Froggitt Chain , livre ebook

2QT Limited (Publishing - Ann Angel Katharine

Découvre YouScribe en t'inscrivant gratuitement

Je m'inscris

Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne
En savoir plus

132 pages

English

Vous pourrez modifier la taille du texte de cet ouvrage

Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne
En savoir plus

A propos
Informations
Extrait

Description

Everybody's best mate but nobody's soul mate. Milkman Peter Froggitt is stressed out and when life overwhelms him he always runs. Now he is terrified. In his new stealth-camper, he heads north, running from the memory of a dead woman, his fear of the Watcher on the scrubland and from his own interminable loneliness. In his possession is the heavy gold chain he has kept since childhood. The chain he took from The Blackened Man. At 4.30am, in an attempt to re-invent himself as a carefree man, Peter tosses his burden into a field; a bag containing the chain, along with letters from his father and his ex-wife, his phone, some keys and a mysterious photograph of a pale, scruffy child. But from a hotel balcony, Hugo Quin is watching. And when Hugo is watching, anything is possible. The Froggitt Chain is a story of ordinary people who long to belong. It is about brokenness, connection and hope. 'It's rare to come across such an original voice and to find a book that is both very funny and intensely moving.' K. Holmes

Sujets

Adventure (Guyana)

Adventure

Informations

Publié par	2QT Limited (Publishing
Date de parution	20 novembre 2013
Nombre de lectures	1
EAN13	9781910077856
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	1 Mo

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

Extrait

2QT Limited

The Froggitt Chain

Katharine Ann Angel

Copyright

Paperback edition first published in 2013 by
2QT Limited (Publishing)
Lancaster
LA2 8RE
www.2qt.co.uk

This eBook edition first published 2013

All rights reserved
© K A Angel 2013
The right of K A Angel to be identified as the author
of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

Paperback ISBN 978-1-908098-98-6

ePub ISBN 978-1-910077-85-6

The Froggitt Chain is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental.

Quote

Loneliness is the dominant driver of human unhappiness. We know from obesity, heart disease, mental health, alcoholism, drug addiction and crime – these are all strongly correlated to loneliness.

Republica Think Tank, January 2011

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank the following people and organisations for their time and help with reading, suggestions, attention to detail and production of this book. You were all a joy to work with.

David Lamin, Kirsty-Jane Lamin, Charis Smith, Jean-Ann Angel, Alan Greenwell, Lynn McCann, Hannah Unsworth, Beth Cockeram, Andrew Gardner, Paul Stainer and Nick. John Walker for information on milk marketing.

The Creative Network Writers’ Group.
2QT: Catherine Cousins, Karen Holmes and Hilary Pitt.

Hannah Cousins for her very original, stunning artwork.

A Note on the Author

Katharine Ann Angel was born in Kent. An experienced mainstream teacher and foster carer, she eventually taught with the National Teaching and Advisory Service, specialising in inclusion for pupils who have been permanently excluded from education. These teenagers inspired her first book, Being Forgotten - eight short stories favourably reviewed in the Times Educational Supplement. The Froggitt Chain is her first novel.

Facebook: Katharine Ann Angel twitter: @katharine59

Dedication

For Andrew

Table of Contents
Copyright
Quote
Acknowledgements
A Note on the Author

Dedication
Skerton Bridge and the Froggitt Name
Peter Froggitt 1
Hugo 1
Carol 1
Mr Peter Froggitt 2

Hugo 2
Mr Froggitt 3
Hugo 3
Morag 1
Mr Froggitt 4
Hugo 4
Mr Froggitt 5
Gordon 1
Mr Froggitt 6
Morag 2
Mr Froggitt 7
Gordon 2
Mr Froggitt 8
Hugo 5
Mr Peter Froggitt 9
Hugo 6
Gordon 3
Hugo 7
Peter Froggitt 10
Hugo 8
Gordon 4

Peter Froggitt 11
Hugo 9
Peter Froggitt 12
Hugo 10
Peter Froggitt 13
Hugo 11
Morag 3
Hugo 12
Gordon 5
Peter Froggitt 14
Hugo 13
Peter Froggitt 15
Hugo 14
Peter Froggitt 16
Gordon 6
Hugo 15
Gordon 7
Peter 17
Hugo 16 and Gordon 8
Peter Froggitt 18
Morag 4
Hugo 17 and Gordon 9
Peter Froggitt 19
Hugo 18, Gordon 10 and Morag 5
Peter 20
Gordon 11
Hugo 19
Peter 21
I hope you enjoyed this book. I would love to know what you thought about it. Please take a moment to write a review at Amazon or Smashwords. Your opinion helps other readers to decide if they would enjoy the book. Amazon asks for 20 words minimum, so it doesn’t have to be very long!

