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Extended Work
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| Raven's Edge - Intro | |
| By avodaith | ||||
| 02 June 2008 | ||||
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Raven's Edge is a novel I have been working on, on and off, for years
now. Its main motivation is to connect the massive space opera with the
massively mundane in the real world, and most of the action takes place
in a small fishing port on the north east coast of England. What follows is the first chapter of the book. Or possibly the second. An alternate beginning is also posted. The woman at the reception desk looked up from the monitor and switched on a smile. ‘Can I help you?’ Ann let go of her suitcase and did her best to smile back. ‘Hi, is Doreen around? She’s expecting me.’ The smile dropped a notch and the receptionist’s brow tied itself in a knot. ‘And Doreen is already booked in is she? May I take her surname?’ ‘No, she works here. I’ve been speaking to her on the phone. My name’s Ann. From the US? I’ve just flown over and had a very long and expensive cab journey. I’d just like to go to my room please.’ ‘I think there may have been some misunderstanding.’ The receptionist now tried an expression of sympathetic concern. ‘I don’t believe we have a Doreen here.’ Ann sighed. ‘Ok, whatever. We’ll sort it out in the morning. Can I have a room please?’ ‘Certainly, madam. Would you like a single or a double room?’ Ann thought of the pleasure of stretching out in a double bed after twenty solid hours of travel. ‘How much is a double?’ ‘Would you like a price list?’ The receptionist handed over a glossy pamphlet. Ann opened it and blanched. She could probably get Doreen to refund her in the morning but still… ‘Look, can you get on the phone and just check with someone there isn’t a Doreen here? Maybe you just haven’t met her yet.’ The receptionist drew herself up, revealing to Ann for the first time that, according to her lapel badge, she was called Victoria and was Here To Help. ‘I’ve worked here six years. I’m afraid I think I would have noticed by now. Where did you get our number?’ ‘Doreen called me. The first time. But I got the number from the Business directory on the net when I called her back. She answered straight away…’ ‘Ah. I think I know what may have happened.’ Victoria reached under the counter and came out with a copy of the yellow pages. It fell open and she expertly flicked through until she found a particular page and turned it to show Ann. ‘This happens quite a lot’, she said, ‘Though usually the other way around. There are two hotels, you see. The Raven’s Edge Hotel, that’s ourselves, and this other one. I thought they were closed for the winter, though.’ Her finger marked a point just before the half page advert where, under Hotels, just before the quarter-page advertisement for the Raven’s Edge Hotel was a single line listing for The Raven’s Edge. ‘Oh. Crap’, said Ann. The Raven’s Edge was, apparently, only a couple of hundred yards away, and so not worth calling a cab for. About half that distance away Ann decided that Victoria must have meant vertically. About that same distance again, dragging her suitcase behind her and with two bags on her shoulder, with still no hotel in sight and the stars having been replaced by ominous-looking rain clouds, Ann decided that Victoria can’t have liked her very much. Maybe she couldn’t stand Americans. That was probably it. Working in the hotel business, I guess you could understand that. Not that Ann was American. But living there with her soon to be ex-husband for so long had given her a mid-atlantic twang that she had only become aware of within the last three hours. Six years of people telling her how cute her northern English accent was (not that anyone ever knew that’s what it was) had left her feeling immune to such worries. Now she felt like a stranger in her own home. Not that she knew exactly where home was. Exhausted, Ann sat down on her suitcase and turned to face the town. Raven’s Edge was laid out before her, clinging to the very edge of the North Yorkshire Moors, dabbling its feet in the water like a reluctant swimmer. At the far end of the bay she could see the white sea foam reflected in the moonlight, and the sound of the waves crashing up against the cliff behind her gave the scene an eerie dissonant quality, like a badly dubbed black-and-white film. The whole thing seemed somehow unreal. How had she come to be sitting here, on a cold February evening, having abandoned almost everything she possessed a thousand miles away? Deep down she knew David was just an excuse. She knew it shallow up too. In fact it was about the only thing she was sure of. Amongst the list