Sing Your Own Song

By Walter Thomas

Always an over-thinker and usually risk-adverse, quirky Bernie Hall tries to sidestep life’s looming challenges. But with help from his uncle Richie’s pup and Woody’s insatiable greed for kitchen sausages, Bernie finally meets his long-term crush.

A notebook found in the street, and lavish but mysterious gifts galore, change his lonely life for the better. But why? Bernie must uncover his mysterious benefactor quickly, or who knows what else might happen…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Sep 15, 2023
• ISBN: 9781035805808

Walter Thomas

After growing up in Norfolk from 1970, due to work commitments, moved to the lovely part of the UK in 2006 called the Wirral. His love of writing started during the first UK Covid lock-down, as he found himself with spare time on his hands, the first draft for Sing Your Own Song was mapped out. Living with his wife, step-son and their beautiful dog Bella on the Wirral, he found a hobby that not only expands his mind, but is something that he loves to do anytime of the day. He is often taking notes about everyday things that may be interesting for future writing. Likes to work on different genres and has a few ideas planned out already. Currently, at 56 years old, has started to write his second book.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Late afternoon on a very cold mid-October Saturday, autumn had started in the sleepy town of Bornford, county of Morefolk. This day in 2007 could quite honestly have been the time that a ‘life turning point’ happened for a local man called Mr Bernard Robert Hall, AKA Bernie, to anyone that knew him.

Sitting and gently warming his hands from the warmth of a plastic cup, he very slowly sipped on his black coffee in a world of his own, hoping for better things from his life.

Spending most of the day daydreaming and gazing out of the coffee shop window, waiting until the last drop was not warm enough to drink. Not wanting to converse with the world, as today was the first anniversary since tragedy stuck and he unfortunately lost his mum and dad to a fatal car crash in Benidorm.

He just sat still for a few hours, doing one of his favourite past times, people watching. It was the thing he did most of the time, with his buddy Woody alongside him for company, fascinated by the fact that there were so many people in the world but all of them were completely different.

"Refill required this afternoon?" An attractive middle-aged waitress asked him. Slowly looking up, he stared for a few moments examining her attire, from a slightly faded black blouse and dark grey pinafore, to her footwear. Wearing the sort of panelled pocket apron with a large pocket for spare napkins and cutlery, she had a dark leather thin entwined strap on her left wrist, he tried to work out in his head, what life had dealt her. Taking a good look at the trainers she was wearing and thinking to himself, how can someone who works in a greasy spoon cafe like this, afford a pair of trainers like those?

Directing his eyes at them, admiring the light beige and black check pattern design, he stroked his chin, looked towards Woody and muttering under his breath barely audible said, At £1.50? Not made of bloody money you know.

Quickly making her way back to where the coffee machine was behind the till, a look of disgust soon headed in his direction. She might as well shout ’That’s it, your time is up in here. Wish you would just go and sit someplace else, scruffy pants!’ However, being a well-mannered host and as it was only fifteen minutes or so until she could shut for the weekend, she calmly walked to the double half frosted glass doors.

Turning over a hand crafted piece of slate stating ‘Welcome, we are open, dog friendly to reveal, We are closed, opening hours, Monday to Saturday, 8 am to 5 pm’, she then announced with her near perfect white smile, that the cafe could not take any more orders. Looking at the teapot clock on the wall, continued with, in approximately ten minutes. Bernie, glancing up at the clock thought that must be fast. Nearly five o’clock already, he told Woody with a pat on his head.

Doing a quick scan towards the remaining three customers, he wondered what their lives entailed too. Firstly, he studied a lady in her mid-fifties with jet black shoulder length hair that was loosely tied back into a ponytail and wearing large hooped gold earrings. Sitting just on the edge of her nose, sat an expensive looking pair of black sunglasses with the lettering ‘Dolce’ down one side. Which meant nothing to Bernie, only that he thought it odd for the time of year, to be wearing them indoors.

Her black silk blouse, covered by a white suit jacket with three medium sized black buttons on the front, gave her a very glamorous look. Sitting in the fading sunlight, he just about made out a very thin vertical black pinstripe design.

The whole look was being complemented by a black belt, emblazoned with a white bolt of lightning that stopped just before a large silver buckle. Gathering her belongings, she placing a small purse, a glasses case and an orange notebook into a dark red handbag. He was amused by it by the bag as it had a logo of two C’s in the centre of it that he couldn’t help but noticed that they were ‘backwards’.