If you do leave a review, please send me an email on katharineannangel@gmail.com so that I can thank you with a personal email.

Also, please help other readers to find this book by recommending it to friends, reading groups and discussion boards.

Comment on:
t: @katharine59 Like fb: Katharine Ann Angel

Thank you!

Skerton Bridge and the Froggitt Name

Skerton Bridge, constructed 1783–1788

Thomas Harrison lived in Lancaster in the early 1780s, after spending seven years in Italy. He entered a competition to design Skerton Bridge, for which he won £20. It is likely that he based his idea on an ancient Italian Roman bridge at Rimini. It was important for its use of a horizontal roadway and balustrades across the whole width, which was innovative for Britain at that time. It is a classically designed road bridge, carrying the A6 southbound lanes from Carlisle into Lancaster over the River Lune.
It has five elliptical masonry arches, each spanning sixty-four feet. The deck of the bridge is thirty-three feet wide between parapets. The spandrels between the arches and at the abutments have storm-water channels through them, the entrances to which are framed in Doric pilasters and pediments. Elliptical arches and storm-water channels were eighteenth century innovations in bridge building. Inside one storm-water channel there is unexplained graffiti: Mark Froggitt 1778 – the inspiration for the names and events described in The Froggitt Chain.

Based on information supplied by www.engineering-timelines.com , researched by Paul Dunkerley and funded by the R&D Panel of the Institution of Civil Engineers.

Peter Froggitt 1

1960

Ten year old Peter Froggitt struggled to keep up with the Saturday gang as they played along the banks of the River Lune. As usual the stocky child puffed and wheezed and, as usual, he succumbed to his asthma. It seized his chest, forcing him to slow down and accept his position as the outsider, the loner, the thoughtful one. Peter heard the snap of sticks as the others ran ahead and the splash of small rocks being hurled into the river. As their voices became less distinct, their excited squeals echoed, bouncing beneath the arches of the road bridge above, until they fell silent on the other side.
Peter stopped to calm his lungs. He watched his own breath swirl, seductive as cigarette smoke on the light, frosty air. His left side ached with a stitch and he held his ribs as the coldness stabbed his lungs with each gasp of breath. He saw that the tide was low and ready to turn and that the sloping, muddy banks were sticky-gloopy, decorated with the spikey footprints of waders and water-rats. He was unconcerned because he knew where his mates would be congregating – in their den behind the bramble tunnel, where the depression cut between the rocks was a sanctuary from adults, a place where children experimented with smoking, kissing and swearing without fear of the slipper across their backside or soap in their mouths.
Peter recovered his breath as he stood motionless among the flotsam and jetsam, the plastic and cans and wires and rags, the rusting, slimy junk strangled in gangly grasses, twice daily drowned by the tidal river. He allowed his scuffed, brown lace-ups to sink a little into the jellied earth and imagined how it might feel to carry on just standing there, helplessly sinking with mud up to his knees and the tide coming in, the freezing water swirling around his groin. Peter covered this area of his body with both hands. In his mind, the keening water was rising above his navel to his chest. But he remained stoic, a monument to childhood, as the Lune wrapped its icy swirls about his neck, tickling yet threatening; a necklace or a noose?
The boy clenched his mouth tight shut and breathed through his nostrils, until his fearful imagination ruled and there was no longer anything to laugh about or enjoy. The river was blinding the boy and he was suffocating, drowning, exploring the edges of impending death. His eyes were squeezed shut as he concentrated on holding his breath. Thirty seconds. Thirty-one. Thirty-two. A good thing he practised breath-holding in bed each night before sleep. He guessed it was good for his asthma. His record was forty-four seconds, but already Peter’s head thumped behind his eyeballs as if his heart had relocated to his skull. Thirty-six. Thirty-seven. Peter gasped and opened his eyes, surprised because the water was still so far off; rushing through the deeper channel, cupped between the river banks. He looked down at his shoe laces and they were still dry.
Light-headed, the boy stepped forward, resigned that none of his so-called friends had bothered to return to check on him. He was happy to be ignored and to wander alone; he’d catch them up in his own good time.
And there it was.
An object half-submerged in the mud; maybe brass or dull gold. It was obviously different from the other rubbish, but Peter thought it was most likely just a nut or bolt or piece of copper pipe. He bent down, grabbing at it, thinking ‘I’ll have that!’ but it was caught on something and hardly budged. Peter squatted and reconsidered his angle of attack. He pushed his finger through the metal loop and tugged again. As it inched towards him, Peter realised that the loop was attached to another loop beneath the mud. Cheap or priceless, a chunky chain was treasure all the same; so with both hands the boy scooped away some of the muck, releasing a pungent waft of rotting fish. His fingers connected with something spongy and instantly Peter’s stomach turned, retching deep within itself.
Determined in the way of small boys who must gain their