Another story about love. So often in my short stories I find the woman taking the lead, being the stronger of the two in a relationship. Perhaps that is a reflection of the women I’ve lived with, worked with and loved, myself. But occasionally my male lead takes over and proves he can shoulder responsibility too, be a shoulder to cry on, a prop just when his lover needs him most. As they say in France, “Vive la Difference,” and so it should be. We live in an enlightened age where the sexes are regarded and indeed treated equally. But that doesn’t mean we behave in the same way. Some people still show symptoms of the old established modes of character and behaviour. The “he” and “she” that make life so endlessly varied and interesting. In my novel, “The Lyme Regis Murders,” my principal character, is a multi-racial, bi-sexual, cigar smoking, cocaine taking, vodka drinking, martial arts exponent, six feet tall, woman. But powerful as she is, when it suits her and she behaves unpredictably she reminds her boyfriend, it’s “because I am a woman.” In this short story it is the male who, able to show emotion nonetheless, is the strength his woman relies upon.