It’s always difficult knowing where to start a story, particularly a novel. They say you should start in the middle. Here’s the opening section to my novel, When the White Crow Speaks which is an unusual love story set in the UK in the early 1980s and centres on a group of people in a small town who become involved in anti-nuclear protests. It was a time of political instability and the threat of war hung over everything. Much like now. Any comments on this extract would be appreciated. Do you find Luke an interesting character? Do you want to read on?
Chapter 1 – The War Game
The stolen BMX lay half in, half out of the river like a stranded animal. After checking he was unobserved Luke climbed down the steep bank, the wet grass soaking his white Levis and suede boots. The river ran deep at this point before snaking away from town and into open country. Luke struggled to keep his balance, clinging to a low branch as he bent down to pry the handlebars from the roots of the old willow tree. The bike slithered into the dark water and a few bubbles gurgled to the surface.
As Luke turned away from the river, a flash of feathers disturbed the air around him. A large white bird with a pink beak was peering down at him from the top of the tree. For a frozen moment the bird and the boy looked at each other. The bird had strange pink eyes. It nodded its head solemnly as if they were sealing a secret deal and then with a wild shriek vanished into the gloom. Luke waited, gazing up into the indigo sky and hoping the bird would return. He felt a slight dizziness, a sense of unreality as if he were a bit-player in a Hollywood movie. He imagined an artsy overhead shot, the camera zooming out and up, looking down from a great height and himself just an insignificant dot beneath the trees.
In the distance the church clock struck six jolting Luke back to himself. He pulled up the hood of his Parka in case there was someone about and set off at a brisk pace down the river path towards Cromandale. Old Jimmy Scargill was dawdling near the vandalised bench with his English bulldog Amy. She was wearing her customary red bandana and managing to appear chic even while she took a dump. Jim smoked a fag and stared moodily at the water. Luke passed by without speaking.
By the time he reached the Lucky Thirteen stepping stones they were partly submerged by the rising tide. Without hesitation he leapt across the mossy slabs to the other side wetting his boots even more. He was running late and decided to take a short cut through the Church graveyard. This place was unnerving. The gothic tower with its grotesque gargoyles and circular window like a watchful eye were bad enough but mostly it was the history that freaked him out. Luke first heard the tale during a primary school outing and had never forgotten the horror of it. During the antisemitic persecutions of the 12th century fifty two Jewish people had taken sanctuary within this Christian citadel. But the alien god failed to protect them from a racist mob who set alight to the building. Everyone including women and babies was burned alive.
Luke skirted through the shadows under the ancient looming walls and down the path lined with yew trees to an iron gate. He cut through the snicket into the alleyway which led to a municipal car park. There were lights on in a couple of the shops. At Headlines the door was propped open. The sickly scent of hair spray mingled with the dank night air. A young girl in tight denims was sweeping up multicoloured hair from the salon floor while Shakin Stevens sang ‘You Drive Me Crazy’ on the radio. The girl wiggled her hips and swung the broom in time to the music. Luke was mesmerised.
“Oy! That’s ma sister you’re gawping at,” shouted someone. Swivelling sharply on his heels Luke collided with Spider Jones who was carrying an armful of videos and grinning. His short, red hair was spiked with gel and he was wearing his AC/DC leather jacket. “No, you’re alright mate, I’m only kidding,” Spider grinned even more widely at Luke’s discomfort. “She ain’t ma sister.”
Spider got his nickname from the spider shaped birthmark on his cheek. He was proud of it and sometimes referred to himself as the Tarantula. Luke admired the boy although at school they never spoke. Spider’s bonhomie was contagious and Luke found himself smiling back. They started play-punching one another and two of the videos fell to the ground. Luke bent down to retrieve them and held Chariots of Fire up like it was a piece of dirty toilet roll.
“What the fuck’s this then Spider? Are you going soft or something?”
