The Freedom to Work - Yes Please

This short story still in its rough form is dedicated to Nicki  and Cathy and all those that have to chose to suffer in silence.

Freedom To Work

Yes Please!

I’ve been living in this flat now for almost six months, and each and every day I get a quick hello from my neighbour, who then decides to come round for coffee, unannounced, with her cat!

Now for some with the simple freedom of choice and with a “normal ability to live”, they would think this innocuous and what appears to be friendly, neighbourly thing to do, a charitable and much needed contact with the outside world, especially for someone who is chronically ill like me. So do I, well in a way. You see the problem I have is that I don’t have the freedom to walk away. I’m pinned down by a body that can’t. I have to say and be lectured everyday about how working could improve my spirits – I don’t need to be told this, I know this. My mind craves difference and when I give it a go, something pulls the plug on my neurons and I am left with intermittent thinking, of the fuzzy kind, no crystal clear thoughts for me.

She explains how the money would give me the ability to live so that I no longer live in squalor! Yes she actually used the word squalor! As if I am some complete moron who never gave that a thought! What makes it so awful and wretched is that she is right, it is a squalid flat! What can you say to that, how can you defend yourself? You see, each night someone, while I am asleep pumps my body with lead, seriously I’m not kidding! Some days just looking after my own hygiene is all my body can take. Innately I am a very organised and tidy person, squalor makes me depressed.

Anyhow I bet even a saint would lose their patients under this much scrutiny, and believe me I’m no saint, nor would I want to be. I’m more of – live life to the full type of gal, why walk when you can dance, why dance when you can rock?

I’m rocking now, although I’m not entirely sure if I’m rocking to get out of the chair Sam sees me as she walks to work or in pain. I just don’t want to face that encouraging smile this morning; I’m not in the mood! My halo has gone missing! But I’m too late; her face is at the window of my bedroom.

‘Morning Katie, How are you this morning?’

‘I’m fine, and you?’

‘Oh I’m loving the spring, perhaps we can go for a walk when I get home - blow a few cobwebs away, make you feel better?’ I slap a smile on my face and she is gone. I know what I would like to blow away.

‘I don’t want to think how I am Sam!’ I grumble and groan as my body adjust to the upright position. I close my eyes as the dizziness kicks in. It makes it real, and I don’t want my reality to be all there is thank you very much – I want to live in a dream world of fluffy clouds for as long as I can. I look across at the time on my phone, ‘I bet a get a shimmy on, my mum will be around in two hours and I haven’t even brushed my teeth yet!’

As I had feared Sam came round that evening, she promised she was on a flying visit. I know though she is trying to get me out of the house as promised this morning. I told her I was waiting for company so now she is waiting to see who that could be. She sips at the coffee that I have just made her. Which means: I won’t be able to finish the prep for my evening meal – I simply won’t have enough energy to do it now!

Sounds stupid doesn’t it? You can’t explain it to anyone who has no difficulty in moving, their blood flow, breathing, with their energy all being normal. Looking at me I don’t look disabled. I ponder on that thought as the devil cat winds her tail lazily and lovingly around my leg. I tense up, not because I hate cats but because I know what is coming, but I don’t know when. The pounce of the Duchess the devil cat is always unpredictable and unprovoked.

‘I saw you out at lunch time with your mum. That must have been a nice change for you? Made you feel better?’ Duchess devil cat jumped upon my legs and purred comforting soft velvet purrs the kind that makes you sleepy. Her warm soft fur comforted my knee joints and a connection was made between animal and human.

‘Yep’ I false smile into my hot chocolate, no point telling the truth. I remember my mum’s face when she took the full force of abuse hurled at her this morning. You see I have a disability badge; it took two years to get it! Even though I am house bound, I still have to go to see the GP, and there is no parking nearby, and the journey alone will make me so sick it will render me bed bound for the next week or more, apparently I still did not constitute a badge! I refuse to use the wheelchair, so it makes it worse. You see the whole process of getting the badge and Department Work and Pensions forms and interviews; they insisted I attended, not only put my health in jeopardy but made me feel worthless.

