The Adventures of Alice Creek

© Emily KnightISBN: 978 0 992643119This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and

incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Published by Emily Knight PublishingE-published 1st edition 2013E-published 2nd edition 2014 re-edited, with quote list.E-published 3rd edition 2016 new coverPaperback edition published 2015Cover Illustration Copyright © 2016 by Paul Humphries

Cover design by Paul Humphries Book design and production by Emily Knight Publishing.

www.alicecreek.co.uk

Chapter opening illustrations © 2013 Emily Knight.

Emily Knight asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

All rights reserved.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed upon the subsequent purchaser.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.

The Adventures of Alice Creek 1Chapter 1 - The First Step 7Chapter 2 - Train 24Chapter 3 - George 39Chapter 4 - Home 57Chapter 5 - Grandpa81Chapter 6 - The Bowler Hat Man 112Chapter 7 - Mallard 136Chapter 8 - Close Shave 159Chapter 9 - Leg Work 173Chapter 10 - History 189Chapter 11 - The Church 208Chapter 12 - News 230Chapter 13 - The Dream 253Chapter 14 - London 274Chapter 15 - George’s Street295Chapter 16 - Dinosaurs 314Chapter 17 - Waterloo 334Chapter 18 - Escape 355Chapter 19 - Storm 382Quotes from the book400

PrefaceThis book is dedicated to all those who had faith in me and said that I should

do it - so I did!

My special thanks go to Sophie Darton of Rushden, (England) who supported my haphazard editing attempts and encouraged me to keep going.

If you would like to know more about the author, please go to:www.alicecreek.co.uk

I love to hear from my readers: if you have an idea for Alice Creek’s next adventure that you would like to see in print with your name mentioned in the foreword, please email me at:

emilyknight@alicecreek.co.uk

or tweet to:

twitter: Emily Knight@alice_creek

and like at:

Facebook: Emily Knight @facebook.com

Special mention to the fabulously talented artist, Paul Humphries. paul_humphreys@talktalk.net who managed to put into artwork my inept attempts to describe how I imagined Alice and her cohorts to look. Many thanks Paul.

Chapter 1 - The First Step

“I hate bullies!” Alice vented her frustration towards the scuffed soft drinks can she was

relentlessly kicking along the pavement. “They’re thick!” Another sharp kick sent the can scudding along the uneven surface off to her left, meaning Alice had to side-step, then aim her next kick to angle the can back into the middle of the pavement. The haze of late-afternoon heat shimmered in the still air. “They can’t even speak … (another kick) … English!”

This time the can flew into the air, made a perfect arc, flashes of sunlight reflecting off its dented surface and then landed right outside number 22.

“I just wish they would all go away and be … crushed!” this last word was accompanied by a precise two feet direct-assault stamp onto the can. It crushed beautifully flat with a satisfying metallic crunch, a resulting, final emphatic puff of air pushed even more dust onto her new black school shoes.

Alice scowled at her discount-shop shoes as she pushed the low wooden gate open in front of her; the flaky green paintwork in keeping with the shabby small front council house garden. Both need a little T.L.C. she thought pensively. Alice ignored the warm wisps of Autumn leaves tangling with the discarded sweet wrappers along the path and walked up to the front door, she knocked loudly, twice.

“Who is it?” the low husky voice snapped from somewhere inside the house and it was categorically not welcoming and not encouraging.

“It’s only me Granddad,” Alice calmly replied, bending lower to speak through the letterbox as usual, not a hint of worry in her voice. Granddad was known to be crotchety. It was part of his personality.

Much the same as flaming red hair and clumsiness were part of her character. Alice just accepted them as she accepted her Granddad. She wouldn’t want to change anything about either of them, apart from her persistent asthma, that was. She would give anything to change that. Oh, and also to be able to bring Grandma back for Granddad, but she couldn’t do that either. So she was an asthmatic red-head and Granddad was a tetchy old man. Nature played out frustrating tricks on people all the time!

“Oh - come in then Alice love,” an edge of warmth crept into Granddad’s voice as he pulled open the front door, glaring at the hinges as they squeaked a protest at the unaccustomed use they were being put through. He wrapped a welcoming,

lean, sun-bronzed arm around Alice’s slender shoulders and ushered her through into the front room, sweeping the neatly folded newspaper (at the crossword), unceremoniously onto the floor so she could sit down on her favourite seat on the settee. “Cocoa and biscuit time is it?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder, as he disappeared into his small kitchen.

