SimonW
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The House On The Lane
Chapter 1: One Hundred and Thirty-First Somerset Drive
There was nothing particularly unusual about the house upon the corner between Somerset Drive and Montane Street, a small cozy suburban house that had one floor above the ground floor that was insulated with brick and mortar foundations and walls during the Winter seasons. The ramshackle tiled roof was stable enough that it could possibly survive another twenty years before needing a replacement fixture.
Two corners of the house was at an angle to the concrete street, displaying two windows upon each siding of the house, dependent on which side of the house you would be facing.
The front corner that curved around the streets was protected by a well maintained lawn that acted as a front yard to the quaint property, a cornerstone cobbled pathway leading from the surrounding mesh wire fence gate that led up to the house, snaking up to the patio steps that had a polished wooden small stairway of wood leading up onto the property’s front doorway.
One would say it wasn’t a normal looking house by any means. But it was hardly the fault of anyone that a house like this was built the way it looked, as opposed to the other houses in the neighbourhood that were situated in proper alignment to society’s standards.
As the sun was at it’s zenith in the midday glare of luncheon, the society ladies of known repute sat awkwardly around the living room’s oaken table that was being hosted at this house of lesser known reputation. Their hostess, a Miss Mary Pritchard, seemed unaware to the awkwardness as she struggled mentally to keep up with their way of doing things, having been surprised to be unannounced as hostess to this gathering of slightly older busybody women in the neighbourhood. It was not a surprise, Mary admitted to herself, that she preferred to remain alone at her home that her parents had recently bequeathed to her after they passed away three years ago and she had to give up her city life for a more subdued one in a Suburban town called Richmond.
But, Mary was slightly curious as to why she was finally drawn into this circle of gossip that, on occasion, was a bother to the neighbourhood in question. The matriarch of this gaggle of hens was a Mrs. Audrey Gresto, a forty year old burly woman whom prided dressing above her station and had all the eloquence of a pit bull terrier in heat. But, Mary Pritchard did admire that behind the gruff exterior, there was a deep rooted kindness within those dark brown eyes that was forthright and blunt in the statements Mrs. Gresto blatantly announced as facts.
“There is no good from number two-oh-nine, let me tell you. My husband had learnt they proposed another loan from the bank he works at,” declared Mrs. Audrey Gresto with gusto, her point being pronounced by her sipping her tea from the tea cup and clattering it back down upon the matching saucer with reckless abandon.
The other four ladies seated around the table murmured with nods of agreement at this slight tidbit of information. Only Mary seemed to frown in scrutiny towards this idle gossip.
“But, the Marcels seemed so put together. Financially I mean,” she muttered in distressed thought, which only swayed the attention of Mrs. Gresto to tut in mild annoyance.
“Yes, well appearance isn’t everything, my dear,” Audrey Gresto said in mild annoyance, knowing full well she was being hypocritical on purpose.
“Not that they are in our jurisdiction, Audrey,” stated matter of factly Mrs. Heather Hudson, indicating the implications that the local gossip only spread so far as the block within their lived in streets.
Mrs. Audrey Gresto seemed slightly affronted by the implication that Mrs. Hudson was hinting towards, but just huffed slightly in response without wanting to waste her fury amongst her friends.
“That may as well be, but it does make one worry about the neighbourhood and what it is coming to,” Mrs. Irene Fletcher said with vindication, her sixty year old hands lightly trembling until she grasped her purple purse bag straps in her palms to calm her nerves.
The last one seated at the table said nothing as she reflected thoughtfully whilst sipping her tea. Mrs. Teresa Brooks thought calmly to herself, the thirty six year old the youngest at the table was processing her thoughts until they were interrupted by a sudden outburst of speech from Mrs. Gresto.
“Well, whatever the case, there is no doubt that trouble is brewing upon the horizon. Mark my words,” ominously foretold Mrs. Audrey Gresto with a definitive nod of her head and an air of confidence that made the other four women seated around the table nod in unison.
