Chapter One

John Davidson is anything but extraordinary. You would only need to take one look at him to realize that he is your average, everyday kind of guy – a typical Millennial, with dreams that far outstretch his actual capabilities. By day, John cares for unfortunate souls who have succumbed to Alzheimer’s disease at a local care home. By night, as a means of venting his overly-excited imagination and chronic depression, he is an author (although his work has not yet received much attention, nor any meaningful financial gain).

Despite having lived a semi solitary lifestyle, John eventually found and married the love of his life, his true soulmate – Hannah – and together they bore a child who they both amicably chose to name – Lucy. Not long after Lucy’s fourth birthday, John and his wife decided that they should move to a new location; one that would help to ease their limited income and be closer to both their families.

“How about this one?” John eagerly pointed out a three-bedroom terraced house to Hannah on their laptop’s screen. “It’s bigger than where we are now...and cheaper too. What do you think?” Hannah grunted back, with a dismissive shrug. She was nervous about relocating, as their present home was situated right in the centre of town and what neighbours they had were quiet - perfect. The part of Newton Escomb in County Durham, which John was presently fixating his attention on, had gained notoriety for drug dealing and anti-social behaviour - although this should be noted as being merely hearsay.

“Looks...nice,” muttered Hannah, under her breath. However, she found an instant disdain for the aged architecture and obvious small garden space. “How much is it a month? ”

“Let’s see...where’s the rent price?” John peered through the endless small print in search of the elusive figures. Eventually, he found them and gleamed back at Hannah with an enthusiastic smirk. “Three-fifty. That’s not bad...not bad at all. Just think of what we could do with the extra cash we’ll save!” John’s tremoring fingertips moved his laptop’s cursor over the ‘submit application’ icon, preparing to activate it at any given second. Hannah slowly nodded back in agreement to her husband, though with a subtle hint of reluctance present within her hazel eyes.

“Are you really sure about this, John?” whispered Hannah, anxiously. “I know it’s expensive living here, but we’re happy – aren’t we?” John’s premature ecstasy quickly fell into despair. He and Hannah had talked about this move for over a month now, so why the sudden change of heart?

“Of course, I’m sure!” countered John, with a look of frustration. “We’re doing this for Lucy. I’m sick of having to buy her cheap, shitty clothes. I want to treat our princess.” John angrily swiped the cursor away from the ‘submit’ button, confused beyond any reasoning as to where he and Hannah now stood on this fickle subject. “We’ve already gone over this, Han. Are you not wanting to move now?” He gasped, wearily. Hannah herself gave out a remorseful sigh in response. It was more the fact, that she had grown accustomed to their current lifestyle - albeit one stricken with borderline poverty. Without further word, Hannah repositioned the cursor herself and smiled back sincerely to her husband.

“I do as well, John. I want a better life for Lucy.” implored Hannah. I’m just a little scared, that’s all. We’ve lived here for six years now – this has been a good home to us. I’m worried about how Lucy will adapt too...it’s such a big change for her. ”

“I know,” replied John, exhaling in a sympathetic manner. It was clearly apparent to Hannah, though it unsettled her more, that this concern also lingered in John’s thoughts. “She’s only a bairn...kids adapt well to change. I know I did, after Mam and Dad divorced when I was ten. At least we’re not forcing that bombshell on her.”

“Never!” snapped Hannah, lovingly in response, as she leant in to John for a wantful kiss. “I love you, John. I know you’re doing this for our benefit...it’s just so much to take in.” John kissed Hannah again before returning to his laptop. An overwhelming sense of pleasure now coursed through his veins.

“Here we go, then!” John playfully tapped to initiate the cursor on-screen. Within minutes, their housing application had been accepted – the reality hitting both Hannah and John hard, that they were going to leave the settled life they knew behind and what lay before them, now seemingly remained a joyful mystery.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” quipped John, with a casual wink. “I’d best phone Dad to see if he has one of his vans free sometime next week. You know how busy he gets this time of year – delivering eBay parcels and all those unwanted Christmas presents.” Hannah grunted in detest once again. Moving just after the festive period, in her mind, was ridiculous and so ill-thought.

“You’ve only been speaking to one another for a few months now...are you sure Dennis will help us move?” she seethed, knowing all-too-well that John had not yet even mentioned involving his biological father in the move .

“Dad’s alright...we’ve gotten over things now.” mumbled John, bitterly. He hated talking about this period in his life, where John and his father went for two years without saying a word to one another. “I know that he’ll help us out. I’ve already messaged him about us wanting to move.” John deliberately kept his eyes from meeting with Hannah’s; she had a keen ability to sense when he was not telling the truth. “Seriously, we’re cool now – chill out!”

