Newsletter sevent nine - repost

Am reposting this as the previous attempt ended up screwy.

Sorry for the hiatus, but normal service about to be resumed. Outside my window the sun is shining, while hailstones are falling - ah, April, I love thee. Ooh, and the end of April means the end of the early bird discount for UK Meet bookings. If you're intending to come, don't miss out on saving money!

News:

Normally this week is a Beare week, but the silly old buffer’s having a month off. Still, if you need your dose of Lords of Aether, don’t forget about the free e-book of the collected episodes, available here.

And while we’re talking freebies, have you got British Flash? If you haven’t, what are you waiting for? Some wonderful stories, including the marvellously wistful They Who Come After the Stories End by Sophia Deri-Bowen and my contribution, Commission and Omission.

Arromanches, 1994

Only now is Stephen's white hair a true indication of his age; it turned prematurely grey fifty years ago, here. No-one in the family enquires about it any more. What happened to him, why his life changed, remains an unasked question among many unasked questions. Like the perennial, "Why did you marry me if you don't love me?"
Now he's old and canny enough to employ selective deafness. He doesn't hear when the girl at his arm says, "Why do we have to visit this field, grandfather?"
How can he explain? Would he start with that grey day in 1939, the rain streaming down the windows of a poorly lit room where he and two dozen other men were waiting to offer their services to their king and country? How there was another young man, budging up on the bench so he could sit down and saying, "Welcome to the madhouse."
How can Stephen say, "My life began then, in that room, when David smiled and I took my place at his side. It ended here, in this field."
He's never told anyone how much he enjoyed those weeks of officer training with David in the same billet; how could he keep his voice from betraying all his heart has hoarded away?
If his granddaughter said, "Did you make any friends, grandfather?" could he trust himself to say, "Yes, Lucy. There was one in particular."? Surely it would come out as, "Yes, Lucy. There was one and I loved him with all my heart. As I never loved your grandmother."

Inspiration:

The thought that summer might one day come.