Needles in a Haystack

They are looking for tinny needles in a ravaged haystack! Jostling for funding making claim and counter claims, while people struggle to gain some sort of life. I thought to myself as I plunged the toilet brush down and around the u-bend, giving the toilet another good dowsing of cleaner.

This is defiantly going to be a defining Tilly Moment, I smile to myself. I took a few moments to watch the vortex suck the cleaner away. It’s like needles in a haystack on a farmyard of disgruntled animals, I considered with the loo brush suspended in thought. There are a lot of fluffy ducks; I chuckled as I attacked the floor with gusto, a Cockrill, a grumpy donkey that is flogged for being slow. A picture of an idyllic scene popped in my head as the idea gained momentum. Where there are animals, there is normally a lot of… well stinky manure to clean; that’s the story of my life I shruged as I turn on the shower with my determined furrowed brow. I pull up my rubber gloves.

This analogy sums up our knowledge of ME/CFS, Fibromyalgia, MS, coeliac and Alzheimer’s, I continued thinking as I rammed the double duvet in washing in the machine. The salesman had said it would take a king size duvet, but it don’t, frustration started to set in, coupled with my anger, I decided the best cause of action was to sit and write.

If you take the haystack as the central nervous system with the many complex issues hidden inside, that haystack contained within a farmyard (the body of the patient) with many animals (cells, organs, glands and limbs) around it, that are being damaged by ME/CFS (the needles). Even though it has been proven beyond any doubt the needles are there, not everyone accepts this – they cannot see/find the needles, so dismiss the damage being done, choosing to impart the blame to all sorts of behavioural disorders. I purpose it’s not their fault? They don’t appear to possess the intelligence to understand we still do not know all there is to know about the human body. I sip the hot coffee and think. Perhaps they are like the pre-Socratic philosophers who; bless them, believed that the world was flat. Philosophers are full of barmy ideas, but you cannot reason with them, they are all knowing.
Unfortunately the people that have proven the needles exist don’t know what the needles are made from, or how to find them. This means they cannot find the right magnet to locate or get rid of the needles before long-term damage is done.

The poor farmer (the brain or in our case Angus) has been running around shouting about the danger, but no one has been listening. His animals are being hurt (animals being the organs, glands and limbs) are in pain as the needles surge through his/their body. I hold the steamer in mid-air as I once again try to get rid of the toffee on the cooker. I think the Philosophers are barmy, I giggle as I start to write my outline of a story. Here I am thinking in terms of sheep and pigs as though it would make ME more understandable, well it makes it more fun, so I make a coffee and give the story my full attention.

The farmer, I thought needs all of his animals to be fit and healthy, as they make up the ecosystem which makes the farmer’s beautiful and diverse farm. But the longer this situation carries on the more dishevelled his haystack becomes, no matter how hard he tries to rebuild his haystack, another wind comes and blows it down. The animals then are left to forage around picking up bits of hay, and are then in danger of finding the tinny needles and consume them or roll around in them. No graphic illustration needed of what could happen to the animals.

Now the Mother of the farmer has being witnessing his plight, and has watched over a long period, helping as much as she can. She understands that the best thing for the farmer and his animals, is that a huge magnet, but knows the right one has yet to be found or made. Maintenance is the only option open to her for now.
She constantly runs around all the people she can think of to find out how and when the winds will come and bring yet more needles. Some dismiss her and don’t understand about the needles and the winds, which she is surprised about. The concept of winds carrying needles are not new – coughs and sneezes spread diseases.

The wind however is like a swirl of nature that hits at unreasonable times and by the time the disbelieving people come and see the farm; her farmer son has cleared up and hidden the damage. He is a very proud and hardworking farmer, which loves his ecosystem and wants it to work properly. He wants everyone to see the beauty of his farm and not the chaos. His ecosystem runs around plugging gaps as best they can, but they are fighting a loosing battle.

For now the farmers mother has put a huge cover over the haystack, she knows it’s not strong enough if the winds come down again, she knows the animals will nest, pull at and rummage through the haystack, but it is the best she can do for now. The ecosystem shows its determination, but how long can this now flimsy covering contain those sharp implements of destruction? She also knows the cover keeps the haystack dry and brittle and at any moment could burn out! Then how would they be able to sustain the farm animals? She has taken the farmer inside the farmhouse for a rest. But the farmer is all forlorn without his farm and the friends that help him to maintain it all. His mind wont rest, he needs to get on.

People come and go with their new brooms and sweep, taking all the good hay away with them. She shoos them away, but they come back with bigger brooms. She is a strong and determined Mother but that does not bode well to the people who still believe the world is flat and that, positive thought techniques is the only thing that could possibly drive a body to wellness.
At last it’s time to put the animals away for the night and the farmer and his mother start to run around the farm trying to catch chickens, the three Billy goats gruff, geese, fluffy and the not so fluffy ducks, find and catch the errant pig, convince the stubborn donkey it’s time to go in its stable and cuddle daisy the cow. They fall in a heap and laugh about their topsy turvy days. They dream separately for a while of the farm they know they could have.

When  the farmyard falls quiet and the farmer is asleep at last, the farmers mother goes out to the haystack and has a closer look, ties down, as best she can the flimsy covering. Sweeps the debris and pushes it under, hoping it will be contained and out of harm’s way. She walks slowly to the hill near the duck pond; her favourite spot. Her faithful dogs by her side, she starts to wonder at the magic the farm holds, as the sun sinks on another exhausting day, where the animals have ran rampant through the haystack.

She reflects on when they found a beautiful butterfly struggling to fly in the wind. How they both giggled with joy when they caught it, and put it in the huge greenhouse full of plants so that it could be free to fly without the winds hindrance. How it danced and bobbed around on the warm breeze of the ventilation fans. She hopes they will be able to see it tomorrow. But you can never tell with butterflies, fleeting beauties as they are. Perhaps she can draw one. She looks across the sky to see the stars and the silvery moon, there are a lot of things to marvel at and a lot of people that will never take the time to see what happens to be in-front of them. She hoped that she was not one of those people.

