Chapter 1: A Prologue of August Apologies
On the day this all started, the sky was full of August apologies for a summer undelivered. July’s jubilant bounty in the flower beds were now forgotten and half eaten by gangs of gastropods. Despite the rain, pastel-shaded summer clothes continued to be rotated in wardrobes across the North West of England, resulting in damp trouser ankles.
You are probably wondering how I know about the story I am about to tell you, the tragedy of my former residents, Mr and Mrs Payne? Well, they do say that walls have ears. ‘THEY’ whoever they are also ponder the prospect that walls can talk. You are talking to a set of walls right now, I wrote this, me, Curmudgeon Avenue. If I have had to contend with the bunch of nincompoops that replaced Mr and Mrs Payne, then so should you…
Most houses do not feel the need to complain; their heating comes on, and then goes off again. Doors open and close, foot traffic of fairy elephants wear down the floorboards, carpets and staircases. But most houses do not have to suffer the anguish of ruin, the suffering of internal clowns dragging them down. I was once known around these parts as a ‘desirable residence’ folk aspired to habituate here, why! Even Mr and Mrs Payne were of the well to do set in their day. But I must admit, in their twilight years, the sun had not shone brightly enough on the paintwork of number one Curmudgeon Avenue in order for my cracks to be noted, assessed and remedied. Overall maintenance of my structure had been somewhat neglected, and yet my four storeys of Georgian revival architecture remained fit for purpose. Wind collects and delivers wet rubbish and leaves in my corners. Frost cracks, creating unwanted crevices, that even a renovation facelift failed to repair. Worst of all is the intertwined lives of the remaining residents. If I may, what follows is how poor Mr and Mrs Payne met their end, which resulted in the story of how Harold, Edith and Edna ended up living together under my roof.
Happy reading ! Samantha xx