“Yes please Granddad,” Alice settled down into deeply comfy cushions and let the softness and familiar smell of the fabric soothe away the nastiness of the day. She sighed, taking in the faded, patterned carpet and the old, mismatched photo frames, lovingly cared for and reassuringly remembered.

Much better than home, where there would be nobody to fulfil that role until late that night, even then no warm welcome, and definitely, no welcoming snack. Unless Alice felt like cooking herself something. Unlikely, considering that, she had to clear the washing up in the kitchen left from the morning, then hoover so that when her Mum did come home, she didn’t have that reason to nag at Alice for ‘not doing anything’ since she’d been home from school! Sometimes, cooking something and then having to tidy it up, just didn’t seem worth it and Alice would simply go up to her bedroom, close the door and finally allow her imagination free-flight.

Indulgent, un-restrained mental conjuring which could enthral her into a world of dare-devil action, heroic feats and brave encounters with desperate people who could only succeed in conquering spine-chilling, mysterious enemies with her help.

But now, she was cocooned on Granddad’s old but luxuriously plump sofa with it’s slightly-ill fitting cream covers right in front of the television, being drawn into the same film Granddad had obviously been watching when she’d knocked on his door. ‘Murder on the Orient Express’. Old, adventure and mystery films always held a deep fascination for Alice, she would eagerly transport herself into the same world to be on board the train, with Hercule Poirot investigating the murders and catching the culprits. Great!

“Here you are love,” Granddad majestically brought through a tray with two mugs of steaming hot cocoa carefully positioned next to his treasured battered biscuit tin in the shape of a steam train. “I thought you might pop by today so I saved you your favourites!” he set the tray down slowly on the scratched coffee table and then looked pensively at Alice curled up on the cushions, transfixed by the images on the TV. Smiling, he slowly reached out and swivelled the tray round so that the open biscuit tin was now nearest to Alice. He nudged the tray slightly closer so that it just touched Alice’s knee to get her attention. He didn’t say anything else but watched intently, his body posture relaxed but his eyes glinted with interest as he noted Alice’s movements.

“Thank you Granddad,” Alice distractedly reached forward with her hand, feeling towards the tin, and without taking her eyes away from the television screen, reached in. She picked up a chocolate biscuit with a gold wrapper, unwrapped it and unconsciously put the wrapper in her coat pocket. She didn’t want to miss the steam train flashing along the tracks on the TV - Inspector Hercule Poirot was getting his man!

Sam Flaggerty’s breath caught in his throat, his face tense with concealed anticipation, his sharp eyes watching her actions with interest. It was so important that she had the right desire.

Her attention was focused on the excitement and intrigue of the film, she hadn’t even taken her coat off when she’d come in, just slumped down and relaxed. The action sequence with the steam train changed to one of an argument between a couple; Alice’s interest in the film wavered so she popped the last small bite into her mouth, licked her fingers indulgently, then leant forward to grasp the steaming mug of cocoa in both hands.

After taking a few cautious sips, she allowed the warming aroma to fill her nostrils, the sweet chocolate smell was intense and she inhaled deeply, appreciating the moment. Silence stretched. Granddad had switched off the television. She turned to look at him, taking in his broad shoulders, slightly stooped back, his strong jaw covered by a stubble of greying beard and his piercingly clear grey eyes hooded by bushy grey eyebrows. Some people called him forbidding, she knew him better.

“How are you Granddad?”“Not so bad Alice, not so bad,” Sam leaned back against the worn arm rest of

the sofa, tilting his head slightly, a note of concern entered his voice. “What about you? You seem a little tired today? Have you had a bad first day?” his voice was calm, slow and relaxed but his eyes were like those of a hawk, they missed nothing. At once taking in her tired face and frazzled appearance; he never pushed questions. He always cared enough to notice when Alice’s usually bright eyes, lost their lustre, or her clothes were slightly more disheveled than usual.

