Make a Wish

By Stephen Aleppo

Cathy Matthews has suffered a run of bad luck culminating in a three hundred foot tumble down a French Mountain while on Holiday. The area is a local beauty spot and a magical place where she spent lots of time as a little girl. Always a keen cyclist, she is also finally able to climb into the saddle of her new mountain bike. A much cherished eighteenth birthday present from her father, it has sat unused in the hall since his untimely death six months earlier. On her way to town to cover the final planning debate, bad luck strikes again and she is knocked into a ditch by a hit and run driver. Despite her fury, she’s philosophical about the incident and writes it off as yet another unfortunate disaster in a long train of such events since her earliest days. However, once at the Town Hall, it doesn’t take her long to discover who the mystery driver is and after a furious row with the culprit, she finds herself in direct conflict with the new young boss of Marsden Redevelopment Ltd. Danny Marsden’s worst development is his own personality and his appalling attitude to everything around him brings out the worst in the green thinking teenager until she finds herself locked in a bitter struggle with the man. Primarily to thwart his plans to build the new shopping precinct, but more importantly, to bring him down and make him suffer for his incredible arrogance. However, there is just one flaw with her careful planning. She’s falling in love with him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stephen Aleppo
• Release date: Aug 25, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476115689

Stephen Aleppo

Franz Kafka Prize, European Union Prize for Literature, Goethe Prize, The Hans Christian Anderson Award, ...... these are just a few of the awards I'm never likely to win....... But I’m still doing something I love thanks to ebooks and ultimately that’s all that counts.Born Camberwell London UK 1959 (OMG!!)Grew up in Mitcham, Tooting and Clapham in London.Have been writing as a hobby since Primary school. English was about the only thing I ever excelled at and writing for me was always on the cards even if I was generally too lazy to sit down and do it. If the lesson wasn't English I generally gazed out of the nearest window and thought about the universe. I only recently started making a real effort to write in the last five years or so as the mindless grip of the book agent is finally at an end and we all have a second chance.My other serious Hobby is Photography.Enjoy writing for the younger Teen Market as I still tend to think like a fourteen year old. Shame I haven’t got the legs to go with the outlook anymore, but it comes to us all. Also have a strong interest in the paranormal, especially out of body experiences. I have been plagued by them since my childhood and am in the process of putting the finishing touches to my new book, A simple Guide to the Out of Body Experience.If I had the guts I’d like to be a stand up comic.One of the worst sins in life is to take yourself too seriously.

Book preview

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Make a Wish

Published by Stephen Aleppo

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 Stephen Aleppo

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This book is dedicated to

Tina Teaspoon and the Hairy Gang

Rocky, Sparky, Spooky and Codey

A Special Hello to

Danielle, Daniel, Tony and Logan

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Chapter 1

I’m late and there’s little time to take in the beautiful scenery stretching out on either side of the narrow lane as I pedal furiously into the last downhill stretch that will take me into the tiny village of Missendale. Maybe the ten mile trip has been over-ambitious on the new bike’s maiden voyage, especially with legs that have spent so long in plaster casts. But the steep descent eases my aching knees and I can’t help laughing hysterically as I pick up speed and the wind rips through my hair until I feel I will take off at any moment. The Overhanging tree tops blot out the light at regular intervals, turning day into night and back again every few metres and I grip the handlebars tightly as I lean into a right hand bend.

The bike threatens to continue in a straight line and I have to fight to stop it dragging me into the undergrowth bordering the narrow road. But I can’t slow down and I know I don’t want to. The danger of it is as intoxicating as ever and I’m confident I can ride it out. My spectacular tumble down a French mountain the previous autumn seems little more than a distant memory now and I’m relieved it has not dampened my desire for a bit of risk taking.

