Day Seven – Introduction Closes

After what seemed like an eternity the door to room swung open and my grandfather walked through followed by a doctor in the usual white lab coat. He looked ashen, scared and weary. The doctor shook hands with my parents and Joe stood beside me with his arm around my shoulder holding me closely to his side. I was grateful for his familiar smell and just knowing he was there. He took deep breaths as the doctor explained what had happened to Bea and how they were treating her. She had suffered a massive heart attack and also contracted a virulent strain of flu. The combination of the two had weakened her and she was struggling to fight off the virus. This was made even worse by the damage to her heart and the stress this placed her system under. In short she was in a critical condition and the next few hours would be crucial in determining whether she would ever recover.

I shook my head in disbelief as I heard these words. My mother sobbed gently and held her head in her hands. I turned to Joe who drew me into his chest tightly and held me there as the tears fell against his shoulder. My father asked further questions and tried to push for more information but the doctor was unable, or reluctant, to give us any more details without waiting to see how Bea progressed in the hours that followed.

We weren’t allowed to visit her, but we could see her through the corridor. She was held in isolation to prevent further germs passing and to protect her fragile immune system. I could just make out the silver grey curls above the mask and mass of tubes that were helping to keep her alive as she lay motionless in the bed. Machines bleeped and the ventilator made a strange rushing sound as it kept the air moving through her lungs. Her gentle hands rested delicately at either side of her and she seemed peaceful.

The whole thing seemed surreal and I started to feel weak with the realisation of what had happened. I began to shake violently, I couldn’t control it, my knees knocked together, my teeth chattered against my jaw and my head was swimming with confusion and the sound of the whirring monitors. Joe steadied me and helped me to a chair, he pulled his coat around my shoulders and made me another cup of the terrible tea. The sugar was cloying against my teeth as the panic attack eased and my limbs came back to normal. We were all exhausted. There was nothing we could do but wait, watch and hope. The doctor had given a time limit of a few hours, after which they would make another assessment and further the deadline. It was essential for Bea to improve and make some signs that she was able to continue to fight. She needed to be strong and to hold on, something I knew only to well she could do and indeed had been doing for most of her life. Joe knew it too and under his breath I could hear him tell himself “she’ll be fine, she’s a fighter, not going to lose her now, she’ll be home soon”. How I wanted to believe him. I squeezed his hand as I drained the last of the plastic cup. I returned to my place at the window looking into the room. There we all stood willing her to wake up, for her body so battered by years of hardship to renew and find the ability to carry on and for the fever raging over her to leave. We didn’t speak, as motionless as Bea was before us we held our places in line and with each breath we took we hoped against hope that she would take one too.

We stayed there until we were numb. The corridor was unheated and a blast of cold air circulated from the vents running along the ceiling. I couldn’t feel my feet and my hands were pressed tightly into the pockets of my jacket. The tip of my nose was freezing and I felt my stomach growl with lack of sustenance. I looked down the waiting line and saw my mother shake her hand in disbelief constantly. She was struggling to take in the sight of her mother before her and my father tried to comfort her as best he could. I turned to Joe and although there was nothing I could say to ease how he must be feeling I linked my arm through his and put my hand in the palm of his inside his coat pocket. We stood there for a little longer, my head resting on his shoulder, my heart in my mouth.

The doctor came back through and said that they needed to perform further tests and that we needed to clear the space. There was nothing we could do at the time and the results would not be known for a couple of hours at least. He suggested that we went home and tried to rest and restore ourselves before returning later that day when hopefully there would be more news and more certain findings to report. He promised us that if there was any change at all we would be contacted us. His comment that Bea had “held her own so far” was encouraging and gave us a positive on which to leave briefly with a plan to return later. Of course stepping away from the window was no easy thing and we all huddled together as the lift clanged its’ way down to the ground floor and the mid-afternoon light. It had been so dark when we had left and equally so upstairs as we had stood guard the light hurt my eyes slightly as the low winter sun reflected off the crispy snow cover. Freezing temperatures had preserved the snowfall all around, but as no more had fallen the roads were much clearer and pathways were gritted. The sense of isolation we had felt over the weekend had lifted as once again folks went about their business as best they could and tried to carry on as normal as possible. Children were playing in the park as we drove past, snowballing and making snowmen. The schools were closed and there was fun in the air for those granted an extra day off.