“Not a really bad day, but it’s just that …” Alice paused, replaced the mug onto the tray and stuffed her hands into her pockets. Her fingers restlessly fidgeted, it was difficult trying to explain to Granddad how different things were at school from his days. Absentmindedly, she rubbed the smooth gold wrapper in her pocket between her thumb and forefinger, she didn’t notice Granddad’s sudden twitch in his seat as if unforeseen strings had tweaked him. “It’s just that boys are so … annoying!” she turned her introspective gaze towards the quiet TV set; she couldn’t find the right words to express the maelstrom of emotions her new secondary school evoked. Alice raised her shoulders and then let them drop in explanation of how bad boys were.

“Why?” Granddad smiled, but didn’t move, or attempt to say something inept. Quietness was a trait he’d learned from his adored, beautiful wife, Emily, before she’d passed away from leukaemia two years ago. ‘Silence is a place of great power and healing’ she would tell him softly, as he sat by her hospital bedside while her medication took effect.

“They just don’t listen in class, and then the teacher has to say it all over again, and then we get let out late and then I get frustrated and go red in the face and then they laugh at me and then …” Alice paused to take a breath, she felt her chest constricting even now. “And then I need to use my inhaler and they find that funny! And they never talk English, just some stupid boy’s language that nobody else understands. A load of grunts and noises!” Alice ended on a decisive note, thrusting her left hand deeper into her pocket, reaching for her inhaler, her fingers curling around the familiar shape.

Pulling smoothly upwards, and placing it in her mouth, drawing on it for relief, two short puffs, a deep breath in and then the relief of air squeezing through into her lungs. Shoving the inhaler back, she sighed with dejected resentment mingled with the emotion which smouldered hot within her and frustrated tears nudged each other nearing the brink of freedom.

“I really wish Granddad, that I had something that they knew nothing about. Something really special that would just be my secret and it would give me the strength to ignore them. To make me different - but in a good way,” Alice blinked away the wetness threatening to fall and swallowed down the lump in her throat. She really had to stop being so incredibly emotional all the time. Taking her hands from her pockets, Alice leant her head forwards onto her folded hands and rested her elbows on her knees. She stared at the blank TV screen with unsettled, glistening eyes.

“ ‘A journey of a thousand miles begins with a simple step,’ ” Granddad quoted softly. “Maybe there is something?” Granddad sat quietly, watching as Alice turned

towards him. Silent tears making her green eyes shine like emeralds in the late afternoon sunlight filtering softly through the net curtains; red hair shimmering as she shook her head.

“Granddad, I don’t mean some story about your war escapades that nobody is supposed to know about because you’ve signed the official secrets act and everything,” Alice’s voice was more cutting than she’d intended; trying to hide her tears, she sounded slightly sarcastic.

She was used to her Granddad’s manner of quoting old proverbs - usually they were interesting and she loved hearing them, discussing them with him. But her disclosed private wish was too valuable to be explained away through a simple quote by an old Chinese philosopher called Laozi who probably never had school bullies when he was alive around 600 BC!

“There’s no need to be rude!” he rose silently, reaching for the tea tray, his back straight, carrying away the empty mugs and now closed biscuit tin, into the kitchen towards the back of the house.

There were only two rooms downstairs. The front room with the wall-mounted gas fire. The kitchen with its old pine table, scratched and dented through years of skilfully made home meals and batch-cooking jams and biscuits by her Grandmother - Emily, or Emy as Alice called her affectionately. Sulking however, was one of her Granddad’s skills.

“Granddad,” Alice sighed and got up. She hadn’t meant to be rude. It was Granddad’s sense of right and wrong, how to behave, and old-fashioned, reliable good manners which made Alice feel comfortable around him. He would always open doors for women. Always wait for Alice to sit down before he sat down if they were eating and always offered to carry her bag if he saw her walking down the street. It was nice. It was reassuring. It was very old fashioned.

She went into the kitchen, stood behind him as he ran the hot tap to fill the washing up bowl. She slid her thin arms around his waist, feeling the softness of his jumper against her cheek and smelt the familiar washing powder her Grandma Emy had always insisted on using. Alice squeezed her arms gently and sighed against his back.

“Granddad, I’m very sorry, that was very ungrateful of me,” she squeezed her arms again, a little tighter. “Sorry.”

