Overground, the debut novel by Jackson Fife (Excerpt)

7/30/2019 Overground, the debut novel by Jackson Fife (Excerpt)

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Jackson Fife


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OVERGROUND

1

Copyright

2013

by Jackson Fife All rights reserved.

copyright

Book design by Jackson Fife


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Chapter 1

One

You need treatment barked Charlotte from behind her

clenched fist, breath heavy and teeth exposed like a

silverback warning me to submit to the demand. I sighed,

not so much in acceptance as in apathy. I was not the one

with my fists ready for war, I was not the one who had just

threatened to smash your fucking skull in! holding high a

heavy wooden African mask. I was however, the one who

had bitten off more than I could chew.

It started as a child. How was I to know what had set-in then

would lead me here 35 years later, that I would be staring at

the woman I loved, who had again raised her fists to me and

lashed out. It didnt hurt, in fact I was pleased and could

understand if she feltuncomfortably belligerent and scared,

she had punched me and thrown things at me before,smashed things up before, punched me before, all of her


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attacks felt like flies bouncing off my skin, like a bee

accidentally flying into me on a summers day. I was thestrong one, I was in the right, the gentleman, a gentle man,

but my penchant for the basket case had caught me out

again and this time, more than ever before it left me empty, a

different kind of empty to the disgust at her passing fury and

aggression, or the emptiness of the shame and the relief.

This emptiness was defeat, I had been taken for a fool and

that smarted. She had never even heard the whispers, felt

the warmth or appreciated the comforts. Her kisses were

hollow and shallow, she was haunted like an overgrown

alleyway I had once stumbled into and down as a child. I

wanted to ask the angels to grab her and shake her for me, to

tell her to kiss me slow and deep, whisper wisdoms like the

wind carries clouds to arid land and to hold my heat in her

dreams and guild the stars to shine brighter for this time

may be all time, but instead I just stood there, dumbstruck

and righteous.

I stretched out on the grass and gazed at the pills the doctor

had prescribed, Sertraline, 50 milligrams, once a day. They

would help see me through the break-up if that is what was


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happening and enable me to feel less emotional. The irony

was not lost on my GP, but on my insistence we werereferred for relationship counselling and I matterof-factly

informed her that I could not guarantee Charlotte would

calm down and agree to it. I knew I would try to salvage

what reputation Charlotte had, but she was belligerent and

headstrong and I could not give any indication of how the

banshee within her would change as I had not seen it this

malicious and vindictive before. I had engineered two jobs

for her since she left University, she was earning a great deal

more than me and I had been second in my life behind her,

tip-toeing through my own world in case the egg shells she

left all over my life woke the banshee. Like the fear of a

looming judgement day in front of the omnipotent I wrestled

with my urges and dutifully bowed my head in awe of the

life maker in front of my eyes. Only, it didnt work out, fuck.

The clouds above me broke the blue of the summer sky like

the sadness bubbling up into my thoughts. I was free of her,

to lie on my back in a field and watch as the beauty played

out its divine dance. A swallow swooshed across and out of

my eye-line and with the sun warming me I closed my eyes

and enjoyed the orange glow I found in the comfort of my

solitude.


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His trance was excruciating, collapsed in the Great Hall he

wilted and wept out what energy he could muster, in the

hope that something would come to his aid. The dust from

the wooden floor mixing with his tears and sweat to coat the

left side of his face. Drifting in and out of consciousness he

was no longer sure what was real and what was forced upon

him by his subconscious to keep him away from the

uncomfortable truth. The tape crackled and squealed

intermittently like it was being chewed by the machine. The

occasional bursts of thirties big band swing that had danced

through the air, echoing from the walls of the building andthe walls of his head, shaking his thoughts from decline to

decadence, ended, with an abrupt squeal and then click.

Momentarily, he was clear, focussed, this was a chance, but

this time it might be his last. As he ascended to the event

horizon, the point where the power he was mustering and

forcing through his tired body became enough to lift him

from the cold hard parquet floor, he was aware not to give

too much away to the beasts that might be watching. He

must not let them see the strength he felt he may have. If he

could disguise his power long enough to push the weight

from him, he might be afforded a chance. His mind gasped

for control and clarity, hopping between strength and waste,


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he could feel the energy returning to his face. He would

have to move quickly once he began, to spring up and dartinto a fierce and powerful stance awaiting the blows, Now!