Now started to get that uneasy feeling you get when someone spots you staring at them, he secretly watched her slowly push the sunglasses back up the length of her small nose. Looking away and then back again, Bernie couldn’t help but feel drawn to her for some strange reason.

Returning the shiny black high heels to her feet with elegance, he knew that this lady positivity oozed class and was amazed that shoes these days came with ‘two toned’ colours.

These had bright red soles.

Raising from her chair and sliding it in underneath an old wooden table, she walked the few steps to the cashiers till and a sign stating ‘Tray collection point’. Putting the tray into one of the available slots, she turned to make her way to the exit.

No attempt to look at him or the waitress was made, until that is, when she was directly at the front door.

Turning her head very slightly and placing her handbag over her left forearm, she deliberately slid her sunglasses down her nose a little looking in Bernie’s direction. Bernie had since focused his attention elsewhere so, didn’t notice. Shifting his body around, he was now facing where the last customers sat, along the back wall. ‘Teenage courting couple’ catching some time alone from their parents was his initial observation.

As it was very cold outside, for the life of him he couldn’t understand why this young girl, who had ripped kneecaps in her faded blue jeans, had not got a coat. And that small vest top was not really appropriate for early winter either was going around Bernie’s mind. But he thought, at least the lad had a hat and with all that hair, he wouldn’t get cold.

They were obliviously very fond of each other, due to the giggling, hand holding and non-stop displays of public affection. Youngsters, he said out loud, as he rolled his eyes watching them leave in a hurry running up the street, Leaving behind dirty cups and empty crisp packets for old snotty knickers to clear away hey, Woody, he quietly pointed out to the dog.

So, yet again, Bernie was the last one sitting and now that the radio had been turned off, could sense an awkward silence.

The now, not so smiley waitress, was pushing in chairs, wiping the six or seven dirty tables down and he could see her looking over her shoulder at him. He stood, slung his rucksack over his arm and placed his cup at the collection point, as he too was about to make his way into the fading light. Just before the door automatically closed behind him and he called his best buddy over to his side, he could have sworn he heard the words, ’Huh, buy two take out drinks and sit in here for hours on end, some people!’

With not a cloud in the sky, the pale blue dimly lit evening meant it was going to be a bitterly cold night for Bernie, as he was wandering up the street out of the market square.

He knew it like the back of his hand, mainly as it housed the tea pot cafe he frequented at least twice a week. His walk tonight took them along the slow flowing river that ran through the centre of Bornford Town, ironically called, the river Born.

Past a floating barge restaurant called Siobhan’s, which was currently in darkness as it didn’t open until 7 pm on weekends, he thrust his hands deep into his pockets for warmth. Not really having anywhere to go or to be, he was basically heading wherever Woody was taking him. It was only about five or six minutes that they had been ambling along the riverside, when his buddy started to sniff and scratch at something that lay on the pavement.

It was an orange notepad.

Kneeling down and pretending to do his boot laces up, he had a quick look from left to right to see if anyone else was along the riverbank. Quickly picking it up, he placed it into a pocket of his green Parker coat.

Soon reaching the one solitary bench in the Old School house Doctors car-park, he sat down and started to look through the notepad under the dim street light. He was basically looking to see if there were any clues about this lady’s identity and how he could return it to her. All the time, looking up when he heard the slightest movement, be it a voice or the sound of car doors being closed, just in case he spotted the black haired lady.

Leaning back, he removed the rucksack from his back in order to get more comfortable on the bench and resumed his flicking through the pages. It was just full of crossed out shopping lists, dinner appointments, salon dates and when her next nail and hair colours were due. There was also something written down about a reflexology session, which he had no idea what that was all about. It was just a ‘things to do’ list that some ladies like to keep, until that is, when he began to read the very last entry.

It was dated 11 October, and all that was written were the following words: ‘Must see my dearest Caroline C before him!’

That was only last Thursday wasn’t it? Bernie spoke slowly to himself and then decided that he had the duty to at least try to find her. Taking out his old size ten black and white stripped trainers from his rucksack, he hurriedly put them on his now very cold feet. Starting to run out of the front of the car-park, knowing that was the quickest route back to the market square, he hoped she was there after realising it was missing and returned to retrieve it. Now near the market square and halfway up Hill road, they slowed to a walk as they were at the aromatic smelling Chinese chip shop ‘Oriental Delight’.

Seeing the cafe was in complete darkness, he leant against the Post Office wall adjacent to the chippy, trying to catch his breath. Soon moving on though, as the delicious smell in the air was driving his stomach crazy. This made him wish he could have one of his favourite take-away foods right there.

Chips in curry sauce.

