Review ~ Unravelling Oliver by Liz Nugent

Penguin
March 2014

"I expected more of a reaction the first time I hit her."

Oliver Ryan is very much the successful author. His beautiful wife, Alice illustrates his children’s stories with sensitivity and charm, until Oliver, in a moment of extreme violence, alters the course of their lives forever. The unravelling of Oliver is told in a series of perceptive vignettes and whilst these diverse viewpoints admirably flesh out the whys and wherefores of Oliver’s character, it is Oliver’s own narrative which becomes compellingly addictive. There is so much to take in, not just Oliver’s manipulation of events and as an unstable narrator he is wonderfully plausible, but also about the lives of those who are subjected to Oliver’s own peculiar brand of bonhomie.

Beautifully written, this debut novel is a real pager turner. I read it almost in one sitting, simply because the quality of the narrative lends itself to continuous reflection. It’s not a forceful thriller, so there are no spills and thrills but what is evident is the slow manipulation of a very cleverly put together story. There are no gaps, no glaring oversights, no unnecessary dialogue. It is just a really good story and a commendable debut novel.

My thanks to NetGalley and Penguin Books UK for my e-copy of this book

Reviews ~ Wild Water and White Horizon by Jan Ruth

The often irrational ties that bind people together form the basis for this intertwining story of personal relationships and of what happens when life spirals out of control. Jack Redman knows that his marriage is heading for disaster and when he becomes reacquainted with his childhood sweetheart , Anna, he soon realises that everything he once knew to be true is about to change forever.

Set against the backdrop of rural Snowdonia, with occasional forays into the heart of the upmarket Cheshire set, this story really grips from the beginning. There is much to take in, from the heartbroken angst of a marriage gone wrong, through to the emotional realisation that a lost love can never be a forgotten love.

This intelligent read had me hooked from the beginning, I found that I couldn’t put the book down and wanted to read on to find out what would happen next. There is a poignant realism to the story which keeps the momentum going through to the very end and as a genuine empathy with the characters starts to develop, they become people you really care about. The skilful manipulation of the story line and the author’s unique way of bringing her characters to life makes this one of the most enjoyable books I have read in a long time.

The story opens with a wedding but as the possibilities of love and happy ever afters start to falter, three couples are faced with the realities of life in more ways than one. Tina, Daniel, Linda and Victoria are old friends, but time has changed the focus of their lives until one fateful year when their stories collide and coalesce and life for all of them will never be the same again.

Set against the majestic background of Snowdonia, the skilful absorption of the beautiful Welsh countryside into the narrative sits comfortably alongside the close examination of personal relationships. What I loved most about the story is the way in which the author gets right into the heart and soul of what makes people tick. Totally unpretentious, these characters could be people you went to school with and the situations they find themselves in are done in such a considerate way, that I genuinely began to care what happened to them all.

This story grabbed my attention from the very beginning and held me in its grip until I had read on, in the space of a couple of afternoons, to its timely conclusion.

About the Author

Jan Ruth writes contemporary fiction about the darker side of the family dynamic with a generous helping of humour, horses and dogs. Her books blend the serenity of rural life with the headaches of city business, exploring the endless complexities of relationships.

My thanks to the author for sharing her books with me.

~***~

In my Author Spotlight is ....Jan Ruth

I am delighted to welcome to the blog

Jan Ruth

Author of Novels

Wild Water

Midnight Sky

White Horizon

Silver Rain

 Short Stories

The Long And The Short Of It

A Long Way  From Home

Jan ~ welcome to Jaffareadstoo and thank you for chatting with us about the inspiration for your books.

What do you love about Writing?

It’s something to do with the creation of a cast of people, and then being able to play God and Devil in the same day!

What can you tell us about your books that won't give too much away?

I live in Snowdonia, North Wales, UK. This ancient, romantic landscape is a perfect setting for fiction, or just day-dreaming in the heather. I write contemporary stories about people, with a good smattering of humour and drama, dogs and horses.