“Aye, for sure.” chuckled Hannah, with a contemptuous glare. “Don’t leave it last minute to phone him; his memory is just as bad as yours, John!” She formed a satisfied grin and then tightly folded her arms together. “You know I’m right.”

“You, what?” sneered John, his mouth opened wide in shock. “There’s nothing wrong with my memory and you needn’t talk...ya cheeky bitch.”

“Whatever.” dismissed Hannah, with a flail of her arms. “Anyway, I’ll pick Lucy up from school today. At least where we’re moving to is closer - where is it again?”

“Seventy-One, Skipton Road; Newton Escomb; DL5 6G6.” said John in an instructive tone. “You’ll need to tell your work about our move and the new address. I’ll sort out the Council Tax and other bills...so don’t worry about them, okay?”

“Fine.” retorted Hannah in a brisk fashion. “You go on like I’m an idiot, John. You’re such a knob, sometimes.” John released a barrage of dirty laughter in response to this insult. You can do better than that, Han , he thought. Hannah quickly switched off the Kindle she was reading and then left to collect their daughter from school, without any further word given.

“Give Lucy a big kiss from me when you see her!” emphasized John, while ardently watching his wife walk away from their home. “Love you!” He left it a few more tense seconds before moving his laptop’s cursor onto a hidden tab. “That should give me half an hour or so.” John formed a widened smile and began rubbing his hands together eagerly. “Now for a bit of ‘Me’ time. ”

Suddenly, John’s cell phone burst into song. “For fuck’s sake!” His chosen ringtone was Streams of Whiskey by ‘The Pogues’, only because he smiled inside every time it rang. It didn’t this time. “01388...who the fuck?” John swiped the answer button across on his smartphone to accept, trying not to reveal any anger as he responded. “Hello?!”

“Hello and good afternoon, Mr. Davidson.” replied the nuisance caller. His voice was over-exaggerated in pronunciation, just like the old BBC reporters from many years ago. “My name is Christopher. I am calling on behalf of your new landlord...who themselves wish to remain anonymous.” John slowly licked at his parched lips. The disappointment of not having any ‘alone’ time swiftly left from him.

“Yes, speaking.” answered John, in his politest ‘phone voice’. “Are you calling about the house on Skipton Road...number seventy-one?” The caller coughed awkwardly; it seemed that they were strangely apprehensive for some reason. “Hello?!”

“Yes, Mr. Davidson. This call is just to let you know that your bid has been successful. You will need to call into our offices at some point to sign the necessary documents.”

“That’s great!” declared John. His fingers were trembling more now but not from his usual anxiety, from anticipation. “When can I get the keys, then?” The caller hesitated for a few more seconds. The irritating sound of typing resounded through John’s ears, his thinning patience almost at boiling point now. “I want this to be a quick move.”

“Whenever you are ready, Mr. Davidson.” The caller seemed surprised himself to be saying this. “The landlord has noted that they want new tenants in as soon as possible. ”

“By, that’s quick!” gasped John. “I work twelve-hour shifts in a care home, so the next chance I’ll get will be in a few days. Is that okay?” The static white-noise crackling between them irritated John further, and why was the caller so reluctant to answer?

“This address has been unoccupied for some time; the present landlord seems desperate himself for anyone to move in. No credit checks are required. Is next Wednesday okay?” whispered the caller; his reason for speaking in this coy way still remained unclear. “They’re even willing to waver the usual admin costs to speed up this agreement between yourselves. It’s your lucky day!” John licked at his lips hungrily - more money to be saved.

“Sounds fine to me,” assured John. “I’ll have to speak with my wife, but I can’t see there being a problem.”

“Fantastic, Mr. Davidson.” The caller sounded far-too overjoyed at John’s willingness and naivety. “On second thoughts, I will send out the documents and keys to you...don’t worry about coming to see me. Congratulations, Mr. Davidson!” The line fell dead abruptly.

Everything was happening so fast now for John. After a few deep breaths to calm himself, he carefully placed his laptop back into its previous position, praying that he could now use it and without being bothered again.

“What a fucking pleb,” chuntered John, as he initiated the laptop. Despite him having a close and adventurous relationship with Hannah, John found that old habits die hard. He loved playing on his retro video games, whenever a free moment arose, which was very rare these days. “I only have fifteen minutes now...bollocks.” John’s eyes scoured across his laptop’s screen toward a secretive tab, which he always had in waiting for such moments of personal enjoyment. The internet page in question, housed an emulator that allowed you to play ‘Super Mario 64’ – John’s favourite. “You...beauty! ”

“John?!” shouted the familiar voice of his neighbour, as she peered through the living room’s window - yet another, unwanted disturbance. “Let me in! I’ve just seen Hannah!” It was Janice. Any other time, John would have been glad to share in a black coffee and cigarette with his friendly neighbour, though not right this second. “Howay! Let me in!”