We had once been told that the world was flat and if we set sail we would drop off the end, and look how that ended, she smiled to herself. What if we just took the word of those people who said our world was flat? She remembered she had been told that infants didn’t feel pain when they teethed, and that nappy rash was most defiantly not caused by the infant teething, when it was so clearly the cause, she started to giggle. Scientists said it was impossible that Bees could fly, due to the aerodynamics of their shape, but they do. ‘I love honey’, the farmer’s mother laughed to herself. ‘Sometimes’ she whispered out loud, ‘we see and we don’t look, we hear but we don’t listen, we think we know, but simply, we don’t understand.’

Most people choose not to listen to her, for she is just the farmer’s mother, and no one will listen to her farmer son, as he is considered too young to know what the world is about. Worst of all, some think he would rather have a dishevelled farm with no ecosystem. How little some intelligent people want to understand, or open their mind to. But as always there is money to be made in muck. She sighed and her shoulders sagged.

She had read that Katerina Netolicka, a Prada Model, died from working out too much, she was only 26. Rowing as hard as he could didn’t do Andrew Marr any good either, and that Henry Worsley died after developing a serious gut infection, when he had pushed his body to the point of no return, he was only 55. He thought he just needed to rest and recoup. Why is it that we think we can push our bodies so hard with no detrimental effects? She mutters as she looks across at the purple huge that covers the slumbering farm, they don’t see the chaos because they don’t look for it, they can just deny it happens, because we all cover it up.

She looked out over the flat land with its shades of purple darkness and up to the moon, now plump and round in the sky, if only they lifted their chins and really looked at that the silvery moon, they would understand that this world is round, full and slightly surreal, and that’s ok! If only they could offer a blanket to keep her warm, so that she may enjoy the moon and not fight the cold of despair, it would be a help.


Change what you can, and learn to live with what is left, she softly said to herself.

Prof Julia Newman has found some very interesting needles

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0UFTngBp7ek

And here with Simon Ellis they give a good understanding to the full round picture emerging of the complexities of ME.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=auFEYiDrJts

They need all our support and encouragement! One day I feel sure, they will come up with an answer for us. A day where we can go to a doctor and feel confident they will understand, and do no more harm to us!

The Joy of Her

A while ago a very dear friend wanted some help writing down a story that contained her thoughts. She had cared for her mum through her illnes and as often happens when someone you love and depend on leaves you - so many emotions curl you up into a tight ball of sorrow, called grief.

Like the roses here (taken from Pearl's garden) as the tight buds opened up the beauty wrapped within the flowers uncurled, you could see the love blosom.

The Joy of Her

I see the joy of my mum in roses, her gentle ways, the way she wrapped us up in petals of love but I don’t think she knew how to nurture us as she nurtured her garden. I think that was our gift to her.
 
She was brought up in a time when no encouragement was deemed necessary I suppose, but it would have been nice to have heard the words ‘you did good!’ I sort of took it personally until I decided to plant the rose bush in celebration of her joy. I got to thinking; which is probably my problem of over analysing life, it’s the times we live in I think. We have to be accountable for each action we give a child these days, not the same for mum. She just wanted a family, it was enough and I guess we didn’t have to achieve to make her happy and being proud just wasn’t her thing, giving love was more my mum’s style.

As I dig the hole to bury the strong roots of the rose bush I have chosen and as I look at them I see my foundation from which my family has grown. Each branch strong and sturdy with shoots of beauty ready to flourish if I tend to them. It was then I understood why she loved gardening and arranging flowers so much. Lovingly you put everything you have into it, and at a distance – you admire. With us it was the same she watered and fed us, our every needs were met, and not until now – as my hands feel the earth have I given it a thought. She nurtured her grandchildren because she could not love them as she had us. She had to stand back and enjoy her love blooming through us to our kids. God I hope I can learn that lesson – how to back off and let my boys grow, enabling them to find their own roots so they too can bloom.

She had an acceptance in life that many of us take a lifetime to try to achieve, scholars spend decades trying to reach the Zen like state she found so easy. I’m not sure how deep the resentment of that quality goes actually. She had a profound inability to tell us off as children, I saw it as a weakness that always ended in laughter. Through her illness – that took her away from us bit by bit, she refused to try to understand it. That simplistic acceptance made me so angry at times. I now see it as a strength I envy.

Cooking, being with her family, holidays to Portugal, playing cards was her enjoyment but it was the looks and words she gave her grandchildren that was her joy. It’s what I miss the most and as I stand back and look on at all the rose bushes that glisten in the summers rain, for the first time I can see my glory. So why am I so angry? I have so often thought about this while in my garden tending my flowers and I think it was because I never told her or allowed myself to see it…. that I have finally seen and understood what she saw so clearly…. my beauty.

To Pearl and her family

X

I hope you  agree she did 'do good' and I'm very proud of her. Lots of love

Parallel Universe Part 7 With love from Tilly x

This is for a friend with my love, I hope it gives you strength x

I sit here looking back on the parallel of our lives. His, taking him all over the world and yet he was alone and trapped but doing what he loved. Inverted in my universe where I was grounded to a home, alone and trapped but doing what I loved.

When our singular universes collided uniting our independent spheres we both knew that we would have to learn to live with each other. Relationships forged out of necessity to protect the children. I found out that Ian had tracked me down after Zara had seen Sophie in her school uniform and confirmed via a few pictures on my facebook.

I had grown to understand that his younger self could not commit. I truly believe he loved me but his mistress played with him remorsefully and made him dance her tune. But his mistress had lost her lustre and he found she was made of fools gold.

Christmas was breathtaking. Zara and Rafe are now my close friends and Francesca had learnt her boundaries and could be quiet entertaining, especially under Henry’s influence. I still feel trapped, crying out to be my own woman. I will be forever beholden to a family that my children call their own. I am grateful, just trapped.

I’ve taken Honey for a good long walk the house is tidy beyond tidy and I look at the clock again. This is the hardest thing of all being on your own, waiting for your children to come home. I have time now but no money to spend on doing things. I can’t compete with Ian’s financial position and not wanting to take away the fun money has to offer, I stand back but I do become resentful. I am here just for the discipline, cleaning and cooking. I drop and pick up the children outside the house though I’m made to feel welcome. I know if I saw him go out with someone I would not cope. Silly I know but there we go. Life still is a bit shitty.