“That’s alright,” Granddad turned round to look at her, keeping within the circle of her arms, he leant back against the kitchen sink, his back to the window. “Alice, you know - everybody has something which to them - it’s annoying, but to others - it’s what makes them special,” he paused, the running water from the sink pushed the suds over the lip of the washing up bowl behind him to overflow noisily into the sink. “You like the old film with the steam train then?”

“Yes, it was great,” Alice’s eyes shone with imagined pleasure; she moved backwards, to gesticulate, her hands waved in the air with excitement. “Imagine traveling on a steam train and having an adventure all at the same time. It would just be the best,” Alice’s hands stopped waving around her head and fell gently to rest on her Granddad’s arms.

Sam Flaggerty stood still and stared at his only grandchild, his eyes flickering over the features of her face. The determined chin, the slightly upturned nose, the soft scattering of freckles over her nose, the piercing green eyes, the incredibly long lashes hiding the shadows which appeared darker today. Maybe now was the right time. Maybe he should wait, but then who knows for how long? He made a decision.

“I’d like to show you something,” Granddad caught her hands in his, and led the way out of the shabby back door, across the small enclosed crazy-paved

walkway where the bins were stored and desperate grass poked through the path cracks and crevices.

He carried on, purposefully and in silence, up to a neatly stained, wooden shed. There was a small porch way over the gap, affording singular protection to just the person gaining entrance to the shed, almost as if only that person should have the audacity to be there anyway. Granddad twisted the key in the padlock and nudged open the door.

As he reached inside to switch on lights, Alice got a sudden blast of fresh air. Odd really, since there was very little breeze around on this still Autumn afternoon, and what was, was pretty much infused with dust and pollen.

Granddad motioned with a sense of urgency for her to quickly come inside and shut the door. She stepped up onto the raised wooden floorboards of Granddad’s prized sanctuary - his shed, and turned to pull the door firmly shut. She noticed the latches clicked smoothly and securely into place - strange that everything could work so perfectly here but nothing got fixed up in the house.

Alice could smell the faint odour of engine oil and some other lingering scents she couldn’t quite identify but she knew that she recognised them as she turned around and stared, letting her mouth drop open at the most incredible display right before her eyes.

Granddad took his old metal train whistle from its hanging nail on the wall and slid it over his head, allowing it to nestle comfortably on his chest, a soft sigh escaped. He reached over to switch on the main power to the shed, the fluorescent lights on the ceiling clicked and flickered more brightly, giving up the secrets of the shed in all their hushed wonderment.

The shed was a good size for the tiny garden afforded by number 22 Newvis Road. 8ft by 6ft, solidly built on a concrete plinth and then a raised timber floor surrounded by stained shiplap panels. The roof was covered with protective bitumen and inside had a layer of insulating padding. The walls displayed train posters advertising day trips in the heady days of steam travel when holidays were just beginning to be fashionable for the well-to-do society. The fitted strip lights on the ceiling hung suspended from the roof so that all the available space inside the shed could be used for its one main purpose.

There was one enormous train set, laid out on three levels, the track spiralling round the whole shed and across the now closed door. As the door had closed behind her, so the track came down to complete each circuit. And the trains! There were so many of them.

Alice just gawped, slowly taking in the complex array of points and sidings, of bridges and tunnels, fields with cows and towns with shops. Her eyes darted from one miniature wonder to the next. There were buildings of old churches with graveyards and detailed stations with indistinct people on platforms.

One train station in particular caught her eye, it was Bournemouth, where her Nana Emy had come from. Granddad must have made it just for her! It was a complete world! Why was Granddad showing her this now? Was he trying to tell her that this could be her special secret? It was fantastic, but was it really for her? Alice’s mouth eventually closed and she looked up in fascination at Granddad who had watched her increasing stupefaction with indulgent pride.

“Do they work?” she mouthed in subdued awe. It was as if, the possibility of a more miraculous event would make the whole thing disappear.

“Of course!” replied Granddad indignantly. He pointed towards the very end of the rectangular shed, furthest from where they were now. “The ones right up at the back, on the top track, need a little attention, some minor, ah …” Granddad paused, stopping himself from saying something, then continuing calmly. “Damage from use,

but every other train is in fine working order. Which one do you like ... particularly?” Granddad seemed to hold his breath, waiting for her answer, hoping to catch the first glimmer of excitement.

