Even Fictional Kids Grow Up

DEBORAH CROMBIE: I've never been much for rereading my own books (hence a few embarrassing continuity errors!) except for picking through bits here and there to refresh my memory of a particular event or character.  But I recently picked up DREAMING OF THE BONES (Kincaid/James#5), wondering how it had held up, and I must say it was a treat!

(How I loved this original cover, with the poet Rupert Brooke and the clock set at ten to three, as in his famous poem.)

One of the things I especially enjoyed was reading the scene where we meet Kit, Duncan's son, for the first time. Of course at this point in the story, Duncan doesn't yet know that Kit is his son. Here is our first glimpse of Kit, from Gemma's viewpoint, as she and Duncan arrive at Duncan's ex-wife's cottage in Grantchester:

Then the door flew back with a crash, and Gemma found herself staring down into the inquisitive blue eyes of a boy with a shock of straw-colored hair flopping on his forehead and a faint dusting of freckles across his nose. He wore a faded rugby shirt several sizes too large, jeans, and the dirtiest white socks she's ever seen. In  his right hand, he held a slice of bread spread with Marmite.

"Um, you must be Kit," said Kincaid. "I'm Duncan and this is Gemma. We're here to see your mum."

"Oh, yeah. Hullo." the boy smiled, a toothy grin that won Gemma instantly, then took an enormous bite of his bread and said through it, "You'd better come in."

Kit was eleven here. Now we are FOURTEEN books later, and much has happened in all the character's lives. Kit is fifteen! He lives with Duncan and Gemma and their two younger children (Toby and Charlotte) in Notting Hill, and he's working part time in his friend Otto's cafe just off Portobello Market. 

In this snippet from a scene in the book in progress, Kincaid has stopped on his way home to check on Kit at the Elgin Crescent cafe:

Reaching Otto’s, he glanced in the window. The small cafe was busy and Kit, wearing a white apron over his jeans and white shirt, was clearing tables.

Kincaid gazed through the glass. He was, he realized with a shock, seeing his son as a stranger would. When had his lost boy become so grown up? Kit looked so self-assured and confident, balancing stacks of plates and chatting to the patrons with a friendly smile. He looked, in fact, not like a boy at all, but like a young man, and a handsome one at that. One young woman’s gaze followed him appreciatively as he disappeared through the door leading down to the kitchen.

Kincaid felt suddenly as if he were trespassing, and that going into the café now would be intruding on his son’s newly adult—and separate—life.

Shaken, he walked on a pace and sent a text instead, saying he was passing if Kit was ready to go home. The answer was swift.

Helping Otto until closing. You go on.

Well, that was him put in his place. Kincaid felt an uncomfortable sense of loss. But a moment later, his mobile dinged again.

But thanks. See you later, okay? the message read, followed by a row of smiling emojis.

Reassured, he walked on, his step lighter.

You can see Duncan is having some separation issues! As am I, but I can't stop time entirely for my characters, even though I've slowed it down. I keep spacing my book timelines closer together to keep the kids from growing out of the series!

REDS AND READERS, do you like seeing the progress of families through the course of a series? What are some of your favorites?

 

Deborah Crombie--It Takes a Village

DEBORAH CROMBIE: In mid-July I'm doing this fabulous panel at the virtual Malice Domestic, MORE THAN MALICE, with four of my very favorite authors, Elly Griffiths, Ann Cleeves, Peter Robinson, and Michael Nava. 

 

We all have series novels under our belts, and in the case of Ann and Elly, more than one series. (I am in awe!) We'll be moderated by the fabulous Oline Cogdill, and we'll be chatting about those subsidiary characters who fill out our novels and help bring our canvases depth and interest. I know that in all these authors' works I love the secondary characters as much as the primary protagonists.

But with every new book, we always hope to bring new readers into the series, and feeding in the backstories of this varied cast can be a challenge. Longtime readers of a series may need a little refresher as well--I know I sometimes do myself!

In this scene from the book in progress, the 19th Kincaid/James, Duncan is going to see the Howards, the mother and son who were first introduced way back in AND JUSTICE THERE IS NONE, the eighth book in the series, and who have appeared regularly in the subsequent books. Here, they have a personal connection to the victim in the murder Duncan and his team are investigating.