We pulled up outside the house and as Joe and my dad set about sorting the fires out I let the dogs out and put fresh food and water down for them. They both romped around the garden, charging about and rolling in the frost. As always they ran in to find Bea and hope for a tasty treat. When they realised she was not there and sensing the downcast mood in the room they sloped back to their baskets, stopping to gulp down mouthfuls of their very overdue breakfast. Mum set about making some food, she was silent and pensive and I didn’t want to upset her by speaking so I headed up to draw a bath and hoped the hot water and bubbles would help my aching bones and warm me through. I was stone cold. As I undressed to step into the steaming water I shivered, even though the fire was now blazing downstairs and heating the radiators to piping hot, so much so that the water bubbled in them and echoed against the pipework. I ran the tap to ease the pressure slightly and the noise stopped. It was silent again and I lay in the dark as I thought of Bea back at the hospital. I was frightened to my core. Disbelief took hold again and I had to tell myself to stop. Negative thoughts would not help. She would be ok, she would soon be home. it would all be fine. I pushed myself under the water and felt my hair splay out behind me as I let the liquid fill my ears and drown the thoughts running round my mind.

Day Six PM – Introduction Concludes.

It was pitch black and the room was freezing as I heard Joe shuffling around in the bathroom next door. The linen cupboard door banged shut and there were muffled coughs and what seemed to be cries. Half asleep I thought I was dreaming but then realised something was not right and woke clearly, sitting up sharply in my bed. I had no idea what the time was, as I grabbed my woolly cardigan and dashed to the landing wrapping it over my cold shoulders. There was a low light softly showing underneath the door to their bedroom and I knocked gently to find out what the problem was. The room had an eerie chill about it, despite there being a bed of red embers in the grate. The lamplight showed Bea had turned a pale white against the soft pink of her pillow and barely able to catch her breath. Her grey eyes pierced through me and the fear held her face so tight I could barely look at her. Despite my instincts I rushed over to her and sat as close to her as I could get on the deep mattress. She put her hand over to reach mine and I shuddered at how icy cold she felt. She tried to speak to me, but I hushed her, telling her not to strain, not to worry. I guessed grandpa had gone to telephone for the doctor and for a moment felt relief that help would soon arrive. Until I remembered the conditions outside. I tried not to panic as I glanced out the window to see white glinting everywhere and no sign of any change.

A few minutes passed before Joe appeared in the doorway, he looked terrified and explained that the doctor would be there as soon as possible. The emergency services were operating as best they could under the circumstances and help was on its’ way. Bea sighed with relief at the news, at the same time clutching her side clearly in agony. She was freezing cold, yet drenched with sweat and her chest heaved with the sheer effort and pain it took to breathe.

We plumped the pillows behind her frail form and tried to make her as comfortable as possible. Joe was beside himself with worry and the strain was incredible as we waited for the ambulance to arrive. I gave her sips of water when she could manage them and held a damp flannel against her forehead. Time seemed to be played in slow motion as the minutes passed seeming to take hours and the slow sunrise began to play out through the vast windowpane. Bea was barely conscious and it was evident that the pain was worsening, the shallow sounds of her exhale were fading and I felt sheer panic and utter terror at the thought that we would lose her.

I gazed around the familiar room. It had changed very little from when they bought the house as newly weds decades before. A small bequest from a distant aunt had allowed them to re-decorate and buy new furniture, but only after the family had persuaded them to use the money for themselves. Bea my mother and I had travelled by train to the department stores in Leeds to choose suitable furniture. She had been in her element trying out all the new fangled designs and options for wardrobes and dressing tables. I remember her telling Joe that she had chosen a ‘Gentleman’s Wardrobe’ for him and his bemused expression as he tried to figure out what the difference was. My father had decorated the walls with a rose print paper that Bea had seen in a magazine and once the new carpet was down the furniture could be put into place. We gifted them new photograph frames and they displayed these along with their wedding portrait and those of me as a baby in my mother’s arms. The room always smelt of Bea’s floral scent and the faint fragrance lingered in the air as we all sat together clinging to hope.

