Blue Sky Door , livre ebook

Troubador Publishing Ltd - George Alston

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178 pages

English

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Set in the 1970s, The Blue Sky Door follows Stewart, who deserts his girlfriend, leaves his job and departs for the Highlands of Scotland. Here, he meets and connects with a mysterious young woman, Melanie, who lives on a mountainside.His arrival is resisted by some of the villagers and he struggles for acceptance. As his bond with Melanie grows, she becomes more resentful of anything that takes him away from her. While Stewart is open about his past, Melanie reveals very little about her own background - and the arrival of Stewart's ex-girlfriend adds fuel to the fire. Are the odds against them just too overwhelming?The mountains symbolically represent the struggles Stewart faces, and the truths that he must accept, as well as providing a stunning backdrop to this novel about humanity, love and morality.

Sujets

Contemporary romance

Northern Scotland

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Publié par	Troubador Publishing Ltd
Date de parution	03 décembre 2020
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781800468191
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	2 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0200€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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Copyright © 2020 George Alston

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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ISBN 9781800468191

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Kissing’s out of season
when gorse is out of bloom.
Contents
1. In the beginning
2. Scrutiny
3. Boys – men – one woman
4. Settling in – a close encounter
5. Characters and queer folk
6. Revelations – a skirmish – respite
7. Potions
8. Odds and Ends – Antics
9. Feeling down – looking up
10. A Time for Decisions
11. Accusations
12. Sea and Separation
13. Risk and Restoration
14. An unmasking
15. Starlight and Storm
16. Cream cakes and paint
17. The nature of love
18. In the dumps
19. Consummation
20. Bliss and bluster
21. Disclosure
22. A Time for Reckoning
23. Gannon – the whole truth
24. Chilling events – a saviour
25. Reaffirmation
26. Two visits – The new with the old
27. Shocks all round
28. Reunited
29. Confession Time
30. Wrongs …
31. … and Rites
32. Catharsis
33. Igor – the expose
34. Visions
35. The final journey
36. Apocalypse
37. Wisdom and Poppycock
38. Chance and choices
39. Postulations
40. Valediction
41. Admissions
42. The Blue Sky Door
43. Aftermath
44. Perspectives
45. Into the Past
46. Into the Future
47. Reunion
48. Home Truths
49. Resolution
1
In the beginning
People say I lack a sense of timing. When the snow plough attempted to make the first crossing of the moor I followed, rashly, in its wake, watching waves of snow being thrown out on either side. It was the beginning of January, all those years ago, but I see it now and the events which were to follow, as if they were passing before my eyes this very second.
I’d travelled far. I was tired, red eyed and anxious to complete my journey. I can still make out the rear lights of the snowplough disappearing into the distance. It slithered off, leaving me to climb out of the van to clear the build up of snow on the glass in front of me. I could sense the open space to my left and the presence of cliffs on my right. The road had been hacked and blasted from the rock. It clung to the mountainside with nothing but a line of concrete posts to stop me skidding over the edge and plunging into the icy waters of the loch. So I hugged the road on the wrong side and passed beneath an archway of firs, all laden with snow.
Then, I had an enormous shock. There, in front of me, lying on its roof in the middle of the road, was a car. Its headlights were still shining and it was aligned with the road, as if pointing towards the village which was my own destination. I had no choice but to stop and to investigate, not knowing what I might find, mangled and lifeless on the inside. I climbed out of the van and crunched towards the car through the still falling snow.
The driver’s window was already open, so I went down on my knees and peered inside. It was empty. Then, I looked to see if anyone had been thrown out onto the banking next to the loch. There was no sign of any occupant and the car itself appeared undamaged, as if it had been picked up gently and put down again by an invisible hand.
When I climbed back into my seat I had no feeling at all in my hands but I managed to start the engine and set off again in the direction of the village. Eventually, the road began to descend and I saw a yellow street lamp, followed by a line of terraced houses, a tenement and a sign, almost obliterated, pointing to the police station.
