A Song With Which To Dance

By Chris Norgate

Persephone had found her paradise on that small island with warm, clear blue water and pink sand. She's not only found friendship, excitement and acceptance but also someone who makes her heart flutter whenever he is near: She also finds all this through an old sash window inside a cramped cupboard within her damp, inner city flat.

As Persephone's world becomes unbalanced by an Ex's grudge, an employers plot to keep himself out of prison and an overly exuberant friend out to prove there's no 'Dis' with her 'abilities', the only sane place is her small island in the sun.

Paris is very single and hates it. She's on every dating site, singles group and, with the pictures she posts, has no trouble getting dates, they just don't stick around when they meet. But that's their problem, she's cool with her palsy and she's out to grasp the world with both of her shaking hands.

When the world closes a door, open a window and dance to your own tune.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chris Norgate
• Release date: Oct 4, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005603786

Chris Norgate

Chris Norgate lives in Hampshire in England with his wife, children and small furry rodent like things and spends most his time playing with them or mucking them out - you decide which.Why write a book? After years of struggling with the written word dating back many years to being labelled at school (by a teacher who was too scared to call him thick) Chris has tried to find ways to not read or write. After having to write more reports for work and driving the automatic spell checker into meltdown, he sat down to make a list of the top ten misspelled words he makes......this soon turned into well over 100. So with a blogging site set up to try and get a short paragraph or two to constantly write words until spelt correct he started the diary; it was originally about his life and was as boring as a firework party under the sea, so he added things to make it more interesting. When comments on the blog started coming in that the girl character was very interesting - which surprised him as he was writing about himself, Chris changed 'her' into Valentine as it was the 13th Feb when he was looking for a name and it seemed a good one to go on with. And there it is, 17 months later a book has been created and now its been unleashed onto the world until Chris is paid an extortionate amount of money to take it away and smash the hard-drive its saved on.If Chris ever finds the courage to write another book he promises to try and put a plot into it.

Book preview

A Song

with which to

Dance.

A novel by Chris Norgate.

Copyright © 2020 by Chris Norgate

A song with which to Dance, an original novel by Chris Norgate

      All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

      may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

      without the express written permission of the publisher

      except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

All places, events and especially characters within this novel are fictional. Mr Rowan would like me to impress this fact upon you as he and his partner, Mr Down most certainly do not exist.

Prologue.

Everyone remembers the notes first played. Creating melodic memories so personal they resonate through lifetimes. Our minds listen for the beginning, we revel in the start. Yet the final sounds linger longer, like an echo arching back to the memory of the musician.

Contrary views create controversy, especially when conceived from heated passion. Words had been said. Deeds had been done. One voice called for peace, a chance to reflect and learn. The other wanted it all to end.

It was the hollow 'tonk' that ended the argument. A head bouncing off a polished wooden floor tends to have an effect upon impassioned hostilities especially when the hollowness of the sound matched that of the promises.

Combative debate ceased, both sides knowing this had been a milestone too many, one bridge too far. Yet as the sun sinks upon one adventure it rises over another.

The young man was the last one remaining in the office. He was desperate to prove himself to those who gave him this chance, working late seemed the best way to achieve it. Besides, he had nowhere else to go and nobody to be there with. He was in direct competition against better candidates from better backgrounds with better breeding. But numbers were his thing. They danced to his tune, opened themselves as he played. And then he found it, the mistake that put so many numbers in one place when he knew they should be elsewhere. No one else had seen it, no one else cared because they couldn't see the imperfections but he had.

He used his pen and moved them to where they belonged and he saw it was good. Then he hesitated, erased what he had done. It also looked good, not right but not obviously wrong. Another entry moved numbers again, this time in his favour and he was scared. Scared at how easy it had been, scared at how the numbers closed in to keep the secret. Hesitation, indecision, realisation.