“Won’t be a moment, Jan!” replied John, his face moulding into one of a disappointed expression. “I’m coming...” John hurriedly ushered Janice inside his humble abode. She already had a cigarette in hand, aiming it towards his mouth with a lighter in the other.

“Alright, John? Have you stopped smoking yet?” questioned Janice, with a judgemental stare. “I’ve just bought a sleeve off a friend for thirty-quid. You can have some if you like?”

“I haven’t got much chance in stopping with you around, have I?” laughed John, though he still took the cigarette from Janice anyway. “Not when you’re making offers like that to me – Jesus.”

“There’s worse habits, hun.” Janice flickered her lighter under his tremoring lips, igniting the pungent tobacco between them; calming the anxious tensions that had risen from making such a huge change in his life. “At least you’re not smoking ‘wacky-backy’. John shrugged his shoulders, whilst taking the first draw from a strong cigarette in over three weeks. A cocktail of guilt and self-satisfaction now coursed through him.

“Too expensive – that stuff, plus it stinks of dog shit.” he chortled, trying not to cough on the painful wave of tar-laden smoke. “I had a space-cake in Amsterdam a few years back...never again.” Janice cackled at this apparent confession. “What? Do you not believe me, like?”

“Bollocks!” boasted Janice, as she swiped her cigarette through the air. “You’re a light-weight, John...always have been.” John laughed back politely. “You know I’m right. ”

“I’m guessing, Hannah told you about us moving?” John had to question, desperate to break the ice; his guilt-ridden conscience now increasing with every passing second. Janice took in a few more draws herself, before hugging into John tightly.

“Ya daft sod! What are you moving away for?” Janice’s voice crackled with a distant melancholy. “Bernie and I don’t want you to go.” John frowned and tightened his own grip around Janice’s torso. “We’ve grown to like you.”

“We’re doing it for Lucy...to give her a better life.” John tried to explain, calmly. “The rent’s cheaper, plus, we’ll be closer to our family at Skipton Road.” Janice’s face instantly fell into a fearful expression. “What?”

“Skipton Road ...that’s where you’re moving to?” Janice took in several more draws. “Fuck me, John. Really?!” John inhaled a lengthy and agonising wave of tobacco smoke himself, unsure as to why Janice had reacted in this way. “Bloody Hell.”

“Aye, Skipton Road. What’s wrong with that, like?” John accepted another cigarette from Janice’s never-ending supply. “It’s no-worse than any other street in England.”

“John...hunny,” Janice exhaled slowly. Her hands then began to shake in an uncontrollable manner. She tried to contain the falling ashes from her cigarette with John’s stale coffee mug, which he had neglected to consume prior to her visit. “Skipton Road is a fucking drug’s den. How is that a better life for Lucy?”

“No - it’s not, Jan. That’s a crock of shit.” said John, visibly bemused. “It might have been that way in the eighties. Nowhere is perfect these days.” he sighed. “There was a stabbing in this street only a couple of months ago, can you not remember?”

“That doesn’t count.” countered Janice, with a staccato-like precision. “Emily stabbed that bloke because he tried to mug her...it was self-defence! What would you have done?! ”

“He cheated on her, Jan. That’s why Emily stabbed him! He was her boyfriend, not to mention a dirty-bastard-creep.” John detested how these violent acts were becoming more frequent. It was like living on a talk show, with drama present around every corner. “We’re moving next week, by the way. I just need to sign the papers when they arrive.”

“Have you not heard any of the horror stories about Skipton Road?” Janice’s eyes flared with a hopeful glint. “It’s a bad area, John.” She took in another lengthy draw. “Seriously.”

“Like I said, we’re moving there, maybe next week, whether you like it or not, Jan. There’s horror stories for every road on this town, for God’s sake.” sneered John. He moved his window’s blinds further aside, desperate to see Lucy’s smiling face as an escape from this present inquisition. “Hannah is happy to move there as well. I am sorry , Jan. It’s nothing personal, like...we’ll stay in touch with you. I promise.” Janice motioned back towards the doorway, her entire body language shifting to suggest how dismayed she was with John and his stubbornness.

“You’ll regret it, Love.” she whispered tenderly, like a mother scolding their child. “But, if it’s what you want...go ahead. You better stay in touch with us.”

“Of course, we will.” responded John, with a stern tone. “It goes without saying, you’ll be the first invited to our house-warming party.” Janice intensified her maternal stare.