Bea had drifted off and had seemed to settle a little when we heard a knock at the front door. In no time the silent stillness of the room became a maelstrom of activity. The paramedics tried to rouse Bea and determine exactly what had happened and Joe spoke to one as the other performed the routine tests and initial examination. Grandpa explained how Bea had woken him in the night complaining of terrible pain and unable to breathe, she had been in extreme agony and as the pain had increased, so she had drifted in and out of consciousness.I tried to take it all in, barely able to comprehend what was happening. The room previously so peaceful was now a scene of chaos and panic. Bea looked like a waxwork propped up against the soft cushions packed around her, barely able to speak she seemed confused and almost lost. I reached over to her as they lowered her onto a board and wrapped several blankets around her to protect her from the freezing cold outside. “It will all be ok”, I reasoned. “They will take care of you now and you will be home soon”, I told her. “You have to be, remember, it’s my birthday tomorrow”.

She looked up at me and for the first time I saw how terrified she was. Her grey eyes widened as they glistened with her tears. I couldn’t hold back my emotions any longer and I wept uncontrollably as she was lifted away and carried out to the waiting ambulance. Joe was allowed to travel with her, while I was forced to stay back as my parents were on their way. We would all travel together once the doctors had been able to treat her.

I stood on the doorstep as the ambulance struggled to pull away against the icy road. I sobbed as they turned the corner at the end of the road and stood listening until I could hear them no more. I ached with sadness and fear at the thought of what Bea was going through and the worry of whether she would be ok. I wanted to allow myself to panic and lose myself in fear but I knew I had to be strong. Realising how cold I was standing out there in my nightclothes, I ran back inside and huddled by the fireplace in their bedroom. There was a little heat from the still warm coals. I knelt down holding Bea’s shawl and taking in the smell of her. I couldn’t move, couldn’t cry, couldn’t understand what was happening. The shock had set in and I simply sat there. I was as frozen as the ground outside. The next thing I knew my parents were beside me, my father helped me up and I went to find some clothes. We hurried out the door and we headed to the hospital following the same tracks marked out for us by the ambulance that had taken her away. My mother was silent as I relayed what had happened and my father reached his hand over to hold hers as we pulled up to a junction. Turning down the main road the lights of the hospital filled the barely blue sky. Grey clouds still hung heavy overhead and the morning struggled to make it’s way through. We rushed into the large foyer and found out where we needed to go. We made our way to the lifts and nervously approached the ICU. Glancing down at the floor none of us could speak as we ascended the many floors. The clanging sounds of the ancient mechanism transporting us was an uneasy clatter and I was thankful when we shuddered to a halt and the doors pulled back with a jolt.

More doors welcomed us as we stepped out and turned into the corridor. We had to give our names and details before being shown to a waiting area where we were told a doctor and my grandfather would soon join us. There was a drinks machine in the corner and I made cups of tea. A combination of shock, lack of sleep and the temperatures outside were making me shake and my teeth rattled in my head as I blew on the hot insipid liquid. My mother collapsed into a chair and broke down. The silence was deafening and her sobs rang out in the small yellow room as my dad tried to comfort her. I stood by the window looking out onto the busy road. The day was just beginning, cars were passing, medics were alighting from buses and walking down the snowy driveway. The tracks of the nightshift marked a path for them and they stepped carefully in the slush that had frozen in neat lines down the drive. People walked out, possibly for the first time in days and it seemed as though the world was trying to return to normality. I wondered if mine would ever be the same. Or, on that white night, cold and bleak had my world changed forever. I couldn’t deal with the thoughts my mind was creating. I wanted it all to be a bad dream. A nightmare. I wanted to wake up and find her standing by the sink, filling the kettle as she had heard me pad softly down the stairs. To gather my leotard from the clothes maid and follow our usual routine.

Day Six AM – Mum’s Taxi

Cooked, cleaned, delivered children…

Beginning to wonder if I will ever see the inside of ‘Pangurpad’ again….