Richness in integrity yet poor in wealth. All the other new interns were out spending their parents money while he stayed here as the heating was free. Who was it hurting? No one noticed before so no one would notice now. And after tonight no one would see these files again for a very long time. He closed them, sealed them and dropped them into their cardboard box. The only thing he needed to do now was think on how he'd spend his windfall.

To call it rain would be an insult to the storm which had steadily built its ferocity far out at sea, taking over other weather patterns to dominate everything in a three-hundred-mile radius. It had power, it had magnitude and it had a name, Storm Emma. Such a pretty little name, given by the Spanish meteorological service who first identified the potential this weather pattern had because they found it to be an exotic sounding, mysterious name. This storm however was not an Emma or an Emily, a Emmeline or even an Elizabeth. It could have passed as an Esmerelda or Ellswych but would, if a storm could have preferences, be called Echidna the monstrous mother of many curses belched onto humanity in legend. But as the storm knew nothing of such things it was content to bombard the land below with as much water in slashing, venomous sheets as it could.

A car pulled into a layby already half full with similar generic cars. From the driver’s seat stepped a tall, thin man in a long Mackintosh raincoat. He turned and reached into the back and withdrew an umbrella which mechanically opened with a flourish at the touch of a button. Once under as much cover from the weather as possible the man quickly skipped around a rainbow slicked puddle to open the passenger door where a woman, inadequately dressed for the weather, gingerly joined him in the rain.

Sorry, child locks. Mackintosh said in way of an explanation. The flat's this way.

There stood stretching rows of grey, uninspired architecture intermingled with random bungalows of red brick. Mackintosh led without slowing to wait for his guest nor offering her any of the shelter his umbrella offered.

Persephone sighed and stomped after the letting agent. This was the third flat he’d abandoned her at this afternoon and, as she was already as wet as she could possibly get, she splashed in every puddle she could hoping some of the propelled water would ruin his suit.

Which one is it? called Persephone as she skipped to catch up. The blurb promised sea views.

Number three, penthouse loft apartment. And it does, it does.

Penthouse and loft were two descriptions you’d really have to stretch to remotely link them to what was presented behind a scarred front door. It was so immediately undesirable that even the number 3 had left, leaving only it’s shadow against the faded paint on the door.

This is the entrance hall, the cloak room and the reception area. said the letting agent, after he carefully shook and folded his umbrella. He went to rest it on the worn carpet behind the door but swiftly corrected this notion after seeing what was there. Little mushrooms waved apologetically at him with the passage of his movement.

Where? asked Persephone stepping into the flat behind him.

All right here. This corridor masterly adapts to all your needs of the coming and going variety and offers unrivalled access to your relaxation requirements after hanging up your coat after the working day.

Persephone took in the space, it didn't take long. If she were to swing a cat she’d scrape her knuckles against every wall.

What’s that funny noise? she asked. It’s like a machine going back and forth or something.

It must be something outside. And through here we have the kitchen stroke living room, bedroom and bathroom.

The next room proper held space for a bed and not a very big bed. The kitchen was home to a couple of built in cupboards and a cooker so old even her Grandmother wouldn’t have recognised it. The letting agent opened the bathroom door and shut it quickly.

We’ll send someone in to clean up before you move in. he said, trying not to gag on the smell. And when do you think you’ll be in a position to do that?

I’m not sure I will. Just look at it. It’s a dump, I was hoping for something with a little more… just a little more. Do you know what I mean? And what is that sound, is there water sloshing about somewhere?

We've had a lot of interested people interested in this property showing a lot of interest. If you don’t act quickly, and by that, I mean before we get back to my office, I’m almost certain one interested party will have snapped this place up right under your pretty little nose. So, shall we say a thousand for a deposit and another thousand for insurance against breakages? And then we can tot up the monthly rent on this interesting property.

Breakages? I don’t think there’s anything left that isn’t already broken and anything that isn’t is too wet to snap, it’ll just bend like a sponge. Persephone said exasperated. Is this really the best you can offer?

The best in your price range, even then only just. Oh, you haven’t seen the ocean view yet have you? That may change your mind.