Each sinew cracked taut, his head swung, at first heavy until

the spring from his shoulders and triceps engaged his

balance and he flung himself up and around, ducking and

spinning, legs bent and his weight centred, arms up like a

prize fighter, he hopped back scanning the room for any

immediate threats, anything that could have been pinning

him down for so long, any thing that could have been the

stinking mass with the heavy breath which had been for so

long panting hot foul stench slowly into his ear and over the

side of his face, forcing his eyes closed for their protection

from the rancour and leaving him sure that to not see his

own final breath being chased down and consumed was

better.

Where has it gone? His mind frantically buzzed. The room

was empty, the sunlight shone through the tall multi-pane

windows onto the dark old wooden floor, dust gently cutting

the smell receptors in his nose, the deep pink flock wall

paper and guilt framed tall portraits of former inhabitants

and noblemen, sat in quiet repost, as if in judgement, asking


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for a reason he was so animated when there was, after all,

nothing to be attended to with such venom. His pantingquickened anticipating an attack from behind, his breath and

swift foot movements were the only noise, the room was

warm with the afternoon sun and the wooden panelling and

the extensive grounds surrounding deafened those inside to

the world beyond. He spun from left to right, jutting

backwards, eyes wide. In the lower east corner was a tall

glass paned French door, the light fabric which had been

strung across the top to afford some privacy within, was

billowing gently and he could see a bright crack running the

length of the frame, it was open. Swiftly and making as little

noise as he could, Markus set his sights on this bright alley,

he could see the lush green hue of the Surrey fields outside,

in the distance he could see the church steeple and the A3

rolling like a tear across the cheek bone of the greenbelt, he

flew to the door as if carried by some kinaesthetic tsunami,

clasped his wiry fingers around the frame and without

chancing another millisecond to take one more look at the

place he had for so long been held captive, pulled hard, the

gap immediately and without question opened and he was

out like a stow away arrived at port, he ran, his euphoria

dizzying him, he forced himself to focus on the road, hewould not stop until he had reached the road, his steps


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thudding as he ran, down the incline of the garden, through

the copse, his arms flailing, his big lungs burning with everybreath as air scraped down his trachea like wire wool, his

heart beats like steam pistons smashing at their housing as

though on some out of control train, he hurtled, each step on

the uneven ground a stumble towards the freedom of road,

of the cars and their passengers, of their swift help and

deportment to the Police station where he could alert the

authorities to the foul beasts that had held him captive, a

stumble towards his family, his wife Lorraine, and his

children Aloysius and Veronica, their gentle laughter, the

smell of their hair. His head lifted once more, he was almost

there.

He could see the brook, beyond lay the silage, and then the

hedgerow and the road embankment. His steps sinking and

squelching as the sodden mud sucked his feet back, clinging

to him like the hands of the weak and condemned pleading

with him and making each step harder than the last, his

exhausted body rolled on through the bowers until with the

next step a loud snapping noise rung out, and the white heat

and nausea that only accompany a bone break, struck him

like a spear. His left leg spun through the revolution of the

next step, the momentum carrying him onward, his weight


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displaced from the right and all he could do was wait. In

that fearful moment, the cold fresh air, cleansed no moreand was suddenly stark and frozen in diorama around his

jagged gait. He jammed the lolloping foot into the soil and

like a tired horse at The Chair, his leg buckled and his body

bucked and jerked viciously with the pain and the jarring

motion of a bone slicing through the flesh and nerve endings,

of the tendons tearing from their fixings and then of the

now-free-moving-bone through and out of the skin on the

ankle. Out of place, his femur bone forced itself back in to

his hip socket, and in turn he twisted as though gripped by

the force of a hurricane tearing through the pain centres of

his brain. He felt himself lurch violently and lose his place on

the earth. Toppling as he screamed out with the agony. It

was cold when he woke.

He looked at himself in the bedroom mirror, naked from the

waist up, he was out of shape, slightly too large around the

midriff to fasten the waist band of the crisply pressed suit

trousers he had chosen, he pulled his stomach in and puffed

out his chest, teasing his upper arm to recall a time when the

sedentary nature of his adult life was less overbearing, God

honeyIm getting fat! I cant do these trousers up! he


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shouted. A female voice answered with a hurried Come on,

we have go to go! Markus sighed, his face crinkled down theright hand side and he bent down to remove the trousers he

had been wearing I will, Im going to have to put on the

jeans, these trousers are too tight! Are you ready? he stood,

silently awaiting the response but it did not come, he

scooped up his jeans and the polo shirt in his strong left arm

and headed from the mirror to the doorway Are you

ready?