“It’s not for me,” blurted Spider. “It’s for me Mam.” He flushed so bright that the spider on his cheek turned purple. “A bunch of posh pansies running in slow motion…” He poked two fingers into his mouth in a pretence of gagging. “No, these ones are for me.” He held up Escape from New York which pictured a mean guy with an eye patch and The Evil Dead with a ghoulish cover.
“Oh yeah! Good choice. I’ve seen The Evil Dead twice. Epic hardcore!” said Luke. “I’m off to see a film right now at the Community Centre. The War Game. Supposed to be real nasty. The BBC banned it when it first came out. I’ve heard there’s a scene with melting eyeballs. Do you want to come with me? It’s free.”
“No thanks mate,” replied Spider. “I heard it’s black and white and boring as fuck. Anyways my mam’s got ma dinner waiting so I best be off home.”
They walked together across the deserted car park and Spider chatted about his plans for Horticultural College. They reached the patch of ground people called the Cherry Pop because it was a place favoured by teenagers wanting sex behind the privet hedge by the public toilets. Spider pointed up at one of the trees and said, “Did you know there are more than four hundred varieties of cherry tree?” He gave a sunny salute like a soldier going off duty and turned right towards the Rosebank Estate.
Luke walked on alone down the High Street. The usual suspects were hanging out by the Stone Cross and drinking lager but Luke didn’t look up even when one of them yelled, “Hey batty boy! How you doin?” The stench of beer and frying chips drifted from the pubs, a total of seventeen in one street; a fact Cromandale was very proud of and mentioned in the tourist leaflets. Luke’s stomach rumbled at the reminder of food. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast and wished his mother was like Spider’s and prepared home-cooked meals. He usually had to fend for himself and made do with crisp sandwiches and bananas. No doubt good old Mama would be there at the film screening, sticking her nose into other people’s business, judging everyone and trying to ruin his life like always.
The foyer of the Community Centre was deserted; the film must have already started. The fluorescent lights made Luke feel vulnerable, exposed like a bug under a microscope. He straightened his hair and brushed a few flecks of mud from his boots. He entered the auditorium through the rear door hoping he would be less conspicuous. Several people glanced up but most were fixated on the screen where an authoritative male voice asked, “Do you know what Strontium 90 is and what it does?” A bemused looking woman wearing a headscarf replied, “No, no I’m afraid I don’t.”
Luke saw his mother in the back row gesticulating at the empty seat next to her. He ignored her and strolled down to an aisle seat in the second row. Now there was fighting on the screen, barbed wire, Berlin. Talk of flashpoints. Cut to an old woman saying, “I don’t think there’s anything to worry about.” Perhaps Spider was right. It wasn’t very exciting so far. But then the devastating wail of sirens began and Luke’s heart convulsed.
He noticed a girl sitting in front of him. She was wearing silver earrings shaped like seahorses. Her dark hair was caught in a loose ponytail. A few tendrils had escaped and were clinging to the creamy damp skin on the nape of her neck. Luke leaned forward so they were almost touching and breathed her in. Sweat and strawberries. Even in the dim light he could see the outline of her upper spine. He imagined slowly running his wet tongue from her hair line to where her skin disappeared beneath her blouse. The girl twitched and scratched at her neck with one hand. Luke saw she was wearing a wedding ring.
On the screen someone was saying, “I’ve built a refuge like they say.”
Luke reclined in his seat and switched his attention to the girl’s companion. There was something familiar about him. He was tall and wearing a leather bomber jacket. He seemed to sense Luke’s gaze and glanced back over his shoulder with an unfriendly expression.
Shit in a bucket! It was the new doctor, Jason Almond. Luke was dragged along by his mother to see him about sinus problems only the other week. Luke thought the man was a complete wanker like most of the doctors he’d ever met. They always talked down to him as if he was stupid. He now referred to Dr Almond as Doctor Nut-job much to the annoyance of Mama who always kowtowed to the medical profession.
On the screen a family sheltered beneath a kitchen table while the windows shattered and the house shook.
to be continued….
The Purple Hermit 