Mackintosh took out his phone and stretched his arm up to the top corner of the kitchen window and took a picture. He offered the resulting image to Persephone for her approval.

What? she asked at the grey image of sleeting rain and the old gas works.

Mackintosh moved his phone, zoomed in over the corner of the image and then zoomed in again. When he turned the screen back towards Persephone there was what could have been a strip of shingled mud next to what might have been water, but only if it was heavily treated first.

That's the beach and why this fantastic starter home commands such interest. Now, what do you say? I bet if I were to check my emails right now I’d find someone from my office telling me, no, demanding me, not to let this flat because some other would-be resident is desperate to move in. I can do you a 5% reduction in deposit if you sign on the dotted line right now. It’s not like you can afford anything else, is it?

So this was it, the nadir of her life. Every cloud has a silver lining, well there were plenty of clouds in the sky and none of them seemed to be made of precious metals. The first sentient life had to crawl from slime before it could evolve and relax on a sunny beach with a drink and trashy magazine. This place had the extra advantage that there was already plenty of slime to crawl from.

I’ll take it. Persephone said downcast. Someday all this could be yours. she continued under her breath.

Um, no. No it can’t. The owner has put all his properties into a trust so not eligible for sale. Mackintosh added helpfully. But if you do find yourself in a position to purchase a property in the future then allow me to offer you my services, for a modest sum plus commision against the value of the property. My cousin is a first-rate solicitor and I’m sure he can do you a special rate on the legal side of things.

I’m sure he could. replied Persephone, adding in her head that a special rate doesn’t necessarily mean a cheaper one.

From the inside pocket of her drenched jacket that her ex-boyfriend had unlovingly nicknamed Carpet Coat, she pulled a battered envelope. She counted through a series of notes, all low denominations - the best she could scrounge together at short notice, and then handed everything over.

Here, it’s all I have. It should cover the deposit, breakages and the first couple of months’ rent. If you need any more I get paid next Friday.

The agent counted through the envelope of cash sticking out one finger for every hundred he got through until he ran out of fingers and smiled deeply.

This will do nicely. Just sign her. Thank you Miss… Oh, Othillo, is that foreign? Anyway, I'll email my colleagues and inform them to disappoint their clients because our number one property is now let. While we’re here shall we do the paperwork and make it all legal?

He sat at the small table that constituted the entirety of the dining area and in a show of unusual gentlemanship he even slid out and offered a chair for Persephone to sit. There were three chairs around the table and he sat in the opposite and took out a wad of papers covered in tiny printed writing. For both of them to sit within the confines of the room their legs became uncomfortably close, for Persephone at least. The agent showed no signs of embarrassment that his legs were stacked between hers like a dealer shuffling a deck of cards by halving the pack and rifling them back together one from one side and then one from the other and so on. That was bad enough, but did he really have to keep jiggling his leg up and down like that?

Persephone just smiled her way through, hoping it would soon be over and she could start to get on with her life, or preferably go out and find a better one.

I’ll have someone come in and do a proper deep clean of the flat. Feel free to move in whenever you like, and I’ll have the paperwork sent over directly. Excuse me, I need to get back to the office.

And with that the agent left, rushing down the external stairs and across the road to his car. Persephone felt… what did she feel? It wasn’t excitement for she knew that emotion only too well, usually before the crushing familiarity of defeat or ignominy of betrayal. She’d never lived alone before, moving straight out of her parents’ house to live with a series of boyfriends - what a mistake they all turned out to be! Starting her first, and to date only, job was exciting but now monotonous. So, with a feeling at least, Persephone felt there was no time like the present and called the removals firm who were kind enough - for an eye watering daily fee, to hold her belongings in storage, to begin the process of delivering it all here. But first she needed to get her stuff from her car. Shit, her car was back at the letting company’s carpark. No worries, she'll simply return there with...

Persephone dashed for the door so fast her chair fell backwards where the backrest permanently parted company from the seat with irony about breakages. Out in the rain there was no sign of Mackintosh or his car.