The bend gets tighter and steeper and the same sinking feeling I experienced in France just before my fall comes back to haunt me. I’ve overstretched myself again and the thought of another long stay in hospital brings me out in a cold sweat. I drift close enough to the dense shrubbery bordering the lane for it to slap me for my stupidity as I hurtle past it, threatening to drag me into a drainage ditch if I dare stray closer. It’s too late for braking now and I lean over to the right in an effort to coax the bike away from the danger and back towards the centre line.

I don’t notice a big red four wheel drive car speeding up behind me. It comes in close as the driver aims the vehicle at the diminishing space between me and the hedgerow on the opposite side of the road and I instinctively pull on the brake levers too hard and too fast. The startling difference disk brakes make to a bicycle become apparent as the frame trembles in protest, struggling to check the impetus of over thirty miles per hour and the car’s wing mirror clips the tip of the handlebar, the tiny collision setting up a frightening wobble that’s impossible to right as it screeches around the bend and out of sight. I close my eyes and pray as the bike hurtles off the road with little chance of the tyres biting on anything that might save me and moments later I’m lying in the ditch, covered in whatever lurks at the bottom of these things, with the bike on top of me.

For a few moments I drift in and out of consciousness, unsure if I’m dead or alive until I’m able to check myself over for broken bones. I run my fingers gently through the severe short haircut my Mum has been so unimpressed with, examining my scalp for any signs of blood. But there’s nothing and my only injuries appear to be skinned palms and a throbbing pain in the knee. The stinking black goo beneath me has acted as a kind of shock absorber and although grateful for it being there, I am covered in the stuff. I scramble up the bank, my anger pushing aside all fear of injury.

Maniac! I shriek. But the car has long gone and the outburst only succeeds in making my head swim. I sit back down heavily on drier ground and survey the bike through half-closed eyes, hardly daring to focus on it for fear of what I might see. It’s scratched and covered in grime and the sight triggers the familiar tightness in my throat I have come to know so well as all the memories come flooding back. I burst into tears.

Stupid idiot! I growl to myself, before forcing my rage down to a more controllable level. It had to have been a man but at the speed he was going it was impossible to be sure. But only a man would drive like that.

I’m already late for the time set aside for public questions at the Town Hall Meeting and this disaster means I’ll probably miss it. Danny Marsden is notoriously reporter shy and hard to pin down at the best of times and now it looks as if my promise to the editor of the college paper for a few quotes from the millionaire property developer will come to nothing unless I get a move on. All I want right now is to head home, but I have arranged to meet Avril and only that thought forces me into action. I retrieve my notebook and pens strewn around in the dirt, but there’s little point in trying to wipe the mud from my clothes and I hope it will be dry enough to brush off by the time I get to the village.

The car park’s near full as I arrive and I guess most of their owners are attending the meeting within the building. Still furious, I look around for any sign of the red four wheel drive, certain the driver must have been coming here. But there are no red vehicles at all and I decide to forget about it and put the blame on some bone-headed tourist on holiday from the city, unused to the different tempo of life in the countryside.

Avril Fellows sits on the low wall fronting the flowerbeds outside the building and her expression turns from accusing to concern as I slide to a stop beside her.

Cathy, what the hell happened to you? She gasps. You can’t go into the meeting looking like that! She begins patting furiously but it has little effect.

I look even worse now it’s dried in. I growl, looking down at the worn denim suit. The urge to head home is overpowering now and I climb back onto the saddle. It took me an age to get ready too. I’m out of here.

Oh no you don’t, Avril says, grabbing my wrist as I put my weight on the pedals. I’m not going in there alone, especially as you asked me to come along to keep you company in the first place. Besides, you’re not going anywhere until you tell me exactly what happened to you?

I will, later. I say. But if I must stay, make yourself useful and go ask old Tom on the door if he’s got a clothes brush I could borrow.

Avril frowns suspiciously, considering the possibility of an escape while her back’s turned, before she hurries over to the main doors. I’m almost disappointed when she reappears a minute later with what looks like a horse grooming brush. But this is no time to be fussy and I allow her to set to work and the stiff bristles soon turn the dried goo into grey clouds which choke other late arrivals as they pass.