Rummaging around in his pockets, he was not best pleased when discovering that he had lost all his loose change whilst running. Really must get a coat with no holes in the pockets, hey Woody?

Heading away from the town towards the train station, they went up a short incline to the train tracks. Sitting down resting in one of the half covered shelters, he pulled the notepad out from his pocket, promptly turning the pages to the last entry and read it again and again.

All sorts went through his mind as he day-dreamt about what a wonderful life the classy lady had, thinking, Wouldn’t it be cool to have a fancy la-de-da dinner with posh important people? A vivid picture was in his mind. He could see a waiter approaching him saying the following words, over and over again. This is PC Jackson 671, Hello…Sir…Police. Are you hurt in anyway?

Bernie stirred, rubbed his eyes and was then focusing on a face looking down at him. I will have to move you along as you can’t sleep here.

First impressions he thought it was a teenager but soon realised that it was a very young looking Police officer.

Okay, okay, Bernie replied sharply, while calling Woody from the other end of the shelter. And I was not sleeping! The dog’s tail started wagging as he tried to jump of his lead at the policeman but by this time, he had already started to move away. Bernie began mumbling to himself about the notepad and the ‘must find him comment’, all the time rubbing his hands trying to generate warmth. Asking himself and not realising it was out loud, "Why does she need to see Caroline C. And before him?…Who’s him I wonder?"

A voice of authority broke out behind him saying, I beg to differ, as like I stated, you were sleeping on private property and had to be moved on. And who I ask, is Caroline Sea? Another street walker like you is she?

Bernie stood up at this point, put his rucksack on and turned his back on the officer and started to walk back down the slope with Woody.

Stepping directly in front of him, the young PC blurted out. "Stop. I asked you a question, sir! And, I didn’t catch your name?" Looking at him, Bernie thought there was something strangely familiar about him but couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was.

Looking far too young to have a Policeman’s helmet on and with only a short sleeved white shirt and black protective waistcoat, Bernie guessed he must be very cold or just plain stupid. I will ask you one more time, your name please? While pulling out a pen and notepad from the waistcoat. But before he could answer, a police radio burst into life with the following request:

Units requested. Units requested to attend an RTA/possible disturbance in Bornford. Hall Road, House Number 14. Location Route number B 5, Distance 2 miles north of the Castle Way turn-off.

671 copy. 10-4, the young constable replied. Turning to Bernie, stating he was in luck this time, but he will be keeping an eye out for him in the future, he then disappeared from Bernie’s eyesight.

Hearing a door slam and a car pulling away at speed, the sound of sirens explained why he was only wearing a short sleeved shirt on such a cold night. Placing the lead on woody, patting him on the head, Street walker, hey? Come on son, let’s get you back in inside where its warm and hopefully, we won’t be seeing him again in the near future.

Chapter 2

One of the reasons why he spent so much time outdoors was Woody, but also, he couldn’t bring himself to spend a lot of time in his flat at the moment.

After a long cold day that seemed to last forever, Sunday had finally been and gone so Bernie was up and out very early on this crisp Monday morning. The first few hours were spent sitting around ‘world watching’ as he liked to call it, on a riverbank bench. Loving the peacefulness that this time of the day brought, he observed the early Bornford Town worms, occasionally getting a ‘Good morning to you’ from fellow dog walkers or the truly British comment about the ‘Ruddy horrible weather’ they had had recently.

The notepad was why this morning he was out extra early, as his aim was to be at his favourite dog friendly cafe when it opened its doors. Heading towards the market, he could see a lot of commotion in the square itself. Approaching, he sensed a real buzz in the air as a crowd of about forty or fifty people had gathered. Talking to each other from time to time, with what looked like to Bernie a copy of the same plain white covered book in their hands.

Good job it’s not tomorrow he uttered, as Dave and Brian wouldn’t be happy with the TV vans and radio cars parked smack bang in the middle of the square. Some news reporters with microphones were milling about asking the locals questions, but Bernie could not quite catch any of their conversations. Now standing at the top right hand side of the square, he began making his way round the edges towards the cafe.

Standing with his back against the wall of ‘Crisps Cycles’, he looked around for a while, in the hope that the posh lady may still been in town. Having to moving on though, as the cold had started to seep into his bones once more, he was wondering what kind of reception he would receive from ‘madam snotty knickers’ today.

Looking up at the market clock, surprised it was now twenty five to nine, the increasing crowd of locals and press made it a real struggle for him to work his way through them. Reaching the all so familiar double frosted doors, it was just second nature for him to push the door into the warm familiar surroundings. But this morning, it stood fast and would not open.

