Forget Me Not? I most certainly won’t

Not to beat about the bush, today would have been my mum’s birthday. The reason I have started this blog with me not ‘beating around said bush’ is because for the last thirty minutes that is exactly what I’ve been doing. Beginning any piece of writing focused on my mum in any way makes the words jam and cram and settle inside the canal from my brain to my fingers – probably because the intersection at the point of the heart’s involvement always tries to add too much to what I want to say. Nothing I can write at this point will ever be good enough, or convey with enough depth of feeling what I want to get across. But, I will try.

March is always a bugger of a month for me. Mother’s Day and Mum’s birthday all in one hit. You would think that it would get easier over time, but then again, it has only been 19 months since she left us. I have, however, reached the point where memories of her can draw laughter and a feeling of warmth and wonder at ever knowing a woman as perfect as her. Maybe I am biased, but maybe my mother was everything I always believed and more besides. Strong, resilient, loving, protective, witty, caring and the list goes on. I’m sure the majority of you reading this will empathise with the sentiments and be able to add to the catalogue of words I have started. The person you are thinking about may not even be a blood relative, but that, in the grand scheme of things, is neither here nor there.

My mother was a fighter. A trooper. A woman who would not let things get her down. She had a tough life, but she didn’t moan about it or expect to have special treatment because her father died when she was six months old, or as a girl of fifteen she nursed her dying mother. My mum just kept going, battling everything that tried to take her down.

But then there came a battle that she could never win, however much she tried. Alzheimer’s is an opponent who is becoming all too familiar in our lives today; an opponent that imprisons, terrorises and traumatises victims, stripping them of all they were and could be. Watching this disease tear through my mother was something I would not wish on my worst enemy. Alzheimer’s doesn’t just destroy the victim – it also devastates his/her loved ones too. The decline from being slightly forgetful, something my family and I nervously laughed off, to the shell of a woman she became seemed not to correlate to what I expected. Naivety and desperate hope left me believing that maybe my mum would end up happily living in her own world as ‘eccentric’, or ‘slightly dotty’ as my sister lovingly said.

I did begin this blog saying I wasn’t going to beat around the bush, and then what did I do? I beat that poor bloody bush into submission, maybe unconsciousness. The real reason I wanted to post today was because I wanted to share something with you. Not just about my mum’s illness, not even that it is her birthday today. I want to give you a gift.

So, here you have it.

I was going to give a few copies of my short story Forget Me Not to the first few that asked. However, I have changed my mind. You have a week to let me know if you want a copy free of charge. I have mobi, epub or pdf up for grabs. All you have to do is let me know and I’ll send it over to you. Gratis. It’s yours.

Synopsis

Already emotionally drained by coping with her mother’s Alzheimer’s, Cathy Turner feels as if the death of her older brother is the last straw. She walls off her emotions, and mechanically copes with the demands on her time, day by day. Until forces beyond her control and beyond her understanding, break through her self-imposed isolation. Is she losing her mind, or is a power beyond this world gently nudging her in a direction that promises hope and renewal?

I hope you take me up on my offer. I can’t give my mum a real present this year but I can give one to you. I just hope you enjoy it.

And happy birthday, Mam x

(Just to clarify on a few things. This story is mainly based on fact – even the paranormal aspect. The nurse, however, shows hope. This can be viewed as an actual person or an idea or an emotion. It can, in reality be all three. I found my strength here – and that was the point where I knew I could get through whatever would happen. It was my turn to look after a woman who had spent her whole life looking after me, something I would do over and over again in a heart beat.)

From Meme to You

Quite often in my life I’ve found myself careering into a verbal cul de sac, or maybe chit-chatting myself down a one-way street the wrong way – of my own making of course. But I think I’ve gone above and beyond my usual ‘not thinking it all through thoroughly before I speak’ of late. This is something, I am sure, I will look back upon in the non-too-distant future and smile, maybe even chuckle to myself (self-deprecatingly of course) whilst shaking my head gently from side to side.

Or not.

And the reason? I’ll be too busy trying to stick my hair back onto my head with a mishmash of Sellotape, Blu Tack and Pritt Stick – maybe some spittle, straw and cow dung to enhance the experience.

My explanation for the drama of sticky time is simple. A little like me, as it happens. The cause of my hair pulling and road offences boils down to what I have not long set myself up for. Yes. I have recently set up a giveaway of a signed copy of Driving Me Mad, or even an eBook, too. And what did I ask for in return? Just for you to let me know you wanted it – albeit, through a variety of means. Not too difficult to do, yes? For you, no. You all did it perfectly. For me, the one who dreamed up this simple and easy task, no. It was more difficult than me working on a calculus problem.

Let’s put it this way. Did I ask you which book format you would prefer? Did I bollocks. Did I query ‘Have you somewhere or thing on which you can read an eBook?’ No. I didn’t. Why? Because, as it has become blatantly obvious, I am a knob.

But. It will get sorted. I promise.

Therefore, I have to be more specific with round two of the giveaway.

I have had so many wonderful ideas for this next stage of the giveaway and I believe I’ll probably use most of them in the near future. Some of you are so imaginative and creative, I should ask you for plot ideas for my future stories. So what I did in the end was to choose the idea that had appeared more than once. Retelling a scary story was up there with the ‘possibles and maybes’, as that idea came through five times – not completely the same, a couple said about scary stories from their lives whereas the other three said about scary scenes from a book. I’ve had desert island ideas, favourite characters, aspects of our favourite characters’ lives – even to these characters performing a pop song – favourite books, scenes, movies, drinks, jokes – both about books or generally. Even selfies made an appearance. Funniest, most interesting, most embarrassing … and on the list goes. See? Original, imaginative, creative and brilliant.

But the one I will go for was mentioned six times. Seven if you included mine as I would have said this one too. If you are familiar with my Facebook page you will know I love any memes to do with books, reading, writing, grammar, stationery, dogs. Therefore, what I will write next has nearly already been written.

Here is what you have to do to win either a signed copy of Driving Me Mad or an eBook of your choice.

• You have to create a meme (der)
• It has to be about either books, reading, writing, grammar, stationery, dogs (sorry, no cats – this is not the purrrrrfect time to include them. Yes. I know its ruff on you cat lovers, but these are the rules) – and an honourable mention if you can amalgamate all of them.
• You send the meme to me (fingersmith@hotmail.co.uk) – not just post it on my Facebook page (this way I can alert you if you have won AND you can stipulate your prize – like ‘have you the means to read eBooks’ … not falling for that old chestnut again)
• I will post the best memes I receive onto Facebook and people will vote for the winners. This way I don’t have to do it. Grin.
• All memes to be sent to me by Saturday 5 March 2016

I’ll even help you out – https://imgflip.com/memegenerator

Okay. That seems to be it. For now. Looking forward to seeing what you can come up with. Get those creative juices flowing. Make us think, laugh, cry, yearn for pens, want to go out and pet a dog. You are now in the driving seat.

Good luck.

Moaning Minnies, Plum Jam and Short Stories

Considering I’ve been on summer hols for a few weeks, it seems like yesterday that I was wrapping up the school year once more. I know to those poor folks who don’t get to have nearly six weeks off (although I do know the US have a damned sight more, but I don’t resent it – much) are probably gritting their teeth in an agonised clamp, and will bite down even more when I write the next bit.

I wish my summer holiday was longer.

I know I should apologise for being a greedy git, but I won’t – although I will say I’m sorry for the ache in your jaw. In all my spoiled honesty, I admit that I don’t want to go back to the confines of a classroom.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my job, love teaching, but I don’t really love the politics that is now part and parcel of each decision made, and the admin that is nearly all what teaching has become. Pupils are clients, bums on seats means money in the struggling coffers, and all kids are seen through eyes tinged with pound signs. This leads to teachers being put upon to get results from students who can’t, or don’t want to, achieve, therefore forcing the next stage of school life. Ofsted. The most feared two syllables of a teacher’s vocabulary. The threat of this organisation turning up at the school gates like the cast from Reservoir Dogs hovers over a teacher’s head like a black cloud, darkening significantly with each choice or lesson plan drawn up. And then there are the other things – the escalating hours a teacher has to work, the scrutiny from senior leaders, the complete tip of work / life balance to be in the favour of the employer and not the employee…

What am I doing? Moaning, I guess. But that is NOT what I want to write about today. I can bang on about work and slip effortlessly into the ‘poor me’ role if I wanted to, but deep down I know I’d only be doing it because I am back at work next week and I am gutted. G.U.T.T. E.D. I want to lounge, be lazy, cut my grass and tickle my flowers, walk inches off my lads’ legs, have late nights and lie ins, watch pap on TV, read and read and read, do DIY, write bollocky blogs that no one will read, and I want to continue doing it until I am bored of it. At the moment that is not the case. How can I be bored when I have a tree full of plums that need my attention? – and that is not a euphemism. I have jam to make. Yes – I am of that age that making my own jam is classed as cool. I would’ve made cherry jam, but the fat bastard pigeons ate my plump red fruit again this year, and, once again, the neighbourhood knew about it.