Seventeen years ago we moved from Cheshire to North Wales. Although Cheshire has its history and pretty rural surroundings aplenty, Wales is far more extreme in both aspects. The castles and the rugged hillsides scattered with stone settlements, druid’s circles and Roman roads bring out the historical muse in me. To think that I am treading the same path as someone who lived in the Iron Age, is both fascinating and humbling. Snowdonia kick-started my stalled obsession with writing in a very positive way.

All this whimsical talk of the past makes me sound as if I write historical based fiction. Far from it. Much as I admire many other genres I tend to be very much rooted in current times and my work reflects a lot of my own life experiences. But this is where I find the two ideas merge a little because I am most certainly inspired by this Ice Age landscape and the idea that what has gone before, shapes what we see today, but does it shape what we feel, too?

I am certainly in my creative comfort zone tramping up the hills on a moody day. There’s no better way of plot busting. The tiny church of St. Celynin (sometimes known as Llangelynin) is a great find for historians, spiritualists, all kinds of artists, and a certain weary walking writer! It’s quite a climb, some 900 feet above the village of Henryd, but sheltered from the Irish Sea by the comfortable bulk of Tal-Y-Fan. It proclaims to be the most remote church in Wales and due to its location, it is actually better accessed on foot or on horseback, but that’s just me wearing my whimsical hat again. I guess you could ride a quad bike or get a 4x4 along the green lanes and tracks up from the village, but that would spoil the experience considerably. Someone said that ‘The centuries of men’s hands on the same stones put the feeling into a place’. I can relate to this and there’s no better way of making that connection than scrambling over those very same walls and finding a way across the hills. Even the names of the mountains are laced with enough magic to fuel the effort.

The church is named after a 6th Century prince, Celynin, and it is a widely held belief that the remains of the settlement close by was also his home. Inside, there are inscriptions on the white-washed walls of The Ten Commandments and The Lord’s Prayer, and strangely enough a skull and crossbones. The Welsh language, being the oldest (still spoken) language in the world, lends so much more romance and intrigue to any story, even though I don’t understand all the words. One of the well-preserved benches is dated from 1629 and dedicated to Reverend Owen Bulkeley, former rector. Oh, I’d love to go back to those times just for a few hours, to maybe listen to the man reading his sermon and sit with the congregation. Instead, we have to be content with mere historical recordings and the remnants of those times, in whatever form they present.

So, I fling myself down on the rough grass, or if the mountain weather is inclement, sit awhile in the porch to drink coffee and just… fall into the dreamscape. I love the way ancient history here is often blurred by myths and legends, shape-shifters and superstitions. Rich then, in history and romance and easy enough to blend both, with a touch of fantasy and suspense. Especially so when the winter sun is low in the sky, sending out early shadows to creep across the crooked stones of derelict homesteads and graves. And late sunsets in summer, when the scudding clouds floating in a fiery sky take on the shape of dragons and rearing horses. Or maybe, when the druid’s circle is shrouded in mist and… can you hear something? Like the clink of marching armour and the clash of swords…there’s something moving out there, or is it just my imagination?

Do you write stories for yourself, or other people?

I write the fiction I like to read, it’s somewhere between very grown-up chick lit and women’s literature. So, I think the answer is... both.

When do you find the time to write, and do you have a favourite place to do your writing?

I’m lucky to be retired from outside jobs (I’ve done many, varied, and useful for drawing on) so the time isn’t really a problem these days, although even when I was working I still found time to be as productive. If the muse is kicking, I just get on with it!

Which writers have inspired you?

Lots! Dick Francis, Enid Blyton, Victoria Holt, Lewis Carroll, Jilly Cooper, Julia Crouch, Deborah Moggach.

Can you tell us what you are writing next?