Day Five – A New Client

Had to work on a proposal for a potential new client.

Feeling slightly hampered after a good start.

Hopeful for a weekend of some serious writing.

Day Four – Planning and Plot Revision

Spent the day preparing for the rest of the novel. So no word count as such (or instalment) for the day…

Day Three – Introduction Continued (again!)

We awoke the next morning to a thick, white blanket of snow so much so it was impossible to even make out the shape of cars parked by the roadside. The night had seen the worst snowfall in years and we soon discovered that the village was impassable, as were many of the nearby surrounding areas. We had to dig our way out of the back door simply to give the dogs their morning constitutional and the log store and coal house were both frozen shut. Grandpa set about clearing a pathway and once we had worked our way into the stores we filled up log baskets and coal buckets. We soon discovered our efforts to salt and grit by the door were hampered somewhat by the two hounds, who by now were jumping around in utter excitement and crazy lunatic canine antics. No sooner were they doing their damnedest to tempt us into hurling around the garden as they were, they hot-footed it inside to find the warm hearth and dry out.

We hoped our efforts would be sufficient to see us through to the next morning, when things might be easing slightly. However, by the dim light of midday the snow was falling as heavily again, with weather warnings advising everyone to stay indoors and keep warm where possible. The roads were becoming increasingly treacherous and the temperatures were set to plummet overnight. The long range forecast was for many more inches of coverage. There was nothing for it but to bake to my heart’s content and stockpile goodies. I slaved by the stove for hours making all my favourite recipes. The scene outside was truly glorious and I watched the flakes dance across the windowpane, as I washed the last of the dishes and tidied up the kitchen. Collapsing in a heap after a most productive afternoon to keep the fireside company, I sat back to enjoy the fruits of my labour with a freshly brewed pot of tea.

Bea was looking tired and a little weary, it was bitter outside and she felt the cold badly. Most of the afternoon she had dozed on and off by the fire, keeping up to date with news bulletins and weather forecasts throughout. Making ‘phone calls to friends and satisfying herself elderly relatives were being looked after. She looked shattered as I handed her a fresh plate of cake and her favourite cup, we both gorged happily on the sweet sponge reaching for second helpings.

By evening the surreal silence and isolation was beginning to cause us concern. The conditions were worsening with no sign of improvement. Quite the opposite in fact. There were continued newsflash reports with statements that the weather would deteriorate further before clearing and many essential services were grounded due to dangerous travelling conditions. I could tell the situation was worrying my grandparents and for the first time ever in my life I began to see them as old and slightly frail. I was so thankful that I was there to help and reassure them and that they were not alone. We pulled out the playing cards, found an old movie showing on the TV and set in for the evening. It was grand. Bowls of hot soup with toast made over the glowing coals, dripping with butter to make golden pools on top of the creamy broth were polished off and re-filled until the last spoonfuls were gone. Joe declared the occasion most worthy of a glass of port and brandy, as we sank back against our chairs content, stuffed of good food, safe and happy. Draining our glasses of the amber liquid, we made sure everything was as it should be before turning in. Each of us wondering what we would discover with the new dawn.

I had a small fireplace in my room, the same as every room in the house. There was always a small bed of glowing embers, carefully laid and lit by Bea each evening. I loved how the light from the grate played across the ceiling as I lay gazing up at it, thoughts drifting in and out of my mind as I gave way to sleep. Perhaps the events of the day had been so exhausting that I had gone past the point of slumber, or perhaps I had too much on my mind altogether. I had to admit it was a strange scenario to have heard Bea’s tale and then to carry on as if nothing had changed at all. I wondered if she regretted telling me, or if she was embarrassed, ashamed even, of what she had declared. The hours ticked by and the glowing red, turned to orange and eventually faded to black. The coals crackled and hissed as the snow fell down the chimney hitting the ash now resting in the grate. Outside was a whiteout and the streetlight reflected back against the opaque wall. I felt slightly unnerved by the power of the feathery powder that continued to gather in height and depth against the trees and walls outside. I shuffled through to the bottom of my bed and with the duvet pulled tight to keep me warm I could just reach the windowsill where I remained mesmerised by the drift. I must have fallen to sleep as I woke with an uncomfortable ache in the back of my neck and still half asleep pushed back to lay my head down against the mattress before finding sleep once more.

