All Change

M. Purkess M.

Description

All Change is the debut novel from M. M. Purkess which combines element of fantasy, romance, violence and comedy to create an unforgettable story. James, a young, aspiring writer, rents a tiny flat in Mrs Mangalino's seedy apartment house when it is recommended as a suitable writing environment by his mother's best friend. In mysterious circumstances, he is abducted and beaten up, but reappears the following day with no recollection of where he has been. Soon, others have similar unpleasant experiences and people begin behaving as if they are mad. Deep underground, readers are introduced to strange creatures, horrible machines and floods all watched over by a mystery controller. Are they behind the unexplained disappearances?In James' home village, on the surface all appears as normal, with petty squabbles over preparations for the usual-end-of-term festivities at the old school and annual village fete. But an invasion has already begun before everyone arrives. It's still not over when James, his cousin Barney, workmate Belinda and boss Elaine turn up, dirty and damaged having narrowly escaped disaster and arrest. Drama unfolds just before the show goes on - and what a show it proves to be!Inspired by the work of P. G. Wodehouse and Lee Childs,All Changeis written as a comic drama with elements of romance and fantasy and a concealed environmental message. It will appeal to readers that enjoy a wide range of genres, particularly fans of fantasy and comedy.

Sujets

• Fantasy (canción de Mariah Carey)
• Fantasy

Informations

• Publié par: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Date de parution: 28 novembre 2017
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781800468559
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

All Change
Wishes, Waves, and Wicked Ways





M. M. Purkess
Copyright © 2017 M. M. Purkess

The moral right of the author has been asserted.


Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.


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ISBN 978 1800468 559

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.


Matador® is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd
Dedication
To our very dear Lawrie, funny, clever, talented and kind, loved and missed by all who really knew him.
Contents
1. The Beetle, The Invisible Man and The Lost Boy
2. The Beginning of Experience
3. Uneasily to Rest
4. Rude Awakenings and Murky Meetings
5. Odd Reflections, Observations and Conversations
6. Job Descriptions, Irritations and Work Problems
7. Crossed Lines and Brief Encounters
8. Confectionary, Calls and Confrontations
9. Out of Place – Out of Control
10. Camaraderie, Communications and Carlos Confined
11. Close Raves and Close Shaves
12. Irritation, Imitation and a Change of Scenery
13. Replay, Ruin and Rescue
14. Sybil, Sausages and Nasty News
15. Too Many Questions and All the Wrong Answers
16. Great Dreams, Ghastly Disasters and Guilty Disclosures
17. Super-Fabs at Large, Family Reunions and Sybil The Sailor
18. Discoveries, Desperation and The Paper
19. Barney and Dad Go Down
20. A Breath of Air, a Sinking Feeling and a Tight Fit
21. A Smashing Time, A Bun Fight and Much Redecoration
22. Touch and Go, The Plan, Shocks for Sid and The Beetle’s Farewell
23. Morning Miracle, Sartorial Selection and Wilkins’ Journey
24. Waking Up, Digging up and Landing up
25. A Referee, a Marquee and a Fete Worse Than...
26. Moving on With a Bang, and Ups and Downs
27. Evasions and Revelations
28. Dressing Down, Dressing Up
29. The Show Goes On
30. Tidying Up and What the Papers Said