Oh, shit. Persephone said to herself foreseeing a long walk in the rain. Then she had the idea of waiting it out, the storm had to break at some point and if she was lucky the last tenant may have left some tea bags or something.

Luck was playing its part, badly. Persephone couldn't find any tea bags, she couldn't find her way back into the flat as the 3-less door had swung closed behind her. Persephone began to pat her pockets for the keys only remembering the agent hadn't left her any when half the standing water on the roof deposited itself on her from the wind.

Well I can stand here and get wet or I can find a taxi. she said to herself, checking her purse for cash. Get wet it is then.

Thus began the long walk back into town when it really started to rain.

It had once been the stationary cupboard and in one respect it still was. Only now, where the staplers and paper guillotine once sat alone, there was a computer monitor squeezed in too. Behind the screen Persephone typed industriously.

We’re going out for a coffee. Are you coming? the words came out like a spluttering, misfiring engine.

Persephone looked over the top of her screen and saw the interloper to her temple of solitude. So many people trudge through this cupboard every day to collect pens or printer ink that Persephone barely registered their presence.

Um, no. I can’t. I’m going over some of these old files before they get stuck in a box on a shelf and, well I don’t know. I think they’ve been labelled wrong or something. I just want to check in case it’s something we can sort before they go into the vault, forever. Persephone said elongating the final word for dramatic effect. It had none, Paris just looked blankly at her friend.

Sod the lot. she said. Old paper can rot but coffee and cake wait for no man, or more importantly, woman. And no woman should ever be made to wait. Not for moldy old paper where you might catch a nasty skin disease. If you’re gonna catch a disease you had better be having fun first.

Paris stood there looking at Persephone shaking her head. In truth, it was more than just her head shaking but with her palsy you couldn’t blame her. Yet she had this way of using it to her advantage to express joy or just as easily fear or that emotion old fishwives show when they witness old fisherhusbands dripping old fish across their floors.

Okay, I give. I’ll come. Persephone closed the folders in front of her and put her terminal to sleep.

Not that she had to worry about anyone prying into her work or gleaming valuable information from Laitent Brothers Ltd from any of it. The data protection course they tediously sat though stated clearly that terrorists and competitor's spies could gather valuable information from unprotected workspaces. As far as Persephone was concerned, anyone wanting to peruse documents so old they were being consigned to the festering bowels of the Laitent Brothers building, could do as they wished. Even those files that had been entered into the system during the dawning of the megabyte era had their passwords helpfully written on the cover of the file that housed the originals. They contained prices of peas and beans in the 1960's or some small busines's share prices and costs decades ago. Let's see what terrorists can achieve with that.

Stopping only to collect a coat hanging from the end of a series of shelving units, Persephone followed Paris out of her cupboard towards liquid rejuvenation and a slice of coffee and date cake.

The Ambrosia Concern was one of those coffee chains that tried it’s best not to appear as one. Mismatched chairs surrounded artificially aged tables that suggested the seating plan was whatever the original owner could fit into the space and then screwed to the walls anything they could to give you something to look at. In fact, a very expensive firm of consultants had taken great pains to make the clientele believe just that. If it wasn’t for the formulaic menu and wax-paper cups with your name written on in biro you might have fallen for it.

Two cafe grande avec caramel and what cakes do you have today? Persephone asked at the counter.

A bored looking twenty something looked at her with tired eyes.

Name? he asked in a flat monotone that could have been, with his hipster style, an artistic ironic stab against multinational corporations. Persephone knew better, it was the world-weary tones of someone who took a minimum wage gig in a trendy area with the hopes of being noticed by whomever it was that frequented trendy places and noticed people.

It’s me. You know it's me, we come in here all the time and it’s not as if you’re currently busy enough to need to remember who ordered which drink, is it? And I’ll take two slices of whichever cake you’ve got on special. Thanks.

There was only one table occupied, it held Paris and two others. Miles from accounts was recounting one of his greatest areas of knowledge, whatever he watched on television last night and Anna sat next to him looking disinterested to the extreme.