And then there is the writing. Sigh. I love writing, but when I’m in school it seems to take a back seat to marking and lesson planning – not forgetting all the time I spend moaning about how busy I am and rattling on to any poor sap who will listen that a teacher’s day does not end at 3:30. I want to escape into worlds of my own making, have rendezvouses with characters I’ve given literary birth to, sit and stare at the space above my laptop until the right word comes along, feel the rush of my imagination leave my fingertips and appear on the blank white space of a word document. Is this too much to ask?

To my bank manager, yes. He tells me that work is the means to which my mortgage, and other bills, get paid every month, how my little furballs get treats, and how I can have a bit of freedom in the time off work has bestowed on me. So, like one of the seven dwarfs, it’s hie hoe, hie hoe, it’s off to work I go come Wednesday. (On a side note: would I be Grumpy? I think I have shown characteristics from all of them over the last few weeks, but I think Grumpy will be the one that lasts the longest. Just a hunch.)

But I have been writing. Two short stories are finished but not edited. Attic Space is a ghost story that I originally penned for the Ylva anthology but she came out too big. I’m undecided what to do with her, but she will get my attention again before long. One thing I need to say though is that Attic Space did not have one single F word throughout. Not one! It was a challenge I set myself and through her I realised how hard it was for me to write without being a potty mouth. But, I did it. Go me. F**k yeah!

Solomon’s Temple on the walk up.

Storm, the second of my short stories, however, is completely different to my usual style as the humour is lacking and it is a lot darker than my customary offering. Storm completely captivated my attention but she was the kind of story that took me a lot longer to complete. She was only meant to be a short story but she ended up over 32,000 words. I will definitely be going back to her and give her the once, or twice, over. The reason for this is because I think this story has potential. To make things even better, I’ve not long visited the places mentioned in the short story – Grin Low and Upper Hulme in Derbyshire. Thankfully, I didn’t get the same treatment as my central character. I am considering developing the storyline, tightening things up a little. It makes it so much better when I can actually visualise the surroundings more clearly. It’d been a fair while since I’d visited these places, so seeing them again really gave me a boost, something I want to inject into the story.

Talking about the Peaks, Driving Me Mad will be on its way from Ylva soon. I seem to have had a burst of inspiration based on the Peak District in my writing, and would you believe it if I said that my Sat Nav did exactly what the story’s Sat Nav did to Rebecca Gibson? Yes. It sent me through Kirk Langley when I was supposed to be going in the

Top of Hen Cloud

opposite direction. Thankfully, I did not end up staying the night with Annabel Howell. Firstly, it was broad daylight for me, and secondly, I ignored the Sat Nav and read the road signs. Once again, go me! Some of you may remember the story when I released it at the academy a while back. But, if you think that is the entire story you will have a surprise coming your way. The story has been developed significantly, adding another three times the content. So what was originally a short story is well over a 100,000 words. Hopefully you will like what I’ve done with it. I did. Do. Whatever.

I have recently started a new story and am undecided whether to continue writing that or go back to Storm. Maybe it will all be decided with the toss of a coin if I can find one that isn’t a supermarket trolley counter.

Man! Don’t I go on? If you have gotten this far, congratulations! You have my upmost respect. You are definitely dedicated, or really bored. But if you haven’t gotten this far … there is nothing I need to write as you won’t read this anyway … and I think I am on the verge of writing myself into a verbal cul de sac (not to mention that my foot has gone dead because I’ve been sitting on it).

So, with no more procrastinating, moaning, rambling, or lack of blood circulating around my right foot, I will bid you adieu. Hopefully it won’t be as long until I write next time, if work doesn’t try to get in the way of course. I will keep you updated about any future stories just in case you are interested.

Right. Time to get cracking on those plums! Wish me luck.

I am a reader because …

Summer. The sounds of birds singing their love songs from the tree tops; the delicious clunk of a cricket ball meeting a bat to be followed by muffled cheering; the smell of bbq in the air; radios playing catchy summery tunes in their tinny ‘I’m on the windowsill’ kind of way; butterflies dancing from flower to flower unsure where to land because everything looks too damned beautiful; bees busily buzzing and collecting whatever it is they collect …

Perfect isn’t it. Throw in picnics, trips to the park, beach holidays and never-ending adventures whilst wearing shorts, or a sarong, and we have the ideal time of the year that makes us forget those cold, dark mornings, freezing wind, icy rain and miserable skies.

Now let’s think of the reality of the summer season. Sweaty sticky patches in delicate places; food poisoning from undercooked sausages from your bbq leaving you with the dilemma of which way to face the toilet; summer tunes that grate on the nerves after hearing them here, there and everywhere but still not knowing the dance; wasps … flies … wasps … those green funny shaped jumping things that love to surprise … did I mention wasps? What about lack of sleep? Trying to find the cool spot and never succeeding? Picnics with ants, overflowing car parks, beaches full of hairy backs (men, usually – but you never know – I’ve seen some eye openers in the last couple of weeks); bodies giving the appearance of radiation exposure and the onomatopoeic ‘tisss’ when seeing the glowing red of sun burn; screaming toddlers / teens / seagulls and so on. Don’t forget that feeling as you slip on last year’s shorts and produce a beautiful impression of a camel’s toe. Priceless. I think I’ve only just stopped crying.

Maybe the last paragraph will strike a chord with most people, but so will some of the things from the opening one too. Summer is the time of year where as a teacher I pray and pray I will survive the school year and get to the this time where the bell doesn’t dictate my life, marking isn’t all I think about, and teens are home with their parents for the duration. It is the oasis in the school year, the oasis that at times taunts me like that bloody carrot in front of a donkey scenario – definitely out of reach however hard I try to grab it.

Then BAM! It is here and I am thinking ‘Where the hell did that come from?’ To be honest, I feel a little dazed by it all. All that wishing for it to be here and then … WTF? I’ve gone from working 65 plus hours a week to being at home – it is like driving at 90 mph and then hitting a wall. I don’t know what I should do first. I have editing to finish, a short story to finish, catching up to do, and not to mention all the jobs around the home I’ve had to put on a back burner since the dawn of time.

However, all my whinging will be for nought. It will take me about a week to wind down and then I will be loving the time off. I already have a stack of books to dive in to, and I know for definite I will be writing as I have so many ideas that I just wish I could type faster than my clubbed fingers will allow.

So, why this blog? Why have I been banging on about summer and her pros and cons? Why have I been on ‘whinge mode’ about work and trying to up the pity card? These questions are very easily answered. I just wanted to get my fingers back on the key board and words to start coming from LT Smith rather than teacher me.

Oh, and to tell you about my giveaway. Honestly, I would forget my head …

Right. Here we go.

I have been meaning to do a giveaway ever since the paperback version of Once was released last month, but work got in the way. But, I don’t have that excuse anymore so here we go.

This giveaway is in two parts – firstly, you have a chance to win a signed copy of Once. Maybe you have read this book when it was first released a few years ago, but this version is new and very much improved.  If you don’t win the paperback, I am offering three e-book copies to three (un)lucky readers.

Now I don’t want to confuse anyone, although I probably have already, but it is very simple to enter this first part. All you have to do to have a chance of winning is to either message me on Facebook or email (fingersmith@hotmail.co.uk)

Now the second part of the giveaway is a little bit different.  You can choose a book of mine for me to sign for you – your choices are Once, Beginnings, or Hearts and Flowers Border.  Or if you don’t win a signed copy, I am giving away three e-books – you can choose one of my published stories to download to your reader (Once, Beginnings, Hearts and Flowers Border, Still Life, See Right Through Me, Puppy Love, or Forget Me Not).

In order to have a stake in the loot, you have to finish the following sentence and post it either on my Facebook page or send it to me via email.

I am a reader because …

Each sentence you complete is a new entry. Therefore, if you send me ten messages and have a different sentence each time, you have ten chances to win. I have already had a few people enter more than once, but it will be a case of the best reason for being a reader will get the signed copy.

The competition is open until 29 July 2015 – I will announce the winners as soon as … erm, I’ve decided?

And now that I have told you about the giveaway, where was I?

Ah yes. Summer. That time of year, just like all the other seasons, where you can look at life and her many scenarios positively, negatively, or as they really are. The essence of summer is in our hearts, our minds and our souls. It may be pouring with rain, just like it is now in good old Blighty, or the sun may actually be shining upon you (or from certain parts of your anatomy – I suffer from this ;p). Whatever the weather, whatever the scene, remember John Milton’s words ‘The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.’ So bloody true.

Oh, and btw …

I am a reader because I cannot stop myself.

Simple.

Just thought I’d say …

To be perfectly honest, I have written and rewritten the opening to this blog countless times and am still at a loss of how to start it. Therefore, this reflective statement on not being able to start something, but in reality doing just that (a paradox?), will be how this blog will begin.

