TODAY, WE ARE PLEASED TO FEATURE AUTHOR, STEPHEN MOSSOP, WHO IS SHARING EXCERPTS FROM HIS NOVEL, 'THE HOME STONE' #RWRTeamBlog #ReadWriteRepeat

From Part One - ‘The Road To Bridie’s Bridge’

Bridie’s mum always knew when her daughter was thinking. Bridie would always stare at her feet, and that’s just what she was doing now. She watched her daughter for a while.

The book Bridie had been reading was laying on the grass next to her, and a half-empty cup balanced on the uneven ground, just under the wrought-iron garden chair she was sitting in.

Hilda Ambrose smiled, as she watched her, and thought to herself how similar she had looked to Bridie at the same sort of age. She had the same brown eyes, the same round face, and the same shade of light brown hair. Her own hair had been a similar sort of length as Bridie’s when she had been thirteen too. Only their clothes differed dramatically.

Hilda’s mum had always insisted that she wore dresses rather than trousers, and ribbons or bows in her hair.

‘You never know when you might meet somebody important,’ her mum had always told her. She never did, of course, and was never likely to, hidden away in this little back corner of the countryside, but that had made no difference to her mum.

Bridie, on the other hand, was far too independently minded to obey any sort of dress code her mother might have liked to impose on her. Jeans, and either a T-shirt in the summer or a jumper in the winter were Bridie’s style.

Actually, other than her much hated school uniform, it was pretty much her only style.

Hilda reflected and sighed, thinking about the new party dress she had asked her sister-in-law to make for Bridie to wear at Christmas. She’d popped into Brenda’s dress-making shop in town a month before and had picked out some nice-looking fabric that she hoped Bridie would like. All she had to do now, was to wait until December, then she could take Bridie’s measurements and let Brenda know, for her to make it ahead of the holidays.

She groaned, forever hopeful, that Bridie would like it. And even more so, actually wear it! If she didn’t, she knew that it would gather dust on the back of Bridie’s bedroom door.

Thinking about school, she wondered if the book on the grass was part of her weekend homework. She would have to ask her.

Bridie really hated school. Wearing a uniform skirt showed her knees off, and Bridie hated showing her legs. She kept saying that they were too thin, and Hilda kept trying to reassure her, that her legs would grow as she got older, just like the rest of her body.

So far, that reassurance had fallen on deaf ears. Just like, she was sure, the argument that would ensue shortly after when she asked what her homework was about. Bridie really resented the fact that she had to do homework, especially at weekends. She would do almost anything to avoid getting it done.

Ah well, she thought. Here goes. No doubt another peaceful Saturday afternoon spoiled.

‘So, Bridie,’ Hilda began, ‘what are you thinking about?’

Her daughter stirred in her seat, and raised her head. ‘Not much,’ she said, blandly.

‘Well, it looked like you were miles away just now, so it must have been important,’ suggested her mother.

Bridie sighed. ‘It’s this homework,’ she said, ‘we’re doing Romans this term, and it’s so…boring’

‘Why?’ Hilda retorted.

‘Well,’ her daughter continued, ‘I hate their names. They’ve all got long names. And I hate that they came here and just sort of took over.’

‘Well, I don’t suppose they could help their names,’ her mum said. ‘Their parents probably just thought that long names would make them sound important. What do you think?’

Bridie’s eyes widened. ‘Well, they weren’t important at all!’ Bridie stated. ‘They were just bullies, this book says all about it. They just came and had fights with the people here and then started throwing their weight about.’

‘I’m sure they must have thought they were doing the right thing,’ Hilda replied. ‘You know, building roads, and all?’

‘No,’ Bridie said emphatically. ‘They were just bullies. They came to steal land and stuff. You know you told me our family have been here for years and years. I hope they didn’t try to take our land!’

Hilda laughed. ‘Well, I certainly haven’t heard that they did, but I don’t really know.’