“If it’s at Skipton Road, I’d rather pass on the offer, hun...no offense.” Janice’s voice wavered again in dread. “Take care, John. See you around, maybe?” She took it upon herself to leave and, to John’s further annoyance, forgot to leave him any spare cigarettes as she would do normally.

Now finally alone again, John glared over towards his laptop in want of reliving his childhood days. However, the resurging desire to satiate his need for nicotine had grown stronger than ever .

“Great! What I wouldn’t do for another tab.” lamented John. A familiar shooting pain in the temples, associated with his lack of nicotine, soon rose to torment him. “She could have left me even just one tab...for fuck’s sake, man.”

Suddenly, John’s cell phone blared out ‘The Pogues’ again. It was rapidly losing any past, humorous appeal. “Now, what?” The displayed number was instantly recognizable to him; it was Barbara – John’s mother-in-law. “Hi, Barb. How are you doing?”

“Hi, John!” Barbara seemed overly happy with her opening line. “I hear, you’re finally going to move home?”

“Aye.” said John frankly, while checking through the blinds for his elusive family. “Hannah’s been on the phone to you already ?”

“Yes, pet. Hannah called me a few minutes ago with the good news.” Barbara gave out a gleeful squeak, deafening John momentarily. “I’m so glad you’re moving closer to us. It’ll be so much better for Lucy.” John edged his way into the kitchen towards the fridge, in dire aim of retrieving a cold can of lager from within it. The beer would hardly replace his renewed lust for nicotine, but it was better than nothing.

“News travels faster through your Hannah than it does with the British tabloids.” jested John. He tried to discreetly open his can out of earshot from Barbara. “What’s Hannah told you?”

“She just said, that you’re moving closer to us.” Barbara’s voice had a hint of curiosity in it that John had now accustomed himself to. “Which street is your new house in? Hannah didn’t say.” John took a few sips from his frothy beverage and immediately choked. It was super-strength, at least nine-percent, and ran down his throat more like treacle than lager; a gift he had willingly accepted from Hannah’s father - Ivan .

“Skipton Road. It’s just down from the ‘Tin Donkey’ pub.” An eerie silence followed from Barbara, though John used this to his advantage by taking in a few more gulps of rancid alcohol (without spluttering this time).

“Oh, that will be change from where you are in Bourbon Close.” stammered Barbara. John instantly knew that his mother-in-law disproved of where he was relocating her youngest offspring. “Isn’t it...quite rough around there?”

“It’s no different from any other street on this town, Barb.” John’s voice hinted at some irritation. The beer, to his dismay, was having little effect on calming his shaken nerves. “We’re might be moving in next week. I was just about to call Dad to arrange for one of his vans.”

“Sorry, sweetheart.” responded Barbara, her tone still noticeably unsettled. “I’ll let you crack on, you’ll have so much to sort out. Send my love to Hannah and Lucy. I’ll pop over later.”

“Cheers, Barb. I just want Hannah and Lucy to be happy, that’s all.” assured John, with little effect. “I’ll let you know what’s happening. Please, don’t worry about us.”

“Okay, Love. I’ll see you tonight...” Barbara quickly ended the call, something she had never done with John before.

“Bloody Hell. I didn’t think I’d be getting this much grief!” John was becoming steadily enraged. After releasing a few angry grunts, he poured the remaining beer into his kitchen’s sink. “The last thing I need is to be getting hooked on that shit again. Fucking gut-rot.” John then seated himself upon his worn, leather sofa. The daunting prospect of moving home now firmly cemented in his troubled mind. “Maybe...I am rushing into this?”

Hannah and Lucy were unusually late, so instead of looking out the window like a gawking, peeping-tom for them; John used this time to type in his father’s phone number, activating a call between them. Thankfully, it didn’t take long for a response .

“Alright, Son?” John’s father was barely audible on answering; he was using his hands-free kit. All that John could hear, were the whooshing noises of passing cars and nineties trance music booming in the background. More irritation. “I’m...driving...A1...”

“Dad, can you hear me?” shouted John at his phone’s shaking screen. “Turn your music down!” Gradually, all that remained was the sound of speeding cars and his father’s occasional gear change. 

“Sorry about that, Son. I can hear you fine.” bellowed Dennis, John’s father, and more understandable now. “I’m on my way to London at the minute, the frickin’ traffic down here is radge! It’s going to be a long day!”

“Nightmare, Dad.” chuckled John, though with a hidden and dire concern for his father’s safety. Dennis had recently suffered from a horrific stroke, although he had managed to make a ‘full’ recovery. “Be careful, and don’t get caught out by the congestion charge again!”

“Oh, Aye!” responded Dennis, amongst some guttural laughter. “The bastards caught me out big-time, didn’t they? How’s Hannah and Lucy doing?” 