of things she was not sure of was what David actually looked like, what she was going to live on while she was here, and where the hell the family hotel she had heard so much about of late was. And also, she mused as she once more stood up and hefted her suitcase up the hill, exactly what a hernia was. Following Victoria’s directions Ann followed the road to the to the top of the town, where it widened into the main road on to Scarborough, to the south. Once on the flat the wheels on her suitcase finally met with the floor again, and travelling was not such a struggle. Ann was still very tired, however, and was more than grateful when she rounded a corner into a small crescent, with two or three small cottages and, at the head of the drive, an imposing-looking house. The stone gateposts, which did not have a gate between them, had firmly affixed a weathered brass plate each, with the letters The Raven’s Edge picked out in a lighter, almost golden bronze. Regretfully Ann gripped her suitcase tightly once more and prepared to drag it up the gravel drive. Immediately she began there was a distant bang of a door and a man, Ann guessed in his early sixties, wearing what had once been a good suit, came crunching down the drive towards her. ‘Are you the lady we’re expecting?’ he called. Ann fought back the many bitter retorts that rose to her lips. She told herself that she was tired and irritable, and anyway she knew perfectly well what he meant. ‘I’m Ann Taylor’, she said, once he had come within what she estimated would be the reasonable earshot of an old man. ‘And yes, I really do hope so’. ‘Pete Sheckley.’ He said, grabbing the suitcase from her and dashing ahead into the house. ‘My wife’s the manager’. ‘Doreen Sheckley?’ Ann asked, hoping that the evening was starting to make some sort of sense. She followed him through the doorway into a brightly lit hallway with a perfectly ghastly wallpaper. ‘That’s right.’ He carefully placed the suitcase at the bottom of an oak staircase, and turned to face her. ‘Sorry she couldn’t be here to meet you herself but she had to go back home. The little one’s got the flu, you know. So I said I’d come and wait for you. Now then,’ he said, with an air of someone who knows what is required to rectify any situation ‘How about a nice cup of tea?’ In the event Ann declined the offer of tea, but accepted the offer of bed. The bedroom was cold and damp, but Ann barely had time to be irritated by it before she fell into a deep and dreamless sleep. * * * The next morning Ann was woken by the sound of a breakfast gong. She was up and out of bed before she remembered that she was the hotel’s only resident. However looking down at herself she considered that perhaps getting up might be in order. She had fallen into bed the previous evening only pausing to remove her coat and shoes, and the hung on her like the last fall of autumn leaves, wrinkled and wet with perspiration. She staggered over to a huge and rather spectacularly ugly mirror propped against one corner and looked at herself. Yeesh. Her make-up had spread itself backwards from a central point, giving a superficial facelift, a painted-on surprised expression. There was a knock at the door. ‘Good morning. Did you have a nice night’s sleep?’. A woman’s voice. ‘Don’t come in!’ . Then, feeling that may have been a little abrupt, ‘I’m not dressed. Yes I had a lovely nights sleep, thank you. Is that Doreen?’ ‘Yes dear. Sorry about the gong, the children get a little over-enthusiastic.’ ‘That’s okay, I was up anyway.’ ‘I’ll put something on for you. You’re not vegetarian are you, dear?’ ‘No.’, Ann said, before examining the possible greasy, fried repercussions of the answer. ‘Good. Ready in twenty minutes.’ Ann scowled. Cooked breakfast. Oh, well, maybe she would be in the mood for it in twenty minutes. She looked back at herself in the mirror and winced. ‘Just great. Now I have to clean up before I can go to the bathroom.’ Ann spent that morning unpacking her belongings, and placing them neatly into draws. Then she spent the first two hours of the afternoon re-packing them. She decided she didn’t want to commit any part of herself until she knew why she was here. Why she was really here. If she was going to stay or to leave for a genuinely new life, not some recreation of an idyllic summer childhood memory. When she was done she sat on the bed and perused her next move. Her next move should be going to see David. It should. It really, really should. So she went to see David. She had no idea what to expect of a hospice. She had never been to one before. What she found was an odd mix of the clinical and the household, like the world had ended and the last woman alive had decided that a hospital would be the