Fancy a free Chapter? Well here you go….Welcome to Pete’s world!

CHAPTER ONE 

Pete stood at the water’s edge, and shielding his eyes from the sun, stared out at the shimmering horizon of the ocean.  He cursed himself for losing not just another pair of sunglasses – probably the fourth this year so far – but his favourite cap too. His blonde dreads offered some protection, but his face would turn positively nuclear if he stayed out in this antipodean sunshine much longer. Still, what the hell. Flicking his sliders into the air and dumping the contents of his pockets onto the sand, he waded into the water. As the waves reached his forty-four-year-old balls, his knees buckled, and he gave himself up to the surf.

     He’d read stories of how people had chosen to end their lives by walking into the sea, never turning round or looking back – He tried to imagine how something so beautiful could be viewed as a way of death for the defeated and disenfranchised. Mind, the stories were mostly of Poms dragging their weary grey frames into an even greyer surf on Brighton beach, where a quick death from hypothermia awaited them. And who could be forgiven for trying to walk away from Britain? Maybe they thought that if they just kept on walking, they would be washed up on the shores of the paradise that is Australia.

   Collapsing back onto the sand, he retrieved his phone and keys and re-read a letter that had arrived that morning.  He had been shocked, not to say suspicious, when his housemate told him there was a letter for him on the kitchen table. Letters were bad news – everyone knew that. It meant someone had tracked him down, and that was a very, very bad thing. He had started to feel safe these last two years here in Cronulla - safe from the nightmare of money lenders, drug dealers, irate husbands, and a long list of others that he had managed to royally piss off from his days in Sydney. He’d been fortunate not to have acquired a criminal record along the way, and he knew that had helped him stay under the radar. But now this? However, his unease had given way to curiosity as he studied it this morning – an ink smeared white envelope with untidy handwriting and a UK postmark. He’d circled the table to look at it from different angles, poked it a few times for good measure, then made himself a coffee and had sat down to open it.

Dear Pete

I don’t know if this will ever find you and I’m not sure that I care that much. But our English teacher, Miss Ingram, said we had to write a proper letter to someone so the art of letter writing didn’t die out. She’s a bit odd. When she asked who we were going to write to, Becca put her hand up and said she had an aunt in America, and everyone was well impressed. And the thing is, I really like Becca, so I mentioned I had an uncle in Australia so I would write to him. She smiled at me and said we could chat about it at lunchtime. She asked what your name was, but I had no idea, so I said Cliff. There was a picture of Cliff Richard on the wall behind her head, from our music through the ages project. I asked Nan later, and she told me you were Pete, but I won’t bother telling Becca cos that sounds well boring. And Nan said you weren’t even my uncle, but a second cousin twice removed. Whatever that is. I won’t bother telling Becca that either.

So that’s it really, I’ve written the letter and I can forget about it now. If this does get to you don’t worry about writing back if you don’t want to as it’s a right faff. I’ll just make something up about you not having any pens or something on your yacht. You can message me on Snapchat though if you want.

Oh, yeah, I’m supposed to ask how you are. How are you Cliff? Ha ha! Chilled and tanned I suppose if you live in Oz. Nan told me to say hello. She’s still living on the farm but she’s not so well these days and doesn’t get out of bed much. Me and my sister look after her though, and we’ll always make sure she’s OK. Who knows what will happen to us when she pegs it though, I worry about that a lot.

I’ve put in a photo for you, it was taken on my birthday at the bowling alley. It’s of me and my sister Daisy, and Nan. Well anyway, I’m supposed to finish by saying best wishes or kind regards or something like that so Kind Regards and Best Wishes Cliff ha ha.

Your loving second cousin twice removed, Charlie

Snapchat @ charlieboomthomas

    Laying the letter out on the sand, Pete placed his phone on top of it to stop it blowing away and tried to think who the hell Charlie was. Or who Charlie’s Nan was, for that matter. Not his own Nan, that was for sure - she was long gone. But she had a relative called Margaret, and he vaguely remembered visiting her when he was young. He studied the photo that Charlie had enclosed, to see if he could find any resemblance. Daisy had a strong look about her, sharp eyes and a knowing smile. Charlie was cute, with a mop of blond hair and an excitable, open face. They looked like nice kids. Margaret was there too and looked vaguely familiar, but he’d been gone nearly forty years now and it was all a bit of a blur. What the hell though, he decided he would message this Charlie kid and let him know he’d received the letter. If it helps the lad impress a girl, why not?

 Hey Charlie boy! Thanks for the letter, it was cool. Nice to hear from the old homeland! Your teacher sounds like a right old dinosaur! But it will all be worth it if it impresses Becca! How did that go by the way? It must have been weeks ago when you sent the letter. The postman had no idea where to deliver it to, it just said Pete Briggs, Cronulla Beach lol. Someone propped it up on the bar at the local surf club and it eventually found its way to me. And how did you know I was in Cronulla? Just curious! Sorry to hear about your nan, but you and your sister sound real good kids, I’m sure you’re looking after her fine. Hope this message doesn’t wake you up, it must be the middle of the night there! Take care now, your loving Uncle Cliff!

     It got him thinking about England. He’d been in Oz forever, and the surf and the sun had seeped into his DNA, but recently he’d felt an urge to move on again. He knew he was kidding himself if he thought that the dealers from Sydney he owed money to would forget about him. That’s not how it worked. They would have put plenty of feelers out – and sooner or later they’d find him – just as Charlie boy had. And it was more than that anyway. He had this creeping awareness that life was passing him by. He’d lost both of his parents to cancer in the last few years, and he’d genuinely thought that by the time he was forty he’d be sorted in life. Wife, kids, house, money. Especially money. And what had he got? Fuck all. Just a room in a beach house and a few quid earned from giving surf lessons. Scanning back over the letter, a thought came to him. Maybe Charlie would welcome a bit of help on the old ancestral farm? He could just imagine himself in a bit of tweed, walking a wolfhound down to the local pub. And if he helped with the kids and ingratiated himself with the old bird, maybe, just maybe, she might look at including him in her final wishes? Give him a little something to start again with? It could certainly be his get out of jail free card.