Syn
Malcolm Hollingdrake
This edition produced in Great Britain in 2021
by Hobeck Books Limited, Unit 14, Sugnall Business Centre, Sugnall, Stafford, Staffordshire, ST21 6NF
www.hobeck.net
Copyright © Malcolm Hollingdrake 2021
This book is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in this novel are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events or localities is entirely coincidental.
Malcolm Hollingdrake has asserted his right under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the copyright holder.
A CIP catalogue for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 978-1-913-793-29-6 (pbk)
ISBN 978-1-913-793-28-9 (ebook)
Cover design by Jem Butcher
www.jembutcherdesign.co.uk
Printed and bound in Great Britain
Created with Vellum
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Dedicated to
Barbara and Don Hackworth and family
Remember you chose to seek out a different place.
The Wizard of Oz
Prologue
Yet again sleep is a ghost as the thoughts of a previous late evening refuse to leave my mind; they replayed like a short horror film and I felt the same flutter of fear at each rerun. The memories tumble like angry surf on a shingle shore, disturbing any chance of relaxation or sleep. It was as if all else had rolled away, like those moving pebbles that seemed to create a cacophony.
The more these thoughts prevail, the more the anger and a deep, deep, resentment are stirred. There had been no need for the rudeness and certainly not the aggression. I had not been eager to get into the bar, nor was I aware of the people to my right who had congregated to the far side of the pavement. The group was loud but the noise seemed to demonstrate their seemingly drunken good spirits. An obvious joke was followed by immediate and intense laughter. One particular female’s laugh broke above the rest, high-pitched and scream-like. As she stepped backwards, she collided before finally stepping on my foot. I can still feel the pain the sharp heel inflicted. When I looked at my shoe there seemed to be no obvious harm done, apart from the deep scuff on the brogue’s leather. The accidental contact brought an instant turn of her head and her laughter quelled immediately, her hand moving to her mouth in surprise and apology.
‘Sorry,’ she giggled before stepping and swaying drunkenly back towards the group. A helping hand reached out drawing her within the fold.
I remember her words perfectly. In the next frame of the memory things seemed to slow down, like the images in an old stuttering movie. Each face became crystal clear, each word carved into stone, accompanied by the sound of a fairground organ. Its haunting tones had been barely audible. Then I had felt the firm hand against my shoulder and the strength of the grip that seemed to pull me off balance.
‘Fucking hell. Watch where you’re bloody going, you clumsy sod! Are you all right love?’
The large, intimidating young man glared at me as he collected the woman and pulled her to one side. His words slurred, and were filled with aggression. Flecks of saliva raced from his lips with every expletive.
She spoke immediately, a referee of sorts. ‘It was my fault, Bill. Leave it.’ Her voice was commanding, sharp and direct.
The group had gone quiet and the atmosphere became immediately charged by the man’s vicious actions and tone. It was as if it were a signal to draw all of the group’s attention onto the one man, the stranger, the new victim – me. I know my face showed my anxiety, fear and confusion. But what was on my face was the tip of the anguish that went much deeper within me. My situation was suddenly exacerbated as I saw elbows nudge others. Those within the group seemed to know the script by heart, knew just what was coming next, as if it had happened before, and frequently. Each was preparing for the coming storm.
‘Oh fuck! Here we go again. Hold tight!’ someone chuckled before giving the man called Bill more room.
Bill pushed forward towards me but the woman’s hand moved equally as quickly. ‘Leave it! It was my fault and you lot, keep it shut!’
In this dream I am now hovering and looking down on the same scene. I remember clearly that at this point a sudden fear flushed through my stomach, bilious and muscle-numbing bringing a burning, tingling sensation to my neck. I am not a fighting man and at that key moment the woman turned and smiled at me. Her expression was not the sarcastic, demeaning grin of the other woman in the group who raised her little finger and waggled it tauntingly. There was concern and kindness within that smile; a tenderness and an apology.
‘Sorry. Please go. He’ll not touch you.’
She moved her body between us, forcing away his arm and the threatening link that bound us. I remember the sudden silence that hung like a foul stench, and then out of the blue someone repeated the joke’s punchline that had started the altercation. Laughter broke out again immediately ridding the atmosphere of tension and anger as if he had come full circle. The woman, one hand on Bill’s chest, laughed but not with the same intensity as before.
