Almost a year ago, I introduced you to my book, The Lost Things. Some were interested enough to get monthly instalments of the story. That’s done now, so I’ve released the entire book on Amazon for you all.
While a tantalising chapter with a cliffhanger ending might do it for some, I have learnt that most prefer to hold the actual book and read at their own pace, maybe to check the ending makes the story worth reading or to know what the book is called as you read it, unlike the many forgotten titles of the Kindle books we all read.
At the end of this post, I’ve added the opening pages to tempt you into getting your hands on the whole thing. It’s a story that will touch your heart and maybe even change the way you see the people around you, or yourself. I really hope you step into the tale I’ve crafted for you, and find it’s worth reading.
There is a character in Dickens’ Bleak House that I can never forget. It’s Jo, the street sweeper. He has no education, no home. He just sweeps the roads every day. Any time he tries to sit down to rest he’s told to ‘move on’.
It was so noisy, cold and smelly there. I sat high up, hoping that while the others were clamouring for attention, someone might see me first. My brothers were just showing off but those other two? Frantic.
Your boat. Especially when it’s all you have left to do.
Over the years I have been on a journey through many different types of exercise. At my best I swam forty lengths of the pool. After that I went to a small gym for those who wanted more gentle work with weights. I learnt to cycle again. Then there was Pilates. When lockdown hit, I did a couple of things during PE with Joe. I walked on the spot for a while with Step2Next then. And now? I struggle through exercises recommended by a physio. I can barely make it into our local park with trekking poles.
He clicked the alarm off and made his bed straightaway. He tugged at the edges to make it smooth, stared at it for a moment and then, satisfied, he walked briskly to get himself ready. His uniform was hanging up, ironed and ready for him. He held his head straight and steady as he buttoned his white shirt, did his burgundy tie and shrugged on his waistcoat. He must ask today for a belt with more notches. This one did not hold his trousers up at all. He inspected his shoes, still gleaming from last night. The bride had been magnificent, one of the best he’d seen in all his twenty years.
The organist had pulled out at the last minute so, as often happened, it fell to her to stand in. No-one told you that the position of ‘minister’s wife’ meant more than the title. It meant cook, baker, confidante and countless other things. Today, it meant organist.
Matthew was glad Judy was there. The green space outside the church was packed with shrieking children and tight-lipped mums standing behind buggies. The blown up castle was growling, swaying and huge. He’d never been this close to one before. The loudspeakers were pounding out Jive Bunny.