‘There’s a car on its roof next to the loch,’ I said to the attractive woman who answered the door. ‘There’s no one inside. I’ve no idea what’s happened to the driver.’
‘John’s down at Hetty’s, she replied ‘You’d better go there. She always chooses the worst time!’
‘Hetty’s?’ I repeated.
‘Hetty McLean’s – it’s down behind the old tenement.’
Everything was white and wonderful and my hands were beginning to warm up again. Snow was still falling and I felt calm inside. Someone had to tell the policeman about the upturned car, so I parked next to the old tenement – the only place I actually knew about beforehand – and walked through the centre of the village, following the woman’s directions to take me to Hetty’s house. The snow was less heavy. I loved it. I loved the creaking and the glistening beneath my feet. I loved the space and the timelessness of this place. Everything was new to me but I’d known from the start that this was where I wanted to live.
‘There’s a car on its roof a couple of miles back along the loch,’ I reiterated for the benefit of the burly man who opened the door. ‘But there’s no sign of the driver.’
‘It’s only Stevie,’ replied the man, whose blue shirt sleeves were rolled up to the elbow.
‘John, will ye keep your mind on the business,’ cried a woman’s voice from the back of the house.
‘Come in a minute,’ said the policeman, in an English accent. ‘You can do a bit of good here. It’s Hetty’s fourth. They drop out like mice. Follow me.’
We walked through the house to a kitchen at the back and there, in a corner, was a small, scrawny looking woman, squatting on her haunches, her back fixed firmly against the wall.
‘Is it Alex?’ she asked.
‘Not yet,’ said the policeman.
‘Where is the fellow? He’s a coward to the end. Get those kids up to bed!’ she railed, spotting a line of boys’ faces staring down from the banister. Then, her manner changed completely. ‘Sassenach or no, John, you’re a wonder man,’ she said, grabbing the policeman by the arm and pulling him towards her. ‘It’s time. I know it’s time.’ She continued. ‘There’s no strength in me but no one comes near with a knife. I won’t be cut,’ she said, scowling at me as if I were an uninvited midwife. ‘Get the bowl! Get the bowl! Be ready!’
‘It’s not the bowl yet, Hetty,’ said the policeman. ‘It’s the bairn.’
‘Aye, but be ready with the bowl, all the same.’
‘Pick up the bowl,’ said the policeman, gesturing to me. ‘Be ready. Hetty won’t keep us waiting.’
I picked up a plastic bowl from the kitchen floor and was waiting to be told what to do with it when, suddenly, there was a slurping and squelching sound. Then a screwed up piglet of a child fell out onto the towel which the policeman was holding beneath the woman’s buttocks. I couldn’t believe it. While I watched, mesmerised, the policeman cut the cord, wiped the child’s face of blood and slime and handed the baby, which had already come to life, to the gasping woman.
‘Not another boy!’ she groaned. ‘Four in a row! The man’s a common criminal, doing this to me – and him not here, when I need him most. But you John – what would I do without – the bowl!’ she screamed. ‘The bowl!’ But it was too late. The remaining contents of her womb spilled out of her onto the kitchen floor before I had time to place the bowl under her – and it spread – pink and purple – in lumps and liquid – all around her feet.
‘I’m – I’m sorry,’ I stammered, ‘I didn’t expect…’
‘You did fine,’ whispered the woman, placing a clammy hand against my cheek. ‘You’re a brave boy, here at my side, when another should be kneeling in your place.’
It was strange how Hetty had instantly mellowed once she’d been presented with her child. Moisture gathered in the corner of her eyes. My own knees were wet with afterbirth. I could feel it sticking to my trousers as I got to my feet.
‘We’d better get cleaned up,’ said the policeman, salvaging the child from Hetty’s grasp.
‘Leave it to me, John. Sally will know what to do,’ said Hetty, pushing off from the wall and crawling on all fours across the kitchen floor.
‘Now you shouldn’t be doing that, Hetty,’ said the policeman, as a gust of wind whipped in through the unlatched door, followed by a flurry of snowflakes and a great black labrador, dribbling at the mouth.
‘Go on Sally,’ urged the woman. ‘Take it. It’s all yours and it’ll do you no harm,’ at which the black dog bounded across the kitchen, skidded in the pool of afterbirth and proceeded to swallow and lick it up, till there was nothing left but a wet patch where the small woman had just given birth. ‘Oh, he’s lovely,’ she cooed, revising her first reaction to her fourth son whom the policeman had placed in an old fashioned cot in the living room. ‘Is he warm John?’ she asked. ‘Feel him for me,’ said Hetty.
‘Aye, warm and everything in the right place. Alex will be proud.’
‘Alex! Alex! Alex who? I don’t know any Alex,’ cried Hetty. ‘He’s a disaster! Reel him in, like the great blubbering whale that he is. Go on, where is this Alex?’she demanded.
The