I’m currently writing a Part-Two to my first title, Wild Water. I was concerned how I’d feel about this as not only were the characters and plot lines twenty years old, I’d not written a sequel before. However, I’m pleased to report that I’m about 60k in and all the loose threads from part one are starting to come together in a very suspenseful climax. Interesting to note how my writing style has changed too. I don’t think Wild Water was my best writing, technically. But it’s been the most popular novel with regard to the characters, and I’m enjoying being back with Jack and Anna.

After this, I’ll be putting together a collection for Christmas. No doubt I’ll be writing these in the heat of August as I never seem to be able to synchronize the seasons!

Jan - Thank you for sharing your time with us.

It's been a real pleasure to host this interview with you. 

Please come back and chat with us some more.

~***~

For more information about Jan and her books visit her website

http://janruth.com/

*~*~*

Sunday WW1 Remembered...

LAST LEAVE

by

Eileen Newton

Let us forget tomorrow! For tonight 

At least, with curtains drawn, and driftwood piled 

On our own hearthstone, we may rest, and see 

The firelight flickering on familiar walls. 

(How the blue flames leap when an ember falls!) 

Peace, and content, and soul-security— 

These are within. Without, the waste is wild 

With storm-clouds sweeping by in furious flight, 

And ceaseless beating of autumnal rain 

Upon our window pane. 

The dusk grows deeper now, the flames are low: 

We do not heed the shadows, you and I, 

Nor fear the grey wings of encroaching gloom, 

So softly they enfold us. One last gleam 

Flashes and flits, elusive as a dream, 

And then dies out upon the darkened room. 

So, even so, our earthly fires must die; 

Yet, in our hearts, love's flame shall leap and glow 

When this dear night, with all it means to me, 

Is but a memory!

(1918)

There is virtually no information available about Eileen Newton or her poem Last Leave

but the emotion expressed within its verse is heartfelt and rather beautiful as this couple share a last night of intimacy.



*~*~*

In my author spotlight is ....J D Smith

I am delighted to welcome back to the blog 

J D Smith

Talking about her latest book

The Rise of Zenobia

Overlord Series Book 1
Quinn Publications
 March 2014

The Roman Empire is close to collapse. Odenathus of Palmyra holds the Syrian frontier and its vital trade routes against Persian invasion. A client king in a forgotten land, starved of reinforcements, Odenathus calls upon an old friend, Julius, to face an older enemy: the Tanukh.

Julius believes Syria should break free of Rome and declare independence. But his daughter’s beliefs are stronger still. Zenobia is determined to realise her father’s dream.

And turn traitor to Rome 

***

Welcome back to Jaffareads too, Jane, and thank you for sharing your thoughts on your book

The Rise of Zenobia

Where did you get the first flash of inspiration for your novel, The Rise of Zenobia?

I first heard about Zenobia when reading Antonia Fraser's book Warrior Queens. I was inspired by a woman so like Boadicea, who rebelled against the Roman Empire, that I couldn't help but want to find out more. And her story, or what is known of it, is amazing. I always want to say more, but I don't want to spoil the series for readers. Needless to say she held a huge amount of power and led the greatest, most threatening rebellion the Roman Empire ever faced.

What can you tell us about the story which will pique the reader's interest?

This particular book, The Rise of Zenobia, is the first in the series. It is narrated by Zabdas, who finds himself freed from slavery and taken in by Zenobia's family. He witnesses the very beginnings of Zenobia's rise to power, her drive and ambition and the unnerving start to the lengths she is will to go to achieve her desires.

Your writing is very atmospheric – how do you ‘set the scene’ in your novels and how much research did you need to do in order to bring The Rise of Zenobia to life?

I've been working on this particular book for around nine years now, on and off. In that time I've done masses of research, but never feel like it's quite enough because there's always another book to be read, another text that might reveal a new piece of information. The fact is that there is little known in history about Zenobia herself and Syria at that time, so I like to think it gives me a lot of freedom in terms of plot, but as for atmosphere, I rely heavily on television and films, such as the recent Spartacus series and Gladiator, BBC Rome and the like.

