Table of Contents
Foreword and Acknowledgements
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Published by Stefanie Simpson
© 2018 Stefanie Simpson
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or modified in any form, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Cover design © 2018 Stefanie Simpson. Image from Pixabay.com under CC0 creative commons license.
Getting a Life
New City Series (Book Four)
by
Stefanie Simpson
For Mareta, my grandmother, and Deb, my friend.
Hello to Jason Issacs
Foreword and Acknowledgements
This has been another difficult rewrite. These books were once very different, and I’ve reassessed many things in the past eighteen months, deciding precisely what it is I want to say with my work.
Though dark themes run as an undercurrent, my books are of healing and hope.
In this romance, there are references to substance abuse, child neglect, harassment, and fear.
But at its heart, it is a story of hope, of love, and saving oneself. How do we overcome the suffering of our past?
Special thanks to Heather Ann Lynn, Ryan Campbell, Sarah Smith, Rebecca Chase, Elisa Winthers, Nipher Jobe, Z.A. Tanis, all the Witling Writers, and Writers of Twitter.
One
OPTIONS
Rebecca hid everything about herself, for all her life, and with it familiar shame crawled under her skin as she glanced around the courtroom, her knee jiggling up and down and shivering under the harsh yellow light.
Her polyester jacket made her sweat. She’d put half a stick of deodorant on, but it made no difference. She wore a cheap trouser suit and a white blouse. Flat, clumpy shoes and a tacky handbag finished her ugly outfit. A sweet, pale, delicate face, full mouth and brown eyes with honeyed blonde hair that curled prettily at the ends, which she kept tucked back with face lowered. She was five-foot-seven with a good figure, yet she made herself as small as possible.
Fussing the rough edge of her jacket, she caught her father’s eye from the other side of the room, and his cold stare made Rebecca sink lower into the seat. Her heart hammered with the fear he’d not go to prison, and the ever-present disgust he would.
He’d never forgive what she’d done, nor did she seek his forgiveness. She’d done the right thing by speaking out against him, but as a result, her life was over in her hometown, a place where she could no longer live.
When the judge delivered his verdict, David Crest and stepson, Mark, stood. Mark craned around to see Rebecca. His glare pinned her, and she remembered everything in a sudden wave. He wasn’t much taller than her, slight with a gaunt face but stronger than he looked. Her stomach turned at the tattoo on his neck with the nickname he gave her on it visible under the blondish stubble.
David Crest got six years, and Mark got two. It was enough time for Rebecca to vanish and have a fresh start with no ugly past or shame hanging over her. Be clean.
She left the courtroom shaking and not taking much of the noise or bustle in, she spotted Detective Inspector Edwards in the foyer outside the courtroom with her family liaison officer, Kathy. Rebecca debated making a run for it. They saw her, and she froze as they made their way over.
“So, it’s all done with,” Edwards said, her no-nonsense tone reassuring as ever.
“For a bit. They’ll get out.”
Kathy lightly touched Rebecca’s shoulder. “You’ll have a new name and a new life. They won’t find you. You have to be careful, that’s all. Try not to keep in contact with your past.”
“Shouldn’t be hard. Not many people will miss me. Thank you.” Rebecca shook their hands with a fake smile and left the court, eager to get away.
The January afternoon became cold and dark, and Rebecca huddled in on herself. She heard the familiar call of her stepmother’s voice but ignored it, gritting her teeth, and hurried down the utilitarian court steps desperate to flee Tracy. The last thing she needed was a confrontation with that woman.
A grim place of post-industrial decay and abandoned shops, the familiar sprawl offered no comfort. Her thoughts raced as she moved quicker.
Rebecca worked hard since she was fifteen to get out of Manderly estate, and everything that went with it, and the woman behind her was bent on not letting that happen.
Running for the bus she saw pulling out of the station in the distance, she glanced back as Tracy gained on her, whose sour face poured out a litany of names at Rebecca as she hurried on, already planning.
Giving up her flat was easy, and she owned little that mattered; material things seemed so unimportant to her now. Having things that weren’t third hand, money in the bank, and the security of the life she’d built once defined her aspirations, but now it was gone. All she needed to do was pack her clothes and the little jewellery she owned, and she’d be free. The thought gave her comfort.
She’d fought against her circumstances since she was a kid. She’d done her A-levels and worked two jobs at the same time. Moving out of her dad’s house when she was fifteen, she made her own way and became fiercely independent.
Manderly and her family had held her back, and she had to quit her job and move to where she didn’t know a soul, but there it was. She hoped it was worth the sacrifice and that it was over.
Weaving in and out of the crowds, wind nipping at her, she almost broke into a run. People turned to watch her and the woman who chased her, yet another spectacle for people to laugh at or ignore. Tracy was tenacious when angry and was furious as she screamed Rebecca’s name.