Mothering Sunday, or Mother’s Day. A day where people from all walks of life celebrate the matriarch with maybe a bunch of daffs, breakfast in bed, lunch out with the family, and / or many other different gifts to show appreciation and love to ‘Mother’ or ‘Nanna’ or any other of the many different monikers that mean the same thing. Wherever I’ve been of late I’ve found myself bombarded with rows upon rows of flowers, shelves of cards, enough smellies to stun a rhino … not to mention stacks of chocolates in heart shapes, mugs spouting ‘I love my mum’, and teddies holding felt roses. Let’s add on bottles of bubbly, CD compilations hosting Will Young, Ronan Keating, Take That et al, and DVDs featuring Colin Firth or Hugh Grant, and we have the occasion sewn up.

Sounds like a wonderful day, yes? Gifts, love, appreciation, and family? Most definitely a perfectly charming day. But, alas, I wasn’t feeling the ‘wonderfulness’ of it this year. Considering it is my first year without my mum, it is no surprise that I could barely see what the supermarket had on its shelves yesterday as I fought to curtail my bubbling emotions from blabbing all over the shop. Don’t get me wrong, I am not a party pooper and don’t want to appear as such. I am ecstatic that mums are appreciated and have a special day on the calendar to highlight how positively brilliant they truly are. However, why wait for that one day? Why just show her that you love her on one Sunday in March – or May if you live in the States?

I know many people will not just wait for this day to take ‘mum’ those daffs /chocolates/ teddies, or putter out words of admiration. I also need to point out that not everyone has the same relationship with his or her parent, and don’t feel the need to continuously spill over with gratitude and love for the woman who gave birth to them on a daily basis. But maybe if they were seated where I am seated at this precise moment, they may want to change their minds. I don’t mean on my sofa in my living room, either. I mean not having the opportunity to say ‘I love you, Mum’, or ‘You are amazing, Mum’. Don’t get me wrong, I fully understand there are some women out there who do not deserve any recognition for anything under the heading of ‘great parent’. Being a teacher has opened my eyes to that one. Unfortunately.

The last couple of years were not the best for my mum, and if you have read Forget Me Not, you might understand why this is. I honestly believed I had more time with her, had more time of her understanding what I was saying, or being able to process it. By the time I got to the stage of realising Alzheimer’s is a disease that progresses more quickly than I first realised, and the person I loved was slowly disappearing, I was telling my mum over and over again how much I loved her. But to her every time I said ‘I love you’ was as if each and every utterance was the first. Her face would light up and she would give me that grin of hers – the same grin that makes my heart ache to remember it.

This morning I was looking for something to post on my facebook page, something that could convey how I was feeling today. There were so many different images out there that could have filled the daily spot, but not one of them seemed to reflect how I was feeling. It was a very humbling time for me when I looked at the pictures people had put out onto the net. Not only did I see a sea of grief and heartbreak for people who had lost a parent, I was also enlightened to the plight of mothers who have lost their children too. Weirdly enough, I was also given advice how to lose weight – that will teach me for putting ‘Mothers Day loss’ in the search engine, although I did become interested in the ‘Big Breakfast theory’. But, now like then, I digress.

Let me get back to the messages created by people who were better at gathering how they felt into a pithy quote. One I particularly liked was ‘For no day dawns or ends without a thought of you.’ Simple. To the point. Truthful , albeit glaringly obvious. In the seven months since my mum’s passing, I have not started, or ended, any day without thinking of her. However, now the thoughts of my mum don’t pierce my heart so much. Sometimes now I can think of her and laugh at the things that she would do or say, talk about her without my voice hitching or me having to struggle not to start crying. Now, carefully selected pictures of her around the place give me a sense of comfort and not the initial loss of before. A huge step.

I bet you are wondering why I have spent so much time writing this blog. Why I have blurted my grief out into the world on a day where happiness, gratitude and love should be displayed. There is no reason apart from I just wanted to share it. Just wanted to let other people out there who have lost a mother, a grandmother, or a figure who embodies the traits of a mother that I can relate to you. And to those mothers who have lost a child – I wanted to acknowledge you too, although I can only empathise with the grieving part.

But, mainly, I wanted to just remind you to tell the ones you love how you feel. Tell them, and tell them, and, you guessed it, tell them again. Show them too. Take the daffs even if it isn’t Mothering Sunday. Give your sister a hug, your brother a high five. Wrap your arms around the one you love and make them fully aware of how much they mean to you, how they hold a huge part of your life in their hands. Don’t forget your animals too. Give them some excited praise and watch them awaken from the slumber they have fallen into whilst you have been reading this … if you’ve gotten this far that is … and dance about you as if you are the most important person in the world. Maybe because you are.

The reason? You have the possibility of making someone’s day special every day. How perfectly wonderful is that?

A little bit of this and that … AKA ellipses, short paragraphs and pap

Thought I would give you an update of what is going on over here in sunny / cold / raining / threat of snow / foggy / icy (delete as applicable when reading after checking the weather) Norwich. Many things have happened since I last took the time to blog about anything, but, alas, not many of them are interesting enough to engage or titillate you, dear reader – or engage or titillate me, for that matter. Work has taken up most of my time since the New Year dragged its sorry ass into 2015, followed by me and my fat one.

As you may, or may not, be aware, I have just finished a Valentine’s story for the annual Valentine invitational over at the Academy of Bards. Obviously, I was late. I tried so hard to get it completed on time. Believe me. I diligently worked at it every evening after finishing all the stuff I had to finish for work – even when my laptop gave a wonderful Oscar winning performance of a dying duck. Then it all seemed to go even more tits up. I know some nights I only got about 400 words down on the page, but it seemed as if the last 200 words had something against me and did not want to get written, or, to be more poetic, be born.

I’m exaggerating of course. It wasn’t the last 200 – more like the last couple of thousand – but it seemed as if I was so close to completion for so long that I believed if I sneezed hard enough to allow my fingers to smack against the keys, Three Syllables would have been completed in good time to send off to the lovely ladies at RAB. But, alas, I think the reason for the ending being dragged out was because I just didn’t want the story to finish. No. Not because I didn’t know how to end it, but because it had been with me for nearly a month and if I finished it, then I would have to get on with all the other stuff I had waiting to be done.

Yep. A screwed up reasoning, but one I am sticking to, your Honour.

To be perfectly honest, I was quite pleased by the way the story panned out, something I am not used to saying about any of my own work. I think it worked well with the prequel whose title I had to think up all by myself only to come up with The True Meaning After All – not one I think truly fits the story, but one that will have to do for now. (Maybe you could get your finger out of unmentionable places and send your idea to me – thereby to be rewarded with an ebook of mine of your choice. Or, if you think it more fitting, the threat of me sending you an ebook of mine being lifted.)

Talking of books … erm … tenuously, I shall link this next part … Beginnings is out and about in the big world once again. I have to admit, this edition is so different to the edition that was out before. Believe me – so much work has gone into this version and I believe she is now the book I always thought she could be. Don’t get me wrong, I always loved Beginnings, always said she was the favourite of all my stories – until I began the editing and revision process. Man. I could not believe the changes I had to make, the additions I put in … Jeez.

Mainly it is all down to a variety of things – my writing (I think) has improved since originally writing the story, the expectations of the readers are different, working with different publishers and editors … the list could, if we let it, go on. But, after all is said and done, the essence of the story has not been lost. It is still about love, about friendship, about longing for ‘the one’ to actually sit up and notice you are alive however many years have passed. To me, love doesn’t go out of fashion.  Or does it?

Beginnings still contains so much of me in her, actually even more so after revisiting her once again and adding the thoughts and emotions of me as an even more ‘grown up woman’ than I was when I first penned her. I think any writer will tell you that there is always a little bit of her or him in every book they create, and for me there is no exception. However, I can’t believe it is over nine years ago that the idea of writing the story of Lou and Ash came to me – over nine years since I leaned back in my chair, cocked my head to the side and reread the opening paragraphs only to think ‘I can do something with this’.

Consequently, I am more of a gardener than an architect when it comes to writing. I plant ideas and see what happens; plant and water and nurture and clip them until eventually I surprise myself with the outcome. I don’t think of myself as an adventurous or exotic gardener – just the run of the mill kind that doesn’t really stray far from my own back garden because I am happy to plod along and create something I feel I can relate to. Maybe, sometimes, it gets overrun with weeds, a little like now, but I always hope that the essence of the garden comes through to the person looking at it.

WTF? For a moment then I thought I had well and truly gone off the point, and, if I am being truthful, I did. However, I doubt many of you have gotten this far into this blog anyway …

What else do I need to tell you? Hmm. Let me think …

Once!!! Yes. Once. I am in the process of editing her ready for her re-emergence this summer. It was good to read through her even though I was making changes as I went. One thing I have noticed is this – I have definitely cut back on all of the ‘…’ I used to do. I honestly can’t understand why I had such a fascination with ellipsis, or ellipses if I wanted to get all plural on my ass. I peed myself off on more than one occasion whilst going through, and I know I must’ve done the same to other readers. That, and, at times, the excessively short paragraph.

Like this. Or…

Grin.

One thing that hasn’t changed is my annoying sense of humour.

Or has it?

I can remember not long after Once was published and I won an award from the Lesbian Fiction Readers’ Choice Awards for comedy. Obviously, I was really excited, as anyone would be if his or her book had been given the big thumbs up by the reader. But, I can still remember thinking ‘I thought it was sad’. Shows how much I know doesn’t it. Maybe if I write a comedy I may get an award for drama. Food for thought.

