tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36083114258939042662024-03-05T04:45:29.906+00:00Morgan GallagherFiction: the scary stories and unsettling tales of a modern horror writerAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13479061759803882187noreply@blogger.comBlogger107125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3608311425893904266.post-81005060346390968032015-07-01T23:30:00.003+01:002015-07-01T23:30:46.620+01:00Gosh.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Gosh.<br /><br />It's been over two years since I posted here. What can I say? Live has been... extreme. Totally out of control, and utterly extreme.<br /><br />But I'm still here. I'm still cooking books.<br /><br />I'm still living with Dreyfuss and the sequel, Every Single Day.<br /><br />Lucifer's Stepdaughter will be with you.<br /><br /><br />I just hope that the extra wait due to LIFE, will make it a better book.<br /><br />I promise to post here more often! I do.<br /><br />Forgive me. Life is epically not controllable at the moment. <br /><br /><br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13479061759803882187noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3608311425893904266.post-76846578619928665722013-05-15T16:30:00.000+01:002013-06-18T18:06:25.979+01:00Bedlam Maternity<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Finally, the paperback edition is out.</span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;">It should filter through to Amazon, WHS Smiths, Waterstones etc, in the next 3 to 4 weeks.</span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;">However, you can buy a direct copy from me, signed.</span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;">There are ten books in the 'First Edition', run - the first ten books off the printing press. They come signed, with a personal message if you want one, and it includes post and packing for UK mainland only.</span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><strike>10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2</strike> 1 left!</span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;">First Edition is £11.99.</span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;">The normal edition, trade paperback size, is £8.99.</span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;">If you wish to buy one and it to be posted abroad, please email me for a quote on postage.</span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;">I'm so happy this is finally here. I've been terribly ill for a few months (since Christmas) and this was delayed as a result of this. Hopefully, this is a sign I'm back in full swing!</span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Paypal will accept all major cards: do make sure you tell me if you want a personal inscription (and what you want me to say) in the special instructions on the link.</span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Link below, and on side bar to the left of this post!</span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> </span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13479061759803882187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3608311425893904266.post-29830078130943951832012-12-23T00:48:00.001+00:002012-12-23T00:49:41.954+00:00Sample Sunday December 23rd<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="color: white; font-size: large;">As Bedlam Maternity launched on Friday, I've given one more chapter of the story. This is chapter 5. It will be removed after one week.</span></div>
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<a href="http://thedreyfusstrilogy.blogspot.co.uk/2012/09/x_2.html">Chapter 1</a></div>
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<a href="http://thedreyfusstrilogy.blogspot.co.uk/2012/12/p.html">Chapter 2</a></div>
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<a href="http://thedreyfusstrilogy.blogspot.co.uk/2012/12/v.html">Chapter 3</a></div>
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<a href="http://thedreyfusstrilogy.blogspot.co.uk/2012/12/blog-post.html">Chapter 4</a></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Interview with me about Bedlam Maternity </span><a href="http://www.darkmediaonline.com/mothers-in-bedlam-an-interview-with-author-morgan-gallagher/">HERE</a>.</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span style="color: white;"><u>STRONG LANGUAGE WARNING: Street Urchins in London SWEAR. A lot.</u></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">It was a screaming night of
horrors. Friday night after the pubs were out, full moon, August, heat wave and
it hadn’t rained for several days. The hospital staff melted, the doors didn’t
stop bringing in alcohol sodden, blood-stained and fractious human beings set
on making sure someone else knew how miserable they were. Even maternity was
creaking at the sides and the temperature was unbearable. Even state of the art
PFI builds did not include air conditioning in the NHS (or was that especially…?).
Hot sticky babies wailed in the sweating, exasperated, and exhausted arms of
their mothers. The staff were run ragged, trying to keep their cool in all
aspects, before they too became part of the problem. Rose was swearing under
her breath constantly, about how few hands they had, and how much work: but
management never listened. There was never a shortage of managers who wouldn’t
listen.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">There was no quiet lull at any
point that night, and at 4 a.m., Rose’s beeper told her to phone A&E. A
young woman, heavily pregnant, who appeared to be drunk, or stoned, and in
pain. She was refusing to give her name, and the police had brought her in,
worried for her safety. Rose went down herself with two orderlies to assess the
woman: please don’t let this be visited on her, this duty, this night.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">It was, indeed, the person she had
feared it was: Omega. With a curse to the gods for doing this to her tonight of
all nights, Rose fixed a comforting smile on her face, and welcomed the street
waif. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘Omega, I presume? How nice to meet
you, I’m Rose, one of the midwives.’ She nodded to the police officer who was
sitting in the cubicle, making sure Omega stayed put. ‘Thank you, Officer, are
there any charges, or can you go?’ PC Edwards, well-known to Rose, looked as
old as she felt that night. Sweat poured off him, under his knife jacket, and
he reeked of stale sweat, alcohol, and vomit. He nodded to Rose, and left
without speaking. Sometimes, you could just be too drained. Rose hoped he’d
manage a cup of tea before launching back out into the fray.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘Of course there aren’t any
charges! Fucking bastard didn’t need to bring me in, didn’t need to threaten me
to get me assessed!’ Omega’s rant was interrupted by a scream, and she doubled
over her rippling stomach.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘May I…?’ Rose asked kindly, and
with infinite courtesy, as if it wasn’t the middle of the night and endless
drunken vomiting and emergency stitching of eyes and cheekbones wasn’t taking
place in the cubicles all around her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Omega nodded her consent, and Rose applied
gel onto her tummy, and then applied the probe. A few moments of trying to
catch the right spot, and then the baby’s heartbeat pulsed out of the monitor. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘That seems fine.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘Of course it’s fucking fine. I told
the knob, didn’t I? It’s just Braxton Hicks.’ Omega doubled over again.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘I’m not so sure, you know. May I?’
She again waited for Omega to nod consent, before attaching the bands over her
belly. Within a few moments, the wave pattern had started to appear on the read
outs.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘You’re in labour, Omega.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘FUCK!’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Omega, as far as anyone knew, was
over twenty years old, but she looked twelve. She was tiny, half starved, and
looked like she’d walked out of a Dickens’s novel; if Dickens’ waifs had
rainbow coloured dread locks and nose and tongue piercings. She was feral, and
had been for at least three years, as that’s how long she’d been in the East
End. She spoke with a strong Glaswegian accent, but when asked, stated she came
from ‘Fuck you’re nosy, aren’t you?’ She’d been picked up by the police several
times, and nothing had ever been found out about her. She was intelligent, and
extremely pro-active in taking care of her ‘rights.’ When the police had tried
to have her put under a care order as even if they didn’t know who she was and
they felt she was a minor, she’d got a local legal group to defend her rights:
they couldn’t prove she was under eighteen, and her bone x-rays suggested she
was at least twenty. It was the first time the local authorities had found
themselves on the receiving end of a bone scan to prove age and they backed
off. Trying to claim she was illegal was a lost cause — she claimed no benefits
and there was nowhere to send her back to, unless they felt Glasgow could be
deemed an entry port by Borders Agency (something Rose would not put past
them.)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">She had never been arrested, had no
record sheet: had no name. She moved from protest camp to commune to squat,
taking part in every street demo against everything there could be. She’d been
assessed as mentally competent, if belligerent to authority, and there was no
way of finding out her real identity. She was ‘Omega’ and when asked, she’d say
that was her name; she ‘always came fucking last.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Omega had stayed out of everyone’s
reach until she’d fallen pregnant. Then Social Services had tried everything,
including trying to get a court order to make her undergo medical assessment. Omega
had blocked their attempts with her network of woman’s groups and legal
centres, but she had agreed to a full assessment on blood work and scan, etcetera,
when she was at about 30 weeks: purely to ‘get them to shut the fuck up.’ Maggie
Saro-Wiwa, who had been the attending midwife, had stated to all her lead team
members that she was sure Omega had simply wanted to know the sex of her baby.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">The baby was fine. Omega did not
have HIV or any other nasty in her blood. ‘I’m not fucking stupid, I never
shared,’ and whilst she did have a remarkable series of both injection marks
and self harming scars (her left arm was a tapestry of healed over horizontal
slits that looked like it should be on display at the Tate) she had never
presented with fresh self harm, or either drug or alcohol problems to the
authorities. Wherever Omega had escaped from, she’d made a clean break and
nothing could ever be traced.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">The pregnancy had sent the local
authorities into a frenzy. The baby was fine, she was clean and clear: there
was nothing they could do until she birthed. She’d refused all help to
‘transition’ her into a mother and baby unit, or a flat of her own. To do that,
she’d need an identity and she wasn’t going to give up her ‘freedom’. But she
knew she was on an inevitable outcome with the baby. The second it was born… the
baby was gone. Every maternity unit in Greater London had a briefing on Omega
by Social Services. The second she presented in labour at any GP or hospital,
or the second she was seen with a baby, Social Services had to be called. The
police would be ten seconds behind. Bethlehem Maternity had been deemed the
most obvious place she’d end up, given her usual haunts, and that’s where she’d
had her agreed scan (with a human rights lawyer in the room with her). The file
was upstairs, and every team had been briefed personally by Maggie. Rose knew
PC Edwards would have already contacted Social Services. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">They arrived about twenty minutes
later, when Rose and Omega were talking through whether this was a real labour,
or a false start. Rose was pretty persuaded that Omega was in the first stage
of true labour. Omega was of the opinion that this meant nothing, and even if
she was, this could go on for two days or more like this. Rose had to agree. Social
Services weren’t stupid enough to try and speak to Omega, they sent another
nurse in to fetch Rose out. Rose had to tell them they weren’t sure if they
were admitting Omega yet, and observed the weary-eyed look of the poor sod
who’d pulled this shift. His name was Tim and he was actually quite nice and
not at all dim. Tim went off to start the phone calls.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">By the time Rose had returned to
Omega, her human rights lawyer had phoned through. Rose, Omega, and the lawyer,
a woman named Marsha, had a nice chat on the phone, during which time Maggie
Saro-Wiwa arrived, shaking the sleep out of her eyes. Omega actually said hello
to Maggie, and winked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">The drama unfolded without any
mistakes: after all, everyone had rehearsed their lines for weeks.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Marsha arrived with the morning
sun, to find that Maggie and Rose had persuaded Omega up to maternity, to an
empty side room, and were sitting talking to her whilst every one drank tea. Omega
didn’t argue by this time that she was in real labour. Freed from the
constraints of the cubicle, she was walking up and down the room, resting now
and then as she controlled her breathing. Rose was relieved to see her relax
herself into the dance of the labour. Everything about her actions belied the
scarecrow, disorganised, and scattered nature of her appearance. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">They quickly filled Marsha in. No,
Omega had not agreed to being admitted, but had been happy to pace about in the
room as long as she was brought tea and food. Marsha had smiled at this, and
looked over to Omega.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘Yeah, I fucking told them. They
ain’t gonna tell me what to do, and starve me into submission.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Omega had made her feelings about
medicalised birth, and bossy mares telling her she couldn’t eat or drink during
labour, quite clear. It was also clear Omega knew what normal procedure was and
was ensuring she stayed in labour, her way. ‘I ain’t fucking well being laid
down on my back and strapped to a fucking machine.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Maggie had agreed to all her
demands, just to get her to stay. Marsha joined them for tea and toast, which
only Omega and Marsha could eat, as Maggie or Rose would be sacked if they were
found to be eating or drinking from the supplies left for the patients. Rose
had gone to the staff room and returned with two mugs for her and Maggie as a
way of sharing the space with Omega. Dr Khan, the OB registrar, was hovering
outside in an anxious state of feeling too junior to take the flak and
inexplicable gratitude that he’d been banned from going anywhere near Omega by
dint of being both a doctor and a male. The consultants would arrive for clinic
in an hour or so anyway. He was double, triple, and quadruple guessing his own
decision not to call someone in on the basis that Omega wasn’t actually that
near delivering, and hadn’t been admitted. Rose felt sorry for him: this really
was more bite than the young man knew how to chew.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Marsha had, it transpired, a
prepared speech. If Omega was genuinely in labour, she would accept admittance
into the ward, but only on her own terms, and only when she wanted to. Marsha
and Omega had talked it through thoroughly, and Marsha explained it to the two
midwives that Omega knew she would have to birth with someone official there.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘In case something isn’t right. I
want my baby to be well.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">But she didn’t want doctors, fuss,
or medicines. She would accept the presence of a female midwife, as long as the
midwife did as she, Omega, instructed her. As long as the midwife ‘left her the
fuck alone.’ She just wanted to be in charge of her own body, and then birth on
her own, if it was possible.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘I know they’re gonna take her. I
don’t mind that. I just want to birth her my way, and give her the best start. I’ve
taken care of her these past few months, and I want her to be free and happy
when she goes. I don’t want no fucking doctors sticking things up me, or
pulling her about. I wanna give her a good start. But I ain’t fucking stupid. I’d
go birth in the woods if I could, but I won’t risk it. Just in case summit
happens to me, an’ she’s left alone. I don’t want that for her. They’d hound me
if I didn’t come in, so this way, I decide.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">There wasn’t anything to be said on
that, as Omega was correct. No one could force admit her, no one could make her
accept treatment, and all hell would break loose if she did try to birth on her
own. This was uncomfortable for the hospital, but it was the most sensible way
for Omega to get what she wanted. Marsha was also a great help: every time
Omega went overboard in screaming about hospitals and their abuses, and how
they couldn’t control her, Marsha would let out just a bit more detail on the
substantial planning for the birth.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘Omega was offered a private
midwife, paid for by a contributor to the law centre. She refused.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘Damn right I refused. This is my
body and my BIRTH. Fuck you if you think otherwise. I ain’t being fobbed off by
some controlling git with charity. I don’t take nothin’ from no one, even a well-meaning
smug middle class bitch.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Rose was pretty sure Marsha was the
well-meaning smug middle class bitch.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">It was also Rose’s personal
assessment that Omega had birthed before, and it hadn’t been good. Maggie
agreed with her when they discussed it afterwards. They’d both seen birth
trauma this profound before: quite often, sadly. It had just never presented as
it did in the surprising package that was Omega. Rose wondered if Omega was
agreeing to birth in a hospital, her way, as a final <i>up yours</i> to the system, just as she’d come in with PC Edwards when
she knew she didn’t have to. Everyone, hospital, police, Social Services were
dancing to her tune: it was a powerful amount of control she was exerting. Control
that would end the second the baby arrived. Until the baby was born she could
call the shots and she was certainly taking advantage of it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Maggie and Rose drew up a care plan
for Omega that specifically stated that not a single person could touch Omega,
or speak to her, unless it was a medical emergency <i>and</i> she was unconscious. Omega announced she was leaving now, and
would come back, when she was nearer birth. Maggie had blanched, but Marsha had
been kind and said, ‘We have places set up for her, near here, where she can be
with others as she labours.’ Omega said it rather more baldly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘I don’t fucking care what you
fucking want. It’s my body and YOU don’t get to tell me what to do with it.
It’s bad enough you’ll fucking take my baby, you ain’t taking me, too! And no
fucking doctor is gonna rape me with his hands and fucking probes when I tell
him to fuck off and you bitches hold me down.’ She’d stabbed her finger in the
air at Maggie. Maggie had flushed a little then looked away, giving the ground
to Omega. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘We’ll walk you to the door,
Omega.’ <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">For a fleeting second, Omega looked
embarrassed that she’d shouted at her. Then the hard street face was put back
on.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Omega elected to leave the unit by
the stairs, which as she was actively labouring, was a good, wise choice. All
the windows were open full, and as they descended down, there was a feeling of
moving in and out of cooler patches. Rose and Maggie and Marsha walked her
down, and then Marsha took her on out through the main door. They watched them
walk down the street, stopping now and then, when Omega’s body pulsed, then
setting off again.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Behind them, Tim the social worker,
who had been forbidden by Marsha to even see Omega, never mind speak to her, on
pain of an assault charge, was kicking a chair.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘There’s a fine for damaging
hospital property, you know.’ It was PC Edwards, who had obviously stayed to
see it out. Either that, or had been told to stay, since he’d ‘persuaded’ her
in.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘It’s just WRONG!’ A punch flew
into a wall. Tim was also suffering from the heat, clearly. Even now, in the
early hours of the day, it felt like they were living in a sweaty armpit. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘It’s her body, Tim.’ Rose knew the
words would be wasted, but said them anyway.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘As if the baby has no rights.’ His
disgust was evident to all.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Maggie patted him on the back. ‘Come
on, let’s get you some tea, I think she has hours to go.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Rose went back up to the unit to
write everything up and do the hand-over to the next shift. With luck, she’d be
off duty when Omega returned, and the poisoned chalice would have passed her by
this time. She was so drained she took a bus home, washing all the sweat and
grit and worry off her body in a long, cool shower before falling into bed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">She was so groggy when she woke up.
She decided to bus it back up for the shift turn. Strange, she could make it in
the freezing rain and snow, but a heat wave knocked her out: she was getting
old. The bus was cloying and sweaty in the searing afternoon heat. Thank
goodness she was on nights.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Reception was busy as she strolled
through, nodding hello to people as she passed. A woman in hijab was standing
in the middle of the lobby area, Rose sent her a smile as she passed. Then
stopped dead, ice sliding down her spine. As she turned back, the woman was
gone. Ordering the hairs all over her body to lie back down, Rose rushed over
to the back stairwell, and pushed through the double doors. On the other side,
alone, she collected her breath and her wits. Footsteps coming down towards her
made her move up. She passed an orderly, made it to her locker, and sat down. It
wasn’t so much that she thought she was wrong, it was that she knew, <i>she felt</i>, that she wasn’t.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">The hand-over went smoothly enough,
with enough work to keep Rose too busy to dwell on too much worry. She felt as
if someone was dancing on her grave. In terms of work, she’d hoped to find
Omega had returned, birthed, and was gone, but it was not to be. Maggie, who
was refusing to leave until it was all over, had tried to get some sleep in her
office, but the heat was making it impossible. She set herself to sorting out
her files instead. Rose popped in on her every couple of hours, and they both
fed each other tea. Rose had started the conversation about Shafiah a dozen
times, but had trailed off into other areas. She found Maggie asleep on a staff
couch at about 2 a.m., and slipped a light sheet over her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Dawn brought the usual increase in
admissions, and Omega. She was very close to birth, and she needed two friends
to help her into the unit. She was red, sweating, and grunting, but clearly in
that zoned out state of acceptance and anticipation that made all midwives marvel
when they saw it. Rose sent an orderly for Maggie, and told the admissions
people to phone Social Services. Tim would surely be delighted that he was back
on shift for this one. Almost as delighted as Dr Khan, who went off to wake up
Dr Howard. Eileen Howard was the senior consultant who had undertaken Omega’s
screening, and had worked both with the hospital’s legal team, and Marsha, for
weeks. Rose reckoned Dr Howard was swallowing the most bitter of the pills currently
being fed them all.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">They moved Omega into a birthing
unit, where she stripped naked apart from a multi coloured scarf on her head to
hold up her dreadlocks. Her body showed the ravages of abuse on several levels.
All the equipment stood to one side, utterly useless, as Omega continued to
walk, move, groan, squat, and at times, get on her hands and knees. She did use
the birthing ball. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘I’d have preferred a fucking pool,
you know.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">No way was Omega going to control
them to that extent, and she knew it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">It was odd, Rose observed, or was
it telling? Omega never swore at the baby, or her own body, just the others. If
anything, she was talking to both the baby, and her body, in low and gentle
tones. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Her birth companions were taking
duty in the room in shifts. Although the term ‘birth companion’ was a bit of a
misnomer: they weren’t helping Omega at all. They were, however, writing down
every word the staff spoke, and no doubt everything they did. Rose watched the
clock, and saw her shift come to an end. Great, this cup would pass her by. She
stood, from where she’d been writing notes, to announce to the others she would
leave when Maggie returned from the hand-over with Lucy Manning. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Shafiah was standing beside Omega,
who was squatting on the floor. She was looking straight at Rose. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Rose turned and sat down so quickly
she felt dizzy. The helper, Jazz, looked up at her, and then wrote something
down. Omega was in her own birthing zone and didn’t appear to notice. Rose
concentrated on her breathing. She would get it under control. A gentle knock
preceded the door opening, and Rose felt she must have leaped two feet in the
air, but no one seemed to have noticed. The shock of who came in covered the
shock of Shafiah’s appearance.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Maggie came in first, followed by
Dr Fiona Gray, in midwife blue. She had a name badge that simply said ‘Fiona.’ Maggie
was breezing through the ‘we have a changeover’ routine; assuring Omega and her
helper, that she, Maggie, would be staying. ‘Fiona’ came over and picked up the
pen from Rose, and jotted down the time she and Maggie had arrived. Rose found
herself talking to Omega, with no idea of what she was doing, or saying, or
why.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘You’re very close, Omega, and my
shift has changed. May I stay? I’d like to.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Maggie, ‘Fiona,’ and Jazz all shot
Rose a look. Rose doubted she’d ever felt so exposed, so vulnerable, given all
the circumstances. She dreaded being told to fuck off, and then having to leave
the room to face Tim and the police.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Omega just shrugged. ‘Sure. Save
you telling tales to the filth outside.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Jazz laughed and the tension broke.
Rose moved across the room, to sit nearby Jazz, and Maggie continued to watch
the labour actively, as Rose had been doing. ‘Fiona’ kept the official notes
going.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Omega, on all fours, started a low
moaning. The upcoming shriek was clearly signalling what Rose, Maggie, and Jazz
could see: the baby was crowning. Maggie picked up a clean towel, and got down
on the floor on her knees.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘As I said, Omega, as soon as she’s
free, I’ll take her outside. You are ready for that, aren’t you…?’ Rose felt
every stomach muscle she had clench. Sweat popped out on her brow. Beside her,
Jazz was enthralled by what she was viewing, and had stopped writing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">A birthing scream broke the air in
triumph, the baby’s head popped out. Maggie placed the towel underneath. Omega
slumped forward onto her elbows. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘That’s it, girl, one more push.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Omega pushed her daughter into the
air, and the gentle receiving hands of Maggie supported the perfect, white-coated
bundle of life. The baby had a shock of dark hair. Maggie pulled the baby to
one side as Dr Gray clamped and cut the cord. Rose moved forward, and Dr Gray
stood up. Maggie handed the baby over to Dr Gray, who left the room, Rose
having opened the door for her. Jazz, shocked, sounded out a sudden ‘Oh!’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Rose turned to her. ‘I’m sorry,
there isn’t another way.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘But can’t she even hold the baby…?’