In your research, did you discover anything which surprised you?

Lots, but off the top of my head I can't think what. There was definitely a lot to discover generally, how much of it surprising I'm not sure. I think the biggest thing which surprised me was that so little is known about Zenobia and her rebellion, given the enormity of what she achieved.

The book world is very competitive – how do you get your book noticed?

With great difficulty. Reviews are a great way to find exposure, so it's always lovely to receive positive feedback. There are of course lots of writing groups to participate in. And my mum sells paperbacks by hand at fairs. 

What's next ?

I'm working on editing The Fate of an Emperor, the second in the Overlord series, which follows on immediately from The Rise of Zenobia. It should be out later this year.

Jane ~ thank you for spending time on the blog with us. Jaffa and I wish you continuing success with the Overlord series.

***

My thoughts on The Rise of Zenobia

I've got to admit that this is a period of history of which I know absolutely nothing and what made a refreshing change was coming into a novel with no notion of where the story would take me. From the beginning I was drawn into an ancient world, a world of hostile environments where only the daring survive. And into this harsh and often brutal land, comes Zenobia, a warrior queen who dares to take on the might of the Roman Empire. Based in Palmyra, (modern day Syria) in the 3^rd century and mixing scanty factual evidence alongside pure fiction, the story of a brave and bold warrior is told in easy to read segments and with a lightness of touch this story of intrigue and political skulduggery comes gloriously to life.

As with any new series there is a sense of ‘getting to know’ people and the introduction of people and places that may be in the series for the long haul make a lasting impression. I enjoyed the way that Zabdas recounts the story to his granddaughter, Samira, and with his help, as we flit back and forth in time; we get a sense, not just of time and place, but also of history and strategic planning on a grand scale.

Stories about the Roman Empire can sometimes become a bit too complicated, filled as they are with complex names and long forgotten heroes, and yet I found this to be such an enjoyable read that, for once, I didn’t get bewildered by too much information, and found that the story flowed easily.

So, if like me, you want palatable Roman history, with a story of a brave and beautiful warrior queen, then investing in this series from the beginning will be worth it.

*~*~*

Review ~ The Lives of Stella Bain by Anita Shreve

Little, Brown Books
MARCH 2014

I've long been a fan of Anita Shreve and fell completely in love with her earlier books, so to have a continuation, of sorts, of one of her previous stories seemed like the best of worlds. In The Lives of Stella Bain, we are reintroduced to a character from All He Ever Wanted and whilst the nod to the past is done with a remarkably light touch, there may well be an element of confusion if you ponder too much about the whys and wherefores. Personally, I think it’s best to read the story on its own merits with the occasional delight of revelation, but if you haven’t read All He Ever Wanted, then it really doesn’t matter.

Set against the backdrop of the First World War, an American woman is taken to one of the French field hospitals. At first, she has no recollection of who she is, or of why she is in such a debilitated state and even her journey to London and into the care of renowned psychologist, Doctor August Bridge, fails to elicit a definitive response. And then, softly, softly as the story starts to unfurl, we get the answers into why Stella’s life has taken such a downward turn.

As always, Anita Shreve delves into the minutiae of daily life and her sparse narrative style allows a perceptive and introspective look into the complexity of lives which are lost and broken by circumstance. Whilst in many ways this is not an exciting story, there’s no explicit drama or deliberate angst, but what you do get, is an insightful and beautifully written look at the human condition, and of the need we all have for reparation, and in to making amends for our actions, we attempt to learn more about ourselves. 

My thanks to Little, Brown Books and NetGalley for my copy of this book.

*~*~*

About the Author

Here

Anita Shreve

Pressed Pennies by Steven Manchester

The Story Plant
13 May 2014

Steven Manchester

My thoughts on Pressed Pennies

“Find a penny, pick it up and all that day you’ll have good luck"

Two old friends, with a special connection, meet again after years of heartbreak. Both are filled with trepidation at the start of an exciting new love affair, which in a way feels so right, and yet, even as ripples of anxiety threaten their new found dreams, they can only hope that their special connection this second time around will survive whatever life throws at them.

