 |
||||||||
|
Phoenix FM Podcast - Mark Hayhurst AUTHOR INTERVIEW: Jessica Gregson
If you've read Friday at the Nobody Inn - you'll know what we are talking about when we say 'Steal this Song' Friday At The Nobody Inn - Mark Hayhurst Preview Jessica Gregson on The Noon Show What Mslexia are saying about us!  Click here to read more Three book deal for 'persistent' author
Free Book Group Reading Guide A Blues for Shindig
'I have never been better loved' - The Guardian Interview Mo Foster "I was nearly 70 and hadn't really believed I would ever get published when late in 2005 I was offered a two-book deal. My entire world changed. . ." |
Babers Apple
|
 Latest reviews: |
Podcasts New! |
Author Blog |
Extract from Baber's Apple - Baber's Excitement is Suspended Baber is jolted out of his sleep by suddenly raised voices from the front seat. Night has fallen. Ahead, a strip of light appears across the road. The car slows as it finds itself running up a funnel of cones. Torches flash. Baber leans forward to get a better view. Irena turns to him. ‘Checkpoint,' she says. ‘We need to show our papers.' Gregor turns off the engine, lowers the window and puts a wodge of documents into the hand that appears. Through his window, Baber sees a soldier in a khaki uniform. His boots are dusted into khaki, too. The only splash of colour about him is the purple turban on his head. With the floodlights behind him, his features are hidden. He is a hand and a turban. The rest of him melts away into deep shadow. Irena leans across her father and hands over her own papers. Baber feels excluded. After a minute or so, Irena's papers are handed back. A torch is flashed into the back of the car. ‘Open your window,' Irena says to Baber. Another hand appears – or the same hand reappears. ‘Give him your passport,' Irena says. ‘Oh!' Baber thinks for a moment. ‘It's in the boot,' he says, and pulls on the door handle. Irena grasps at his arm. ‘Stay in the car,' she hisses. It's too late, of course, because a fierce grip and a sharp tug from the soldier pulls Baber out of the car and propels him head first onto the dusty road. He lands on his hands and knees. Something metallic is thrust into the side of his neck. Then the first of two harrowing impacts, from a boot or a rifle butt, hits him in the thigh. It turns him over. Halfway onto his back, the second blow doubles Baber in half, his grazed hands rushing to cup his crunched balls. Through his empty retching, Baber can hear the car doors opening and closing, voices shouting, feet scuffling, blows landing. Gregor appears, crashing onto his shoulder in the dust beside Baber. There is blood running from a gash on the side of his head. Baber can hear Irena's voice, husky with tension, but the sentences seem to him to be shaped into reasoned arguments, brusque statements – instructions, almost. There is certainly nothing pleading in her tone. He hears the boot lid pop. Suitcase latches are clicked open. Plastic bags are rustled. Someone laughs. There is some more laughing. A soldier bends down to Baber. ‘I speak English,' he says. The way he says it, I can almost see his finger poking its way along the page under the words. His face is no more than six inches away. On his lips, Baber can see traces of Nan 's favourite pickle. He holds the cheese and pickle sandwich up in front of Baber's eyes. ‘Yah, is good,' he says. Then he says, ‘Sheese.' I don't suppose he knows the English for ‘sweet pickle'. He holds his other hand up. It has a fan of dollars in it. ‘Good boy,' he says. He throws something into Baber's face. It is his passport. Irena leans over Baber. Her face is closer to his than the soldier's was. It is clear from the freshness of her breath that she is not sampling one of Nan 's sandwiches. Her face is screwed up with anger. ‘You don't get out of the car. You don't piss with these guys. And you have your papers with you at all times.'
|
Latest news: |