Marris A Curtain Twitcher's Book of Murder

Darkly funny, quirky and surprising -- discover the debut readers are loving!
1. Auflage 2024
ISBN: 978-1-83501-010-5
Verlag: Bedford Square Publishers
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, 300 Seiten

London, 1968. A suburban London street. But this is no ordinary road. 'Ask anyone on Atbara Avenue how well they know their neighbours, and they'll answer 'well'. After all, they see each other across the vast distance afforded by close proximity, and that is probably for the best...'. In number 17 live a bitter daughter and her mother, trapped with each other. Or are they? The twin brothers at number 3 think they're nothing like each other, but they may be proved wrong. Lesley disappeared from number 49 years ago. Then her body is found, and with it more secrets. Atbara Avenue is a street where, all too often, murder feels like the solution. With a delicious cast of characters, dazzling plotting, and a unique voice, Gay Marris' first book is the fresh and compelling new voice in the world of crime fiction you've been waiting for.

Dr. Gay Marris is a retired research scientist. Her career focused on insect ecology, parasites and honey bee health. A Curtain Twitcher's Book of Murder is her first novel, set in the suburbs of the deceptively dangerous suburbs of 1960s London, where she grew up. Gay now lives in York with her husband, a cat and a tortoise.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Marris, Gay

Leseproben

2

Soul Mates

From a distance, Colin Peabody appears to be a natural loner; a self-contained lad, conveniently settling for his own peculiar company. He’s very small for his age. And thin. With dark brown eyes, long, long lashes and raven-black hair, he might be of Latin descent, if it wasn’t for his bone china complexion. In certain lights his skin has an almost ghostly translucency. The football-boot bruises and riotous acne sported by his peers have overlooked him. Controlled and quiet, Colin is also devoid of his classmates’ burgeoning unwieldiness. He is far from a typical twelve-year-old. Because of his slight build, he could be mistaken for a younger boy, but something in the shadows of his face, the sobriety of his countenance, makes him seem much older.

From his viewpoint in the front window of Number 34 Atbara Avenue, Colin watches with great interest as two paramedics manhandle a trolley over the threshold of Number 17, the house directly across the street. Their boiler suits and gloves make them look a bit like dustmen. The local doctor, whom he recognises, is flapping about in the flowerbeds, trampling pansies and getting in the way. Colin can tell by the shape and wobble of the body bag strapped on top of the trolley that it contains the fatter of the two Dollimores. A momentary tightness enters his chest; a sensation some might have supposed to be sadness, but it comes and goes too quickly for him to get the measure of it. He assumes the passing of miserable Pauline has merely triggered a little indigestion.

Ursula Peabody finishes washing the last of the lunch plates and slots it into the draining rack. As she arranges a damp tea towel over the kitchen radiator she calls out, ‘Colin! What are you up to? I’m nipping to the corner shop but when I get back, d’you fancy a game of Scrabble? Keep us busy till Dad gets home. I’ll let you have first pick of the letters.’ Hearing no reply, she puts her head round the sitting-room door to catch her son, parked right in the centre of the bay window, unashamedly observing the commotion opposite. ‘What are you doing, Son? Keep away from there or the neighbours’ll see you!’

Without shifting his gaze and without answering her question, Colin says, matter-of-factly, ‘I think Pauline Dollimore is dead.’

Ursula moves at once to his side. Resting her hand on his shoulder, she says gently, ‘I know. The postman told me.’

‘How does he know?’

‘He caught sight of something going on when he arrived with this morning’s mail. I wasn’t going to say anything about it.’

‘Why not?’

‘Well, it’s upsetting, isn’t it?’ sighs Ursula, adding, ‘And none of our business,’ as she too peers through the net curtains to get a better look at unlovely, unloved Pauline’s final exit from Muriel’s house. ‘You’d think they’d have got a rug or something to cover that up. It doesn’t seem decent, lugged out in a zip-up bag. I’ll pop over the road later and put a card through her door. Poor soul.’

Colin turns sharply to look at his mother. ‘Who’s a “poor soul”?’

Regretting her choice of words, Ursula reflects for a moment, screwing her hands into her apron. ‘Well, both of them I suppose. Her mum, because she’ll be all on her own now, and Pauline herself, of course. Especially when you think how she went. The postman thinks she…’ Ursula lowers her voice to a near-whisper and mouths, ‘… took her own life.’ She makes a tut-tutting sound. ‘Isn’t it awful? Gossiping like that. Although there’ll be those of the opinion she’s committed a sin.’

‘A sin?’

‘Yes. It says so in the Bible, doesn’t it? One of the Ten Commandments: “Thou shalt not kill”. And that means kill anyone. Including yourself. Suicide is a “mortal sin” in some folks’ books.’

‘What happens to people who commit suicide, then?’

