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As a newbie I must apologise for dumping so much on you all in one short day, BUT am in the process of scribbling something down. Having revised it so much that it now resembles an incoherent slop of words on a page (much in the style of Dan Brown), i was wondering if y'all could cast a critical eye..here goes...
“I wouldn’t usually persist, only William is beginning to ask what his father looks like...and that awful Winterford woman..”
“The old witch who lives next door?”
“No that’s Margot Brooke, I rather like her”
“She tried to poison the dog.”
“Yes, well he did leave...deposits all over her begonias. No, I mean the one who sits in on the P.T.A. at St. Sebastian’s. Anyway darling, she’s begun spreading the most hideous rumours, and it’s not so much what she’s suggesting you’re doing, but who she’s suggesting it’s with.”
“Who?”
“That terrible young girl you have working with you, what’s her name? Oh darling, don’t make me say it!”
“Oh, Alice? Don’t be absurd.”
“It’s not me darling! I’m just telling you what I’ve heard! Anyway, if you could just find the time to visit us...”
“They’re keeping me very busy these days, you know that. I can’t promise anything. Sorry.”
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“Now what was all that about?” asked Alice as he slipped back into bed.
“Nothing, just work. I may be called away over the weekend.”
“Really? And there was me thinking I had you all to myself...”
She slipped a freckled arm around his waist and sunk her teeth into his shoulder.
Revived and newly dressed to face the day, James walked out onto the platform.
Though this was not the England of his ancestors some things, nonetheless, had refused to change; the train was running several hours late due to a vagrant wandering onto the tracks.
Now that the major towns had been sealed off, James thought to himself, these homeless were getting to be quite a problem. As the train pulled into Chatham, he noticed a circle of tramps feasting hungrily on the tattered body of a commuter, bowler hat and exploded briefcase spread across his feet. He wondered idly if it was someone he knew.
Typically, Amelia wasn’t there to wave him in, but had sent William along, handkerchief in hand. He skipped and whinnied along the platform as his father’s train pulled in, hoots of joy emerging from his tiny mouth. Worrying, thought James, how much he was starting to resemble his mother.
Within minutes they were sat in the back of the family car, luggage strapped to the roof, William tightly bound to his seat for fear of recrimination. A rotund man, coarse skin pock-marked with scars, sat in the front seat, hands quivering at the wheel.
“Crawley, is that you?” asked James with some surprise
“Sir?”
“I thought we lost you a few years back”
“You would be wrong sir”
“But... I’m sure I remember Amelia telling me what a nuisance your lot were to replace. In fact, I’m certain your family were among...”
“They were sir.”
“Oh, oh my, I’m terribly sorry”
“Think nothing of it sir. In truth, I barely pulled through. Doctors called it a miracle, work of the Lord they said.”
“ Did they?”
“Terribly kind of your wife sir, if you don’t mind me saying, taking me on at a time like this. She’s a good woman at heart, I’m sure you’d agree.”
James gazed dreamily out of the window.
Where once the drive home had passed through lush green fields and rich, open banks of trees, there were now only bony forests that burst forth like broken arms. The pockets of greenery still standing were scattered and interspersed like the bones of the dead that littered the countryside, half-buried by time and moss. Amelia had remarked only recently how the once beautiful views from their Georgian farmhouse had been lost among atrocity, like Stubbs overlaid by Bosch. |
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