JOSS

Fred Maddox

Description

'Beauty is only skin deep, it's what's inside a person that counts,' very nice sentiments, but does anyone actually believe these little pearls of wisdom? Joss Hinchcliff was at a disadvantage from the moment he was born. You could not disguise the fact that he was a very ugly child, but he did not deserve the treatment that was dished out to him. From birth, Joss had been a figure of fun; his friends teased him mercilessly and made unkind remarks about his affliction. For years he had endured this bad behaviour because he was lonely and wanted to be part of the community, but they were only his friends because of what they could get from him. Then one day he found an abandoned vintage car which he re-built. As he was to discover, this was no ordinary car. Whilst out on a road test one day, it whisked him away to a mysterious place which would change his life forever.Book reviews online @ www.publishedbestsellers.com

Sujets

• Fantasy (canción de Mariah Carey)
• Fantasy

Informations

• Publié par: Pneuma Springs Publishing
• Date de parution: 24 novembre 2011
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781782281740
• Langue: English

Extrait

JOSS







Fred Maddox
First Published in 2011 by: Pneuma Springs Publishing
JOSS Copyright © 2011 Fred Maddox
Fred Maddox has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as Author of this Work
Pneuma Springs
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
Maddox, F. JOSS. 1. Fantasy fiction. I. Title 823.9'2-dc23
Kindle eISBN: 9781782280125 Epub eISBN: 9781782281740 PDF eISBN: 9781782280965 Paperback ISBN: 9781907728327
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, save those clearly in the public domain, is purely coincidental.
Pneuma Springs Publishing E: [e-mail] W: www.pneumasprings.co.uk
Published in the United Kingdom. All rights reserved under International Copyright Law. Contents and/or cover may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the express written consent of the publisher.
The Novel
1
It would be fair to say, that Joss Hinchcliff couldn’t be described as the most good looking of children. The open mouthed looks of disbelief and furtive glances between the families gathered around the bedside, gave testimony to the fact he wasn’t the beautiful child they had expected. There is no polite way of saying it. Joss was an ugly baby and had certainly been on the back row when looks were given out. The poor little chap had a large bulbous head, way out of proportion to his body, and was perched on top of a neck that would have done a Giraffe proud. As if that wasn’t enough, he had a large dark red birthmark covering the entire surface of his forehead. He could well have been planted in his cot by an alien from another planet. If Marcia, his mother, hadn’t been the one to have given birth to him, she would have wholeheartedly supported that theory. This was not the case however for his father, Mathew, otherwise known in the community as Matt. He was overjoyed with his little offspring. He could see no defects in his son and heir. “He’s the spitting image of me,” he had proudly boasted at the time.
“ Exactly,” was Marcia’s scathing reply. Although sporting buck teeth and an elongated thin bony face with deep set piggy like eyes, along with mousey hair which was always swept tightly back and fixed into a pony tail, and a completely shapeless figure, she could hardly lay claim to being one of the beautiful people herself.
Unfortunately, Matt didn’t fare much better. A gangly six foot two beanpole, with an untidy mop of red hair, insipid green eyes and a face covered in freckles, and that great long neck he had inflicted his son with, they both commanded as much charisma as a dead bluebottle. As a consequence, neither of them, until they were virtually thrown together, had been able to attract a partner or experience the joys of a sexual encounter.
Marcia had quickly learned from her school days she wasn’t the most attractive of girls, and from then on had hidden herself away at home. Matt, on the other hand being a typical lad, never gave up trying, but success was never to come his way. Even during his teenage years, when a lad’s curiosity is at its most intense, his libido never had the chance to be tested, and he was never given the opportunity to study the female form at close quarters.
As time went by, both sets of parents, fearing if they didn’t do something and soon, were likely to be lumbered with their off springs forever, secretly collaborated to find ways to push the pair together. Fortunately luck was on their side, as Marcia and Matt, both realizing they were not going to meet the person of their dreams, accepted that unless they wanted to spend the rest of their lives alone, each other was the best they were going to get.