My phone buzzed as I knew it would they were going to stay the night with Auntie Zara. I thought that being Valentines Day they would like to be alone, I was sure Rafe was taking Zara out.  I remembered that I hadn’t opened the cards the kids had left me so I went into the kitchen.

Henry’s Valentine was hand made with a miss shaped heart and a big kiss right in the middle he had drawn Sophie on it too. I started to cry. I cry at everything, always have. I braced myself for Sophie’s she always picked a good card that would have me blubbering for hours if not days. Deep breath, I cut my finger on the envelopes edge and had to leave reading it as the blood flow would not stop. I found a plaster and looked at the card more closely.

Ian had given her a camera for Christmas and by the looks of the picture on the front of the card she was seriously good. I sort of knew the area. Had we gone there on holiday? The church on the hill, there was a story attached to it something about the Black Death. I closed my eyes and caught my breath. Rolling down the hill at Wadenhoe, eating lunch by the river and then canoeing all the way back to the Hotel, it was our first holiday together. Tears started to run down my cheeks. He must have taken her there.

I had loved our life together and enjoyed looking to the future to what I thought we would become. That was the saddest bit the hurdle I fell at. I put the card down, she was not to know. I got the wine out of the fridge, poured a large glass this was going to be a very long night. I put on some James Blunt hoping his toffee voice could mellow me and I began to dance to ‘I Really Want You’ living every word. It was when I turned to sit down as my ankle began to ache; still singing really loud ‘I really want you’ that I noticed someone in full leathers.

The scream was intense, the scream was loud, the wine spilt and I slipped. Did I have trousers on? No! Did I have red knickers on Yes! I will be burning those bloody red knickers.

There was Ian holding my leg again.

‘What the fuck are you doing?’ Livid was an understatement. His face was bemused mingled with angry.

‘What the fuck I’m doing, what the fuck are you doing, you should be ready to go.’

‘Go where?’

‘Out’

‘Out where?’ He slumped on the floor beside me and looked at me. I mean really looked at me. Making me really look at him, I was not happy with him for that.

‘Did you get my card?’

‘What sort of card?’

‘Valentines card.’

‘Nope.’

‘The picture of Wadenhoe on the front.’

‘I thought it was from Sophie.’

‘You didn’t read it?’

‘I….. it made me cry.’

‘Oh.’

‘Yea Oh.’

‘I was being romantic.’

‘Why’

‘Because I have fallen in love with you, again.’

‘When, when did you fall in love with me?’

‘I’ve always loved you but when I saw you for the first time with Sophie you took my breath away.’ I was bundled up tight to protecting myself from the harm love can do. Can you forgive someone breaking your most precious rule? Not sure he would if I was the one sleeping with his best friend.

‘Then when I saw you going into the supermarket and followed you around. How you were with Henry I realised my work meant nothing until you have seen it.’

‘You’ve been stalking me?’

‘A little, do you mind?’

‘A little.’ We were so close our backs to the sofa, shoulders nearly touching, excited breaths rasping our uncertainty.

‘It gets worse! I might as well be completely truthful. Before the old guy pinned your leg to the side of the trolley park and I come running to your rescue. You have beautiful legs.’ I rolled my eyes and we both laughed. Of all my features I have always thought my legs were the ugliest now even more so with the scar.

‘I had followed you several times.’

‘You said truthful, how many exactly?’

‘Fifteen ish.’

‘Fifteen! How come I never saw you?’

‘You weren’t looking. You were…’ I looked around at him and his eyes glistened.

A small cough to clear the tears he let his hand drop so that I could hold his if I wanted to, which I did but couldn’t.

‘It was when you were talking to Henry I lost my heart and gained my faith.’

‘Faith is a bit strong.’

‘When you have seen and done what I have you loose your faith sometimes.’ He picked up my shaky hand and squeezed it right on the paper cut. I flinched and he immediately dropped it.

‘You were being asked about Bill; you protected Henry and sent him off to get something from the shelf. You were so sad for a split second then you carried on being you. I think Henry is the greatest little guy I have ever met.’

‘Would you have ever spoken to me? Or just followed me?’

‘I would have eventually.’

‘Sophie.’

‘Yea I guess but I didn’t want to talk to her before I had met you.’

‘But you did.’

‘Only because I was about to go off with her mum in an ambulance, I didn’t want her thinking I was some strange man.’

‘But you were you were stalking me!’

‘I just wanted to make it easier on her. I’ve booked a table if you want to go on a date, with no strings attached.’

I didn’t want to go for a meal, the whole idea seemed wrong to me. Formal, cliché and inappropriate not sure I wanted to relive the past. I just wanted to rummage his body and see if it was as good as I remembered but that seemed inappropriate now his intentions had been laid bare in-front of me.

I had to see his work all of his work. He would always keep a couple of pictures hidden from anyone.

‘Take me to see all of your work that would be my dream date, a good bottle of wine and a private showing.’

His face lost all colour. For a true artist to show all their work good, bad and private was a true test of how he felt about you. Oh I was not cleaver I hadn’t thought about it in those terms until I saw it in his face. It was a big ask.

We arrived at his studio; we had stopped on the way to get a bottle of champagne and strawberries and without a word I went in. He opened the wine expertly and I started my search. There all around me was the man I knew he would become. Moments captured, exposed like no other medium. All of human kind was hanging around me infiltrating my understanding of what nature and other humans can do to the planet or each other. Impact of missiles to the glove of a fighter or attach of a rioter to that of the actions of a dictator. The loss of home, love or life with crumpled bodies, crumpled lives, haunting stress filled faces all asking why.

Now I understood. I could never have lived with this but the world and history needed this. His mum had been insightful protecting her son and in some way protecting my little universe. I looked at him and saw the sadness the need to be held.

He waited for my reaction with bated breath. But how could I express how I felt? He led me to another room as the other had drained me this one filled me with energy and hope. Humanity flooded through and there in the middle was Henry, Sophie and me. The beauty in our normality shone.

