Flying Boy , livre ebook

Eyewear Publishing - Andrew Bramwell

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101 pages

English

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Sam's teen life changes instantly one day in Coventry when a terrible crime is committed. Soon, Sam has to accept a family member is a potential murderer - and he has to go into 'care'. Sam's journey takes him to a surprising new home and new friends, where dangerous enemies and forces emerge, to threaten his existence on many levels. As Sam encounters a final challenge that could kill or redeem him, the world appears to bleed into supernatural or mythic elements at the edges. Will the boy fly or fall? For anyone who has loved the works of Alan Garner, this is a deeply resonant, suspenseful, and magical book about childhood's darkness, strengths, and how lives may - or may not - escape unexpected nightmares.

Informations

Publié par	Eyewear Publishing
Date de parution	01 juillet 2021
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781839782923
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0350€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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FLYING BOY
Sam s life changes instantly one day in Coventry when a terrible crime is committed. Soon, Sam has to accept a family member is a potential murderer - and he has to go into care . Sam s journey takes him to a surprising new home and new friends, where dangerous enemies and forces emerge, to threaten his existence on many levels. As Sam encounters a final challenge that could kill or redeem him, the world appears to bleed into supernatural or mythic elements at the edges. Will the boy fly or fall? For anyone who has loved the works of Alan Garner, this is a deeply resonant, suspenseful, and magical book about childhood s darkness, strengths, and how lives may - or may not - escape unexpected nightmares.
Andrew Bramwell was born in Walsall and educated at St. Martin s College, Lancaster and Keele University. He has spent many years working as a teacher and counsellor and now lives in the West Midlands. The Flying Boy is his first venture in writing for young adults and follows the novel Karelia , poetry, children s stories, and articles on education and literature.

