The man might be twenty years older than Stink and he was wearing a suit, but the suit wasn’t Stink’s biggest concern, it was the man. Stink could recognize a cop—in a crowd, getting out of a car, at 100 paces, in the dark.

But this man wasn’t police.

Army, Stink guessed, or at least ex-army. And at another guess, since he’d left the army, this Quillan man probably lifted weights several times a week and played rugby at the weekends.

Whether he was ex-army or not, he was something. Something to fear. Something that wanted to tell Stink what to do. Something that could cause Stink trouble.

The woman didn’t worry Stink; he had met her type before. Do-gooders. People who understood him. Weak and ineffective, but sometimes useful when they were trying to get him to trust them.

Quillan pointed to the chair behind the manager’s desk, offering it to Stink, then moved the plastic chair on his side further into the middle of the room before sitting. He ignored Mrs Wardley who remained where she had been standing since she arrived. Stink stayed on his feet—while he was standing, he could move quickly. By comparison, he was small and the man was big, but Stink knew—even with the man occupying most of the floorspace—he could reach the door before the man could stand.

When Stink made no move toward the chair, Quillan continued. “I’ve been reading about you, Stink, and I’m very impressed.” He indicated the manager’s chair, again, inviting Stink to sit. Stink made no move. “One hundred and thirty-six break-ins—”

Mrs Wardley, dressed in a trouser suit that wasn’t quite brown and wasn’t quite burgundy, and which bulged in all the wrong places, interrupted. “I’m not sure I like where this conversation is going. Darren was only convicted of nine break-ins, and I must say that I have deep reservations about the safety of those convictions.”

Quillan turned to Mrs Wardley, holding his hands in front of him as if beseeching the solicitor. “I’m sorry, I haven’t made myself clear. I’m not seeking to encourage Dar…I mean Stink to incriminate himself.” He dropped his hands and turned back. “I’m sorry, Stink. All I’m trying to say is that you have skills and I’m impressed.”

Stink snorted.

“I don’t condone crime, but I recognize that you have an incredible talent for getting in and out of properties without causing any damage, and indeed as I understand, the only reason the householders knew you had been there was a hint that you had slept in a bed and maybe used a towel in the bathroom.” Mrs Wardley noisily shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “I’ll get to the point,” said Quillan. “I’d like to make you an offer.”

Stink rolled his eyes but said nothing.

“Inducements—” began Mrs Wardley.

“Please,” said Quillan, turning to the woman. “Can I make my offer, then you can advise your client how to respond?”

Mrs Wardley tightened her mouth and looked over the top of her spectacles at Quillan.

Quillan, looked back at Stink. “You’re fifteen. In two-and-a-half years, your crimes will be adult crimes and any time you serve will be in an adult jail.” Stink let his face go slack, not taking the chance to communicate anything when the man in the suit paused. “I’d like to offer to get you out of here and to wipe the slate clean. This is your chance of redemption. Ask Missus Wardley, this is a good deal.”

Stink rested a hand on the back of the manager’s chair and gave a lazy half shrug.

“I’m offering you accommodation that’s much more comfortable than here with far more pleasant comrades, and you get to choose when the lights get turned off.” Quillan pointed around, indicating the children’s home. “Most importantly, I’m offering a place you can leave any time you want.”

Stink let his mouth twist in a wry smile.

Quillan took a moment before he understood Stink’s amusement. “Of course, if you can get in anywhere, you can get out of anywhere, whenever you want.” He paused. “I get that, but I think I’ve got something quite cool to offer.”

Stink couldn’t hold himself back. “Have you been on some training program? Is this how they told you to get down wiv da kidz, innit? You should get your money back, because I’ll be honest with you: you’re coming across as a bit of a numpty.”

Quillan threw his head back and laughed.

Stink saw his opportunity and dashed to the door, leaving before Quillan could say more.