Pressed Pennies is written with the author’s usual fine attention to the minutiae of life and the believable characters with all their imperfections and hang ups make this book an absolute joy to read. What I loved about the novel, and I read it over the space of a couple of afternoons, was the way the author was able to narrate the story from a realistic female perspective without ever compromising his leading male viewpoint. In my opinion, very few male authors manage to achieve this, with the exception of Nicholas Sparks.

This is now the third Steven Manchester book I have read and this one is, by far, my favourite, it is warm hearted without being overly sentimental, and utterly engaging without the saccharine sweetness which can very easily become cloying.

It’s a perfect read for a quiet afternoon, with a cup of hot tea and a classic radio station playing quietly in the background.

***

Pressed Pennies excerpt

A mix of playful conversation and alcohol set the night’s happy mood. Rick was tipping his third beer at the season’s final bash when he looked up and saw her. He nearly choked on his drink. She was his age, pretty with an athletic build. She had gorgeous wavy chestnut hair with beautiful dark eyes that matched. She had a mysterious confidence about her and a smile that men would die for. Rick swore she had an aura from her head to her feet. At that moment, he thought, I have to meet her. His mind filled with questions that needed answers: Who does she know at the party? Who can I get her background from? Who can introduce us? As his mind raced, Carol walked over with the beauty. And as they got closer, it hit him. “Oh, my God!” he said.

“Rick, this is…” the friendly hostess began to introduce with a smile.

“Abby!” Rick interrupted. “I can’t believe it.” It was her. It was Abby Gerwitz, his childhood sweetheart. He searched her eyes and a thousand memories—happy childhood pictures—flooded his mind. And then he recalled the pain he’d felt on the day they were forced to say goodbye.

After an unforgettable summer, Abby and the neighborhood gang received the terrible tidings. Rick—then known as Richard—gathered the gang in his backyard. He felt ready to cry. “I’ve got some bad news, guys,” he said.

“Oh, God,” Tracy blurted.

“Yeah?” asked Vinny.

“What’s is it?” Grant asked.

Richard looked at Abby. She was frozen.

“My dad was promoted to lieutenant, and he has to transfer to another prison across the state.” There was a long, painful pause. “We’re going to have to move away…next week.”

It was a lie. They were moving, sure enough, but Richard’s dad hadn’t been promoted. The hospital bills from his mom’s car accident—where a drunk driver had stolen away her life—had finally broken them. It was a matter of money or more precisely the lack of it. Richard silently vowed that he’d never be put in the same position—ever. No matter what I have to do, he swore to himself.

While the rest of his friends hung their heads and complained, Abby burst out crying and ran for her house.

As Rick recalled, it was well past midnight when he finally surrendered to the tossing and turning. Rolling out of bed, he maneuvered past several moving boxes, stepped up to the window and pulled back the curtain. Wilbur Avenue was deserted and silent. From left to right—as if he was branding the picture into his mind forever—he carefully scanned every detail of the place he could no longer call home. Although one good memory after another played out before him, a sharp pain pricked his heart. No one was watching, so he allowed the tears to flow. Once he’d arrived at the farthest reaches of his vantage point, he forced his swollen eyes to work their way back and absorb more of his past. “Why do we have to leave?” he muttered. “Why?” Before long, his shoulders rocked back and forth to the rhythm of his quiet sobs.

The very next morning, gray clouds hovered over Wilbur Avenue. Richard’s dad and grandma made their goodbyes quick and waited in the overstuffed station wagon for Richard.

Richard had never said goodbye before. The pain was alien. It hurt something awful to face Abby. Overwhelmed with emotion, it took him a while to speak. It was the hardest thing he had ever had to do.