The process of losing all your function after you do any daily living, is innocuously called Post Exertional Malaise; PEM for short. It is more a kin to having a heart attack or stroke though; as my body closes down to conserve the precious oxygen my body craves. Because my brain is constantly starved of oxygen when I over do things. My body just cannot utilise oxygen or energy, every system in my body is compromised. It is a hard concept to get your mind around. My mum has been a rock for me and she has got her head around it, but we are all allowed to lose it from time to time, my mum lost it big time today.

‘Where did you go?’ Sam asked. I didn’t want to say disability aids, so I lied.

‘We fancied getting so good underwear but we were naughty and brought the most glamorous frilly knickers’. I wish my life could cope with frilly knickers I privately thought. ‘We are fed up with the Polk Dot bloomers we normally get’. She had to gulp down the coffee; she had been daintily and slowly sipping! I lowered my eyes as I smugly smiled into my hot chocolate.

My mum’s beleaguered face haunts me, her frustration hurts me. I had just finished my degree you see when I was struck down with a virus that left me this way; I was diagnosed with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, the most hated condition of modern time, with I have to say the most stupid and misleading name. Fatigue, everyone has fatigue and I wish it was just a case of fatigue.

My mum was so so proud of me at my graduation; all those struggles to get me through Uni were worth it she told me. My job was to die for, and I would have if my body had let me. We value ability is highly prised; I have no ability, so I am worthless? Today for the first time I felt worthless to my mum. All her dreams had been shattered, they had splintered like a mirror, we only caught glimpses of our former happy self’s. Mum had to give up work to look after me; she lost most of her friends and a life she loved.

Sam drew out of her bag my latest prescription, it was a trial medication and I could see she was itching to ask questions. Sam worked at the Health Centre; she was the softly spoken dragon that refused to help in a helpful manor that mirrors her personality. This job perpetuates her belief that she is a most helpful and understanding person. I’ve seen people staring at her in disbelief at the reception with the comments she comes out with. It makes me smile; I am not the only person she does this to so now I don’t take it so personally.  

‘Would you like to take the cups in the kitchen, I’ve finished my coffee.’ Sam encouraged me to move. I bit my tong but –

‘No that’s Ok Sam, just put it on the coffee table next to you’ Duchess digs her claws in very painfully. As I knocked her off my lap and Sam was about to protest the door opened, and in walked in Peter and his crew followed by Dr Burns.

The suit was amazing, worn under clothes you could not tell you had it on. Even I was impressed with my design and I don’t get impressed with myself very often. The head band was the same and I marvelled at the lightweight and complexity of it all. A small app was transferred to my phone and Sam was bristling with pride that she knew me, which was a first! She was visibly astounded when the whole team congratulated me and said they were in ore of me, considering my disabilities and how much thought had gone into the concept.

‘We have all had a go with it, and boy - were we pleased with the function. Not all of us could cope with wearing it though’ He looked over to Dr Bures. ‘Possibly a couple of tweaks would be needed after someone with a non-biased opinion could be found.

Well what would you do if you were in my position? Would you take full advantage of it, and put your neighbour forward - an ability to get the truth over let alone some well-earned revenge? Well I didn’t have to worry about that, as though by magic with Sam jumped up and offered herself as a guinea pig.

‘Although there is nothing that could compare with what you go through on a day to day basis’ Tom looked at me with such earnest eyes that it made me bloom inside. ‘I think if we did anymore it would be torture for torture sake, and not research practical.’ I have always loved Tom, from our first lecture together. His like a universe of possibilities.

‘Dr Burns was going to take part and as kindly agreed to ask his staff, if they would like to take part in the trial.’ Tom sparked interest in Sam in more ways than one and she took the suit and bristled up to her full height of 5ft nothing, patient high heels, formal skirt and diamanté hairclip in her perfectly plated blond hair, leaning into Tom.

“What a splendid idea Dr Burns”, Sam’s smooth as treacle and sweet as acid voice oozed something like sincerity; which she may later regret. I understand how this illness is.’ Dr Burns looked over to me puzzled. ‘I live next door to Kate; I’ve taken her under my wing’

‘Smother me more like’ I grumpily whispered out of earshot of Sam.

‘I think we should all have a go with the suit, so we can truly understand how it is for these poor people.’ Big mistake lady I thought to myself, as her condescending ways got stuck in my throat so no worlds came out. She had asked no further questions, silly woman.

‘If I try it on now and give it a go, then you can tweak it and the sooner we can start to trial it out’.