‘You know you told me that one of our ancestor ladies had brought her Home Stone here and buried it under the bridge? Was that before the Romans or after them?’

‘Oh, it was a long time before they arrived,’ Hilda reassured her.

‘Good!’ said Bridie. ‘Else they would have tried to steal that too!’

Hilda laughed. ‘Yes, they probably would have!’

Bridie looked over at her mum, a frown was etched across her face.

‘What’s up?’ her mother asked.

‘It’s just, well, you told me about how the bridge started.’

‘Mmm?’

‘Well, how did it get here, the Home Stone? Where did it come from?’

Here we go, Hilda thought, another ploy to get out of doing her homework.

‘Mum?’

‘Alright then,’ she sighed, resignedly. ‘I suppose I’ll have to tell you sometime. And I guess you’re about the same age as the girl in the beginning of the story.

Bridie smiled. ‘So?’

‘Alright. Well, it all started with a girl with no name…’

‘What?’ Bridie asked, a puzzled look on her face. ‘Everybody’s got a name. Why didn’t she have one?’

‘Look,’ Hilda huffed a little. ‘It’s a long story. I’ll get to that in a bit, OK?’

Bridie nodded.

‘So, are you going to pay attention?’

Bridie nodded again, making herself comfortable in her chair.

‘So, no interruptions then. If you’ve got questions save them up until I’ve finished the story, otherwise I’ll forget where I’m up to, OK?’

Bridie smiled and nodded more vigorously this time, content that her mother was about to share the story.

‘Good,’ came her mother’s reply. ‘Then I’ll begin. They were moving fast. The girl with no name had to trot quickly to keep up, time was short. They had to move quickly, if they wanted to stay alive. There was no time to wait for stragglers. If any couldn’t keep up, they would just have to take their chances. If they managed by some miracle to avoid the beasts, then the hunters would find them. If they couldn’t keep up, they were as good as dead!

From Part Two - ‘Bridie’s Bridge’

Matthew Crawford was certain he could fly.

He hadn’t tried yet, but he knew he could do it. With the top button of his raincoat firmly fastened, and with his hands briefly tucked into coat pockets, he would hold out his arms and start running. The rest was inevitable.

His legs were burning; Matthew finally struggled with the last few paces to the top of the impossibly steep track that led from the decrepit wooden hut that served as his form room.

He turned and looked back down the slope, ignoring the other boys as they jostled past on their way to lessons.

Matthew nodded determinedly to himself. This was the place. Right here.

The speed he could get up to if he ran down this slope would surely be more than enough. The wind would gather under his makeshift wings, and just before he reached the bottom, he would jump. He would jump as high as he could, and the wind would lift him. The boys would shout, the masters would grab at his legs, the porters would chase after him but it would do them no good.

He would soar into the air high above them. Up, up, up. Over the walls. Over the streets. Over the river. High over the hills. All the way home.

There was no other way. Despite his pleading, his parents wouldn’t come for him. Only a couple more weeks until the end of term, they’d told him in their last letter. But the end of his first term as a boarder at Burrell’s was still too far away for Matthew. He wasn’t allowed out through the gates. So, he would fly over them. All the way home.

From Part Three - ‘The Road From Bridie’s Bridge

As she watched her train disappear out of view, Petra stamped her foot so hard on the platform that it echoed off the walls of the station building.

‘Aargh!’ she growled. ‘Damn! Damn! Damn!’

Michael flinched as she turned sharply on her heel and glared into his face.

‘This is all your fault!’ she shouted. ‘Why did you have to be late, today of all days?’

‘Sorry,’ he said, raising his hands in surrender, ‘I was only a few minutes late. I honestly thought it would be OK!’

‘Well, it’s bloody well NOT, is it!’

She stomped across the platform and flopped down heavily onto a bench.

‘Look,’ he said, ‘I’ll go and find out what time the next train is, OK? Then I’ll buy you a coffee while we wait. I won’t be a minute.’