After three or four awkward dates, fate decided to take a hand. As coincidence would have it, they had both decided they must investigate what all the fuss was about with this sex thing everyone talked about. As a consequence of a fumbled first time sexual encounter in the back of his father’s van, little Joss appeared on the scene. A hasty marriage was arranged by the parents on the news of Marcia’s pregnancy. The reluctant pair having no say in the matter. From Joss’s birth, Marcia, who had never been the most maternal of women, did her best to keep him hidden from prying eyes. Only once had she ventured into town with him on one of her weekly shopping trips, where she was subjected to finger pointing and sniggering and whispered unkind comments about him. The result was, she refused to take him again, keeping him well away from the market stall she operated on Wednesdays and Saturdays in the town square, making the excuse he was too much of a distraction. If she had ever harboured any maternal feelings towards her son, she kept them well hidden. Having lost control once in her life, in which Joss was the result, she was determined there was no way she was going to allow this to happen again. There had been on the rare occasion, a glimmer of emotion from Marcia after a few glasses of wine, which allowed Matt a peck on the cheek, but that was as far as her emotions got. If Matt had any other ideas running through his head, they were brought to a skidding halt. She was having none of that nonsense. One look at little Joss by his mother that day in the maternity ward, had put out that particular flame.
Unfortunately Joss’s looks didn’t improve as he grew older. In fact his defects grew more pronounced. When he gave his lop sided smile, two rows of mangled teeth contained in a large cavernous mouth, emerged from behind a pair of huge fleshy lips. The sort of lips which led you to believe, if you wet them you would have been able to stick him to the shop window while you browsed. Marcia had never admitted it to Matt about her lack of feelings for their son, but it was blatantly apparent by her attitude, she was ashamed to be the mother of such an ugly baby. Matt, however, was a doting parent. He was delighted with his son and heir, and couldn’t see any fault with his little bundle of joy. As far as he was concerned, his son was perfect, and proudly showed him off at every opportunity, oblivious to the stifled sniggers behind his back.
Matt was a brilliant motor engineer, reputedly, able to repair any mechanical object on the planet. Which explained why the compacted dirt enclosure at the rear of his workshop, was a clutter of cars, trucks, lawn mowers and every conceivable piece of farm machinery. This wasn’t to say his mechanical aptitude earned him a lot of money, far from it. His genius was offset by a lack of business acumen, and charged whatever came into his head for his services, sometimes at a loss, or no charge at all if someone pleaded poverty, which was quite often. Money wasn’t one of Matt’s priorities. As long as he could put enough into Mrs Hinchcliff’s hand to run the household, he was happy, but Marcia had other ideas.
“ They take you for a mug,” she had remarked more than once.
“ No they don’t,” Matt would argue. “I charge them a fair price. I don’t like overcharging people, they are my friends.”
“ Rubbish. They are only your friends when they want something, and they want it for nothing. You’ve got to stop them walking all over you. It‘s getting more costly every day to run this place.”
Matt’s reaction would be to scrunch up his shoulders and carry on with what he was doing. The constant nagging had become such a part of his daily routine, it had no effect whatsoever. Most of the time he would hide himself away in his workshop and concentrate on his repair business, leaving Marcia to run the smallholding side of the business.
The Hinchcliff smallholding was set in the county of Dallowshire in the north west of England. It was, without doubt a beautiful county. Mainly agricultural, it was a colourful patchwork of corn, vegetable, and rape seed fields, interspersed with large wooded areas. A wide but shallow river wound its way from its source high in the blue grey rock hills, pouring its contents into the aptly named Blue Water dam, because of its clear, blue tinged water. At roughly a mile in length and half a mile wide, it was a popular venue with both fishermen and the sailing fraternity alike. Boating houses and small fishing piers, intermingled with picnic areas, dotted the east bank. A profusion of red, purple, and white Rhododendrons bursting out from the dense wood on the west bank, reached down to the water’s edge, reflecting their magnificent blooms in the clear blue water. The small hamlet of Rinsley situated at the mouth of the river as it entered the dam, was a Mecca for day trippers, offering a selection of tea rooms and craft shops. A couple of pleasure boats. The Pride of Bluewater and The Bluewater Dragon offered hourly trips around the lake from the small grey stone harbour during the spring and summer months.
The only blot on this pleasant landscape, nestling in a long narrow valley, was the county town of Dallow. A depressing maze of narrow twisting streets and grey brick, back to back terraced houses. The narrow main highway, frequently excavated and hastily patched, snaked its way through this unsightly conurbation. The town centre consisted of a ribbon of unattractive small shops which flanked each side of this traffic choked thoroughfare. The narrow, uneven flagged pavements, barely afforded room for the pedestrians to pass each other, and of course the town square with the obligatory clock tower, was situated centrally, and used as a car park, except Wednesdays and Saturdays when it was thronged with people squeezing themselves between rows of stalls which criss-crossed the square, selling anything from vegetables to jewellery.
Dallow couldn’t be described as an affluent town by any means. The area’s biggest employer, Jaggers brewery, stood on the m