Day Two – Introduction Continued…

I woke early the following day and with a long day of classes ahead of me enjoyed the morning calm as I warmed my hands around a mug of strong, hot tea. The dogs chased birds around the garden as I filled the log basket to take indoors and the sun slowly started to creep over the rooftops. Bea was at the kitchen sink as I went back inside and we hugged good morning and set about making breakfast. There were fresh eggs and bread and so we scrambled and toasted and poured endless cups of tea from the warm pot.

We said goodbye and Bea handed me a flask of hot tea with my sandwich as I headed out for the day. There was a frost on the ground and a bitter cold air as I stepped out the front door. Even with my coat and winter layers I felt the chill through to my bones and was not looking forward to the cold village hall that awaited. The streets were very quiet so early in the day and as I walked through them I hurried my pace and felt the blood pumping through my veins. The cold air against my face was refreshing and before long I soon arrived, along with the smallest students, all pretty in their pink tights and cute skirts. Everyone jumped around the room, waving arms and marching to warm up as the piano plinked away in the corner and class began. I lost myself in the music and smiles of the little girls around me.

No sooner had the day begun then it was time for my own class and with various reports to complete and send away to my new tutors I was worked especially hard. The feeling of taking yourself apart and rebuilding anew at the barre is a strange discipline but one I loved and today I was grateful for the extra pressure. I pushed myself harder and harder, worked my legs higher and higher, found ability I had previously longed for and finally everything I had been working toward started to make sense. We neared the end of class and so it was time to dance my solo. A piece we had been working on for many months and which I loved but also feared. I found myself dancing from a new place within. In that beautiful moment all that existed were the strains of the elegant waltz from the piano and the efforts of my form as I drowned in the symphony, melting into the emotion of the music. I floated across the floor, spinning and posing, making each movement last for a lifetime and enjoying every single beat as if it were from my own heart. I poured myself across the floor and allowed the pain to heal the hurt inside. I somehow wanted to take the burden Bea was carrying and turn it into something uplifting and alive to make her happy, make her smile. I wanted to erase the unhappiness and make everything ok again. I imagined my family were watching me and this image gave me more determination as the music faded to its’ end. I closed in reverence, exhausted and drained. As I stood up my teacher came over to me and praising me gave me a huge hug.

I gathered my things together from around the room, collecting the layers I had shed throughout the day and the various shoes I had changed. I knew my toes were bleeding heavily in my pointes and the throbbing was already starting to thump. As I turned around to leave I noticed the familiar small figure of Bea in the doorway, her coat and scarf glistening with the frosty flakes that had obviously started to fall outside. Her eyes shone with tears and her cheeks were damp with those that had already fallen from her deep grey eyes. I held my hands out to her with tears of my own falling now and she clasped them tightly to her.

The snow was falling thick and fast as we walked home. The streetlights twinkling on the thin layer that had already settled on the pavements. The sky was white with clouds full of flakes and we hurried as best we could on the ice to reach home. We pulled our coats close and buried our faces in our scarves against the biting chill and both longed for the cosy kitchen with its’ blazing fire. Bea seemed content and happy and through muffled sounds she told me how proud she had been to see me dance. I squeezed her arm as we pushed uphill into a gust of wind and said how pleased I was that she had been there to surprise and to see me. I was elated with my performance in class and gushed about the day when they would travel to London to watch me dance in the theatres there. A day I dreamed of and which I hoped would soon come. You will get there she reassured me as we turned the corner to home. You were destined for it from the moment you were born.

The heat from the blazing fire grandpa had stoked to the highest was intense as we arrived home. Soon enough we were toasty warm, yet my injured toes were bruised and blue with the icy cold and I knew it would be a painful exercise to treat them with balm and wrap them with tape to try and hurry the healing process. By now a familiar routine and one for which we had tried every possible solution, old wives’ tales included. I sat by the fire on my stool and sipped scalding, sweet tea waiting for the water to heat for me to take my bath. After which I would sit with a bowl of soapy water and antiseptic ointment as I washed and dried, taped and covered my battered feet and hoped the open sores would soon close.