That’ll have to do. Avril sighs, ignoring their irate glances. Here take a look.

I check myself as carefully as I can in a one inch pocket mirror and I guess I’m passable enough if you don’t look too closely and I secure the bike to the railings before following her inside. But I still feel as noticeable as a mobile scarecrow, especially with Avril beside me looking glamorous in a classy looking print dress and pink suede heels.

Inside the chamber about a hundred people are seated and at least fifty more stand huddled at the back near the main doors. The place buzzes with the sound of angry chatter and most of its coming from strangers I have never seen before. A lot of them look like travellers. Avril giggles as we squeeze through the milling bodies and make towards the front.

I don’t know what you were worried about. She shouts above the din. Next to this lot you look positively regal.

I cringe at the volume in the tall blonde’s voice, but thankfully no-one appears to notice and we shoehorn ourselves into seats near the front that have been commandeered from the local primary school. No one taller than four feet seems to want or be able to use them. I feel mildly ridiculous with my knees up so close to my chin and I study Danny Marsden, sitting at the centre of the conference table up on the stage. He’s a lot younger than I’d expected and bigger than the men sitting around him. His bored, almost black eyes scan the sea of hostile faces beneath him like some evil ruler trying to spot the troublemakers that need executing amongst the throng. For a moment his gaze locks onto mine and I feel the skin behind my ears tingle giving me a peculiar desire to run for cover. That stare is filled with an aura of menace and it’s clear young Danny has styled himself on the dubious skills of his Father. Skills that will one day allow him to take over the running of Marsden Property Development.

My oh my. Avril whispers in a sing song voice. She has a familiar look in her eye. Isn’t it a pity we’re on opposite sides of the fence?

Avril! I hiss, while scribbling meaningless doodles in my notebook until I’m sure his attention is taken up elsewhere. Stop looking at him with those stupid cow eyes and try to remember that he represents the enemy.

The Chairman, Councillor Grumman shouted then. If order is not restored I shall have no alternative but to declare the meeting closed.

Oh not again, Avril murmured. That’ll be the second time this month and we’re still no further forward.

The Councillor bangs the gavel harder but it makes no difference. This meeting is crucial to the future of Becmead Woods and I would appreciate your co-operation in this matter, thank you.

The noise, mainly from the outsiders at the back of the hall shows little sign of abating. There are more of them here than before and I scan the faces trying to spot anyone familiar. A girl in a leather jacket, worn to suede in places, a black skirt and bin man’s boots steps forward, her voice shrill and righteous.

Don’t you people care about anything? She screams. You are going to destroy natural habitat for thousands of animals.

Another male voice chipped in. Some of those trees are three hundred years old.

There are more vocal accusations from the group until the whole protest escalates into little more than a personal attack on Danny Marsden. He doesn’t turn a hair as the swearing and abuse tumble on him. He’s probably used to it I guess and his expression remains impassive and cool.

Order. The Chairman shouts, barely audible now above the racket.

Order nothing, the girl screeches, Don’t you people ever listen, you murderers!

That’s all it needed and soon the whole group are chanting Murderers, murderers.

I worry a lip as I fight off the overwhelming urge to laugh when I notice some of the older residents of the village chanting right along with them, apparently having no idea what they are supposed to be chanting about but enjoying a bit of excitement all the same. The Chairman leaps to his feet, his face a worrying shade of crimson. I declare this meeting closed. He roars. Ushers, clear the chamber.

The attendants around the room leave their stations and head for the back of the hall as Danny Marsden speaks to another man sitting beside him. He stands and throws the agenda papers onto the table and I watch as they slide over the polished oak and become airborne at the end of it. His actions betray his emotions more clearly than his face and he stomps down the steps looking immaculate in a grey business suit before he disappears through a door to the left of the stage. I realise he will have parked around the back in one of the secluded parking bays kept for visiting dignitaries. No outsiders know about them, but they’re common knowledge around the village.