Jazz’s face drained of colour and tears formed in her eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘No, I fucking can’t.’ Omega was
still on her knees, but had lifted her head up. ‘Told you the bastards would.’ <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Jazz shook her head, and then
looked at her watch, and carried on observing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Maggie asked Omega if she wanted
the injection that would help expel the placenta, Omega told her to ‘fuck right
off’ but did say she was dying for a drag. As she turned over onto her back, a
wonderful cry of life shattered the air in the corridor outside. Omega looked
up at Maggie, tears flooding out of her eyes. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘Please, could you go see she is
all right?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Maggie nodded, and left, cleaning
her hands. Rose sat down on the floor beside Omega and they both awaited the
placenta’s pleasure.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Jazz had brought Omega a glass of
water, and then gone out, just as Fran, the other helper, came back in. Maggie
came back after about ten minutes. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘She’s wonderful, Omega. Happy,
healthy, hearty, and protesting her treatment loudly.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Omega laughed. ‘That’s my fucking
girl, go get them.’ Then she broke down in tearing sobs. Jazz came over to
attempt to give her a hug, but Omega sent her off with a ‘Fucking leave me
alone and write your notes.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Omega cried, loudly, quietly,
silently at times, as they all sat on the floor, waiting. The placenta passed
about 25 minutes after the baby, and was intact.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Maggie asked if they had permission
to examine it, and her. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘You can fuck right off. I’m taking
that with me. Jazz!’ Jazz put forward a large Ziploc bag, and Maggie and she
slipped the warm placenta into it, then left it aside in a surgical bowl to
cool.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Omega did ask for help to get up
onto the bed, and for a cup of tea. Maggie and Rose got her settled, and Maggie
went off for tea and toast. Rose sat quietly. Omega cried but would still
accept no comfort. When snot was stringing down her face, Rose handed her a
clean towel. Omega took it, and buried her head for a few moments, then threw it
on the floor with all her strength. Then she burst out wailing again.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘She’s gonna be okay, isn’t she…?’ Rose
was surprised to find Omega was addressing her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘No reason why not.’ <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Omega nodded. ‘No, no reason. She
sounded healthy enough.’ Her sobs started up again. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Another knock, the door opening
gently. It was Marsha. Rose stood up to go, and Omega’s hand shot out and
grabbed her arm.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘No, please, stay.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Rose nodded, and sat back down. Jazz
and Fran got up and left, leaving Marsha to talk to Omega. Marsha held
paperwork in her hand.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘They have full care, as we knew
would happen. I have the paperwork, it was biked round from the judge’s home. It’s
all in order, they even spelled her name correctly.’ There was a wry smile as
such paperwork was usually quite haphazard. Not this time. ‘They do want to
speak to you, but I told them you didn’t want that. Is that still your wish?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Omega nodded, which allowed Marsha
to leave and send Social Services away.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Maggie brought in a tray of jam and
toast. Rose slathered some for Omega and handed it to her. Omega couldn’t eat
for tears. Rose took a risk and touched Omega’s arm, gently. Omega turned and
buried herself into Rose’s shoulder. Maggie busied herself with paperwork; it’s
not as if there was anything else to do.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Omega sobbed, and sobbed, and
sobbed. Rose held her, gently, finally lifting her free hand up to rub down the
young mother’s back. After what seemed like hours, but was probably no more
than thirty minutes, Omega sat back, exhausted. The tears subsided. Maggie
handed her a mug of tea with three sugars in it, and she and Rose tidied the
bed. Omega was bleeding freely onto the sheets, and they covered her with a
clean sheet. Then they sat down, and waited.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">It took about an hour, but Omega
finally started to talk. Marsha had come in and gone, and Fran and Jazz had
been dismissed. Rose, who was now off duty for three days, had agreed to stay
and help Omega get dressed when she wanted to leave. Marsha left and Maggie
stayed. No member of staff could be left alone with Omega: it just was.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Omega’s story was by no means
unusual, or coherent, and all Maggie and Rose really got clear was that last
time, when the Social Services had stood in the corridor, Omega had not had a
‘good birthing experience’ as the text books put it. The baby, in addition, had
been stillborn, which Omega knew was her fault, due to ‘her being the worst
fucking person in the world.’ It was clear that Omega had been in care at the
time, and Social Services had been involved with her for years. They nodded,
and listened, both lost in a parade of memories of similar births they had
attended.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Omega said the moment the doctor
stitched her tear back up without using an anaesthetic to punish her for her
son dying, was the moment it made sense.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘I knew why it had happened, and I
knew what I needed to do. I needed to get free, utterly free.’ And so she’d
left the hospital, and her name, and her life, behind.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">By the end of the tale, Omega was
shaking with exhaustion. Rose sat with her as she napped, and Maggie went off
to make sure everyone knew she was still in the unit, not to be disturbed, and
that Marsha was fully informed and happy with Omega’s treatment.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Rose felt her own exhaustion and
hunger, but ignored them. Even without Shafiah’s appearance, Rose would have
felt it was important for someone to stand watch over this fragile, broken
young woman. The good thing about Omega letting go her story, and her tears,
was that she was being observed post-birth: all looked well. Her colour was
good, she was eating and drinking well, and had been to the loo. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">About five hours after the baby had
been born, Omega woke from her nap, and asked Rose to send for Marsha. When
Marsha arrived, Omega looked her straight in her eyes and said ‘I want to see
my baby. I want to raise my daughter. Tell me how I can make that happen.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Rose went home by taxi, exhausted
but hopeful. Omega had taken Marsha’s expert advice to heart and had started by
allowing the hospital to do a full medical on her. When Rose left in the late
afternoon, Omega had been admitted properly and was sleeping after having
accepted some pain relief. She’d given Marsha her full name and date of birth,
and Marsha had gone off to find her records and prepare a case for Social Services
to put together a care plan that would allow Omega access to the baby, whom
she’d named Storm.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Rose knew the odds of the young
women (who’d told Marsha she was going to stay ‘Omega’ and she needed a deed
poll for her name change asap) ever getting her baby back fully were poor to
non-existent. But Rose believed in miracles, and had seen one or two of them in
her years. Perhaps this was one. Regardless, she had a chance, and in this
life, you took the chances you could and prayed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">After she phoned through to Tommy,
and said she’d be round next afternoon to catch him up on something, she fell
gratefully into her bed, and slept the sleep of the exhausted, as best she
could in the heat.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 21.6pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Her sleep was disturbed before she
was ready, in the early morning light. Someone was banging on her front door. As
Rose staggered down the stairs, trying to pull herself out of the quicksand,
the thought that Shafiah was on the other side of the door froze her solid. The
banging carried on and she shook herself out of it: as if ghosts could bang on
doors.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">When she opened the door and saw who stood
there, and the awful grey tinge to her skin, the bloodshot shock in her eyes,
Rose knew what happened. Maggie Saro-Wiwa didn’t need to speak. Rose knew in
her bones that Omega was dead</span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">BUY Bedlam Maternity <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Bedlam-Maternity-ebook/dp/B00AQA64W2/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1356082627&sr=8-1">Amazon UK</a> <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Bedlam-Maternity-ebook/dp/B00AQA64W2/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1356082864&sr=8-1&keywords=bedlam+maternity">Amazon USA </a> <a href="http://www.kobobooks.com/ebook/Bedlam-Maternity/book-zIfjeOgPBECC6UmKD-12Og/page1.html">KOBO</a></span></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13479061759803882187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3608311425893904266.post-44149898763462934762012-12-19T21:42:00.001+00:002012-12-19T21:42:15.231+00:00Final Covers - Bedlam Maternity<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13479061759803882187noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3608311425893904266.post-51109917222670585252012-12-16T13:32:00.001+00:002012-12-16T13:36:12.535+00:00Sample Sunday December 16th<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Final preview chapter of Bedlam Maternity which launches this coming Friday.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="http://thedreyfusstrilogy.blogspot.co.uk/2012/09/x_2.html">Chapter One Here</a></div>
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<a href="http://thedreyfusstrilogy.blogspot.co.uk/2012/12/p.html">Chapter Two Here</a></div>
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<a href="http://thedreyfusstrilogy.blogspot.co.uk/2012/12/v.html">Chapter Three Here</a></div>
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<span style="color: white;">Leave a comment on the this post to enter into a giveaway for a free copy of the ebook.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">There was no answer to give to that question and as
the year moved on and slowly began to turn on itself, they gave up talking
about the situation. There had been no
more occurrences and no more information had come forward about Shafiah from
anyone. Tommy had offered to talk to the
local Imam about how the Islamic communities viewed ghosts, but Google could
furnish her with that and not get her into trouble with either the hospital, or
the community that was protecting Shafiah’s identity.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">The walk to work, or rather the walk from work, got
more troublesome in freezing cold and rain, but turned out to be a lifesaver
for the ice and snow. As London once
more literally slid to a stop around her, with ‘unseasonable’ winter snow, she
was one of the few staff members who always made it on shift. It might take two hours to slog in on ice
grips, and sometimes three to get home, but she was managing it. It was doing wonders for her thighs. So few of the others were managing in the
worst of the weather that she took her sleeping bag in and left it in her
locker. She wasn’t going to be charged
£25 per night for the privilege of sleeping in a hospital bed when she was
saving the hospital’s neck: which is exactly what the Trust had done to staff
the previous winter. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">The ice was flooding out Accident & Emergency,
as it always did. Broken limbs from
falls were straining resources and every now and then a bed was being used in
Maternity for some poor battered soul that couldn’t find refuge elsewhere. So when her beeper had gone off to call
A&E urgently, she hadn’t been too concerned, thinking it was a bed chase
for another ice victim. Another ice
victim it was, but one far more serious than anyone had anticipated. The woman, who had slipped backwards and
smashed her head on a wall, had lain unconscious for an hour or so in the snow
before being discovered. She was
suffering from concussion, hypothermia, and blood loss. The flap of skin that had been opened on the
back of her head had bled freely the entire time she’d been down. She was also heavily pregnant, easily over eight
months gone. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Rose reached A&E as the OB registrar was sending
out the orders for theatre. Despite
their best efforts to stabilise the mother, the baby was in distress and was
coming out. The mother had drifted in
and out of consciousness in the ambulance, and the senior anaesthetist was
being called in. The neo-natal unit was
at full stretch and short on staff for Theatre.
Rose was due off shift in 30 minutes and Lucy, her relief, wasn’t in
yet. Lucy had a long way to come from
Essex and had been making shifts, more or less, but had been hours late in the
past week. Rose made sure the delivery
unit was as well prepared as it could be, warned all the staff where she’d be
on change over, and confirmed she would attend.
She changed into theatre blues and scrubbed up.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">The attempts to remove the baby were being hampered
by the problems of trying to get the mother’s core temperature up at the same
time as opening her for major surgery.
Theatre was so packed with surgeons and doctors, Rose couldn’t get anywhere
near the mother, who was plugged into several high tech pieces of equipment she
didn’t recognise. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Rose hated theatre and avoided it at all costs: it
was a bad shift if she found herself in there.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">There wasn’t much to assist with, given the stream
of specialists each trying to maintain their discipline over the body of the
poor mother. Dr McGhee, the head of the
neo-natal unit, was working hand in hand with Dr Gray, the OB consultant. They were prepping everything before making
the first incision, in order to reduce the stress on the mother. Rose had seen Dr Gray do a caesarean in under
three minutes, from first cut to baby free, and had little worry about the intervention. The issue was the accident. They were clearly ready to proceed, as Dr McGhee
had turned to Rose and indicated she wanted a warmed receiving blanket, which
Rose unfolded across the older woman’s arms.
Rose picked up a neo-natal breathing mask and had her hand poised on the
oxygen switch. McGhee turned and nodded
to Gray, who put the scalpel to the swollen belly beneath her. Rose averted her eyes as the steel sliced
through skin, blood vessels and muscles.
When she looked back, one of the other masked surgeons in the room was
pulling open the cavity whilst Gray sliced on down to release the baby. She pulled the head up and out, and between
them, Gray and Dr McGhee had the baby out and on the cloth within 30
seconds. Rose moved forward with the
mask. Dr Gray clamped and severed the
umbilical cord and the press of bodies closed out the mother from Rose’s
view. She kept her thoughts on the tiny
baby girl Dr McGhee was dealing with.
Behind her, the steady beep of the heart machine reassured everyone the
mother should make it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">McGhee and Rose assessed the baby. She was perfectly warm, small, and tightly
curled. She did not like being
manhandled and Rose was sure the tension levels in the room halved when the
little girl burst forth her outrage at the manner of her birth and the sudden
removal from her mother. Lung
development was Good Enough. She was
also sure she heard the mother’s heartbeat double blip in response to the
cries.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">When McGhee had the baby connected to the monitors
and the temperature and oxygen levels stabilised, they moved her upstairs to
the Neo-Natal Unit. Behind them, the
others carried on working for the safety of the mother.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">McGhee and Rose barely spoke to each other in the
lift, their thoughts and efforts were only for the tiny bundle of life in their
hands. She was thin, but steadily
flushing through with pink, and still squalling in fits and starts. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Baby Nakalinzi was weighed, checked, prodded,
injected, and generally fussed over for more than an hour, then settled into a
deep and much needed sleep by the caress of her attentive nurses. Rose had felt the heavy stab in her heart
ease as the little one had settled into life, and stayed over long in the unit
until the babe was softly asleep. She then
went to check on the mother and put in place all the arrangements they’d need
for her to start to care for her baby when she woke from surgery.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">The mother, Mercy, was out of theatre but being kept
under sedation. Her body had stayed
strong throughout and her heartbeat was regular. Discussions were taking place on where she
should be placed and Rose spoke up for her going into the new rooms designed on
the fourth floor to accommodate mothers in need of post-operative surgical
care. Yes, she was more high-dependency
than usual for that unit, but her baby would be just upstairs and it would
facilitate skin to skin and establishing breastfeeding. Wasn’t that the whole point of the new rooms?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">When the discussion got heated, Rose backed out of
it and waited respectfully for the surgeons to finish arguing their territory. The decision was tipped by Dr Gray, who argued
that care was care, no matter where the machines were plugged in and that
getting Mum and Baby together was best for both of them. The unit was designed to give specialist
post-natal care and the head injury was not that major. Mercy was moved to a side room in the
maternity special care unit on the fourth floor. Baby would come down to join her as soon as
it was safe to do so.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Rose was watching the thick snow settle outside as
she did the paperwork for Mercy. Her
temperature was stabilised and her stomach wound clean and neatly sutured. All her vitals were excellent and her
prognosis was good. She’d be kept
sedated for about 24 hours, to give her body time to recover and heal, and then
they’d proceed with waking her up. The
x-ray had shown a small fracture on her skull, but there shouldn’t be much more
complication than the concussion. The
snow and ice had robbed her of more than the backwards slam into the top of a
low brick wall. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Her nose twitched by the lack of father, or any
other human being in attendance at the unit to see how she and the baby were,
Rose went looking for relatives. A
couple of hours on the phone to Social Services provided the answer that there
were none, well, no adults. Mercy had
only arrived in London two days earlier, from an immigration detention
centre. She and her three year old son
had been in detention for the past six months, nearly 60 miles north of London,
in Bedfordshire. She’d been released to
have the baby and the boy was already in foster care, having been found by
police when the ambulance had been called for Mercy. The hostel they had been in was paid for by
Social Services and they only had info on her from her two nights
previous. Typically, she’d been released
to the local borough that she’d been in before she was lifted by the Borders
Agency, and returned to it, despite not having any home or connections there
for the months she’d been away.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Rose sent two messages out to the local charities
and the churches that supported refugee claimants. Someone would have been helping her when she
was locked in Yarl’s Wood, but it may take time to track someone down who knew
her. She spoke to Social Services again,
to confirm the boy was okay and to get the name of whoever was going to be
assigned to sort all this out. Rose had
a bad feeling in her bones. The East End
had seen generations of refugees swarm through its streets: in many ways the
times were the worst possible for them.
She’d tended the birth of babies that had then been deported in their
mother’s arms, back to whatever terror they had been fleeing from. She prayed the baby upstairs now would not be
another one.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">By now she was several hours past her shift
end. The snow outside was building
up. The entire unit was
understaffed. She argued with herself
about the best course of action: go home where she wouldn’t have much time for
sleep, but could let go the stresses, or stay here and sleep where she could,
for as long as she could manage.
Indecision took her back up to the neo-natal unit, where the baby was
still fast asleep, the monitors pinging away as they should. It occurred to her that no one may have told
the mother she had a daughter: she’d been in general surgical care after all.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">She slipped down the back stairs, something she had
been avoiding where possible these past few months. As she passed the fourth floor window she
expected to feel a shiver, but did not.
Telling herself again she was being ridiculous, she went on down to the
ward, and went into the room Mercy was in.
The woman was alone, the machines all keeping their vigil for the
staff. Rose pulled a chair up to the
head of the bed, and seated herself. She
held the woman’s hand in her own, stroking the back of her hand, as she told
her that she had a daughter. A healthy
and happy daughter who was being cared for by loving arms, just above her head,
on the floor above. Her daughter would
be down to see her the next day, when she woke, and that Mercy was not to worry
about her son. He, too, was safe. Both her children were safe, and Mercy should
sleep, rest and recover. So she could
wake up and hold them close.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Rose blinked the tears from the corners of her eyes
as she patted the woman’s hands, and stood up. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">The shiver caught her breath. Her feet felt frozen to the ground. Her breathing stalled.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">There was someone standing on the other side of the
bed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Shafiah.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">The need to react was totally overtaken by the door
behind them opening and closing with a bang.
Rose turned her head too quickly, and felt dizzy, slumping onto the
seat. Dr Gray came over.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘Are you all right, Rose?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Rose, who was as pale as the snow catching on the
window sill, nodded. ‘Startled, just a
little startled. Been a long shift.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Shafiah was gone.
Obviously, since Dr Gray hadn’t screamed. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘I do appreciate the over-time Rose, I really
do. Especially now.’ Dr Gray left Rose to pick up Mercy’s chart
and give it a quick look see. Fiona Gray
was not an emotional person, not in the least sentimental or personable. She took everything and everyone at face
value and never seemed to notice that most of the staff didn’t like her very
much. Professional respect was all she
required from everyone and Rose wasn’t offended by the absent way Fiona didn’t
quite chat to her as she conducted her analysis of Mercy’s chart. She was grateful for the opportunity to
collect her thoughts and to calm her racing pulse. Dr Gray moved down to where Shafiah had been
standing, and addressed Mercy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘Apologies, Miss Nakalinzi, I came to inform you
your daughter was safe and well. But I
suspect that Rose got here first.’ Dr
Gray smiled over at Rose, who was almost as thunderstruck by the comments as
she had been by Shafiah’s appearance.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘I’ll leave you to it, Rose. Good evening, Miss Nakalinzi.’ Dr Gray left the room.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Rose stayed seated as she tried to piece her
thoughts and feelings back into some sort of shape. This task was overtaken by the arrival of
Lucy Manning, who had finally made it in.
Rose and she retired for some strong tea, and a brief hand-over.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Whilst she was nodding on the couch in the staff
lounge, snug in her sleeping bag, Rose realised that Dr Gray would not have
screamed even if she had seen Shafiah.
She’d never met her, and what was the strangeness of a woman standing in
a room by a bedside? The strangeness
would have been the supernatural appearance and disappearance. Besides, she,
Rose, hadn’t screamed on either occasion.
She wished she could talk to Tommy Doyle: she fell asleep praying.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Lucy Manning shook her awake in the wee small
hours. Rose knew from the touch and the
pale face that something was very wrong.
As her own eyelids flickered open, Rose saw that tears had been shed by
Lucy’s. What on earth was wrong?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘I’m sorry to wake you. I just had to have someone to talk to.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Rose pulled herself out of the shreds of sleep as
she pulled herself out of the sleeping bag.
There were two steaming hot mugs of tea by the table. Lucy sat and huddled round hers, waiting for
Rose to wake up enough to join her. Rose
ran her hands through her hair, gave her face a quick rub and sat down,
blinking. She lifted the mug up and
wrapped her hands round it, breathing in the heat. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">She listened.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Tears came first, and Lucy dabbed at her eyes with a
paper hanky. It was scrunched and well
used. She blew her nose.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘Sorry, Rose.
I couldn’t let the younger ones see me.
It’s not good.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Rose nodded.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘Is it a baby?’
Rose had never known a midwife who didn’t cry after a still birth, or an
early death. You just did it in private,
away from the family. Their grief came
first. You let it out afterwards.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Lucy shook her head.
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Rose sipped the tea.
It was sweet. Lucy had put sugar
in it; sugar for shock.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘No, it’s a mother.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Rose swallowed more tea which no longer tasted
sweet.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘A mother.
They’re taking her downstairs now.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Every nurse referred to the morgue as ‘downstairs’,
no matter where it was located.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘The baby?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘It’s Mercy, Rose.
Mercy is dead. She had a heart attack
and… and she never held her baby, not once.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Lucy dissolved into sobs, quiet wracking sobs. Rose placed her right hand on Lucy’s
shoulder, witness to her distress.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">It took ten minutes or so for them to get each other
in full control. Lucy washed her face in
cold water to calm her eyes, and Rose did the best she could to make it look as
if she hadn’t slept on a couch. Lucy’s
tears had stained her blues so she changed into new ones as Rose dressed for
her shift.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Together, they went over all the paperwork, making
sure every i was dotted and every t crossed.
The normal paperwork of the ward was an impeccable detailing of every
moment, intervention, and event of the birth and after care. There was precious little detail in Mercy’s,
given she’d been in Theatre and then unconscious, but they checked and double
checked everything was sensible, in order, and as it should have been. There would be an internal inquiry; there
always was.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Rose watched Lucy begin the long trek home in the
snow and ice, and set herself to the task of keeping the entire shift on
track. It was usually the next shift in
from a death that saw the most disruption.
The staff on duty took their shock home, but the next shift came in
under a pall. Every subsequent birth was
high tension in the minds of the workers, and every happy mother holding a baby
an invite to tears. She also spent some
time with Maggie, going over even more paper work. Maggie was controlled and deadly rage: she
was personally insulted any time a mother died under her care. She’d seen too many dead mothers in some of
the places she’d worked with relief agencies.
In war and famine, the mothers and children usually came last.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">With some relief, Rose trudged back home over the
melting ice, some fourteen hours in Lucy’s wake. Another four days of rest was in front of
her, and the pain of the death behind her, disappearing in the rain. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">She bought smoked salmon from the all night deli.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Tommy had once again lit up his pipe, and sat
puffing away, the smoke drifting around the living room. Rose was huddled over another steaming hot
mug of tea, this time it had a liberal application of whisky, care of Tommy.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">The silence, the easy, comfortable, friendly and well-used
silence between them, was doing more to soothe her than speech. The silence allowed her tears to flow. Tommy puffed away as the salty fluid dripping
from her eyes drained out the canker in her soul.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Rummaging for a hanky and blowing her nose and
drying her eyes, was the signal for conversation to start up again.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘You think it’s coincidence?’ Her voice was too defensive, and she knew it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘No, I don’t, lass.
I think there is a puzzle here.’
He tapped out his pipe before tapping more of his special baccy mix in.
‘I just don’t know what it is. What she is trying to say to us.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘Death is pretty simple.’ Rose sat back,
exhausted. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘Dying may be simple, in a first this happens, then
that sort of way. But death itself… that
is never simple.’ Three deep puffs, and
a long stream of smoke sent upwards, away from the table.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘Death is a divine mystery…?’ She tried for a rueful smile.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘Is it death, ‘tho?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘What do you mean?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘How many people have died in the hospital, since
that poor lass fell to her death?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Rose considered.
‘Lots’.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Tommy nodded.
‘Now, this is a hard one. Have
any mothers died, since?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Rose swallowed hard as the tears swelled up.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘Or babies, in fact?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Rose looked over to Tommy, pinning him with her
gaze. Tommy took the assault, and sat
quietly until Rose herself looked to one side, breaking off the connection.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘Your brain is like a steel trap, Father Doyle.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘It takes one to know one, Sister Templar.’ It was
an old joke between them, since Rose had once been a ward sister, before titles
had become managerial gobbledygook.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘And the answer…?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘Two mothers and one baby have died since Shafiah
did, in the wards. One was a woman who’d
been in cancer treatment when she became pregnant unexpectedly. She was dying and there was very little hope
of more than a year in any event. She
stopped all treatment, went home, and prepared for her baby. She died in the unit, with the baby in her arms,
about two days after the birth.’ Rose
envisioned the scene that Lucy had described so poignantly: Mum and Dad in bed together, the baby on
Mum’s chest, Dad’s arms holding them both.
