by Sarah Hope
A Locket of Memories
By Sarah Hope
Copyright 2015 Sarah Hope.
All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cover design by James - GoOnWrite.com.
Table of Contents
Chapter One - Enid
Chapter Two - Lynette
Chapter Three - Enid
Chapter Four - Lynette
Chapter Five - Enid
Chapter Six - Lynette
Chapter Seven - Enid
Chapter Eight - Lynette
Chapter Nine - Enid
Chapter Ten - Lynette
Chapter Eleven - Enid
Chapter Twelve - Lynette
Chapter Thirteen - Enid
Chapter Fourteen - Lynette
Chapter Fifteen - Enid
Chapter Sixteen - Lynette
Chapter Seventeen - Enid
Chapter Eighteen - Lynette
Chapter Nineteen - Enid
Chapter Twenty - Lynette
Chapter Twenty One - Enid
Chapter Twenty Two - Lynette
Chapter Twenty Three - Enid
Chapter Twenty Four - Lynette
Chapter Twenty Five - Enid
Chapter One
Enid
Looking around the dim hospital ward I can see rows of beds, bed heads pushed against the wall, their starched white covers shielding their occupants. Surely no one is asleep though? Not in this place, not what has surely just been snatched from them…as it has from me.
‘Please, please, my…my baby. I want to see my baby.’
‘Stop making such a racket. They’ve only taken your baby to the nursery. Enjoy the peace, once you get him home you’ll regret it if you don’t.’
Turning, I peer into the darkness and search the face of the woman in the bed next to mine. They’ve not taken everyone’s baby then. Just mine.
I don’t have the energy to answer her. To tell her that, yes, my baby has been taken from me, properly, forever, not just to the nursery.
My attention is drawn again to the nurse who roughly pulls the bedcover up to my chin.
‘He’s not your baby anymore,’ she mumbles as she turns to leave the ward.
Mustering all the energy I have left after enduring a painful labour I heave myself up, pushing my hands down onto the thin plastic covered mattress. As I attempt to swing my legs over the side of the bed I notice my legs feel strange, heavy. Looking down I see my ankles and feet have swollen to almost double their size. As I feel my head going dizzy and speckles come into vision I am forced to lie back in the bed.
Curling up I stay as still as I can, sobbing and shaking, praying the pain slicing through my body and heart will stop.
What feels like hours later light sweeps into the room as the ward door opens and closes. Feeling a tap on my shoulder I strain my eyes in the near pitch black to see the silhouette of someone, the nurse, I think, who supported me during labour.
‘What…?’ raising her finger to her lips, the nurse halts my question.
‘Shhh… come with me.’
I look around at the other beds but there is no noise or movement from any of them. I begin to raise myself up in bed again only to be met with fierce pain. The nurse, seeing me struggle, helps me out onto the freezing tiled floor where it takes all the strength and self-control I have in order not to fall and cry out in pain. Once I’m up the nurse lets me lean on her shoulder and leads me across the ward and out of the door. Where is she taking me? I don’t have the energy or concern to ask; how could things get any worse?
It feels as though we are walking for miles until we finally reach another door. The nurse unlocks this door with a key and pushes it open. Row upon row of clear plastic cribs fill the room, each protecting a newborn baby. And there he is, my beautiful, beautiful baby boy. Even though after labour I was barely allowed a glimpse of him, I can still pick him out among all the other babies in the nursery.
Looking up at the nurse she guides me gently to a chair in the corner of the vast room, makes her way into the throng of cribs and returns handing me this scrunched up, wrinkled beauty of a baby – my baby. Looking into his clear blue eyes I feel my heart expand with such a force of love I can barely breathe.
Stroking his soft downy black hair I kiss his little cheek.
‘Thank y...’, but she’s gone. Apart from the other babies I am alone now in this room with my baby and quietly I sing to him, a lullaby I remember my mother singing to me as a child:
`Sweet little baby, baby of mine, Mummy loves you because you are divine.
Mummy will love you always and always, Mummy loves you my precious darling`
This is what it must feel like to be a normal mother and hold your baby knowing that you would do everything you possibly could for this tiny bundle. I let myself be lulled into a daydream, dreaming about the night feeds, all chances to hold my baby close to me, of his first steps, his first words, everything I still know inside I am being robbed of forever.
Suddenly I am shocked back to reality by the sound of the door handle turning.
‘Time to go,’ the kind nurse instructs me.
Before I place him back into his stark hospital crib I inhale the wonderful unique smell of his hair and kiss him once more.
‘I will find you again my baby. Baby Peter. I promise I will never forget you,’ whispering I gently lay him back down.
As the nurse turns back to the door I see through the tears streaming down my face a strand of his hair on the sheet covering his mattress. Picking it up between my trembling finger and thumb I gently stroke his cheek again and force myself to turn away.
Waking up in a cold sweat, tossing and turning in my bed, I automatically search for my gold locket on a thick chain around my neck, keeping safe the precious strand of my darling Peter’s hair. I hate this time of the night. The dream is always the same; reliving every tiny detail and painful second of that bygone day. That is the most difficult part, I relive that time in my life every night through some snippet or such but that is the worst and also the best. Getting to remember him how he was, little Peter, almost feeling his small weight in my arms again, smelling his sweet sweaty head.
