I’ve been fortunate to have a few pieces published recently.

A poem I wrote for my wife, Sue, has appeared in Wild Greens.

https://www.wildgreensmagazine.com/#h.k2ayhlttv5h0

A very brief piece, Tentative Space, has appeared in Star 82 Review.

https://star82review.com/11.4/jacquier-space.html

And coming out soon in Dark Homes Publishing ‘Dark Descent’ anthology is the story below. Warning: It’s a bit gruesome.

The Highway Coda

Keith turned his gas bottle on and lit the flame under the wok resting on its frame on the camp stove, poured a slurp of peanut oil into the wok and, after feeding a couple of pieces to Arfer, his German Shepherd, added the diced meat he’d had marinating overnight. When it had browned, he added the sliced vegetables and gave the wok a shake.

He had just poured another glass of cabernet sauvignon when a white SUV towing a gleaming white caravan pulled up some fifty metres away. A man in his sixties with a belly ponderously overhanging his shorts emerged, puffing noisily, and shouted to Keith ‘Great spot you have here’. He was followed shortly after by a woman of a similar age with badly dyed blond hair, a blouse displaying a shoe-leather tanned cleavage and a skirt short enough to have been fashionable fifty years ago. She intoned gaily ‘You look like you could do with some company. You never know who’s out on the road and there’s safety in numbers.’

Keith looked at them coldly and said ‘There’s no numbers here except for me and Arfer. How do you know I’m not an axe murderer and that Arfer doesn’t live off the leftovers?’ The man said ‘Come on, mate, you’re scaring the missus. There’s no need for that sort of talk.’

Keith said ‘Sorry, when you live alone you tend to forget that not everyone shares your sense of humour. And you forget the unwritten highway code of kindness to strangers. My apologies.’

The couple looked at him uncertainly. ‘It’s just when I see a snow-white rig I assume you’d prefer a group of grey nomads circled around a camp fire for company. You pull in there and get out your cask red and cheese and biscuits and join them. The women share their three gazillion photos of their grandchildren and the blokes share a beer and talk about politics and football. As you may have gathered, I’m not one of them.’

The man visibly relaxed and said ‘That’s OK. I see you’re a red man but I’ve got a cold slab of beer in the van and the cheese is top shelf. By the way, I’m Jack and this is my better half, Carol.’

‘Keith.’

Carol said ‘Well, I’ll get it all organised while you ask Keith about the hitching thing.’ Jack said, ‘Alright, alright, I’ve only just met the man.’ As Carol left, Jack said ‘ Women, ay?’ ‘What’s the problem?’

‘Ar, can’t seem to tighten up the coupling properly and every now and then it pops up and down. Got chains of course so it won’t come loose but Carol freaks out every time we hit a bump.’

‘That would be a lot of freaking out on this road. I’ll take a look. I’ll just get my tools.’ Jack went to follow Keith but Arfer stood up immediately, baring his teeth and growling menacingly. Keith returned with a long grease-stained kit bag. ‘Arfer, where’s your manners?’ said Keith. Arfer stopped growling but followed closely on Jack’s heels as the men moved towards the rig.

Jack bent over the caravan coupling and, as he turned to Keith to point out the issue, he had just a spit second to see the axe descend. Carol emerged smiling from the caravan with a tray of food and some wine glasses, cheerily calling ‘Drinkies time’ before seeing Jack hunched over the coupling.

Dropping the tray, she ran to Jack and began screaming at Keith ‘What have you done?’ Keith said ‘Just what I’m about to do to you. I mean. Fair’s fair.’ He swung the axe as he explained ‘Can’t have a loose coupling.’

‘Well, Arfer. It’s going to be a freezing cold desert night. So I think it’ll be alright if we dress them in the morning.’ Keith and Arfer returned to the campfire. Resigned to the fact that his stir-fry was now largely ruined, Keith picked at it in a desultory fashion before giving most of it to Arfer.

He picked up his well-worn leather-bound journal, pumped up his lamp and said ‘Arfer, what do you think of this passage? I think it has a sort of timelessness about it but that may be beyond your sense of the aesthetic.’ Keith read the passage in his sonorous voice. When he’d finished, Arfer revealed nothing. Keith said ‘You’re right, it needs work. Time for bed.’

He doused his campfire, turned off the lamp, burrowed into his swag and, as he drifted off to sleep, he noticed the moonlight glinting off his axe and heard Arfer laughing in his sleep.