The mother’s parents sitting in the room, grieving the loss of their
child whilst trying to hold onto the joy of a new grand-daughter. She left a few moments’ silence, to collect
her thoughts.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘Then there was the Mum and baby we lost a few
months ago. Very unusual. Mum was on
holiday here, from Devon. Hit by a
car. Placenta previa, in addition to
serious chest injuries. She bled to
death, baby died in utero.'<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘You were on duty?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘For that one I was on stand-by, she was in theatre
when I came on shift.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘And did you… have a visit… for either…?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘No.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘Could someone else have?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Rose had no idea, and she had a delicate look
around, chatting to people, listening hard, looking for signs over the next few
weeks. There was no hint anywhere that
anything unusual had been occurring. Given how superstitious most hospital staff
were, she didn’t know if she was relieved, or disappointed. The inquest on Mercy recorded it as a tragedy
and the hospital was praised for how well it had cared for her. Anyone can have a heart attack, at any time,
and the fact she was wired up to a series of machines when she had hers, was
evidence that all measures to keep her safe had been taken. Both children were put into the system for
adoption and thus become British citizens.
Rose had the comfort of that; that Mercy rested with both her babies
safe from deportation. She was buried
not far from Shafiah’s unmarked spot, having the same anonymous burial on the
council funds. Rose would walk past, and
say silent hellos to them both, and assure them their children were happy and
well cared for.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Or so she prayed.</span><span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13479061759803882187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3608311425893904266.post-52864965165236580632012-12-08T23:10:00.000+00:002012-12-16T13:35:44.209+00:00Sample Sunday December 9th<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimJfQyoOujkUMlfrYPmisyMTELVfBBYxBk_-FXqvsOYbSqIXdLq_fUsU_Awmau5sGqoTptW6dGT9bokedF8HwZ0bMILJFTvcLGZmVRM1w_j115VeSz6MZTA-x13-XPEScF52fW0yd6BRo/s1600/Black-Granite-headstone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimJfQyoOujkUMlfrYPmisyMTELVfBBYxBk_-FXqvsOYbSqIXdLq_fUsU_Awmau5sGqoTptW6dGT9bokedF8HwZ0bMILJFTvcLGZmVRM1w_j115VeSz6MZTA-x13-XPEScF52fW0yd6BRo/s320/Black-Granite-headstone.jpg" width="253" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: white;">Bedlam Maternity will be published on December 21st. Launch Party</span> <a href="http://www.facebook.com/events/394010370676366/">here</a>.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Chapter Three this week. Enjoy.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://thedreyfusstrilogy.blogspot.co.uk/2012/09/x_2.html">Chapter One Here.</a></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://thedreyfusstrilogy.blogspot.co.uk/2012/12/p.html">Chapter Two Here.</a></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: white; font-size: x-large;">Comment to go into a draw to win a copy of the ebook on launch day!</span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large; line-height: 115%; text-indent: 36pt;"> Rose
wasn’t sure what was worse, the way the girl had died, or the fact her family
refused to claim her body. Indeed, had
refused to come forward. Whoever Shafiah
had been, her decision to shield her family from the pregnancy had been seated
in a real understanding of who they were and had not been the unfounded fears
of panic. Rose tried to understand their
actions, and what would drive a family to ignore the death of their daughter,
or sister, or niece. Watching them lower
Shafiah’s cardboard coffin into the unmarked pauper’s grave, she struggled with
it. Struggled with the loneliness and
bitterness of thought, struggled with the despair. Struggled with the anger and tried to fend
off the judgement she wanted to make on the family. Who was she to judge another?</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">It
was not easy. The sense of outrage as
time had gone on, and Shafiah’s family still had not come forward, had built
within her. As she’d been dealing with
hospital protocols on how she’d interacted with Shafiah in the last few hours
of her life, Rose had been waiting… waiting for the family to step
forward. To claim the body at least, if
not their grandchild. The police had
actively investigated the local communities, but the tight-lipped networks of
immigrants had closed down completely.
The more hyped the media frenzy had been, the more clamped down everyone
had become. Admitting to an unmarried
birth had become also admitting to a suicide.
Shafiah had clearly had the measure of her family, for she’d been wiped
clean from everyone’s memories. She had
simply ceased to exist in any tangible sense.
All she had now was a date of death and burial. She still had no name, no past, no birth date
and no family. She didn’t even have her
own grave. Rose wished she could shed a
tear as she walked away from the raw earth that now held Shafiah: it seemed
monstrous to her that a stranger should be the only one to mourn her passing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">She
nodded to Sergeant Monica Wills as she exited the graveyard. It had been kind of the police liaison
officer to let her know when the communal burial was going to be held, and to
let her attend. No one else had been
told, and they’d opened the grave at 6 a.m., in order to avoid the press
cameras that had recorded the death so meticulously also recording the
burial. Neither woman stopped to speak
in case the same cameras were hiding somewhere in the shrubbery or early
morning mist. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">For
Rose, it had been a brutal awakening on the power of the press. The automatic suspension whilst the
circumstances of her final meeting with Shafiah had been investigated had
become news-worthy in a way that defied the quite normal and everyday nature of
the suspension. Rose had watched as her
name and image, for she’d quickly been identified as being in the photos of the
death scene, had been spread across the newspapers. A hard working midwife of almost thirty years’
experience was of little note, however, compared to a 26- year-old social
worker from a department with a few public skeletons to dig back up and be
paraded. Rose had watched the circus
turn from her, to social services, and the lions had eaten the innocents
whole. Horrible as it had been for her,
it had ended the career of the social worker who had just happened to be on
duty when Shafiah gave birth: rather than be torn apart, she’d resigned and
moved away within a week of the death.
The public hadn’t been sated and had gone after the head of social
services for the district. The reality
of women turning up, birthing, and walking away, had caused outrage and
hysteria of an unbelievable nature: as if no one had ever heard of such a
thing, and that such a thing should never be allowed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">The
hospital, inevitably, had been the centre of the storm. The unfortunate name, Shafiah’s secrecy, the
unclaimed baby lying upstairs as his mother had plummeted to her death… it was
the very stuff of nightmare. It was
clear the public adored nightmares and very much appreciated their every
detail. The pictures of Shafiah’s ruined
body that had been too bloody even for the British press soon emerged on the
internet via other European news agencies.
A carnival had opened at the doors of the Bethlehem Maternity and more
than one mother had refused point blank to be taken there in labour, not
wanting to birth a baby at Bedlam. The
constant comments about lunatics, women, lunatic women and pregnancy brain had
become a tidal wave of negativity that the staff was straining under.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">The
Chief Executive had started up a focus group to find a new name for the unit.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Most
of it had passed Rose by. She’d retired
to routine and her community ties. Spent
a lot of time helping out with the cleaning and maintenance at St Kate’s, as
everyone referred to her local church.
Carried on with her work with the Catholic Mother’s Union, and spent a
lot of her time helping young mums in her area with the first few weeks of
abject panic that motherhood brought.
Her flat was gleaming. She
carried on her breastfeeding support group, and they spotted the journalist
who’d been sent in to spy on her within seconds. That had been rather comical, and when
everyone had mentally identified the elegant and supposedly pregnant female
with the large handbag she kept fiddling with, the subject matter of the
meeting had been rapidly switched to potty training, and they had a two hour
discussion on the most environmentally friendly way to get poo stains out of
cloth. The reporter had left halfway
through. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">She’d
been grateful that all the years of work in the local community had given her a
family to embrace her. When the worst
moments of media intrusion had turned to scrutinise her life, they had been
deflected by that community. Thankful as
she was, she recognised the irony that the same actions were taking place
elsewhere, to prevent anyone from finding out who Shafiah had been.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Burying
the poor lass appeared to have been the signal for life to go back to
normal. Rose had an interview at the
unit later on that morning, to confirm her returning rota. The press had decamped a week or so prior. Shafiah was old news now. The baby had been placed in a permanent home
for adoption and that news had vented a lot of the pressure. New scandals opened up elsewhere and the
vultures moved on.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Rose
doubted she’d read a newspaper ever again. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Which
called for a lot of not looking at things as she strolled down the Mile End
Road, heading down to the unit: there were a lot of newsagents nestled in the
shops she passed. She’d kept up her
walking, had spent many hours in tranquil walks all over London, some days
choosing pretty parks and heaths, others, busy thoroughfares. It cleared her head and allowed some grace to
develop over how she felt about Shafiah’s death.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">How
she was sure that she’d not committed suicide: it didn’t fit with anything she
knew of the woman, and how she’d conducted herself.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">How
the itch had never lifted: the sense that something was wrong. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Something
was very wrong, somewhere.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Lucy
Manning was in the meeting she had with Maggie Saro-Wiwa, the Midwifery
Co-ordinator. Both Maggie and Lucy were
relieved to have Rose back, and everyone agreed that a run of night shifts would
be the best, for the first few weeks.
Normally Lucy and Rose switched days and nights with each other, on
their three days runs of twelve hour shifts, with a half shift on day four to
do the switch. But with the press
obtrusions still so fresh, a run of nights gave her a low key return. This meant the other two supervisors had also
mucked their own schedule around for her.
She felt immense gratitude that they’d all agreed to this: it was both a
compliment to her and a genuine measure of her colleagues’ respect. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘There
but for the grace of God…’ was what Lucy had said when Rose had thanked
her. Everyone was aware that Rose had
pulled the poison simply for being on duty that day. It could have been any of them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">An
opinion that Rose did not, could not, share.
She’d been raised to believe things happened for a reason. She’s spent hours discussing the death with
her parish priest. Why she, Rose, had
both been the one to take the baby from Shafiah, and also to witness her dying
moments. The theology was pretty clear,
but her emotions were not. For every
comment that God worked in mysterious ways, Rose’s body would ring out another
alarm bell. This had not been God’s design: suicide never was. That is why it was such a great sin. How could it be part of His design that she
had witnessed such? If it was not part
of God’s plan, how could her presence have been? The nagging feeling of
wrongness served only to highlight her own need for understanding: an
understanding which eluded her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Night
shifts were generally busier in terms of births, which was fine in its own
way. Rose settled back to work easily
and enjoyed being so busy. There was
much less contact with extraneous others in the wards as well, something she
relished. A few awkward moments with her
own team members were soon over, although she suspected Amber would leave
soon. The young woman clearly had never
quite reconciled to abandoned babies and Rose suspected she’d be off to richer
climes, where such happenings were rare.
The East End was never going to be that place.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">The
challenge and wonder of her calling was that routine was both the mainstay of
her every day role, and yet utterly at the mercy of the Gods at every
point. Birthing was a pretty routine
occurrence, but each birth was unique and held its own rhythms. In the quiet darkness of the wee small hours,
there was often frenetic activity as women laboured. Freed up from outpatients and the operating schedule
for when intervention was inevitable, night shifts were fluid and unpredictable
in a most satisfying way. Sometimes,
there was even nothing to do, as the parade of soon-to-be mothers would
sometimes trail away very early in the morning.
Rose had often thought mothers labouring at home would wait until
daylight to call for transport, in the hope they could get just one more hour
of uneasy sleep…<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Therefore,
three weeks into her return, Rose found herself in a quiet and calm labour
ward, with all the mothers and babies safely in each other’s arms, and a small
gap in incoming. The staff took
advantage of the lull to catch up on endless paperwork and start some serious
cleaning. Rose had taken herself off to
the supply cupboards to check inventory.
It was two hours before dawn, and everyone beavered to get as much done
as they could before the next wave of life arrived.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Counting
suture dressings, Rose felt the itch so sharply she dropped the packages she’d
been holding. Cold prickled up her
spine, shivered into her skull and dried the saliva in her mouth. She swallowed hard, trying to claw back
moisture. Her hand started to shake and
for one second, fear rooted her to the spot.
Someone was standing beside her.
The door into the storage room had not opened. But someone was there, nevertheless.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Someone.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Rose
knew before she turned to look. The
sense of wrongness she’d held in her bones these past few weeks was sounding
out. She knew whose eyes she’d look
into. She knew the shape and colour of
the vision.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Shafiah
Begum was standing next to her. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">She
was pale, shaken, haunted. Rose looked
at her and felt the tug in her heart, the pain she’d been holding for this
young woman flow out of her. Fear was
replaced by compassion, empathy. Rose
lifted her hand, then stayed it. Shafiah
looked back at Rose, tears brimming but not falling. A moment of understanding passed between
them. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Then
she was gone.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Rose
slumped to the ground, finding she’d stopped breathing and that she was dizzy
and sick. As she sat there, heaving,
fighting oxygen back into her lungs, her blood, her brain, she saw the shadow
under the closed door. Someone was in
the corridor.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Shafiah
was in the corridor.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Rose
stood up so quickly she almost passed out.
It took her a moment to bring her body back under control. She was covered in cold sweat and was sure she
must reek of it. Her breathing was
ragged and shallow. She would get hold
of this, she would… Shafiah needed her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">As
Rose emerged into the corridor, Shafiah moved away towards the back
stairs. Rose followed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Up
they went. Shafiah walking just ahead,
just turning the corner and almost disappearing at each level. All the way to the top. All the way to the neo-natal unit.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Rose
stood on the outside corridor with the rest of the unit still asleep. Machines beeped, the occasional baby cry,
night staff moving to and fro in the unit itself. Out here the lights were dimmed. Rose’s breathing slowly started to steady,
her heart settled back down after the five flights of stairs.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Shafiah
was standing at the unit door. Her hand
was raised, almost touching the glass.
Tears were cascading down her face.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">She
jumped, startled, and smiled, wiping the tears from her eyes. Then she was gone, utterly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Rose
stood staring at the space that had held Shafiah, and understood. Understood what she’d seen. Understood the puzzle had a solution.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Shafiah
had come back. She’d come back for her
baby. She’d returned to the hospital for
her son. Whilst everyone had been
downstairs with the chaos of the visit, Shafiah had slipped back into the unit
and gone upstairs to see her baby. As
she’d stood at the doorway, someone else had approached her. Someone had spoken to Shafiah.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Shafiah
had smiled a greeting to someone.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Rose
jumped when the unit door opened, and a nurse came out. She caught sight of Rose and smiled.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘Hi,
Rose, everything okay?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Rose
could only nod, trying to pull her wits about her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘Good. I was worried for a moment, you look like
you’ve seen a ghost!’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Tea
was the universal balm, and she clutched the mug’s heat to her shaking
hands. The dawn had brought two
mothers-to-be with it and the unit was springing into action around her. She had to get hold of herself and get back
to her duty — get back to being with women.
She shovelled two loads of sugar into the mug, a larger slurp of milk,
stirred it and gulped down the contents.
The rush would serve her well, getting her into the routine that would
take over her thoughts, allow her to push the fear and worry away for a few
hours.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">It
turned out to be longer than a few hours.
Sickness had struck the next shift and Rose ended up doing another eight
hours on top of the twelve she’d just done, but her hand-over shift tomorrow
was cancelled out. Thankful for both the
overtime and the four days off in front of her, she took a taxi home and
dropped into sleep without even taking her clothes off. She tossed and turned on the bed, dreaming of
blood and crying babies: crying for the mother who would never come.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">She
slept through for sixteen hours, rising so groggy and unsteady that she felt
she’d had a massive blow out on alcohol.
Were hangovers ever this bad, really?
She staggered through to the shower and tried to wake up. Under the hot stream, she remembered Shafiah,
and the vision, and found herself crying, the tears lost in the water. When she was younger, she could work 24 hours
straight and then go out dancing.
Indeed, had done so on many an occasion.
Age was betraying her once more, and she was shocked at the toll the
hours had taken on her body, as well as her mind. Was she losing her mind? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">It
was a question she took to Father Tommy Doyle, her confessor of old, and a
mate. Tommy understood when Rose
requested he heard her confession, and they retired to the battered and shabby
back living room of the priest’s house, the one with the comfy sofas and the TV,
not the formal greeting room with the gleaming high backed chairs. Tommy’s old bones didn’t do wooden
confessionals very well these days. He’d
remarked on more than one occasion that he was still paying for his youth, to
be kept in rainy England for his retirement.
The truth that he was not retired, or had been, briefly, before the lack
of young priests coming up in the ranks had forced him back to work, he skipped
over. It was a great sadness to them
both that the Church was dying around them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">It
was not a sadness to Rose, however, that Tommy was still here for her, even
when he should be enjoying his retirement somewhere warmer and drier. She was ashamed of how selfish the thought
was.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">A
stickler for tradition, Tommy sat with his back to Rose, as she confessed, and
detailed the vision of the dead mother, standing at the door of the neo-natal
unit, crying, and smiling in greeting.
They then sat in comfortable silence over mugs of tea, with Tommy
filling the air with gentle puffs of pipe tobacco. He very rarely lit the weed these days,
usually sucking on an empty bowl, but today he’d tapped in a few strands. That said a lot to Rose, about how he’d taken
her news.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘So
what’s your worry about it, lass?’ Rose
loved that Tommy still called her a lass, after all these years.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘I
feel as if I should be asking myself if it really happened.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘But
you’re not?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Rose
shook her head. ‘No, I’m not. I know it did, in my heart. My head… my head tells me to doubt it, to
find another explanation…’ she hesitated, thinking it through ‘but it’s just
not in me to deny it, really. I know it
in my bones.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Tommy
nodded. His silence leaving space.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘We’ve
both seen things, things that can’t be denied, or explained.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Tommy
smiled, the old twinkle in his eyes flaring up. ‘I’ve never said they cannae be
explained.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Rose
nodded. ‘No, you never seem to doubt…’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘You
know that’s not true. I have more doubts
than most.’ She gave him silence to allow him to lead on. ‘But I have no need
to question the things I have seen. They
just are.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> She
nodded, old territory between them. A
priest and a midwife had seen enough passings, in both directions, to see more
than just flesh and blood in the world.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘What
would it mean to you it if wasn’t real?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘That
I’m losing it. I’ve finally given in.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘Into
what?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> She
sighed. ‘I’m not sure. Madness?
Selfishness?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘Why
would it be selfish?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘Huh?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘Why
would it be selfish, to have seen a young woman’s ghost?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘It
would be selfish to imagine I’d seen a ghost.
Especially hers.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘I
cannot see that. You saw her death, why
would it be selfish to see her ghost?
Surely it would logical that if you saw anyone, it would be her.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘Then
it’s selfish to see a ghost at all.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘Then
there are a lot of selfish people in the world. Not to mention we used to have a holy one to
pray to.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> She
smiled. He had such a gruff, yet gentle
way with her. He could always get
through. Her life would be sadder
indeed, when Tommy left it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> It
didn’t occur to her that the opposite was also true. The silence stretched out into reflection,
once again.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘And
tell me now, what would it mean if it was real?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> And
there he went, straight to the heart and soul of the matter.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘It
would mean she’d been murdered. How can
that be?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> They
carried on talking it over as Rose made them both a light supper, and they ate
it on their laps in the comfy room.
Tommy had more or less taken it over as his own little lair, the other
two priests in the house being both non-smokers, and too busy to indulge in
afternoon chats with parishioners at leisure.
Rose knew that’s why Tommy was still happy with his lot; he rarely took
Mass and spent the rest of the time being the Guardian of the House, so to
speak. The one that kept the open door
and took the phone calls; finding the other two when they were needed
urgently. He was, in many ways, the old
live-in housekeeper they used to have, when parish funds were better. But in those days, no one else would have
stepped foot over the threshold of the straight backed front room. It was better this way. The women of the parish kept the house clean
and the freezer filled. The younger of
the priests, Father Jorge, could reheat and recombine enough to keep them all
three alive, and there was a dishwashing machine. All three priests enjoyed the range of foods
made for them, from Irish Stews to Polish soups and hot and sweet West African
curries. Tommy had been in the East End
longer than Rose, and was used to every manner of meat and vegetable cooked in
every way possible, including raw.
Although the days of freshly butchered steak being deposited on the
priest’s table for mincing with a raw egg were long gone. Health and safety had seen some things driven
under. But he liked the constant change
of the food the Mother’s Union made sure they enjoyed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> He
also liked smoked salmon with scrambled eggs on toast, and Rose had brought the
salmon. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘Does
it mean she had to be murdered?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Rose
considered as she finished the last of her toast.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘Unless
she decided to climb out a window for some reason, how else did she end up at
the bottom of the building? How many
people climb out of windows if they aren’t planning to jump? There was no way to be where she was, without
coming out a window. Not even the roof.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> They
both sat again, and thought in silence.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘They
were sure it was the window on the stairwell?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘That
was the window that was open: she was more or less directly underneath. But there are twenty or so windows above
there. Only she had to have come from
the third floor, or higher, the coroner said.’
Tommy nodded. They’d discussed it
a lot, at the time. ‘The only open window was the fourth floor stairwell…’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘Aye. So they assumed…’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘That’s
the word, assumed. They assumed.’ There was irritation in Rose’s voice. Tommy glanced over at her, with an indulgent
sigh.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘It’s
no CSI, Rosie, it’s real life.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">She
nodded and clattered her mug down on the china coaster. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘I
know. But there should have been more
done!’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">He
let her anger back down again, before picking up the threads.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘Do
you think that’s why you’re seeing her, as you’re so… affected?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘I
think no one cared that the CCTV wasn’t working, and that no one could work out
why she’d come back to the hospital to do it is why she’s back now! Or at least I thought so at first. I thought she wanted her name put on her
grave… until I saw her smile, and look at someone. Then I knew… knew that she was telling me
something quite different.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">The
dishes clattered together as she picked them up. He let her move about to her own rhythm. She went through to the kitchen and dropped
them into the sink. He winced, hoping
one hadn’t broken. She put the kettle
back on and returned to the dishes, scrubbing them hard under the hot water tap
then leaving them to drip dry. She picked
the kettle up and poured a slug into the teapot before swirling it round and
dumping it in the sink. By the time she’d
heaped two spoonfuls of tea leaves in, poured on the boiling water and then
swished the pot round as she placed it down on the heat mat to mash, she’d
slowed down to normal speed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Tommy
came through with the cups, which he rinsed.
He once more spoke out in measured, gentle tones:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘They’re
always tellin’ me to use tea bags.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘Cleaner,
quicker, easier.’ Her voice had moved to
non-committal.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘But
don’t taste as good.’ The twinkle was
back, enticing her to join him in peace.
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">She
returned his smile.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘That’s
better.’ He picked up the strainer and
started a dribble off to see if it was strong enough. ‘Well then, I think it leaves us with a new
puzzle, this vision o’ yourn.’ He handed
a mug of tea, with a splash of milk to Rose, and put two sugars in his own,
black.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘Who
on earth would kill her, and why?’</span><span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><a href="http://thedreyfusstrilogy.blogspot.co.uk/2012/12/blog-post.html">Chapter Four Here</a></span></span></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13479061759803882187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3608311425893904266.post-88013416552244078142012-12-02T11:19:00.000+00:002012-12-08T23:26:42.917+00:00Sample Sunday December 2nd<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: white;">Second chapter of Bedlam Maternity this week, in preparation for it being published in a week or so. Don't be fooled by it saying chapter one - there is a full chapter of prologue, available</span> <a href="http://thedreyfusstrilogy.blogspot.co.uk/2012/09/x_2.html">HERE.</a></span></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Chapter One<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">London, present day<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Rose
Templar walked the frosty streets in the dark before the dawn. Later on that day, a minor royal personage
would be officially opening the maternity unit now under her tender care. Not that she was in charge of all of it, in
fact, she was just one of the tiny cogs in a massive machine named the National
Health Service. She had been given the
duty shift that would see her ensuring that no ‘bother’ interrupted the press
call and she’d found herself awake, and fretting, a couple of hours before the
alarm clock. So she’d decided she may as
well just get on with it, and get to work early.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">She
usually enjoyed the long walk to and from work.
When her wreck of a Victorian hospital had been demolished and the new
spanking bright and very expensive one they’d all dreamed of for years had
finally been started, she’d been faced with a choice. She could have moved out of her old flat, its
mortgage paid off in the divorce settlement, and bought something snazzier near
the new unit. However, no matter how
much house prices had risen in her old area, the new unit was now in a quite
expensive and trendy part of the East End.
Her salary gave her a reasonable standard of living with no mortgage to
pay and moving would cut into to that.
