Follow Lotte’s quest to bring hope where there is only remorse,
and by laying to rest the past, shine a light on the future.
Fragile Flame
by Chris Cloake
Genre: Mystery Thriller
**New Release on Feb 2nd!!**
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My
dad. Where
to start? He made me laugh. Like nobody else could.
He always
did. My earliest memory of anything is falling about in my highchair until my
belly ached while he talked with silly voices and pulled faces. He
seemed to me to be able to assume any kind of persona. I’d kick my legs with
excitement and cry for more.
My mother often intervened, trying to get me
fed and ready for bed.
She would shake her head and sigh at his mock dread that set me off giggling
again. He
loved to tease me, pretending not to know who I was, making me shout my name
over and over until he ‘recalled’
the fact he had a daughter.
I thought he should have been an actor. In reality, he was the boss at a big office
in the city, a finance company, all money and meetings. He told me it was
rather boring, but it paid very well. He was older than mum, and for years they were childless. They found out that an illness he had as a
boy meant he could never have kids so it was quite a surprise when Mum became
pregnant. She was already over forty. Dad said I was extra special for
being the impossible baby.
Such was his soft spot for me, he relied on
mum
to dish out the discipline I likely needed.
When I fell in the river and came home a mess, she gave me a heavy
scolding. Dad
bought me a new outfit. I think I had a
well-balanced
upbringing owing to their differing approaches.
Dad did the standout stuff with me He
took me to the Natural History Museum where I was flabbergasted by the
whale. It was him who got me interested
in the stars and the mythology associated with them. From that arose my own
stories for me to read to him. He’d sit in his beloved
armchair, rosy cheeked, and marvel at my romantic inventiveness, his eyes
twinkling with admiration for his little Lotte.
His favourite was a good, dark tale of mystery and ghosts, so I wrote plenty of them. Secret worlds in which strange things would appear and disappear. The whole thing with the candle and the spooky old house followed naturally on from this. A real life drama to unleash my imagination. I considered telling him about it, only I knew he’d worry for my safety, talk to mum and I’d end up barred from going near. A shame because he’d have been as intrigued as I was by how deeply the death of his wife had affected Mr. Harrow. He often spoke of the lingering undercurrent of those no longer here influencing the present. It was certainly true of him.
Chris Cloake was born in
1964 and began telling stories a couple of years later. He grew up in Kent,
England. He is motivated to write by a deep interest in life, particularly the
cruel, deeply flawed nature of people contrasted with their incredible creativity
and inspiration. The power of the natural world is a common theme in his work
as a writer and professional photographer. He lives happily with his wife, two
children and a large collection of music, books and board games.