Almost answered the voice. He turned to look back at the

room, the small windows and low ceilings, uneven floor and

plasterwork were bathed in the spring sunshine. Thewindow was closed so he grabbed his belt off of the floral

bedcovering and swung himself into the bathroom Ill be

two minutes! Just gonna brush me teef

The bathroom light clicked on the extractor fan and the

steady murmur stuck in Markuss mind as nothing more

than a waste of electricity, pennies being blown out into the

London city air. It was expensive enough to live in London

and as he belted up the jeans he held the vibrating

toothbrush in his mouth and examined his face for further

signs of lethargy and middle age. Markus stood five footeleven and a half, he was very insistent on the half and


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would often follow this up when asked with the assertion

that but in shoes Im six feet. His skin was a pale olivecolour and thankfully the scars from his adolescent acne

proved it had not been too destructive, he showed one or

two scars, pinker and patchier than the ideal complexion, his

nose had largish open pores, which would occasionally

reward his careful mining with rather enjoyable black-

headed worms, treasures from the deep. Today though, he

looked tired and greyer than he liked or expected others

would like. He pulled his Royal blue polo shirt over his mop

of hair careful to not dirty it with toothpaste and opened his

eyes wide to try and coax them into life. It wasnt working,

the sockets where his eyeballs sat were wide, gaunt and

deep today, darkened rings beneath his eyes and reddened

eyelid skin gave the impression Markus had two black eyes.

He looked again and reached for his sunglasses, big

sunglasses.

Are you fucking coming! Im going to go without you!

Charlotte barked up from the front door.

Oh, youre ready, I told you I was just brushing me teeth! I

didnt know what you were up to. Markus spat out the foam

and wiped his mouth, turned off the light and grabbed his

keys before trotting down the stairs.


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Why do you always take so fucking long? Come on! and

with that Charlotte hurried off, leaving Markus to check hehad his phone, wallet, lock up and then catch-up.

The day was bright and beautifully warm. It was all the

comfort anyone would need thought Markus, he slowly

meandered along the cul-de-sac giving the day the respect

and gratitude it deserved for giving him so much already.

After a few steps he noticed Charlotte nearing the corner so

picked up his energy level and jogged to her, wanting to

jump on her back playfully, but refraining for the sake of a

public and humiliating ear-bashing. As he neared her he

wished she would turn around and smile, show some

affection to the world, let them know that there is happiness

to be had in this world. Of course she would never do that, it

was a public display of affection, which she found churlish

and needy. Of course, the discussion of needy was not

worth having, not with Charlotte anyway. Charlotte was one

of those people who claimed everyone who did not meet her

needs and do things her way were needy and over

emotional, failing patently to recognise that her needs were

overpowering others around her and no matter what she


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asserted, the facts spoke loud and clear to those who took

the time to listen.

She was a short and stout woman, fierce in her facial

expressions and with the natural default of her muscles to

resemble someone troubled by some deep impenetrable

fracture. As they walked along the High Street, the smells of

the fresh fish and meat permeated the air and their nasal

cavities. The chorus of busy mothers and fathers, children

and youths wrestled for airspace with the hissing and heavy

mechanical crunching of the busses and the booming shop

music systems blasting Dancehall and Bhangra, Pop and

Reggae. Dodging prams and buses like a hare dodges birds

of prey, Markus darted onto and off of the thin pavement,

hopping up and down with all the agility and playfulness of a

child enjoying a sunny responsibility-free journey, Charlotte,

by contrast was flat-footed and lumbering, appearing to

uncomfortably juggle herself along by the shop doorways,

huffing as she avoided shoppers, barely lifting her head to

see if there was any other path she could take which offered

less resistance. She was like an out-moded ice-breaker

groaning as she did a job which needed doing, but which

gave her a great deal of pain and was no longer easy or ofinterest. Like an old woman overlooked for a promotion,


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her feet still begrudgingly turning up for the same job after

too many years, there was no dancing to be found in her gait.It was clear to all that she was sad, often Markus had

pondered why was she so sad? What could I do to help?

When did it all get so dark I her mind? He had asked, and

teased, but still there was a complete rebuttal. A picture on

the wall read You are here, yet Markus felt somewhat like

here had something missing, something important to him.

Ten years before, Markus had fallen unstoppably and

irreparably in love, she touched me as if she was slipping

away. Ebbing out like a tide with a lifetime and then-some

before it returns to me, if ever it was supposed to. The light

of that August afternoon was the purest light Ive ever seen.

