Revenge- A fictional story

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Revenge.                Naushad Ali.

 

Chapter 1

It was the coldest night of the year yet. The village of Livingstone, on the Eastern Coast of England, was slightly quieter than the usual array of silence. Everyone seemed to be anticipating something, just like those at Grimond Hall. Beth Crooke was anxiously waiting, gazing at nothing but the door. ‘When would they come?’ was the only thought in her head. Rocking on her chair, she was knitting a scarf to take away the pain. Her hazel eyes were like little beacons in the midst of the ocean as the ships navigate their way around the bold illumination. She hadn’t showered in days so her ginger hair was frizzy and gave a nasty odour. Zoe, her only daughter, came rushing downstairs. Her lips whispered loudly to her mother’s ear, ‘They’re here.’

        She looked like her father with her sea blue eyes and nourished brown hair curled to her liking. She was taller than her mother and had the same figure but her character was totally contradistinctive. The long expected knock on the door finally came. Zoe scampered to her bedroom and hid under her bed. Her mother just sat there, still composed in knitting. Eventually, the knocking stopped and again, silence, only to be broken a few seconds later by the crashing of the front and rear doors and voices saying, ‘Quickly! Find her and arrest her!’

Mrs Crooke had no idea why this was happening but all she did know is that it was happening.

        The answer to this question starts a few weeks earlier. New neighbours had just moved into Livingstone. The Wombleton family, Robert, Julia and their daughters Natasha and Anne, moved to Livingstone from Chatham in Kent after having made a fortune on the property ladder. Pickbury House sat on the edge of village, nearest to entrance of MarleyBourne which is renowned for its extreme size and modern yet archaic architecture. It was covered in cobwebs and the paint was fading away.

Just as they had settled in, the Peterson family welcomed them into the village. Being the friendliest family, they brought them a bouquet of flowers, a box of chocolates and a card perfectly sealed with the family’s ancestral emblem. Helen Peterson knocked on the door as Mrs Wombleton opened the door. Julia was astonished by the shine of Helen’s blonde hair with brown streaks. Her seducing green eyes smiled at Julia as she was examining the height of Helen. Julia, however, was different. Her hair was mud brown and frizzy. You’d have never known that she had made her millions. She was a lot shorter than Helen and wore glasses, covering her brown eyes. Her clothes reflected her physical appearance. She wore a white t-shirt, bought from Primark, which had a coffee stain on it. Helen was still in her uniform because she had just come back from work. Her nurse’s dress was pristine white and her name tag with Aldeburgh Hospital engraved was perfectly positioned and aligned. ‘Good Afternoon,’ said Helen, smiling, revealing her straight, white teeth, ‘Welcome to Livingstone.’ She handed over the flowers, and her Husband, the chocolates and card.

‘Yes, good afternoon,’ replied Julia, ‘And who are you?’

‘And who are you?’ thought Helen. She immediately changed her thought on the new neighbour just because of these four unnecessary rude words, but being the kind hearted angel she is, she didn’t want to create a scene and carried on the conversation. ‘I am Helen and this is my Husband, Michael Peterson.’

‘Hello,’ said Michael with his deep, Scottish tongue. He was a retired army colonel having stepped down just two years ago, and because of that, he was smartly dressed wearing a white blazer and dark blue jeans. He was about the same height as Helen, if not taller and his hair was spiked up to reveal a scar on the side of his head which he had received during combat in Iraq. ‘We live opposite you in Pitch Cottage and thought that we’d give you a warm welcoming into our village,’ he continued, ‘Is it just yourself? Did you move here alone?’

‘No,’ responded Julia, ‘I’m here with my husband, Robert and my two daughters, Natasha and Anna.’

‘You have daughters?’ asked Helen, ‘We’ve one son called Andrew but he’s just gone out to Suffolk, but I’ll get him to come around once he’s free.’ She smiled.

‘That’s Okay, I’ll meet him anyway. Would you like to come in?’ proposed Julia, trying to be sociable but hoping they would decline her offer, which was in her thought generous.

‘No, no. We can’t stay. I’ve just got back from work as you can see and I have to get changed and make dinner and all those other time consuming doodahs that need doing.’

‘Ah, very well then. See you around!’ said Julia enthusiastically and began closing the door.

‘Bye,’ voiced the Peterson couple.

The moment the door closed, the friendly atmosphere changed and all that Michael could do was listen to his wife.

‘Who are you!?’ mentioned Helen, ‘I mean, how much ruder can you get? And the way she just closed the door. She’s obviously new to this upper class thing. What a fucking bitch!’

Michael was only able to think the same of his wife after she stated that but his politeness disallowed him from commenting.

        Meanwhile, back at Pickbury house, Julia was having similar thoughts, ‘…who does she think she is, a Hollywood actress?’ These are just some of the thoughts that Julia was whispering to herself although she did not realise. Her husband walked past her and was wondering what she was on about. ‘Are you okay darling?’

‘Yes, I’m fine!’ replied Julia, not at all sounding fine, ‘Why do you ask?’

‘No reason just thought you looked a bit tense. That’s all,’ lied Robert and walked out of the door to explore Livingstone.

Chapter 2

Everyone was gathered around the streets anticipating the arrival of, as some of Livingstone’s residents would say, the most important man of the village. The village is not the biggest of villages, and may not have many inhabitants but with everyone packed together on one street, it looked as if the whole County was there. Concurrently, MarleyBourne, the biggest house in the village, was being decorated and prepared by the housekeeper and his associates. It was a big day for them so a lot of cleaning had to be done.

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        ‘What’s all the fuss about?’ asked Natasha, ‘Why’s everyone like on the streets? Is it like a special day or something?’

‘I heard that a man called Ian Bourne is coming back to the village after 7 years,’ answered Robert, ‘He was sent to a mental asylum back then and has only just been released.’

‘What?’ Natasha had been confused, ‘So he’s got like a fucked up head or something?’

‘No need for that language, young girl!’ yelled Robert

‘Sorry! Calm down! Take a chill pill!’

‘Just shut up and go to your room! You’re so rude just like ...

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