No, seriously, it’s actually fascinating. They call it the Dark Ages because nothing happened. Just some stuff. But after that loads of interesting things occurred such as science and art and stuff like that.

I thought it was the Dark Ages because there wasn’t a lot of written evidence charting the course of history. replied Anna, a very junior solicitor in the Laitent Brothers machine, who’s only real function was to run after the Partners for signatures and do all the silly little things that everyone higher on the pecking order were too busy to do themselves, like all the actual work.

No, nothing. Hundreds of years, probably thousands of years without a single new idea or remarkable event. If there were it would be called the Remarkable Age, or something. Miles continued trying to reinforce his point.

Are you seriously trying to tell us nothing at all happened between the birth of Christ and when Old Willy came knocking in 1066? Paris asked acerbically.

Paris was the receptionist, not a receptionist but the definitive article. Persephone knew her family were something to do with the company, married into one of the big shareholders or something, but she showed no sign of the refinement - read stuck up snobbishness, of Head office. She'd turned up for work about a year ago, mixing things up with her divergent attitude to life and no holds barred acceptance of her nature, they'd been friends instantly.

There was a pause in the conversation while Miles and Anna fitted together Paris’s words as if the slowness of her delivery demanded a slowness in response. Paris hated it, her mind raced at a thousand miles an hour yet her mouth was out for a leisurely drive.

Well something must have happened but nothing, you know, important. Stands to reason. Miles added feeling he was losing his audience.

So, all those Vikings, wars, Goths, vast political and religious swings and the massive growth of Christianity over Paganism and barbaric cultures, are nothing?

While Miles was digesting the words, Persephone sat and Paris added to the statement.

What? asked Miles who was still working his way through the last.

She called you a dick and another word I won’t be repeating. Persephone said, catching Paris’s eye watching as her friend shrugged casually.

Thank you, Penny. You’re looking lovely today. said Miles, focusing on Persephone as she joined them.

I was going to say something else, but my palsy played up.

Of course it did. It’s funny how often that happens. replied Persephone.

Isme and shaking girl. called the barista holding up two identical cups. And two orders of Summer Fruitopolis fusion mash cake.

Ooh cake. I need something to pick me up. I’m feeling a little slow.

The last thing you need is caffeine and sugar. You always get worse when you’ve had sugar. Persephone stood and walked back towards the counter.

I’ll give you a hand, Penny. said Anna standing too. It looks like Miles and Paris will be flirting again. she said as they approached the bar.

Is that what it is? I thought it was that bit two boxers had before they weighed in for a fight.

Yeah, sexual tension does that. Don’t you imagine those big, muscular boxers laying one on each other in the dressing room after? It’s all I can think about when my boyfriend makes me watch.

They collected their order, paid and got back to the table before Persephone could think of anything to say, she was still pleasantly contemplating the new sporting concept and would be for many hours to come. The conversation at the table, like the beginning of the Dark Ages, hadn’t produced anything interesting.

So, that’s all you did last night? Watched some old documentary and played with your train set?

I don’t have a train set and well you know. Miles protested.

Shame, every boy needs something to play with. Paris said. It wasn't Paris's smile or her rhythmically shaking head which made Miles blush, but her shaking, fisted hand which made for what could be, but probably not, an innocent gesture.

What? Me! I wouldn’t know how to... to…

There’s nothing wrong with it. Paris said merrily. I masturbated last night too.

Sometimes ears work faster than the brain and three of the group started to flush with the confession before they realised why.

But I thought you had a big date last night with that guy from PlentyOfFlesh.com. Did it not go as planned? Anna enquired trying to change the subject.

I never said I masturbated myself, did I? There is some advantages to having a permer-shake, it takes away all the effort.

They were saved from more revelations by Anna’s watch sounding the chorus of a song popular a decade ago. The solicitor touched the screen and Brian Hudson’s voice came out in a tinny whine.