The bus pulled up to the busy stop, and Rebecca didn’t care where it was going, but that it was going somewhere. She pushed into the gathered crowd as they clambered on. A few people looked at her, but with as much calm as she could muster, she tidied her hair a little. The passengers went back to their business, and she was forgotten again.
Panting as the doors closed, she turned, swiping her pass on the machine, and saw the woman through the condensation of the glass, her profanity muffled by the crowded bus and hiss of the engine.
It would be worth the sacrifice; anything to escape this.
Rebecca struggled with two enormous roll-along suitcases, a large backpack, and a holdall as the train pulled into the small Anstal Road Station – cheaper to travel to than Chadford Central – on the old side of Chadford City in the late afternoon. She took in the quaint Victorian building as she handed over her ticket to the stern guard, grinning at him.
A flicker of excitement rolled in her belly as she made her way out and into her new home.
Much of the city sprawl she passed by on the train had begun to decay, but reinvestment was taking place. It was the perfect place for her. The hotchpotch of history and migratory past meant that she could blend into the background there.
A black cab took her the few miles out of the old part of the city and into the centre, which was one of uniform grey utilitarianism, yet it had a strange appeal to Rebecca, all straight lines and wide roads. They passed the nice little unive
rsity and the second division football club. She smiled out the window as she took it all in. Hope and ideas bubbled at the possibilities.
As they passed through into an industrial estate, her nerves rose. They parked at what looked like a halfway house near blocks of flats. ARC Foundation had been recommended by Kathy when Rebecca confided that she wanted to move away.
She paid the driver and buzzed the secure office. An intimidating security guard opened the door, and she stepped back. Behind him, Danni appeared, a short, nondescript woman with thick glasses beckoned her in.
“There you are. Welcome, welcome. Kathy said you’d be here today.”
Rebecca grimace-smiled at the cup of tea that was offered when she sat in a small family room with a play area in one corner and had low comfortable seats.
“We’ve matched you with a host, a lovely lady who lives in Nattleton. It’s a nice little area. We have some temporary housing for you to stay in, and we’ll arrange a meeting for you.”
“You do this a lot, for people like me I mean?”
“Yes. More than you’d know.” Danni nodded, eyes on her mug.
She drank her tea before they went through the paperwork. Rebecca left and went to the little Bed and Breakfast. It was dated but clean and safe.
She put her bags down and sat on the bed, finally having a moment of calm in which she hoped her future home was everything she wanted it to be. Lying back on the brightly patterned bedspread, she imagined a thousand possibilities without the stain of the past – she could make friends and have a nice little job. Rebecca had no grand hopes, just ease and comfort, and with that, fell asleep.
A week later, Rebecca read a week-old paper left in the laundrette where the smell of detergent, heat from the dryers, and low slumping noise of washing and whirring of the machines, comforted her as she looked through the job classifieds.
She’d heard nothing from the jobs she’d already applied for, and frustration piqued. She wasn’t meeting with Mrs Hulston until that afternoon, and all her good clothes needed washing after a dozen fruitless job interviews.
Hauling her holdall back to the hotel, she got ready. She looked at her clothes and chose a pale blue blouse and skinny jeans. Second-guessing herself, she almost changed her mind, but the stubborn resolute side of her wouldn’t cave. Chadford was safe; there was no need to hide anymore. When she was packing her clothes to move, she made a point to clear out the ugly ones she used to hide. A fresh start and a normal life.
There was a small café not far, it was prettily decorated, and the friendly woman who ran it made the best cakes. She went every day for a coffee and a cake, it was her one treat, and the owner, Mandy, was the only person she talked to.
Rebecca looked out into nothing – a grey concrete sprawl beyond. She watched the traffic meander by, not paying attention. Manderly was bland urban decay. An industrial past fading into bordered warehouses and shops. There was hope here. New things among the past.
“Are you okay?”
Rebecca looked up at Mandy, about forty, attractive, and full figured with flawless umber skin.
“Nervous.” She looked down at her cake and finished it, chatting a little with the woman about her divorce, her children, and her Shih-poo named Sebastian.
After checking the time for the fifteenth time, Rebecca left the café and headed out of the city centre and to Nattleton, and hopefully her new home. Walking most of the way, she caught the bus for some of it, finding a bus stop at the end of the street. It was a green, wealthy suburb and unlike much of the housing nearby, the houses were large and attractive, built in the thirties before the expansion of the New Town. They had gabled roofs, stained glass in the windows, and parts of the buildings were rendered and beamed in an arts and crafts style. Each one was different. Mrs Hulston’s was halfway up with an immaculate garden and a well-maintained house.
She rang the bell, and a few minutes later a tiny elderly lady answered the door. She had long white hair in a loose plait. Smiling and in a frail voice, she asked her to come in. Rebecca noticed her gnarled hands, and the house, though tidy, needed a good clean. It must be hard to keep up a large house like that alone.