The mounting uproar behind me is perfect cover as the ushers are distracted by trying to quell the mini riot that has erupted all around them. But they are helpless until the police arrive. I’m going to see if I can get a few words from Marsden. I hiss in Avvie’s ear. You speak to Grumman.

Avril frowns. How come you get the best job?

He knows you doesn’t he? I reply. Wasn’t it you who called him some choice names during the first meeting and got yourself thrown out for your trouble.

Oh yeah. She grins. Grumman it is then. I’ll catch you afterwards in the Three Brewers, if you’re still alive?

I nod and squeeze past the bodies crushing all around me, the older folks amusing themselves trying to catch Marsden’s paperwork as it flutters back down to earth, before I slip through a door marked Staff Only and race through a narrow service corridor which leads to the rear of the building. Danny Marsden bowls out of the emergency exit just ahead of me and I pounce, allowing myself no time to even think about retreat.

Mr Marsden? I say, although the mature title doesn’t quite seem to fit him. He looks to be in his early twenties as he spins around. The dark eyes are hard and expectant as he watches my sudden approach and he looks me up and down. I know I still look a terrible sight.

I’m from the Weekly News, I lie. A man like Marsden won’t give the time of day to a college rag. I just want to hear your views on what’s happening in there?

He relaxes a little. What do you expect my views to be? He says curtly. Most of the people in there don’t live around these parts and the villagers aren’t getting a chance to air their concerns. The whole process has been hijacked by a lot of lunatics. It’s been a complete waste of my time and everybody else’s.

He’s a lot taller than me I guess. At least six feet with muscular broad shoulders set onto a wide chest. His thick dark brown hair looks maybe a little too long for a man wearing a classy suit. He looks tougher in real life than the pictures in the local paper had suggested when they’d run that story on him a week ago and there’s a kind of barely controlled Rottweiler quality about him that would send most hard nuts running for cover. But I slide closer and around him, forcing him to face the sun, refusing to be intimidated by his bull-like stance and black stares. And despite all the strong protests and a petition, I continue. Your company still intends to destroy Becmead Woods and the Animal Rescue Centre?

His eyes blaze at my choice of words. We are not destroying anything, he growls. The Animal Rescue Centre is a ramshackle eyesore which will probably fall down on its own soon. And as for the wood, my company intends to clear about a quarter of a mile of it at the Northern end. I can’t see what all the fuss is about. This isn’t even a very big project by our usual standards. Now if you don’t mind?

He walks around me to head for his car and I turn to watch him go when I catch sight of the familiar red four wheeled drive parked against a wall. An almost uncontrollable desire to kill him sweeps over me.

You, I gasp, barely able to form the word as I chase after him.

He wheels around, confused. What’s the matter?

You. You stupid bloody fool. I rage. You could have killed me back there.

His eyes narrow and in two giant strides he’s within striking distance. What did you say? He growls.

I sidestep, sensing the coiled anger in him and hurry over to inspect the car, looking for some tangible evidence I could point to that would back up my claim. But as I expect, there’s little to see apart from a tiny scuff mark on the edge of the wing mirror that could have happened at any time. Turning around, I fix him with a threatening stare of my own. You knocked me off my bike in Hobbs Lane about thirty minutes ago. Surely you remember that?

His face relaxes a little. Yes, I do remember you.

Oh, you do remember now?

Yes, he replies, frowning down as he recalls the incident. You were on that push bike out in the middle of the road with a weird look on your face weren’t you? I think you were laughing about something too.

I was not in the middle of the road, I snap. Hobbs Lane is so narrow you could call any part of it the middle. You were going much too fast.

I was well within the speed limit, he replies frostily. And what was so funny out there anyway?

Nothing.

Look, he continues. I had no idea I had knocked you off your bike. I did see you wobble as I passed, but I didn’t realise you had come off. You were riding recklessly though, admit it.

I fold my arms and breathe deeply in an effort to control my temper. I’ve been out of the hospital for little over a week and already I’ve been involved in a road accident and am about to trade blows with a