‘Splendid beamed Tom.’ I opened and shut my mouth. I should warn her?

Now the thing you must remember of Sam, she has a condition which she equates to every other long term illness since she found out about it. Now, I would not belittle anyone’s condition, but just having one condition does not give you a right to say you understand, or give out the impression you would be able to take on any illness and work through it. You can see my dilemma can’t you? Should I go easy or should I ramp up the ‘muscle cruncher’?

They took great pains in explaining how the suit works, now that she had it on. The electrical currents to simulate the pain, the tightening and how it took impulses from the brain to collect data, how the joints had sensors to show instability and how that affects lactic acid expression, the heaviness of the thin material and how they could control it. She did try to ask how light material can make your bodies limbs feel like lead, but she was no geek and they were off the geek Richter scale. They did explain that they could only cope with 7 on the pain dial app themselves. The dial went up to 14 which is about where they thought my pain was at. I saw a flicker of I’ll show them how it’s done, dance with glee across her face.

Sam was giddy with her own importance, and eager to show everyone including me – probably more me, how she was a trouper and could carry on regardless. They explained with equal puppy dog excitement (that Duchess seemed impervious to) that their aim was to get slowly go up to a 7 while taking notes at each stage.

“It’s just like spandex hold it all up, tuck it all in and give shape underwear” she followed her shape from boobs to hip. Who could blame her with these dishy intellectual types all around you. Sadly for Sam however, her timing was off, they were too engrossed in the app on my phone. All of a sudden she squealed, and went cross eyed. I tried to stop myself from a giggle, but the corners of my mouth curled into a smirk and the giggle bubbled out.

‘Perhaps the inside thigh should be modified?’ I suggested

“What number have you got that on” Dr Burns asked suspiciously. I looked down as I was not too sure myself, they all looked at me clipboards in had for the answer.

‘Two!’ I replied blankly.

‘Two? Are you sure?’ Sam’s eyes were sort of watering. Simon and lead researcher unceremoniously stuck his hand up the sleeve of the suit.

“Yep, it’s a two; crank it up two more, than we will leave it for a while, see how she copes.”

I did as I was told, but instead of the pleasure of showing someone how it feels, I felt and pang of uncertainty as I saw the familiar pain flash over Sam’s face.

“No that’s OK turn it up to the” Another ripple of muscle contraction took the breath away and she held out her hand to steady herself against Simon.

“Just go for a walk hold onto me so your body can adjust to the sensations.” Simon suggested.

We all held on to the childish giggles and comments as Sam walked out of the flat and onto the street like a person constantly hit by a lightning bolt.

They all decided to make a cup of tea while they were out walking and adjusting. We sat drinking and nibbling while talking about the technology and what it would do for the medical staff with their teaching, about other chronic conditions. How it all brings a new dimension to care. They all thought that my idea of being able to process the information gathered by the sweat on how the lactic acid and the heart behaved was - a genius way of gathering and furthering research.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see Sam walk like a cat on hot bricks, the sharp intakes of breath, closing of the eyes and pausing to gain the will to move again.

“Perhaps we should get her out of the suit and make sure it is working properly” I suggested. Perplexed they looked over to me, then out of the window where Sam was teetering in high heels, unsteady and shaking her limbs. Duchess was following looking confused at her mistress, sitting down and looking around and I felt certain I could see the cat’s eyes roll.

Two days later they had the data from Sam’s trial in the suit and they had tweaked it, so that lower settings were incorporated with differing incremental settings for many other conditions and individual tolerance to pain.

Sam had not been round to see me in those two days since she ore the suit, and was frosty towards me as she went to work in the mornings. Today was not a good day for me the PEM had kicked in big time. Tom had been my constant companion. He had said that they had caused the relapse in my condition, the least they could do was support me back until I was better.

They asked Sam to try on the suit again. I could see the horror on her face, but she became my hero when she silently took hold of the suit again. But it was her words that grabbed me the most, when she looked at me in the eyes with determination and grit.

‘I’ll be happy to’ and as she passed me she touched my shoulder and privately stated ‘I have the freedom of taking off the suit, others don’t.They don't have the freedom to work’ She squeezed me just a little and there just right at that second I lost the ability to fly on a dream cloud, as a reality sunk in, but I gained another hero and a true friend!