The biggest Picture hung like the biggest planet amongst a universe of feelings. It was taken just after Christmas and the time we had spent together. It was around Zara’s the only place we met now. Henry had just jumped with joy he was in mid air; Sophie was in eyes raised in OMG! Mode captured with every detail of her strong personality. But the whole focus and where your eye was drawn to was me. It was not a flattering pose it showed me as I would love to be though. My face had this look you want to capture and hold. Ian had a great talent; greatness was in his prose of the piece. 

The shining stars around a universe shone more brightly when two parallel lives collided, making one sphere.

I could see for the first time the bigger picture, his message to me.

I really want you!

This is a live performance and looking at his face like Ian's Photos in the story, paint the emotion. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2ubiinfvXs0

Parallel Universe 5

Fifteen years of responsibility came tumbling out, of not sharing the burden or the joy. In the time it took me to fall asleep I know I spoke of loss but they all merged and mingled. In the middle of his bed I lay alone as I had over the years. I took no heed over his pleads to console until exhausted I quietly slept.

Voices and the pain woke me and my eyes took a while to focus. I flinched every time I remembered some of what I had said last night. My innermost thoughts and concerns rang in my ears and the contortions it caused on Ian’s face. I had never vented those emotions to anyone before.

I had to decide quickly what I wanted to happen, what direction I wanted my life to take and how to let go so I could guide Sophie so that she wouldn’t get hurt. I tried to move but the pain was intense and I had no idea where the painkillers were.

I assumed that only having one leg incapacitated would mean the other three limbs would oblige and help me out but silken sheets were slippery suckers and before I knew it I was sliding onto the floor. Boobs slipping their anchorage just as the door opened and Rafe and Ian came in. My bottom half was cocooned within the bed covers and as I grabbed anything to cover my dignity I fell flat on my face.

They ran to my aid, rearranged and straightened me out.

‘I was looking for my painkillers, my leg woke up hurting.’ They both smiled down at me. Ian went to find them leaving Rafe to sit me down. The room was elegantly beautiful and I sat taking it in as Rafe fussed around raising my leg.

‘You ok, you look…’

‘Like shit? I tried to give myself cheep Botox on the floor but missed and enlarged my nose instead.’ His concern left as his humour took hold of his face.

‘I have to leave soon, do you need anything? I can call back’

‘I’m sure I do but I can’t think of anything.’

‘Well call me if you do.’

‘Would but I don’t have your number.’

He gave me a business card and we both felt uncomfortable, unsure. In came Ian and put a tray on a writing table.

‘Have you boys kissed and made up?’

They looked over to me and smiled. I took the tablets that were being offered. They started talking business and it transpired that Rafe was Ian’s agent. Ian held off two shoots that he was due to do this coming week rearranging and rescheduling. Squeezing my shoulders and kissing the top of my head Rafe left. Now life was complicated and shit or was it shitly complicated? No such word as shitly but in my world there should be!

Coffee with warm milk poured by the type of man I find irresistible in attitude and looks, first thing on a Saturday morning without the kids, oh how I had dreamed of that! Always be careful what you dream for is a warning I should heed. All my friends that were divorced, divorced their feelings towards their ex’s. I seem to indulging in my every fantasy. He sat there studying me as I sat indulging my daydreams, well lets face it, that was as far as it was going to go, I might as well enjoy it.

‘I know you are going to be sensitive to any suggestion I make and suspicious but I think the kids should live here over Christmas. They are off from school; you need a few days of rest and a bit of a recoup.’ His face twitched when he knew a sensitive subject was coming and as far as reading me he was doing rather well but like all men he didn’t see the bigger picture. I tried to keep emotion or thought out of my face.

‘What do you think?’

‘You just want the kids?’

‘No I just assumed you came as a whole package.’ A nice touch I though using Sophie’s words against me so softly and gently.

‘What about after Christmas?’ He was confused I enlightened him to my thinking. ‘After they have lived in this space and had the life you are willing to give them for a week, what then? How will it be for them when they have to return home?’ I knew there was no room for all of us back at mine but I was concerned how this would impact on the children, mostly Henry.

‘Henry is so very young to understand that his father dies and Sophie gets a new one who lives in a house like this. When they have got to know you, what then? I could never offer them a life like this and your mother will not be able to stop herself from reminding me of that!’ He could have defended everything a thousand different ways but he chose to agree with me. But it was his next statement that had me in turmoil.

‘I want to help out, I don’t want to make their lives or yours harder than it needs to be or has been. I’ll do what ever you think is best I just want to be part of your lives.’

Parallel Universe Part 3

We all visibly sighed, for different reasons.

‘She is quite a young lady’ Francesca turned bemused and looked at me. I took it as a compliment but too exhausted to really comment. Zara squeezed my hand, her eyes were electrifying and she made me smile a deep and proud smile that buzzed.

‘I’ll take mother’ as though her mother was a misbehaving child. ‘And ring you in the morning’ looking at Ian. ‘Do what your daughter tells you.’ She scolded Ian. ‘That sounds so good, doesn’t it? I’m an aunty!......Now look after Jane.’

‘I think I will have a coffee, one of those nice coffees please Ian, I just want a word with Jane before I go’.

Zara had come back in with their coats. Ian stood smiling at his sister and his mother, one of those smiles Henry uses when he finds me and Sophie funny. I could feel myself swoon a little with the fatigue a sharp look from Ian to me that was swiftly conveyed to his sister, who gently manhandled her mother out of the house with efficient ease. Ian bringing up the rear so that Francesca could not double back and escape her departure.

So here I was in that other place that I so could have occupied. With a broken ankle late at night with no change of clothes, not even a toothbrush, desperate to get home and in my own bed. I started to text David about the dog and one came straight back at me that I knew was from Sophie. David would never use ‘OMG’ and he wasn’t that fast at returning texts.

‘Would you like me to carry you up stairs?’

‘No’ Was my short and startled reply. It was an amusing idea though.

‘Do you think you could make it up the stairs with help?’

‘I want to go home.’ There was a longing in my voice. At this ungodly hour, on a cold and bitter night it was a silly idea, totally impractical. Ian picked up on the vulnerable need and we made it to the door without too much effort or problem but when he drove his vehicle to the front of the house, my will to go home fell like an icy cold waterfall. How the hell was I going to climb, with a plaster on my leg and in an increasing amount of pain into, a chrome fitted black Hummer?