“Well, Dad, that’s why I’m calling you.” moaned John, almost apologetically. “We’re moving to Skipton Road next week. Is there any chance of borrowing one of your vans?” The line went quiet for a few seconds. John prepared himself for yet another lecture.

“It’s a bit short notice, Son.” whined Dennis, with reluctance streaming through his drawn-out words. “I’ll do my best to keep a van free, alright? And I’ll ask one of my lads to help you as well. If it’s Ronnie, just give him fifty-quid and a few cans of cider - that should square him up.”

“Thanks, Dad.” John gasped in relief – one less thing to worry about. Dennis turned his trance music back up, a familiar signal that their conversation was coming to its end. “I know that you’re busy, Dad, so I’ll text you sometime during this week to arrange things. ”

“No bother. Take care, Son.” John’s phone fell silent again. It was nearly four o’clock, an hour after his family should have returned. Only the worst, however unlikely, scenarios now trickled through John’s comprehension: they could have been knocked down by a car or, even worse, chosen not to return at all. Moving home can be so stressful , he contemplated.

“Where are they?” John peeked through his blinds again. He could smell the stale alcohol on his breath, but there was so little time to hide this now. “It shouldn’t have taken this long...” Just down the road, two small figures eventually emerged - they were Hannah and Lucy. Hannah was difficult for John to distinguish at first. She was wearing a thick winter coat, with only her long, mousey hair creeping out from under its furry hood to serve as a clarifying feature. Lucy was wearing her new school uniform. With her curly, blonde hair, traipsing down the full breadth of her own thick coat; she looked so tiny – far too young to be away from her parents’ side.  John could hear Hannah and Lucy singing nursery rhymes to one another, each so blissfully unaware of the distress their lapse in punctuality had caused to him. “About, bloody , time.”

“Daddy!” screeched Lucy, on seeing her father. “We have a new house!” she kept repeating, ardently. For a four-year-old child, Lucy was extremely intelligent, though still very naïve in many other ways. How his daughter would react, after leaving the comfort of her only home so far, was John’s greatest worry at this present time. He reached down for his coffee mug, stupidly forgetting that Janice had stubbed her cigarette out in it, hoping to somehow freshen his putrid breath with its curdling contents. John immediately spat the cold remnants of ash and caffeine back into his cup, disgusted and ashamed by his need to rely on such a destructive substance – the same one that had already caused so much upset between himself and Hannah .

“Hi, sweetheart!” shouted John from the doorway, whilst opening his arms to invite Lucy’s welcomed embrace. “I’ve missed you, babe. How was school today?” Lucy gently placed a finger over her mouth, as if suggesting it was a huge secret, and rolled her eyes up sideways. John imagined her doing various, fun activities but doubted his daughter would reply likewise. “Have you been a good girl today?”

“Yes, Daddy.” sang Lucy, her expression bashful and filled with joy. “Mummy said, that we have a new house...where is it?” John discreetly laughed to himself, recounting each reprimand he had just received for mentioning the infamous ‘Skipton Road’.

“I’ll show you after dinner, alright?” John leant down to kiss Lucy on her brow. As he looked up towards Hannah, it was plain to see that she had a grave look on her face. “What’s wrong now?”

“I’m just a little nervous still...” Hannah swiftly brushed by John to get inside their home, omitting the kiss which he had anticipated from her. “We haven’t even seen it yet. Those pictures you showed me, they can’t tell you what the neighbours and house are going to be like. I’m not sure if this is a good idea now.”

“Don’t listen to what others say about the estate,” said John tenderly. He didn’t want to make matters any worse by causing an argument – he never won them anyway. “We’ll have a look later on for ourselves. Until today, I hadn’t heard one bad thing about that street.” John’s attempt to calm Hannah’s reserve sadly lacked the effect he wanted. She hurriedly removed Lucy’s coat and ordered for her to go upstairs and play, leaving both herself and John to stand in an uncomfortable silence for a few more seconds.

“Dad’s sorting out a van for us next week.” assured John, with a pitiful squeal, hoping to break the current stalemate. “He’s down London today making a big delivery. ”

“Good for him!” snapped Hannah, showing little interest in Dennis’ endeavours. “Did you remind Den about the congestion charges? He’s been caught out twice now!” She folded her arms and gave John a look to say: like father, like son. John even accepted the harsh fact himself, that his memory was uncommonly terrible.

“Yeah...he knows.” sniggered John. “I’ll make us some fajitas for dinner - so don’t be long getting changed.” He could just make out a few choice words coming from Hannah, as she stormed upstairs, and they weren’t endearing. “Doesn’t matter, Darlin’. Take as long as you need...” John looked down at his phone again, surprised that he had not received any more calls. John checked his Facebook account – no messages; then his emails – nothing there either. After rubbing at his tired eyes, John then swiped through a personal playlist he had recently made on YouTube.