It washed in through the bedroom windows of her terraced

house in Tottenham better than the light on any other

afternoon I have ever known. It seemed to cleanse the

tawdry paintwork and reinvigorate and at once the room

became a lush green field in summers salad times, fresher

than the dew and embracing my body in the comfort of a

placid Mediterranean sea. She smiled and I could not equate

what I felt anymore, my body bubbled within my tightened


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electrified skin, this beautiful time, watching the sea,

unstoppable and so beautiful. Singing Nina Simone we layback on the bed and watched the clouds through the ceiling

and roof. The sky must have been and was definitely so

blue. As easily as that, we were looking right into the

reaches of space, both following the same trajectory to our

home a million miles away. Her smile was broad and with

sparkling mischievous and maternal eyes. Like a joyous

visage of all the facial expressions which I had taken to mean

I was not in any danger, all beaming through one face,

simultaneously, telling my fears to quell and feel at ease.

There is nothing like that. No drugs or joy could ever

recreate the time sat by that sea, nothing can overwrite the

emotional network which fused into absolute in those

moments, the culmination of growing and forming,

crystallising and reflecting into every corner of me, lighting

me up so I would forever be able to see.

Would you like some food, Markus? Or should I call you

Ulysses? Haha! opined Miocetta. Her breath hushed a

shoreline soundtrack through her voice, synced in to her

every word, every utterance, every noise a natural and

beautiful phenomena.


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You are so right, that is a lovely idea, thank you, Id love one

if its not too much trouble. Markus paused for breath, hisbrusque efforts sounded amateurish and uncultured and his

voice sat uncomfortably against the cherishment he was still

feeling within the warm afterglow fusing into his being. Her

cadence had soothed him like calamine. Smooth and soft had

touched his earlobes like a cool summers breeze. He was

burning with thoughts of how this moment could be true,

soothed like camomile afternoons, he sipped on her verse

savouring every last drop and slurp, and its fair to say

Markus was in love.

She wants her Father. whispered Lorraine, Veronica had

awoken from a bad dream and was sobbing.

Okay darling eyes closed and mouth barely moving Markus

edged his ankle out from under the warmth of the 20 tog,

goose down duvet and slipped his right foot into the grey

shark-tooth woollen slippers by the bed. The left foot was

close behind and as Markus rose from the bed he took his

dressing gown from the chair and wrapped his body

glancing reassuringly to Lorraine, all sleepy smile and

sticking-up hair. His quest now, in this moment, was his


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daughter, and he hurried to her, a simple oneness, a planned

philanthropy. Veronica threw herself into daddys arms fora sob and he held her close and carefully, kissing her head

and stroking her hair, Its okay darling, daddy is always

here Markus soothed. Veronica calmed in a moment and

Markus offered her his sleeve to wipe away the snot, which

had transmogrified into some exotic and disgusting face

maskfor a 2 year old with a five oclock shadow. Calmly she

stretched back in her bed and Markus pulled the duvet up

under her chin, stroked the hair from her forehead and

clasped in his left hand the book she loved to have him read,

The Gardeners. Markus sat on the edge of Veronicas bed

and began

Within the pages of this book, a story shall

be told, of a fine young man who loves to cook

and his mum whos really old. Of MrRumble

Bumble too, and of the night watchman Mr

Snoresatnoon. The story goes so listen tight

from day time play to sleep sleepy night, and

is told by a friend of yours and mine, Mr

SlipperyDipperyEarnestKind. He lives in the

reeds of the old ladies garden


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As the story went on, the frog Mr Slipperydippery acquired

hiccups, and the wise old owl takes over narration with thearrival of the invisible Mr Rumblebumble. Before Markus

had finished, Veronica was fast asleep, calm and peaceful.

She resembled an angel, content and safe in the sails of the

boat of her dreams. Markus quietly closed the book and

placed it back on the table by the bed. He took a moment to

drink in the vista and to appreciate the time he had just

spent with his daughter, her trust and love and how quick

those years can fly past if you are not present during them.

Doubling at the waist Markus leaned forward and puckering

his lips gently kissed Veronicas head and ushered softly

Goodnight gorgeous girl, daddy loves you very much, so

does mummy, we are very proud of you, and we will always

love you, sleep well, sweet dreams.