Alice took her time to scan the layout, appreciating the hours of detailed work necessary to create the beautiful, architecturally-correct buildings and landscape. She wondered if just one train would catch her eye. They were all so fabulous, the colours of the paintwork on the engines and the features on the carriages were fantastic. She shook her head, she really couldn’t choose.

“Alright, I’ll just run a few test trains and you can see them working,” Granddad switched on the control box and turned to concentrate on the multitude of adjustments necessary, his deft hands skimming lightly over the switches and dials altering the current and direction of each electrified track.

Alice saw first one train, then a second, and then a third, slowly begin to move around the tracks. She was convinced that they would crash at the intersections, but Granddad knew what he was doing. All his long, solitary hours spent re-running and tweaking were worth it. The points were carefully timed so that the trains navigated each junction perfectly.

“You can get a little closer, if you’d like,” Granddad almost seemed to catch his breath on the end of his words. He watched Alice intently. “How about the green train there – that one is called the Bournemouth Belle.”

Alice focused on the model train Granddad had pointed out, she leant forwards to get a closer look as it passed right in front of her eyes on the very edge of the middle track, its tiny wheels blurred in motion. The engine was dark green, imposing in character with a smooth flat front and a short stumpy chimney. The dark green metal encasing the firebox and boiler shone brightly and the three large driver wheels on each side were huge - almost as tall as the boiler.

She stood, transfixed at the sight of the trains as they rattled by her, exact miniature copies of reality in their own Lilliputian world. The aura of the set drew her in, lights flickered around her and Alice felt herself being absorbed by the vibration of the train, its intricate precision creating its own utopia.

She could hear Granddad explaining about each train in turn, it’s history, the people on each carriage, even down to a man with a black bowler hat in the third carriage along on such and such train, but the words seemed to be coming from a long way away.

The trains and their whirring, click-clacking wheels were sucking Alice in towards the glinting swirls of dust motes which shimmered in the light beams splaying out from the tiny windows of the buildings over their miniature world.

She believed in the world Granddad was describing – that each train’s history ran with it, in the very train itself. Alice was captivated by a particular train which came round the outside track directly towards her - The Bournemouth Belle. She crouched down, to get even closer, her nose millimetres away from the tiny, thin strip of metal track, and peered into the carriages as they whizzed by. Alice didn’t notice Granddad flick a switch on the side of the master box then step slightly back from the track and reverently remove his hands from the switches, the track developed its own luminosity.

Alice started suddenly; her breath sticking in her throat, she gripped the bench support, not wanting to move – not believing what she saw, she glanced nervously over to her Grandfather.

Granddad Flaggerty smiled, but didn’t move, and Alice looked again as the train passed by her on its circular route. Round and round, and each time Alice stared closer she saw the images of people inside the train becoming clearer, features more defined.

She focused on a tall, darkly-dressed figure in the very last carriage, he appeared to be wearing a thick overcoat with a black hat. In the second to last carriage, Alice saw a woman dressed in black hanging tightly onto the hand of a young boy who was tugging her, leading towards the front of the train.

Curious, Alice leaned even closer, feeling the puff of air move against her cheek as the engine whistled past, a distinct smell of acrid smoke made her nostrils flare and Alice wondered what the boy in the third carriage so desperately could have wanted to show his reluctant mother. She could even see the the boy’s flat cap bobbing as he earnestly cajoled the woman to move past the dining tables in the carriage.

A sudden puff of smoke smarted her eyes and her vision became blurred, the air she was breathing grew thick in her lungs and her chest struggled, Alice felt the ground beneath her feet tremor and she thought desperately that she was going to faint. The noises around her were fading, the smooth oak bench and rough shiplap walls were becoming grey and nondescript, the bright posters blurring together into a swirl.

Reaching out to desperately grasp the solid lip of the track layout, her limbs felt so heavy that she could barely move them, it was as if gravity had been directly increased and attached to her hands, pulling them downwards and dragging her body with them. Her head ached and she let it drop through sudden immense fatigue, blackness surrounded her.

The ground was swaying, unbalancing her. At the same time as the sudden blackness was sucked away, Alice immediately felt herself pressed up against something cold and hard, flattening her back and bruising her head.

She forced open her eyes against the pain of a sudden blinding headache and saw the other side of a train carriage - not a wooden shed!