“What a day,” sighed John with a lengthy yawn, as he scrolled down the endless stream of artist names and hashtags. “Some ‘Joy Division’ should do the trick. John inadvertently chose the song: She’s lost control - not the greatest decision he could have made, since Hannah mistook it to be a personal jibe from her husband.

“John, turn that shit off – it’s so depressing!” commanded Hannah from Lucy’s room, upstairs. John grumbled in objection to his wife’s apparent lack of musical taste, he had hoped his own would have worn off on her by now. John continued to scroll through his never-ending playlist in a pleasant daze.

“How about this one, then?” he called out, enthusiastically. Within seconds, the first few chords from Don’t dictate by ‘Penetration’ started to play. “They’re from ‘round here...this band. Proper music! ”

“Stop taking the piss, John!” Hannah’s voice had risen, become more frustrated, and signalled to her husband that his own tastes were not being appreciated. “Put something we all like on!”

“Fine...” John whimsically subjected himself to Hannah’s overpowering will. He swiped across his phone’s screen with a furious precision. “There you go!” The song he now chose, to suppress Hannah’s fury, was Hazard by ‘Richard Marx’. This decision seemed to go down well with Hannah (she aimed no further insults at her husband afterwards). “She used to love the sun go down... ” hummed John in tune, as he started to delicately slice away at some red onions. Tears began to form in his eyes and he was unsure as to whether they were caused by the acidic fumes or mounting pressure presently building up inside. “Get a grip of yourself, John.” he thought to himself. “You need to be strong for Hannah and Lucy, tears don’t solve anything – that’s what Dad always said.”

“Is dinner ready, Daddy?” whined Lucy, in a high-pitched squeal. “I’m so hungry!” she emphasised, successfully forcing John into an unwilling guilt-trip with little exertion needed. “My tummy hurts!”

“Nearly ready, babe!” John shouted back, over the crackling sounds of sizzling chicken and shrivelling vegetables. “Come down and set the table for Mummy and Daddy, please!” Tiny footsteps soon bounded down the staircase, which itself lay just above where John now stood. “Like a herd of elephants, you two!” he joked. “Come on, you’re not the only ones who are hungry!” John and his small family sat down for their evening meal, with his playlist set onto shuffle mode (much to Hannah’s further annoyance).

“You listen to some weird music, John.” laughed Hannah, as she took in a few painful mouthfuls of spicy fajita sauce. “That’s why I love you though...you’re so random.”

“Thanks!” spluttered John, with a mouthful of burning sauce himself. “Hurry up and finish. We’ll go see the new house when you do. ”

“Yes!” exclaimed Lucy. “I want to see it now! I want to see my new house!” Hannah playfully scrubbed at her daughter’s hair, then looked to John with raised eyebrows.

“At least someone is looking forward to moving...” chuntered John, easing some of his fermented frustration. Hannah raised her eyebrows even higher with a contempt stare to follow. “I’m just saying, Han. I’ve had nothing but grief from people about moving to Skipton Road...it’s doing my head in.”

“If you’re moving us to a shit-hole, John, I’m leaving you...and I’m not kidding.” Hannah said this as a joke, but John failed to see the funny side of it. “Lighten up a little, hun. I’m only messing with you.”

“Aye.” whispered John, anxiously. His meal seemed to take on a more bitter taste now. “There’s nothing wrong with that area.” he snapped without warning, taking both Hannah and Lucy by surprise. “I don’t want another word said against it, alright? I’m doing my best.” Hannah lowered her eyes away from John, secretly angered by his attempt to silence what concerns she had. Her husband did suffer from chronic anxiety and depression, but this didn’t justify the way he was talking to her. “I don’t mean to take it out on you...”

During the remainder of their meal, Hannah and John ate without speaking; both reluctant to fall further out of favour with the other. Lucy whistled away to herself quite happily, innocent to what troubles lingered in the surrounding, tense atmosphere.

“Howay, you two – finish up.” implored John. He was being cautious with his tone now as he, Hannah and Lucy placed their cutlery upon the empty plates in front of them. “Let’s go take a look...the suspense is killing me.”

“I swear to God, John.” growled Hannah, through gritted teeth, deliberately trying not to attract her daughter’s attention. “If it’s a dive...we are not living there. I’d rather stay put here. ”

“Give it chance, please , Han. Don’t you be giving me grief as well.” begged John, with pathetic looking ‘puppy-dog’ eyes. “It can’t be all that bad...can it?”