She glared after him, as he walked through the door of the ticket office, cursing under her breath that she had accepted his offer of a lift to the station. She didn’t know him all that well, and now she wasn’t at all sure that she even liked him much. He was a friend of a friend, who’d just happened to be in the same club as her and a group of friends. They were celebrating the end of their exams.

He’d been at an adjacent table to theirs, and had overheard her tell her friends that she needed to catch the eight o’clock train the next day, but that she hadn’t been able to book a cab yet. He’d leant over and suggested that he could drive her, if she wanted. She’d been grateful at the time. Now, she certainly wasn’t.

He looked a bit sheepish when he emerged from the ticket office.

‘Sorry babe,’ he said. ‘Seems the next train will be Monday morning.’

‘Well,’ she muttered. ‘Could this day get any better? And do not call me babe! I hate it.’

‘Sorry,’ he said again. ‘I’ll take you back to your house then, shall I?’

She pursed her lips. ‘I don’t have any other choice, do I? Thanks to you, I’ll have to ring my mum and apologise for missing her birthday party. She’ll be so disappointed!’

He watched her thoughtfully, while she sat there seething.

‘Tell you what,’ he said, ‘you missing the train is my fault. I’ll hold my hands up to that. I can do something to make sure you don’t miss your mum’s party, though. How about I drive you home?’

She thought about it for a moment, then agreed.

‘Thanks,’ she told him, begrudgingly.

It was a long drive, certainly a lot longer than he’d bargained for, and it wasn’t a particularly pleasant one either. Hardly a word passed between them all the way there. It was mid-afternoon by the time they arrived at Home Farm.

Michael unloaded her bags from the boot of his car and dragged them up to the front porch.

‘I suppose you’d better come in for a cup of tea before you go,’ she said, instantly regretting having suggested it. ‘My mum will be wondering whose car it is.’

He smiled ingratiatingly as she introduced him, and once seated at the huge table, gazed around the kitchen appreciatively.

‘My word, what a wonderful home you have here Mrs Morris,’ he observed. ‘And what a fascinating house this is!’

Brenda beamed, enjoying the compliment. ‘Thanks, we like it…’

‘I noticed while we were unpacking the car that the house seems to have been extended and adapted several times,’ he continued, ‘I bet there’s quite some history here. Have you been here long?’

Petra slumped deeper into her chair, resigned to the fact that her mum would soon launch into pretty much the whole family history.

Thankfully, her mother only gave him a potted version, but even that had taken half an hour or more.

Michael had leant forward in his chair, attentively listening, offering encouraging little interjections here and there.

‘My word…goodness me, who would have believed it…’ amongst others.

Petra had sat quietly throughout, her arms firmly folded, squirming inwardly at his very obvious fawning.

Eventually, and just before her mum started pulling out her baby photo albums, she stood and hinted that he perhaps might need to be setting off soon, to avoid arriving home too late at night, in the dark.

‘Oh Petra!’ her mum had said. ‘I won’t hear of it! After bringing you all the way home, surely you can’t expect him to drive back straight away? No, I won’t hear of it. He must stay until the morning. I’ll go and make up a bed.’

Petra sighed resignedly, while Michael eased himself back into his chair, smiling triumphantly in her direction.

‘Well, he seems like a nice enough boy,’ her mother cajoled, as they drank their first cup of tea of the morning. ‘It was really good of him to drive you all the way home, wasn’t it?’

Petra shrugged her shoulders.

‘Oh, he’s alright, I suppose,’ she condescended. ‘He can be quite good company when he wants to be. I was just so cross with him yesterday. If he hadn’t been late picking me up, I wouldn’t have missed my train.’

‘Oh, it was pretty obvious when you got home last night that you two had had a falling out. Dinner was a bit tense to say the least!’

‘Well, you didn’t have to invite him to stay, did you?’