Post Script
Index of names
Chapter 1
The Beetle, The Invisible Man and The Lost Boy
Early one morning
Mrs. Mercedes Mangalino had never married. Thirty years ago, when she had first inherited a ratty, run down, disreputable boarding house, it had seemed advisable to suggest that there was a ruthless Mangalino man lurking in the shadows, ready to deal with trouble. There was no need for this fabrication now, as her own reputation had made Mrs.Mangalino (a.k.a. Mrs.M. or Ma to most of her tenants) almost as formidable as past generations of fiery Mangalino males. Sadly, following frequent, violent, family feuds, and the birth of many more daughters than sons, in London and its suburbs the name had almost disappeared. Now, only she bore it, the sole unmarried daughter in a set of seven. The last of these had moved away years ago, after marrying a Higgins and going respectable.
However, these days, Mrs.Mangalino found consolation in the nearby presence of her nephew, Sid. He was a Higgins, of course, but she had to admit this did make him a lot more kind and reliable, if somewhat on the plain and pale side. When he had moved back to London some years ago in search of his roots, she had welcomed him with open arms, and set him up in a nice little café not too far away. Sid had been genuinely surprised and grateful when his Auntie Mercy had suggested the idea, and had been quite prepared to run it on her behalf until she told him she didn’t want the bother of it – so long as he always had a nice bit of steak about whenever she popped round. Her own place was quite enough trouble.
Like the avenue it stood in, Seven Steps Apartment House could be said to have sunk to the depths and was now gradually swimming up towards the surface again. Why ‘Seven’ when there were only five steps up to the front door Mrs. Mangalino had long ago ceased to wonder. The house had been left to her by childless, slightly deranged Uncle Angelo (retired ice cream vendor and part-time fence) to keep it in the family. For years he had let out cheap rooms to any shifty character able to pay in advance, with no questions asked. Four letting rooms to each floor, there had been, minus the one that Angelo himself had camped in. Supposedly, there was one man and no women to each room, although Uncle had had no inclination to check up, clean up, or even go upstairs for that matter. When the heiress had made her first cautious entrance, the house had teemed with life and smelt of cigarettes, old food, sweat and decay.
Mrs.Mangalino had briskly put a stop to all that, starting with the smell. Back then she had gone through the whole place like a dose of salts. She cleaned everything possible, and got rid of more than half the lodgers, along with the unwashed curtains and worn-out, brown lino. After that, she had rigorously imposed her own standards of cleanliness on the remaining lodgers and had put up NO SMOKING notices on each landing. That had flushed out a few more undesirables. Gradually, the more serious conversion work had begun. Now, each floor but her own had two tiny flats for single occupancy – small bedroom, basic bathroom and a living room with a kitchenette crammed into an alcove, partly shielded from the rest of the room by its main storage unit and a small section of stud wall. Of course, she’d had to put the rent up. Now the inmates were cleaner, but still a bit on the shifty side.
The ground floor was hers alone, making a spacious, self-contained apartment. From this warm, sparkling haven she was able to monitor the comings and goings of the inmates, always making sure the stairs remained sufficiently creaky to make this easy. She also had the only key to the cage fixed over the letter flap to trap the mail. Naturally, she presided over the distribution of that. She had always kept spare keys to all the flats as well, and had the occasional snoop when her tenants were to be out for a known length of time. Well, it was her right to know what was going on: it was her responsibility. Anyone could understand that. She was a sort of guardian.
However, just lately things had been getting a little bit out of kilter. The subtle changes of the last few months bothered Mrs.Mangalino. In the early days, she had had no trouble at all in dealing with drunken brawls or a bit of a rough house now and then. She could easily demonstrate her powers of control. Anyone who did not back down and apologise at once would be amazed to find himself hurled outside onto the pavement with his possessions strewn around him, dirty washing and all. Any attempted protests had been shame-faced, tremulous and easily ignored. These days things were different… quiet…sober…almost humdrum… almost normal. It was getting on her nerves, because she was still picking up a dangerous vibe from somewhere.
It all seemed to have started with the sudden departure of Lew Smith, although he had paid three months in advance. Still, a bit of an explanation would have been expected. Much more unsettling were the latest three arrivals. They didn’t seem like the others at all. They had turned up within three weeks of one another and in her own mind she thought of them as the Beetle, the Invisible Man and the Lost Boy. Nowadays, Mrs.Mangalino was feeling a strange uneasiness, which annoyed her. Things were slipping out of her control and she knew it. It wasn’t right!
The most unnerving of the three newcomers was Mr.Spinks, or the Beetle. His shiny black fringe of hair grew sparsely round the back and sides of his head, and matched his beady black eyes and threadbare suit. He was too quiet and quick and creepy. She was keeping a look out for him right now.
Following the drill meticulously, Mrs.Mangalino had opened her door just a crack and listened carefully for creaks. She had peered through the slit before opening it wide enough for her bulky form to pass through. Finding that all was clear and creak free, she had pushed the key into the padlock securing the post box. Back in the kitchen, the kettle was steaming gently and
Mrs. Mangalino’s eyes glinted with satisfaction as they spotted a long, cream envelope. Only Mr.Twomey got those. Her satisfaction was short lived. The Beetle had done it again, materialising like a magician.
From the corner of her eye, Mrs.Mangalino could see the faint shine of his head beside her shoulder. There he was, polluting her pristine hallway with his dingy presence. She suppressed the curse welling up from her low-slung bosom. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, the sneaky little twerp! The way he could slip downstairs so quickly and silently was evil. It was almost as if he enjoyed making her jump, although she had never detected any kind of emotion on the sallow face. Just one, continuous line of dark, unmoving eyebrow divided it from the equally sallow dome of his head. Most irritatingly, those crisp envelopes weren’t even for him.
‘Mornin’, Mr. Spinks. Letter for Mr. Twomey, is it?’ She kept her voice flat.
He always seemed to know when Mr. T’s letters would turn up. She supposed he had one of those new phones you could carry