“From what I’ve heard today - yeah.” replied Hannah, ominously. “Mum says...”

“Just...give it a bloody chance, man.” John slid himself away from the table, his patience growing fouler by the second. “We’ll see for ourselves soon enough...won’t we?”

“I guess so?” Hannah begrudgingly accepted John’s lack of empathy. She and Lucy then made it into their passageway, where they spent five minutes cladding themselves with numerous layers of clothing – it was February, after-all. “Are you coming, John?”

“I’m sick of all the crap I’ve been getting today. I’m absolutely fed up with it!” despaired John, whilst fighting with his hoodie’s zip to close it. “It’s like...I can’t do anything right. It’s doing my head in.”

“I know , John.” Hannah’s response was forced and, somewhat, resentful. “At least it’s not too far away. Come on, Lucy. Outside, please.” Lucy reached out for her favourite Barbie doll; it was stripped naked and had borne the brunt of her artistic crayon skills, looking more like a figure from the TV show ‘Hammer House of Horrors’ than anything else. Lucy quickly sped past her parents, jumped out from the open doorway, and proceeded to skip down the street – luckily in the right direction.

“Don’t run off, Lucy! We won’t be able to keep up with you!” pleaded John (being overweight certainly made it a struggle to match his daughter’s agile pace). “She takes after you, Han.” he sniggered to his wife, who herself was now keeping a comfortable distance away from him. “Please don’t be cross with me, Han. I’ve got enough stress going on at the minute, for God’s sake.” John held out a wanting hand to his wife; it shook tremendously through the desperation being fed into it. “Look, I’m sorry for being such a dick.” Hannah couldn’t help but smile at this affirmation. “I’m...sorry. ”

“I wish I recorded you saying that,” snorted Hannah, while slowly wrapping her fingers around John’s. “Anyway, I’m starting to feel more excited about this move...it’ll be a fresh start for us.”

“It will, hun.” John placed a firm kiss upon Hannah’s hand and face. “One door closes - another one opens, they say.”    

Skipton Road was a mere ten-minute walk away from Bourbon Close; it actually took John and his family twenty minutes, due to Lucy slowly skipping for most of the way. A small, make-shift bridge separated Skipton Road from Newton Escomb’s town centre. Beneath the dainty causeway, a thin stream ran across the whole length of Skipton Road’s housing estate; it was murky, clouded by sediment from the recent rainfall and smelled heavily of rat urine.

“Don’t lean over the bridge, Lucy! You’ll fall in!” screamed Hannah, as her child clasped onto its rusty railings. “Be careful, for goodness sake!”

“I’m looking for fish, Mammy. I want to find Nemo.” Lucy replied in a stern manner, much like her mother would (when disappointed with her), even down to the forced frown and raised eyebrows. “I can’t see any though, they must have all swam away. Poor Nemo.” John investigated the stream himself, trying desperately not to gag on the sickening stench of wet rodents that lay nearby. “Can you see any, Daddy?”

“There’s no fish, sweetheart, but plenty of pennies!” replied John, in an exaggerated voice to Lucy. “Should we make a wish? It looks like a lot of other people have.” Hannah laughed to herself faintly, with her eyes rolling in disapproval to John’s innocent gesture. “What...do you not believe in magic, Han?” mocked John, whimsically. “You’ll upset the river faeries thinking that way. I believe in magic...so should you. ”

“If it helps get rid of all the bad luck we’ve been having - I’m all for it.” whined Hannah. She gently released her tightened hold from Lucy, just so that the child had enough space to move her arms. “Careful...”

“Come on, Daddy.” stammered Lucy, excitedly, with her hands held out in anticipation. “Can I have some pennies to throw into the magic river? pretty-please!”

“Here...” John fed a hand into his jean pockets, brushing aside his phone, his half-empty lighter and an old toffee wrapper (which he couldn’t remember placing there), eventually finding a single pound coin that he then quickly gave to Lucy. “Don’t tell anyone what you’re wishing for, otherwise, the spell won’t work!” he murmured, hoping to highlight the mystery. “Make it count!”

“I wish...I wish...” whispered Lucy, with her hands placed together as if in prayer. “Oh, I wish...”

“Please, just throw the coin in, Lucy.” pleaded Hannah, her lips shivering from the passing, cold breeze. “It’s bloody freezing out here...” Lucy threw her golden coin into the murky depths without further thought. It gradually sank to join countless other wishes, many of which were likely unanswered. “There’s a good girl. Now, hold onto Daddy’s hands and don’t wander off, okay?” Lucy nodded her head and clasped onto John’s arms lovingly, his hands being far too cold to touch.

