Spring came a week and a half ago, and the freezing temperature continues here in the UK, thanks partly to a blast from Siberia. We had snow just before Easter, and elsewhere newborn lambs have been dying from the cold. The forecasters reckon the freezing weather will last throughout the month of April. Most people I know are getting pretty depressed from the constant chill and grey skies.
I’ve spent the last two weeks working on a new novel, Silent, a psychological thriller about a group of piano students brought together for a week of masterclasses in a stately hall in Yorkshire. The hall, owned by the Harlesden family, has a tragic history, and during the week of piano classes, past events come to the surface, presenting danger to the five students. As a trained musician myself with more than ten years experience giving piano recitals, I felt particularly qualified to write the story.
In the following section of the novel, central character Gavin goes to a party and meets a couple of local lads, but senses straightaway that the lads are hostile:
I climbed through the window space again, cutting my finger on the nail. I tiptoed round the back and started making my way up the steep mound behind the line of factories, clawing through hedges and branches on all fours, into a field. I continued up, across the grass, looking for the path, tiptoeing like a girl in order to avoid creating any noise. I found the path and quickened my pace, putting more distance between me and the two lads. Part of the way up the hill, I started running towards the fence. Up and over, and I was on the other side. Safety. Just five more minutes to go, and then Harlesden Hall and a pint of lager. Not long at all. Just concentrate on the job at hand. No dithering, or you’re dead. I ran up hill as fast as I could, but eventually I had to slow down before stopping for half a minute or so to gather my breath. I looked around. Silence, dusk turning to evening. No sign of the two lads. In future, I would stay in at night, avoid the village of Harlesden altogether and give any further parties a miss, unless the parties were at Harlesden Hall.
Reaching a second path that veered left to the lane leading to the driveway, I passed a tree and thought I detected a flicker of movement nearby.
‘Oi, Gavin,’ a voice called. ‘Oi, oi, oi.’
A pair of hands gripped me.
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.