HOW DO YOU LIKE YOUR EGGS, FRIED OR POACHED?

I wrote this short story after a couple of conversations I had with family, friends and with a lady waiting in a doctors surgery. That chance meeting - fleeting though it may have been, thought provoking most definitely, made me smile and keeps me smiling. 

I hope this story does that for you too.

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"Now there are some things you just have to learn to live with, Esmay my girl!” I told myself as I did a double take at my reflection in the mirror – I was bemused by my altered shape. A mound of clothes lay on the bed, I’d tried the whole of my wardrobe on.

The very attractive surgeon had given me perfect poached egg boobs that suited my hips, and made me look in proportion. I’d taken a bit of convincing, the double mastectomy wouldn’t make much difference to me really I had thought. How wrong I was. Clothes flattered my shape now. It was pleasingly different, and I was glad I had taken his thoughtful advice. Was it all worth it at the age of sixty though? Soon to be wrinkled up, and too decrepit to move, let alone strut my stuff. I laugh at my own silliness as I strike poses in the mirror.  Was I sixteen or sixty, I sometimes wondered.

Was it God or my parent’s genes that had given me fried eggs as boobs, no it was Mother Nature having a laugh! Nature had a habit of rubbing salt into sore wounds. I would watch as they filled out when I was breast feeding to a lovely D cup, I liked Dave’s face when he saw them. I was always hopeful they would stay that way, but they deflated like balloons afterwards, looking not dissimilar to tassels on a stripper. For months afterwards I would mope around and my ego and libido would be as flat as my chest.

Now the artificial ones protruded from my body, disconnected, and I wondered if they would ever feel part of me. They looked good though, all dressed up and perky. That salt rubbed a little deeper when I think how Dave would have liked the look of them too. This new life of having a body shape I liked, without a husband to show it off to was just plain sad. He didn’t like the idea of me getting implants, but it’s now one of my life’s biggest regrets, we could’ve had a lot of fun with them. Now they were just for show, that sort of fun was a thing of the past for me.

Why had I agreed to go to this blooming dinner party? I close my eyes before I walk out of my cocooned sanctuary, and taking my resolve I set out to do battle once again with life and this new reality of mine. Kaz would not take no for an answer, if I tried to hide she would find me, if I found a plausible excuse not to attend she would dismiss it, so I might as well get it over with. She is my closest friend, support and my foundation. Full of life, fun and a great cook, a goddess, but was that going to be enough I wondered, as I walked the familiar path.

“It’s just the normal crowd they’ll help you through it. You’ll be fine.” Her voice popped in my head. I trusted her judgment, but I didn’t trust myself. I hope I wasn’t going to let her down. “You won’t let me down” she had earnestly told me. But I’ve lost the ability to keep my bitter sharp acid to myself, I was sure it would slip from my thoughts to my lips without any provocation. I had once prided myself on the empathy I could give, now I felt so sorry for myself, and I couldn’t endure my condescending attitude to others misfortunes, now that I understood the meaning of misfortune.

Pulling hard on my bootstraps I rang her doorbell.

            “You look stunning Esmay.” Vincent was honest and straightforward, so I knew he meant it, it wasn’t just a pleasantry. I smiled at him as he handed me a large glass of my favourite wine. He took me by the shoulders and squeezed as his wonderful reassuring eyes gave me strength, and his gentle kiss gave me warmth.

The familiar good natured chatter filtered through to the hall and called me to join them. I hesitated but Vincent, with his supportive hand in the middle of my back guided me into their kitchen. Kaz was cooking lamb, and an explosion of aromas hit my taste buds that did a little jig of joy. She floated over with appetizers. A one arm hug held me with love and I felt drained and just wanted to crumple to the floor. Vincent topped up my wine, and I ate an olive. They were such an attractive couple, I smiled as my heart dropped – I had been like that not so long ago.

People mingled through the large homely elegant space, and out to the garden. Like feathery wavelets, they parted and quietly babbled, eyes avoiding me in kindness. Each dear friends face, trying to control the emotion within. I kissed them, releasing the confines of empathy to a much easier to breath normality.  I joined in the babble, catching up with what I had missed.

