Feeding Strawberries to Pigs

by Gerry Rose

  VII. Patrick’s inquest

  My parents kept quiet about this and I didn’t attend. His friends were witnesses and they told it like it was. The coroner concluded that it was accidental death but said it was a miracle that there were not more fatalities because the combination of a hot sunny day, alcohol and a river and the sea were a disaster waiting to happen. What he failed to say was that there was a lack of adult supervision that these young people were left to fend for themselves whilst the adults were at home having a barbecue and no doubt getting drunk too. Patrick was let down, he had been drinking heavily and had been sick he was last seen at 4 am asleep not one single adult had thought to take him to the house to be kept an eye on, he was left to camp on the beach with only another 15 year old to take care of him. In the morning there was no sign of him. No one will ever really know what happened; did he think he should go for a swim? Did he go for a walk and fall into the river? No one knows because he was alone. I used to wonder if he was aware that he was going to drown, did he fall in and struggle, or was he too drunk to know? What were his last thoughts? For four days his body drifted until someone found it, I often wonder about that person and how they coped after that grim discovery.

  VIII. Patrick’s ashes

  My mother collected Patrick’s ashes, not much to show really all that was left of the body that we knew so well and was still growing. We will never know if Patrick would have become the 6ft guy he so wanted to be. When no one was around I used to unscrew the plastic urn and look at his ashes which were really his ground up bones mixed with the bits left over of his coffin. I could see specs of silver dust. I stole some of them and used to keep them in an old perfume bottle, mum threw it out one day not realising what or who was in it. His ashes went on a proper tour, some were put in a rocket on bonfire night and set off over our garden, others were scattered in his favourite park. On the day of judgement Patrick will have a hard time reconstituting his old body! It does upset me that there is no grave to visit just places that played a part in his life and death.

  IX. Patrick is still my brother.

  Children can be so cruel; when I went back to school some children taunted me and told me my brother was a drunk. I hated people who didn’t know me asking me if I had any brothers or sisters. Mum told me that it didn’t matter what anyone said, what happened to Patrick could happen to anyone even the Prime Minister’s son was found drunk in Leicester Square and Prince Harry was always getting drunk. She told me that no one could take my memories away and for ten years I had a brother and his legacy is the love we have for him even though he is not with us.

  X. Patrick’s friends remember him.

  Every year on the anniversary of Patrick’s death his friends remember him. They made this vow and have kept to it. They return to the beach and make a camp fire and play his favourite music. Over the years as his friends got older they brought girlfriends and then wives and children. The older they got the angrier they became, when they realised that leaving 15 year olds on a beach with a shed load of alcohol was as irresponsible as letting a toddler play with a loaded gun.

  XI. Patrick should not be forgotten.

  We that were left behind had to carry on with our lives, and mum and I did just that. Dad found someone new, and after a while he seemed to prefer his new partner and her son to me. Mum never re married and died in her bed very suddenly the way she wanted to at the age of 75. I got married young and had Kate and Sara. Kate’s dad and I are still friends, but I don’t think any man I met was as good to me as my brother was, or was a patch on him. I wasn’t allowed to talk about my brother in front of the children, my husband said it was bad luck and morbid.

  XII. Patrick lives on in me.

  As I grew older I realised that Patrick lived on in me and I needed to make the most of my life I owed that to him. I used to do things and go places that I thought he would have wanted to do. He was a shadow in my life always there, but do you know I feel guilty because I should have told Kate or Sara about my brother. I didn’t want to scare them.

  The tall man nodded and Margaret realised that Kate was sitting next to him. There were tears in her eyes, she reached out and held her mother’s hands.

  XIII. Patrick meets his future mother-in-law.

  ‘Mum, this is Patrick, you seem to have found each other, and he is the kind of man who everyone confides in. One of the reasons for getting you here was to meet Patrick, Mum. Patrick is a vicar and I wanted you to meet him and see his favourite church. I know you have been hoping that I would meet someone, but all of the men of my age just didn’t seem right. I was scared of telling you that I was in love with a man who is much older than me. But I think having met him now you will know what I see in him. Mum, Patrick and I are engaged and if you like this church and you obviously like Patrick. This is where we want to be married.’

  Margaret smiled and looked deep into Patrick’s eyes and something made her ask.

  ‘When is your birthday’

  ‘He smiled and confirmed that he was born on 1stAugust’

  XIV. Patrick lives on in those who loved him.

  Margaret smiled and for the first time in years she felt truly happy. She didn’t think Patrick would believe in reincarnation but how did he get those beautiful eyes? Her brother Patrick was no longer a secret either, and now she felt she would be able to share her brother with others. The stages of loss are many and time does not truly heal. Time is relative and Patrick’s brief life was no less important than any other’s. Age fades away when we look deep into a person’s eyes, the windows to the soul. Age is nothing; it is just the passing of each year for those who are lucky enough to survive.

  A FAMILIAR STRANGER

  By

  Gerry Rose

  I have included the synopsis prologue and first three chapters of my first novel.

