Don’t Die Wondering

What follows is the first part of a novel (called Don’t Die Wondering) I wrote several years ago, when I was supposed to be doing something else. I’m going to split it up into many small pieces and post them regularly. Check back next week for more. Oh, and if you like it, or if you don’t like it, leave a comment telling me!

1

The old lady made her way up Little Gardner Street, slowly. She was very old, swaddled in brown wool despite the heat, and an old bone once broken made her progress even slower. She trailed a shopping trolley behind her, laden with food not for her. Eventually, the old woman arrived at her destination, 138 Little Gardner Street.

It took Mrs Heller a long time to climb the steps to the front door. Her little trolley clattered up each stone step behind her, pulled grudgingly, one resolute liver-spotted fist gripping the black plastic handle, bouncing its contents rhythmically inside. Once at the top, she paused and steadied herself. The trolley sat obediently on the step below her, waiting its turn to mount the final step. She rang the doorbell and waited for James Kirby.

On most days, particularly these summer days when everything moves in a frenzy, James Kirby was quick to answer his door. On this summer day, Mrs Heller was not kept waiting. The door opened as if mechanised, and Mrs Heller stepped into the dark house, heaving the trolley behind her.

In the gloom was James Kirby, but he didn’t greet his guest. Mrs Heller said a brief hello, but this remained unanswered. Inside the house, all was calm and quiet. That frenzied feeling from the summer streets of Brighton never breeched the battlements of 138 Little Gardner Street. The grand stone structure was impervious to wind, rain, hale and gaiety.