‘You have to be kidding.’ His eyes were full fun! How could he do this to me after the day I have just had. Fun was not what I could cope with and as the tears started to form into dew drops he held out his arm and somehow I trusted him! Him, of all people in the world as soon as he pulled my arm and swung my body expertly as a fireman, he carried me to the Hummer like a sack of potatoes. Had I decided to wear trousers that day? No, Short skirt and red knickers! They cut my thick denier tights off.

I felt like those sack of potatoes being loaded onto a lorry. He was not short but neither was he very tall so as I slipped missing the seat by a few inches, he grabbed my arse to hoist me into the seat. With an innate reaction, I slapped him around the face. Fuelling my indignation and in his good humour he took the slap with a low rumbling chuckle. Loading me in was one thing getting me out was going to be another and then there was the fact he would know where I lived. Swimming thoughts, sickening feelings and the worst thing of all is that we only lived ten minuets away from one another. How had that happened, I would like to know!

His house was in the centre of historic Bury St Edmunds, a short walk to the shops but quiet enough to be enjoyable. Mine was a two up two down clipper house as our finances had tumbled through Bill’s illness; we had to move just before he died. I wasn’t ashamed of my circumstances but I didn’t want pity. But as we drove up to my home, his face held it anyhow.

‘Jane I can appreciate you would like to sleep in your own bed and you need a few things but…’ I knew before he uttered the words. ‘Don’t you think it would be best if I grabbed a few things and took you back to mine?’ I don’t think your leg would take me swinging you up your stairs.’

I closed my eyes determined not to let my dew drops fall, they abated after sensible thought. I handed him my keys. Looking reassuringly into my eyes and he squeezed my hand. He went in my little universe. I visualised him ransacking the pictures dotted around depicting my life with Bill and the kids, opening my intimate draws, finding private things about who I have become. His eyes would scan every detail with his photographers and philosophers thoughts rummaging through and finding out about me. I had started to shake, for the first time real sadness bubbled within me, why was life so cruel.

I had just started to find my feet, now there was the ironic joke but I had started to stand alone again. Bill’s illness and his eventual death was new, I still woke forgetting he was gone and when I started to think of all his needs my body would sink and then I would remember that he had slipped from me, I would, with relief take a painful breath. But me and the children were forging a life together and to have had that without other complications, just for a few years would have been good.

He emerged with Holly my sweet little shaggy dog. Who was sick every time we went out in a car! I thought of my book and the wine again and my collision with that other universe. He went back inside and emerged with a holdall Sophie used for sleepovers. Its pink and purple flowers were not out of place in his hands and I wish the years of pain that man had caused me would flood my indignation, as they did in my mind when I had visualised our meeting again. I felt nothing though just so very, very empty.

He was back in the car and we were off and my thoughts turned to how I could possible get out of the car by myself. People had gathered around the streets as Christmas parties had come to their climatic end. Great! With my short skirt, red knickers and bulbous painful leg, and on the other foot was high heel shoe entertainment for the crowds no doubt. To add to the torment a friend of Ian’s came over to find out the story behind the new lady. Slightly drunk he slapped him on the back ‘you found her then.’ He looked down to my leg and slightly puzzled, hazily processed the fact I had a cast on my leg ‘What happened to you?’ slapping Ian on the back again. Before Ian could explain, I without thinking remarked with a hoity shrug

‘I tried to run away but fell for him and broke my leg’ He immediately sobered and laughed. I liked his laugh, it warmed me.

‘No wonder he has been looking for you, I like you.’

‘I like you too.’

‘Do you think you like me better sober or drunk?’

‘Sober!’

‘Bugger, better sober up and I’ll see you tomorrow.’ He turned to Ian ‘You going to keep her?’

‘Rafe, would you help us out?’

‘With pleasure.’ His smile flipped my butterflies, enchanting my senses with his genuine pleasure at seeing me. Like a pair of crutches they helped me up the stairs with Honey in hot pursuit. Innuendos flew around as I was guided to Ian’s flamboyant bedroom and they sat me down on a Chaise Longue. Ian went to fetch the bags and Rafe kept staring at me in a very pleasing way. His short thick blond hair, stubbled chin and sparkling blue eyes played with my face lingering on my mouth and eyes. In his mid forties and slightly drunk, inhibitions were set free and instead of bravado there seemed an earnestness about him that I liked so when he came and sat next to me I started to gravitate towards him.  

Ian walked in with a face like thunder when he looked over to us both, but Rafe just smiled over to him and put his arm around me and tugged me close.

Rage is spontaneous and rather uplifting I thought.

Parallel Universe Part2



A Short Story to go with your coffee

Ian who had made it to the door was greeted with.

‘Hello dad where’s my mum!’

Accusation or statement it was hard to tell. Ian’s mothers face was trying to catch up with her thoughts and she looked down at me with accusations and miss understandings flying from her eyes like a blame seeking missile.

Sophie stood there and you could almost hear the cogs turn her thoughts. Her face set on questions and connotations made as her grandmother was taking in how she could best manipulate the situation to her advantage.

Meeting each other for the first time, Granddaughter squared up to Grandmother both looking as though they were choosing their weapons. Sophie had the advantage as her defence could be used as a weapon. Somehow I pitied her grandmother but not enough to stop the shoot out, after all I had a ring side seat.

Because of my daughter there were a few things I would’ve loved to ask and never would, a lot I wanted to say but couldn’t, sometimes the sacrifices are hard as a mother. I was hoping the long talks we had had about my other life and finding her farther gave us a good foundation of understanding each other. So as the battle began my fingers, legs and toes were all crossed.

Francesca stood with her indignant upper-class distain oozing from her face and her passive aggressive nature turned to max. Sophie visibly braced herself, not with the teenage angst of earlier that morning but a growing experience supporting her strong determined youthful face. It was Francesca’s undoing to try to intimidate my daughter. Choosing the love of a new family as her weapon of choice was a silly mistake and Sophie rebuffed it, she wasn’t going to miss something she never had, now was she! But her attach on me acted more like a sharp boomerang she was incapable of catching.

‘Why has your mother never bothered to tell us about my granddaughter?’