Equally, she’d spend a lot of money on transport if she’d stayed where
she was. When trying to make the ends
meet in her mind, she’d determined that two birds could be killed with one
stone. She’d started to spread out
around her waist, hips and butt, in a most annoying and middle aged fashion;
which was appropriate in her mid-50s, but she detested it. Exercise was something she knew she should be
doing, but when to find the time? And
the average day in the wards saw her standing and walking for hours, wasn’t
that enough? Observing her clothes
tighten as her breath quickened on stairs, she decided it wasn’t. Faced with financial problems no matter what
route she took to the new unit, she’d decided to take to the streets and walk
the four miles every day, there and back.
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Everyone
had scoffed at the idea, and declared she’d be shelling out bus or Tube fare
quickly. And, as she’d struggled through
the first two weeks, done thankfully when she was on leave, she’d thought they
were right. It was madness. But Rose very rarely left off on anything
that she’d set her mind to, and by the time the new unit had opened up enough
for her to start work there, she could do the four miles in forty-five minutes
if she had to, and in an hour and fifteen minutes on most days. The walk home took longer, as it would, after
a twelve hour shift. She’d slowly
dropped a dress size and found a lot of her clothes more comfortable to wear as
a result. She hadn’t faced winter yet,
‘tho, and had ordered a pair of ice grips well ahead of time. The weatherproof clothing she’d bought had
been more than a match for London so far.
She’d always enjoyed walking in the rain, anyway.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">The
walk had become her down time, a soothing space to settle herself into. Time to relax into the day on the way there,
and unwind from it on the way back. It
was particularly useful in coping with shift work and she’d wished she’d found
this balm long before economics had pushed it on her. But there was no peace to be found this
morning: she was just winding herself up with all the thoughts that could go
wrong. Some of those thoughts were about
what could go wrong with the opening ceremony, the security, the minor royal
who was famed for rubbing the patients up the wrong way when chatting to them,
and the general behaviour of her team.
Most of the worries were for her women ‘tho, which is how she thought of
her patients. Labour and birth had their
own rhythms. Unlike most areas of a
hospital it couldn’t be controlled, scheduled, and made to conform to
routine. At least, not here, not
yet. She’d spent two months in New
England, working on an exchange of medical knowledge programme, and had been
horrified by how American business has taken over birth. She’d certainly learned a lot when there, and
used that knowledge to bolster her in fighting encroachment here. Echoes of that worry were pinging through her
thoughts. The new Chief Executive of the
Trust had a very presidential attitude to both the patients and the staff. Fresh from working on a team that had lost
millions of pounds of tax payers’ money on the railway system, he’d taken over
his new fiefdom with a massive grin for the cameras and an iron grip on
resources. He’d already made it clear he
wanted no cries, screams, sweaty labouring women, or bloody babies being
spotted when the press were in the building.
Particularly the bloody baby.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">He’d
actually used those words whilst looking directly over to Rose. She knew she’d been scheduled in for the
delivery ward Supervisor during the visit, in order to keep everything under
control. She’d just sat, absorbing his
idiocy silently, nodding every now and then: her normal method of coping with
totally incompetent and ill-versed management.
It was one reason she kept her position of some authority, both in the
pecking order of staff, and the management structure.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">She’d
even given up seething silently under her breath: life was too short.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white;"><span style="font-size: large;">But
it was worrying her now, as she turned the corner to see the hospital glowing
like the Starship Enterprise in front of her.
The shiny new sign signalling the real problem with seeing anything but
a cute, clean, asleep advert baby, in any mother’s arms today.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108.0pt; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Bethlehem Maternity
Unit</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108.0pt; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">She
flinched inside every time she saw it.
But he would not be told, oh no he would not. When the focus group presented several
options for the new unit, based on its Moorfields’s history and the locale,
he’d insisted that ‘Bethlehem’ be put high up as the potential new name. He was seeing Virgin births (no doubt without
sweat, shouting, or blood) being photographed for the papers with a holy glow,
with himself cast as all three Kings. In
a world of fear for jobs, the protests had been easily quashed. The staff had warned him, the local community
had shuddered, and the original Bethlehem Hospital, still operating elsewhere
in London, had let their displeasure be known.
Everything had been swept aside in his march for making a name for
himself. He seized on the ten square
feet the new unit possessed, that had been part of the acres of the old
hospital and announced it was true to the roots of the hospital in the
community. He paid for an expensive
inter-faith focus group that ‘proved’ none of the diverse communities the
hospital served would be offended by the name.
He disparaged every other attempt at a sensible naming. He was determined and he got his way. He signed the cheques, after all.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">And
on the day it was announced, he was phoned up by the local newspaper and asked
how he felt to be in charge of Bedlam Maternity? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">She’d
actually found it funny, at that point.
He just would not be told… <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Of
course, he wasn’t dealing with it on a day to day basis, it wasn’t a tiresome
thorn in his side. She swallowed the
temper down as she changed into her blues.
It was still two hours until her shift started, but Lucy Manning, the
current supervisor, would be glad for the extra pair of hands, not annoyed. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Lucy
was delighted to see Rose, and the reason for it soon became apparent. Shafiah Begum had gone into labour a couple
of weeks early, and the entire unit was in a tizz. As Rose came up to speed on the notes, Lucy
confided that she’d almost called Rose in.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘Today
of all days…’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Rose
nodded. <i>Oh yes, today of all days…</i> The
superstitious part of her twitched at the coincidence. Lucy obviously had the same itch, from the
worried look in her eyes, and the slight shortness in her tone. Most nurses and midwives were superstitious
to some degree. Years on the wards,
seeing life come, observing life go, brought an awareness of more than the eyes
could see and the ears hear. You kept it
in a box, you moved it out of the way if it ever popped out of its box… but you
always knew it was there. A sense that
some things were going to be different, somehow. Rose had known that Shafiah was going to be
different, and not just because of the way she’d begun her pregnancy journey,
but from how she’d chosen to end it. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Shafiah
was in her mid-20s and a delightful, intelligent and well mannered young woman
with no past, other than the pregnancy.
She was clearly from a Bangladeshi family, which had probably been here
for two if not three generations and had likely worked its way out of abject
poverty. She was educated and worked in
paid employment somewhere close to the hospital; of that Rose was sure. She was a devout Muslim and wore hijab as a
matter of choice, something she’d taken time to explain to the staff at the
unit. She was also unmarried. Her pregnancy was not a matter of rejoicing
for her. Rose’s heart ached for Shafiah.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Four
months earlier, Shafiah had calmly strolled into the hospital, made her way
over to the maternity unit, and requested a private chat with a midwife. Rose had been on her way home after a heavy
shift, and had happily taken Shafiah to a private room for a chat. Shafiah had unfolded her tale. She was, she thought, about five months
pregnant, and both medical care and an adoption would need to be arranged with
the maternity unit. She was not foolish
enough to think her secret could be kept via her GP’s office, or in any way
that meant her family knew she was attending any medical facility
regularly. She would come into the unit,
be checked over, meet the social workers, arrange the adoption and deliver,
then go home. Could the midwives help
her set all this up?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">The
midwives, most of whom had encountered a Shafiah at other places and times,
could indeed help set all this up. Rose
herself had contacted Social Services, and been present at the first
meeting. Apart from refusing to give a
home address or a date of birth, Shafiah had done everything expected of her in
her pregnancy. She attended the unit directly
for ante-natal checks and had cared for herself. She did not drink, smoke, or use drugs, and
she ate well, resisting the impulse to restrict eating, or use vomiting as a
method of weight control. Rose had known
a few Shafiahs in her professional life, and often they resorted to bulimia to
mask their thickening waists and swelling stomachs. Food had to be consumed at the family table
or bring questions, so it was often vomited up afterwards. It was not good for either baby or
mother. Shafiah, however, had hijab to
aid her and it had been a faithful friend.
She was a tall and slender lass, and had carried the baby high up, with
very little evidence of it. She came
from a culture where no one saw another naked, or changing clothing, and hijab
covered a multitude of sins. Or in this
case, just one.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Some
of the younger midwives and the trainees who’d been involved in her care had
not believed such a thing was feasible.
The more experienced ones, like Lucy and Rose, knew not only how often
it occurred, but how often it was a completely successful operation. Usually the only factor in being uncovered
was the woman’s own psyche. Some would
buckle, and confide in their own mother, or in another family member. Some would just leave the area and disappear,
transferring far away and starting again before the pregnancy was
finished. Most carried on, and simply
walked away the day the baby was born.
An event that scarred every member of staff on duty, and that made every
birth thereafter, for a week or so, a special type of pain for everyone.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Rose
noted that Amber Purcell was on duty and had ended up being Shafiah’s midwife,
given everyone else had been busy. She
sighed. Amber was the only member of
staff to really object to treating Shafiah.
She was just qualified and extremely young in some attitudes. There had been no leavening by experience
with Amber, not yet. No wonder Lucy had
been so glad to see Rose. She finished
reading the notes and made her way down to the room that held Shafiah and
Amber.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Amber
had the grace to contain how pleased she was that Rose was there, and how
delighted she was about her suggestion she go for a short break whilst Rose
took over. Rose watched her sign off the
notes and hurry out the room, although she did bid Shafiah a professional good
bye. Midwives often changed over on
labours during shift changes, and Shafiah seemed unperturbed. She was labouring well and keeping herself
contained within herself, which was what Rose had expected. Rose did not doubt that Amber would have been
professional with Shafiah, otherwise she’d not have been allowed to attend.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Rose
settled into the rhythm of the birth with Shafiah. To be ‘with woman’ was her calling and
vocation and it was a duty she treasured.
Shafiah had been well informed, as had Rose, and she stood as silent
attendant to the dance that the young woman was undertaking with her body. Staff came and went, with Rose forwarding the
occasional soft word, or giving a gentle touch to a shaking shoulder. On full shift change, as Shafiah’s body moved
to birth, Caron Gonzalez took over as official midwife whilst Rose held her
post as watcher: it was going to be soon and they had to be quick.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Shafiah
brought forth a primal scream and a perfect little boy as the rest of the
hospital slowly woke to its day. Caron
cut the cord whilst Rose swaddled the baby in a cloth and cradled it in her
arms. She moved forward and held his
tiny head to Shafiah’s mouth. Shafiah
whispered the name of God into his ear then turned her face away. Rose immediately left the room, placing the
baby in the receiving station waiting in the hall. With luck they could… it was not to be. As soon as he was placed down, the baby
erupted into a massive cry of life, and they wheeled him away as fast as they
dared in order to take the cries from the mother’s ears as quickly as humanly
possible.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Rose
and a nursing auxiliary attended to baby Mohammed, as all Muslim boys were
known until they were named by their family.
He was perfect, if slightly small, and in fine fettle. As Rose filled in the paperwork, Bex, the
auxiliary, held the baby to try and soothe him.
With no warm skin on his, the baby knew he was without a mother and was
not to be consoled. Tears formed in
Bex’s eyes. Rose patted her on the
shoulder.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘I
don’t know how she can…’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘Then
hope to never walk a mile in her shoes.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘But…
why…?’ Tears were streaming down Bex’s face as she shushed the boy, looking at
the baby as his mother should have. Rose
felt the familiar twinge, an ache so deep her bones sat on top of it. She neatly side stepped it; anything was easy
with practice, after all.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘There
is no why. There is only her wish, and
us following it. It’s not our choice, or
our life.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Bex
nodded. ‘It’s just so hard.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘Only
as it’s now so rare. It used to happen a
great deal more often.’ <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Bex
looked surprised. How old was she, 22,
23? Younger than Shafiah probably was.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘Really?’ <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">It
was Rose’s turn to nod, and she carried on talking as they finished the
assessment, placed the baby down on a bassinet, covered it with the regulation
see through plastic cover it had to have, a baby cloche, in order to wheel him
to his bed upstairs in the neo-natal unit.
In line with modern practice Bedlam had no Nursery: babies were helped
to bed-in with mothers on the wards. Any
babies requiring any special consideration at all at, from a mother too ill to
bed-in to a baby being removed by Social Services, were now being taken to the
expanded neo-natal unit. Money was being
thrown at the unit to try and reduce mortality rates from the hospital records:
money that could have been better spent in the community during the
pregnancy. Rose and Bex looked down on
the mite as they pushed the cart along, his cries meant the conversation was
discreet and private to the two women even in the bustle of the over loaded
unit. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘My first Shafiah was a young Catholic girl
who called herself Mary.’ Rose smiled at
the memory. ‘Not long after I qualified,
she did exactly the same, just walked into the unit one afternoon. She did tell her family ‘tho, and she went
off to a home for unwed mothers.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘Unwed?’ Bex’s tones made Rose feel very old, and very
tired.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘Yes,
unwed. Even then, at the end of the 70s,
there were still vestiges of such places and attitudes. The matron I trained under made sure we were
all aware to give young women a private space to talk if they just walked into
the unit.’ <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">The
two women fell into silence as they stood in the lift, the baby’s cries
bouncing around the walls. Rose started
up again as they wheeled him down the long corridor.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">“They
were usually called Mary or Teresa, or Rachel and Hannah. Mostly they’d crumble, and end up going to a
home to birth and give up for adoption there.
Sometimes they’d manage it to the end, and just walk away. Keeping their family from shame, no matter
the cost.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Bex
looked down at the screaming baby and then back up to Rose, searching for
answers. ‘Do you think she will… just walk away… just leave?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘Yes,
I think she will. She’s very strong.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">They
fell silent once more, as they delivered Mohammed over to the neo-natal unit,
for feeding and observation. As he was
slightly early and a little underweight, he would probably spend his first week
of life here before going to a foster home.
Rose felt the loss as she handed him over to the charge nurse. How arms that had felt fulfilled now felt
empty, derelict. She and Bex rode the
lift back down in crashing, awkward, painful silence; the absence of cries
cutting both to the quick. Rose spoke
both their thoughts as they walked back into the ward.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘It’s
better than finding a baby in a plastic bag in a shop doorway.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Bex
nodded and hurried away, eager to finish the shift and get home and hug her
mother. As she worked the day out, she
vowed to herself that when her time came, she’d never be separated from her own
newborn for a second, No Matter What.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Rose
checked on the state of play in the rest of the unit, then went to oversee
Shafiah’s discharge. This was the part
that was going to need the most care.
Doorways had to be left open without intruding. Information had to be passed on without
preaching. The girl had to have her
chance.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Shafiah
was clean and dressed and sitting drinking tea with the female social worker
that had been assigned her. She was pale
and missing the heavy kohl makeup she usually wore, making her look more washed
out. She sipped her tea silently. As Rose took her through the paperwork on
taking care of herself post-birth, large tears formed in Shafiah’s eyes and
dripped down. Rose kept her voice gentle
and even, open and listening.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘As
I explained before, you can have medicine to dry your milk.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Shafiah
shook her head. ‘No drugs.’ <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘Then
you’ll need these.’ Rose handed over
written instructions on how to cope with the breasts drying naturally, as well
as emergency phone numbers in case of bleeding or infection.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Shafiah
shook her head.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘I
have read everything I need to know. I
will not be taking anything with me.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">The
social worker spoke up. ‘I would ask you
to sign this paperwork.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Shafiah
scrawled her name across several pieces of paper. Her tears had dried and she wrote
confidently, as if in a hurry. The
social worker spoke to her as she did so.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘You
have a right to change your mind. You
can come to us at any point, for the first 21 days. If you change your mind after that, it will
be harder, but you can still do so. I
need you to sign this form, to state you’ve been told you have a right to
change your mind.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">With
no name, no date of birth, no address… the signature was useless anyway. All three women in the room knew this. But protocols had to be followed. Rose signed as witness.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">The
social worker took the forms and left.
Rose sat and waited for Shafiah to speak.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘Can
I go?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Rose
nodded. ‘Yes, of course. It’s your choice.’ <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Shafiah
stood up, hesitated. Sat down.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Rose
sat.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘I…
I… I need to know. Was everything
okay? Was he all right?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘He
is perfect, perfect.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘Good. I’m glad.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘Would
you like to see him?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Shafiah
shook her head violently. ‘No!’ <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Rose
sat.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Shafiah
waited out the emotion that was riding through her. She looked straight to Rose, her gaze direct.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘You
can come back at any time, Shafiah. He
is safe, and he is here for a couple of days at least. You know where we are, where he is.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Again,
she shook her head violently. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘No. Thank you, but no.’ Collecting her strength
to her, Shafiah stood. ‘Thank you, you
have been very kind.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">She
left the room as she’d entered the hospital: quietly and with no fuss. Rose sat for a few moments, gathering her own
strength. The nag she’d felt when she’d
noticed Shafiah’s name on the roster when she came in, repeated. There was a sense of wrongness that she could
not define. If she’d had Shafiah on the
wards she’d be having her checked more often than the others. Instinct was telling her something was
wrong. But given what had just occurred,
how could she not be feeling that? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Rose
sighed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">She
had four women in labour in the rooms around her, and all her staff needed
her. She shook off the pain and went
back to work.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">No
doubt as it was a special day, the wards were buzzing. Women were arriving at an amazing rate and
for one horrible moment, Rose thought one mother might deliver in the middle of
the corridor. That was going to look so
good in the papers… but a room became free at the last moment and all the
panics were contained. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Rose
was grateful for how busy it was, as it was easier to fall into work, and to not
thinking, when you were run off your feet.
Two photogenic mothers, one black, one white, had been identified by the
hospital’s media consultant as ‘correct’ to be visited by the minor royal. Their babies were one and two days old, and
had the required level of both cleanliness and calmness, spending most of their
young lives in milk-induced sleep. Both
mothers were bedded side by side in a small bay off the main ward corridor and
were signing releases for their photographs as they primped themselves for
their public. Everything was as clean
and set up as could be, and there shouldn’t be any complications before the
press and officials came up to the ward after the plaque in reception had been
unveiled. Hunger drove her out of the
ward and over to the cafeteria just before the press were allowed in to set up.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">She
thought she’d get back before the big moment but the sheer crush of people in
the Perspex poly-tunnel that connected the main hospital to the maternity unit
slowed her down. By the time she’d
fought her way into the hexagonal reception area, she was hemmed in by a sea of
bodies. The temperature rocketed as she
stood, despite the chill air outside. A
Perspex bubble designed by an architect to be about the ‘transparency’ of birth
might be put forward for awards, but it was going to be hell on earth come June. Which they’d told them. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">It’s
not as if management weren’t told about these things before they happened… <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Rose
settled to have to wait out the opening ceremony before making it back upstairs
to her ward. She wasn’t an official part
of anything and was confident everything was in place upstairs. She noted with interest the clashing colours
of the scarf the minor royal was wearing as the flashguns around her exploded:
where did they get this stuff?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">The
feeling of someone walking over her grave drew her into herself a moment before
the shadow crossed everyone’s vision.
The noise was what exploded in her senses, in everyone’s senses. The massive impact of splatter and rupture
that preceded the heartbeat's silence before the screams
began. Like everyone, Rose looked
up. Unlike most, her gaze stayed where
it had rested: ignoring the blood runnels streaming across the transparent
roof. Whilst everyone was screaming,
moving, shrieking, and panicking, Rose kept her gaze firmly on the face above
her, as the light in the eyes failed.
She felt the moment of passing as Shafiah Begum’s body gave its last,
smashed to smithereens on the jagged outcroppings of the reception area’s roof.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">The
camera shutters roared.</span><span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><a href="http://thedreyfusstrilogy.blogspot.co.uk/2012/12/v.html">Chapter Three HERE</a></span></span></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13479061759803882187noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3608311425893904266.post-51354030569454194912012-10-29T21:50:00.000+00:002012-10-29T21:52:21.217+00:00Lucifer's Stepdaughter...a tease.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs94B6E1JrxxSCl5GFS9Wx4nMs65xpjGTYDeaQZmQtO53U6s-6MBbi5RifluRZazYWmYjNHmoyr6D-_Ibwk3pqU6RAczUcQKLJ4lI56PK8R04h5wCewbYsvJ-TGk6axgkLLtoX_urcS4c/s1600/moonchild.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs94B6E1JrxxSCl5GFS9Wx4nMs65xpjGTYDeaQZmQtO53U6s-6MBbi5RifluRZazYWmYjNHmoyr6D-_Ibwk3pqU6RAczUcQKLJ4lI56PK8R04h5wCewbYsvJ-TGk6axgkLLtoX_urcS4c/s400/moonchild.jpg" width="271" /></a></div>
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Well, less a tease, than some hope. I know you're all getting very fed up with the delays. I trully do know that, as you are telling me such. But I also know you are all being very considerate of the reasons, and just simply need the rest of the story.</span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I do get it. I'd quite like it out of my head, as it stands. :-)</span></span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">But something nice to tell you. Whilst Lucifer's is just like Changeling - an epic novel - it has several distinct parts. Each one is titled for the lead vampire in that section. Today, I finalised out the sections and where the narrative falls in each section, and I thought I'd let you see them. actually, I thought you'd like to see them.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">So here we go, the six main sections and personalities of Helene's journey to find herself and her fate in the vampire world:</span></span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: white; font-size: x-large;">The Book Thief</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: white; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: white; font-size: x-large;">The Etruscan</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: white; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: white; font-size: x-large;">The Devil's Whore</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: white; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: white; font-size: x-large;">The Lord of the Rivers</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: white; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: white; font-size: x-large;">The Clansman</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: white; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: white; font-size: x-large;">The Vampire Maker</span></div>
<span style="color: white;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">If you ask here, in the comments, for a wee bit more detail, I may let you have some. But only here, I'm only saying it once.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">There, happier now? </span></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13479061759803882187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3608311425893904266.post-77915302430513373732012-10-27T23:00:00.000+01:002012-10-27T23:00:35.223+01:00Sample Sunday October 28th<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijUDTc2SkKK3q2Uov88bsOmoVfblHXSQaWLNIsqwuHDgimZUrRoUo0UcOR8fFEn8PbLaojR1NN9RjHYxR1XxAEVBGoMLdjh6fCLj1co5pm0KnBwIMNrMi77WtbfEoAahutMw6Z21mMNmM/s1600/vintage_halloween_greeting_cards_classic_posters_postcard-p239802881173321427baanr_400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijUDTc2SkKK3q2Uov88bsOmoVfblHXSQaWLNIsqwuHDgimZUrRoUo0UcOR8fFEn8PbLaojR1NN9RjHYxR1XxAEVBGoMLdjh6fCLj1co5pm0KnBwIMNrMi77WtbfEoAahutMw6Z21mMNmM/s320/vintage_halloween_greeting_cards_classic_posters_postcard-p239802881173321427baanr_400.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: white;">The final post of October and of taking part in </span><a href="http://www.efestivalofwords.com/welcome-to-the-efestival-of-words-trick-or-treat-event-t349.html">eFestival of Words Hallowe'en Horror</a><span style="color: white;"> event. Which means the coupon for 25% off <i>Fragments </i>runs out this week. As the 5000 words sample</span> <a href="http://www.efestivalofwords.com/fragments-by-morgan-gallagher-t337.html">HERE</a> <span style="color: white;">is of The Fool, I thought I'd go with a good thing and give you the next main sequence of The Fool below. So unless you've already read the excerpt on the efestival site, start</span> <a href="http://www.efestivalofwords.com/fragments-by-morgan-gallagher-t337.html">HERE FIRST</a>. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;">The Fool introduces Maryam Michael who is one of my favourite characters ever. She fell into my mind fully formed and came with a long and interesting biography. Which will unfold slowly over the remaining stories of the Maryam Michael Mysteries, each named after a Major Arcana in the Tarot Deck. The stories will be sequential in terms of the titles, but the narratives in each will move around Maryam's life. She starts off here below in her sixties, but there is a lot of back story there, all the way back to her childhood.</span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;">I'll be removing all excerpts from the three stories in Fragments off the web for a few months after this week, so you've been warned, if you want more for free, read up on them this week!</span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;">I like to give my major characters some time to develop, so son't let the slow and steady start fool you: this is a gripping occult thriller. Enjoy.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">---</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Barham
paid her the compliment of picking up a phone first; delivering orders that she
had the name of any Muslim officers on duty on her desk within the next five
minutes. She then dialled again and
demanded to know if they had any Muslim crime scene technicians on the books <i>at all</i>.
