Hello everyone,
Yes, it's me. I'm still writing. I just thought I'd drop a line to ask a question ... for anyone who still cares.
But first, I would like to give you fine people a taste of what it is I'm doing. Yes, that's right! I'm droppin' a chapter! And that Chapter is ....
Chapter One
Paul’s Inheritance
Paul Singleton unlocked the letterbox that had been assigned
his flat and proceeded to extract a mass of mail so big it you'd swear it
could choke a horse. He then closed and locked his letterbox, and, with his mail
in both hands, went back up the stairs to his floor.
Indifferent
bordering on abhorrent about mail, he believed there wasn’t anything unusual
amongst the everyday junk. Just the same flimsy advertising cards, leaflets,
and flyers. He began to sort through them until he got halfway up the stairwell
where he had to step aside for a mover who was coming down with a floor lamp.
Paul returned to his sorting after the mover had gone past and as expected found
it to be the same sort of rubbish that often seems to migrate into his letterbox
on a daily basis; coupon flyers for shops he’s never been to, ads for markets he’s
never heard of, and credit cards he’d been magically approved for. Usually, he
wouldn’t think twice about binning it all without a second look, but today was
different. Today he considered the possibilities and wondered if he really could
actually use one of those credit cards. Or if any of those markets that he’s
never heard of would wind up being near his home, once he finally lands on his
feet, whenever and wherever that might be. The reason for his contemplations of
all things previously thought improbable was because today was Paul’s moving day,
but unfortunately, he had no forwarding address to move into.
The current
soon-to-be-former-occupant of flat 4B, on 17 Park Road in Leeds, had been made
redundant due to the fact that there doesn’t seem to be much call for TV
repairmen these days. Seems those old cathode ray TVs he relied on for work have
now become ancient history. Yes, all anyone wants nowadays are the latest tech.
They don’t even bother getting the ones they already own fixed. The slightest
thing goes wrong, or, heaven forbid, the latest features are missing, and its, Oh well. Guess I’ll get that new one I had
me eye on. Then they’re off to the nearest Curry’s. No servicing required,
thank you. And as if that isn’t enough of a death nail in the heart of the TV
repair service industry, he once heard a rumor that millennials don’t even buy
TVs. They’re just as happy to satisfy their viewing habits with laptops,
tablets, or smartphones. Oh, the horror!
But of course,
on the day he became a TV repairman, it was an entirely different story altogether.
Back then, just about everyone had been unwilling to buy those new, expensive
flat screens, not while they had a perfectly reliable cathode ray TV. The idea
that a day would come when services of a TV repairman would no longer be
required was unthinkable.
He was
flipping past two or three coupon flyers when he saw something mixed within the
mass of crap destined for the circular file which was ‘not like the others’. It
was an unusually long envelope that had an official ink stamp in the top corner
bearing the name of a solicitor he never heard of with a return address located
somewhere in Cornwall. Oh, wonderful,
he thought. That’s all I need, someone
taking legal action against me for something I clearly didn’t do. He tucked
the rest of his mail under his arm and gave an imaginary person an imaginary
piece of his mind as he tore open the envelope. He unfolded the contents and was
surprised to find it was not at all what he thought. It was the ‘Last Will and Testament’ part that was
his first clue. He read it again, but this time slow enough to comprehend. Apparently,
his Uncle Deacon had died.
Funny thing, Paul
doesn’t remember having an Uncle Deacon. Not sure he’s ever met him. He racked
his brain but can’t recall. Though, he did have a vague memory of having gone
on holiday to Cornwall with his parents, back when he was a young lad in short
trousers. It wasn’t an especially memorable memory. Truth be told, he was never
really sure it wasn’t something he dreamt. If they really had gone on holiday
to Cornwall, he didn’t think they visited anyone while there. Though we must have done, he thought. Why else would Uncle Deacon have had a copy
of his will sent to me?
The will goes
on to mention the name of his uncle’s executor, which was the name of another
solicitor, which meant it was unlikely that dear uncle ever married or had
children. It also went on to say that the sum of his ‘real and personal estate,
and property therein had been entrusted with his trustees to ensure all his
beneficiaries are given what he had decided they should receive, as stipulated’.
Paul could find nothing that provided a clue as to what his uncle’s ‘real and
personal estate’ was. Nor was any ‘official’ reason given as to why his uncle’s
will was sent to him. Perhaps it’s
mentioned somewhere in these other pages, he thought. He shifted them
around only to find they were not more pages of the will, but a deed to a house,
with a key taped to the bottom of one of the pages.
Paul couldn’t
believe his luck. A house! In Cornwall,
no less! This couldn’t have come at a better time. Looks like I’ll have to forgo spending a night in that storage unit.