  SYNOPSIS

  ‘Familiar stranger’ spans the years 1916-1999. It combines a story of growing up Irish in England with the story of Bridget Collins, an Irish woman who like many others had no choice but to leave Ireland in 1938 to find work in England. The novel can be viewed partly as a family saga. Bridget’s eldest daughter Bernadette chose to cut herself off from her family in 1974. Bridget living on her own in Essex a place she loathes, spends a lot of her time dwelling on the past, about the reasons she left Ireland and looking for clues in Bernadette’s childhood as to why she chose to reject her family. Bridget’s 3 remaining daughters are 3 very different women they feel they have suffered because of Bernadette’s decision.

  Bernadette may have good reasons for her action, her experiences of returning from Ireland aged 2 to meet a father she had never met were traumatic. The family were subject to ‘No blacks, no Irish’ prejudice which was prevalent at this time. This made housing difficult, so they were forced together with many other families to squat in an old army base in Essex in the post war period which seemed to drag on as ‘homes fit for heroes’ became less of a priority.

  Whilst much of the novel focuses on Bridget’s loss of her daughter, it also examines the reasons why Bernadette took such a drastic action but it also shows how this has affected the lives of her sisters.

  Maureen had a very difficult relationship with Bernadette and once Bernadette had vowed never to return, Maureen renamed herself Christina and felt able to be the person she had been prevented from becoming whilst Bernadette was around.

  Fran, always in the shadow of Bernadette but also subject to her bullying feels happy with the status quo.

  Angela Collins the youngest daughter is perhaps the only one with happy fond memories of the beautiful Bernadette.

  Whilst for years the family struggle to deal with the fact that Bernadette has disowned them and some of them have dealt with it, suddenly this is altered by a phone call from Clara, Bernadette’s daughter.

  The news Clara has to impart throws the Collins family into a situation where the past has to be confronted. Bernadette has a degenerative disease and perhaps some of h
er behaviour can be explained, as possible early signs of the disease.

  The family have to unite to confront the reality of this dreadful disease and to support their niece. But what if this reveals a secret in the family?

  What if Bridget is forced to confront the truth about her past?

  The novel is far from being completely dark, Bridget Collins is a quick witted woman who possesses a silver tongue for the ‘put down’. The Collins family are survivors who would never have described themselves as close but who never the less learn that families can contain all the evils of the world, and yet despite this are the best training ground for learning to deal with them.

  FAMILIAR STRANGER

  PROLOGUE

  January 1999

  I thought I saw Bernadette again today, I was doing my weekly shopping in what’s left of the shops in the town and I saw this pretty girl come walking towards me. I felt my stomach flip over, she stood out, - rather stylish for Fairfleet, with her navy suit, high heels and blonde hair. I thought she must have just come off the London train. She was slim and had the face of an Angel- the heads turned all right. When she smiled my heart did a little jig. A group of boys whistled as she passed by and she turned her head and laughed. She had good legs and that touch of glamour in her walk; she even smiled at me when she noticed I was watching her. Then all of a sudden I remembered that I had to get to the post office before it shut, but when I searched in my bag for my pension book it wasn’t there. I panicked a bit, convinced someone must have taken it from my bag. When I looked up, there she was, standing in front of me and smiling.

  Bernadette always had a smile that could melt you, no matter what she’d done or said. I looked into her eyes and a voice inside me struggled to make itself heard.

  Bernadette, Bernadette come on now, come home with me, it’s like feeding strawberries to pigs, you’re wasting yourself on this lot .

  And then she spoke.

  ‘You all right darlin?’

  The illusion was shattered, I wasn’t her darlin! The Essex accent I have always hated. To think people still say my Irish accent is hard to understand. This girl’s words fell lazily from her loose, painted, lips. Close up I could see her dark roots and the bad cut of her suit. She smelled of cheap perfume and cigarette smoke. Sure then it hit me, she was about twenty-two and my Bernadette would be in her fifties now. At least the girl must have been well brought up to be bothered with an old lady. That’s all I ever wanted people to say about my Bernadette. That’s not what she thought and maybe she’s right, because I haven’t seen her for twenty-five years and I’ll probably never see her again. She could even be long dead for all I know.

  My other daughters tell me that you even find rejects in a batch of biscuits made out of the same dough and baked in the same oven and that three out of four isn’t bad. But your first born is always special. Still my other girls try their best, but when I’m alone, which I am a lot since Frank died; I sit and think about Bernadette. To me she is still the most loving of my children.

  I often imagine what my life would have been like, if I had never come back to England with Bernadette. It’s too late for regrets now and soon I’ll be past caring. On long dark evenings I sit and think. My thoughts are mine to think and all I nurse now is my memories.