Given it was now late at night, Maryam had no idea whom she had called,
but the question didn’t appear to faze them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Barham escorted Maryam to a nearby
posh office with an en suite to allow her to freshen up, aware she had come
straight from the train station. Maryam
took the opportunity to phone ahead to Peckham and inform Father Scott that she
would be unlikely to arrive at the priest house for several hours. She did not inform him this was because she’d
be next door in the Church itself.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Before Maryam left in the squad car,
an eager young detective was added to be her main liaison with the Met. DC Shahrukh Iqbal appeared to have been going
off duty when he was called in to be her escort; he very much looked like he’d
not long finished a hard shift. She
wondered if this would be his first murder case, his sudden appearance caused a
few raised eyebrows with the uniformed officers who were driving them. Maryam understood why Barham had been promoted
so young: she learned fast.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> As they approached the Church of the
Mother of All Sorrows in the dark and the pouring rain, Maryam could see the police
tape around the main door and the police officer standing guard. Iqbal held the car door open for her as they
sprinted over the path, up the stairs and into the vestibule as fast as they
could. The uniformed officer on the steps
had opened the doors for them as they approached. The Church was probably over a hundred years
old and spoke of Pugin and classic Gothic Revival; vaulting stone arches and
stained glass windows. Highly ornate
carving and roof painting above the altar and a huge Christ crucified hung
central in domed space. The bright light
of the crime scene lanterns and the police tape over the entire sanctuary were
painful to experience, as was the smell.
Blood: dead dried blood. It
mingled with the scents of old wood, dust, and incense. Maryam hesitated looking down on the death at
the end of the aisle, imagining how it had looked with the corpse upon the
altar. A blasphemous mirror image of
what hovered above it. How it had smelled
when all that blood was fresh?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘Have you been here before,
Detective Iqbal?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘Actually, I have.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Maryam looked at him askance. ‘I thought...?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘That I’d just been assigned? I have.
I’ve not been here, at this murder scene, but I’ve been in this Church,
during orientation.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘Ah.
I see. You did a course on
multi-faith policing in Peckham?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘In the Metropolitan area, I visited
here then.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘So you know Father Jones?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘No.
I met with a Father Edwards and a Bishop Atkins.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘Did Inspector Barham know this?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘Not ‘till about an hour ago,
no. And please call me Shahrukh.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘As-Saamu alaykum, Shahrukh. I am Maryam.’ She did not offer to shake
hands.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘Walaiakum salam, Maryam.’ Even in his English accent, one of privilege
and wealth, Shahrukh managed to pronounce her name with the correct
emphasis. She looked forward to him
speaking it aloud in front of Fred Atkins, especially if Fred continued to
refer to her as ‘Marie’ in front of him. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Maryam indicated that Shahrukh
should follow her as she walked down the long central aisle heading for the
sanctuary.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘Then you’ll know of the import of
this. Have you been informed of all of
it?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘Nope. Inspector Barham just asked me to accompany
you and to assist you...’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘And to not let me touch
anything...’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘And to not let you touch
anything... then to escort you to the other house, then to go home. She said I’d get a full briefing when I came
in for duty in the morning.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘Wise, very wise. Although I dare say it will be boring for you
what I’m about to do.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘Why, what are you about to do?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘Nothing.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> And nothing was what she did,
although it was a very active nothing.
With Shahrukh by her side, she walked every inch of the church that was
not sealed off by tape. She went into
the empty confessional boxes on the gospel side of the church. She sat in each of them, on both sides of the
screen, and did nothing for five minutes.
She knelt on the penitent’s side and sat in the confessor’s. She avoided the confessional that was sealed
off by police tape. She walked out of
the nave back into the vestibule and took the stairs up to the choir area and
sat there. She asked the detective to
walk her out of the Church and into the Sacristy at the back via the outside
door, set to one side just for the priests to use. This ensured she didn’t walk through the
taped area of the altar. The outside door
was tucked to the side and had a large steel sheet over it. She spent ten minutes studying the interior
of the small room. When they returned to
the nave, she sat at the front pew and looked at the altar for about twenty
minutes. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> She’d spent about two hours in the
Church before hunger and tiredness started to intrude. She asked Shahrukh to walk her through the
rain, and the graveyard, to the parish house.
He advised her to only leave the house with an umbrella in her hands in
the morning as there were a few stalwart local photographers snapping away from
the street during the day.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">
Another uniformed officer stood watch at the door there, who nodded to
her as she was allowed in by a very anxious Father Scott. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Inside the hallway, the smell of an
old parish house met them: dust, age, furniture polish, fried onions, and
cigarette smoke. The days of the smell
of cabbage were gone. Maryam doubted
that young Father Jones smoked, but the walls gave evidence that Father
Edwards, who had been in residence for decades, did so with gusto. Father Scott took Maryam’s coat and indicated
she should go through to the formal parlour.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘I need to freshen up and change my
clothing, Father Scott; please show me to my room first. Could I ask you to make some tea and toast
please? I’m quite hungry.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Father Scott nodded and they tip-toed
past the sleeping Bishop Atkins, pegged out in a chair by an old gas fire in
the parlour, and crept up the stairs. On
the landing, one room showed light under the door sill and Maryam thought that
would be Father Jones’s. All others were
dark. The floor boards creaked as they
walked to the end of the hallway and through the farthest door.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> It was a visiting priest’s room, as
she had expected, clean and bare. It had
old linoleum and a faded rug, both from the 1950s, a dark wood bedside table of
indeterminate age and design. The lamp
and radio on the table were old, but the bed and bedding were modern and looked
new. There was a crucifix on the wall
above the bed and a couple of portraits of the Sacred Heart and the Virgin
Mother & Child on the walls. A desk
sat with a small television sitting on it, unplugged and forlorn. A jug of water and a single glass. A wardrobe and a chest of drawers finished
the room. Her cases had been laid carefully
to one side.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘There is a guest bathroom next
door. It is not en suite, but no one
else will use it.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Maryam nodded. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘Would you like some soup?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘Oh yes, please, that would be
fine.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘There is real coffee.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Her face lit up. ‘Oh, that would be wonderful, thank you.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> She longed to have a shower, but had
no idea how the plumbing in this old building would react, no need to wake
everyone with creaking and groaning. She
washed herself down quickly and dressed in pyjamas and a mandarin collared,
floor length house coat. It was only
partially a defence against Atkins: after what she’d seen she needed to feel
safe and comfortable.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Father Scott, who turned out to be
called Andrew but preferred Andy, had warmed through a tin of tomato soup and sliced
into a crusty loaf of bread. Tinned soup
in the UK was most acceptable and she ate it gratefully. The coffee was almost good and she enjoyed it
thoroughly. Andy was a most generous and
understanding companion who understood the value in silence. It was something she appreciated about
dealing with the clergy: the understanding that silence is often its own
defined space and not always an uncomfortable absence.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> It was about three a.m. when Fred
blundered into the kitchen, having woken with a crick in his neck. One look at the tiredness in Maryam’s face and
he ushered both himself and Andy out the door, saying they would return in the
early afternoon. Her smile of thanks to
him was totally genuine, as he’d restored her memory that he was a kind and
caring man who just happened to be good at politics and enjoyed being a power
player. She felt chagrined for her less
than charitable thoughts of him and scolded herself for her own weakness.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Then she hauled herself into bed
with a grateful sigh. She’d been up for
almost twenty four hours and her head ached with the weight of the day’s
events. Sleep came swiftly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> The dawn filled the room with cold
light. The revving of motors and hooting
of horns crowded out the bird song. The
rain slashed the panes sideways. Maryam
slept.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> When she rose five hours later, her
body was rested and her mind still held a little of the dreaming quality of the
spaces in-between. She sat at the desk
and shuffled her Tarot cards and placed them out on the desk. In her mind she was seeing the layout of the
chapel as she’d walked through it. She
placed the cards on the desk in roughly the same positions as the areas that
had interested her, finishing with the altar itself. Only once she completed the pattern she had
in her mind, did she look down at the lay.
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> The altar card sprung out at her:
The Fool. Card zero. The young man off on adventures, too keen and
new and full of the love of life to notice the danger he is in. The Sacristy had the most useful card to her,
a reversed King of Swords. It suggested
to her that someone was seeking to make most ill, under the guise of something
else. Her senses had resonated with
something in that room and the lay of the cards had reflected that. The
card at the confessional, the reversed Hierophant, rang out a clear warning to
her: misinformation, distortion, power achieved from withholding
information. Bad advice. Not a card you want to see in connection with
giving up on sin and the granting of forgiveness. With no repentance there can be no salvation. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> There were a lot of positives in the
lay, including the World, card twenty-one.
A good ending. Or perhaps, with
the Fool there, central, a new beginning that would end well. Interestingly, the card by the vestibule,
where the police stood, was the Knight of Swords. Swords were so apt, given the circumstances,
and looking at the cards, she looked forward to both meeting Father Jones, and
working further with DC Shahrukh Iqbal.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> She cleared the lay away and slipped
her cards into her shoulder bag. Then
she spent an hour in prayer and a further hour in meditation. Around her, people were moving about the
house with hushed tones and delicate treads, no doubt trying not to wake
her. The banging from the pipes as she
showered both confirmed her suspicions and served to alert them to her being
awake, so when she entered the kitchen, she was greeted by the smell of fresh
coffee, and frying bacon.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> A startled Father Jones jumped up
from the kitchen table and smiled at her, offering her his hand, which she
accepted with a smile. She was
dumbstruck for a moment by his size and beauty: his photo had done him no
justice. He was easily six foot two,
perhaps six three. Both his hands
enveloped hers with a gentle but firm hold; long, strong fingers with calluses
that betrayed much reading, writing, and if she was not wrong, the playing of
the guitar. His eyes were hazel with
green flecks, a startling contrast with the dark caramel of his skin. His Welsh accent, cultured and enchanting in
one. His physique had the sharp and
supple tones of the professional athlete.
When he smiled you felt your heart lift.
It was no wonder the graffiti he’d been attacked with had concentrated
on his sexuality. Wyn Jones shone with
energy and humanity in a very warm and real body of flesh. The bruise on his cheek and the slight cut on
his lip only served to highlight his perfection. Poor man, how he must have had to fight to
make others believe his vocation was pure.
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘Please, Father Jones, be
seated.’ <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘Please call me Wyn, sis...’ His
voice trailed off as he drew back in his mistake. It was one she was used to hearing from the
clergy and she smiled back at him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘Maryam is just fine, Wyn.’ She held
her hand outstretched in his grasp, for just a moment, to reassure him of the
honesty of her response. She then
approached Father Edwards, who was pouring her a mug of coffee. She extended
her hand.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘Maryam Michael, Father, from the
Office of the Arcane. Sorry to meet you
in such dreadful circumstances.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Father Edwards was over eighty years
old and his body was carrying the burden of the murder badly: he looked
defeated, wasted in the pain of it all. Maryam felt his age, his anxiety, his
desperate need for the nightmare to be over.
His face was grey and his middle and index fingers stained tobacco
yellow. Priests did not, in general,
allow this to happen as they dispensed the host from those fingers to the
mouths of the faithful. It spoke volumes
to her of what was going on inside. He
nodded and avoided her outstretched hand by giving her the cup of coffee. He turned and sat down at the table. A tobacco tin sat on it and he played with it. Maryam sat and Wyn jumped up again to make
her a sandwich of white sliced British bread and fried bacon. She thanked him, cut it in half and made
herself eat half of that. The discussion
slowly turned their attention from her, to the circumstances, and she was able
to dispense with the tiny bites she was taking and concentrate on coffee. Much more coffee! <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> By the time they had introduced
themselves to each other and swapped enough banal pleasantries to get them over
not talking about the murder, Inspector Barham had arrived with Shahrukh and a
crime scene team in tow. On their
arrival, Wyn went to his room and Father Edwards, who had not offered his
forename to anyone, although she knew it was Peter, retired to sit outside in a
somewhat dilapidated greenhouse, and smoke.
The rain pouring down on the panes obscured him from view. Before she and Barham discussed the case, Maryam
asked permission to have Father Edwards moved to a different address. Barham agreed and Maryam phoned Father Scott
on the mobile number he’d given her. He
was en route with Atkins. She requested
a respite place be found for Edwards in another parish house, perhaps even at
Westminster Cathedral. After all, they
had the apartment they had prepared for her?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Barham and she discussed the case,
with Maryam reporting she had no observations, but requesting that she be
allowed to direct the crime team in some additional tests. Barham was happy with this and they went over
to the Church. Maryam could see Wyn
Jones looking down on them from his bedroom window. She pushed her sympathy to the side and
concentrated on being calm and empty, open and flexible. In her heart she knew what Barham did, that
Wyn had no connection with this death at all.
Her head wasn’t so sure they were going to be able to prove that.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> In the Church, Maryam asked if the
tabernacle interior had been fully checked, not only for fingerprints, but for
fluids. The crime officers stated it had
only been dusted for prints, which she had known, as she’d seen the dusting
powder all over the screen and door.
When tested, it proved positive for blood, a tiny amount on the base of
the interior. Barham asked what had led her to suspect this and they sat and
discussed it with Shahrukh and another detective named Gatto, as the lab
technicians catalogued.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘It’s a sacred space. If the person who committed the murder was
also trying to reinforce the sacrilege within Catholic, or Christian, tradition
the way they had with Islamic, then it made sense to desecrate the area the
sacred host was kept in.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘Then why not make it obvious?’ Barham and Gatto were taking the lead, with
Iqbal listening hard. Maryam addressed
Barham who had asked the question.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘I’m sure the secondary intent is to
cause problems between the communities.
Being seen to actively defile the tabernacle at the same time as
defiling the Qur’an would put both communities in the same position. The desecration of the Islamic element is being
made more visible than that of the Christian one.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘Why not desecrate a host?’ This was from Gatto, who shared the same
accent as Barham; both natives of this area of London.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘These days there is no sacred host
kept in an empty, locked church. There are
usually only unblessed communion wafers.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Gatto nodded. ‘Of course.’
Barham looked at him, and he continued. ‘The priest blesses the host at
each service, each mass. If there is any
left over, he swallows them himself so none of the sacred host is wasted.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘And the host is more sacred in a
Christian church, than say the pages of a bible would be?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘In a Catholic church, yes. The host is the physical body of Christ.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Barham looked confused. It was Iqbal who spoke up, surprising
everyone.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘In the Roman Catholic Church, the
bread and wine of the communion are changed by the prayers of the priest into
the actual body and blood of their saviour, our prophet, Jesus. In other Christian communities it represents
such, a symbol of it, not the actual thing.
Here, in this Church, it’s treated as if it is actually his body, his
blood.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Barham looked to Maryam, who nodded.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘Detective Iqbal has said it
succinctly. Ripping up a bible in a
Catholic Church would be annoying, but not outrageous or seen as a severe
attack. Polluting the tabernacle with
the blood of a murdered man is in line with the offence of ripping and
bloodying the Qur’an.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘So it confirms your thoughts that
this is a serious attack on both religions?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘On this Church, and its beliefs,
there has been a serious attack. I’m
still convinced the attacking of Islamic principle is about making more of the
offences to this one.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘The multi-faith leaders have been
informed this morning. Myself and DC
Iqbal have an appointment with the Imam of the local mosque this afternoon.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘I would be interested in attending
that, if you would allow it. But first I
must ask what you’ve done to find the weapon used in this murder.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘The weapon?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘Yes, the knife, although I suspect,
as does your surgeon, that from the writing and the cuts it is a scalpel. The report says nothing has been found.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> This time it was Sergeant Gatto who
took the lead, taking out a note pad, a very old fashioned and reassuring notepad,
and read from it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘Yesterday, the entire Church and
the graveyard were searched thoroughly, including with a metal detector. Detectors were quite useless in most of the Church,
given the nails in all the wood, but it was swept through. The drains were checked and the main sewer is
being examined today, on all the lead points.
The street outside, the bins and post boxes, have been checked and there
are ongoing searches in all the local gardens.
The bin collection was the day before the murder, so most of the bins
and skips out there are relatively empty, so that’s been quite easy. So far, we have nothing.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘Have you searched the parish
house?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Barham took over again.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘No, we haven’t. Father Jones was taken to the police station
and processed after he’d reported finding the body. He stayed with the body and phoned on his
mobile phone and the CCTV evidence confirms this. After processing, he was returned to the
parish house and asked to stay there. We
haven’t had the manpower to search the premises yet, as the rain has made
searching outside areas a priority. The
Bishop has given permission for such a search.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘The Sacristy was completely
searched?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Gatto took that in his stride,
confirming Maryam’s suspicions that he’d seen the inside of a Catholic Church
quite a few times in his childhood; for all that he wasn’t practising now.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘Yes, it was walked through and
nothing found, no evidence it had been broken into. It was locked until we had Father Edwards
fetch a key, as Father Jones was still down the station.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘What’s your point, Miss Michael?
What’s so special about this Sacristy room?’
Barham appeared to be intrigued rather than suspicious.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘It’s just that if I were going to
desecrate a Church and I knew enough about the Church as this person appears to
do, I’d have spent a few moments in there.
Further, if I wanted to desecrate the host without being noticed, and hide
a scalpel where it was unlikely to be found immediately, it would be in the sink
in there down the plug hole.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘But we’ve explained that we checked
the drains.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘The sink in there isn’t connected
to the drains, Inspector. It’s a sacrarium. It’s completely separate from the normal
sewage system. It’s only used to wash
anything that a sacred, consecrated host could have come into contact
with. It washes straight down into
soil.’</span><span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13479061759803882187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3608311425893904266.post-72118452535792707152012-10-25T21:51:00.000+01:002012-10-25T21:51:19.982+01:00Which Cover? Bedlam Maternity<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: white; font-size: x-large;">A</span></b></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-size: x-large;"><b>B</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-size: x-large;"><b>C</b></span></div>
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><b>And we did consider using blood red in there, but it's not so good...</b></span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjptdQh6WwCq6eL2zX1JDrgZwAYfw8Rt9bR4-z66jq9lYITlJByQz2qBo1z-0He6CGbXRd8PowgoA0tWYbxFb3f0I4VY94KIcuwJL-KR3PaTEsVSjsCSqzluw1NZ3GBKi6h1ZLUOsGQTm8/s1600/bedlam-maternity_test5.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjptdQh6WwCq6eL2zX1JDrgZwAYfw8Rt9bR4-z66jq9lYITlJByQz2qBo1z-0He6CGbXRd8PowgoA0tWYbxFb3f0I4VY94KIcuwJL-KR3PaTEsVSjsCSqzluw1NZ3GBKi6h1ZLUOsGQTm8/s400/bedlam-maternity_test5.png" width="266" /></a></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13479061759803882187noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3608311425893904266.post-85409780818329105072012-10-21T09:33:00.003+01:002012-10-21T09:38:01.708+01:00Sample Sunday October 21st<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0S7acSrMxNlu_b3HYqRfufz1wV7guxgexKosG1xUWD9dMBPBDhbBnOaYsoIne075vW03t5oPdDvFGM-TpvlPGnHAzcp55hS3g1Yu-KNg2PJJarF47UgrsYpiKRX1nJN2wQnaX3t8ymXc/s1600/The_Judderman_by_Raw_Images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0S7acSrMxNlu_b3HYqRfufz1wV7guxgexKosG1xUWD9dMBPBDhbBnOaYsoIne075vW03t5oPdDvFGM-TpvlPGnHAzcp55hS3g1Yu-KNg2PJJarF47UgrsYpiKRX1nJN2wQnaX3t8ymXc/s320/The_Judderman_by_Raw_Images.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://raw-images.deviantart.com/art/The-Judderman-153901807">The Judderman</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;">The cold is starting to bite hard here in Scotland. Frost is on the cars in the morning and the heating dials are being turned up. It really is the coldest, wettest Hallowe'en season we've seen fort a long time.</span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: white;">I've been very happy to watch the numbers of people hitting the links to </span><a href="http://www.efestivalofwords.com/welcome-to-the-efestival-of-words-trick-or-treat-event-t349.html">Efestival of Words, Hallowe'en Horror </a><span style="color: white;">event tick by. When you take part in an event with other writers, many of whom are a lot more read than you are, you get nervous. It's been nice to see my excerpts get a good hit rate too! So thank you.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: white;">Below is another excerpt from <i>Sleet Dreams</i>, the opening of the story is</span><a href="http://thedreyfusstrilogy.blogspot.co.uk/2012/09/j.html"> here</a>. <span style="color: white;">Again, there is a coupon for 25% off <i>Fragments</i> for the month of October,</span> <a href="http://www.efestivalofwords.com/fragments-by-morgan-gallagher-t337.html">over here</a>, <span style="color: white;">and lots of giveaways from authors taking part in the horror promotion,</span> <a href="http://www.efestivalofwords.com/welcome-to-the-efestival-of-words-trick-or-treat-event-t349.html">here</a>. <span style="color: white;">There is also a 5000 word excerpt from <i>The Fool</i>, and occult thriller novella,</span> <a href="http://www.efestivalofwords.com/fragments-by-morgan-gallagher-t337.html">on the link</a>. <span style="color: white;">Enjoy!</span></span><br />
<br />
---<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> One
advantage to snow and ice was that trawling for decent food was a lot easier:
nature’s fridge, she sometimes thought of it.
But constant contact with frozen metal wore the soul down and ate into
any warmth you might have. Her rucksack
held a good supply of zip lock bags, so she could salvage what she could safely
when she could. Keeping hands warm and
dry was crucial and she’d learned to always use a thick pair of rubber
household gloves over her woolen ones.
Useful in pelting rain too, as it kept her hands dry no matter how much
the rest of her dripped.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Wet days, or days with thick snow,
were spent on her regular route of thrift stores and Goodwill. She was always searching for a warmer pair of
boots or a thicker coat. She never
scrimped on ice grips: she could not afford a fall. A sprain would be bad enough, a broken bone
would end her independence, she was sure.
She’d be in the spiral down to the shelters, and then the gutters,
before you could blink.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Her driving force, her mantra, was
if that she got through one more winter and kept on saving, she would one day
be able to get on a bus and move back down south. Then she’d be in clover, then she’d be able
to relax, and maybe get another dog once she’d found a decent place to
live. She’d almost done it four years
back, then Bertie had got ill on her and the bills on trying to keep him alive
had wiped her out. Every day, as she
moved through the alleyways, the sight of another unfortunate accompanied by
their dog pierced her heart. Like the
Ice Queen she’d once read about as a child, she felt there was ice in her eyes,
moving into her bloodstream and freezing her soul. Sometimes when she woke up in the night, she
still reached for his hairy hide to stroke and would wonder why he wasn’t
there.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> One day, one day, she’d be in the
south and not have to worry, and she’d find another mutt to love and keep safe.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> A really bad day, a terrible day,
was a day when it was too fierce outside to go out at all. When no matter what she did, or where she
might go, she’d be returning colder, hungrier, than when the day started. Those days would be spent in, aware that
every moment the TV ran, the light burned, for every zing of the microwave...
she was using up her precious electricity.
She lived in terror of being stuck in the room without any electricity
at all. To be cold, and hungry, unable
to heat a cup of water to sip down whilst sucking on cheap candy. To be sitting in the dark waiting for her
next pension draw. It had never happened
yet: she forced herself to add extra to the card all year round to get her
through the winter. And she maintained
her routine at all costs, during the snow, when she could. It was the stick she used to beat herself out
into the streets every day, while keeping her sights on the carrot in her head:
of one day getting on that bus south. And
on days where the cold had driven out that thought there was always the promise
of summer: it would come. It always
came: just as it always left.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Today was going to be a bad
day. All she had was some peanut butter scrapings
and noodles. It had been too wet, for
too many days. She’d three outside coats
in all, as drying out a wet one was painfully slow with little heat. Each were battered, bruised, and patched but
didn’t smell and did a fair amount of work in keeping her from dropping down
dead with cold, or being refused entry to the mall or the library. But all were still damp. She spent ages sifting through in her mind
which one to go with. Outside, the rain
was turning to snow and driving into the windows horizontally. Sleet.
