On the morning of Wednesday 24th June, Morley Tremain lay, between sleeping and waking, Vaguely aware of familiar sounds from the shop below and from the street. Every now and then came the jangling of the shop door-bell, a sound which had been part of the background of his life for as long as he could remember. And there were voices, his mother’s and the customers’, audible only as a confused murmer. Down the street, the baker, who had a hole in the roof of his mouth, was loading wire trays of cakes and bread into his van and greeting passers-by in his garbled speech.
Morley opened his eyes and looked at the clock. Half-past eight. He was on holiday, in the second week of his annual leave from his job at the clay works. He was a wages clerk, though his mother told people that he was an accountant. The sun was shining as it had been for four or five days and, through the window with its little square panes, he could see blue sky above the roofs of the houses opposite….
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I can’t wait to do a little blog hopping myself and check out all the great Book Beginnings you have!