Ian moved forward to deflect the verbal blow, but Sophie held up her hand to them both, new dad and auntie she was in this fight on her own. I held the cushion ready to duck behind, this was not going to be pretty I could tell by Sophie’s locked jaw and the intent stare the hunter was about to be hunted! Thrilling and sickening all at the same time, I waited with heart pounding.

‘The day my mum found out she was pregnant with me she came to you for support. She had just found your son in bed with her look alike’ Oh that hurt, I could feel the rebound from all three of them. The brutal truth hit them all at once. As they came back from the recoil she metaphorically hit a left jab thrusting and lifting their upper jaws to a pursed lip position.

‘My mum could have pleaded for you to listen, but you, without a thought, told her your son was better off without her. Her pleads would have been futile.’ Ian looked over to me; I hadn’t put it quite so brutally. Did he deserve the truth? Well Sophie thought so.

‘If she had asked for help’ her voice was now grown up and authoritative as though she was some psychologist reporting on an issue. ‘She would’ve been beholden to you’ calmly each statement was delivered. ‘Your disrespect brought about you being ostracized from me, at least until my mum thought I could cope with the rejection.’

‘I would never have rejected you.’ Pleading and appalled played to perfection for the most effect a sympathy vote but Francesca pained face made no impact on Sophie.

‘But you did, you rejected my mum!’

And for your information my mum didn’t just throw herself at the next available man, she loved my dad too much for that.’ Looking over to Ian, who to be fair was coming to terms with a daughter in his life quite well. ‘Oh no, she met her responsibility and concentrated her whole life on me. In fact if I hadn’t set her up with Bill she would have never had another man cluttering up her life.’ Sophie intercepted the next blow from ever leaving Francesca’s lips ‘and for your information he didn’t leaver her by choice… she paused for effect and for her grandmother’s one sided thoughts to catch up ‘He died!’ I didn’t tell Ian that either. Gasps were let out as the gut punch made impact. ‘Bill was a proper dad, he thought of me, of mum, of us! You have a lot to live up to and a lot to make up for if you want to be any part of my life.’

She turned to me as if I was the child and she the parent who had to tell of the hardship of life. ‘He has to be part of it mum, he exists now!’ I knew what she ment, for a long time now she had thought of him as this mythical character, a one sided person who lived in a story that I told her when she asked me too. I had to sever a little of the umbilical cord that held us together. Another frightening snip towards not needing me for her life support but just for advice, whether she took it or not was now her decision alone.

‘The thing is I have to make up my mind what I want from our relationships.’ My eyes and ears rang out with her word structure. ‘You see I have a little brother and we all come as a package.’ My heart pounded with their meaning- this I was not prepared for.

There was a kafuffle going on at the door again. I heard Henry’s little voice and a mellow humoured voice full of apologies over not being able to keep the little fellow any longer from his mum. Henry hugged me and peaking from beneath my arm he asked a simplistic question of Ian.

‘Are you going to be my new daddy? My daddy left me. He went over the rainbow to heaven. He can see me but he won’t come back. I miss flying my kite.’

What a mess my life is, I looked down with my burning eyes.

‘Sorry mum but you’re no good at kite flying. Dad said you’re better at dancing like the kite than flying one. But that was our secret.’

He embarrassingly buried his head in my chest while a rally of giggles rang out.

‘How are you mum, he muffled.’

‘I’m fine and dandy I whispered in his ear.’ He giggled his comfort giggle.

‘Well we have to go,’ Sophie looked at me coming over to cuddle us.’ I suggest you stay and have a well earned rest mum. You and Ian can thrash out how you feel but my mind will not change. He can bring you back home tomorrow and then we could get to know each other. We need help with getting ready for Christmas at least he could do is help me with that! But I don’t want to see you gran until I get to know my dad on my own’. Then down at her aunty Zara ‘and if you don’t mind I’ll give you a call when I’ve got my head around it all.’

David came in his face had a satisfied look about it with admiration. As Sophie bent down to kiss me goodbye she whispered.

‘How did I do mum? David was listening in on the phone so he could make sure we were ok. It was his idea for you to stay so you could talk about it all. Will you be OK?’

‘I’ll be fine and dandy.’

As they walked out the door though I wasn’t so sure, I was tired, in pain and had to explain/defend my life to people who I didn’t know anymore.

 My life was really shitty!

Parallel Lives

I do love a good start to a morning when the teenager in your life just grunts at you and dismisses you as one of the low life’s in their life that have to be tolerated. I stand slightly amused by the angst of teenagisum. Their new place in the world is uncomfortable, building into a fever pitch of anger the perpetrator unsure to why this boiling feeling is erupting, so it must be mums fault.

Lost books and fights with hair, just too much to keep hold of her sanity finally it all fell in tears and then came the frustration stage of self pity. I breathe a calming intake of patience and we make it to the car. I wanted to hug her but was afraid of the prickles that had been sharpened on that self pity. Henry shouted his love for her as she made her way to school and as she turned and smiled her humanity came back and sunshine hit her face. We seized our opportunity and ran, Henry needed a hug and so did I.

All the balance of life came back and we made it to the playground to line up. Just as I was getting a grasp on the day Henry got knocked over and ripped his trousers. He began to scream for England with the enthusiasm of an Olympic hopeful. He hates wearing other people’s clothes so it wasn’t very helpful when the Teachers Assistant came striding over and with authority told Henry, he will have to go and find a pair out of the spare clothes box. Henry’s horrified expression brought out the mother in me and I stared at the TA in that universal motherly way and she backed off. Luckily I had a couple of pairs of trousers I was bringing to the school that were getting a little small for Henry so disaster was averted and he went in, being kissed by his latest girlfriends.

My day carried on in this vein and by pickup time I was in no mood to think what I should cook for the evening meal so hurrying off to the supermarket to pick out what we fancied, I braced myself for the arguments it was about to cause. But to my astonishment they were talking, chatting, laughing and agreeing what they would have to eat. A flood of friends and acquaintances stopped and chatted and by checkout I was refreshed from my topsy tervy day.

