Hello! I hope you have enjoyed the weekly serial of Curmudgeon Avenue Book Two
The Harold and Edith Adventures.
Today I will be posting the final chapter (it is a very short chapter).
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Book one of the Curmudgeon Avenue Series (The Terraced House Diaries) is regularly on offer and is currently 99p/c Sales link for book one
Here is the chapter!
Chapter 34: Matteo Dubois.
On the day of this interruption, the sky was full of Canada Geese announcing the end of summer in noisy V-shaped migration, landing on their winter ground, only to return next spring as everyone’s favourite nuisance.
The sound of the car door shutting on the well fancy car was enough for Mrs Ali to twitch her upstairs curtains. The beautiful leaf display of autumn on Curmudgeon Avenue had morphed into a pretentious, yet crap blanket from the pound shop. Matteo Dubois remembered kicking that same leaf display with striking kicks one after the other when his legs were only long in his imagination. This resulted in his black school shoes becoming the same colour as the leaves, brown; as brown as dog poo, and not welcome on his adopted mother’s cream carpets. Madame Dubois had forgiven this and reminisced about the ‘La rue et Paris’ in her usual Frenglish.
But what of Curmudgeon Avenue? It was the same, yet different from how Matteo Dubois had remembered it. The same could be said for Whitefield. The bank was now an Italian restaurant, the asylum was now a supermarket, and the bus station was now – well, another supermarket. But it was the same because it all fell under the same grey sky that it always had done, the same sky that covered the neighbouring town of Radcliffe. There was Mrs Ali’s corner shop, and there was Number Three, the duplex he had spent the last years of childhood. At the time, this had been ‘Three-A’ the ground floor unoccupied for years, until developers from Liverpool bought the whole building. He was now standing in front of Number One Curmudgeon Avenue, the real reason that Matteo was here.
There was an awful lot of twitching going on of curtains on Curmudgeon Avenue.
‘Who are you? You bugger? Come on then, I thought we’d got rid of you, if you want to arrest me, just get it over and bloody done with!’ Harold was almost bent double, squinting his eyes, craning his neck towards his perceived accuser. He then watched him walk up the path towards the front door… the front door! ‘Hang on just one moment Mr Detective!’ Harold told himself to shut up and started running towards the exit. He failed to gain purchase in his slippers on the bedroom rug.
‘Oh! Haha, Harold, you look like a cartoon!’ Edith was one to talk, returning from the shower in her towelling bathrobe, stolen from the Last Drop Hotel and Spa that time by Ricky Ricketts.
‘There’s a-!!’ screamed Harold, but it was too late. The brass knocker of Number One Curmudgeon Avenue rattled like it had not rattled for years. Even Matteo Dubois’ door knock was confident. Edith jumped out of her skin, and downstairs, Toonan jumped out of her shell suit. She brushed away the box of Pringles she was eating and kicked her legs off the leatherette settee.
‘What?’ She said as she opened the door, her eyes widening with recognition, not returned by the tall, handsome man who stood before her. Matteo Dubois craned his neck backwards, checking he was at the address he thought he was. Toonan made a tutting sound with her mouth. She had a finished half cup of tea and an episode of Coronation Street in the front room (not to mention the half-finished cigarette she should not have been smoking). Harold and Edith were creeping down the stairs, Edith first, the three of them eventually huddled together in the vestibule. They all heard the very slightly French accent, and Matteo Dubois met with three faces. One cocky, hair scraped back from her reddened face. One vaguely familiar with a pointed nose and an ‘O’ shaped mouth and one, one with a greasy quiff, a cat weasel beard (which clearly did not suit him), and googly eyes almost stuck to his spectacles. All three anticipating the words that were about to come out of their mysterious, tall, handsome, well-dressed stranger with the well fancy car:
‘I am looking for my mother’ he said, amidst gasps from his Whitefield audience… ‘Madame Genevieve Dubois…’
WELL, I hope you enjoyed Harold and Edith’s story. I think you can tell from that last sentence, that Edna and Genevieve are the stars of book three. I really enjoyed writing Edna and Genevieve Escape From Curmudgeon Avenue.
Maybe I will serialise that book three? I haven’t decided yet…
Thank you for reading! I will be posting about book five of the Curmudgeon Avenue series very soon,