determined, like the puritans many of them are
.
It is said that soon there will be scant food in the market if the farmers cannot bring it from the countryside around. Each
road into the
town is guarded by Prince Maurice’s men and the King’s ships blockade the harbour. I fear what will become of us
.
My husband came to my bed again last night. He complains that there is still no sign that I am with child. It may be that
Elizabeth has put a curse upon me but William will hear no bad word against her
.
Alexander Gulliver wished his mother hadn’t insisted on him taking his stepfather’s name when she married. When they’d studied
Jonathan Swift at school he had been the butt of his classmates’ brand of cutting wit. Going on your travels, Gulliver? Where
are you off to now … Lilliput? Bloody hilarious.
His mother had married Shane four years ago and, after almost three years in London, Shane had made the unilateral decision
to move to the Devon countryside. Gwen had resisted strongly but Shane insisted that he was finding it increasingly hard to
write in the chaos and noise of the metropolis, so he presented his wife with a fait accompli. He’d found the perfect house,
and the payment he received when his first book was made into a major Hollywood film – the action transferred from the East
End of London to a trailer park in Alabama – would fund the move.
Alex, however, saw nothing perfect about the house Shane had chosen. For a start it was in the middle of nowhere, stuck on
the very edge of a very dead village halfway between Tradmouth and Dukesbridge with a twice-daily apology for a bus service.
Shane was a pain in the neck with his insistence on silence in the house when he was working and his intermittent draconian
discipline. And he never let anyone forget what a miserable upbringing he’d had. He’d made a fortune from it with those dreary
books of his. Not that Alex had ever read one. He wasforced to live with the man. He didn’t want him inside his head too.
He’d asked his friend Ben’s dad to drop him off at the end of the lane because he wanted to see what was happening at Jessop’s
Farm. Things had started to look up when the TV people arrived and Jackie Piper’s nubile female fans had begun wandering through
the Rectory garden to avoid the security that had been put on the farm gate while the singer was in residence. Alex had summoned
the courage to talk to a couple of the girls; he’d even asked one out for a drink, although he knew no pub in the vicinity
would be likely to serve him. But once again Shane had put paid to his fun by calling the bloody police. Sometimes he wanted
to kill the man. He’d become a Goth to show Shane that he was different, that he didn’t belong in his world. But Shane had
said nothing. He probably didn’t even care.
At least the murder next door had livened things up a bit. He’d heard the victim was a young woman and he wondered if it was
the one he’d seen a couple of days ago. He remembered her because she’d looked so out of place with her smart red coat and
her shiny boots. At the time he assumed she was something to do with the TV people but now it seemed she’d had a different
agenda. Perhaps he should have told the police about her. At least it would be something to talk about at school. It wasn’t
everyone who became involved in a murder enquiry.
As soon as he’d mumbled goodbye to Ben’s dad, he dawdled down the lane, aiming occasional kicks at the tufts of grass that
grew down the centre of the rough tarmac, the bit untouched by the tyres of passing cars and farm vehicles. He kept his eyes
on the ground. There was no pointlooking around because all you could see here were high hedges growing like walls either side of the road. Alex couldn’t imagine
why people from cities raved about the countryside. Maybe it was because they didn’t have to live there and they didn’t know
how
.
It is said that soon there will be scant food in the market if the farmers cannot bring it from the countryside around. Each
road into the
town is guarded by Prince Maurice’s men and the King’s ships blockade the harbour. I fear what will become of us
.
My husband came to my bed again last night. He complains that there is still no sign that I am with child. It may be that
Elizabeth has put a curse upon me but William will hear no bad word against her
.
Alexander Gulliver wished his mother hadn’t insisted on him taking his stepfather’s name when she married. When they’d studied
Jonathan Swift at school he had been the butt of his classmates’ brand of cutting wit. Going on your travels, Gulliver? Where
are you off to now … Lilliput? Bloody hilarious.
His mother had married Shane four years ago and, after almost three years in London, Shane had made the unilateral decision
to move to the Devon countryside. Gwen had resisted strongly but Shane insisted that he was finding it increasingly hard to
write in the chaos and noise of the metropolis, so he presented his wife with a fait accompli. He’d found the perfect house,
and the payment he received when his first book was made into a major Hollywood film – the action transferred from the East
End of London to a trailer park in Alabama – would fund the move.
Alex, however, saw nothing perfect about the house Shane had chosen. For a start it was in the middle of nowhere, stuck on
the very edge of a very dead village halfway between Tradmouth and Dukesbridge with a twice-daily apology for a bus service.
Shane was a pain in the neck with his insistence on silence in the house when he was working and his intermittent draconian
discipline. And he never let anyone forget what a miserable upbringing he’d had. He’d made a fortune from it with those dreary
books of his. Not that Alex had ever read one. He wasforced to live with the man. He didn’t want him inside his head too.
He’d asked his friend Ben’s dad to drop him off at the end of the lane because he wanted to see what was happening at Jessop’s
Farm. Things had started to look up when the TV people arrived and Jackie Piper’s nubile female fans had begun wandering through
the Rectory garden to avoid the security that had been put on the farm gate while the singer was in residence. Alex had summoned
the courage to talk to a couple of the girls; he’d even asked one out for a drink, although he knew no pub in the vicinity
would be likely to serve him. But once again Shane had put paid to his fun by calling the bloody police. Sometimes he wanted
to kill the man. He’d become a Goth to show Shane that he was different, that he didn’t belong in his world. But Shane had
said nothing. He probably didn’t even care.
At least the murder next door had livened things up a bit. He’d heard the victim was a young woman and he wondered if it was
the one he’d seen a couple of days ago. He remembered her because she’d looked so out of place with her smart red coat and
her shiny boots. At the time he assumed she was something to do with the TV people but now it seemed she’d had a different
agenda. Perhaps he should have told the police about her. At least it would be something to talk about at school. It wasn’t
everyone who became involved in a murder enquiry.
As soon as he’d mumbled goodbye to Ben’s dad, he dawdled down the lane, aiming occasional kicks at the tufts of grass that
grew down the centre of the rough tarmac, the bit untouched by the tyres of passing cars and farm vehicles. He kept his eyes
on the ground. There was no pointlooking around because all you could see here were high hedges growing like walls either side of the road. Alex couldn’t imagine
why people from cities raved about the countryside. Maybe it was because they didn’t have to live there and they didn’t know
how
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