She hated sleet the worse. Snow
was warmer than half snow, half rain, she was convinced. Sleet hit you physically, like little
bullets, far more raw and draining than hailstones. Hailstones bounced off you. Sleet clung to you, drenched you, drained
you, shivered into your veins. Sleet
soaked through and down faster than anything.
She looked out at the slushy streets and the people wading through to
get to work, to get home from work, to do anything to get off the street at all
costs.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> If it had been just after social
security day, as opposed to a couple of days before, she’d had stayed in,
holding onto the last of the morning’s heat doggedly, spinning out the hours
until the evening bounty arrived. Or
maybe gone to the Laundromat and relished the sultry rush of steam laden air,
as she worked through her few clothes methodically. Then rushed back to watch TV and hide,
holding the warm clothes in a bag as protection against the cold as she dived
back to her room. But it was not to
be. If she stayed in the spinning disk
on the meter might betray her. ‘Sides,
she needed food and had empty pockets.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> She wrapped her feet in three layers
of socks and two layers of plastic bags.
She really needed to find new boots, with intact soles, but soles were
thin by the time she got her feet into any shoes, and the streets long and
hard. Walking kept up her wiry strength,
kept her heart pumping and her bones from growing too fragile. Walking was life, not just for the scavenging
that could be achieved en route.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> She took a deep breath before
launching out the door, pulling warm air into her lungs and praying it would
hold there for as long as it took to get to somewhere else.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> It was, without doubt, the worst day
of her life. Nothing had worked on any
level. It was dark again, and she was
wet, frozen, shivering, and hungry. She’d
been so cold that when she’d walked past the filthy lump of rags that was Dolly,
and Dolly had offered the usual swig of something foul and very alcoholic,
she’d almost been tempted. Almost
allowed herself to feel the flood of warmth as whatever gut rot it was rolled
down her throat and set fire to her belly.
Almost. Her hand had stayed, and
then retreated, and she’d smiled at Dolly and moved on, as she always did. Dolly swore at her heels for being a stuck up
bitch, as she always did. But next time they’d
see each other, they’d smile, and Dolly would offer the bottle. And if she had it, Maggie would hand Dolly
some food. It was a miracle to her that Dolly
somehow kept going. No doubt she was so
foul the rats were scared to nibble on her.
Maggie knew that she wasn’t so foul that some of the equally foul street
men didn’t woo her for her favors. How
else was a girl to get ethyl alcohol? <i>There but for the grace of God...</i> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> It was a long way back to her
room. Even now, crying silently under
her breath with the cold and the effort to keep moving, Maggie couldn’t face
returning. If she went too early, the
room would be cold. She’d be locked in
there waiting out the moment the radiators sprang to life. It could sometimes take forever, it seemed,
and it unsettled her badly. Brought her
hard up against the walls of her life. No,
she must get another hour, maybe two, out of today. Somehow.
She had to eke out some comfort, somewhere, before she went back. She had to walk into the welcoming heat, and
take advantage of every scrap of it: she had to stay away just a bit longer.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> The wind picked up and drove sleet
into her eyes; she stumbled, and gripped the walls of an alleyway, holding onto
the corner to keep her upright. Across
the road, someone fell over, and a couple of bulky figures moved forward to
help. One of the helpers went down. The wind shrieked in her face, bringing with
it the raw fury of the lakes that funneled all that cold into the canyons of
the city: she had to get out of this onslaught.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> She picked her way down the
alleyway, trying to find the spot where the wind no longer tore at you, the
walls calming the demon. The grabbing
hands dropped and she was out of the wind’s assault. The sleet was hammering down on her now, from
above, still lethal, still deadly, but no longer being driven into her sideways. She slumped back against the walls, no longer
bothered about how filthy they might be, and tucked behind the corner of a
dumpster. A moment: she just needed a
moment, and then she’d give in, try and sneak on a bus and go home. Wrap her hands around a mug of hot water with
a stock cube in it and dream of summer, watching something on the box. Wait until she’d dried, and then thawed on
the radiators. Get herself into bed while
the heat was still in the air, then settle down to listen to her radio and read
a book.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> As she stood to prepare herself for
the battle back out into the wind, she noticed something gray and furry, back
in the shadows. Was that a dog? Alone, abandoned? She moved forward. <i>Oh dear
god, please don’t let it be a poor dead thing, abandoned here in the cold and
muck.</i> She approached the mound
cautiously; like humans, dogs were animals.
Animals required caution until you had the measure of them. The closer she got, the less it looked like a
dog, the more it looked like... a wolf? Here? It was hard to see, between the shadows, the
falling sleet, and her tiredness. She
called to the animal under her breath, making reassuring noises. The sleet was starting to settle in slush
piles around the fur... surely it would move out of that puddle that would soon
form ice, if it could...?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> She’d had to kneel down, trying to
ignore the stabbing pain in her knees as they soaked in the cold. Her hand reached forward to touch the thick
pelt, but she couldn’t feel anything through her layers of gloves. She stripped her right hand free, and touched
the pelt again, gently trying to shake whatever it was awake. Warmth flooded into her fingers, over her
palms, as she connected with the fur.
Whatever was here, wasn’t dead, that was for sure.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Shaking it brought no response. She took her other glove off, and tried to
search around to find the head, the legs, anything, that would make sense of
this shape. Her hands moved under into
the slush and little daggers stabbed into her.
Ice was forming well under there.
A touch of panic prompted her to grab what she thought might be the ruff
of the animal and pull it back up and out, trying to unfurl it. It gave too easily and she fell back onto the
sludge of the alleyway. The fur had come
with her, and ended up on her: it was a fur coat. She was holding the thick collar and the
lining had been revealed up to the skies; the fur side was touching down on her
body. Her butt was stinging, with both
the impact and the puddle of sludge she’d landed in. She stared at the coat in her hands, then
panicked and jumped to her feet as well as she could: the coat lining was
getting wet. Without a thought, she
stood and whipped the coat over her back, like a cloak: why was there a thick warm
coat, lying in the gutter..?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> The warmth, the unctuous slide of
heat that smoothed out over her shoulders distracted her. The fur repelled the sleet, the cold. She
felt the chill lift and her body relax.
Even her frozen backside was warmed through. <i>This is
why they raised minks... to keep out the thick cold. This is why they suffocated them by putting
their heads in jars... to keep the fur intact...<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> She’d never bought fur, ever. Not only had she never been able to afford
it, she’d been repelled by the thought: repulsed. Now, as the seasonal enemy that relentlessly
assaulted her was beaten back and conquered... she shivered her arms into the
coat, snuggled it round her. The collar
wrapped up over her head, in a hood. The
coat went past her knees. The thick
sleeves engulfed her hands. Only her
feet stayed cold but with the rest of her warm, that was bearable. She closed her eyes and wrapped her hands
tightly across her chest.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> <i>She
no longer felt cold! She felt warm...
she felt dry...she felt safe.<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"> </span></i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">She stood, her eyes
closed, drinking it in.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Her feet asked her to move.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> She opened her eyes and was a little
transfixed to find herself still in the alleyway. The sleet was still slamming down but it
simply didn’t penetrate the coat at all.
Her feet, however, still stood in freezing sludge. She looked down and shuffled them, urging the
blood warming in her core to pump down and get her feet moving. Her feet responded, and the urgency to move
diminished.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> As she brought her gaze back up, she
looked on what the coat had covered.
What the coat had been hiding.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Her feet jumped back as her mouth
let out a puff of silent, strangled air.
It was a body: a woman’s body.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Maggie stared. It was not the first body she’d seen, and she
supposed it would not be her last. It
was, however, the most pathetic body she had ever seen. The woman was face down, her dark hair matted
over her head. Nothing of her face could
be seen. She was skin and bone. Like an old chicken stripped for broth
making. The hand that lay dead and cold,
so very cold, so very blue, on the rat droppings and rubbish the wind collected
in the back of the alleyway, was tiny, shrunken: like a sick child’s. Ankles showed above canvas sneakers and below
the hem of her pants: wasted. Maggie was
sure that if she pulled back the sweater she could see there would be track
marks all over her arms. A crack whore,
no doubt. A body that wasted, a life
that ruined, would rarely fall so far, without serious addiction. The sneakers were worn and split. Maggie pulled the coat tightly around her,
tears dripping out of her eyes. To die
like this, to die alone, face down in dog shit, in this cold... it was her
worst nightmare.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> The coat warmed her through. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> The coat.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> How could this woman have such a
coat as this?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> The contrast between the clothing
still on the woman – <i>the body</i> – and the
coat Maggie now wore could not have been greater. Everything about the body screamed poverty
and neglect. Perhaps she had stolen
it...?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Thoughts of the body, and how she
might, or might not, have lived her life, was scaring the bejeezers out of
Maggie. She needed to go get help, and
bring someone to this poor wretch, and get her out of the alleyway. She turned, and headed back out to the main
street. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> The wind picked at her within a few
feet and the sleet once more slammed in horizontally. Or it tried to. With her muffler over her mouth and the hood covering
her forehead and shielding her eyes, Maggie found she could stand against
it. She was aware it was there, but it
didn’t scour into her. She pushed
herself into the wind and back up the street.
She should find a telephone and call the police. She’d left her gloves back at the body and
she pushed her hands into the deep pockets of the coat, wondering what they
might hold. They held warmth: delicious,
delirious, warmth. She moved down the
street so quickly she was across the main road and skirting the park in a few
moments. There were phones at the bottom
corner, by the bus lines. As she walked,
she felt the niggling weight of her rucksack: the coat felt tight and bulky
across it and a cold draught slipped up the back of her legs at each stride –
the shape of the bag causing the coat to billow out. She put up with it, as she couldn’t bear the
thought of taking the coat off to unhook her back pack.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Maggie stared at the phone. Even though taking her gloveless hands out of
the pockets and picking up that plastic handle would hurt... she should do
it. She should call the police and ask
for aid. She should.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Once she’d done that, however, there
would be a whole world of standing around in the cold wet terror of the street.
She might miss the heat going on... if she phoned and didn’t say who she was,
there would be questions. The police
would ask who’d been about at the time of the call. She looked up and down. Plenty of people on the way to and from work,
fighting the elements as they plodded on.
People standing at the bus lines beside her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> People were already looking at her
coat. At the comfort it was affording
whoever wore it, under that hood.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> A spasm of agony flamed through her
body. Oh my goodness, she’d stolen a
coat off a poor dead woman! She was
standing in the coat and that poor woman was back there, alone, in the sleet
and ice... <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> She stumbled back up towards the
alleyway. She needed to go back, give
the woman her coat back, and then phone the police.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Give it back.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Everything in her rebelled: she
couldn’t. She just couldn’t.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> She couldn’t go back to being cold.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> She stood at the mouth of the alleyway,
wondering at the feeling of not being cut in two by the wind; feeling her soul
cut in two instead.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> She turned away from the alley, faced
into the wind and began the slog home.</span><span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13479061759803882187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3608311425893904266.post-38513671105106196492012-10-14T11:37:00.001+01:002012-10-14T20:32:49.858+01:00Sample Sunday October 14th <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp7Pses4lqhthqh7mVh_1AQMBGXhPeo5mFnBugfVD2o-k5PxS-TnC4j8wFfTZwqjN1yWS3yqiI7zrwi7LyOmfgmW-mP4_wn2NP7x4GqHNK6n91u0f3le5rZHTyExloUBxMp0ZyE-e0YMo/s1600/Free-Evil-Halloween-Postcards.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp7Pses4lqhthqh7mVh_1AQMBGXhPeo5mFnBugfVD2o-k5PxS-TnC4j8wFfTZwqjN1yWS3yqiI7zrwi7LyOmfgmW-mP4_wn2NP7x4GqHNK6n91u0f3le5rZHTyExloUBxMp0ZyE-e0YMo/s320/Free-Evil-Halloween-Postcards.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Although it's <a href="http://www.efestivalofwords.com/fragments-by-morgan-gallagher-t337.html"><i>Fragments</i></a> that's taking part in<a href="http://www.efestivalofwords.com/welcome-to-the-efestival-of-words-trick-or-treat-event-t349.html"> Efestival of Words</a> 'Trick or Treat' event, I can't let Hallowe'en month pass without letting you have some vampire tricks, so an excerpt from Changeling, whereby Dreyfuss and Joanne square down at the moment of the reveal... and you have to wonder what you'd do in the same circumstances.</span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><i>Psychological torture ahead, trigger warning... Joanne has been a prisoner for almost a year and knows only that Dreyfuss is insane.</i></span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">They very rarely
ate breakfast in the dining room. Either
they did not share the meal, or they ate on the breakfast bar in the
kitchen. He had laid out the breakfast
ware formally, and placed bacon and eggs on her plate. She was moving them around her plate, with
just enough being consumed to avert comment.
Not that anything was going to avert comment today.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘I am pleased
that you are feeling better this morning.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘Yes, thank
you. I’m much better.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘Good, it was
unfortunate, that you became so… indisposed.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">She managed to
get another scrap of bacon in her mouth, taking a drink of water to try and
drown it down. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘Joanne, I have
been meaning to have a talk with you.
Perhaps now would be a good time?’
He sat back, settling into the chair, the meal dismissed. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">She adjusted her
own pose exactly, sitting in quiet attention, moving her body slightly to angle
more to him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘First of all,
let me say that I do understand your... reticence… in the matter of your time
here with me…’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">She tuned out
everything, but listening. If he was
pontificating, best not to let something important go unheard. She found if she focussed tightly on his
lips, and how they formed his words, the rest of the room would fade from her
view. Slowly blink out to nothingness, and
dim in colour and detail. Something she
often worked on when left on her own for any length of time: how long to stare
at a fixed point long enough, and watch the room fade from her peripheral
vision.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘…do you agree?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘Yes Jonathan, I
do agree.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Best just to
repeat his phrase. If she embellished,
or reduced, he could get testy. <i>Testy?</i><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘Good, then I am
happy for this to be out of our way. You
really do have to accept this.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">She was
nonplussed. He’d not mentioned whatever
it was she’d have to accept. <i>Had he…?
</i>He was looking at her for a response. She felt her way along the words, slowly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘I will, of
course, accept anything you say, Jonathan.’
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘Excellent! I should never have doubted you.’ <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">He really was
acting totally out of sorts. She clamped
down on following that thought, using her energy to keep focussed on his lips.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘It is important
you accept my true nature utterly. You
should, after all, feel privileged. It
is a rare, and exceptional honour, to know a vampire.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">The room exploded
back into colour and detail. So sharp,
and so fast was the change, she felt she’d heard a shock wave. Her breathing was faster, her palms sweating
up. She ordered her body to remain
still, whilst she sought to bring her focus back purely to him. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Her eyes had flared so wonderfully... the pupils
expanding so quickly, it was if they were devouring the light. This was much more like it…</span></i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">He leaned
forward towards her. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘I am content
that you understand so well.’ He timed
the pause to her heartbeat, moving into the silence as her body tipped into
panic. She would taste wonderful! He reached out his hand. ‘Give me your hand.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">She
instinctively raised her left hand and offered it to him. She didn’t like that this is how her body had
reacted, but equally, she didn’t want to argue with it. She was still trying to work out some way to
hear, and process, his madness. She had
worked very hard, at refusing him the label of mad. It wasn’t a label she could cope with. Faced with such evidence of his own delusion,
there was little escape: he was mad and she, in turn was utterly doomed. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">He grasped her
hand firmly, pulling her into his space more completely. His left hand holding it from underneath, the
fingers of his right hand trailing over her opened palm, in that obscenely
suggestive manner he’d first displayed last week in the kitchen. She felt her mouth flood with saliva, as the
bile rose. She swallowed hard, again
aware of how complex and difficult it was, to swallow down fear.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘I had wondered,
if you had not wondered before now?
About how special my gifts were?’
His index finger was tracing a tiny circle over the mark on her
palm. ‘About how well you heal?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Everything
dissolved. Her blood; her bones; her
brain. She felt the slump as her body
began to list. His hand kept her trapped
to him, even as the rest of her sought to slide sideways onto the floor. She had fought thinking about this so hard,
so completely. Her memories of how much
damage he’d inflicted, had never been matched by her awakenings in a body
different from the one her mind had fled.
Bruises would look days old, and cuts and welts old and half
healed. She’d known he was playing with
her mind somehow, and had guessed that more than once, she’d been ‘asleep’
longer than she thought. But the
inconsistencies had grown, especially since her release into the flat. Day and night had a meaning once more, and
the rhythm of ‘outside’ could be glimpsed.
Many times she was very sure of falling asleep in an agony of fire, and
wakening with the duller pains of healing, when only one night’s sleep had gone
by. Just as she’d been equally sure that
sometimes many many nights had gone by, and he was giving play that only one
had passed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">She had chosen
to ignore it utterly, lest she go mad herself.
This had been a conscious decision, made when she began to wonder if
he’d actually really hit her that hard, after all. Had she really bled? Had it happened? Was this life real? Was she in a mental ward somewhere? She’d locked it all out of her mind: to hold
it in even the slightest measure, would be to drive herself insane. To question how much pain she’d endured, was
to question everything: she did not question on this. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Ever.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">It had been
exceptionally hard to keep to this, during the past few days, whilst her
shoulder had burned and ached so. The
memory of lying on the floor, not breathing, the fire that had laced across her
back. Yes, it had hurt, but nothing
matched the memory of the hit...<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘Do you not
wonder about all the little injuries, all healed up? Your shoulder?’ He raised her hand up, and licked his tongue
over her wrist, the tip of his tongue playing over the veins.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">She looked away,
had no choice. All was needed to deal
with the scream, to stop the scream: the scream could not be released. She must swallow the scream.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">The movement on
her hand became more playful, more… sensual.
He was licking and tonguing and teasing her skin. The licks became slow, playful bites. His teeth pressed down on her here,
there. His mouth took control of one of
her fingers, and he sucked down then moved on.
She kept her face turned away, still working on the absence of scream.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">When he finally
cut down, into her left wrist, she hardly felt it. She was so far into adrenaline overload, he
could have done much worse, and she’d still not have felt much. The rush of her fear-soaked blood into his
mouth was ecstatic. He drank down
eagerly, licking and pulling the wound open bit by bit. Sucking out every drop
he could without actually opening a vein.
He deliberately smeared his game out, along her hands and fingers, and
his mouth. He felt the tingle as her
blood settled onto his lips. He finally
drew back, dropping her hand, and twisting back in his seat to sit more
normally at the table. He dabbed his
lips with the napkin, making slow and deliberate show of her blood staining up
the cloth.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Her hand stayed
where it fell, on the table between them.
Her head was bent away from him, her body slack against the chair. She could have been mistaken for a
corpse. The fire her blood had poured
into his stomach was utterly, utterly divine.
She tasted wonderful. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘Pass the water
jug please.’ <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Once more, her
body instinctively did as he bid, with no reference to her mind for consent, or
refusal. She was so terribly glad of
this, so happy for the instant obedience, she forgave the betrayal. How could she have fought this so? Obedience to him was such a wonderful
relief... the burden of choice was removed from her. She took the prompt and poured water into the
tumbler at his setting. Some for
herself. He was using his napkin to dab
the blood, her blood, from the corners of his mouth and lips. Then, he tucked it back onto his lap, and
began to butter a soft morning roll.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">She re-seated,
also fixing her own napkin in place. The
cold and congealed remnants on the plate defeated her, and she pushed it away,
reaching instead for a pastry. That
could be moved about and pretended at with ease.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">She could not
help drying her hand and wrist upon the napkin, removing the last of her blood,
and his saliva. There was a small cut on
her wrist: it was not bleeding. There
was no need to wrap it, to compress it.
She pushed her hand onto her lap, under the table, and drank from her
water glass with the other. She could be
fine, could obey, as long as she did not think.
She would not think about what he said, and how there could have been
pain, and blood, but no injury there now.
She would not think on it. It was
a trick.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘Do not
worry. There will be no infection, or
bleeding. Vampire blood protects against
all that. It will heal very quickly.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">As
she slowly forced the pastry into her mouth, and down into her guts, tears
welled up into her eyes, and spilled soundlessly down her face, dampening her
blouse and the napkin.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br clear="all" style="page-break-before: always;" />
</span>
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span class="MsoBookTitle"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Chapter Thirteen<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">The next few
days passed in torpor, her actions supported by her routine. Her mind appeared frozen. Her body moved through the different phases
of the day, the meals counter pointing the emptiness. When he spoke, she obeyed. When he moved, she followed. He spoke to her incessantly about his being a
vampire, and what that meant for her.
She took everything silently, passively.
Three times he took blood from her left wrist. Three times she didn’t react. He beat her twice, both times savagely, as
her heat in his veins was causing him immense problems with his temper. He managed to not feed from her, after the
beatings, which could have killed her.
She took the beatings silently, and for once, he cursed that. That had not been what he was looking for: he
required reaction from her, some sense of independence. He was not going to allow her such a total
retreat: he knew this was as much game plan as anything else. Her heartbeat, breathing and scent betrayed
her: she was aware. She was just
choosing not to show it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">After a week,
when her appetite was failing badly, and she began to show signs of serious
dehydration, he acted. He was not happy
with how fast he was having to act, he felt his hand was being forced, which
did not sit comfortably with him.
However, he would not be deceived in this fashion; the word ‘fool’ was
not one to be applied to him, under any circumstance. Besides, she would sink into real atrophy if
this kept on: that he had seen before, many times. Sitting her at the breakfast bar, he poured a
large glass of raw goat’s milk in front of her.
Her hand reached forward automatically, to do his bidding. He staved her off, and she sank back in the
chair. Lifting his wrist over the glass,
he slashed it open, and his blood spilled in.
Nothing came from her, not even a flare of her pupils. He stirred the glass until it became an even
pink colour. Then he pushed it towards
her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘I am both
vampire, and your master. Drink of
me. Take of my body, my blood.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">She stood up,
turned her back, and walked to her room.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Well satisfied
with his judgement, that he had called her out, he placed the glass into the
fridge. There was to be no hiding from
this. She would accept his authority. She would bend her will to his, even as she
sought refuge in closing down her mind.
If she wanted to dabble with melancholia and depression, he would supply
it for her in abundance.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">The fridge and
cupboards took a little while to empty, but he wanted that done first. Second was closing down the steel shutters on
all the windows, locking out the light, hence the need to empty the fridge
first. He took the light bulb out of the
fridge, and from most of the sockets, leaving just enough light that she could
not fall over her own feet every two seconds.
The heating and hot water went next.
Finally, he dimmed the lights in her room and bathroom, and spent a few
fiddly moments getting the cameras to switch to infra-red, just in case. There would be no wrist slashing or rope
swinging when he was not present. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">His plans set,
he moved through the days with exactly the same rhythm as before. Three meals were laid out, all of them in the
dining room, and she had to sit through them.
Not that it took long to eat a slice of bread or a small bowl of boiled
rice, or a cup of gruel. Her forcing
herself to eat had been cured by a few days of actual hunger. Hunger will not be denied, and she had never
really understood, or experienced that.
She now ate everything in front of her, and scraped the bowl clean. When he had not objected, she licked the bowl
out. She drank copious amounts of water,
to try and stave off the hunger, but soon found this made her ill and did not
fill her as she had presumed. Water was
not food.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">She tried not
washing, or dressing to his standard. He
laid raw her lower back, without the subsequent benediction of his blood, and
left her to heal as best she could on the calories allotted her. She had resumed grooming. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">He made a point
of telling her he had not used his blood to heal her quickly, and that he would
continue to leave her to heal without him.