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Chapter 2

Too Young

She did not deserve to die, sure as I roll this cigarette she did

not deserve that fate. I wish to sit and to type, not to sit and

to type, but to say in text my thoughts for I have been of

wonderment beyond my time, seen things before they came

to being and wish you owned my brand of reasoning all to

your hearthside, whether from mistake or falsehood may

you find me, but nonetheless my words are wishes I hope

you can see and understand. It was not the path that was

hers and given the moment to correct it you would have

stepped in to do as such. Corruption and sex, surely it does

not come more honey than that. Coming to ambition late,

the cure might be found, but then vis is in felony. My

sideways is bachelor, with ail and pity and in deed less than

evermore celebrated life. Remember how we lived, based on

that, then, but bastards we are not, moving gifted forwarded,

not youth, but now yours, cleansed in our future not our

past. I will not allow us to make a memory of the mankind


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we once were and could once again be mindful truth, there is

only the future and the oat with its brutality is nothing.Another, another, my child, no more than my other. She

slipped away, yet my ashes did not imagine my calm entire,

no hurtful thought, simply peace. Wishes I know we know.

The crows squawked like a wedding bell awakening. You

are my happiness when you allow the light to bathe you.

Born noble of sorts, Markuss Mothers bloodline were

Knights Hospitallers in the 15th Century; Italian and Spanish

Royal family before that, his father was a direct descendent

of the great Irish King Brian Cenntig, who in the 11th

Century was the only King to have ever held unified rule

over the complete landmass of Ireland, and later continued

to hold a great political significance in the region and wider

with John Fitzgerald Kennedy, the 35th President of the

United States of America also descending from the same

ancestor and with close ties to Markuss Father. Before King

Brian, folklore have that the early Unnatural/Ugly/Woollen

heads were either early rulers in prehistoric Africa, sheep

herders or had even been emplaced on the earth as sentinels

of a higher consciousness. All of this inspired and betrayed


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Markus in equal measure. If he was to accede to his rightful

place he must understand the fruits of this knowledge orrisk a corruption of all that had for so many millennia been

so established. Oh, to rebel, to throw off the shackles of

expectation and to be one of the normal kids, for whom fun

was not some moralistic dutybound exchange based around

the virtues of collective duty and the promotion of the

potential for beauty and quality in the human consciousness.

He ached, like a broke-backed octogenarian who had carried

her family through a lifetime of growth and suffering. His

face lifted and gently smiling as he looked onto the baby in

his arms, Veronica he whispered as he turned to Lorraine

sweaty and with flushes dancing across her body and face,

exhausted and joyful in her hospital bed.

It is a lovely name and I do think you are right, she is a

Veronica. He lifted the tiny ball of warmth and nature and

love to his face and gently kissed her forehead, Hello

Veronica, you are the most beautiful girl in all the world,

apart from your mummy Lorraine glowed. How he loved

her, so much amazement was contained in that woman, that


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amazing woman. Who else could take a moment of joy and

love, shared nine months prior and turn it into this treasureheld in his arms? Markus and Lorraine looked at one

another and somewhere deep within them a part of their

eyes primal as survival connected. Markus gaze was

tranquil and gracefully waltzed to Lorraine, they smiled,

total admiration and love. Everything was illuminated once

more, as though he was visiting the grass roots but with the

cable cars humming like mists in his clear views. This

landmark was shrouded in tranquillity and serendipity, but

was packed and gigantic, hustling in an urgency unquoted.

His dreams of this magnificence had always been pictures

and now, were video, movie, soundtracks of exuberance and

floating all at the same moment coursing and pumping

through him, emitting through his every pore. Within his

arms was a reach into the impossible, a leap with arms

outstretched, unquenched and thirsty and mind racing again

to the fields, the happiness, the laughs and the hoping, the

hopping and the sleeping, the dancing and the graceful sol,

vis a vis as his heart beated like a triumph within mind and

body fused to reality, all its beauty.


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Im Iwas losing it perhaps uttered Markus, Im zombie-

like, trying to keep moving, but my knees are weak and

jarring in their movements, yet pausing, the silence seemed

hopeful and although his breath was quickened and anxious,

he continued No, it doesnt matter, spring has sprung and

Im equally alive as subjected to the environmental

pressures I stalked through, heart racing, you know that

forest was deep, lots of small hills to tumble over Markus

squeezed out a smile and lifted his brow for comic effect,

but eventually I adapted to it and the undulations were

like friends and each leaf fall was no-longed noted, I learned

to not care so much He turned and fixed his stare on the

young lady next to him, she had blue eyes and dark hair

which had been cropped tight to her face, an elegant face.