Just to set the scene, here's the Sun in Splendour pub, just at dusk, on a much nicer day than Duncan's.

Less than half an hour later, Kincaid emerged at Notting Hill Gate and hailed another taxi. It was already getting dark, the twilight accelerated by the overcast sky and intermittent drizzle. The market would be breaking down, and as they passed the end of Portobello Road he could see the throngs of shoppers heading back towards the tube station. Light shone cheerfully from the big windows of the Sun in Splendour on the corner.

The taxi trundled down Pembridge Crescent, avoiding Portobello which would be chock-a-block with stall holders’ vans as well as tourists. It snaked around Powis Square, where their vet, Bryony Poole, lived, then passed the Tabernacle, where Toby had been rehearsing for the ballet—a rehearsal which Kincaid had once again missed. Well, maybe he could go some way towards making that up if he asked Toby to show him his part tonight.

At Westbourne Park Kincaid got out, paid his fare, and stood gazing up at the multi-hued terraced houses. It seemed every other one was covered with scaffolding these days. The properties were scooped up by investors, renovated, then resold for amounts no one but hedge fund managers could afford. But Betty Howard and her son Wesley had so far managed to hold on to their third-floor flat, which had been in Betty’s family since her parents had emigrated from Trinidad in the days when the notorious slumlord Peter Rachman had controlled many of the tenements in Notting Hill. Betty’s parents had eventually managed to buy their flat, and after their deaths, Betty and her late husband had raised their children here. The five girls all now had families of their own and only Wesley, the youngest and only boy, still lived in the flat with Betty.

Now, glancing up, he saw that all the flat’s windows were lit. The Howards were home. With a last glance at his watch, Kincaid rang the bell.

You can tell I'm missing Notting Hill here! 

Readers, do you like having little reminders of who recurring characters are and how they fit into the series? And how much information is too much?

 

 

A Little Romance (Or the Joys of Secondary Characters)

DEBORAH CROMBIE: All summer, when it was a hundred degrees in north Texas, I was moaning and groaning over trying to imagine myself in London in November and December. Well, miracles occur, it's now December again and I'm STILL writing Kincaid/James #19, so maybe there are a few benefits to being a tortoise.

Here, just to put you in the mood, is my last photo from my very last night in London last year. It was two days before Thanksgiving, and this is Oxford Street with all the Christmas lights up. And that's my favorite department store, John Lewis, which always has the most wonderful Christmas window displays. It was bitterly cold that night and spitting with rain. I nearly froze to death waiting for my bus--which was not the one in the photo!

There might be a different bus, however, on the cover of the book-in-progress. A fabulous photo taken by my London photographer friend has gone to the publisher's art department, and my editor and I are very excited about it. Hopefully, I'll have something to show you soon! Along with the title!

But I can share a part of a scene I've had fun with recently. One of the things I love most about writing multiple viewpoint, series novels is having the chance to develop some of the secondary characters. They can hang about, doing their job of moving the plot along in the background, and then suddenly they stick their hands in the air and say, "Look at us! We have stories, too!"

In this case, it's two of the characters from several previous books; Dr. Rashid Kaleem, the dishy Home Office pathologist (unless that's an oxymoron...), and Detective Inspector Jasmine Sidana, the second-ranking and uber professional officer on Duncan's murder squad. They are both in their mid-thirties, and single. But that's about all they have in common. They come from different cultures, different backgrounds, different religious upbringings. Sidana, especially, is a bit of an enigma. She feels she was passed over for Duncan's job, she doesn't like anybody much, and she lives with her parents and her granny. I had to wonder why.

Here's a snippet from a scene with the two of them. Sidana has just attended the post mortem of the murder victim.

Dr. Rashid Kaleem’s office was not what Sidana had expected. It was a windowless room at the end of a long basement corridor, but it wasn’t a clinical cubicle. Colorful graffiti covered any bare expanse of the concrete walls not hidden by bookcases. The piles of books and papers on his desk seemed to be in a pitched battle to oust the large computer monitor. One stack precariously supported an old-fashioned shaded library lamp, the warm pool of its light counterbalancing the overhead florescent fixtures.