If you have made it this far, well done. I salute you. You have resilience and perseverance and deserve a medal or even a mention in the New Year Honours List. Kudos, dear reader.

On a final note, I am seriously considering writing the next instalment of Erin and Bran’s story for Easter. If you have huge objections about that, let me know will you? I don’t want to flog a dead horse.

Ahem … this is actually the final note. It will be ten years next month since I sent my first story, Hearts and Flowers Border, to the academy. Therefore, I will be doing a giveaway of my stories – and a signed paperback copy of Beginnings. So, if you are interested, watch this space. Not literally watch this space – I mean ‘figuratively’. I will let you know in more detail closer to the time.

So, this is a final final final note. Spring is nearly here. I know that fits with NOTHING else I’ve mentioned (apart from the weather), but I just thought I would shove it in right at the end. I love spring. Time for change, rebirth, new beginnings and longer days – not to mention it is closer to the end of the school year.

*fist pump*

2015 – New Beginnings or Learning Curve?

2015. Actually, it is four days into 2015 and I haven’t broken my New Year’s resolutions yet, mainly because I didn’t really think about making declarations of ‘Losing Weight’, ‘Getting healthier’, ‘Being more organised’ or all the other things I would usually do when the clock struck midnight to tip me from one year and into the next. To be honest, I was too happy bidding 2014 farewell to worry about my big fat ass or that I will never be an Olympian – not to mention not being organised enough to actually think about making any.

As most of you are aware, I lost my mum in August of last year. The journey to that point was not a very pleasant one and I would not wish Alzheimer’s on my worst enemy. It is a very cruel and destructive disease – and not just for the sufferer.   Watching the decline of someone you love is horrific but we make sure we are there every step of the way. It is not about us at that moment, or how we are feeling – it is about how we can help them, how we can ease the pain, the torment, the absolute devastation to their lives.

In reality, I am not too sure that my mum was aware I was there by the time it got to the end, but I hope she took some comfort from having someone chatting to her, feeding her, brushing her hair. I hope when I rambled on about things that happened in her past she took some semblance of solace from those memories considering she couldn’t remember things that had happened recently. And, hopefully, when I rattled on about the ‘here and now’ she would recognise some of the things I was talking about.

The time after losing my mum was not the best. Obviously. Trying to ‘carry on’ and not dwell on what had happened was difficult, but I believed it was the best course of action. It is weird how a family reacts when the matriarch has gone – almost like she was the hand that held us all together, like gripping a fist full of marbles. Then when she passed, the hand fell open and the marbles hit the ground and raced into different directions. That is the only way I can describe it – us all being the escaping marbles trying to flee with no sense of purpose or direction.

Forget Me Not helped me to bring together some of the feelings I was experiencing. Weirdly enough, I had penned to story before my mum died, but editing it was almost cathartic. One thing I am truly thankful for is the feedback from some readers who had read the story and then shared their experiences with me. Hopefully by their sharing their sadness they too began to heal just a little bit. I really hope that is what happened. It doesn’t hurt to know that all proceeds from this short story will be donated to the Alzheimer’s Society either (a huge thank you to Ylva – especially Astrid and Daniela).

By the time it came to Christmas, five months after that awful day, the marbles started to roll back into the centre once again. Maybe it was because of my brother’s brain aneurysm – which was caught in time – or maybe enough time had passed for us all to start accepting that mum was in a better place. Some of the marbles seemed a little more scuffed than they had been, and the rolling action was a tad more laboured, but they made their way back almost to the centre.

I know I am not the only one who has experienced loss in the last few months. I know I am not alone in the heartache that comes with illness, whatever the diagnosis. Sometimes it feels as if we will never get beyond it, never live through it, but we do. We surprise ourselves by how strong we actually are – physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually. We may feel like we are sinking or going under, and although it feels as if we are inhaling salt water most of the time, we are keeping our heads above the surface – just.

So. My New Year’s resolution is to keep moving forward whilst not forgetting to glance backwards now and again. That way I can see how far I have come. My mum will always be with me, snuggled inside my chest alongside the memory of her laugh, her smile, her scent, the way she would feel when she gave me hugs, and she will also be in my memories for the rest of my life.

2014 was not the best year for me but it doesn’t mean I should just discard it. Not everything was doom and gloom, although you are probably thinking otherwise after reading this. I will keep remembering that even though sometimes it hurts to learn from experiences, not all of them are painful and life changing. Experiences come in many shapes and sizes, and I believe we have to be part of all of these however much it can smart at times. Life is full of many things – some we love and some we try to hide from. Experience has taught us that.

2015? Bring. It. On.

And please note … not one F word.

 

Untitled – Part 4

I didn’t wait for the lift. The stairs suited me just fine. I was too wired to be standing about waiting for a ride down one level, and racing down the stairs was a good way to stop me losing what little self-respect I had left by doing something stupid outside the elevator doors whilst waiting.

As I rounded the corner and into the reception area of Alan Jackson’s office, I was greeted by the rat like face of Tim Clements who was stopping a very harried Branwen from getting past him.

‘Come on, Bran. You know you want to.’

She attempted to side step him but he cut her off and I grinned when I saw her straighten her back and glare up at him. Branwen didn’t take any crap from anyone – that was another thing I loved about her.

‘As usual, you’re wrong, Tim. It is way too late for that.’ She tried to dodge past him again but Tim stopped her once more, placing his hands on her upper arms. I felt a growl of anger surge from my gut, the feeling accompanying the clenching of my fists.

However, something very unusual happened. Something I did not expect to happen in a million years. Tim Clements looked straight at me, his dark eyes widening slightly. At this point I thought he would get out of Branwen’s way and let her pass, but no. He gave me a slight wink before he focused his full attention on the woman who was trying to look bored by his behaviour.

‘Look, Bran. Erin Staunton likes you. She does. Now you don’t work for her there’s nothing to stop you asking her out is there?’

Branwen’s shoulders seemed to sag slightly, and I heard a sigh escape from her mouth. I wanted to say something but I was too stunned to get the words out. Actually, I had to lean on the side of the door frame for support.

‘You’re just saying that, Tim. She doesn’t want me that way. I saw the picture of her and her ex.’ Another sigh accompanied a gesture with her hand as if she was dismissing something.

‘Yes. Her ex, Bran. Ex.’ Branwen made to turn but Tim caught her and pulled her back to face him. If she had turned, Branwen Campbell would have seen a mesmerised me propped in the doorway.

‘Look. Tim. No offense, but you didn’t see the photo of them together. Didn’t hear her tell me how wonderful Erin is. As if I didn’t know that already.’ She rubbed her hands over her face before looking back at Tim. ‘That’s why I asked to leave. It was obvious that the letter and photo were sent as a reminder of how wonderful their relationship had been.’

Four strides. That’s all it took me to be behind her. Four strides and I was touching her shoulder making her spin around to me, her facial expression that of absolute horror. I didn’t speak. Couldn’t. My hands lifted swiftly, cupping her jaw and leaning forwards to claim those lips that I had thought about so often but hadn’t even realised I had thought about until this moment.. But even my subconscious thoughts of those perfect lips paled in comparison to the feel of them underneath mine. Initially, her lips reflected the shock of being discovered, but I pressed more firmly with mine, moving my mouth slightly until I felt her return the action. My fingers dipped into her hair, the silken strands of darkness caressing my skin, making me pull her closer, hold her more tightly, press her against me with just my will, my mouth and my hands.

Then, I felt her fingers slip up the front of me, felt them glance over my chest, along my throat and rest at the sides of my face as if she was holding me in place or trying to work out who was kissing her.

Branwen pressed even more against me, her tongue tentatively slipping between parted lips. A moan left my mouth and entered hers and I felt a hunger I had not felt for a long long time overcome me.

But this was not the time or the place to satiate this raging need. Purposefully, I slowed the kiss, Branwen following my lead.

Pulling away from her was an agony, but it had to be done. Our hands were still on faces, still in hair, eyes locked, green into brown, brown into green. Branwen was slightly shorter than me so I leaned forward, my forehead resting on hers, our ragged breaths mingling. The heat coming from her was radiant, just like her.

Her pupils were dilated making her eyes appear darker, but there was a sparkle swimming around the glorious irises that illuminated the life welling from her. When she blinked, it seemed as if she did so with agonising deliberateness, as if it was a snippet of film slowed to project every nuance, every detail.

When her voice came, it was perfectly pitched for our proximity.

‘You don’t know how long I’ve waited for you to do that.’

With her words, my stomach clenched delectably and I couldn’t help but kiss her again. I felt as if I could keep kissing her for the rest of my life and never tire of it.

As I pulled my mouth away once again, I murmured, ‘Same here.’ It wasn’t until I actually said those two words that I realised how long my wait for our kiss had actually been.

Branwen lifted her hand and placed her finger on the bridge of my nose for a moment before trailing it downward and toward my lips, her eyes following the path before they seemed to spring back to meet my gaze – the same action Carilyn Phillips had done, but the effect so very different.

‘Can I ask you a question?’ I loved her voice. Loved it. Especially this close.

