The Internet connection remains problematic, as do the grey skies and cold weather. I’ve been working on a third novel, Silent, a psychological thriller set in the north of England. In Silent, main character Gavin has to return to Harlesden Hall, the scene of several murders five years earlier. One of the survivors has sought Gavin’s help but has disappeared and Gavin is trying to find her.
I text, hey, cheers for your help and sorry to get you up here for nothing, but let me get on with it, okay? Speak soon.
I switch off the phone and continue on my way, taking in deep air in the hope of catching a scent from those student days of five years ago. A rhythm, the hint of a voice or laughter. Perfume. But I only catch the silence of the fields and the river and the bleakness all around me, the traces of memories; the echoes of a chilly breeze, despite the fact it’s summer. The abandoned mills and old factories at the foot of the side hill leading up to Harlesden Hall. The overwhelming scent of manure in the air. Thundery clouds reflected in the surface of the river. The silence that is rarely calm. Echoes and traces of death and sorrow from more than a century of suffering.
The climb up the hill takes me about ten minutes and I have to keep pausing to catch my breath, thankful that I’ve never taken up smoking. I arrive at the long driveway to the house and walk down, past the tall hedges and the bushes, stopping suddenly by the hilly mound at the bottom of the grounds.
Someone’s watching me in the driveway. It’s pretty obvious this time. I hear a branch snap. Feel the intense gaze directed at me.
A game. Cat and mouse.
Except I’m not playing the mouse. No way.
Meanwhile, my other two novels – Secrets by Lawrence Estrey and EggHead – are available from Amazon in paperback and e-book.
Check out the reviews for my debut novel Secrets.
Newspaper article on author.