‘Actually,’ her mother said, ‘yes, I did. You really couldn’t expect him to turn straight round and just drive all that way back now, could you. It just wouldn’t have been right.’

Petra shrugged her shoulders again, and leant against the back of the chair.

‘Well, he’s certainly making the most of your hospitality,’ she said, glancing at her wristwatch. ‘If he stays in bed much longer, he’ll think he’s staying another night!’

‘Oh, he’s alright, leave him be,’ her mother said. ‘Though I’m amazed he slept through the noise when the others got up.’

Petra smiled and nodded.

‘I know what you mean,’ she said. ‘I thought they’d be quieter when they grew up. Some hope!’

‘So, what does he do then, your Michael? Is he your boyfriend?’

‘First of all, he is certainly not my boyfriend!’ Petra replied curtly.

‘But he’d like to be?’ her mother interjected. ‘He clearly likes you…’

‘No, definitely not. He hangs around with us sometimes, and as far as I’m concerned that’s all there is to it.’

‘Even so,’ said her mother, raising her eyebrows pointedly, ‘not many just mates would volunteer to drive you all the way home at the drop of a hat, would they?’

Petra laughed, and changed the subject.

‘So, he is studying archaeology. He’s just finished his Masters. Just about as boring as you could get.’

Her mother smiled, and got up to boil the kettle again.

Petra looked around the familiar kitchen. Nothing had changed much since the Easter holidays, when she’d last sat there at the huge kitchen table. Nothing ever really changed here.

Through the front window she could see the huge copper beech, glorious in full leaf at this time of year. Turning her head, she scanned the towels drying, as always, on the rail of the range. Above the range was the map her grandfather had made years before, along with some of the pictures she and her siblings had drawn while they were at primary school.

‘Oh, my goodness,’ she gasped, ‘you still have the pictures!’

Her mother glanced at them and smiled.

‘Of course!’ she said. ‘Why wouldn’t I? They make me happy. They remind me of the wonderful kids I created. They’re as much of the history of this place as everything else.’

Petra smiled back at her.

‘Aren’t we still your wonderful kids?’

This time it was her mother’s turn to shrug.

‘Of course you are, but things change. You’ve all changed, and so have I. That’s why it’s nice to keep memories alive. The good ones, anyway.’

By the time Michael came downstairs, Petra and her mother were washing and drying the breakfast dishes.

They turned as he walked through the kitchen door.

‘Good morning, good morning!’ he exclaimed brightly, rubbing his hands together. ‘Anything I can do to help?’

‘No thanks,’ replied Petra, rolling her eyes at her mother. ‘We’re nearly done. Seems there are some benefits to always being late, eh?’

‘Sorry,’ Michael said with a sly smile, as Brenda set a cup of tea on the table for him.

‘Would you like some breakfast? she asked.

He refused, but before he could protest, a plate of bacon and eggs was placed on the table, and he looked at it with obvious relish.

Once he’d eaten, Petra brought him another cup of tea while Brenda quickly washed his plate.

Michael smiled as his eyes wandered around the room. Petra watched him and laughed.

‘Casing the joint?’ she asked.

‘No,’ he laughed. ‘I was just thinking what a lovely comfortable room this is. You can’t help but feel a sense of family everywhere you look.’

Petra smiled in response. ‘We like it.’

Michael’s eyes opened more widely as he spotted a map. She watched him studying it, his head slightly to one side.

‘That’s interesting,’ he said at last. ‘What’s that all about?’

Petra explained that her grandfather had drawn it, many years before on his school holidays, and that they’d found it again and kept it on display in his memory.

‘Well, it looks like he put a lot of time and effort into it,’ Michael said. ‘It’s really quite good. Does it show anything close by?’

‘Well,’ announced Petra, ‘not just close by, but nearby. Actually, it’s on part of our land.’

Michael’s eyes widened in surprise, as he sat forward attentively.

‘May I see it?’ he asked.

Petra shrugged, wishing fervently that she hadn’t told him where it was.