She was familiar in the way that family seem to resemble

each other. I am sure that nature runs out of faces, addicted

in a way to the same faces, the recognisable normalities; tied

to them, observing souls, thoughtful. As she tightened her

lids around her eyes forcing the skin next to her eyes to

crease, Markus went on Once you raise the question of even

the good being bad, what really do you have left to think

about? Each thought becomes gun fire, tearing through with


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a sonic boom, deafening to the next thought. Mad as art, only

a thought clever-enough will learn to jump beyond the noiseand be there waiting for when head and inner ear clears, it

was hard in there but I was strong like disease and silent like

light, I know it sounds mad, it does to me too, but I really

went the whole hog and bizarrely found it strengthening, it

was only really scary dangerous at the point of comparison

compared. Worrying about worrying! That was never gonna

be a good idea. It felt normal to be this alert but, really, who

would want this? Perhaps just because of threat of attack, of

internal battles, where the shutting down and over-running

of the safe-zone of the mind, would be just enough to carry

me through like grass to hay, I know it is dramatic, but I

thought I knew these people, and I wonder if they knew me

at all, and if they did or do, what dont I know about me?

The attractive lady, tilted her head slightly to the left and

took a long slow intake of breath, pursing her lips so they

opened a small amount, she examined the space Markus was

leaving, before she had a chance to interject Markus

continued his diatribe Why was I making them so worried?

Im always mindful to examine my life, moment-to-moment,

day-to-day, month-to-month and year-to-year. I am safe and

well, with you, swimming, climbing, I worry about me and Iknow Im safe with you and reassuring as life is, you are safe


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with me, I intend like Ginsburg to cut the swathe through the

forest to make the clearing Markus sank back in his chair,the room fell silent again and Markus and the young dark

haired lady were alone.

He glanced down at her breasts, she had upon her chest a

badge Dr Henderson, again she fastened her eyeline on

Markus face,How are you getting on with the Sertraline? Is

it helpful still? Markus turned to look out of the window,

the sunset was lotus flower orange. Its fine, yeah, perhaps

not as effective as it was, but I am trying to downdose now,

and I think that maybe I dont need it so much anymore as

the worst is over, I hope I am having crackin mood swings,

I feel like I have my head in the clouds and goes from not

really being emotional at all, to wanting to sob and sob and

totally breakdown he paused, Dr Henderson was pretty, her

face read freely that she was concerned, Ive never felt like

this before and really want to try and pinpoint the cause, I

want to get back to normal routines quickly, thats probably

the thing I miss the most Markus raised his head but at the

same time looked earnestly at his lap, his hands were still

and sitting neatly on his brown rabbit fur gloves. Doctor

Henderson smiled in agreement Yes, to get back to work

and normal routine would be beneficial, the worst, it haspassed, that is as long as you feel that the worst has passed?


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If there is anything, anything at all, just pop in and make a

sooner appointment, Im happy to refer you on if you wantme to. Markus smiled and thanked her, took to his feet in a

resolved and determined posture and declared Onward and

upward before shaking her hand and setting off through the

doorway.

As he drove his black Ford Capri along the A40, comfortably

ensconced in the generous bucket seats, the rainy weather

was the only problem, that and Cliff Richard on the radio, he

knew he had made a change, a small one, but nonetheless a

change. The children were in the back looking out at the

other cars; smiling gleefully out of the window willing and

daring other drivers to care enough to risk a smile to stretch

across their faces. Smiling big and pulling their mouths with

index fingers into all sorts of contortions one lady did

submit to the game but instead of a smile she illustrated an

amazingly convincing sad face, low at the corners of the

mouth which resulted in the kids falling about in hysterical

laughter, dismay and faux invalidation. It was then it struck

him again, like a freight train smashing through the happy

family car, a feeling of loss so colossal it was as though he

was a bottle which had been dropped from the window ofhis car at that exact moment on that motorway, at that exact


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27

speed a lifetime ago, a life that fractured into a million

shards and thump one of a million shards of his bottle, hisseeds of discomfort strewn through the distance travelled

had just lodged again in his mind and he was once more

standing in the middle of his broken heart, with the tatters

all around where once was a huge weather balloon bubble of

a heart, now there was only the stark light, the unprotected

sadness of the world, the echo of the explosion and the

afterimage burned into his eyes of the happiness now

diaspora and shredded.


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OVERGROUND

Chapter 3

Charlotte

Overground, the debut novel by Jackson Fife (Excerpt)

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Transcript of Overground, the debut novel by Jackson Fife (Excerpt)