💥 Ricochet

Set in a world where BDSM is the norm, and featuring one hot mess of a dom and one control freak sub battling fame, desire, and each other to find the love that was right under their noses all along!

KU | Ebook | Paperback

🏞️ London Life Special Edition

A journey back in time…

In this special, longer edition of London Life, I’m going to tell you a story – because I know you love stories.

I was born in Dulwich, in SE London, in a house I’m going to call ’82’ — home births were the norm back in 1965. Apparently, there was an Indian Summer that year, with the first frosts only appearing on the day of my birth, November 11.

I lived at 82 very happily for 17 years. I loved that house, even though it was huge, freezing cold, had no double glazing or central heating, and my parents couldn’t afford to do much to it.

Looking back, I can see that my mum never loved it the way I did. She was working two jobs, raising three kids, and taking care of this sprawling, old-fashioned barn of a house.

Then, when I was 17, one of my older brothers left home, the other went to university, and my parents told me we were leaving 82. I was distraught. 82 was my home!

I’ve thought about 82 many times over the years — and I dream about it every few months. I bore Emma with these dreams, in which 82 is enormous, usually encompassing parks, rivers, and a host of strange people. Although sometimes it’s exactly as I remember it.

When I was clearing out my dad’s house after he died, I decided I wanted to return to 82 — to see what it’s like now, and to revisit old memories. So I wrote a letter to the current occupants, enclosed a few photos… and didn’t post it. I was too scared it would be an imposition, or they’d say no. Then, a few weeks ago, I woke from a dream sobbing with homesickness. It was the most bizarre feeling — to feel so homesick, and yet be home.

I’ve lived in my current house in London for 30 years, far longer than I ever lived at 82, so I had to reassure myself that I was home when I woke up. But the dream made me think of that letter. I dug it out, updated it, screwed up all my courage… and pushed it through the letterbox of number 82.

A few days later, I received an email from a lovely lady, inviting me to visit. So it was that on Sunday, 22nd March, I travelled back in time 43 years, clutching a bunch of flowers, and stood on the doorstep of the house that meant so much to me.

The family that lives there now are delightful. So welcoming and kind. We chatted like old friends. And as for the house… it was so different, and yet still the same. The bones of the place hadn’t changed. I thanked it for being my childhood shelter and walked around with a big, goofy smile on my face.

It was updated, warm, and had proper radiators now! The garden was landscaped. All the things my parents would have done if they’d had the money. No more small galley kitchen that my mum had been squashed into – now there was an airy kitchen/diner. And all the rooms were so much smaller than they’d been in my head – they’re actually large rooms, but I remembered them as enormous!

The memories came thick and fast. Over there, I could see my dad planting vegetables and naughtily trying to kill the vast overhanging oak tree in next door’s garden by hopping over the fence in the middle of the night and soaking it in creosote (it didn’t work!). 

Over there was my mum, catering for 21 people at Christmas without any of today’s mod cons (HOW?!). Then there was the flight of stairs where countless family photos were taken on special occasions, with us all squashed in together, three to a step. 

There was the dining room table where we ate fish and chips for lunch every Saturday as a treat because our parents made us work in the family business on Saturdays (cue violins!)

Up another flight of stairs to find me in my bedroom, unable to sleep one summer night and hearing my older brothers in the garden, writing them a note that went down in family legend and throwing it out of the window to them for attention. It read: “There is a fly in my bedroom. It is a big one.” (An early work and perhaps not my finest, although at least it was short!) They arrived a few minutes later with table tennis bats to help me get rid of it.

One disappointment was that my old bedroom had been chopped in two to make an ensuite and a dressing room, but that was a minor upset in an otherwise wonderful visit. As I left, I told the family living there now, ‘You’ve made me very happy’, and I walked on air for the rest of the day. In fact, I’m still processing just how wonderful that visit was. It’s hard to express just what it meant to me to finally return home after all these years.

PS There’s a scene buried in this story that inspired me so much I’ve written it into my next book. I wonder if you can spot it?

Pics: The front garden, then and now – me posing with our VW camper van, and me a few weeks ago outside the very same house.

📅 Events

I’m attending some book signings and events in 2026. I hope to see you there!

• ShiMMer: June 27th, Birmingham (UK). Pre-order form HERE if you are attending.
• Rainbow Readers Cruise: August 10-14th, Florida (USA).

🎁 Walter’s World Gifts

• Free Stories: Bonus novellas and short stories including Safe Harbour, A Willing Lad, and more.
• Extras & World-Building: Spotify playlists, character photo stashes, Rising Radio shows, a London flood map, and The Daily Lowdown news site.

💬 Xanthology

Join Xanthology on Facebook to chat Dark Water theories and pairings, get the latest news, talk about any of my books and stories, and hang out with fellow fans.

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👋 That’s All, Folks!

Until next time, my lovelies!

XOXO
Xanthe
P.S. Did you vote in the poll?!