First published in 2021 by Black Spring Press
Suite 333, 19-21 Crawford Street Marylebone, London W1H 1PJ United Kingdom
Typeset by Subash Raghu
Graphic design by Edwin Smet
All rights reserved
2021 Andrew Bramwell
The right of Andrew Bramwell to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
ISBN 978-1-839782-92-3
www.eyewearpublishing.com
CONTENTS
THE FIRST PART: WHERE THINGS GO FROM BAD TO WORSE
WHERE PEOPLE WANDER IN AS IF THEY OWNED THE PLACE
THE MAD WOMAN AND THE MAD BOY
HOSPITAL CORRIDORS (ARE LONGER THAN YOU THINK)
HERE, THERE, EVERYWHERE
MAKING THE BEST OF IT
THE NEXT PART IN WHICH ALL SORTS OF THINGS HAPPEN
IN WHICH I M NOT REALLY SURE ABOUT ANYTHING
THE ART OF RUSHING SLOWLY
IN WHICH THERE IS JUST ANOTHER THING
ON BOXING DAY
I BECOME THE FLYING BOY
THE FIRST PART: WHERE THINGS GO FROM BAD TO WORSE
The minute I walked through the door I knew something was up. I could sense it, and to be honest I was tempted to turn around, get on the bus and go back to school.
I put my bag down in the hallway and walked into the kitchen. They were both there - Mum leaning against the kitchen counter, her face like thunder, and Dad sitting down with both hands on the table. For a minute it looked as if he was praying surely not. No, he was only resting his hands.
You re back early, she said.
Football training was cancelled, the coach wasn t well, I replied
Dad said nothing. He just sat there staring down at the tablecloth, examining the pattern.
I ll just go up to my room and get changed, I said to break the silence.
No, here s some money, go to the chip shop and buy something to eat. There s no need to come back too soon. There s no reason to speak to him like that, Dad interjected, before he realised better and kept quiet.
I just want to get changed first, I don t like going out in my uniform.
Just do as you re told! she snapped, flinging a bag of loose change in my direction. Your dad and I have things to discuss.
I took the hint, picked up the money and walked out of the kitchen. But before I could go, I pulled off my tie and wrapped it around the end of the bannister - at least I wouldn t be in full school uniform. As I left, I slammed the door behind me, not that either of them would notice - I had been doing that for as long as I could remember.
The walk into town was hot, blisteringly hot for September. Pity it hadn t been this warm during the holidays. The holidays were a total washout, in more ways than one. But life didn t get much better when I went back to school. Big school, they called it; I d been there three weeks and had to say I didn t think much of it. Most of my friends from primary went somewhere else, but Mum was adamant that this school would be good for me even though it meant a long bus journey and no one to ride with. The uniform was stupid too. From day one, I didn t really fit in. Hardly anyone spoke to me, the teachers had no time and couldn t even remember my name. It was so big there were nearly two thousand students. That s what we were called, not children or pupils . I never thought I would miss St. Peter s, but I did.
Since it was a Monday morning, I thought I would start the week by giving perseverance a go. Perseverance is what Mr. Colley always went on about when I struggled with my reading, which was most days. So, since I had failed miserably at writing down my activities over the summer - which were, nothing - I now decided to go to football training and see if I could get into the school team and maybe make a few new friends Except, it was cancelled. So here I was, sitting on a bench opposite the bakery with a bag of chips and a can of Vimto, wondering when it might be appropriate to go back home.
I m something of a connoisseur when it comes to benches; I ve sat on most of them in this part of town. Got a few splinters in my time too. There was something I liked about this particular spot, though. It was quiet enough to hear yourself think, yet busy enough to watch the traffic go by. It backed onto a small park; there are no swings or anything like that, just a few trees and flower beds. This is where they hung the lights at Christmas, which were very impressive, even if I say so myself. The occasional dog walker wandered by, with Jack Russells or Staffordshire Bull Terriers.
If I d got there sooner, I could have bought a cake from the bakery. The assistants knew me by name. What will you have today, Sam? they ask Doughnut, Manchester tart, yum-yum? They re okay in there. I wouldn t mind working at a place like that when I m older. I bet it doesn t pay very much though. And I wouldn t be able to keep my hands off the stock. I d probably end up like one of those really big people you see on mobility scooters, so fat that they can t even walk.
I smiled at this thought. If I was that obese, maybe I could become a Sumo wrestler. I don t suppose Mum would be happy with that choice, since she wanted me to work in a bank. There wasn t much chance of that happening anyway, considering my academic record. Dad wanted me to get a trade , whatever that means.
Chalk and cheese, those two. I can t, for the life of me, see how they were compatible. Why did they even get together in the first place? Mum was obviously in charge, and dealt with the house, and finances, before trotting off to work in an office somewhere. I can t say I was interested in what her job actually entailed. Dad, well Dad. I quite liked him. He was harmless. I could see that he did his best, but he never got very far. He didn t earn as much as Mum and was always moving from one job to another. Mum couldn t stand him. She thought he was a loser. She has even told him that - in front of other people too - which was out of order. Dad was a bit wishy-washy, but his heart was in the right place. He was scruffy, too. I like scruffy; it s an underrated quality. As for Mum, well I m sure she had a heart once. But she must have left it on a train or something. All she was interested in was getting ahead. She went to the gym three times a week and was always well turned out. In the evening, she often toddled off to some pub or the other. And only then, peace at home.
I knew if I sat there much longer people would start to wonder what I was doing. Anyway, I got up, threw the chip paper in the bin and Vimto in hand, strolled back home through the park. I had a feeling of dread at the thought of going back. Perhaps dread is too harsh a word, maybe I was just disheartened. Ideally, I should look forward to going home, but it s not very often that I did. Once I m in my bedroom with the door closed, I m mostly fine. But generally, I suppose I have to just toughen up.
On the way back someone waved to me from their car. I didn t know who it was, but I naturally waved back. A jogger ran past. I thought about making a sarcastic comment, but I wasn t quick or brave enough.
There was a red kite flying in the sky above. A diamond so high I couldn t see the string, nor the person flying it. I wouldn t mind having a go at kite-flying, I thought casually, as I turned the corner.
I wish I hadn t. What did I just see? Well, the first thing to grab my attention was an ambulance with its lights still flashing and doors swung open. Some poor chap was being carried in (for some reason I assumed it was a man, even though it wasn t clear.) Then, I saw a police car parked on the curb. It seemed I d missed all the excitement as usual. Although I have to say, excitement isn t really my thing - boring is underrated.
I saw the neighbours milling around outside. The heavily tattooed man from down the street was waving his arms about as though he was a pirate looking for a rope to climb. Some of the neighbouring women came out in their slippers, caught in the terrible dilemma of whether to watch this scene unfold, or go back to watching Coronation Street on their televisions. Then, there was the lunatic Staffie careering through the gardens, barking and grinning. They were everywhere, these dogs. I made a mental note to never own one but then changed my mind. These decisions shouldn t be rushed. Finally, between the avenue of wheelie bins, I saw my mother lodged between two burly policemen, heading for a patrol car. She didn t look happy and was snapping and snarling at them but I couldn t tell exactly what was happening from that distance.
Oh dear. My blood ran cold and a shiver ran down my spine. I started running away, so fast I couldn t even feel my legs. I probably didn t stop for about two hundred metres. I m not much of a runner, but I can hide well. I can watch too; I ve had plenty of practice at that. I found a vantage point behind an old toilet block on the corner; at that moment, it seemed an appropriate place to be.
The ambul