The weather worsened and grandpa abandoned his plans to head out for a few pints with his friends. The dogs were certainly in no hurry to move from their fireside baskets and Bea and I were more than happy to stay huddled up and warm. So we settled in for the evening with a wondrous stew and heaps of creamy mashed potato. The roaring fire lit the room and we drew back the curtains to watch the silent snowfall dancing in the night sky. The rooftops were covered, the chimneys were smoking and the scene was as picture perfect as any festive postcard.

Day One – Introduction

We were sitting in the Tadcaster Arms when she told me her story.

It was one of those moments in life when you realise that not everything is as it seems. That all you have believed for all the years that have gone before, and that the safety blanket called ‘Family’ that has always protected you, isn’t quite as infallible as you first thought.

I remember sitting at the sticky table in the smoke-filled Lounge Bar, trying to take it all in. My hands trembled under the table, as I sat there feeling sick with shock and somewhat stunned. How could it be? How could I never have known?

I looked up at her trying to bite back tears and she smiled her sweet, gentle smile at me. Trying to push aside the reason why she had chosen now as the moment to tell me everything, I shuddered with a chill that made me wince. Was it that she needed me to know the truth before I planned to leave home  to study in London the following summer, surely not, that was ages away. Was it because as my sixteenth birthday was just days away that she didn’t want to live a lie anymore, or was it just because she couldn’t carry the burden alone any longer? Perhaps I would never find out.

We stepped outside into the cold afternoon. The light was dimming, it was grey and drizzly. A typical January day. Not yet close enough to spring to offer the promise of brighter days and warmer weather, yet just sufficiently past the festivities of Christmas to remind you that there was worse to come before things got any better. The wind was biting, the air was dank, damp and clinging and the promise of a blazing fire and a chair in which to sit was a most comforting thought as we walked the narrow streets back home.

The buzzer sounded on the pit top for the change of shift as we opened the door. Soon the men would file out and head for home, grimy with coal dust and weary with the hours of hard labour. The dogs fussed around us as I filled the kettle and she stoked the fire. I was numb. Everything around me was a blur. I could still hear her words swimming through my head and the knot in the pit of my stomach tightened as I tried to imagine how things must have been for her. For everyone.

Hours passed as I sat transfixed by the flames, Bea bustled about the kitchen getting the evening meal together ready for when my grandfather Joe returned. I glanced up at her as she went about her business and felt an overwhelming sadness for the circumstances she had been forced to endure, simply to carry on living. I could almost feel her pain.

Grandpa came home and the meal was served. We sat around the table and ate, general chit-chat, the usual routine. It was Friday evening which meant grandpa would be going to the club, leaving Bea and I at home for a relaxed evening of TV and an early night. I was still reeling from the afternoon’s revelations and so after helping to clear away I went to draw a bath. I needed quiet and calm. Somewhere I could try to still the thoughts running high-speed through my mind. I turned out the light, lit candles and as the hot water gushed and the steam blasted my face I closed my eyes and cried.

Later as I lay in my warm bed with the embers of a small fire glowing amber against the chill air, I thought back to my earliest memory. It was of sitting listening to my grandfather tell me a story. Ever since I was a little girl I had stayed with my grandparents at weekends. I would arrive after school every Friday evening, staying through until Sunday when everyone would descend for the sacred Sunday lunch. Then I would go back home with my parents to start another week at school.

I lived for those times. I counted down the days and when things got too much at home I longed to live with them forever.

My early childhood had been idyllic, magical even. A time I never thought would end. I had studied ballet at the local village school since my third birthday and was a dedicated, diligent student. So, each Saturday morning Bea would walk with me through the winding streets to the Victorian village hall, where I would spend hours helping to teach the younger girls before the discipline of my own classes. Now those days were even longer as I needed extra tuition, after which I usually dragged myself home exhausted, in pain and aching from the rigours of the work I now needed to be able to perform. I had been accepted to study ballet in London on scholarship from the following summer and although it was impossible to imagine being away from home and from everyone there, I knew I had the chance to fulfil my dreams, I could not refuse the opportunity. Money was incredibly tight but my grandparents offered what little savings still remained after the strikes and my mother somehow managed to scrimp and save the small deposit together. I would have to find a job to pay my lodging, but I knew it would all be worth it one day.