  CHAPTER 1

  Christina woke up and felt the same thoughts that had nagged at her before she had drifted off to sleep, slowly return. At first it was just a sensation something you could not even describe, but Christina knew that something was not right. For the last few weeks she had had the strange notion that she was being watched. At first she had dismissed this as being yet another tiresome symptom of the menopause. She was developing a kind of paranoia. She felt sure that the man she had seen waiting at the bus stop near her home, had been the same man who had held the door open for her at the office yesterday. These were things she could not even begin to tell Giles about. Giles would pat her hand and laugh. He would probably delight in telling her that he had been warning her about ‘over working,’ that at her age she should be slowing down. Good old Giles, had taken to early retirement so well, despite everyone’s fears that he would miss the power and status of his role as senior partner.

  Giles was fast asleep, his balding head snuggled deep in the pillow, made her think of a helpless baby, so still, so vulnerable. But as Giles snorted and let out a long rattling snore, all thoughts of babies shot from her mind. Giles always smiled as he slept a testament to the contentment he felt with his life. Christina envied him, he had a clear conscience and had to date, led a faultless, if a little dull, dutiful life. Christina was also aware that she was part of the reason for his contentment. The last twenty-four years of her life had been lived with a man who adored her. Or at least he adored what she allowed him to know of her.

  She entered the shower and took refuge in its power to cleanse and invigorate. A while later swathed in a large fluffy white bath sheet, she found herself choosing a simple, clean-cut, black, trouser suit with a plain blouse. Today she longed to be invisible.

  She opened her bedroom curtains and looked down at the street below. Luckily, she had managed to park her car very near to the front door last night. She would drive to the office today, she needed to feel safe. Anyone who was following her would be more obvious, she could watch in her mirror, no one would be able to follow her from Pimlico to Knightsbridge unnoticed. She would take a detour then she would know. She was shaking as she fumbled for her car keys. Once she was in the street she stood still for a moment, her legs felt frail as they teetered on high stiletto shoes, before walking down the steps. As usual her street was quiet, it had been what had attracted her and Giles when they had first viewed the apartment. The illusion of peace in the centre of London and yet only a stone’s throw from the tube.

  The man who delivered the letter no longer needed to watch Christina, all had been confirmed and now his job was over.

  Giles collected the post later, which as usual was to be found trapped in the basket attached to the letter box on the front door. He felt amused by his new found role as post boy to the apartments. It was all part of retirement really; doing jobs that others had done for you for years. Giles peered at the handwritten envelope and puzzled over it for a few minutes, before placing it on the table together with a new set of take away pizza flyers. He posted the letters for the other tenants in their pigeon holes and carried his post together with Christina’s considerably bigger bundle back to the apartment.

  The letter addressed to ‘Maureen Collins’ in an almost childlike script was still lying on the hall table when Christina returned to the apartment. She had a habit of checking the table for stray letters. Occasionally a letter would arrive for Saskia and she would dutifully take it back to her apartment to readdress it to her friend and ex neighbour who had moved back to Amsterdam. She felt her heart leap uncomfortably as she read the name on the envelope. She felt paralysed, her stomach felt as if it had been grasped by a steel hand which twisted it until she felt she might faint with the pain. However her mind raced ahead in an almost methodical way, regardless. Who would write to her here using this name? She knew without having to calculate that it was twenty-five years since she had used the name Maureen. Even her mother had finally got used to calling her Christina. There was only one person who would still think of her as being Maureen. But how would Bernadette have traced her, after all these years? Could Bernadette be watching her? The answer would be found in the envelope but Christina did not even want to touch it, let alone open it. If even the envelope seemed poisonous, reading the contents of any letter it contained would be the equivalent of opening Pandora’s Box. Once she had made the decision it was as though the paralysis had been lifted and Christina walked away from the table leaving the letter untouched. Her pace quickened as she got nearer to her apartment she panicked as she searched for the key. She knew that if she did not get inside her apartment within the next few seconds she would vomit on the pale beige car
pet she had so vehemently fought for, over a hotel style red patterned one when the ‘common parts’ had been redecorated a year ago.

  Back in her apartment the feeling of nausea subsided and her logical side took over. She had left the envelope on the table where it would remain indefinitely with the usual pile of takeaway menus and business cards advertising mini cab companies, until someone used some initiative and disposed of it. But she imagined that Bernadette would know if she claimed it, she was trying to catch her out. A cold shiver walked slowly down her spine. She had no desire to read the letter there was nothing anyone had to say to Maureen that would interest Christina. They were two different people separated by a time when she had lived in another’s shadow.

  When she had calmed down she went out ignoring the envelope which sat unclaimed in the hall. Two days later when she left for work she noticed that the letter had disappeared together with the unwanted leaflets. Giles had not mentioned the letter, so at first she did not say anything about it, or the fact that whenever she was alone the telephone would ring, but whoever rang never left a message on their answer phone and the number was always ‘withheld’. She found herself distracted at work and when a client rang up to complain that she had missed an important meeting that she had made with them directly, she knew she was allowing her fears to interfere with her business. Christina decided it was time to tell Giles a few home truths- not everything of course, but enough so he could be of some support to her. She would have to warn Giles that Bernadette was about to re enter her life and spoil all that she had worked so hard to create.