‘How do you mean “happens to them”? They end up just the same as anyone who’s struck by lightning, has a heart attack or, God forbid,’ continues Ursula, chuckling at the very thought, ‘gets themselves murdered. They end up dead.’

‘No, that’s not what I mean, Mum. I mean, if they’ve committed a mortal sin, what happens to their souls? Can they still leave?’

‘Now that’s an odd sort of question. I’m not really following you… Come away from the window, there’s a good boy. Wherever did I put my purse?’ Ursula unties her apron and trots into the kitchen, returning with her handbag.

Aware his mother wants to change the subject, Colin turns back towards the window in time to see the ambulance pull away. He watches it drive off, slowly at first, but it only gets as far as Number 29 before it speeds up sharply and disappears up the avenue. It seems the length of decorum required to mark due respect for dead Pauline can be counted in just a few yards. He realises he has to rephrase his question.

‘I suppose I want to know if their souls still get into Heaven.’

His mother lets out a gasp of surprise, bends down and cups his face in her hands, squashing his cheeks and making his mouth into a silly goldfish pout.

‘What a gorgeous boy you are, worrying about a thing like that. There’s not many on this earth who’ll be fussing about the next life of Pauline Dollimore, let alone handsome young men like you. I may not know all the ins and outs of God’s mysterious ways, but that, I can tell you, is a fact! Whatever took her, her soul’s gone to a better place than it’s been for years, may she rest in peace. Now, I’m off to get my “With Sympathy” card before they close. Want anything yourself?’ She opens the hall cupboard, pulls out her jacket and headscarf and makes ready to leave.

‘You could pick me up some of those stomach pills.’

His mother immediately stops fastening her jacket, re-enters the sitting room and once again she takes Colin’s cheeks in her hands, scrutinising his features for the smallest of tell-tale signs. ‘Are you off colour again, sweetheart?’ she asks, anxiety ringing in her voice.

Taking hold of her wrists, Colin gently moves her hands away from his. ‘No. I’m fine. Really. A bit of a tummy ache, that’s all.’

‘Just your insides hurting? Nothing else?’

‘No. Nothing else. Get me those minty pills I can suck. The other ones are too chalky.’

‘All right then. I’ll be back as quick as I can and then we can have that game of Scrabble. Now, come away from the window like I asked. It’s morbid gawping at a scene like that.’

Ursula buttons up and sweeps out, slamming the front door behind her.

Colin rolls his wheelchair back, away from the window, but Adam carries on watching. Colin tries to get him to come away too, but he knows that once Adam puts his mind to something, there’s no turning him. Colin knows all about Adam and Adam knows all about C3.O1.L1.I1.N1.

Over the last few years, Colin has had a lot of time to consider Adam and the nature of their very special relationship. By now, he accepts the head injury triggered his modified mental state. He was born sane. Since the accident, he’s different. And on these points, Colin and the medical profession are agreed. However, when it comes to the nitty-gritty of his diagnosis, they don’t see eye to eye at all. While no one has actually said ‘insane’, they do use words like ‘altered’ and ‘brain structure’ in the same sentence. Here lies the fork in the road, for Colin absolutely cannot accept he’s mentally ill. Just mentally ‘split’. Adam is of the same mind.

Waiting for his mother to return from her errand, he recalls last week’s session with yet another doctor, this time a psychologist, who’d made him explain things all over again. It’s not that she was unsympathetic – in fact, she was quite a good listener – it’s just that the meeting now seems as pointless to him as all the others.

She’d ushered him into her smelt-the-same-as-the-surgery office, gushing formal informalities like a true pro. ‘Hello, Colin. Super to meet you. I’m Sally Bickerstaff, but most people call me Doctor Sally. Come on in and take a seat.’ Flushing extremely red, in an effort to diffuse their mutual embarrassment while he positioned his wheelchair opposite her desk, she offered him a drink. ‘Juice? Water?’ Without noticing that he’d declined, she buzzed the receptionist and asked her to ‘be an angel, Lesley, and rustle up two coffees’.

Once settled in her own chair, Doctor Sally cleared her throat and got down to business. ‘Okay, Colin. As you know, I’ve been having a few pow-wows with my colleagues, the guys you normally work with, and they’re worried you may not understand what they’ve told you about your symptoms. So, if it’s cool with you, I’d like us to have a chat. See if I can help clear up a few points, if that would help you get the whole thing straight… in your head?’

He sighed, deeply. ‘It’s not that I don’t understand. I don’t agree.’

‘Well, why don’t you tell me the way you see things, and we’ll take it from there?’

He sighed again, long-wearied of telling his story. This inability of doctors to properly listen drove him crazy. But he did try his best to explain himself to this Doctor Sally in a way he hoped would, at last, get...