I caught glimpses of a new face that moved amidst the familiar ones. Questions he was answering with his caustic politeness pulled at me, compelling me to listen. His voice – that was mellow and smooth had self depravation lingering in his undertones, a humour that I warmed to, and understood. Kaz stood in front of me and comically the striking man bent his head round, so he could keep eye contact with me. I broke the connection as Kaz offered another olive. I took it and looking past her, took a bite. He smiled a warm inviting smile, I focused back on Kaz. She was assessing how I was doing, happy with my progress. She looked over to where my eyes were being drawn to, we looked into each other, she smiled, winked, and offered another plump black olive.

Dave would say “offer Esmay a glass of crisp chilled white wine, with olives and you will see the lighter, sensual side of her come out to play.” I shook my head at her as our broadening smiles became mirror images.

            “His name is Albie, but don’t hold that against him.” I roll my eyes

            “How could I with a name like Esmay.” we both giggle, she touches my arm. I notice he’s making his way over to us. With sheer panic rising I grab Kaz and say a little too loudly

            “Sure I’ll give you a hand.” Albie’s eye’s narrow as I propel Kaz over to the oven.

            “You girls ok?” Vincent pours yet another large glass of wine for me.

            “She has clocked Albie, but run out on him.”

            “You two have set me up.” I accuse.

            “No we wouldn’t do a thing like that would we Vinnie.”

Vincent’s deep chuckle gave the game away. You have to love friends that care and I bit my lip hard. I roll my eyes and take a large sip, well more of a gulp.

            “The starter is ready people, go sit.” Kaz announces so I wouldn’t have time to retort.

She had sat Albie and me opposite each other on purpose, no doubt. We could access each other better that way. I knew how her mind worked, and she knew I would take full advantage of it. I was in the process of doing just that, when I got caught out by his penetrating stare. His jaw was resting on his thumb, as his index finger stroked from ear down to jaw in pondering strokes. It was sensual and provocative. I decided – or rather the olives and wine had, not to flinch at his perusal, but to give him the same consideration. I’m glad I did, for his eyes mellowed, seeping out their secrets, and humour.

Those plump black olives with their hint of chilli, readied your mouth for the caramelised goats cheese squares that Kaz had lovingly laid down for us. Albie’s eyes closed as the flavours devoured him. I found it very pleasing to watch.

I was in trouble again, he had noticed my intense gaze, and was now just as intently watching me, making me more aware; if that was possible, of my new appendages. I wasn’t used to having a cleavage. Every time I looked down all I could see were my boobs it seemed. My spatial awareness was a little off kilter too, and as I past my plate, I knocked the knife off with one of them.

I had recovered by the time the next course was placed in front of me. Nonchalantly I started to cut the soft succulent slow cooked lamb, the aroma of which danced a pirouette with the roast potatoes and lush deep gravy. Normally there would  be nothing getting in the way when cutting food either, but the still soar and bigger boobs made lifting the fork to mouth difficult. Food had to take a different path now, and raised the perplexing question of – should I go around and over the top, or underneath and through the middle. Childishly I was amused by the challenge, and I felt the wine take effect and a giggle escaped.

I let the conversation skip past me; it seemed to the annoyance of Albie, who obviously wanted to know who this mad woman was. Without being introduced and across the table from, he felt decorum didn’t permit him to intrude, which amused me even more. I shouldn’t have had those naughty olives with the wonderful wine; this combination always had a frivolous effect on me. Dave was right and Kaz knew what she was doing. Should I care? “Oh no, we think not!” said the wine and olives together.

Craig, bless him thought everyone knew about my circumstances as we were among old friends, forthright as ever, loudly stated from the other end of the very large table.

            “Looking good Esmay”, He made a schoolboys gesture with his squeezing hands in-front of his chest. “They suit you!” A sharp kick from his wife, and a held anxiety rippled around the table. I let out a forgiving giggle, which made the smile come back on Craig’s loveable face, and with relief let the tension go from everyone.

I really didn’t blame him, but as I looked at Albie his preconceived ideas stung like a bunch of nettles given to me as a bouquet. The tangible tension made every eye around the table go in our direction.

            “Men get motorbikes as a midlife crisis, women it seems get facelifts or new boobs” Albie’s disappointment gave out a stunned silence that looked sympathetically at me, which I answered in my new caustic way.

            “I thought with my new improved boobs I’d get a couple of tattoos, I expect you disapprove of them too?”

