Chapter 1 of 'A Life Unknown'

Andrew's journey was bringing him ever closer to the truth he so desired. But Andrew would soon learn that sometimes the truth you're chasing is just as destructive as the lie you're fleeing...

Chapter 1

He watched through the window of the young couple’s home. He looked on as the couple inside opened carefully labelled packing boxes. He was writing in a small leather-bound journal a detailed description of the man inside the house: late thirties; 6 foot 2 with light brown hair; fair skin; green eyes; well-built but clearly on the decline; he was hesitant to write ‘attractive’, but wanted to be thorough so wrote the word ‘handsome’.

        The couple inside approached the window with a measuring tape, eager to measure up curtains. They wouldn't be able to see the man dressed in black who watched them from afar.

He smiled. He had all the information he needed to begin, so moved quietly away from the house and into the cold November night.

#

        Penny and Andrew were eager to empty the boxes in the kitchen before they went to bed. They were exhausted but kept on going because of the excitement and determination that only a new house can instil. Andrew opened a box marked ‘Essentials’ on the side, pulled out a bottle of red and sighed with relief when he realised it was a screw top.

“Penny, come into the kitchen! I’ve found something I think you need.” He shouted into the darkness of the hall. From the bedroom on the top floor came his partner’s reply, “unless it’s alcohol I’m not interested!”

He watched Penny walk into the kitchen with the slow shuffle of people who have just run marathons.

Her eyes lit up, “a bottle of red? You star.”

Andrew laughed, “don’t thank me just yet " I know how much this cost.”

“Well,” replied Penny, “unless it’s alcohol-free I’ll drink it.”

        The couple sat facing each other at their new breakfast bar, surrounded by boxes. They chatted about that day’s events and managed to finish the bottle off between them in record time. They smiled, joked and were perfect. They talked and laughed late into the night, even managing to find another bottle of wine to keep them going. They made love on the hand-me-down mattress that Andrew had laid on the bedroom floor and then fell into a deep sleep.

        Early the next morning, blinded by the light that streamed through the bedroom window - this would be another room that needs curtains - Andrew thought, the couple began another long day of lifting, tidying and all the other arduous actions associated with a home move.

Andrew worked tirelessly to ensure Penny was happy with the placement of furniture and with which kitchen cupboard contained what. He was relieved the house had already been decorated prior to their moving in, although he wasn’t sure he was happy with the strange choice of colour for their bedroom " I’ll get around to that eventually.

        Andrew was never irked that they received no help with their big move; after all, who would they ask for assistance? Penny’s Mum who would stare daggers at him? Perhaps the frail old men in Andrew’s office at the University could pitch in? No, they were better off doing it themselves.

By the end of the weekend their house was what Penny described as ‘functional’. The living room was actually rather impressive, he never realised his partner had such a flair for interior design. Although he noted with distaste that the room was disturbingly similar to the one on the front of the Ikea catalogue he had browsed earlier on the toilet. In fact all of the main rooms were now in a state that was, in his eyes, ‘good enough’.

The only room he was unhappy with was the chapel. It wasn’t of course a real chapel, not anymore. But it had earned that nickname because of its strange octagonal shape and the tall stained glass windows that flanked the wall with the fireplace. Andrew wondered if it served as a private chapel when the house was a rectory; perhaps even it was designed to be a study. This room had been the reason he’d pushed so hard for them to get the house. There were a million tiny flaws with the property " but this one perfect feature cancelled them all out.

        The chapel was to be his study and sanctuary away from the world. As a Lecturer he often claimed he needed an ‘isolated space’ in which he could mark papers, do research and complete other more furtive activities.

He was unhappy, as it was currently full of empty boxes and bubble wrap. His antique oak desk, which was one of the few things he had kept of his parents’, was covered in boxes full of books he knew he would have to shelve and alphabetize.

        This’ll be today’s job then he thought to himself. He sighed, sat down on an empty tea chest and studied the room around him. He noticed the intricate plaster mouldings for the first time that skirted the outside of the ceiling. Smiling at how the white, plaster grapes looked startlingly similar to the snowy landscape outside. He looked at the fireplace and frowned, he realised with a certain apprehension that the chimney would need sweeping. More money.

        Finally, he looked at the stained glass windows. He loved them. They were completely bizarre, with the right-hand window being ornate and full of Christian imagery. Whilst the other looked almost contemporary, containing geometric patterns of red and blue, surrounding a surreal image of a woman who he felt looked strangely familiar. There was a small inscription in Latin at the top of the window, but his eyes struggled to make out the letters.

        The two windows were like opposing sides of a coin " completely apart, yet completely reliant on the other.

        Penny startled him. “Lost you to the man cave already have I?”

“I’ve told you before,” replied Andrew “it’s not a man cave, it’s my study. Man cave implies video games and football, you know me better than that Pen.”

Penny laughed and he felt foolish.

He got up and hugged her, noticing her hair smelled like thinners; she must have been painting.

“We’ll be happy here.” He felt the need to reassure her.

“We’re only fifteen minutes from Bath so you can still see all your friends and you won’t be entirely cut off from the world.”

He knew full well she’d never lived in a village before and was worried that she might end up growing to hate it. She’d grown up in London; he’d found that out after much probing, as she disliked talking about her childhood. Something to do with her father he surmised, but in truth he didn’t really care enough to press her on the matter, it wasn’t in his nature to be intrusive.

“Stop worrying. I’m looking forward to it!” She seemed genuine.

