the egg stone

 

My new book The Egg Stone has just been published. It's a departure for me and loosely based on an incident that happened to my grandfather in the war.

Old Charlie is the only person who is able to understand the words that Kip speaks. Misunderstood and judged, Kip's early life leaves him with only two treasures; a stone in the shape of an egg and a young magpie. At the turn of the Second World War, Kip and Charlie go on the run and find themselves in peril on the sea. The Egg Stone is a tale of friendship, superstition, human differences and prejudice.

Were all men the same - some hiding their true selves until they lost their common sense? What separates men like this from someone like me?

You can read the first chapter at the end of this blog and you can buy it from Amazon.

I couldn't have written the story without the help of M.Magpie who let me into the extraordinary world of these misunderstood birds.

Above is about the only picture I have of M.Magpie's new consort. Pictured here in her ivory tower - ie the poly tunnel. I think she must have whisked him away as for over a week he had disappeared. For a year and a half magpie visited me every day, coming into the house, chatting and stealing and prancing up and down the table nicking things when I wasn't looking and when he went I really missed him. I even missed the broken pots he knocked off the mantlepiece admiring himself in the mirror. I missed the paperwork he would strew across the floor. The way he came flying across the lawn when I called him and land chattering on my shoulder. I wouldn't even have minded the peck on the ear. Ever since he'd met up with his lady friend I knew he'd become a proper wild magpie - not one who half lived in the house or swing perilously on the bird feeder outside the kitchen window then seeing me fly onto the window sill and then sit on the taps. But for now he's back perhaps for a fond farewell.

I have been trying to write this story for a long time - originally thinking of a biography of my grandfather's life but then knowing I wanted it to be a novel with a boy who is judged for being different. One day I went to a Henry Moore exhibition of some of his drawings of Stone Henge. The man who was in charge of one of the rooms told me that as a boy Henry used to carry a stone from the beach in his pocket which he used to hold and draw from touch. "You should put that in one of your stories" he said. (my companion had told him I wrote books) 

And so I did.

Chapter 1

Charlie was the only one who understood the words that Kip spoke.

It was if he had fine tuning in his ears which could translate the boy’s sounds; a mixture of all the languages under the sun, all the cries of the birds, the barks and baying of the wolves, the hooting of owls, the songs of the whales. The growling of dogs.

He and Kip were about to leave Greenacres when someone started shouting in the room down the corridor. The shouting turned to howling and then the sound of someone throwing a piece of furniture at a door. Kip shrank back and covered his ears with his hands and Charlie shut and locked the door to Kip’s cell. Inside they waited. Several pairs of footsteps pounded along the corridor. They heard jangling as someone opened the other room and Charlie sighed with relief. He had stolen the key to Kip’s room and feared whoever was outside would notice it had gone.

After some shouting and more banging noises it quietened. The patient must have been jabbed with a tranquilizer needle Charlie thought. Either that or smothered with a pillow.

Eventually they heard the door being locked. Charlie and Kip waited for the footsteps to return along the corridor but instead they came towards them.

“They’re trying all the doors,” Charlie whispered to Kit putting his finger to his lips. “Don’t make a sound.”

Someone stopped outside their room. The handle gently turned. Charlie let out a quiet breath, relieved that he’d locked the door from the inside and looked around the room for somewhere to hide if whoever it was came in. Just as he was considering squeezing under the bed the footsteps retreated.

They waited a while then once out in the corridor they locked Kip’s room again and returned the bunch of keys.

“We’ll have to leave the back door as it is,” Charlie said to Kip as they stepped outside. “That’s the way I came in. Let’s assume the staff will just think they’d forgotten to lock it.” He looked over his shoulder “But with your room Kip I think we’ll be ok. These people shut you up for hours in a place like this don’t they – without even checking to see if you are O.K. as long as you don’t make a fuss.”

Kip nodded.

“It’s locked, left and misunderstood isn’t it? Whoever had been in the other room must have been needing severe attention and known that the only way to get it was to smash the furniture.”

They were just out on the drive when they saw the flash of a light inside the building.

“Hurry,” said Charlie “– looks as if whoever it is might have discovered you missing after all.”

As he spoke a cloud passed over the moon throwing them into semi-darkness. He grabbed hold of Kip’s arm and they walked as fast as they could up the drive. Turning his head he caught sight of a powerful torch by the kitchen entrance and heard voices as the light scanned the drive in a large arc.

“We’re going to have to run Kip.”

Charlie grabbed his hand and Kip started to run but his feet seemed paralysed and he tripped and fell onto the ground.

They’re not working Kip panted.

In spite of his age, Charlie was still a strong man and scooped Kip up, throwing him over his shoulder as if he were a sack of corn. He could tell they’d been seen as the arc of light fell just behind him. As he ran he prayed the car would start – it had always been tricky. Sometimes not catching till the third or fourth try. They were nearly there when he heard them gaining ground. Charlie knew he couldn’t get them inthe car and the camouflage removed and perhaps several attempts to start it before they were reached. They veered off into the trees and threw themselves down in the undergrowth. The men’s voices grew louder.

Kip lifted his head and Charlie put his finger to his lips again.

They heard footsteps nearby and saw the beam of the torch sweeping around them and then shining up in the trees.

Do they think we’re birds? Charlie thought.

The land under the trees was ill kempt and one of the men tripped on a bramble which twisted around his boot, causing the torch to fly out of his hand as he crashed down.He swore loudly. The torch landed a few yards short of the hidden figures.

They held their breath.The man scrambled to his feet and grabbing the torch, turned it to shine into the face of his colleague.

“Watch where you tread,” he ordered.

The men moved around and then right behind where Charlie and Kip were hiding a twig snapped. Another twig snapped then there was rustling as something crept closer.

They lay still in the leaf mould waiting for the hands to grab them and haul them to their feet.

A fox stopped a few yards from them and sniffed the air.

“Someone must have picked them up,” Charlie heard a voice say. “We’d better ring the police.”

“He’s just a boy isn’t he? He can’t have got far.”

“Still a murderer though. Did that woman in didn’t he? And someone helped him escape.”

Charlie felt a chill run down his spine. A murderer. Is that what they thought of Kip? Of course they would. There was a dead woman and there was Kip and he couldn’t tell them what had happened.

The man with the torch swept the undergrowth with the beam and picked up the russet face of the fox.

“Fox!” he shouted. “They can’t be here. That fox would not have hung around if they’d hidden in there. Come on let’s make that call.”

Charlie waited until the men had gone back to the building and pulling Kip up, bundled him into the car. It started straight away and he drove with his lights off back up the drive and onto the road.