A dense haze eerily lingered in the surrounding air, as John and his family moved closer towards Skipton Road. Newton Escomb had been founded on foggy marshland, which during the Second World War was perfect to hide a secret ammunition factory there. It was nothing more than a frequent nuisance now. 

“Nearly there,” said John, through his chattering teeth. “It’s just around the corner.” Lucy suddenly gasped and pointed through the growing mist. “What’s the matter, sweetheart? ”

“Look, Daddy! There’s a park!” Lucy pulled at her father’s arms with an astonishing level of strength, dragging both over to the nearby play area. “Can we go play there? Please!”

“I don’t think we have any time to...” John instinctively looked across to Hannah. He hated not giving Lucy what she wanted, but also knew how much his wife despised being out in the cold for longer than was necessary.  “Maybe another day, Lucy? It’s too cold at the moment.” John kept his eyes firmly upon Hannah’s. “It looks like a nice area so far, Han. There’s a place for Lucy to play and it’s not too far from the town centre.”

“John, I’m freezing my tit-ends off out here...hurry up!” snapped Hannah, her face momentarily flushing with a scarlet hue. “You can play there tomorrow after school, Lucy, I promise.” she said in a gentler tone to her daughter. “It’s nearly dark now. There’ll be naughty boys and girls hanging around there.”

“Okay, Mummy.” Lucy clasped onto John’s arms again, then together they carried on along a narrow, tarmacked path. The pathway itself, led up a muggy embankment and at its end lay a small row of terraced houses.

“So, this is the notorious Skipton Road...Spooky!” taunted John, whilst wavering his fingertips manically like a demented pianist. “What do you think, Han?” He looked again to his doting wife for her reluctant verdict. “It looks alright to me.”

“Why are they...black?” questioned Hannah, as she sunk her face further into her coat’s furry hood. “That’s...strange.”

“It just adds to the character, doesn’t it?” replied John, his resolve ever-stubborn and absolute. “I bet, that they’re nice and warm inside...better than where we are now.” he said, while Lucy rubbed their hands together to form some wanted heat. The fog at this point had become thicker, steadily unbearable, and made the houses in front appear like towering shadows within the haunting midst .

“The house number is Seventy-One, isn’t it?” chuntered   Hannah, while moving over to stand closer beside John, yearning for his comforting touch. The trio then stared at Skipton Road’s foreboding structures like lost children; they were curious in amazement, yet also greatly confounded. “I think, it’s that one over there.” John glanced to where Hannah fixated her glare. A glimmering, golden sign faintly displayed the mentioned numbers.

“Aye, that’s the one, Han.” confirmed John, with a child-like grin. “I have a good feeling about this street. Just think, this time next week, we’ll be moved in and all our worries will be in the past. It’ll be a new era in our lives.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” sneered Hannah, dismissively. “Let’s go back home; it’s getting colder by the minute.”

“Do you not want a closer look?” John tilted his head in dismay and quickly sighed like a disenchanted teenager. “I’m back at work tomorrow, Han, this’ll be my only chance before the weekend to see what we’re throwing our money into.”

“It’s freezing out here and the fog’s getting worse too. No.” growled Hannah, barely able to motion her rigid lips. “You can stay, John, but we’re going. Lucy, come here with Mummy.” She hastily grabbed onto Lucy’s hands, tearing them both away from John’s despairing presence. “Bye, John.” she declared, from over her left shoulder. “See you later.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming...” whimpered John, his face grimacing with disappointment. He looked once more at the blurry, black houses. John could swear that someone was watching them in the distance, though he didn’t want to increase his wife’s risen temper by investigating (for someone so quiet, Hannah could have a vicious tongue when she wanted to). “This time next week...” John nodded gladly. “This time next week. ”

“Look what I’ve found, Mummy!” Lucy yanked at her mother’s arms, aiming them towards the muddy embankment beside their pathway. “It’s so pretty! I want it!” Amongst the dirty shards of grass, and under one of the sparing street lamps, lay a single strand of tattered, crimson cloth. A very peculiar find.

“Don’t touch it, Lucy!” Hannah’s whole face contorted at the very sight of the tattered cloth. “Who knows where that’s been? A dog could have peed in it. Come one, sweetheart, before you catch a cold.” The crimson cloth sank further into its shallow grave; what past beauty the ribbon had was now corrupted by filth, neglect and time. “Howay, John! I want to go home!” John caught a fleeting glimpse of the tattered ribbon as he walked by it. He wondered whether it had fallen from a baby’s stroller, or maybe some kid dropped it on their walk home from school. “Please, John. This place is starting to give me the creeps!”

“Fuck’s sake, man. I’m going as quick as I can...” muffled John to himself, angrily. “I can’t see anything wrong with this street. You should never judge a book by its cover...”