Heaving myself out of bed I wince on my dodgy hip and reach out to my night stand for support.
Oh drat, I don’t know why I keep it there. Almost every time I use the night stand for support I invariably make the small silver photo frame shudder or like this morning send it clattering to the floor waking poor Freda up. She jumps off the bed in fright, landing on the frame, causing it to scatter a bit further on the shiny dark floorboards.
‘You silly cat, you’re as bad as your owner you know.’ Swishing her away I bend to pick it up.
I go to place it back in its rightful position behind the tissue box on the nightstand but find my eyes are drawn to the young girl in the black and white picture. Shuffling to the mirror above my dressing table I stare wistfully at that girl, myself, aged fourteen and unknowingly about twelve weeks pregnant. How different life was shortly after that photograph had been taken. I look at the long dark mane I used to have and finger my now fine hair as grey in contrast to that dark auburn.
Of course I have aged, it’s been sixty three years since that day and so much has changed. For a start I have wrinkles galore and my lips have thinned and paled in colour to a rose pink but the most striking difference are my eyes, once vibrant and full of laughter. Looking into them now, at first glance all I can see is sadness and emptiness, but on closer inspection I notice that same fierce determination I had as a child.
I place the frame back. It’s so silly to get wist
ful of the past. What’s done is done. We can’t change the past. But we can change the future.
Awake now, despite the early hour, I wander down the corridor into the living room. I go to my favourite place by the window where I can sit and have a good view of the street and more importantly my driveway…just in case... and sit in my old faithful friend, my now almost thread bare, once golden but now a pale yellowy coloured chair, passed onto me by my Aunty Mabel; the only person I think who ever really understood me. Apart from Mum, obviously.
Just as Freda is about to jump onto my lap I hear a bang and a list of unthinkable profanities from outside. What on earth is that? Hoisting myself up I pull the curtains back, shielding my eyes from the rising sun to see what all the fuss is about.
It’s that girl from across the road. Well I say girl, she must be thirty five if she’s a day. She still wears her hair bleached blonde and cropped like a boys. A fashion she should have left twenty years behind.
What is she up to? I crane my neck to see. The silly girl’s being dragged outside by her catch of a husband. Oh no, she’s not, it looks as though she’s attempting to hold him back and he’s having none of it. I don’t know, it’s difficult to keep up. The dramas that go on in that house. This used to be a respectable area but that lot are certainly trying their best to prove otherwise.
Chapter Two
Lynette
‘No, please. You don’t mean it. You can’t. You don’t need to do this. Please, please stay Ste,’ I screech at him, my voice sounding unfamiliar and hoarse through my tears.
‘Lynette, stop carrying on like a fool. I’ve told you. I don’t love you anymore. Now get off me.’
‘Please Ste, how can you say that?’ My grip on his arm tightens. I can’t let him go. This can’t be happening. Not to me. This kind of thing happens to other people. People who constantly argue and abuse each other. Not to us. Not to normal people with a normal marriage.
‘Lynette, get off me, you’re making a scene. The old lady over the road is looking.’
‘I don’t care. I don’t care if the whole world is watching. Please just explain. Explain what I’ve done wrong. I can change, please Ste, please? You can’t just up and leave, give me a chance please. You can’t do this. Not to me. Not now. I…I just don’t understand. Please?’
Steve turns in my grasp, levers off my fingers and faces me. His strong, warm hands take me by the shoulders and I relax. He knows he’s made a mistake. It’s just a silly argument. He’s not going to leave me.
‘Look, Lynette, things haven’t been right for a while now. You’ve been too preoccupied with that mother of yours to realise what’s been going on under your own nose. With our marriage. It’s stale, our relationship has come to an end. It is over, it’s been over for a long time now Lynette and there’s nothing you can say to change that.’
Feeling my knees buckling under me, Ste lowers me to the ground. I feel as though I’ve been slapped in the face. I begin to shake uncontrollably as I fight to breathe. To think. My life is falling apart. This must be a bad dream. It can’t be happening.
‘I can change. I’ll change. I’ll make it work. I’ll stop being preoccupied. I promise. Please Ste, just another chance? Surely after fifteen years of marriage I deserve that. We deserve that. Please?’
‘Look it’s not just that. It’s lots of things. You’re not who you used to be. I’m not who I used to be.’
‘I’m sorry. I’ll change back. I will. I can. Just give me a chance. Just don’t leave, Ste, don’t leave me.’
‘I am leaving Lynette.’
The way he looks at me just then slices through my skull. The look; it’s blank as though I don’t mean anything to him. He’s serious, he’s leaving me.
As he opens the car door I try to regain my balance and push myself up from the cold, wet ground. He means it. I can’t believe he means it. The kids, what about the kids, what will they say? Do they know already? Did he plan this? Is that why he arranged the sleepovers?
‘What about the kids Ste? Have you told them? Do they know you’re…you’re leaving me?’ I whisper coarsely as I stagger towards him.