The children had loaded everything onto the conveyer belt and I noticed the few additions, they looked at me pleading with those eyes that pull at your heart and taking full advantage of my momentary weakness, Henry ran off to get desert. Sophie’s eyes danced at mine and she offered to go and see what he wanted and not to worry she would make sure it didn’t cost too much.

Absentmindedly I looked up along the rows of shoppers unloading their trolleys and loading their bags with the rhythm that it causes, when I noticed a face looking back at me. Instantly I coloured at the intent gaze I was receiving and I knew I should know the face but could not place it.

Time stood in limbo as my mind filtered my history the assistant chatted as I searched my memory banks for the place or name the face belonged to but I just couldn’t place it. I paid for the shopping and turned to leave perturbed by the stare that followed me. Against my will I looked up and met those eyes that looked intently and instantly it dragged my memory to a parallel universe of my life. Two lives that once had been so close and that shared so much together now live totally separately. I looked across at what could have been my destiny. I never really understood why our marriage failed.

As the children come over Henry asks if he has to take back desert beings I had finished paying for the shopping. I smile down at the little fellow and I give him some money to go on self service. Forgetting the edge of frayed younger me that man had caused I brought myself back to my parallel universe, my now reality. Skipping and dancing Henry went with the money and with his sisters help paid and picked up the change running back to me with his accomplishment.

I could feel those eyes follow our every move, unnerved I checked my appearance in the window, not a great look when meeting your ex. But as we tumbled out of the store I had forgotten the other me that other life and we danced and smiled as sweets were held aloft and shopping bundled in the car. The children settled in their seats reading their magazines as I took the trolley back, thinking of the wine I had waiting nicely chilled and the book that I promised I would make time for. Friday night was going to be my night when an old gentleman pushed his trolley into my ankle that then hit the screw that impaled my leg onto the side of the trolley shelter.

His strength my flesh that impact. I stood there leg suspended on a two inch piece of metal wondering what I should do, feeling slightly sick. Children, dogs, book wine came tumbling down on me and the tears began to fall a small but significant ‘bugger’ left my lips and danced on the chilly Christmas air just as the charity organ began to play ‘We Wish You A Merry Christmas’.

A deep and hefty sigh mingled with my resolve and when I looked up to the voice that had indignation and asked me none too politely to move.

‘I can’t you have just clamped my leg to the screw’

Sore the blood bubbled, popped and spilled down my leg. I hadn’t eaten all day and I began to swoon. I’m a bit of “a woose” when it comes to blood anyhow. A face older than I remembered and sadder in the eyes, looked attentively into mine. So there I was impaled as our parallel lives collided into one again. A vortex of emotions flashbacks of happenings that had been my reality but felt like a whole different universe now and unrecognizable to the life I now lead.

As he held my leg gently he organised someone to ring for an ambulance, I could hear his voice, calming, gentle not like it was the last rime I heard it. I looked around at the bubbled and floating faces and found a friend who immediately came to my side. Our eyes locked helping me to focus on my reality pushing the fuzzy mixture of thought and wondering away.

‘Carol could you take the children and ice-cream out of the car and keep them safe?’

‘Will do’ she smiled ‘I’ll keep the ice-cream and the children safe.’ She quickly scanned the scene assessing and taking in what needed to be done with her efficient and caring way that comes so easily to her.

‘I’ll ring David and he can pick them up and I’ll come with you.’ We could hear the siren and she made her way to the children so they wouldn’t panic.

Ian looked at me and the years fell away crossing the parallels making one life sphere. Time, space, life, how strange it all is I thought as the paramedic pumped me full of pain relief that gave my mind more clouds of fluffy haze. They had me wrapped up and seated in their stretcher thing before I realised that my foot was free. My mouth muscles refused to work and I had to think how to speak as Henry asked what was happening. A picture of his worried face freeze framed. He had seen this scene before when his dad had died of a heart attack not even a year ago.

‘Henry they gave me wibbly wobbly medicine so they could take my foot off’ He screamed

‘Off the wire silly’ Sophie explained

‘You look like daddy, mummy’ my stomach lurched.

‘She’s just had an accident Henry; I promise she’ll be fine now. Let the paramedics take her so they can x-ray her foot then she can have a plaster on like the one they put on Izzy. Then she can come home’ Carol explained while holding his hand.

‘What to day?’

‘Maybe tomorrow, that means you will have to have a sleep over with Izzy. That revived him and his worry melted away into an excited adventure (he had never had a sleep over).

Sophie weakly smiled across at me not daring to come for a hug as she knew I would break down and cry. Ian went over to her and they talked. She nodded several times and looked down at me, wide eyed and sympathetic and blew me a kiss and then Carol took the children away so their backs were turned as they put me into the ambulance.

Slight panic (which was all I could muster with the drugs they had given me) as I realised I was on my own when Ian jumped into the ambulance too. I didn’t know which was the worst, being on my own or joined by the ex-husband of fifteen years ago that had never met his daughter and didn’t know she existed. My life was a bit of a shit really.

After all the kafuffle of x-rays doctors and such a splint was put on until the swelling had gone down and a more permanent plaster could be applied. The screw had chipped the bone a little and because it was on the Lateral Malleolus (the sticky out bit of the outside of my ankle) no weight could be put on it as the screw had acted a little like a chisel.

Like I said- my life is a little bit of a shit! A week till Christmas and the kids presents to buy and I’m going to be stuck in plaster. Now I was being held captive by my ex-husband who promptly took me to his home. He now lived five miles from my house. He had sussed that Sophie was his; hardly surprising as she resembled me very little and was a dead ringer for Ian’s little Sister and his mother.

He sat me down in his comfy sofa and elevated my leg as advised by the doctors and asked if I would like a coffee, beings I could not drink with the pain killers  I accepted but felt that I could have done with a little balmy juice and thought of the wine chilling in my fridge. Forlorn I looked around and on a wall a collage of faces hung prominent and proud taking up most of the wall with a beautiful frame of glass and enamel. Before I could focus on it more Ian strode in with coffee for me and a whisky and coffee for him. Like I keep saying, my life is Shit! I could have done with that whisky!

He talked after he downed the whisky giving me time to collect my thoughts and I was grateful of it. He slowly took me through his life and explained about the picture that had won many awards and many commissions for his work. He was and always had been an exceptional photographer.