I’m just grabbing a coffee. I’ve cleared the Rollman proposal and sent the requests for information out like you asked. So I thought I could help Penny out with some problems she’s found in some old files. Unless you have anything else for me to do.

The tone changed and Brian sounded terse. He was the boss so it was his job to sound terse. It was hard to hear exactly what he was saying from the small speaker aimed solely at Anna but that didn’t stop the other three from trying their best.

Looks like there’s an emergency at the office. Anna said once the one-sided phone call was complete.

One day that man will extract his cranium from his rectum and smell the coffee. Paris quipped.

Persephone laughed and a few seconds later so did Miles once he’d pieced the insult together.

I still can’t get over how you can talk into your wrist when your phone rings. It’s very Trekkie. Persephone said pointing at the smartwatch on Anna’s arm. "It’s brilliant.

We prefer Trekkers, actually. said Miles.

You should get one, it measures steps walked, heart rate, telephone numbers and can predict the weather. It’s even got this function to help you remember where you parked your car.

I can’t afford that! If I had magic watch money I'd spend it on something frivolous like food or shower gel.

Anna made to leave but snuck back to steal a forkful of summer fruit Victoria sponge from Persephone’s plate. That is delish! Enjoy.

I think I’d better go too. Do you want to share it on the way back to work? Persephone asked.

Sure. You two have fun. Anna said, directing the comments at Miles and Paris who both looked like they’d been dealt a really bad hand during the final stage of a high stakes poker game.

Brian Hudson, senior and only partner to be based at this satellite branch, sat in his opulent office at the pinnacle of the most remote branch of Laitent Brothers Ltd, under the glass pyramid that comprised the top floor of the tower. He had his desk directly in the center with the slim shadows of the interlinked glass panes around him as if he were a spider at the center of a huge web. All the better to be the sole recipient of all the ancient knowledge that pyramids could bestow. In reality the glass structure leaked like a sieve and caused rolling puddles across the slate floor. It boiled him in the summer and become impossible to heat as soon as autumn descended, but it was worth it for the impressive view and the intimidation most clients felt as they walked in for meetings. It was hard to hide their fears or negotiate from a position of strength when they were exposed on all sides.

There wasn’t any real reason for Brian to call upon Anna’s services but from his throne he had watched her leave his building and walk over to that absurd little coffee shop. He'd waited for her to place an order and sit to enjoy her well deserved break and when he judged the moment she would be settled he placed his call. As office games go it was petty, vindictive and verged on manipulative, yet he enjoyed it immensely.

He’d enjoyed it but something she'd said worried him and he wasn't sure exactly why.

Time ticked by.

Mr Hudson, Miss Soupspoon is here to see you. the intercom stated in a delightful feminine voice.

The delightful feminine voice was attached to a delightful feminine body on the floor below. Brian Hudson had toyed with the idea of fitting a glass floor to his office so he could gaze down upon that delightfully feminine form and those delightfully feminine curves from his desk but ruled against it in case it could be used in reverse upon him. An idea presented itself and he made a note in a silver fronted Filofax with a golden pen to look into the glass they use in movies where police officers could look in at a suspect but the vile criminal could see nothing but their own pox-faced reflection.

A circle in the floor lifted and under it a clear perspex cylinder presented itself. The artistic and frightfully expensive lift contained his most junior solicitor.

You needed me, Sir? Anna asked as the lift swiveled around to allow her access to the office. She physically flinched at the sound of the lift revolving back into place and slowly descending down into the floor. It was a horrible thing for anyone already nervous about being on this floor to see. She stood, a timid

Reviews for A Song With Which To Dance

[James Master · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

So refreshing to see characters that aren't Hollywood perfect.
I've never read a novel with such a wonderful and prominent character with cerebral palsy.

I've read the previous books but they were fantasy leaning to horror (ish) but this is more fantasy with a dollop of chic-lit. I loved it and now my wife has taken my nook to read it too. I know when she's got to the good bits as she snorts out laughs.