Hoad and Other Stories E-Book

Sarah Passingham

• Herausgeber: Stonewood Press
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 50

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2016

Beschreibung

A beautiful young woman walks into Hoad's gallery to admire a jade vase, and Hoad's life changes forever; Ray watches an insurmountable horror take place and wreaks simple and profound revenge; after her paraplegic father dies, a middle-aged woman finds herself in a solicitor's office, cataloguing her memories... In the pages of Hoad and other stories, quiet and complex yearnings for change and transformation are revealed in sometimes mysterious, sometimes fantastical, but always surprising ways. Sarah Passingham's debut collection is beautifully written, and she makes even the everyday actions of three people's lives seem elegant.

Leseprobe

First published in paperback 2014

by Stonewood Press

www.stonewoodpress.co.uk

All rights reserved

Copyright © Sarah Passingham, 2014

The author assert her moral right to be identified as the author of this work

ISBN: 978-1-910413-03-6

Represented by Inpress, Tel: [phone]

[email protected]

Acknowledgement: ‘Monmouth’ first appeared in Stand: Volume 8 (3), 2008

My thanks to Dennis Passingham, Anna Reckin, Les Girls Writing Group, Jacqueline Gabbitas and Martin Parker, The Norwich Writers’ Centre, Arts Council England and to Fred Davies (who sadly hasn’t made it to see these stories published in a collection) for all their support over the years. – SP

This is the second book in the THUMBPRINT series.

For

D, L & M

Contents

Hoad

The Forty-Seven

Monmouth

Hoad

When he came through the door they’d turned their backs on him, leaned their heads together and whispered through suppressed laughter. He’d been in the back room, and they must have stepped over the doormat to prevent the gallery’s bell from jangling because it was the sound of their voices that had alerted him.

Hoad stood quite still behind the mahogany table that served as a desk until the pair fell silent and began to stroll around the room.

It was nearly closing time and had been quiet all day. He’d been half way through making a coffee, and wondered if he could go back to it, then decided against. He stood and waited.

‘How much?’ The boy was pointing at a figurine. Hoad moved out from behind the table and walked the distance towards them, his footfalls echoing on the limed oak floor, before quoting a sum that was deliberately the high side of accurate. The boy didn’t flinch, instead he reached out a hand and caressed the bronze shoulder with his thumb.

Students didn’t often come into the gallery. It was several miles from the university, for a start, and those who did venture this far were intimidated by the lack of displayed prices.

‘And this?’ The boy held out a pale blue lotus bowl.

Hoad, unfailingly polite, named his price and gently retrieved the bowl. The boy nodded and sauntered about the room with his arm around the girl’s waist and her hand thrust into the back pocket of his jeans. They moved with a liquid grace as though they were a two-headed mythical animal, the boy always taking the lead. It could have been a dance, with Hoad the single member of an exclusive audience.

He followed at a slight distance and watched them carefully. They stopped beside a large Chinese rug at the far end of the L-shaped room. The boy took his arm from the girl’s waist, squatted down and flipped the corner over.

‘Silk?’

Hoad nodded.

‘It’s good.’ It was a statement.

‘Everything’s good,’ Hoad said. These two looked like students – jeans, no coats despite the cold spring, hair that swung loose – but they didn’t behave like students.

‘How much?’ the boy said again.

Hoad had only unpacked the carpet that morning and had thought it perfect, but now he wasn’t so sure. He thought there might be some damage to the border, but it could be a trick of the light. ‘It’s priced at…’ he began. He paused for a moment, then gave a figure: it was very expensive. ‘But it might be negotiable,’ he added.

The boy straightened, took an iPhone from his pocket and moved away. The girl stood still, but ignored the carpet.

Slowly, and with the poise of a performer, she slid her right foot from her shoe and, without looking at Hoad, appeared to admire her pink painted toenails. Caught off guard, Hoad felt momentarily unbalanced.

He quickly glanced over at the boy (her boyfriend or husband, there was no way of telling; neither wore jewellery) but he’d walked almost around the corner at the far end of the gallery and still had his back to them. His one-sided conversation could be heard only as a low murmur. The girl slipped her foot back into its shoe, and only then could Hoad break his gaze to look up at her face. Her eyes were black, almost as black as her hair, which was straight and very long, and was unfathomably lustrous.

He swallowed. His voice, when it emerged, felt like gravel. ‘Is there anything here that you especially like?’ he asked.

She pointed to the lit display case against the back wall holding his signature piece – a vase that had cost him his inheritance and won him a global reputation – without, apparently, looking at anything else. ‘I’ve always loved that,’ she said. He was confused. He was sure he would have remembered if she had been in the gallery before.

‘You have exquisite taste,’ he said, and he realised that he’d been holding his breath. ‘Do you know what it is?’

She nodded. ‘Nephrite jade,’ she said with a faint unidentifiable accent. Her voice was so quiet he had to lean towards her until he fancied he could feel the warmth of her body. He’d been on the point of asking her to accompany him over to the case when she turned towards the boy, who had finished his conversation and was gesturing at his watch.

‘Tell him to wait,’ Hoad said, but the girl took no notice, ran over to her boyfriend and resumed their hip-linked status as they left the gallery.

Through the window, Hoad watched their progress down the street, feeling as frail and hollow as papier-mâché.