All the women he had ever had a relationship with were versions of me not just in looks but in likes and thinking. Was he trying on every version of myself until he found the combination that he enjoyed…… liked……. Needed……..Loved? He still hadn’t found her his eyes were too sad for that to be true. As I looked through all the pictures it was amazing how different and yet almost the same people can look. We had been consumed by this idea when young and in-love. The idea that we are not as unique as we like to think our selves that there are copies of us all over the world or the universe. This idea wrapped around us, consumed us and in the end destroyed us. I had found him in bed, in our perfect home with one such look alike.

Those raw feelings floated around me but didn’t get inside me as they once had. They glided over my skin prickled the surface then abated. He was as gently as he possible could have been under the circumstances, trying to explain his behaviour that night. It was all so insignificant to me, what had been had been what it had ment to me no longer was and his life no longer my concern. Why he thought it was, dumbfounded me a little. But it gave me time to think through the ramifications for Sophie and the knock on effect for Henry. Sophie was intelligent and articulate and knew the truth as I had lived it and saw it. I’m not sure he would survive her altercations on the subject. Her debating and confrontation technique had me running for shelter and I was use to her barrage of self-truths. His reasoning of his search for his art would be used against him and knowing that soon the meeting I most feared was upon me I was not going to give him any shield to protect himself with or advice to help him through it.

He then broached the subject of Sophie and why I had not told him about her. With my eyebrows raised in disbelief I reminded him of the day I walked in our home and immediately knew something was wrong. I spared him no detail that his mind had forgotten. I took him through the events through my eyes and thoughts. How I grappled with the deceit from the one person who I thought I could trust and how the word love had become a farce for me.

To his credit he listened with intent and never interrupted, focusing on his hands rubbing his wedding ring that he still wore on his tallest finger on his right hand. When asked I told him what had happened when I went to see his mother when I found out I was pregnant to let her know and to find out where he had gone. How, before I could broach the subject she had explained it was all for the best our break up and never gave me time to explain the true reason for my visit. How after that day of immense hurt I decided they had given up all rights of knowing Sophie. I thought I had been loved as a member of their family and found out that I had only been tolerated. His face was bleak and ashen with the other side of events he had never contemplated before of hurts never imagined. And as I looked down at my vibrating phone the message came ‘on my way x’

I knew he would eventually ask to see her and I didn’t want a preconceived meeting with time to make the best impression for her. He looked at my hand then on to my mobile and then at me.

‘Did you need to ring them to tell them how it went?’

‘I’ve text already, they know!’

Noises and laughter outside the back door as it was flung open I could hear bags of shopping and for the first time considered if he was living with someone, had children. Women’s voices came out to greet him and he strode out to meet them.

I looked around the house, a women’s influence danced around but was not in-control. Again it was spookily similar to my tastes. Of all the people I though who would walk into the room I was not prepared for his mum and his sister. His sister was beaming and came over and sat next to me and I could not get over the similarity of my little girl staring back at me as a grown woman. Then as I looked up the grown woman turned into a pensioners face. To say it freaked me out was a little of an understatement and just as I caught my breath a knock at the door announced the arrival of Sophie. Oh this was going to be fun!

Who is Father Christmas and Where do Fairies come from?

In-between ordering turkey and all the extras that go with it and doing my father Christmas stunt and I have to be honest I failed, (no not the turkey or though that may well be a failure come Christmas day depending if I’m floating my boat on Champagne, here’s hoping J) Nope it is much more serious my little boy wants a Batman Carve (and who wouldn’t?) And there is not one to be had L Well Amazon has one for £170 plus, normal price £45.

Now how do I go about telling him there is no Father Christmas and he just has mummy and she’s Pants!!!

I wrote a Children’s story that the agents thought was too sweet for the public. I however thought it was a great way of explaining how magicl people can be if a large dose of love is applied.

When I was little and my mum was tucking me up in bed, I would ask her-

“Mum, where do fairies come from?”

She would answer with a smile.

“They come from your heart Sweet Thing. When you are happy they pop out to spread a little of their magic all around us”.

“One day will I see them?”

“Perhaps you could Sweet Thing. They hide their shoes in nettles that don’t sting, and in the summer they sleep in dandelion clocks all snugly and warm, for you to make wishes upon?”

“How do I make wishes mum?”

“Blow the dandelion clocks gently Sweet Thing. Then the fairies wake up and make the seeds dance your wishes to the fairy princess.”

“Will the fairy princess make all my wishes come true?”

“Not all of them Sweet Thing, only the ones that will look after you and make your heart happy enough for you to sing.”

“Mum, do I have to blow them all?”

“Oh no! Sweet Thing, otherwise the fairies won’t have a place to sleep in.”

What happens when the dandelion clocks have all gone, and winter is here?”

“Oh, they run back to you and curl up in your heart Sweet Thing. It keeps them warm and gives you a happy magic to get through the cold and dark days of winter.”

“When will they pop out of my heart again?”

“In the light of spring sweet thing when you get full of the joys and the flowers are here to brighten up our days.”

“Do they leave my heart for good then?”

“Oh no! Sweet Thing. They don’t leave your heart for good, they just go to be free with the birds, butterflies and honey bees.”

“Why do the fairies go to be free?”

“To top up their magic Sweet Thing. When the sun shines and warms your heart right through and a smile is on your face, the sun then shines on the fairies and gives back the magic power the winter took away from them.”

“Where do they go, when they are waiting for the dandelion clocks?”

“They fly on the backs of butterflies Sweet Thing, and curl up warm with the honey bees, while they wait for the dandelion clocks to arrive.”

“Do you believe in fairies Mum?”

“Yes, I believe in fairies Sweet Thing. Every time you smile, I can see the fairies have been hard at work, spreading their magic.”

I would lay down my head and my mum would softly sing.

“Oh! My Sweet-sweet thing

How I love you so

From your fingertips

Right down to the tip of your toes

And do you suppose

The fairies know

How much I love you so?

Then I would close my eyes, with a smile on my face and dream of flying with fairies on the backs of butterflies

So we are the magic x

 As you rush around and about remember your loved ones smile and take a bit of Tilly magic with my love x

© Tina Rodwell