I’ve completed about two-thirds of my new novel EggHead, a psychological thriller featuring central character Wayne at the ages of fourteen and seventeen. The fourteen-year-old resorts to extreme measures following a bullying campaign against him. Three years on, Wayne, now seventeen, is living in a B & B (Dosser’s House) and struggling to come to terms with life in a remote village off the North Sea. The following scene takes place in the early hours of the morning when Wayne finds himself in an unfamiliar basement flat without any recollection of going there.
I have to get back to Dosser’s House or stand the risk of freezing to death outdoors. I stop to catch my breath and steady myself. The houses on the crescent all look the same. I continue on, past similar three-storey properties. At times, I think I’m walking in the wrong direction, away from Dead End Lane, especially when the hum of the waves starts to fade into the distance, but then the street widens and joins a hill.
A lamppost that’s lit.
I can just about make out Dead End Lane a few yards in front of me. Home. I cross and climb the three steps up to Dosser’s House, my head reeling from whisky and confusion.
Someone’s watching me. I know the sensation. You sort of become aware of it and you turn round and find that someone really is staring at you. But this time, the sensation’s particularly strong and focused. It’s like someone’s watching with a specific reason in mind, monitoring my movements, studying them.
I hear a soft murmur, a hum, an engine kicking into life.
Cigarette smoke. Someone smoking a cigarette out of a car window. A bloke in a black leather jacket. Black leather gloves.
A vehicle pulls out from nowhere, a dark blue car with no headlights.
Meanwhile, Meanwhile, my debut novel – Secrets by Lawrence Estrey – is available on Amazon. Reviews