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Blurb
The Life Assistance Agency finds itself at a loss after returning from Europe.
Ben is determind to stay away from anything involving Angels, when the phone rings to invite them to write the biography of a self-deluded singer from defunct rave group Elev-8.
At his mansion in Sussex they meet the singer's right-hand man, Billy `blind' Fury, a retired wrestler, and his beautiful secretary Amber. Both of whom have plans for the Life Assistance Agency far beyond writing down half-recalled anecdotes from the early 90s pop charts...
Unfinished Business is the second novel featuring the Life Assistance Agency. When you're in trouble whatever you do, don't give them a call....
At his mansion in Sussex they meet the singer's right-hand man, Billy `blind' Fury, a retired wrestler, and his beautiful secretary Amber. Both of whom have plans for the Life Assistance Agency far beyond writing down half-recalled anecdotes from the early 90s pop charts...
Unfinished Business is the second novel featuring the Life Assistance Agency. When you're in trouble whatever you do, don't give them a call....
EXTRACT
“Who reads the Fortean Times these days?” I asked, once we had sat down in Robin’s office. I remained embarrassed by being trapped in the lift.
“Oh you’d be surprised,” Robin replied and I prepared myself not to be. He had the compactness of a Lego figure. He was short, but present somehow; there was no inch of him wasted. His hair parting was mathematically precise. There was a meanness I’d not assumed in someone keeping an open mind to esoteric matters. I noticed a copy of Mirror and Lies on his desk. I had written it during clearer times. It was full of bookmarks, reminding me of Mr. Foxe’s copy that had got us mixed up with our previous case in Prague.
“There’s plenty of people with time on their hands,” Robin explained.
“…Who’ll be needing life assistance,” Scott added, instantly broadening our services to include wet-holiday activity suggestions.
“And your advert will complement the interview,” Robin confirmed, shooting the smile of someone who had sold advertising space for more money than it would ever earn the advertiser. I wanted to ask Scott since when we could afford advertising, but his expression suggested I focus on Robin, who had clicked on his dicta-phone and was looking at me expectantly.
“You’re one of the very few,” Robin said.
I knew what he meant, but made some joke about Battle of Britain airmen. Neither of us laughed.
“One of the few who’ve seen an angel,” he clarified.
I nodded. “I’m one of the few that’ve seen something while not under enemy fire, duress or in an imminent car crash.” I regretted this last bit, fearing it might too-perfectly sum up the interview. “There are never atheists in the fox hole.”
“You seem reluctant to name what you saw-” “Wouldn’t you be?”
Robin shrugged and pulled the sort of face always missing from transcripts of interviews. I reluctantly admitted what I might have seen, but played down how terrifying it had been.
“Something you recognised? An angel? Or was it at a funny angle?” He smiled.
“Of course not.” I paused, aware my default cynicism had kicked in. “There’s no such thing. As an angel I mean.”
I recognised the flicker of anger that had driven me to write Mirror and Lies, and the reasons for my disbelief. Cynicism bottlenecked in my throat, I struggled to speak, much less construct coherent arguments.
“So,” Robin encouraged, “a cynic seeing them…”
“Authenticates them?” Scott suggested.
Robin looked at him, to remind him he was not being interviewed. The angel’s gothic majesty flashed through my mind, recalling Rilke’s description that every angel is terrifying. Pain sprung behind my eyes.
“I doubt they need my authentication,” I said. “Probably not,” Robin agreed.
I shook my head. “You’re talking like there’s no doubt they exist.” I ignored the developing throb in my forehead. “There’s plenty of proof that they don’t. Just look around.”
We did, at an office surprisingly empty, bar its walls festooned with double page spreads of UFOs, Victorian mediums and a bloody great angel poster. It was a poor example.
“Just look at their obsession with the Middle East,” I said, rubbing my forehead and aware I was at risk of insulting the Arab world, although it was unlikely to read the Fortean Times. I leaned forward.
“If you had the sort of agency presumably available to angels,” I said, “where would you have appeared to Mohammed, Abraham, or anyone else with five minutes to spare to hallucinate? In the rolling beauty of South Africa, the lush peace of Wiltshire, or the barren desert of the Middle East?”
“Angels have agency?”
“Pardon?” Their agency had not been the thrust of my little speech.
“You said angels have agency?”
“Yes, I mean it seemed to, if I’d seen one. I mean, they appear and wars are caused over who saw them first. I can’t believe they take any public appearance lightly.” I was making them sound like the reclusive Kate Bush.
“So, you admit they exist?”
“If they exist, it’s not in the physical world. It’s in our minds, in belief and religion, in books and moldy tapestries. They belong to the collective consciousness, as an archetype. They’re shadows of our hopes.”
“So, you didn’t see one?”
Review Quotes
'Bloody loved it! Original, very clever, unusual and very funny. A seriously intriguing read!' - James Dreyfuss
'The book is great, every line is punchy as f***.' - Leo Kearse
'The book is great, every line is punchy as f***.' - Leo Kearse
Author
Thomas Hocknell was brought up in Kent. He knew the distance to central London from the foot of his childhood bed and moved there the first moment he could 23 years ago. He has been writing music reviews for Record Collector, The Metro, Classic Pop, BBC and Line of Best Fit while also practicing as a mental health social worker. He completed the Faber Academy course and published his debut, The Life Assistance Agency, in late 2016.
Buy Link
PUB DATE: 11th April 2019
ISBN: 9781912666256
PRICE: £8.99
EXTENT: 336 Pages
CATEGORY: Contemporary Fiction, historical mystery, paranormal, humour
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