She had been soaking the blouse off her back in a cold water shower for
a week, before it healed enough not to leak and stick to her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Every day he
filled a glass with the milk and his blood, and left it in the fridge. At every meal, it sat by her plate.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">The long hours
she had spent sitting in the living room, watching the sunlight, had become
long cold cramped hours in the hall, looking at the faint line of daylight that
he allowed to spill under the closed study door. He kept the shutter up in there, and left the
electric lights to blaze, so that when he opened the door, light spilled
everywhere into the darkness that enclosed her. Which was then firmly closed
off from her when he closed the door behind him.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">By the end of
the second week, she was talking and crying out in what little sleep she could
manage. She often burst into crying as
he left a room. Silent sobs and a flood
of empty tears, spilling down her cheeks, unchecked.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">He took blood
from her every two to three days. He
would flick open her wrist with a scalpel, and drink a toke: a token. Again, he would comment that he would not be
gifting his own blood to heal her, and left each little cut to heal on its
own. He explained that he could take
blood without pain, but since he was rejecting his truth, he chose to do it
this way. When infection took hold, he
administered antibiotics. Each time she
had to swallow a capsule, he reminded her that if she accepted his blood, his
nature, she would be healed by now, and out of pain. She never commented, but the hand was always
raised to him on request: he had her body completely. Her mind, her spirit, was almost his.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Almost</span></i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">...<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Three weeks in,
his sleep was disturbed by a slight ping, and he quickly took the back route
into the study and the screens. She was
in the kitchen, standing in front of the fridge. She opened and shut it several times. Her hand reached in once, but withdrew. She closed the door and returned to her bed,
curling up in a ball under the sheets, crying and rocking.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Almost there.</span></i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">She lasted
another two days, which somewhat impressed him.
It was at lunch, a bowl of plain rice, when she broke into wracking
sobs. He remained calm, letting her take
the lead. Her hand reached for the
glass. She was shaking so much she
spilled some as she tried to lift it.
She needed to use her left hand, to steady her right one, as the tumbler
was lifted, and brought to her lips.
Again, some slopped out the sides, staining her top. It took a few moments before she could stop
crying well enough to let the glass touch her lips. She drank, and swallowed. He let her have two mouthfuls, before taking
the glass from her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘Not too
much. You will not cope with the
richness, right now.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">She nodded to
him, tears continuing to spill down her face, her chest rising with the effort
of trying to calm.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">‘Go through to
your room, and lie down. I shall bring
you something else in a few moments.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">She retreated,
still holding onto her sobs. He basked
in the glory as he set the flat back to rights.
Shutters up, heating and hot water on.
Light bulbs replaced, although he switched them all off. Her eyes might take several hours to
re-adjust. The restocking of the fridge
and cupboards took a little time, and he heated through some clear broth for
her and put it in a flask as he went.
Finally, he moved the light levels up in her room, before going in with
a tray containing the flask, a yoghurt and a banana. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">She was under
the sheet, silently rocking to and fro.
He placed the tray down, and lay down beside her, gathering her in his
arms, she turned to him, and cried some more.
He stroked her hair, and sang lullabies to her as she shook.</span><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13479061759803882187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3608311425893904266.post-37956079951274515602012-10-07T21:09:00.000+01:002012-10-13T18:06:46.813+01:00Sample Sunday October 7th<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf1luqAEZSIdXFnZXJooBR-cfCuaNzbehXaX0dV7IZLufLsdSKfe6WzbpBPI8dhtQuX0cifuOrnFK9-LiABgCu_3gc0S1VRFhVzaLlfd7IpCR7VS7R90wrL9w8Epa14e0Joo6_hzJWwFo/s1600/crying-baby.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf1luqAEZSIdXFnZXJooBR-cfCuaNzbehXaX0dV7IZLufLsdSKfe6WzbpBPI8dhtQuX0cifuOrnFK9-LiABgCu_3gc0S1VRFhVzaLlfd7IpCR7VS7R90wrL9w8Epa14e0Joo6_hzJWwFo/s320/crying-baby.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Another opening to a short story from the Fragments collection, as I'm taking part in Efestival </span><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">of </span><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Words's 'Trick o</span><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">r Treat' Hallowe'en Horror promotion</span><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">. </span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Fo</span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: white;">r the entire month of October, <i>Fragments</i> will be discounted by 25%. The code is</span></span><a href="http://www.efestivalofwords.com/fragments-by-morgan-gallagher-t337.html" style="color: white; font-size: x-large;"> over here.</a><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">There is also a 5000 word sample of 'The Fool' there for your delight and delectation.</span></div>
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: white;">You can also take part in the <a href="http://www.efestivalofwords.com/welcome-to-the-efestival-of-words-trick-or-treat-event-t349.html">Horror Bingo</a> event, with every filled card receiving a free copy of the horror anthology<i> Return of the Dead Men (And Women) Walking</i>. One winner will also receive a free audio book of Julie Dawson's <i>A</i> <i>Game of Blood</i>. And there is a book a day of <i>Legendary Horrors</i> to be won for people who comment. All details on the Horror Bingo link above.</span></span><br />
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<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Alma
Mater<o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘What is that stench, how can she
make such a foul odour?’ <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Although quiet, and polite, Alma’s
husband could hear the repulsion in her tone: could hear her muscles clenching
and her body turning to piano wire as she spoke.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘Don’t speak like that in front of
Catherine, she can hear you.’ Acutely
aware of his wife’s moods, his own words were muted and light, with an attempt
at humour. He smiled down at three week old
Catherine, and rubbed her belly with a light tickle.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘Oh don’t do that, she doesn’t want
a poo-ey hand touching her. Haven’t you
finished?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> James had indeed finished changing
the nappy. Poor Catherine had seemed a
little constipated, and had squealed and cried and turned bright red as she
howled. He’d come home from work to be
greeted by the shrieks from the pram in the outer porch whilst Alma had been
finishing making dinner in the kitchen.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Alma liked dinner to be on the table
in front of him as he walked in the door at 6.15. The screeching from Catherine had been
matched by the icy silence from Alma, as he entered at 5.55. Prior to his daughter’s birth, he’d have hung
around at the train station until he could walk in the door at the correct
moment. Now, his desire to hold his
daughter in his arms, lift her up and cuddle her, and have that bit more time
with her before she was sentenced to the bedroom at 7.15, over rode other
considerations.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Alma was furious on two counts. One, he’d come home ‘early’ and two, dinner
wasn’t nearly ready. Catherine, it transpired,
had been an absolute nightmare all day.
Crying, refusing to sleep, refusing to swallow all her bottle, and <i>deliberately</i> vomiting up her milk on her
nice clean clothes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘Honestly James, she is just like
you. She never listens and does exactly
what she wants.’ Alma had stirred the bolognaise
sauce she was working on with such speed it slopped out onto the cooker.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘Now look what she’s made me
do!’ Alma took the saucepan off the ring
and washed down the cooker top before putting it back on and continuing the
frantic swirling.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> James had smiled a smile of
consolation and comfort, picked up Catherine and taken her upstairs. Twenty minutes later, with her tummy rubbed
and her legs bicycled up and down, she’d finally managed to get rid of the
thing that was hurting her, and had stopped crying. James had cleaned her up and was just about
to put the new nappy on, when Alma had arrived to comment on the smell, and to
state that dinner was on the table.
James thanked his wife and carried Catherine back down the stairs. He placed her in the little Moses basket his
mother had given them, and watched her look around as he ate his spaghetti.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘I wish you wouldn’t keep looking at
her like that, she’ll get spoiled. She
has to learn she’s not the centre of the Universe.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> James smiled and carried on eating,
carried on gazing at his beloved Catherine.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">*<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> The shrieks were ear piercing. James felt his nerve begin to break. He’d been pacing the living room for over an
hour, despite Alma’s promises that it wouldn’t go on for more than ten
minutes. So far he’d kept to his side of
the bargain: not to interfere, not to intrude on her authority as the
mother. But the feeling of his skin searing
off his body, and fear knotting up his stomach, was becoming impossible to
ignore. Every one of Catherine’s screams
and wails was killing him. He could feel
his heart jumping in response. He gave
in to his instincts and went upstairs.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Alma was sitting outside the nursery,
reading her <i>Women’s Weekly.</i> She’d put her chair in front of the door,
barring the way. She looked up at him as
he emerged onto the landing. Her eyes
rolled and the magazine was put down with a huff.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘Oh for goodness sake, James! She’s perfectly all right!’ <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘She doesn’t sound all right.’ He’d had to raise his voice to be heard above
the cries.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘She is warm, well fed, safe and
comfortable. I double filled her bottle to
get her through the night and her nappy is dry.
There is nothing wrong with her.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘She’s lonely!’ His voice raised until it was almost matching
Alma’s extortions.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘She’s in a TEMPER. You don’t propose to raise a spoilt brat, do
you?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘She’s six months old, how can she
be spoiled?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘Easily, with you around. Always picking her up, cuddling her, telling
her what a good girl she is. Always
rushing to her for the slightest whimper.
You’ve caused this!’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> James stared at his wife. The schism that existed in their world had
never seemed so great, so profound.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘How can you bear to hear her in
pain like this?’ <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘She is not in pain. She’s in a temper, and heaven knows, if we
don’t control it now, we’ll have worse to come.’ Alma seemed not to hear the pain in James’s
voice. ‘She has to learn to sleep, and
this is how she’ll do it. Not by being
mollycoddled by you.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Alma picked the magazine back up and
purposely stared at the pages. James had
been dismissed. Short of physically
pushing her out of the chair to get to the nursery, there was nothing he could
do. He stormed back down the stairs,
pulled his coat off the hook, and left.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘Another night at the pub whilst I
do the hard work.’ Alma spoke out loud, as if addressing the baby through the
door.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘Now see what you have done...’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">*<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> James opened the door at 6.13. ‘I’m home!’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Alma smiled her greeting, and her
thanks, as she placed the dinner out on the table.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘Smells good!’ said James, as he
hung up his coat. ‘I’ll just wash my
hands.’ He ducked into the down stairs
toilet that Alma had had installed under the stairs. She was immensely pleased with this <i>civilised</i> addition to the house. James would have preferred... well, quite a
lot of things, actually, but it was keeping Alma happy. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Alma was settling Catherine into the
high chair, as he seated himself. Beef
Cobbler was one of his favourites: once again, Alma was showing her thanks for
him giving in on the extension.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘Well, how have my girls been
today?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Frost formed in the air as Alma
launched into her tirade of how trying her day had been. James tried to tune it out, and concentrate
on Catherine, who was playing with a rattle he’d bought for her, but it was
difficult.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘...And then she spit up all over
her new bib. I’d starched it too, when I
ironed it, and she got bits in the little embroidery roses. I’ll never get them looking that good
again...’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘Tut,’ said James, quietly. He winked at Catherine. Alma didn’t pause for breath.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘... so I tried the new banana one,
and she spat that out too. I mean, what
child doesn’t like mashed banana? It
took me an hour to get that jar into her.
I was exhausted by the time for her nap, and then she threw up all over
her clean bedding, so I had to re-feed her <i>and</i>
do the bed linen...’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> James spooned down his dinner,
trying to juggle his attention between the women in his life. Alma would erupt if she felt she wasn’t
getting enough, or that Catherine was getting too much. All he wanted was to beam and smile at
Catherine, and talk to her in little whispers and tickle her until she started
to hiccup with laughter. He nodded and
smiled at Alma enough times to keep her mollified whilst giving Catherine his
secret smile and pulling faces that Alma couldn’t see. Catherine giggled. Alma droned on...<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘Claire was round, and she said
little Emily never spits out her food, and every scrap is taken from the jar...and
heaven knows Emily doesn’t manage to stink out the room every time she
breathes...’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Catherine dropped the rattle on the
floor as she squealed in laughter. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘That’s it, that’s the third time
today.’ As James had leaned down to pick up the rattle, Alma swooped up
Catherine. A sharp slap and a sharper
cry rent the air, and James’s heart.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘Never, never, never, do that
again.’ On each ‘never’, Alma slapped
the back of Catherine’s hand hard.
Catherine’s howls became screams, as Alma whisked her up the
stairs. ‘When will you learn?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> James looked at his beef congealing
into the gravy, as he heard the uproar upstairs as Catherine was stripped of
her clothes, pushed and pulled into a sleep suit, and the door firmly closed on
her cries. By the time Alma came back
downstairs he was in the pub.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">*<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘There, who is a pretty girl,
then?’ James finished buttoning
Catherine’s coat and stood up to look at her.
How could she be so grown up? She
looked tiny and vulnerable in her school uniform, which like all first school
uniforms was too big for her. Catherine
looked up at her Daddy with adoring eyes and smiled.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘Will I do then, Daddy?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> James laughed, and was just about to
speak, when Alma came rushing into the hall.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘Oh, for goodness sake, aren’t you
ready yet? We’ll be late. Catherine, what is that bird’s nest on top of
your head? You don’t think it’s a
hairstyle, do you?’ She shot James <i>the look</i>, the one that made it clear that
Daddy was an idiot and how could he call that pigtails? James ignored her and leaned down to try and adjust
the approved school ribbons.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘Oh don’t make it worse!’ Alma slapped James’s hand out of the way,
pulling the ribbons off. Cathy squealed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘Oh be quiet, I didn’t hurt
you.’ She unpicked the pigtails and
pulled a brush through, starting again, in double quick time. As she twisted the first layer in deeply,
pulling the hair tightly into the scalp, Cathy squealed again. Alma slapped her bare legs with the palm of
her hand.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘Don’t argue back. I’ve told you, you have to suffer for beauty,
you better get used to it now. I’m not
having everyone looking down on us as your hair falls out half-way through the
day. I’ve told you, you have to finish
the day as neat as you start it. Is that
clear?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Cathy nodded, her eyes brimming with
tears. James turned away, breathing
deeply.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘There, that’s much better. Make sure the ribbons don’t come out, won’t
you, sweetheart?’ Alma dropped down to
Cathy’s height.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘You know Mummy loves you, don’t you,
darling? I just want the best for
you.’ James turned back to his look at
his girls. Tears were brimming in Alma’s
eyes and her voice was choked. James
patted her on the shoulder.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘She’ll do her best, won’t you,
Cathy?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘There’s no ‘Cathy’ in this house,
is there, Catherine...?’ Alma’s tone had
returned to its usual cadence of disapproval and frustration.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘No, Mummy, only a Catherine.’ Cathy sing songed back to her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘And don’t you forget that at school
today. If the girls call you Cathy, you
tell them politely and nicely, that your name is CATH-ER-INE. Is that clear?’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘Yes, Mummy.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘Good girl, well then, let’s get
going, we can’t be late!’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Alma had already instructed James
that he was not to get out of the car at the school gates. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘None of the other fathers even turn
up. Of course, I’d need my own car to be
able drop her off myself.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘We can’t afford another car and the
school fees. The uniform alone cost
enough to buy you a little banger.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘A banger! You’d let your wife drive a second hand
car? Well, that shouldn’t surprise
me...’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> James had taken in a deep breath and
counted to twenty. Once, he’d only
needed to count to ten. He had wondered
what would happen if he ever needed to get to thirty...<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> She looked so small, and fragile, as
Alma led her across the school yard to the lines of children waiting patiently. The Nuns looked so tall in their habits, so
severe. He hated that Alma had won this
battle; every instinct in him wanted him to get out the car, gather his little
treasure up in his arms and take her away as quickly as he could. With a final instruction of some sort Alma
let go her hand and backed off to hover with the ring of mothers looking on
anxiously. Alma wasn’t anxious. She beamed with pride and happiness at the
sight of her Catherine in the long line of silent little girls, who looked as
if they had been made from a biscuit cutter; with their identical hats,
blazers, satchels and pigtails. The Nun
on the top step of the school doorway rang a large hand-bell she carried. The lines started to move into the school,
older girls first. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> James watched as his perfect child,
his little girl, his lover of cuddles and tickles, stood the longest and
marched in last: the baby class.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> He gunned the car up to life. The revving disturbed the silence that had
fallen on the playground as the mothers had nodded and smiled to each
other. Alma’s eyebrows rose up and she
shot him another icy gaze. He ignored
it, and when she finally got into the car, he wrecked the gears as he tried to
drive off quickly. The car shuddered and
stalled. He jabbed the pedal down and
pulled the key round hard.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> ‘Careful. You don’t want to flood the engine.’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> He remained silent as he slowly
started to count to fifty.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: white;"><br /></span></span></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13479061759803882187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3608311425893904266.post-51473460893401353802012-09-29T21:38:00.000+01:002012-09-30T14:27:22.054+01:00Sample Sunday September 30th <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv_6vuaBIyAqcsICrL-iJxnxDKY7rJ2UHNe8e9oCVjataC3QLQ9fkRlKu9fCGS_RD9hMRba9wmSLilbIzCqxyzMQjhKkn8p7ArdzeZs1bgcjd9dSBrEljLzjR2z5Y5CRx5ynC2Otf1Qcc/s1600/HalloweenCard7.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv_6vuaBIyAqcsICrL-iJxnxDKY7rJ2UHNe8e9oCVjataC3QLQ9fkRlKu9fCGS_RD9hMRba9wmSLilbIzCqxyzMQjhKkn8p7ArdzeZs1bgcjd9dSBrEljLzjR2z5Y5CRx5ynC2Otf1Qcc/s400/HalloweenCard7.JPG" width="255" /></a></div>
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;">As we are just about to tip into October, and Hallowe'en time, something a little extra for the next month.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: white;">Efestival of Words is running a 'Trick or Treat' Hallowe'en Horror promotion, and my book of stories - <i>Fragments</i> - is being featured in the event. For the entire month of October, <i>Fragments</i> will be discounted by 25%. The code is</span><a href="http://www.efestivalofwords.com/fragments-by-morgan-gallagher-t337.html"><span style="color: white;"> </span>over here.</a> <span style="color: white;">There is also a 5000 word sample of 'The Fool' there for your delight and delectation.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: white;">You can also take part in the</span> <a href="http://www.efestivalofwords.com/welcome-to-the-efestival-of-words-trick-or-treat-event-t349.html">Horror Bingo</a> <span style="color: white;">event, with every filled card receiving a free copy of the horror anthology<i> Return of the Dead Men (And Women) Walking</i>. One winner will also receive a free audio book of Julie Dawson's <i>A</i> <i>Game of Blood</i>. And there is a book a day of <i>Legendary Horrors</i> to be won for people who comment. All details on the Horror Bingo link above.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;">So, it's coming to a windy wet and chilly Winter here in Scotland. Autumn has been skipped entirely. It's very strange to have green leaves with just the faintest hint of yellow, and to be wearing a winter coat. The berries and brambles are ripe, although very small and still a little sour. The Bramley apples in the shop are huge and the Hallowe'en decorations are in the stores. Yet every bone in my body tells me it's Winter.</span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;">So a winter tale for this week's sample Sunday. From 'Sleet Dreams', in <i>Fragments</i>. I'll do the entire short story over the next four weeks and try for a spooky new tale for the final sample Sunday, just before All Hallow's Eve itself! </span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;">----</span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Sleet Dreams <o:p></o:p></span></span></b></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Maggie O’Hara knew that it wasn’t
hunger that made poverty so bad, it was cold.
Warm summer days and a gnawing stomach were bearable. Freezing cold days with noodles in your
stomach and no heating in your home was hell.
Rain dripping down your back and soaking into your clothes in the frigid
wind at the bus stop, was hell. Feet of
ice that had given out all heat to the snow that had soaked into the holes in
your shoes, was hell.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Hell was cold, and that was all
there was to it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Poverty was not being able to choose
between food and heat, because there was no way you could heat a room in the
winters that slammed into the city every year.
Not on her tiny pension, no matter how much she scrimped and saved. Heating the room was just not an option: food
could always be found. Cat food was
cheap: a stove to heat it on, much more expensive. She’d never had to resort to cat food; a
kettle of hot water on instant noodles was cheaper anyhow. As were hot dogs, truth be told. But she knew she could go there, if she had
to. She’d never been cold <i>and</i> hungry and made it a life’s ambition
never to experience it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> No, the trouble wasn’t food. The trouble was heat. Poverty was not enough heat.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Like everyone else in her building,
Maggie paid for central heat in her rent.
Like everyone else in her building, she got two hours at 6am and three
hours at 6pm. Just enough to keep you
going, if you worked day time shifts and went to bed early. Night workers, and retired people like her, either
shivered in the cold, or bought their own electric heaters that ran off the
meter in the wall, using up electricity credit at a frightful rate. If you were, as the papers put it, on a
limited income, you couldn’t afford heat.
She couldn’t even pee in comfort: the tiled closet that held a toilet, a
sink and a shower cubicle, had no hope of staying heated from the towel warmer,
which switched on and off when everything else did, although it was a useful airer
of wet coats and clothes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> The communal bath room she could
use, if she fed the meter on the wall for lukewarm water, was too cold to use
in cold weather. By the time the tub was
filled, the water was stone cold. It was
fine in the summer and autumn, but in winter and for most of spring, no one
ever ran a bath. Strip washes at the
kitchen area sink were the best she could do once she couldn’t bear the cold in
the shower. And even that was fully
clothed when the snow was on the ground. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> She couldn’t even run the gas from
the stove. When Tony, the landlord, had
inherited the run-down hovel from his grandfather, Guido, the rest of the
family had laughed. Tony had never
settled into the family businesses and never would amount to much, everyone
knew. But he’d surprised them all. He’d emptied the tenement of all the old
tenants, and the drug labs and ‘special apartments’ rented by the hour. He’d ripped out the aged, worn and dangerous
gas piping, put in new central boilers and rewired the entire building up to slightly
above code. He’d had to go above code,
as he’d stopped his grandfather’s payments to certain city officials. He’d cut most of the apartments in half, creating
two floors of ‘studio apartments’ like hers, on the top floors. Below was two or three room apartments,
depending on how he’d carved the old floor plans up. But whilst he pushed as many people in as he
could, he’d also put in good soundproofing and working plumbing. Every
apartment got its own pay as you go electricity meter, the front and back doors
got camera security and he banned naked bodies and flames in his building. He
was sniffy about cigarettes, and non-smokers found it easier to get a lease and
keep one. A single cigarette burn on the
fixture and fixings and you were gone.
Retired people were allowed one pet, but no one else. He re-tenanted the
entire building within two weeks of opening back up, and there was never an
apartment empty for two nights running.
No-one ever got more than a month behind on rent with a two month
deposit. He was making his investment
back at a decent rate, in a decent way: no wonder the rest of his family couldn’t
stand him and were furious Guido had left the building to him. His tenants
would kill for Tony, which went a long way to keeping everything calm. Maggie had seen mothers burst into tears and kiss
his hand on moving in day, their babies no longer sharing their cribs with
cockroaches.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Tony supplied the tenants with three
essential appliances, all electric. A
shower unit, a small instant water boiler that fed out over the kitchenette
sink and a microwave: the tenant brought in everything else. Tony had the wiring on the appliances checked
every year and all the smoke detectors in the hallways worked. You felt safe in Tony’s building. You could go to him personally if there was a
problem; he knew every one of his tenants by sight. He often changed the light bulbs in the
corridors himself, and many a potential tenant had lost the chance of a lease
for not realizing the handyman showing them around was the owner.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> A
microwave was fine for her sort of income, but it didn’t heat much
otherwise. Most of the other tenants had
also bought plug-in electric grills, as well as stand alone electric
heaters. She couldn’t afford either; to
buy or to run. The meter that doled out
electricity took enough cash off her as it was.