“Well, I guess…” Richard muttered, and choked on the words. Not knowing what else to do, he pulled the curled brim of his ball cap down further over his eyes.

Through sniffles, Abby finally said, “You can come back and visit, right?”

“Sure.” Richard was fighting to be strong and dared not speak more than a word.

Abby lifted the brim of his hat. “Goodbye, Richard,” she whimpered.

Richard placed his hand on her shoulder and shook his head. “No Abby…I’ll be seein’ ya,” he whispered, and with one surge of courage kissed her on the lips.

While Abby’s eyes went wide, he pulled his baseball cap back over his eyes, jumped into the family station wagon and never looked back. One cruel moment later, the Giles family drove away.

Though Richard and Abby promised to keep in touch, frequent phones calls and detailed letters gradually became an occasional event until adolescence rearranged priorities and their communication ceased altogether.

Back in the present, Abby gasped. “Richard? Is it really you?”

Rick grinned. “It’s Rick now,” he said.

Her smile turned mischievous. “Okay, Richard.”

He stood to meet her embrace and squeezed her tight. “My God, it’s been so long. How have you been?”

She pulled away to peer into his eyes and, without a word, returned to their embrace.

While they hugged over the unexpected reunion, Carol was clearly pleased with herself—as if she’d known there was history between them. “Abby just moved into the neighborhood, Rick…three houses down from us. It appears that you two have a lot in common, so I’ll leave you to it.” Carol smiled widely before strutting away.

“So you’re living on Freedom Avenue now…near these crazy people?” Rick asked. He couldn’t believe it, but his palms were actually sweaty. He looked into her sparkling eyes and experienced arrhythmia for the first time in his life.

“I am,” Abby said before looking down at his left hand and then back into his eyes. “You’re not married?” she asked, blushing slightly over the impulsive question.

“Happily divorced,” he answered.

“Then you must have a creep for an ex-husband too?” she teased. Her tone was gentle and there was a soft light playing around her eyes.

“I do,” Rick said. “His name’s Rose.”

Abby chuckled and took the seat beside her old friend. Her laugh was absolutely contagious.

For a few moments, neither spoke a word. And then Abby’s face blushed again when Rick caught her staring. She looked away. Rick was thrilled over the obvious chemistry between them.

Rick cracked open a fresh beer and offered it to her. His hands were almost trembling. No one has ever had this effect on me, he thought. No one. He was legitimately nervous.

She shook her head. “Thanks, but I don’t like beer,” she said, and then stared straight into his soul. “So you did the divorce thing too, huh?”

He shrugged. “I did. Seems like the ‘in thing’ these days.”

“Any kids?” she asked, shifting from one hip to the other.

Rick’s eyes lit up. “Zachary…the love of my life. He just turned two.” He took a swig of beer. “I’m thinking about getting him a bigger bowl.”

Abby’s eyebrow rose in confusion.

“Zachary’s my gold fish,” Rick explained, chuckling.

Even through the laughter, Abby kept staring. At one point, she slid closer to him.

Her presence felt so comfortable and familiar to Rick. “And you… any kids?” he asked.

“Paige,” Abby answered, with the same twinkle in her eyes. “She’ll be nine next week…just old enough to be brokenhearted.”

Rick nodded. “Boy problems?”

“No. Daddy problems.” She shook her head, the twinkle gone. “Her father hasn’t made a whole lot of time for her lately,” she explained.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” As a light drizzle began to fall, Rick leaned into Abby’s face. She smelled as good as she looked.

Abby nodded, but quickly changed the subject. “So how long have you known Carol?” she asked.

“Too long,” Rick answered with a smirk. “Actually, I met Danny in college and met Carol after their first date. He was my business colleague for a while. He and Carol have been together for almost three years now. She’s great. She loves Danny’s two boys like they’re her own.”

“Business colleagues?”

“Investments. Stocks, bonds… really, really important stuff like that,” he added, sarcastically.

“You two still together?” she asked.