I nodded, my smile open and honest.

‘What about Shannon McEwen?’

My forehead furrowed into a frown. I think this action was mainly because I wasn’t too sure why she was asking about my ex at this precise moment.

I felt her pull away slightly, but I didn’t relinquish my hold of her.

I repeated her question, although my tone was different. ‘What about Shannon McEwen?’

This time Branwen managed to pull back as she stepped out from our inner sanctum. I was surprised all over again to realise we were still in the reception area, Tim Clements nowhere in sight.

It was at this moment that I realised what she meant when she had asked about Shannon.

‘We are not an item.’ Fuck. I knew as soon as my words hit the air they were the wrong ones. I’d just announced that I didn’t believe Branwen and I were an item and not Shannon and myself. If I hadn’t worked it out with just the words, the crushed expression on Branwen’s face should have been enough to alert me of my oral faux pas. Stupidly, I tried to rectify it by blurting out something I thought would show Branwen that Shannon was with someone else. ‘The wedding is set for New Year’s Eve.’

I should’ve been clearer.

Branwen’s mouth initially dropped, then she blurted ‘You are getting married to her and you come and kiss me like this? What kind of woman are you?’

‘No, no! You don’t understand.’ My voice sounded panicky, and I’m not surprised Branwen stepped further away from me, her body language closing up. ‘Would you like to come to a wedding?’

Her lips tightened until I saw a white line. Stupidly, I couldn’t understand why she was so angry. All she had to do was say no, she had other plans.

‘How dare you. What would your intended say if she knew what you had just done?’ Branwen stepped forward. ‘To think I really liked you. Really respected you. God!’

‘I don’t understand what …’

‘When I met her on Friday, I was crushed. She was the woman who held your heart, the same heart I had yearned for since I’d started working for you.’

‘But …’

‘When she told me how wonderful you were and to give you the letter, I wanted to hide it. That way …’ Branwen dramatically threw her hands into the air. ‘Never mind, eh? Shannon won after all. It was a good job I decided to take Alan up on his offer.’

‘No. You’ve got it wrong, Branwen. Sha …’

‘Yes! I did get it wrong. Very wrong.’ Finally. ‘I should’ve pushed you off me as soon as you kissed me.’

‘I don’t think …’

‘No. You don’t. That’s the whole …’

Once again my mouth met hers, as it seemed the only way I could get my point across without her getting the wrong end of the stick.

She tried to pull away, but I wasn’t having any of it. My lips were staying against hers until she responded. Then, and only then, would I feel it would be safe to release my hold of her without repercussions. However, when she did respond, I completely forgot why I had launched my kissing attack in the first place. Well, until the kiss came to a natural end and I dreamily pulled my mouth free from hers.

A sad smile flittered over Branwen’s face and I felt the ache of it in my chest.

Trailing my thumb over her mouth, I asked, ‘What’s the matter, love?’

I could feel her shaking slightly, almost as if she was vibrating. ‘I can’t believe you could kiss me like that and be marrying someone else.’

‘Marrying someone else? Me? Marrying someone else?’ Branwen’s eyes opened widely. ‘I’m not marrying anyone else. If I was to marry anyone …’ I stopped before I made a complete fool out of myself. ‘Whatever gave you that idea?’

‘You said the wedding was set for New Year’s Eve.’ Her voice sounded a little unsure. Thankfully.

I held my hands out, totally at a loss for what to say. The situation seemed so stupid I believed if I spoke at that moment I would just cock it up even more.

Branwen looked up at me, those brown eyes absorbing me.

‘Just tell me the truth, Erin. Tell me what’s happening. If it hurts me, I’d prefer it to hurt me now rather than later.’

Reaching out, I lifted her hand and brought it to my lips. Once, twice, three times I left a kiss on her skin, my gaze never leaving hers.

‘I am not getting married to Shannon McEwen.’ Branwen just continued to look into my eyes. ‘Do you want to know the reason?’ She nodded once. Clear and sure.

With my free hand, I cupped her under her chin, lifting her face so it was in direct line to mine to make sure I had her full attention.

‘Shannon is marrying Leah on New Year’s eve. Marrying Leah. The woman she loves. Do you understand, Bran?’ It was the first time I had abbreviated her name and I liked how it felt on my lips.

‘But that isn’t the only reason why I am not getting married to Shannon on New Year’s Eve. Do you want to know the other reason?’ I stepped closer, mesmerised by how dark her eyes were becoming all over again. She nodded, again once, again, clearly and surely.

‘The reason I am not marrying Shannon McEwen on New Year’s Eve is because I am inexplicably, undoubtedly, resolutely and undeniably in love with you, that’s why.’

The kiss I received at that moment made all the other kisses pale in comparison.

Considering I’d always thought Christmas was a humbug time of year, I believed I’d found the true meaning of it as I held my future in my arms. Santa must have made his list, checked it twice, and then decided I was on the ‘Nice’ list after all. Branwen Campbell was the only thing I’d ever, or would ever want for Christmas for the rest of my life.

Now that’s what I call a gift that keeps on giving.

 

The End

 

 

Untitled – Part 3

Chloe just looked at me, her expression like a deer caught in the headlights. The scene she had just witnessed was not something a person would come across in the supposedly mundane world of an office, but there was not a lot I could do about that now.

All the energy seemed to have been drained from me and my legs decided I should sit down for a while.

As I slumped into the chair, I leaned forward and put my head in my hands, the effect of the action acting like a cocoon. It was at this precise moment that I realised just how shite my life truly was. Yes. I had been in a sexual relationship with Carilyn for getting on four years because sometimes it was better to be with a warm willing body and not just on my own all of the time. Our ‘sex only meetings’ suited us both just fine as neither of us wanted anything more. I had my work. That filled the rest of the hours in my day.

‘Did you want me for anything else?’ Chloe’s voice sounded distant, although I had thought she would have just scuttled off to her desk after the debacle she had just witnessed.

Slowly, I lifted my face from my hands, my fingers dragging downward until they were resting on the table top.

A soft sigh released itself from me and I gave Chloe a sad smile.

‘That’ll be all, Chloe.’ The young woman moved to leave. ‘As for the task I set you up with before…’ She turned back to face me. ‘Don’t bother finding out where Branwen Campbell has gone.’

‘Miss?’

‘Thank you.’

My final two words were a dismissal of sorts and Chloe knew it. She left without another word, and I sat for God knows how long just staring at the closed door of my office.

***

It was getting on for four o’clock when I realised I hadn’t had any lunch. No wonder I felt empty and lightheaded. However, even when I’d eaten a sandwich I bought from the small cafeteria based on the ground floor of our office block, the empty feeling was still there, although my head did feel a little clearer.

As I entered my outer office, Chloe was seated in the place where Branwen should have been sitting and the realisation that Branwen was no longer there seemed to hit me all over again. After the showdown with Carilyn, I hadn’t spoken to Chloe at all. No work, no coffee, no anything. Funnily enough, I hadn’t had any phone calls either, or been interrupted about fifty times like I usually was.

Strolling up to her desk, I noted her shrink back slightly as if she was expecting me to go off on one at her. Is that what my reputation said about me? That I liked to shout at secretaries?

For this reason, I purposefully softened my voice.

‘Hey, Chloe. Any chance of a coffee?’

Her mouth dropped open and she quickly nodded. ‘Sure. Erm … I mean of course, Ms Staunton.’

I smiled at her, the feeling of my lips moving into that shape feeling foreign. ‘No rush. When you’re ready.’

Without waiting for her reply, I entered my office. I knew I had one hundred and one things to do as my day had not been as productive as it should’ve been.

Settling myself at my desk, I clicked on Outlook and watched as my inbox filled with mail. Subject headings like ‘Where are you today?’, ‘Who is the Rottweiler outside your office?’, ‘Get back to me ASAP’ seemed to be the bulk of it. What did they mean where was I? I was, as always, in my office. And who the hell did they mean when they said Rottweiler? Certainly not Chloe. She was as timid as they came.

At that thought, the office door opened and Chloe came in carrying a cup of coffee and a plate of biscuits. As she placed them on my desk, she pushed the plate over to me. ‘A little treat to go with your coffee, Ms Staunton. Branwen said you liked something sweet in the afternoon with your drink.’

‘Did she now?’ My voice was light, teasing, and I think this disturbed Chloe even more. I picked up a digestive biscuit and took a bite. ‘Any … thing …’ I chewed frantically before swallowing with deliberate exaggeration before continuing, ‘else? I mean, did Branwen tell you anything else about me that you needed to know?’ I took another bite and leaned backwards on my chair, my body language indicating I was open to what she had to say.

‘Erm … Just a few tips to make sure your day runs smoothly.’

I smiled at Chloe then lifted the plate and offered her a biscuit. Tentatively, she took one and bit into it, her expression indicating that she still wasn’t too sure what was happening.

‘Like?’ I lifted my coffee and took a mouthful.

‘To make sure you always came first.’

With this statement, I spat my coffee straight out and over my desk. What the hell?

‘I’m sorry, Ms Staunton. Let me clean it up.’