Quickly raising his head to look up from Woody, he noticed a piece of paper stuck on the inside of the window. Not the normal handwriting like the open/closed signage, but more like a scruffy scrawl you would get on a doctor’s prescription.

’Dear customers, due to unforeseen circumstances, Warm the Teapot will be shut until further notice. Sorry for any inconvenience caused.

Signed

The Management

15/10/07’.

Pressing his forehead against the cold glass looking inside, he saw no sign of life. No Lights, no hot coffee, no home-made sandwiches, not even a false smile from madam snotty knickers. Which also meant, no sitting in a dry place for a few hours. Bloody marvellous, he grunted to himself, Why on earth would she shut up shop today. Would have made a killing with all the TV and press loitering around.

Clicking his fingers a few times, saying, Come on Woody, let’s go, as he had very little choice but to make his way back out of the market square. Cutting across the road into the pedestrianised shopping area, he started to make it to his second choice drinking hole. It was called ‘The Anglian Kitchens’. These were owned and ran by Mr Richard Jackson.

Just along a short walk past various charity shops, Bernie stopped Woody suddenly outside the last electricity retail shop in the town. In the window of Conner keys, Electrical Retailer & Locksmith, he noticed a familiar face on one of the five television sets on display. PC 671 was being interviewed by a reporter outside the fish shop.

Well I never, Bernie gasped with a smile. Would you look at that Woody…PC teenager is on the ruddy telly.

Watching, trying to lip-read the conversation between a reporter called Garry Jones and PC teenager, he learnt from the graphics running along the bottom of the screen, his name was PC Steven Jackson. Not for one minute though, did he think anything about the surname being Jackson.

The News channel moved to a video of a bright yellow Police board, standing by the side of the road with bold large black text:

Police appeal for witnesses.

Directly underneath in slightly smaller print declared: An incident occurred here at time: 18.35 hrs. Date: Sat 13th October Can you help? Please call us on 101 quoting log no: 829 of 13/10/07.

We were still out and about then, Woody boy, shame we didn’t see the ‘incident’.

Sure we will found out sooner or later what all the fuss was about he added, as they walked back down the riverside. But he had no idea that this was not the real reason was why the TV crews were in Bornford.

The Anglian Kitchens, the fourth shop from the corner of Castle way, was slightly bigger than warm the teapot but a bit further to walk from the busier market square for Bernie’s liking. Never the less, he felt obliged to go there at least once a week due to the family connection. The outside, not as inviting as ‘Madam snotty knickers’ décor, but still had a nice look about it with three very large Chinese looking windows. This was due to small square glass panes separated by brown wooden slats.

With an entrance door that needed replacing in-between the second and third window, made it increasing difficult to open this time of year. Every winter it had to be slammed to close it so much so that a hand written note requesting ‘Please, do not slam this door’ was sellotaped to it. Bernie had asked the owner a many times why does he leave the front canopy down?

It meant that passing trade would not see the great ‘Anglian Kitchens Cafeteria’ logo stretching the entire length of the shop.

Stopping outside, he looked at a bicycle chained up that had a wicker basket attached to it. Patting the seat and turning down to Woody smiling with, Our ‘Mary Poppins’ is in old boy.

But whenever he was in her company, he clammed up and hardly spoke a word.

Being mid-morning and as his main competitor being shut, he could see it was very busy as he shoved the door open. Looking for a seat out of the way along the far wall, he had been spotted by Mr Jackson as he had to slam the door behind him. With a hand in the air, he beckoned Bernie over to him. Now then young man, he growled with a stern look, "How many times have I told you not to slam the door?" Looking at him, he then broke into a smile staying it was nice to see him again, placing a hand on his shoulder and the other out for him to shake.

Still drinking your coffee with no milk then? He added while quickly looking at his hand after their handshake. Mr Jackson removed a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his hands.

Proceeding to pull out a folded up table from behind a display counter, he turned to a waitress and asked if she would be a love and pass over a tablecloth while he got a chair for Bern?

And you, he said while looking down, "Have you been a good boy for Bernie, have you, have you? Rubbing Woody’s head with both hands vigorously. Jumping up and wagging his tail faster when he heard Mr Jackson say, Paw Woody, paw," which always meant a few treats from his owner’s hand.

I’ll make Bernie’s coffee Richie as I’m doing two for table 12 anyway, a soft voice from behind the counter confirmed.