Before my dancing had been so serious and without the additional classes, Bea and I had enjoyed afternoons spent in the town, shopping, lunching and giving my grandfather plenty to worry about whenever the department store had a ‘Sale’. He joked about it all and made endless comments about the number of bags we carried home each week, but in truth after years of hardship he took pride in knowing that there was enough money to allow simple pleasures occasionally. He adored my grandmother and she him and it was clear that despite the troubles life had thrown at them they were still as devoted to each other as they had been during their early courtship. A time I loved to hear stories of, and which he would happily tell.

Sundays were always our time. Time when he and I would head out before the sun was up and lose ourselves in the fields and woodland surrounding the village. No matter the weather or time of year, we were up and out with the dogs following behind us. Grandpa would have a tasty treat in his deep pockets and me a handful of boiled sweets in mine. We took walks in the woods where he told me the names of trees, birds, mushrooms even and we hunted for hidden treasure carefully hidden by him the day before. We would sometimes walk the edge of the golf course collecting the stray balls that he would sell for small change at the club. We took the track of the railway lines often, where the dogs would catch rabbits and when walking home we would plan the best stew to make with our prize.

The miles we walked were swallowed up seamlessly in hours and hours of chatter. The conversation never ended and would continue from week to week almost as if the days that had passed in between were but mere seconds.

It was impossible to imagine what life would be like away from this. How would I ever bear to be away from my family and friends? Sometimes I doubted that I would be able to do it and now as I thought back to the conversation with my grandmother I didn’t know if I could leave at all.

The fire hissed in the grate as the last of the coals faded and the orange glow that flickered around my small cosy room started to dim. Just as I was about to drift off to sleep I heard the unmistakable footsteps of my grandfather arriving home. I reached for my woolly cardigan and pulled it tight around my shoulders as I tiptoed down the stairs, trying to avoid the creaky floorboards. He was in his chair making the most of what heat was left in the hearth. He smelt of the cold outside and faintly of ale. He pulled the footstool over for me as I sat down and smiled at him. The salty chips he always brought home with him were another of our little things and as the sharp vinegar bit against the hot potato I felt a pang of sadness that there wouldn’t be many more of these times before  my leaving. At the same time it was a moment when I felt such happiness and such love that I knew I didn’t need to feel sad. These memories would be with me forever and no-one could take that away from me.

Introducing ‘Letters to David’…

Letters to David is my debut novel.

I have carried this story around with me for the past twenty years and over that time it has developed into the first book of a trilogy, exploring the lives of three generations of one family.

This opening book is based on the true story of my grandparents’ post-war romance and the devastation of a family torn apart through guilt and anger. Set in Yorkshire and France with a twisting plot line and truly remarkable characters this is a tale made even more incredible by the very fact that it is true.

‘Letters to David’ is the story I had to tell.

In the beginning…

I have lived my whole life surrounded by stories.

It should come as no surprise then that after years of pushing against the inevitable I finally decided at the beginning of 2011 that writing was undoubtedly my destiny and something I should stop trying to resist.

So I gave up my well paid secure job and allowed myself one year to make something happen.

Yes well.

Best laid plans and all that.

As the end of the year approached I realised that although I had a sporadic collection of material I had not made any in-roads into that elusive first book, nor had I a decent writing daily schedule  and with the mayhem of the day to day creating one seemed like a mountain to climb.

Then late on evening as I was trawling the inter webs I discovered ‘NaNoWriMo’, the literary equivalent of the Marathon des Sables.

Daunting though it is I knew this was the one thing I needed to get my ass into gear and give me the focus and discipline that may just well see the first draft of my first book. A story I have been carrying around with me for the past twenty years.

So as things stand at 8am on Tuesday 1 November 2011 I will be at my desk with a fresh pot of French Roast and hoping to fulfil my daily word count within a couple of hours.

Each day’s work will be posted here…

I am so excited.