Response to the electronic version was so positive that there’s now a paperback version too. So if you don’t have an eReader you haven’t lost out! Copies are available NOW from Amazon: CLICK for the Exit 39 paperback
An up-to-the-minute tragicomedy narrated into an iPhone by Crosby Ravensworth, a 35-year-old executive too busy to scatter his father’s ashes, or to sort out the dysfunctional family he has left behind, or even to decide which of the four women in his life he should connect to.
His father has committed suicide and the funeral is the first time for five years that Crosby meets any of his uneasy family – his stepmother (who never accepted him), his stepbrother (a priest), his half-sister (a businesswoman always on the phone like Crosby) and his youngest half-brother (out of work). Crosby leaves with a sealed box of his father’s papers, a last letter and the knowledge that, as executor, he is to scatter his father’s ashes at a quiet location in the Lake District. When he has time.
But what with his girlfriend thinking marriage, an ex-girlfriend thinking they should try again, a potential new love in America and his frantic business trips around Britain, as well as to Venice, Philadelphia and California, it seems everything conspires against him – or does it? Because, with any luck, even the darkest clouds have silver linings and this could be the beginning of a new life.
Meet the narrator, Crosby Ravensworth:
Why did my father kill himself?
In the suicide note he wrote, “I have chosen to take Exit 39 early.” What does that mean? “Sprinkle my ashes on the water and let the stream take me away.” He wants them scattered in the Lake District – which would take the best part of a day. Look, I’m a 24/7 kind of guy, married to my work, and my work takes me to some great places – Venice, California, Munich – even if I don’t get to spend much time in them (hardly any, to tell the truth). And I get to travel all over Britain to, well, Hartlepool, Carlisle, Birmingham . . .
I live in Staines.
At the start of my story I have a permanent girlfriend (a lovely girl with all too permanent ambitions) and an ex-girlfriend upstairs. Soon I shall meet a wonder-woman in America. And my brother’s girlfriend, with her long blonde hair and biking leathers. So I have to make some choices. Like, how much am I willing to take to keep this job? Should I aim higher or walk away? And which of these women should I . . . No, get real, Crosby, which of them would take me?
Above all, when will I find time to scatter these ashes? No one else in the family is interested. Not my cold-hearted stepmother who, when I turned up at the funeral, could only say, “Oh, you came.” Not my worthless brother Milo (as he now calls himself), Mother’s favourite. Not Roland, the priest, nor Gina, little Gina, who is now the high-powered executive I shall never be.
Until the funeral, I’d not seen any of these people for five years. That suits me; I don’t need them. I don’t need anybody.
Crosby, as you can see, has a lot to learn.
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