‘I’ll be in touch. I’ll pop by in a couple of days to pick the rest of my stuff up.’
And with that he shuts the car door in my face and drives off, leaving me standing in the cold light of early dawn, my life falling apart and my heart having been ripped out. Struggling to catch my breath I force myself to walk into the empty house. Shutting the door I lower myself onto the freezing tiled floor. With my back against the door, I bury my head in my arms and cry. Harder than I have ever cried before.
I’m not sure how long I’ve been sat here but long enough for my legs to have fallen asleep and turned to jelly. For a minute I forget why I am here, slumped against the front door shivering in the draught. Shaking my head I try to make sense of it all as it comes flooding back. Is it true? Has Ste really left me? Pulling myself up I peer out of the hall window. His car’s gone.
Slowly I make my way into the kitchen and pour myself a large glass of rose wine. I need to take the edge off reality. I need to. I don’t know what I should be doing but this seems as good an idea than any. Gulping the wine from my glass I make my way into the lounge.
Only once I am on the sofa and have downed half my glass I allow myself to think and it hits me what has happened. My husband has left me…my lovely, caring husband has left me. He’s gone.
Fifteen years of marriage, sixteen years of being together. Ended. Just like that. Over.
Take a deep breath Lynette. Don’t cry again. Too late I can’t stop myself.
All that keeps going through my head is when and how he told me what he was going to do.
The kids both had sleepovers, which with hindsight he must have organised on purpose. I’d made a nice dinner for us both being as time alone together is rare when you have a fourteen year old teenage girl and a six year old boy who runs wild half the time. The meal was nice enough; Ste was a bit quiet but assured me it was because he had a lot of work on at the moment.
It was while I was stacking the dishwasher that he decided to drop the bombshell. And drop it he did.
With my back to the table I’d heard Ste rustle his newspaper.
‘Lynette I’ve got something to tell you, but I don’t quite know how to say it so I’ll just come out with it,’ he cleared his throat.
Oh, I had naively thought, perhaps he’s been thinking about my suggestion, well nagging if I’m honest, about having another baby. At thirty five I know I don’t have much time left until the dreaded change and being as it took over five years to fall pregnant with Charlie, leaving an eight year age gap between Mandy and him I had been trying to convince Ste for almost a year now. How wrong was I?
‘I’m leaving you.’
I had dropped the plate I had been about to place in the dishwasher and watched it as it fell in slow motion and shattered on the grey kitchen tiles into a million pieces.
I had turned to face him.
‘Do you want pudding now? I’ve got apple pie. I can do custard too. Shall I heat it up or do you want it cold?’ I had rambled. ‘I don’t mind which, I can…’ I remember I stopped as I caught his eye and he repeated himself.
‘I’m leaving you. I’m sorry but it’s not working anymore. We’ll both be happier away from each other.’
‘What? What do you mean? What’s going on?’
‘I’m not in love with you anymore. You’re not in love with me anymore. It’ll be better for both of us if we go our separate ways.’
‘Go our separate ways?’ I had repeated, what was that supposed to mean? ’You don’t mean that.’
‘I do. I’m sorry.’
And with that he had stood up, turned on his heels and walked out of the kitchen, ducking into the cupboard under the stairs to retrieve a black sports bag and headed to the front door.
And that’s how it had happened. Just like that. My life was shattered in a single conversation.
‘Mum what are you doing? What’s happened?’
I’m shocked into the present by Mandy peering into the lounge. Forcing myself to turn my head I face her. Even with that slight movement pain slices through my head.
What must I look like hugging my knees in the corner of the cream leather sofa? I can tell by the concern in Mandy’s voice that I must look like a right state; tear stained, used tissues strewn across the floor, hand still firmly gripping my wine glass although I can’t tell you have much I’ve had. I vaguely remember stumbling through to the kitchen for a top up and bringing back the whole bottle. What a good example I’m setting for my impressionable daughter.
‘Nothing love.’ Rubbing my eyes I try to bring her features into focus. ‘What time is it?’ She’s wearing her blue jeans with a black top; her long dark brown hair looks wet as if she’s just had a shower.
‘It’s just gone ten. I thought you were out. Holly’s dad gave me a lift back. What are you doing? Have you been crying? Where’s Dad? He said he’d give me a lift into town to meet Kayleigh?’ Perching herself on the arm of the sofa she begins to chew her nails. A habit I don’t think she’ll ever grow out of.
‘I just woke up early, couldn’t get back to sleep so I watched Captain Corelli’s Mandolin. You know it always makes me cry.’ My thoughts are all muddled and all I know is that I can’t tell her the truth. Ste will be back tonight. I’m sure he will. He’s just made a mistake that’s all. It’ll be one of those mid-life crisis things that’ll be what it is. The kids won’t need to know anything about it. It’ll only upset them.
‘Oh right. Well, where’s Dad I’m going to be late?’
‘He’s been called into work.’ Please believe me Mandy, please.
‘Right, well can you give me a lift then?’ Mandy begins to fidget, jumps up from the arm of the sofa and heads for the door, grabbing my car keys off the mantle piece.