            “Depends what they are I suppose.” His eyes challenged mine. I waited until he took a good sip of his smooth red wine, before I answered him.

            “Well next week I’ll be getting tattooed nipples to go with my reconstructed boobs, do they count?” He spluttered and Kaz gave him a napkin. He was gracious with his reply.

            “Beats love ‘n’ hate, which is what I’ll be getting across my arse for that, I’m sorry I should’ve thought.”

            “You’re forgiven. I don’t know why the surgeon took it upon himself to give me pert poached ones instead of my flat fried ones. As far as I can see they only get in the way.” An eruption of laughter went through the dinner party. “He assured me though they would balance out my hips as nature should’ve intended. He didn’t tell me they take a bit of getting used to.”

            “They do, what I mean is not getting used to as I wouldn’t know, but balance out your hips” for the first time Albie smiled his true and honest smile, the one that people have hidden most of the time. It was glorious and heart warming.

            “Are you saying I’ve got big hips?” feigned upset hit my voice just at the right note.

            “Sorry big foot, and even bigger mouth, I’m not forgiven then?”

            You’re forgiven… but I think I should make you suffer a little. What is so wrong with enhancing them anyhow? I could’ve done with my D cup when my husband was alive, life would’ve been a lot more fun.”

            “My wife enhanced hers and died of cancer three years later, that was not fun.”

            “My husband died of testicular cancer without enhancements… at least I don’t think he had any that wasn’t much fun either, and well look what happened to me. Mother nature is a fickle.”

            “Woman.”

            “You got me on that one.” Breath held at our combined misfortunes,the black humoured tête-à-tête suspended our friend’s faces in contorted silenced laughs, until we released them with our own. The ripples of which eased the subject matter, unrestricting the concerns we all felt, and the opinions we all held. Twisting and turning those opinions altering their course.

            “Well Esmay, which do you prefer?”

            “Life is such a bitch Craig, what can I say, I’ve always hated fried eggs, much prefer poached. I made do for years; much good that did me. Now Dave said he preferred fried, but I wasn’t convinced. He always asked for two poached eggs on Sunday mornings.” The ironic innuendo made me laugh “now I’ve got them I don’t know what to do with them, but like you said they look good.” and I rose my glass in a salute, Albie made it a toast though.

            “Fried or poached, you have to love them.”

THE END

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

Walking along to the linnet’s song feeling the pulse of nature beneath her feet, Clair’s smile was as warm as the sun. This is what she had worked so hard to have. She had made a dash for some tranquillity in her life and had found it here in a small village in Suffolk.

She had reached the old oak tree her three dogs already knew the drill, and were wandering off sniffing the ground for hares, rabbits and deer. She was eclectic by nature and it showed in her assortment of dogs. Bear, her chocolate mastiff, Peaches, a Chihuahua and Fox Terrier cross and Scruff an apricot assortment that looked like a Jack Russell on stilts ­­– all from broken homes.

The mornings haze, slowly evaporating by the sun made a shimmering glow over the landscape. She had soon reached her destination, pulled Bears holdalls off his back and carefully emptied some of its contents, arranging them on the bank of the natural pond. In the distance, four deer stood, acknowledged their presence and nonchalantly walked away.

Clair knew most walkers had been and gone so she could paint in solitude. For her painting at this time had become her compulsion and her passion. It was making her quite antisocial – if she didn’t start talking to someone soon she would forget how too! She reflected on this point as she drew in the bulrushes and mixed her paint.

Her dogs with their noses to the ground in contentment, gave her comfort. She captured the beams of light, and picked out the differing lush greens of the leaves and grasses, all mixed in with the deep brown yellow of the growing corn. This background made the deep velvet of the bulrushes shine with lustier. Something was odd; too many dogs, a black Lab had joined her pack. He had calmly and without bother just taken up his place. Where there was a dog, meant there was an owner. Clair’s panic rose.

Her paintings were immensely private to her. She started to hyperventilate as she went into the now familiar uncontrollable, fever pitch of anxiety. A soothing calm voice apologised for disturbing her. The blood that had flowed to her ears muffled the words as she franticly looked round, but the sun glared her vision, so that only an outline of the man could be seen.