‘Seriously, you wouldn’t be able to see much. Nobody goes there now, it’s rather overgrown. Anyway, you’ll need to get away in a minute, if you want to get back before dark.’

‘I’m not in that much of a hurry, and I really couldn’t miss the opportunity to have a look. It’s not a site I’m aware of. Please? It would be seriously interesting!’ he said, tapping the side of his nose. ‘I have a nose for these things, you see.’

‘It’d be seriously boring, you mean!’ replied Petra.

He tilted his head to one side, grinning widely. ‘Please…Please nicely? Pretty ple…’

Petra frowned at him, folded her arms and sat back in her chair.

‘Seriously, no,’ she sighed. ‘Sorry. It’s just that it’s a family thing. We don’t want strangers trampling all over it.’

‘But that’s just silly!’ he retorted abruptly. ‘If I’m right, and the site is unknown to archaeologists, then you really need to have it written up properly.’

‘Absolutely not!’ she retaliated. ‘It’s private to the family and it’s going to stay that way!’ Petra looked over to her mum, appreciating some back up. ‘Mum? Will you tell him please!’

However, far from backing her daughter up, Brenda shook her head and shrugged her shoulders.

‘Look, I really don’t mind if he has a quick look. It won’t do any harm.’

Petra threw her mother an exasperated look.

‘Oh, alright then!’ she said sharply. ‘You can have a quick look, but don’t say I didn’t warn you…it’s really not that interesting.’

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https://www.amazon.co.uk/Home-Stone-Stephen-Mossop/dp/1839196068

BLURB

Matthew Crawford has lost his parents, and is trying to come to terms with his grief when he meets a vibrant and gregarious young woman named Bridie.

Through their conversations, Matthew soon learns about Bridie’s family history, and the legend of Bridie’s Bridge and the mysterious, ancient Home Stone. The special stone has been passed down through countless generations of women in her family. Matthew finds himself drawn to Bridie’s stories and becomes immersed in her family legacy.

As Bridie’s and Matthew’s lives become inexplicably intertwined, and ancient forces work to bring them closer together. Matthew finds himself embarking on a journey of self-discovery and emotional growth. He soon learns to navigate the changing seasons of his life, through the solstices and equinoxes.

The journey paves the path forward, as we delve into the familial magic between Matthew and Bridie, the powerful bond they share, and the legacy and magic the stone leaves to their future generations.

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From Reviewers:

‘I love the fact that the book's story moves through different historical periods from The Stone Age through to present day. The fact that "a stone" passes through the women of the family through generations for so many years. What a wonderful idea!’

‘This is a beautifully written lyrical novel of grief and loss, powerful, magical moments and the quiet redemptive quality of healing through love.’

‘The flow of this book felt almost poetic. it was like something was seamlessly taking me across its pages. the writing was just beautiful in points and i wanted to read more any time i went to put it down. the magic sits within the pages, plot and characters in this book. the magic between our pair is just brilliant. you are drawn to them just like they are drawn to each other. there is pairing here. a tentative and tender pairing happening and it feels like luck we get to be witness to it.  I liked how the passing of time was linked and described in this book. it had such a quality about it. such a vibrancy and deeper meaning which lent itself then to the people and words we read.’

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Author Stephen Mossop

BIO

Stephen Mossop was born in Lancashire, raised in Cornwall, and now lives in East Devon with Brenda, his wife of nearly fifty years. He enjoyed a varied and successful career, initially designing and fitting kitchens - but after deciding, at the age of forty, that a change of direction was needed, he went on to gain a degree from Lancaster University.  This enabled him to establish a new career in librarianship, and over time he rose through the ranks to become Head of Library Services at the University of Exeter, from which role he eventually  retired in 2014.

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COMING SOON: On Sunday, 9th November, we are thrilled to host author, Belinda E Edwards who is sharing an excerpt from her novel, 'Designs On William'.