I shook my hand in front of her, initially unable to speak. She finally stopped trying to dodge past me and wipe away the liquid, especially when I caught her by the wrist and raised it upwards before releasing her.

‘I’m sorry, Ms Staunton.’

‘Will you stop bloody apologising, Chloe.’ The words came out firmly, but I softened them with a smile. ‘It is coffee not acid.’ I pulled a tissue from the box on my desk and wiped the surface clean. ‘See? All gone.’

With a nod in her direction, I threw the soiled tissue into the bin at the side of my desk. I felt Chloe move to leave and part of me thought it would be for the best if I let her go. But there was also a more inquisitive side to me that had not yet been satiated.

Looking away as I spoke, I asked ‘Was there anything in particular that Branwen wanted you to know?’ I glimpsed quickly at Chloe before stretching out to pick up a pen from my desk, one of the ones that Carilyn had previously toppled over. Placing it between my lips, I started tapping the plastic onto my teeth as I waited for her response.

Nothing forthcoming, I looked at Chloe again. Blue eyes were wide with what can only be described as shock. Hadn’t she seen a woman tap her teeth with a pen before?

I pulled the pen free of the tap tap tapping and placed it gently on my desk. Didn’t want to freak the poor girl out on her first day if that was the case, although to be honest, I didn’t really think she was looking at me. It seemed as if she was looking past me and onto my desk. I wanted to say once again that it was only coffee that had been spat over my desk, but she spoke.

‘She always said you were a gentle and kind woman, but no one believed her.’

‘What do you mean by that?’ My voice could have been perceived as harsh but Chloe just grinned.

‘Exactly that. All bark and no bite. She said you would do little things for her.’

‘Like?’ I was a little confused. I didn’t do little things for anyone. I worked and expected others to work in return.

‘You let her go home early if she needed to, bought her treats and left them on her desk, always asked how her day was, never treated her as if she was an idiot, especially when she first started working for you.’

It didn’t sound like me. At all. All I could remember doing was snapping at her or ignoring her.

‘You sent a wreath to her aunt’s funeral and donated to cancer research in her aunt’s name.’

I shrugged. To me that wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.

‘You also …’

I held my hand up, stopping Chloe’s next sentence. ‘If I am so bloody marvellous, why did she leave me?’

Chloe frowned. ‘Leave you? She didn’t leave you.’

I laughed, nodding as I did so. ‘Yes she did. Because if she hadn’t left me, she would still be here.’

Chloe shook her head. ‘I told you before, Branwen was redeployed. She was only your temporary secretary.’  Her eyes flicked to the side and then returned to look back at me. ‘She didn’t want to leave here.’

The string of words that I thought were going to escape from my mouth never materialised. I didn’t comment on her being a temp, or her being redeployed, all I seemed to hone in on was the ‘She didn’t want to leave’ part.

‘She … she didn’t … want to … Hey.’ I don’t know why I thought standing would be better but I suddenly found myself on my feet. ‘How do you know all of this? When I asked you about her before it was as if the name Branwen Campbell was alien to you and you had no clue where on earth she had gone.’ Chloe blinked rapidly but I kept on staring into her eyes. ‘All you seemed to know was that she was redeployed, but now it feels as if you’ve known each other all your lives. What gives?’

‘Not exactly all our lives. Branwen is a few years older than me.’

I had no clue what Chloe was going on about. Was it me or was she talking in riddles?

I pushed back, my butt sliding onto the corner of the table, my arms crossing as my head tilted to one side.

A sigh left her mouth. ‘I’m Bran’s cousin. My mother was the one who died from breast cancer.’

It was beginning to make sense, although I was still unclear why Chloe pretended she didn’t really know who Branwen was. With this in mind, I opened my mouth to ask, but never got the question out. The phone on my desk rang, and before I had a chance to stop her, Chloe had picked it up, and was burbling ‘Ms Staunton’s office, Chloe speaking. How can I help you?’

I held out my hand as if to take the phone, but Chloe turned slightly to the side.

‘As I told you before, Mr Jackson, Ms Staunton is in a meeting and cannot be disturbed.’

What the fu …

‘Yes. I will tell her.’

Chloe didn’t even end the call with the usual, trite closing expected from a secretary to a client, although Jackson was a colleague who worked in the sales department one floor below mine.

She placed the phone on my desk and stepped backwards as if moving towards the door. ‘Branwen said you might need some time to yourself after the letter on Friday.’ She grinned and winked at me making my mouth drop open a little more.

‘What letter on …’

Chloe didn’t give me time to respond as she was making her way to the outer door. I was still in shock to realise how badly I had underestimated the young blond woman who was now standing in the doorway looking at me expectantly. At least I had found out who the Rottweiler was in my office.

Blue eyes flicked down to the pile of stuff crammed to the side of my desk where I had shoved them after the coffee incident, my attention flicking there too.

There, sticking out from the base of the pile was the envelope I had paused over when Carilyn had been in the room, the one with the familiar handwriting and the bright blue paper-clip on the corner. Tentatively, I stretched out and slipped my fingers around the corner of the white paper and pulled it slowly over to me, the blue inked ‘Erin’ screaming for my acknowledgment.

‘I’ll leave you to it.’ Chloe’s voice was gentle, and I nodded in her general direction whilst picking up the letter and holding it in front of me. It’d been so long since I’d seen that gentle, sloping cursive that I felt a sharp pang of nostalgia echo throughout me.

***

Shannon McEwen. I knew it just by the way the pen had caressed the E of my name. At least this had cleared up the mystery of why the photograph had appeared on my desk at home – the paper-clip put paid to that. It must’ve been where she had attached the photo to the outside of the envelope; the reasons why she did so unclear to me at that precise moment but knew it would become clearer once I read the letter. I had grabbed an armful of work to take home with me on Friday, and the photograph must have dislodged itself from the envelope. Not really a case for Sherlock Holmes.

Lifting the letter to my face, I inhaled as if I would be able to capture the essence of the woman I’d been in love with all of those years ago. A slight scent of perfume tickled my senses, evoking memories of soft kisses, warm bodies and tender lovemaking. Closing my eyes, I saw Shannon above me, those smoky grey eyes of hers half closed with lust, her perfectly formed mouth slightly open, her breathing hitching with each thrust of her hips.

A lump formed in my throat and it took me a couple of attempts to swallow it down. Those days were in the past. I didn’t make love anymore. I had encounters of a sexual nature – just enough contact with a living breathing person to alleviate sexual tension. Not the same as when I’d been with Shannon. Quite the opposite in fact.

It was at that precise moment that I knew I’d been kidding myself for the last ten years. Not that I was still in love with Shannon, no. That wasn’t it. It was that I wasn’t the hard-nosed, unfeeling, ‘solitary as an oyster’ character I’d tried to be. I had, as I’ve already said, tried to work all the hours I could, tried to get promoted and earn more money so I could take care of Shannon in the way I believed she deserved. What I hadn’t realised at the time was all she had really wanted was me with her, and if I hadn’t been so set on ‘getting on’ I would’ve realised that she should’ve been the only thing I needed in my life.

Flipping the envelope over, I peeled the seal open. Inside was a single sheet of lined paper, both sides full of Shannon’s neat handwriting. Leaning back, I rested my knee against the table top and balanced myself whilst reading through the note. I was surprised at what she had written after the initial salutation:

Counting the delivery of this note, I would’ve been in your office three times in less than a week. Well, not your office as such, but close enough to touch you, to talk to you, to see that smile of yours that used to be able to floor me in an instant. This is the main reason why I have written this letter and not spoken to you in person. I doubt I would’ve had the strength to tell you everything if those gorgeous green eyes of yours were looking at me.

I looked up from the page and stared at the wall. Shannon had been close enough to touch and talk to me and I hadn’t seen or sensed her. There had been a time when I would have known she was close even if I couldn’t see her.

A sigh slipped from my lips and I felt a wave of sadness wash over me. I found my place in her letter once again and continued to read. After all the build up to this moment, the bulk of the letter was not what I was expecting, although, to be honest, I wasn’t too sure what I’d thought I would find on one piece of lined A4 paper. Shannon was getting married. Moving away and getting married.

Leah and I have been together for almost five years and I think it was about time we made honest women out of each other. I would invite you to the ceremony, but I don’t think you would want to travel down to Salisbury for the wedding on New Year’s Eve.

I really hope you are not working all the hours that you did when we were together, and, as a result of it, shutting yourself off from the world. The very first thing I noticed about you, Erin, was your love of life. You were so much fun, so free, so wonderfully unhampered by the stresses of the working world that I fell in love with that side of you. I’m going to attach a picture of us from that time as I am definite you won’t have any pictures. Maybe by looking at this you might remember how wonderful being in love could be. I haven’t got an envelope big enough so I will use a paper clip …

Just by her saying the paper clip bit, I felt better. Fucked up? You bet. Here was Shannon telling me about her marriage, insinuating I would be too busy or couldn’t be arsed to attend my first love’s wedding, reminding me of a time when life was less complicated, and all I was concerned about was the stationery. I would have left me if I had the chance.

I went back to the letter, but this time I tried to focus on what really mattered and not distract myself with petty asides.

