Robyn Hogan

 In which Maggie Dunne dies bequeathing her dreadful secret to her younger daughter, Fidelma (Del).
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My mother always told me to stay in the yard and be quiet. Not my birth mother; she told me to howl at the moon, be a free agent, do something constructive with my life, but I am no longer with her.

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Pedro smiled into the shining dark eyes meeting his even before he knew who she was. The weariness he had carried up the winding road to the Lisbon castle dropped from him as easily as his stained riding cloak.

‘May I present my cousin, Dona Ines de Castro,’ Constanza was murmuring, her fat little fingers tapping his cuff. Pedro gave his wife but the slightest glance of acknowledgement before sketching an elegant bow towards the newcomer. ‘She arrived last week,’ Constanza continued, ‘I trust you approve.’ (more…)

It’s every parent’s nightmare, the call in the night, even after the children have left home, have become parents themselves. Steffie was gone. A four-wheel drive, running a light, had collected her. Crushed her almost beyond recognition. And Paul, so incoherent in his telling, it took me some time to patch together the horror news. (more…)

‘Ye’ll be findin’ a mermaid there.’

Straightening her back, Cait wiped her dusty hands down her jeans before brushing her sticky hair back from her face. ‘Not bloody likely’. She grinned at the old fellow; he’d been hanging around the dig for days, seemed harmless enough. ‘He thinks we’re going to find a mermaid, for god’s sake,’ she called across to Ben, working against another remnant of wall.

‘Sure and ye will. That be where she be buried.’ The man hummed softly before adding ‘Tec-Da-Beoc.’ (more…)

GLIMPSES FROM APULIA, SOUTHERN ITALY

Was there a Santa Claus? Yes, says Robyn Hogan — and he is buried in Bari.

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Have you cuddled a lion? Robyn Hogan has.

I’m a cat lover from way back so the hope of seeing lions in their natural habitat was a prerequisite for enjoying South Africa. But I never, in my wildest dreams, expected to actually cuddle one! Albeit a baby, but a lion, nonetheless. (more…)

At dusk we climbed Pergamum’s acropolis and, as the valley darkened, we sat in the ruins of Athena’s temple eating our fruit.

Flute notes trilled; the virgin goddess wreathed through the broken columns. Translucent, she knelt, touching the ground. A gnarled olive tree sprang up between the tumbled stones, leaves rustling.

 

Then her owl of wisdom hooted, terrifying us.

***

The two men argued while I held the sweaty horses. I was eight. My red-faced father seemed to have won; the other man stomped away. Then he turned, fist upraised, ‘May all your children be radio announcers!’ My daughter has just lobbed in. ‘I got it! I’m the new drive time girl!’

Skipping a generation, the curse lived on.

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Although the weekly meeting of Dole and Dole Advertising was in its closing stages Ben’s chair remained empty and Susan felt a secret glee. Their trial term of employment was almost up. And only one of them could count on joining the firm. (more…)