“I’ve bought all of Mrs Beeton’s cookbooks and I even bought something called a cake plunger, although I’ll admit I only bought it because I thought it was a trendy bottle opener.”

This made him laugh; any worries he had seemed to subside. Her ability to make him laugh was what all the naysayers at work didn’t understand. Yes she was ten years his junior, but there was something strangely mature about her. When she spoke she did so with an air of understanding and wisdom that one usually expects from women twice her age. They were just jealous no doubt, especially old Collinson, the prude.

“Well as long as you’re happy, that’s all that matters. I’m back to work tomorrow and I don’t want you getting restless whilst I’m out”

        “Me? Restless? Andrew there’s an AGA downstairs that I need to learn to love and that pub next door won't keep me away for long”

Andrew frowned, the problem with having a partner with a sense of humour, he thought, was that sometimes you can’t tell when they’re being serious.

“You know I’m only joking Andrew, in fact tomorrow I’m taking a walk down into Stoke Farley to see if I can get myself a job of some sort, not fussed what.”

Andrew perked up, he was old fashioned in many ways but didn’t relish the idea of having to financially maintain a woman at home who cooked and cleaned all day. He could hire a cleaner for that. “That’s a fantastic idea darling, well done you!”

He noticed her giving him ‘the look’, “there’s no need to patronise me.”

He considered defending his corner but thought better of it, “sorry Pen”.

Andrew spent the rest of the day away from Penny tidying and forming his new study. He dusted the old bookshelves that lined four walls of the octagonal room and began placing a plethora of various tomes on the shelves. Some were academic such as The Norton Anthology of English Literature and were filled with post-it notes and annotations. Others were personal favourites that he enjoyed reading again and again, such as The Return of the Native.

Book after book he wiped with a cloth and after ensuring it was pristine he placed it in the correct section of the bookshelf. He surrounded himself with books like a hunter does with heads and hides. Each one was a conquered foe that he’d earned the right to place on his shelf as a trophy. He looked upon his collection with pride.

Once his walls looked like the British Library, he treated himself to a cup of tea and cautiously lit the fire in his study. He was convinced that either a family of crows would come hurtling from the chimney or that there would be, more alarmingly, a chimney fire bad enough to set the whole place alight. But the fact that the previous owners hadn't deemed it necessary to install a radiator in this room and seeing as how the front screen of his phone kept smugly reminding him it was minus two degrees outside, he threw caution to the icy wind.

He felt content. He knew full well that he ought to be reclining in front of the fire in a leather wingback chair whilst reading a gothic novel, Collins perhaps. But instead he sat in the bouncing rocking chair Penny had bought him from Ikea and played with his iPad. The shiny computer was an anachronism in this old room but the University had given it to him for free and unlike the other more Luddite professors he tried to embrace technology wherever possible. After all, he’d grown up with computers so why try and pretend to be ‘old school’ when he wasn’t?

He checked his emails that were, as always, a healthy mixture of first years giving excuses as to why their assignment would be late and third years asking for references. He’d deal with them tomorrow. He considered loading up the Facebook application, but as he had no family and about seven friends on there, one of whom was downstairs at this very moment and probably in a mood with him, he decided against it.

He settled back into the chair and browsed the ‘Antiques and Collectibles’ section of an auction site; this was what the Internet was really invented for, he thought.

After a brutal night’s sleep dealing with the cries of the resident fox and the knocking of the hot water tank striving with all its might to heat up, Andrew woke early. He left Penny in bed and then got dressed. He decided against a shower, as he would feel guilty robbing all the hot water and apart from that he was eager to get to work, there was much to be done.

After a strangely pleasant breakfast of leftover Korma and Naan bread that had been left to warm on the Aga, Andrew trudged through the snow and began to clear the windows of his car.

Andrew attempted to drive out of the gravel driveway, yet something was wrong, the car felt lopsided and there was clearly something amiss. Something, he thought, not related to the snow.

He checked the back right wheel and swore quietly, yet loud enough to echo off the side of the house. The tyre was flat, he hadn’t noticed as the snow was piled high against the wheels.

Unlike a lot of academics, especially the ones seen in old episodes of Inspector Morse, Andrew was perfectly capable of changing a tyre. In fact he did so in impressive time, seeing as how numb his icy fingers were.

After throwing the old wheel into the boot he set off again; something was still wrong. He turned off the engine and checked the wheels again.

He had naively replaced the first flat tyre he had come to, but had he kept moving around the car he would have noticed, as he did now, that each and every tyre had been slashed. More worrying was what he could now see on the snow-free bonnet.

Etched into the paintwork was the word: ‘B*****d’.

Author's Note

Thanks for taking the time to read chapter 1 of my novel, 'A Life Unknown'.

Reviews

[Delmar Cooper]

I found this chapter to be well written. These are the reasons: The story begins in the middle of action and there is no adolescent compulsion of the writer to bore a reader with backstory. A reader learns as he reads. The characters are artfully developed and shortcomings are treated in the same manner as the character assets. The chapter ends with a mandate to the reader to turn the page, which the writer, b******s all, has not supplied.

The "he" of the first two paragraphs is at once intriguing and disturbing. He is developed in a manner that traditionally indicates the benign character. That was the impression.

I understand you are a teacher, educator, pick the term that flatters you, so thanks for not being pedantic and not using any passive voice what-so-ever.

NB Thanks for not suffocating the reader with adverbs.

Cooper

[Tom Pollard]

Thanks yet again for taking the time out to read my work, it really is appreciated! I think you're one of less than five people who've read this, as such all feedback is gratefully received! TP