( to be continued… )
Chapter 1: One Hundred and Thirty-First Somerset Drive
There was nothing particularly unusual about the house upon the corner between Somerset Drive and Montane Street, a small cozy suburban house that had one floor above the ground floor that was insulated with brick and mortar foundations and walls during the Winter seasons. The ramshackle tiled roof was stable enough that it could possibly survive another twenty years before needing a replacement fixture.
Two corners of the house was at an angle to the concrete street, displaying two windows upon each siding of the house, dependent on which side of the house you would be facing.
The front corner that curved around the streets was protected by a well maintained lawn that acted as a front yard to the quaint property, a cornerstone cobbled pathway leading from the surrounding mesh wire fence gate that led up to the house, snaking up to the patio steps that had a polished wooden small stairway of wood leading up onto the property’s front doorway.
One would say it wasn’t a normal looking house by any means. But it was hardly the fault of anyone that a house like this was built the way it looked, as opposed to the other houses in the neighbourhood that were situated in proper alignment to society’s standards.
As the sun was at it’s zenith in the midday glare of luncheon, the society ladies of known repute sat awkwardly around the living room’s oaken table that was being hosted at this house of lesser known reputation. Their hostess, a Miss Mary Pritchard, seemed unaware to the awkwardness as she struggled mentally to keep up with their way of doing things, having been surprised to be unannounced as hostess to this gathering of slightly older busybody women in the neighbourhood. It was not a surprise, Mary admitted to herself, that she preferred to remain alone at her home that her parents had recently bequeathed to her after they passed away three years ago and she had to give up her city life for a more subdued one in a Suburban town called Richmond.
But, Mary was slightly curious as to why she was finally drawn into this circle of gossip that, on occasion, was a bother to the neighbourhood in question. The matriarch of this gaggle of hens was a Mrs. Audrey Gresto, a forty year old burly woman whom prided dressing above her station and had all the eloquence of a pit bull terrier in heat. But, Mary Pritchard did admire that behind the gruff exterior, there was a deep rooted kindness within those dark brown eyes that was forthright and blunt in the statements Mrs. Gresto blatantly announced as facts.
“There is no good from number two-oh-nine, let me tell you. My husband had learnt they proposed another loan from the bank he works at,” declared Mrs. Audrey Gresto with gusto, her point being pronounced by her sipping her tea from the tea cup and clattering it back down upon the matching saucer with reckless abandon.
The other four ladies seated around the table murmured with nods of agreement at this slight tidbit of information. Only Mary seemed to frown in scrutiny towards this idle gossip.
“But, the Marcels seemed so put together. Financially I mean,” she muttered in distressed thought, which only swayed the attention of Mrs. Gresto to tut in mild annoyance.
“Yes, well appearance isn’t everything, my dear,” Audrey Gresto said in mild annoyance, knowing full well she was being hypocritical on purpose.
“Not that they are in our jurisdiction, Audrey,” stated matter of factly Mrs. Heather Hudson, indicating the implications that the local gossip only spread so far as the block within their lived in streets.
Mrs. Audrey Gresto seemed slightly affronted by the implication that Mrs. Hudson was hinting towards, but just huffed slightly in response without wanting to waste her fury amongst her friends.
“That may as well be, but it does make one worry about the neighbourhood and what it is coming to,” Mrs. Irene Fletcher said with vindication, her sixty year old hands lightly trembling until she grasped her purple purse bag straps in her palms to calm her nerves.
The last one seated at the table said nothing as she reflected thoughtfully whilst sipping her tea. Mrs. Teresa Brooks thought calmly to herself, the thirty six year old the youngest at the table was processing her thoughts until they were interrupted by a sudden outburst of speech from Mrs. Gresto.
“Well, whatever the case, there is no doubt that trouble is brewing upon the horizon. Mark my words,” ominously foretold Mrs. Audrey Gresto with a definitive nod of her head and an air of confidence that made the other four women seated around the table nod in unison.
( to be continued… )
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