‘Gosh you’ve captured Rip!’ She looked down at her work and there in the foreground, was the character of him, captured by his demeanour, which burst out through his velvet eyes and glistened with innate intensity. She was stunned that she had been so absorbed – she had painted a dog she had never seen before. Rip must have been there for sometime, watching her through the long reeds. She stood back and agreed – she had done a mighty fine job!

The man slowly came and sat by her on the bank, slipping off his rucksack. In London, she had been hidden by the constant flow of the masses, she found in the country she became more prominent and felt exposed. It had over whelmed her and gave her panic attacks. For the first time she felt her breathing became more controlled, less frantic on its own.

“Sorry for startling you, I didn’t mean to pry but I would like to know if you would consider selling me your painting?”

“Oh!’ Clair fumbled not knowing what to say. She actually believed he meant it.

“I like the way you’ve shown his humour.” Clair smiled – she had somehow painted a mellow chuckle in the dog’s eyes. “Are you from around here or just visiting?” He asked.

“I’ve just moved into the little cottage, on the bad bend – back there.” She pointed in the vague direction.

“Oh I heard there was a young townie just moved in there.” He chuckled, a mellow and congenial chuckle to match his dog’s expression. She could also tell he had sized her up, understood her straight away. He accepted her for her, now that was refreshing.

“I’ve a couple of rolls” would you like to join me?”

“Love too, would you like a slice of quiche?” He started to laugh as she brought out the full picnic she had prepared – including half a bottle of champagne. She started to laugh with him. Bear’s bags where like the magicians hat, a feast fit for a table slowly emerged. Normally she would never have shown anyone, afraid of the ridicule. She liked picnics to be special, just for the sense of occasion. People thought her silly, over the top but to-day she turned fifty, and well there was something different in the way she felt, to-day she didn’t care quite so much what people thought, helped by John’s enjoyment of her little foible.

The Linnets took to the sky, Bear lay down and Peaches curled up for their lunchtime snooze, while the other two dogs went looking for anything that moved. The Linnets song hit the serenity note as two new friends talked about life in general and the village history in particular. There they sat amongst the grass, Clair with her tall elegant champagne flute, and John with his thermos flask cup.

As she loaded Bear’s bags up, John with natural ease called the dogs, and they all walked along the side of the fields to the road. It was no surprise to her that he was a dog trainer, his ability to command respect through his soft encouraging energy, was inspirational.

She got a girlish sense of fun at his face as he saw Peaches climb up into Bear’s backpack. Peaches face poked out periodically with a comical twisting to-and-fro to see what was happening and then she would pop back inside. Peaches now twelve deserved a rest. John was impressed with her agility and energy and instead of making a fuss or poking fun – he took a picture and set it as a screen saver.

“Most people would not believe a fighting dog would ever behave that gentlemanly way. I have to go to the local school and give a talk about dogs, the children would love to see Peaches and Bear” Clair visibly shied away, her pulse racing. John held her elbow while she breathed through it. “I would have to lead them, if you don’t mind, for insurance purposes – you know how it is these days.” He let go as soon as her breathing was normal and held her gaze until he was sure she was calm again.

Each time the insurmountable happened, she had coped and enjoyed the elation of overcoming, the awkward reaction to meeting new people ­– thanks to John’s warm and perceptive personality.

When they had gone a little further, he asked her if she would consider taking on a commission for him. One of his closest friends birthday was coming up and he wanted something special for him. Could she paint a dog from a picture? She said she would give it a go. He nodded and looked at her sideways and his expression made her believe that she was good enough for the task and his faith in her made her anxiety abate.

As they walked along the little birds hovered and soared, singing all the while. As Clair looked up she felt her new roots beginning to be set down here, amongst this year’s ripening harvest and the Linnets unwavering song.

My Mum and Dad's 50th Wedding Anniversary

On the 3rd of march 2012 a village, friends and family walked together to celebrate 50 years of life together. 

What I remembered about those years when we were small

Best idea yet, get someone else to drive

Then came the toasts 

The pomp and ceremony were worth it for the memories we will all hold of the day Winwick came together with the Church, bell-ringers, Skiffle band, neighbours, friends and family to make merry and enjoy. 

My dad taught the bell-ringers and was very proud of them on that day for the dongers and dingers and no clangers could be heard with the song of the blackbird, made this country scene idyllic.

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 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!