Blue Moon

A New Life, A Harsh Sentence, and the Long Road Back

After years of service in the Royal Navy and Fleet Auxiliary, chef Jake Bruce is ready to turn the page. With Martitia Morgan, a retired Navy Warrant Officer and trusted former boss, he opens Blue Moon, a restaurant in the quiet Scottish town of Kempock. But a violent misunderstanding and a miscarriage of justice shatter Jake’s plans, landing him in Barlinnie—Scotland’s toughest prison.

Inside, Jake must navigate danger, forge unexpected alliances, and hold on to the memory of Liz James, a jazz singer from New York who has captured his heart. Outside, Martitia fights for his freedom and future. When the appeal succeeds, Jake returns to a world that has moved on, where trust, love, and redemption will be harder won than ever.

From the cold grey of Barlinnie to the sun-washed shores of Puerto Rico, Blue Moon is a story of resilience, unlikely friendships, and second chances.

Discover Blue Moon—a powerful novel of justice, love, and the pursuit of a new beginning.

Excerpt from the book

May – September 2007

Jake left his ship, RFA Grey Rover, and headed for a pub he liked in Portsmouth, The Bridge Tavern near Camber Dock Quay. He’d returned with the squadron to the UK after operating in the Med. The next day, Jake was going on leave for six weeks. Good money and three weeks for every month at sea.

Jake ordered a pint of Fuller’s London Pride, a fine ale with a superb bitter aftertaste. A heady brew. Better than Scotch Ale, Jake thought. He took a couple of generous swallows. A refreshing draught. Jake put the pint glass down on the bar. He felt a hand on his shoulder and heard a familiar voice.

“Jake Bruce, my protégé.”

“Hello, Ma’am,” Jake said. They shook hands.

“Come on, Jake. We’re good friends and old shipmates. You’re the best chef that I trained who worked for me. Call me Martita. Think about it. You’re out of the Navy, and I’m soon to leave the Service.”

Jake took in his old boss, Martita Morgan, from HMS Dumbarton Castle. Martita cut a smart figure in her dress blues. He noticed the crown, lion, and unicorn badge of Warrant Officer 1, WO1. Martita Morgan had done well. Jake liked and respected his old boss. He knew she deserved the highest rank for enlisted personnel. He’d enjoyed a good working relationship with her. But he took no liberties in the galley or on board ship. Martita had presence — a tall, lean woman who projected power and influence in her job and beyond. Officers listened to her. He felt awkward calling her by her Christian name; still, he said, “Congratulations on your promotion to WO1, Martita.”

“Thanks, Jake. I got the rank a few years ago. How have you been?”

“I was all set to sign on for twenty-two years, but a Jimmy the One got in the road. He leaned on me to transfer to submarines. They needed chefs, he said. I made Petty Officer. Served my fifth year on an attack nuclear sub. I quit after that. Good money. I’m with the RFA. Been with them for three years. Reckon I’ll stay for a while.”

But Jake hated submarines. Submerged for months at a time, he served on HMS Sceptre. A hundred and twenty men aboard. She was thirty years old — thirty-four years in service when decommissioned.

For Jake, the boat was a jail. The galley, a broom cupboard manned by four chefs on watches. Six hours on and six hours off. He loathed the sleeping arrangements: bunks in stacks of three, a foot and a half between them with a curtain for privacy. Hot-bunking — two or three sailors sharing a bunk. Claustro-phobic.

“You couldn’t swing a cat on the boat,” Jake said. “Officers rabbiting on about teamwork. ‘Aye, very good, Sir,’ I said to a young Lieutenant. He told me no more lip. Enough already.”

Martita shook her head. “My last sea duty finished three months ago. A frigate, HMS Lancaster, operat-ing off the Horn of Africa. I’ve served thirty years. That’s long enough. Time to try my hand some-where else. I’m forty-seven. I don’t want to leave it until I’m too set in my ways.”