But, as we both know, everything changed. Maybe it was all for the best, maybe we were too young to spend the rest of our lives together, maybe the bigger picture for us was other people who could bring out the best in us after all.

Don’t be blind to the world around you. You have so many people who long to be nearer the real you and not this workaholic figure you’ve pretended to be for so long. You don’t have to look far if my eyes haven’t been playing tricks on me. The young lady I have seen you talking to on occasion seems more than interested in you, and I recognise your body language as returning the attraction. I think her name is Branwen. She looks like a keeper, Erin. Don’t let her, like us, slip through your fingers …

Shit. Shit and shit. Too late.

I did like Branwen. I liked her a lot. I liked the way she smiled, the way she spoke, the way her hips would sway as she walked away from me to go back to her desk. I liked the way her eyes twinkled when she laughed, the way she tilted her head to the side as she was working something out or really listening to what I had to say. I liked the crooked smile she gave me when things eventually made sense, or when I thought she had been thinking of something else whilst I had been talking and that smile came out to tell me I was right.

What was I thinking? I didn’t like anything that Branwen had done or even who she was. No. I loved it. Loved all of it. And without knowing, I had fallen in love with a woman who I fully believed I’d barely spoken to. Fallen for her smile, her voice, her gentleness and charitableness. Fallen for the wonderful package that was Branwen Campbell.

Slam. My chair shot forward, my knee slipping down from where it had been resting against the table. My head was full of things I needed to sort out and none of them were work orientated.

Pressing with more force than was necessary on the intercom, I, once again, didn’t give Chloe a chance to say hello. ‘Tell me where I can find her.’

‘Who?’

I smiled at the machine, a knowing, cunning smile. ‘I think it is obvious don’t you, Chloe. I expect the place where she is to be in a mail as …’

Ping.

New message. Sender: Benson_C@gmail.com. Subject – about time.

As I read the content of the email, I started to laugh. Branwen was situated one floor below me and working for Alan Jackson – the same Alan Jackson who had called me not even thirty minutes previously. So that was probably the reason why Chloe didn’t want me to speak to him and had only tagged his message she was supposed to tell me as an afterthought to this mail ‘Branwen is a star. Can’t understand why you didn’t keep her.’

Neither could I, but I was going to start making amends for that now.

Before I had a chance to talk myself out of what I was going to do, I was outside my office.

‘Hold all my calls.’ Chloe’s eyes widened, followed by her smile. ‘As if you hadn’t been doing that all afternoon.’

Chloe’s grin became huge and I could actually see some family resemblance between her and Branwen. ‘Certainly, Ms Staunton.’

I was barely three steps away from her desk when I stopped and turned back to her. ‘Just one thing. If your cousin likes me too, why did she leave?’ Chloe opened her mouth to answer but I cut her off. ‘I know. You say she was redeployed. But why now? Why today?’

Chloe just smiled at me in that ‘I know, but you have to find out for yourself’ kind of smile.

And that was exactly what I was going to do.

 

Untitled – Part 2

Monday morning saw me at the office even earlier than usual. I was always the first person to enter the building and usually the last to leave, but not today. Today I was the second person in and that made me feel a little on edge. It wasn’t as if I was worried that the person who had beaten me to the desk was out to usurp me from my position. It was just because of who it was. Branwen Campbell.

Seeing her seated at her desk as I pushed open the outer door filled me with a mixed bag of feelings, the main one being guilt. Any other person would have bitten the bullet and made an apology, blamed the short and sharp response from the previous encounter on stress or being inundated with work. But not me. I just stood in the doorway and stared stupidly at her, my eyes willing her to look up and make some kind of connection without me having to do so. But it seemed as if she was so intent on what she was working on that I believed I would still be standing in the doorway when the rest of the office workers arrived if I didn’t do something.

I made to step more fully inside the office, but stopped before I did. From my viewpoint, I could see her perfectly. Her head was tilted to the side, her cheek resting on her upturned hand, those brown eyes seeming to caress the screen in front of her.

Caress? I honestly didn’t know why I had thought of that word in conjunction with the act of reading a computer monitor. But, if I am being honest here, I don’t think it had been the first time I had thought of that when looking at Branwen.

‘You’re early.’ My voice came out harsh and accusatory. Branwen jumped backwards, her expression reflecting the shock of being interrupted.

‘Good …’

‘Hold all my calls until ten thirty. Coffee when you have time.’ I’d done it again but this time with fucking bells on. I hadn’t even let her wish me good morning without cutting her off mid flow and barking some mundanely shite orders in her general direction. But, even though I knew I’d been a twat, I didn’t let my face contort into the gurning mask of the mortified until I was safely inside my office door, my back slammed firmly against the wood.

I had to wait a moment until I had stopped willing the ground to open up and swallow me whole before I made my way over to my desk and clicked on my computer.

This day was not going to go well.

***

I was right about the day not going well. I didn’t look in Branwen’s direction when she brought my coffee to me a little while later. I had so many things I wanted her to do throughout the morning, but I was too ashamed of my earlier behaviour to call her through and ask her to do any of them. By lunchtime I was nearly pulling my hair out. Being in the office for five hours without asking anyone to do anything was driving me mad. I emailed requests for work to be done, granted, but it wasn’t quite the same as discussing, in person, all the things I wanted her to do. And when I said ‘person’, I meant me discussing work stuff with Branwen.

It wasn’t until I had put myself into some kind of exile, or even a fucked up version of ‘Branwen Embargo’, that I realised how much I liked talking to her. Actually, it wasn’t just the talking to her I liked. I liked the way she would always look interested in whatever I said even if it was about numbers and charts and profits. I liked the way she would frown slightly when she didn’t quite get what I was asking her to do, but then how her face would seem to blossom when realisation hit, how her eyes would sparkle, her lips bud open and release a delightful sound of her understanding.

Shit. And then double shit.

I hadn’t thought of this before, not consciously. Yes, I’d noticed the how delectably brown her eyes were a few days before, just after noting the wonderful timbre of her voice. But I had honestly thought it was a new thing and not information my subconscious had been gleefully gathering so it could expose all my inner thoughts in one foul swoop and make me feel as if I couldn’t speak to Branwen Campbell for fear of baring my soul. Had my id taken over my ego and was secretly planning my ultimate downfall? Was it hoping I’d continue acting in a completely fucked up way and end up completely isolating myself in my office for the rest of the day?

Decision made, although I hadn’t realised I’d been making one until I was half way to the door. I was going to talk to Branwen like a normal human being and not splutter, shout, act churlish or be a bitch. Quite an achievement for me, and not just of late.

In less than thirty seconds, I was in the reception area and staring at a petite blonde woman who was seated in Branwen’s chair.

‘Who are you?’ My voice seemed too loud for the area, but I didn’t care.

Blue eyes shot up to meet mine and the woman opened her mouth and closed it again.

Leaning forward, my hands on the desk, I asked her again, but this time my voice came out lower although not friendlier. ‘Who are you?’

‘Erm.’ The blonde stood up and held her hand out in greeting. I just stared at it before looking her straight in her eyes again, my head tilting slightly to the side as I waited. ‘Chloe Benson.’

‘Yes. But who are you?’ I was beginning to think the woman in front of me was an idiot – a glowing red idiot at that.

Chloe dropped her hand, her body language screaming ‘flustered’. I leaned even more forward making the young woman move backwards, her back touching the wall behind her.

‘I’m … I’m your new secretary.’

‘You’re my WHAT?’ What the fuck? A new secretary? Why on earth would I have a new secretary when I already had a perfectly good secretary in Branwen?

Chloe seemed to shrink slightly at the volume of my question, her body inching to the side as if she was going to make a dash for it. I moved to block her escape. Frantic eyes flicked to the gap, to my face, and to the gap once again. What was I doing? I was terrifying a woman I had just been introduced to and it was getting me nowhere.

Lifting my hands, I held them up in surrender. ‘Hey, hey, hey. I’m sorry.’ I took a step forward, but she seemed jumpy once again so I moved backwards. ‘Didn’t mean to startle you, but I was expecting to see Branwen here.’ I released a nervous laugh right after I said the last bit, almost as if I was illustrating my vulnerability to the woman who was obviously trying to work me out. ‘Sorry if I was a tad aggressive.’ Tad being an understatement. ‘It’s just that when came in this morning, Branwen was here … she brought me coffee …’

‘She’s been redeployed.’ Chloe’s voice was cautious as if she expected me to leap the desk and pin her by her throat. To be honest, I wasn’t too sure if I wasn’t going to do just that – my record of late had been a little disconcerting.

I pressed my lips together and silently counted to five before asking, ‘And, if it is not too much trouble, could you tell me where has she been redeployed to?’ The smile I conjured didn’t feel genuine. I could feel the tightness of it across my cheeks and lips.

‘I am not too sure.’ With those words, I felt my smile slip slightly. Chloe seemed to notice the slight shift so I pulled it back into place as if it was tethered to my visage by invisible corded ropes.

I nodded, my eyes blinking to give my appearance one of condescension. Sometimes I really despised myself and my penchant for being a fucker. But needs must.