Rebecca followed her into the kitchen and watched her try to make tea. “Mrs Hulston let me, please.”
“Alice, please. Thank you, I do struggle with things these days.” She had finely wrinkled and translucent skin, a string of pearls and slightly wonky lipstick. Her pink and white striped dress was from another era. “Danni is a dear woman. I thought about putting an ad in the newspaper, but when I was looking through it, I saw an article about the house match project, and they put a call out. I knew it was exactly what I wanted because I could do some good, and whoever would come would be vetted. Danni told me what you consented for her to tell me.”
Rebecca frowned a little. There was a motherliness to Alice that closed her throat. She thought back and nodded. She had to make a choice, to be who she wanted to. “Well, there are things you should know about me, but they’re things I don’t really want to talk about or be known.”
“It’s okay, dear.” Her concern was palpable, and Rebecca sat opposite Mrs Hulston at the kitchen table, setting down the cups. It was a well-kept kitchen from the eighties, all solid wood, but Rebecca noticed the dullness of the nets and the grease on the tiles.
She ran her hand over the battered wood of the table. There was history to it, unlike so much of her life. There was no anchor to her own tale.
“My childhood was unhappy.” She stalled.
“Oh?” Mrs Hulston’s rheumy eyes were sharp and knowing.
“Yes. I had to give evidence in court about someone. My father and stepbrother. I’ve had to leave my past behind. Silverton isn’t my last name.”
“You don’t have to tell me.”
“Thank you. I have some money, and I’m looking for a job. I want better.”
“That’s all right then. I need someone who doesn’t mind doing some housework for me and cooking. I have a gardener, and I suppose I could hire a housekeeper. But to be honest, I’m alone and lonely. I’d like someone who’ll sit with me in the evening. I would want you to have your own life, but, well, I miss family.”
She emphasised the last word and sat back, her slight and bony frame elegant and poised.
“Do you not have any?”
“Yes. Well, there’s my son. He comes once a week for a few minutes and brings me a little shopping. I had him late, we never expected to have children you see, and then, well, I thought I was finally going through the change and well, poof, there he was. Came out already middle-aged.”
Rebecca smiled as Mrs Hulston shook her head.
“I think we were too old sometimes. He’s a good man, but, distant. He’s very busy, runs his own company, and on all sorts of business committees and charity boards and the like. He doesn’t have much time for his mother. I don’t blame him really.”
Rebecca didn’t know what to say. She turned the delicate cup in her hands.
Alice spoke in the stilted silence. “Tell me more about yourself.”
“Well, I was a medical administrator, and I hope to do that again. I like domestic things. I like to bake. I was very house-proud.”
“No one to miss you?”
“Nope. Not a soul. The people I worked with were lovely, and they wish me well, but I had no real friends there.”
Mrs Hulston speared Rebecca with a shrewd expression.
“Danni told you I gave evidence?”
Alice nodded, her face crinkling in concern.
Rebecca frowned into the cup, seeing the last of her tea was cold and starting to get a milky separation on top.
She pulled the words up from somewhere, hating the hold the past had on her. Rebecca took a leap.
Two
A PATH
When Rebecca was four, her dad found her crying in a cupboard. He pulled his child out by the hair, which did nothing to halt the so
bbing girl with a large red welt on her face. It was a hot sticky day, and Rebecca wore a grimy white sundress, and nothing else.
She didn’t even know what she’d done wrong.
That memory, true or not, always stayed with Rebecca. It was indicative of her life then. Food was strictly controlled in the house. Shouting, silence, names and worse. Her clothes weren’t always clean, and she wasn’t allowed baths often enough. It wasn’t always like that, she remembered her mother vaguely, and all she knew was that she left. Her dad met her stepmother – not that they were married – and she moved in. At first, it had been all right, but they sent each other into a spiral. It took a long time for Rebecca to understand their dynamics.
For a little while, she lived with her maternal nan. She was strict but loving, and it had been better, but suddenly she was back home.
Rebecca never knew why and knew not to ask. She was seven when she went ‘home’, not that it ever was home to her. It was the place she lived.
She became the recipient of the poverty of the household.
Primary school shielded her, and though never helped her in any important capacity, they made sure she ate and had a pencil to use.
Rebecca had some friends but was always afraid and quiet. Sometimes families of her friends helped a little, and she would stay overnight, fed and safe. There were good people in Manderly, but often she wasn’t allowed back, and she suspected as she got older that was Tracy’s doing.
When she looked back, the signs were there, but no one did anything to help officially.
She came to the conclusion early on that some people didn’t count. She was from Manderly, and though she didn’t realise it then, it meant something. Nothing good.
It was a large housing estate, where every house probably had asbestos, and there was always a barking dog somewhere. Rough didn’t cover it. The only shops were off-licences and police were a regular sight. There was always a house on fire, being robbed, or raided.
Getting a Life (New City Series Book 4) Page 1