“Nope. Danny and I have broken up. I recently discovered that I liked sunshine a little more than fluorescent light.” He thought for a moment. “I just started doing some consulting work, and I write a little now.”

“You do? That’s great!” Abby said. She smiled like an angel. “I’d love to see some of your writing.”

Rick’s skin tingled over the suggestion.

Beneath a wet sky, the rest of the night was spent getting caught up. For Rick, it felt like old times—even though he had no idea who Abby was as an adult.

They reminisced first about Rick’s grandma and father. “So how are they?” Abby asked. “I always loved them, you know.”

He smiled. “Dad lives in New Hampshire now, working with delinquent kids.”

She smiled, her head cocked. “Did he ever remarry?”

“No. He’s never stopped loving my mom enough to pursue another woman. I guess in his own way he still grieves her death.”

Abby’s mouth twisted slightly, forming itself into a frown; she was clearly touched by the undying love the man had for his wife.

“I think Grandma’s right,” Rick added. “When my dad passes, I’m betting that he and my ma will spend eternity making up for lost time.”

Abby nearly cooed at the sweet sentiment. “I’ll never forget his dog, Roy,” she said.

Rick took a sip of beer and chuckled. “Believe it or not, he actually has Roy’s grandson now—Ray.”

She shook her head and laughed. “Roy and now Ray. What was the dog’s name in between?”

“Screw Up.”

Abby was sent into a state of hysterics.

Rick shrugged and laughed along with her.

“And Grandma?” she asked, regaining her composure.

Rick nodded. “Still spry and spunky…just a really cool person. You know her motto: ‘The body doesn’t wear out, it rusts.’ She’s still listening to her music and raising holy hell.”

Abby smiled at the familiar phrase.

“And she got married,” Rick said.

“Married?”

“Yep. His name is Bill Stryker and they’re perfect for each other.” He took another swig of beer. “She still makes me sit for dinner every Sunday.” Rick then asked about Abby’s parents.

There was a sad pause. “My mom passed away,” Abby said, “from a lack of purpose, I’d say. And I haven’t spoken to my father for a few years now.” She tried to shake off the pain. “We no longer share a relationship… just some really bad memories. I imagine he’s still committing suicide the long way.”

“Drinking?”

“Yup, still doing laps in his bottle.”

Rick put his beer on the table and quickly changed the subject.

“Have you heard from any of the old Wilbur Avenue gang?”

Abby’s smile returned. “From what I hear, Vinny became an attorney and is living with his wife in Vermont.” She thought for a moment. “I don’t know how anyone could stand to live with him.”

Rick laughed.

“Tracy became a psychologist and moved to Utah.”

“Married?” Rick asked.

“A-sexual, I think.”

They both laughed. Rick couldn’t stop staring at her great smile and adorable dimples.

“Actually, I heard she lives with her lesbian lover and goes by the new name Cheyenne.”

“You’re kidding me, right?”

Abby shook her head.

“Good for her,” Rick said.

“But I haven’t heard anything about Grant,” Abby added.

Rick leaned forward. “You’re not going to believe this, but the first day I walked into college…there was Grant talking to some pretty, unsuspecting freshman.”

Abby shook her head.

“I still see him every Tuesday night,” Rick said. “We shoot a little pool and a whole lot of bull.”

She was shocked. “How is he?”

“The same…emotionally amputated; socially challenged.”

As the laughter continued, she asked, “Do you remember the last time your dad brought us all to Lincoln Park? Believe it or not, I still think about that sometimes.”

“Are you kidding?” Rick said. “I could live a hundred lifetimes and never forget that day!” And without his permission, his mind immediately raced back to the smack of screen doors and the echoes of foolish, barefooted children running toward the future.

As a going away gift to Richard and his friends, Jim Giles announced, “I’m treating you all to Lincoln Park.” It was a local amusement park that was famous for its epic Easter egg hunts and The Comet—the largest and most feared roller coaster on the East Coast. The park also had the reputation of hosting some lifelong memories from early spring until late fall.