‘Well, Chloe.’ I nodded at her. ‘Let’s make it your first job shall we?’

She frowned at me as if she didn’t quite understand where our conversation was going. Not the best way to impress your new boss, but I let it slide.

‘You have thirty minutes to find out where Branwen Campbell is. Do you understand?’

Chloe nodded, but I shook my head.

‘Alas, Miss …’ I waved my hand at her.

‘Benson.’

‘Thank you. As I was saying … Alas, Miss Benson, I don’t think you do understand.’ I leaned over the desk at her once again. ‘You have thirty minutes to find her or else you will find I have no use for you in this office.’

‘But I …’

‘Yes you had.’

With the last few words, I turned and re-entered my office, the door slamming shut behind me.

***

As soon the door closed I felt a sickness wash over me. Branwen had left. Gone. Disappeared. And I would probably never see her again. How could I apologise to her if I didn’t know where she’d gone?

Fuck. It wasn’t just about me apologising to her for why I was so gutted. Branwen was the first woman to get through to me since Shannon had left, and if I was absolutely honest with myself, it was probably longer than that. The problem with this titbit of information is that I had only just recognised that this was the case – a bit like shutting the gate after the horse had bolted.

I pressed my back against the wood of the door and closed my eyes. Inhaling deeply, I allowed the image of Branwen to infiltrate my consciousness. Those gorgeously dark eyes that seemed to absorb me completely on one look; those perfectly full lips … the way she would chew the inside of her mouth when she was reading back through her notes or checking through the ones I had given her. Thick dark hair that framed her beautiful face and dipped just past her shoulders; full, rich hair that, subconsciously, I’d always wanted to run my fingers through.

The breath I had inhaled eased out through my lips, but the feeling of panic was still rampant, so I inhaled once again – held it – released it, and continued to do so until I knew I could move from the door to my desk without my legs giving way.

My body hit my chair with some force, the effort of seeming weightless completely leaving me to make me feel heavy and so very tired as all my energy seeped away and evaporated into the air.

Slouching forward, I placed my head into my hands. More images of Branwen came crashing into my mind. Her laughing with other members of the team and then stopping as soon as she saw me approach. It was amazing to see how she could suddenly shift from playful to professional in the blink of an eye, although by my acknowledging that, I also had to acknowledge that Branwen didn’t see me as someone she could have fun around.

Who am I kidding? Of course she couldn’t have fun around me. I am – was – her boss! She didn’t have time to joke around. This was an …

Fuck. What had I become? Couldn’t have a joke because there was work to be done? Couldn’t make connections, build relationships with colleagues because there was fucking boxes to tick and columns to fill?

A groan escaped my lips and I pushed my fingers into my hair to grip and pull. Even the pain of this action paled in comparison to the pain in my chest. No wonder Branwen hadn’t bothered telling me she was moving to a different office. She was probably glad to get away from me.

A knock sounded on my office door and I shot to my feet, my legs feeling slightly shaky.

‘Come in!’ And just like my legs, my voice was slightly shaking too. I think they both believed that the knock had been made by the woman I had spent the last ten minutes agonising over.

Chloe’s head peaked around the partly opened door and initially I felt disappointed. But then my hopes began to lift once again. Maybe she had found Branwen in less than the allotted thirty minutes. Maybe she wasn’t as useless after all.

‘Sorry to interrupt, Ms Staunton, but you have someone here who would like to see you.’

A grin split my face. I don’t honestly know why I thought it was Branwen Campbell come back to apologise for leaving me with a thick blonde piece of ass, but maybe it was because I was even more stupid than I thought I was.

I hadn’t even announced ‘Send her in’ when Chloe seemed to be pushed out of the way, the door flinging backwards.

It was at this precise moment I wished I had stayed in bed after all.

***

Standing before me was someone I was hoping I could have avoided for just a while longer. Carilyn Phillips. The same Carilyn Phillips that I was supposed to be meeting for lunch but I had completely forgotten about. And again, the same Carilyn Phillips whom I had been having sex with for the last god knows how many years. Sex with no strings attached. That Carilyn Phillips.

‘Erin, baby!’ Her voice sounded harsh, almost painfully shrill. ‘And here I was thinking you must have either been in a very important meeting or …’ Carilyn made her way over to the front of my desk and stopped. Her face turned to where Chloe was standing open mouthed. ‘Why are you still here?’

The tone of her voice at that precise moment made all my attempts at being an ogre in the workplace seem tame. Chloe’s eyes widened in shock and she started to scuttle backwards, her hand grasping for the door handle in the process.

Slam. And then there were two.

Carilyn turned back to face me, a self-satisfied smile distorting what could have been a beautiful face. Her hand swept back the stack of papers on my desk and my eyes followed its movement, the red nails glinting in the fake office light. An envelope caught my attention and I wasn’t sure if it was because of the bright blue paper clip attached to it or whether it was the familiar neat handwriting. I stretched out my hand to grab it but was stopped by the appearance of Carilyn’s backside that had landed on the sleek, wooden surface.

‘As I was saying …’ Carilyn leaned closer to my face, her ice blue eyes cutting through me. ‘There must have been a very good reason why you left me waiting for over an hour at the hotel restaurant.’ She placed the tip of her index finger on the bridge of my nose and trailed it down to the tip, then over and onto my lips.

I moved away from her touch, shaking my head a little as if to dispel the sensation she had left.

‘I haven’t got time for this, Cari. I’m busy.’

Carilyn tilted her head, her eyes trawling up from my chest before glancing disinterestedly into mine. Her expression seemed bored, and this was backed up when she sighed and stood up.

‘That was the whole point, wasn’t it? A warm body when one was needed?’ Her fingertips danced over the tops of my pens in the pot before hooking one and pulling the pot over, the contents spilling and rolling over the desk as if trying to escape the confrontation that was obviously going to happen. ‘You are always busy, Erin. That’s why I am so convenient for you.’

I leaned back in my chair, my hands interlocking with each other and creating a steepled effect. ‘Didn’t hear you complaining before, Cari. Thought we were each other’s convenient fuck.’ Carilyn flinched at the coarse term but didn’t pull me up on it, probably because it was true. ‘So if you …’

‘You are going to end up on your own, do you know that?’ The words were not spoken to warn me about my future of solitude. They were more like a gypsy curse, condemning me to a life deprived of contact, devoid of love.

I laughed without humour, the reaction only infuriating Carilyn even more.

‘You’re a little late for that, honey.’ The endearment sounded hollow. ‘I’m already on my own.’ She pursed her lips as if she was going to respond but shrugged instead.

‘Well …’ Carilyn stepped back and turned her body slightly towards the door. ‘I hope you tell that secretary of yours that she hasn’t got a cat in hell’s chance of getting anything more than a quick fuck from her boss. I’d hate for her to find out what an unfeeling cow you really are after you’ve shagged her.’ Cold blue eyes turned my way, a half smile adorning her face. I shrugged, my outward appearance of nonchalance whilst inside I was seething.

‘No hard feelings, Erin. I know how much you’d like to show her who’s boss, but …’

‘For fuck’s sake, Cari. She only started working for me twenty minutes ago.’ I stood, leaned over the table, my expression showing her that I wanted her to leave, preferably without saying another word.

Unfortunately, Carilyn was not the kind of woman that could read body language unless it was sending out signals for unbridled and uncomplicated sex.

‘No she hasn’t. She’s been here for at least six months.’

I slammed my hand onto my intercom and didn’t even wait for Chloe to speak before asking, ‘Can you come in here for a moment?’

It was as if I lifted my fingers off the call button and the door opened to announce a very nervous looking Chloe.

‘How long have you worked for me?’

‘Worked for you? Erm …’ Her eyes glanced at the clock on the wall behind my head. ‘About half an …’

‘Not her. The other one.’ Carilyn turned in my direction. ‘The gorgeous brunette. The one with …’ She lifted her hands and mimicked an ample bosom.

The anger coursing through me was immediate.

‘How dare you disrespect a member of my team.’ I could barely get the words out, the fury immediate and pulsating. ‘Branwen Campbell is one hell of a worker. One I would never disrespect with such degrading actions or suggestions.’

Instead of backing down or showing any remorse, Carilyn laughed at my ire. ‘Disrespect? When have you ever giving a flying fuck for anyone apart from yourself?’ She moved closer to me, her heels making her a tad taller than myself, not that her slight height advantage bothered me at all. ‘What’s the matter? You actually fancy her or something?’

I opened my mouth to refute her claim but stopped.

Carilyn’s eyes widened, a laugh of disbelief shooting out. ‘You like her.’ Another laugh. I just shook my head, the words not coming. ‘You do. You fancy your secretary.’ Her head shot back to release a manic cackle into the air. ‘This is absolute class. Talk about karma.’

Before I had a chance to respond, Carilyn was at the door, Chloe anxiously looking up at her.

‘I imagine this is goodbye, yes?’ She didn’t give me a chance to answer. ‘For your sake, Erin, I hope you do the right thing this time.’ It was to be the first and last time I ever heard Carilyn Phillips speak with a modicum of concern for anyone other than herself.

Maybe we were suited after all.