ideal place to live. Comfortable sofas, flowery curtains, casually dressed staff and as much of the dressing of everyday life was everywhere, but still there was that strange smell of disenfectant and something unidentifiable that only hospitals have over everything. When she got to David’s room he was sitting on the bed, naked from the waist up, reading a book. She noticed with some surprise that it was a Mills and Boon romance. He looked every inch as Ann had pictured him. Sloping shoulders framed a pimply sparrow chest, so pale that he looked like a pen and ink drawing of a sick youth. He was completely bald, and his face was jowly, like a slightly melted waxwork of himself. He appeared quite small as well, Ann guessed not much larger than herself at five foot four, though sitting on the bed it was difficult to judge. The only thing that didn’t exude sickness, in a way that made it difficult not to turn away and walk out, was his eyes, which shone with a piercing blue light. They held Ann’s attention long enough to make it too late for her to change her mind, as David looked back at her, smiled, and put his book down on the bedside table, upside down and open to mark his place. ‘Hello’, he said. ‘Can I help you?’ ‘Hello’, Ann said. ‘Ann.’ David opened his eyes a little wider and blinked at her. Ann realised some further explanation was necessary. ‘My mother was your father’s sister. Sarah?’ ‘Oh, then we’re cousins’. David smiled. ‘Then I’m very pleased to meet you.’ He held out a bony hand, which Ann shook gingerly. ‘What brings you to these parts?’ ‘Don’t I sound like a local?’ David laughed softly. ‘No’, he said, ‘in a word.’ ‘I heard you were ill. I thought I should come and see you…. Er…’ ‘While you could?’ ‘No. No, don’t talk like that.’ ‘Why, does it make you uncomfortable?’ He spoke with sincere concern rather than sarcasm. ‘Don’t worry I’m not going anywhere. And I feel just fine. Don’t concern yourself. I’m not going anywhere.’ He repeated. ‘Although…’ He paused, looking up, caught in a thought. Then, back at her, ‘We are very close, aren’t we?’ Ann was lost. ‘Er…’ ‘I mean, we spent so much time together as children. Didn’t we?’ ‘Errm…’ Ann squinted at him. She had known the man less than a minute. Perhaps the illness had taken more than just a physical toll? ‘I mean, we’re almost like brother and sister, aren’t we? In fact you could almost be my sister, couldn’t you? You could almost be like my next of kin?’ A light was beginning to dawn in the back of Ann’s mind. ‘A next of kin who could…?’ David nodded at her ‘Who could co-sign release forms?’ Ann shook her head. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea. You aren’t well. You should be here, where they can…’ ‘Help you die. This is a Hospice. You come here to die.’ He slid himself determinedly off of the bed and stepped the four paces to her. ‘I’ve decided not to.’ Ann looked into his eyes, and he stared back into hers. He didn’t really look that ill. The eyes looked more alert and alive than any she had ever seen. ‘Do you feel well enough to leave? Don’t they have you on painkillers and stuff?’ ‘Some. I’m trying to cut down. Honestly, I feel fine. Maybe that’s just a temporary thing, I don’t know. But now I have the chance to go out and live a little, even if only for a short while, I’ve got to take it.’ Ann felt she was being manipulated. She knew all about being manipulated. Ann was a strong woman, Who could speak her own mind and argue the toss with the best of them, but she was very prone to emotional pleading. She had travelled all the way back here with the intention of pampering herself, lying back with no financial considerations and making all the show she possibly could of caring for her ill cousin, without having to actually do anything. If she helped David now she knew the likelihood now was that she would end up looking after him at that old house, with the odd contribution of a greasy sausage from Doreen. She could not let the guilt of that self-interested motivation spur her into giving in. She must, for her sake and for his, dig in her heels. ‘No. You should stay here. It isn’t safe.’ David tilted his head slightly to one side. ‘Please.’ Ann was not going to be moved. The staff here knew more about his condition than she did. Which, let’s face it, was squat. It wouldn’t be fair on him, in the long run to give in to him. She was not going to be manipulated again into doing something that she knew was wrong for everybody concerned. Ann mustered all her arguments, and took a deep breath. ‘Ok’, She said. Damn. ‘Great.’ David fell softly against her, his arm grasping round her neck. ‘Now for gods sake help me back to the bed, I’m dying here.’
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