Kaleem had slipped a white lab coat over a t-shirt that she thought had said Play safe or I will see you naked, but she couldn’t very well ask him to give her another glimpse. She must have looked askance because he glanced at his chest and shrugged apologetically. “I don’t usually see the paying customers. Pathologist’s humor.”

“I wasn’t—” She stopped, flushing. She couldn’t say she hadn’t been staring.

He nodded toward a coat stand behind the door, where a pale blue button-down shirt hung neatly on a hanger, draped with a suitable conservative red-and-blue dotted tie. “I can look presentable if necessary.”

“I didn’t mean…” Trailing off, she sank into the chair Kaleem offered her. It was, in fact, the only chair other than the one behind his desk, and there was barely room for it in the small space.

He must think her a dreadful stuffed shirt. She knew black humor for the defense mechanism it was, but she’d never been very comfortable with it, even in the police.

Before she could dig herself in any deeper, he said, “Have a coffee to warm you up. It’s the least we can do.” He waved a hand at the counter behind his desk, where a state-of-the-art espresso machine and a jar of coffee pods were nestled in between more stacks of books and some very unpleasant-looking anatomical models. “There’s even milk,” he added, pointing out a tiny fridge below the counter. “I promise I don’t keep specimens in there with it, and I run the mugs through the autoclave.”

“I’d like that. The coffee, I mean.” She snapped her mouth shut before she babbled on. Why did this man make her feel so bloody awkward?

“I was just kidding about the autoclave,” he said as he popped a pod in the machine and retrieved a mug emblazoned with a large red heart between the words ‘I’ and ‘forensics.’ I wash them in the staff room.” The machine rumbled and hissed as the mug filled.

When he’d added a splash of milk to the coffee and handed it to her, she said into the silence, “Dr. Kaleem—”

“Please. Call me Rashid.” He sat behind his desk, looking suddenly less like a rock star and more like the expert he was.

“Rashid,” she said carefully, cradling her mug, “what else can you tell me about Sasha Johnson?”

I'm not sure where this is going, but I might see a way that it can mirror the main plot. However it turns out, I want to know more about these two.

REDS, do you enjoy writing secondary characters? And READERS, do you enjoy glimpses into the lives of characters that aren't the main focus of the story?

Portobello Market

DEBORAH CROMBIE: We've had a very wordy week here on JRW, so I thought it was time for a change. 

As many of you probably know, when I'm in London, I love to spend Saturdays at Portobello Market in Notting Hill. In my books, this is Gemma and Duncan's home patch, so I need to keep up to date!

Yesterday was a gorgeous day--clear, crisp, and very cold. The market was buzzing.  Here's a little visual tour, starting from the Notting Hill Gate end of the road and walking down.  This is the famous sign where Portobello Road meets Chepstow Villas.

Here's one of my favorite colorful houses at the top end of the road.

Here's the much photographed Alice's Antiques.

Looking down the hill.

Mr. Christian's deli, where I like to get an energy boost with a coffee and a croisant.

 

Some of the multitude of market stalls.

And food, of course.

The Notting Hill Bookshop, made famous in the movie Notting Hill (although it's actually around the corner from where it's shown in the film.)

My friend Steve Ullathorne's photo stall, always my ultimate Saturday destination, just under the Westway towards the north end of the road.

 

My (very late) lunch, from one of the new food stalls beyond the Westway.

And last, walking back up, the landmark Electric Cinema at dusk (sunset is just after four o'clock.)

By this time I'd been walking about five hours and was absolutely frozen. I had to go in the pub partway back up the road and warm up before walking to the top and taking the bus back to my hotel. 

Photos don't begin to convey the hustle and bustle and color and energy of the market. I've left out so much! Stalls with books and hats and jewelry and furs and cameras, the arcades, flower stalls and fruit and veg stalls, cafes and pubs and buskers and every kind of food you can imagine. 

But I hope you enjoyed the snippets, and will be tempted to visit yourselves. What would tempt you?

(And yes, I did buy a few things, but will only admit to tea...)