Jim Giles pulled the station wagon into the front of the park and shut off the ignition. From sheer excitement, the back doors flew open and Richard, Abby, Grant, Tracy and Vinny piled out like a trained circus act. They waited. Jim Giles never opened his door.

Richard ran around to his father’s window. “Aren’t you comin’, Dad?” he asked, still resentful over their upcoming move.

Jim handed his son some money and winked. “This is your day,” he said, and then looked at Abby beside Richard. “Stay together, all right?”

They both nodded. “Absolutely,” said Richard. “I’ll be seein’ ya.”

“We will,” Abby promised.

Richard’s father smiled. “Meet me back here at six,” he said, and drove away from the curb.

The gang watched as the wood-paneled wagon disappeared into traffic. They looked at each other and smiled. They’d been set loose for one last hoorah. This entire day was going to be their last great adventure together. Past the roller-skating rink and bowling alley out front, they sprinted toward the ticket gate.

Murals of smiling clowns holding balloons and lollipops beckoned them inside. A hand stamp cost five dollars and fifty cents and allowed them to ride all the rides for the day. Once paid, the land of thrill seekers, big crowds and long lines opened up to them. “That’s expensive,” Richard blurted, while Grant discreetly talked Tracy into paying his fare.

Three steps in and a slew of stimuli nudged them into a frenzy of squeals and high-fives. Flashing lights, carnival sounds and joyous screams filled the park. From popcorn to vomit, the smells were overwhelming. A world of vivid colors—dark reds and yellows and blues—covered everything. One look around, and it was clear that romance could blossom here, as well. Richard glanced over at Abby to find her staring at him. Smiling to himself, he turned, waved his friends toward him and ran for the rides. “Come on!”

Everyone took chase.

The gang worked its way through the park. Hidden speakers spouting the moans and wails of ghouls and mutants soon had them standing before The Monster Ride. “Looks like Old Lady MacDonald’s place,” Richard said and everyone agreed. Those who dared to ride were greeted by gaudy, lurking statues of hideous creatures with horns, sharp teeth and insane eyes. Of course, to the older, more discerning eye, the giant plaster of Paris knick-knacks were no less than absurd.

Richard led his friends toward the unknown. Tracy wouldn’t hear of it. “Come on, Scaredy-Cat,” Grant taunted. It didn’t matter. No matter how much teasing they heaped on, Grant and Vinny were forced to share a car. Abby had already jumped in with Richard.

From the moment the car hit the double doors and entered pitch darkness, Abby shut her eyes and never opened them. While hideous mannequins waited in the shadows, the car took jerky turns on a squeaky track. “Eeeek,” Abby squealed, while Richard did his best not to laugh. Through all the screaming, the smells of the midway wafted in, while several rays of sunlight streamed through the cracks in the old, wooden boards. Though these reminded everyone that his or her plight was surreal and only temporary, it still didn’t matter in the belly of the beast. At one point, Abby placed her trembling body against Richard’s.

He’d never felt such warmth. His whole body tingled and he instinctively tightened his grip. It was almost a hug. A swarm of butterflies fluttered in his guts, but even in the blackness he couldn’t bring himself to kiss her. He just couldn’t do it.

As the car came crashing through another set of double doors and back into reality, Richard and Abby released each other. Through squinted eyes, they exchanged a grin. The crush was their little secret.

Once Rick returned to their conversation, he looked hard into Abby’s eyes and his Adam’s apple took forever to travel south. “Those were definitely the days,” he said.

She nodded. “Find a penny, pick it up and all that day you’ll have good luck.”

“As long as it’s heads up,” he added, with a grin.

Between the conversation and shared laughter, the entire night seemed to last all of three seconds.

© Steven Manchester

 *~*~*

My thanks to the author for providing this excerpt of Pressed Pennies.



Pressed Pennies is available from 13th May 2014.
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