Bernie instantly recognised it as the voice of the owner of the bike outside. Collecting the drink from the top of the counter, Richard brought it over and watching him very carefully, softly and slowly asked Have you heard Saturday’s news yet, Bern? While checking to see what reaction Bernie face gave him.

Oh, I saw something at Conner keys but couldn’t hear what it was, something about an incident down Hall Road wasn’t it? You got any ideas Uncle Richie? Bernie replied. Well, first things first, the one sixty for the drink is on the house.

Richie grinned at him and then muttered that he would be back in a moment as he needed to check on Mr and Mrs Clarke.

Bernie heard, ‘Mary Poppin’s’ sweet voice once more, but it was now behind him and whispering, Hey, I love how he always looks out for you, but I suppose, as he only has one nephew to treat he’s bound to hey? It was the lady that he secretly fancied. Her real name was Vicky.

Richard knew Bernie had a crush on her but had always promised not to tell her but knowing that he needed a push, volunteered that Vicky could sit and keep Bern entertained as he needed to, pausing to look around expressed that I need to. that’s it, I need to do more sausage and egg sandwiches. Bernie looked at the counter and could see at least eight sandwiches labelled up ‘sausage/egg’.

With a smile at Bernie from ear to ear, her answer was yes no problem at all. Pulling up a chair and struggling to take a hair band out of her long blonde hair, she was now sitting right next to him. Pushing her hair over both shoulders, which in his eyes, made her look even more attractive than he already thought, she nervously asked Richie to put two chocolate eclairs on her bill? A thumbs up sign was given as he crouched down, pretending to retrieve something from a cupboard.

With an affectionate wink in his direction, Vicky stood, leant forward so that no-one else could her say, You can pay me back in kind one day if you like, hun? And then quickly walked away to get their cakes. Bernie, now shuffling uneasily in his chair, was desperately trying not to say or do the wrong thing, sensed there was a moment of awkward silence as she returned.

Finding himself looking at the floor and rubbing the palms of his sweating hands on his jeans, he was a bit taken back by this beautiful woman now in front of him, actually seemed to be taking an interest in him. With a reassuring light touch on his knee, Vicky spoke, So, what do you know about Saturday’s going’s on then, handsome?

Turning around, he quickly looked at the chair immediately behind him, expecting to see this ‘handsome man’ she was referring to waiting there, ready to whisk her off her feet. After all, Bernie thought, she couldn’t possibly mean him, as in his mind, she was way out of his league. Rubbing his now even hotter hands together on some kitchen roll, he picked up an eclair and took two bites in quick succession.

This he thought, would give him more time to think about his reply.

Before either of them had chance to talk, they heard Richie screeching "Wooodieee," with the sound of plates and cups smashing to the floor. With no time to move out of his seat, both of them watched a tomato sauce covered sausage, fly though the air, bounce across the table a few times and then splatter straight onto Bernie’s lap.

Nine times out of ten, Woody was always at his owners feet when the frying pan was out but on this occasion was directly behind him tripping him and causing what later became to be known as the day of ‘the flying sausage incident’.

It was also the day that they started to become very good friends.

Well, that certainly broke the ice, she quipped with lots of laughter as he was gently poked in the ribs. Bernie’s ‘best friend’ had done him a huge favour that day. Maintaining that just for the record, she was not normally as forward as that, when it comes to the men she likes, emphasising that she is normally very shy. Looking down smiling, not sure how to respond, he caught a glimpse of her light blue eyes making his grin wider.

Remembering her earlier question, his reply set of off into a fit of giggles when, saying, "Well, if the truth be known, all I do know is that madam snotty knickers shut her cafe."

"Madam who? She chuckled. Both drinking the last of their drinks, he went on explaining that was his name he privately gave the warm the teapot waitress. Kay, you mean Kay? Ahh, she’s not snotty, she’s lovely, honest." Insisting that she will have to introduce them to each other, revealing that they often have coffee mornings together.

Before Bernie agreed, the entrance door opened and with the wind outside picking up, it resulted in a cold draft blowing rapidly across the tables. This spooked Woody and he barked out loud a few times. Richie tried to comfort his dog by telling him it’s okay, It’s okay boy, as he knelt down. Knowing the wind frightened Woody he assured his pet with, There’s really nothing to be scared of old boy.

The front door slammed behind two new customers with a bang, making most people look that direction. With a pair of dark sunglasses on, there stood what Bernie had first described as ‘The posh lady with class’ and today’s outfit made her look even more glamorous than the first time he saw her.

Wearing a pair of black patent leather stiletto boots, partially covered by a three quarter length white fine woollen coat