“Anythin’ else
for the lorry, Gov’?” asked one of the movers.
Paul looked
around his empty flat and said, “No. No, I think the walls will stay with the
house, thanks.”
“Cheeky,” the
mover muttered under his breath as he walked off.
Paul could
never understand why some people don’t appreciate his style of humor. I thought that was rather funny, he
thought, certainly the right thing to say
for the right moment. “Oh, Excuse me!” he said.
The mover stopped,
turned and said, “Yeah?”
Paul held up the deed and said, “Change of plans.”
“Morning Charlie,” said Mrs. Whittle. “How’s
Alice?”
“Oh, she’s
fine, Mrs. Whittle,” Charlie said. “She’s only just popped out to deliver some
groceries to Jamie and Jess. So, what can I get ya?”
“Oh, I just
came in for some dish soap. Wouldn’t you know it, I ran out right in the middle
washin’ up dishes from this mornin’s breakfast.”
“Awe, don’t
you just hate that?” Charlie said as he rang it up.
“Oh, aye.” Mrs.
Whittle discreetly looked around the shop, making sure no one was in earshot,
then leaned in and said to Charlie in a low voice, “Have you, erm, heard the
latest?”
“No,” Charlie
said. “What’ve ya heard?”
“Someone’s movin’
into the Marsden house.”
“Deacon’s
place? That was fast. Who is it? Who’s movin’ in?”
“I heard he’s
left it to some distant relative, name of Paul Singleton, from up north.”
“An incomer? I
don’t believe it. I didn’t think he had any relatives, especially one from up
north.” Charlie shook his head as he put Mrs. Whittle’s purchase in a bag.
“That’s all we need. Another know-it-all who thinks he can tell us how things
are done.”
“That’s so
true. It’s a cryin’ shame,” said Mrs. Whittle. “Before you know it we’ll be
overrun with ’em.”
“Aye, that’s
for sure,” Charlie said. “That’ll be free forty.”
“You mark my words,” said Mrs. Whittle as she handed Charlie her
money, “once he moves into that big house, he’ll be walkin’ around here actin’
like he’s king of the roost.”
The day
couldn’t have turned out better. The sky was a beautiful bright blue with a mid-day
spring sun warming the hearts of everyone who had enough of winter. Birds
chirped as they flittered to and fro like rambunctious children. Smiling
people, happy to be out in the sun, waved to neighbors. It was a pleasant scene
that brought to mind fun memories and summer ideas.
Paul still couldn’t believe his luck. He
couldn’t stop smiling as he headed down the M5 to his new address with the
lorry full of his possessions not far behind. Thoughts like spending time at
the beach and cookouts he’ll host for his new neighbors danced about in his head.
Yes, surely this time he’ll have that bachelor life he dreamt of.
His daydreams
made time fly and before he knew it, he was headed down the long narrow road that
led to his new home. He was hoping it would be big enough to hold all his … “Good
God.” Paul’s jaw dropped. He checked the address, then looked at the house again.
This can’t be it, he thought.
Before him sat
a rather quite large, three-story Georgian mansion. It had white, wooden columns
holding up a wide portico that extended from the front doors to the middle of a
large circular drive made of something resembling polished marble.
He opened the
door of his old rusty blue ’94 Vauxhall Carlton but didn’t get out. He remained
in the driving seat, staring at what in God’s name this Uncle he doesn’t
remember had left him. He checked the address again, but still couldn’t believe
it. He finally found the bottle to take a foot out of his old rust bucket of a
car and place it onto the house’s immaculate drive. It had to be a joke, he thought. Someone’s having a laugh. Any minute, someone’s going to come rushing
out, wanting to know what the devil I’m doing here. But no one came. He got
out of his car and started to walk towards the house. He could hear the movers
behind him open the back of the lorry and start to grab his stuff.
He didn’t
remember much past unlocking the front door. He got as far as the middle of a
foray. Which by the way was a little more than half the size of the flat he
vacated earlier that day. Then he was suddenly startled by a hand waving two
inches in front of him.
“Hello? Said,
we’re all done, Gov,” said a mover. “Mind you, sidewise, compared to the last
place, it didna’ look like ya’ 'ave much.” He laughed. “Whatcha do, win the
lottery?” Then he laughed again.
Paul, still
trying to come to grips with the idea of this monstrosity being his new
address, turned to the man and said, “What?”
The mover shook
his head and put his cap on. He gave Paul a pat on the back and said, “Nice
doin’ business, Gov,” and laughed as he walked out the door.
“What?!”
Now the question I wish to ask is, 'Should I finish this book and publish it?'
As always, all thoughts and comments are welcome.
- Gregory Paul Wilhelm, Author of "The Pendleton Files," and "What it's Really Like to Travel through Time."