Middle of the nights were worse, the cold would disturb her sleep, pinging
out through her aching joints, her hot water bottles having lost all their
heat. She’d twist, and turn, and try
layers in this direction, layers in that; there just wasn’t enough of her to
keep the bed snug and warm all through the night. She often dreamed she still had Bertie, her
old dog. Now Bertie had been great at snuggling
up and keeping her warm, much better than either of her husbands. But Bertie was long gone, in the cold, cold
ground. So was husband number one,
actually, but she didn’t mourn him. She
still carried the scar he’d given her when she’d miscarried their first, and
only, child. She’d been standing at the
kitchen table, scrubbing carrots in a bowl of warm water; even then she’d hated
cold hands. He’d been sitting at the table,
telling her flat out that the baby had died because she was a bad mother and
not to think he’d spawn any more with her, if she was gonna push them out early
and dead, in his bed. He wasn’t that
kind of fool, not when it was obvious she must have been whoring somewhere and another
man’s prick had killed <i>his </i>son.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> She’d picked the bowl up and hurled
it at his head. It had hit square on
and split in half, leaving a gash on him; the muddy water erupting like his rage. She remembered slipping on the water as she
danced around the kitchen trying to escape him and the paring knife she’d
thrown at him. A slash to her inner arm, the tip of the blade taking the long
way down as she twisted past it, had been deep enough to scar and to flood out
enough blood to stop him in his tracks.
She often thought, as she looked at the thin line of white, that it had
saved her life that day; that slash that never made it deep enough to bleed her
out. She should have left him then, but
he’d been so contrite... Maggie shoved it away.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> No, like Bertie, Fred was long gone
cold dead. She’d stuck it out to the
end, which hadn’t been long as cancer had taken him. Left her with the scar, some aches in her
heart about how you fall in love with a stranger, and a debt that would have
crippled Jesus. Cancer treatment had
turned out to be more than the insurance, wasn’t that a pip?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> The phrase bounced around her
head. That had been Charlie’s best
saying, a cheeky chappy smile, and his English accent, to charm the socks, and
panties, off anyone. Oh she’d fallen for
Charlie, fallen hard. And he’d been good
to her. He’d helped pay off the debts in
return for his green card, had rented them a neat little house in the suburbs,
and tried to put life in her belly. But
all the rubbing up heat he did with all the other pretty ladies robbed him of
that vital spark, that’s what she reckoned.
Can’t stoke the fire at home, if you are layin’ kindling all around
town.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> They broke up well enough. She just couldn’t take an empty bed <i>and</i> an empty cradle. He’d gone off to Southern California, where
he’d settled down to a life of widows and gratified smiles. Divorce papers had followed through a year or
two later. They exchanged a card every
year until they each moved one time too many.
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> He’d gone where the ladies were and
she’d gone where the work was. Before
she’d known it she’d drifted steadily north, into the cold zone. At first she was glad, as summers were so
much cooler and so much more bearable but she’d had younger bones and a good
strong back to earn money with in any way she could. Waitressing; maid; check out. Did one summer as a short order cook, but
didn’t like the heat, now wasn’t <i>that</i>
a pip? What she’d give now to be hot and
sweaty all day long with as many greasy burgers as she could eat.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> But age had slowly wound down her
life, and her job opportunities. Minimum
wage was for the young and strong, and she’d never settled on anything she
could call ‘skilled’ labor, nothing that made still employing her worth anyone’s
while: too many younger bones and strong backs to choose from. So she slowly dropped down the scale... or
up, rather, as each apartment got smaller and higher up. Until here she was, on the fifth floor in a
one room hideaway and a closet for a toilet.
Which would have been fine if she’d still been in the south: she didn’t
need much. Sure, the building was old
but Tony had every corridor and stairwell checked weekly. Tenants were sober and respectable and there
were no vermin, either in the walls or the other rooms around her. The basement boilers were lined with rat
traps. The corridors were filled with
workers moving up and down all day, from one shift to the other. The thick gates and bars kept out all but the
most determined thief and nothing was ever allowed to molder. No, she could be in a lot worse places, even if
you did have to push past the drug dealers and the prostitute women and boys,
in order to get up the steps. She’d waited damn near two years to get in,
grateful the pay as you go meters meant she didn’t have to find a huge utility
deposit with the two month’s rent up front: she’d just scraped in.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> She wasn’t so much proud of her
little place, as settled in it. Her
treasures were safe here. Her
grandmother’s quilt: her mother’s porcelain figurines. Her collection of commemorative plates of dog
breeds: they hung safely on the walls, smiling down on her. She was as reasonably sure as anyone could be
that they’d still be there when she came back every time she nodded goodbye to
them as she went out. It was just the
cold, the winter. Winter and being poor
were not good bedfellows.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Literally, at times, as the cold
made her homeless to all intents and purposes.
As the morning heat burst faded she’d be forced out onto the streets
like those who didn’t have a home at all.
She’d found all the routes and tracks and tricks that her fellow travelers
had evolved in their own survival and it provided her with a routine, a way to
get through to summer; to when it was no longer cold. A routine she needed to get up and onto if
today was going to be a good day. She
took a deep breath and forced herself out from under the layers.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> The trick was to be clean, neat and
respectable, without making it look like you had a coin in the world. Shopping malls and libraries were good for a
couple of hours but sitting down in malls for too long brought security, and
sitting down for too long in libraries, brought aches and cold: libraries just
weren’t that warm. Not all day
warm. Having an address, and thus a
library card, bought her a couple of hours a day with no problem. Enough time to read through the newspapers
and then move on. Shopping malls were
great for thawing out from moving about from one place to another. But they required regular walking about and
pretending to window shop, which was, in its own way, a pain in the butt. Staring at everything you couldn’t ever afford
soon lost its thrall. Museums could
shelter you for a time but they never warmed you through. But she liked looking at paintings, that was
sure. She was always going to get a book
about painters out of the library, so she understood what she was looking at,
but she somehow never got round to it.
Romances and thrillers were her idea of a good read.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Then there was a regular round of Goodwill
and soup kitchens. Hot soup and bread
always sounded fine as the cold seeped into her bones and she was expert at slipping
in and out of places without being noticed, but lukewarm grease water and stale
bread made you so depressed it wasn’t always a good deal. She used to help out at some of the shelters and
so avoided them. Some were too pushy in
their salvation thumping and some had too low a clientele, lice being the least
of the ‘extras’ on offer. But there was
a wide selection of decent ones throughout the city, and bus rides to and fro for
a couple of square meals could be the answer to pouring rain. She could also get tins of soup and beans and
packets of dried noodles from the churches if she truly ran out. She tried not to do that: there were people
in worse shape than her that needed such, but hot food in the middle of the day
was worth a lot when the snow was drifting.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Her day was varied enough to keep
her wits sharp at all times, and a balance between staying on the move and not
spending more effort on getting warm and eating than she was getting back. The nirvana moment was when she was tired,
aching and still warm enough to believe life was worth living, and she had only
half an hour or so to get back home in time for the heating being switched
on. That way, when she finally headed
back, she was happy and grateful; longing to be in her own space, tucked up by
a radiator, glowing in the transient warmth as she read books or watched TV. Not cramped and bitter and moaning about her
terrible lot in life and feeling sorry for herself. Happy to have what she did have was a better
option than dwelling on what she did not.
Her grandma had instilled that in her at an early age and she kept the
lesson close to her: her Gran had lived through the depression unlike two of
her siblings.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> So she was always striving to be
happy and settled as she crawled into bed, holding onto the heat and not
thinking about the radiators cooling down to stone cold dead, leaving her to
fend for herself. Some days it worked,
some days it didn’t. Days where she
still dreaded going home even if she was cold or hungry, were bad days. Days where she headed off home, grateful to
her core that she wasn’t sleeping in a shelter or trying to garner enough dry
cardboard boxes and a safer alleyway to sleep in, were good days. Excellent days were reserved for summer.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> The weather changed the routine
substantially. There were ways to eke
out her money by supplementing. Dry days
were best for that. Trawling through dumpsters
for items that could be sold, or eaten, was a useful addition. You had to be careful though, to not make it
too obvious and not to look too desperate.
And choose your dumpster route wisely.
Dumpsters held all manner of things: dirty needles, excrement (areas
with a lot of young families were out), broken glass and dead animals. Good food could be under rotten food, even at
the market areas. Dealing with smells
and slime was crucial, and many a treasure had been left as to reclaim it would
leave her looking too far down the pecking order. Keeping clean cost money, and being clean was
crucial if she was to keep all she did have.
There were also a fair amount of territory wars and some areas had to be
checked out with one eye behind you.
She’d once been tipped head first into a sewer rat of a dumpster, for
daring to ‘steal’ from someone who claimed to own the whole block. She’d lain there in the stench and filth,
whilst the person – she never knew if it was a man or a woman, just an aged
bundle of screeching rags – had banged on the side and then weighted down the
lid on her. It had taken an hour of
heaving, sweaty work to get out, and her clothes were in slimy rags by the time
she’d managed to get the lid up enough to crawl out. She’d had visions of her body being noticed
at the dump, and the terror of a communal burial with the rest of the rubbish
had finally been strong enough to propel her out. She could see her dead fingers being gnawed by
rats and her eyes... yes, fear had finally got that lid up and her out of her
reluctant tomb. Dumpsters could provide
bounty but it wasn’t for the faint hearted or weak stomached.</span><span style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13479061759803882187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3608311425893904266.post-19844221174186379382012-09-22T16:36:00.002+01:002012-09-29T21:02:57.751+01:00Sample Sunday September 23rd <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMv6CR_MjoVo9LbF20emtaru8ZAWQLRxThF0bJzewI00tDgL-N6l7oyPIZ2X5uPR2joPGn2r7RWRqIyvak13BYwL5ySgqOW4JZI9p2w4Ve9kYwOW_PsLIxZGF5TD9ctG_mWleuuWwqn9E/s1600/2272817028_bb4dd02ba5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMv6CR_MjoVo9LbF20emtaru8ZAWQLRxThF0bJzewI00tDgL-N6l7oyPIZ2X5uPR2joPGn2r7RWRqIyvak13BYwL5ySgqOW4JZI9p2w4Ve9kYwOW_PsLIxZGF5TD9ctG_mWleuuWwqn9E/s320/2272817028_bb4dd02ba5.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: white;">Since last week's chase excerpt was so popular, I've left it up. If you are new to the story, go</span><a href="http://thedreyfusstrilogy.blogspot.co.uk/2012/09/c.html"> here </a><span style="color: white;">to get the start of the chase.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><i>Joanne thinks she has escaped Dreyfuss, unaware she is being tracked by him and three goons, Mary, Mungo & Midge. She's been a prisoner in Dreyfuss's home for eighteen months before he runs her ragged and lets her think she has escaped. Lost and alone, she made her way to Hampstead Heath where she was raped by a gang of skinheads.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Too late...sorry.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="color: #eeeeee;">Changeling... </span></i> <a href="http://www.osierpublishing.co.uk/morgan-gallagher/changeling/">Osier Extra Content Ebook</a> <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Changeling-The-Dreyfuss-Trilogy-ebook/dp/B004VA3WBY/ref=tmm_kin_title_0?ie=UTF8&qid=1348327791&sr=1-1"> Amazon UK </a> <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Changeling-The-Dreyfuss-Trilogy-ebook/dp/B004VA3WBY/ref=tmm_kin_title_0?ie=UTF8&qid=1348327873&sr=8-1">Amazon USA</a></span><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Changeling-The-Dreyfuss-Trilogy-ebook/dp/B004VA3WBY/ref=tmm_kin_title_0?ie=UTF8&qid=1348327873&sr=8-1"> </a> <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Changeling-Morgan-Gallagher/dp/0955688736/ref=tmm_pap_title_0?ie=UTF8&qid=1348327791&sr=1-1"> Amazon UK Paperback</a> <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Changeling-Morgan-Gallagher/dp/0955688736/ref=tmm_pap_title_0?ie=UTF8&qid=1348327873&sr=8-1">Amazon USA Paperback.</a></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13479061759803882187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3608311425893904266.post-88900819264440052982012-09-16T10:23:00.003+01:002012-09-29T21:03:33.325+01:00Sample Sunday September 16th<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdIw5GWhOV9KH2ZIusQyz8fXzFeiJBfm2GKWRIJCeigjT7McA7hLKOUB-SXvNypmVeX2tiy-hpql8p78mHTwhJBeV1LLNSKbefUYSwEwJqtuwn-Hx3JvLrHOo_j9HYdYzi-kTkYBhPRMo/s1600/images+(31).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdIw5GWhOV9KH2ZIusQyz8fXzFeiJBfm2GKWRIJCeigjT7McA7hLKOUB-SXvNypmVeX2tiy-hpql8p78mHTwhJBeV1LLNSKbefUYSwEwJqtuwn-Hx3JvLrHOo_j9HYdYzi-kTkYBhPRMo/s320/images+(31).jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Since the Changeling excerpt was so popular last week, have another one.</span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;">This is how to escape a vampire. </span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Or not.<br /><br />If you leave nice comments, I'll let you have the rest of the chase next week. :-)<br />-------</span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><i>Dreyfuss has employed three stooges, whom he's named Mary, Mungo and Midge. Joanne does not know they exist, having only seen Dreyfuss for the previous eighteen months of her kidnapping.</i></span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 36.0pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Gone, gone, gone.</span></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13479061759803882187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3608311425893904266.post-21273011226027811862012-09-08T22:32:00.003+01:002012-09-16T19:32:29.820+01:00Sample Sunday September 9th<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs3E3jYvoAXr7dr9ov-RN3-_ohWX6ln7sYYp9oouMXtsTEQ4UOlVAJvYPA8k5MTw7gOz7XlgCqZosKZSG5h-je8kO9hpq8EPNxLmdw4qAqTn6Z9aWhUQ1uqranSK6OIXkfIcVDea_xCNY/s1600/images+(30).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs3E3jYvoAXr7dr9ov-RN3-_ohWX6ln7sYYp9oouMXtsTEQ4UOlVAJvYPA8k5MTw7gOz7XlgCqZosKZSG5h-je8kO9hpq8EPNxLmdw4qAqTn6Z9aWhUQ1uqranSK6OIXkfIcVDea_xCNY/s1600/images+(30).jpg" /></a></div>
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;">This week's Sample Sunday is an extract from <i>Changeling</i>. Changeling has been a lot on my mind, as I've been reading myself back in Lucifer's Stepdaughter, and so I've been reading about Helene.<br /><br />And wondering, to myself, if Joanne still exists. <br /><br />If that's confusing to you, read this... </span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;">...except you can't, too late!</span>
<span style="color: white; font-size: large;">----</span><br />
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13479061759803882187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3608311425893904266.post-26455862604340608902012-09-02T16:43:00.001+01:002012-12-16T13:37:22.067+00:00Sample Sunday September 2nd<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbwP6Ic-Vj9OX5zhZMGlq5L0didbprn-qqsjvjRJzv0ta8-gXyVM_AFxNpLQDD80uDFPsCwqgmdOw5eptEAc7voKOD_rmR3G0S86QZma2NNXi_DgR37NFtONTkGfjDMtZ4zKs_8z8G6uE/s1600/images+(29).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbwP6Ic-Vj9OX5zhZMGlq5L0didbprn-qqsjvjRJzv0ta8-gXyVM_AFxNpLQDD80uDFPsCwqgmdOw5eptEAc7voKOD_rmR3G0S86QZma2NNXi_DgR37NFtONTkGfjDMtZ4zKs_8z8G6uE/s320/images+(29).jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Bedlam Maternity is finally finished and is in beta reading, prior to going to my editor.<br />
<br />
So seems a good time to start some interest in the story again.<br />
<br />
Scary time, being pregnant, vulnerable and alone...<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white; font-size: large;"><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />Bedlam Maternity</span></b><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">Prologue</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;">London, 1754</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;"> The rain had cleared some of the thick soot from the air of Seven Dials, but it had done nothing to reduce the stench from the streets. The man scraped mud, rancid pig intestines and human shit off his boots, before slipping into the back door of the tavern. He didn’t want to be seen, and not being seen often meant walking through the worst of the back alleys, ignoring the smell and the slime. He was momentarily blinded by the thick layers of tobacco smoke that hung in the stagnant air. It was of no matter, for his ears soon located his prey, the thick Scottish accents leading him to their table, tucked as far back as possible from any door way. He seated himself without invite.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;"> The two men nodded greeting, but the newcomer said nothing in return. For a moment, silence fell between them. The older Scot nudged the younger one, who rose and went to find service. The silence remained until he returned and placed a pint pot of gin down on the rough wood of the bench that served as table.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;"> The newcomer lifted the pot up, and drank deeply, before saying ‘Thankin’ ye both kindly.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;"> They both nodded their own reply, and waited out the other’s pleasure. He drank half way down the pot, and then fumbled in his pockets, drawing out a pipe. A few moments of searching revealed no tobacco. Once again, the older man prompted the younger.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;"> ‘John, offer our friend here some o’yer baccy.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;"> The younger man sighed, and fished out his leather pouch. Faced with handing over the contents in a lump, or just handing over the pouch, he chose the later, resigned to never seeing it again. As he suspected, the man filled his pipe, tapped it, and pocketed the pouch. John attended to taking a long draught of his ale, in order to cool his temper.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;"> The visitor filled the air up between them with thick streams of smoke. It helped make them even more invisible, not that anyone else in the tavern was paying them the slightest attention. You didn’t come in here, if you required anyone to notice you. The silence held until the newcomer leaned forward, encouraging the other two to lean in to attend to his words.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;"> ‘She be near her time, like I said. Ahv spoked to the Mother, right, and she’s in agreement, for the right amount.’ He rubbed his fingers together for emphasis. ‘And she is happy to go somewhere special, since there’s two o’them.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;"> The older man leaned in closer. ‘Yer sure, o’ the two?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;"> ‘Aye. No bother aboot it. Ahv no seen her m’sel, mind, but the Mother says she’s seen twins afore, and it’s for sure.’ He sat back, content to have unloaded his information.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;"> The two Scots also sat back, in unison. The younger attempting to swallow down a smug grin. The older and more business hardened needed no effort to maintain his stone face, or the silence. After several moments of drinking, and contemplating the streams of smoke, the elder spoke.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;"> ‘Three.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;"> ‘Six’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;"> The silence returned again. The newcomer had slowed down his drinking, to make sure there was still some left to finish upon. There would be no more free drinks, he was sure.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;"> ‘Four.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;"> It was more than he’d expected, and it caught him on the hop. ‘There’s the Mother, she’ll need her share.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;"> ‘Four. And we pay the carriage to and fro, and hire the man.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;"> He was caught and he knew it. He nodded, and drained his pot, then slammed it down. ‘Right, four it is.’ He rose and shambled out of the tavern, the way he’d come, taking a second to adjust to the street’s light, before moving off to disappear in a growing fog.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;"> A fog that helped the two Scots mightily in their unseen and un-noted journey back to more affluent streets, the older man refusing to allow the younger to speak his excitement, whilst they were in public.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;"> Eliza Jennings shifted her bulk on the thin straw mattress, feeling the strain as she heaved her hips round to the other side, trying to gain some relief from the pain. The straw did little but hold the dirt to the wooden boards she rested on. Her thin bones were not grateful for the wood’s embrace. No matter how she turned, no matter how many times she turned, all she gained was a few moments’ relief before the bones started up their ache once more. This time, in response to her efforts, her swollen stomach started up a drum beat of protest.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 18px;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;"><span style="color: white;"></span></span></div>
<a name='more'></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"> ‘There, there, settle down now...’ she spoke absentmindedly to the babies inside her, smoothing her hand down over the taut skin that stretched over them. So thin at times, she could see a tiny hand, or footprint, pushed out from under. ‘There... there...’ she patted them down, willing them to settle.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;"> Speaking to the babies was automatic, she’d discovered, in the long weeks she’d spent lying upstairs in the attics. It wasn’t just that there wasn’t much opportunity for other chat, the other girls who’d run up with food and drink, and to take her chamber pot away, would idle sometimes, and other times not... depended if there were clients downstairs. She hadn’t wanted to attend to her stomach at all, and the frightening rate at which it had grown, causing her to move to hide upstairs very early on. She hadn’t wanted to... but feeling the baby, or as it then became obvious... babies... move around and jump and sometimes, she could swear, hiccup inside her... it had been natural to start to talk to them, to soothe them and hush them. Sometimes, when they were restless, she’d sing to them, softly, gently, so her voice didn’t carry. Sing the same songs her Mam had sung to her, as the tears flowed down her face and dropped onto her belly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;"> Eliza had had plenty of time to observe her ruin. To torment herself with self loathing and to dwell on the horror that she’d brought upon herself, and her babes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">Her babes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">She didn’t like to think of them as hers, she didn’t want them attached to her, or part of her, in that sense. She wanted them free; free of her shame, and her sin, and her desperation. She wanted better for them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">As her belly had started to grow, and it had become obvious to all, she’d been grateful she was here, in Ma Belcher’s house. Grateful that Ma had found her, and saved her from the streets, and had been grateful there were attics to hold her, and any other like her, until her time. Ma Belcher had been kind to her, and allowed her to work as long as she could, in order to pay for her confinement. She’d talked it through with her, and offered to try and find a home for the babes, outside London, outside in the country. Eliza had been, was, so grateful. She knew the babies would die if they were left as foundlings. In her own village, a woman had had twins, and one had died before she could draw air. Everyone had said it was for the best, as twins often meant both babies died at the breast soon after birth. The baby left had survived. When Eliza had realised she had two sets of limbs growing inside her, she’d been haunted by the dead baby, and haunted by her own stupidity at finding herself here. She’d even considered trying to go home, and ask for help. Surely her Da would let her back, to save the babies inside her?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">It was an orphan thought trying to find a home. She knew he was more likely to beat her to down for bringing shame on him. His new wife, married before the year was out on her own mother’s death, would hold her down to help him beat her harder. She’d done that once or twice as it was. Before she’d left, before she’d stolen out and made off to London where the streets were paved with gold.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">And it was, if shit was gold.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">Eliza turned her head back to the greasy stained pillow she was grateful she had, and cried more salt into its soiled fabric. It would not be long now, she knew, not long at all...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">It was only two days later that Ma Belcher came to her in the last throes of the night, and told her to dress, quickly. The business from down stairs had died, and the house was asleep. Eliza had walked the attic room for hours, whilst the drunken revelry had gone on, feeling restless and on edge. Wondering if the first pulse of labour was going to ripple across her body. She’d just settled to sleep when Ma came in, urging her to rise, to dress, to wash her face in cold water and to come, now!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">Ma had helped her lumber down the creaking steps, down down to the ground floor, with the sleeping house around them. Outside, the soil men were carrying away their final loads and the streets were as clear as they ever got. A cab awaited them, and Eliza took a moment to marvel that she was to enter one, before she and Ma Belcher pushed and pulled her bulk into the darkness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">The journey was short, and Ma was explaining in her ear the whole time. The family who wanted her babies were paying for her to deliver with a doctor, here in London, and then when she and the babies were safe, she’d travel on with them to the country estate. She’d be wet nurse to her own babes, just like Moses had been wet nursed by his mother in the bible. There was another wet nurse already there, awaiting. Wasn’t that good? Eliza was unsure about being delivered by a man midwife, and not a woman, would Ma Belcher stay with her? Ma Belcher silenced her with a look. Who was she to be asking for more, when she’d been given so much? And was she not the luckiest whore in London, for Ma Belcher to have found a decent family to take her bastards? To have them cleansed of sin in the baptism font, and give them a name? And she’d see them raised? What more did she want, gold?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">Eliza silenced her fears, and prayed instead that it was all true, and that she would deliver both babes, and she herself would be spared. She’d thought for the longest time it would be best if she died bearing them, rather than see them taken from her. Now, there was a chance she could both live and see them grow. She was in a cab after all, someone had paid for that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">Getting out of the cab in the frigid gray dawn was more effort than getting in, and Eliza was in great pain by the time she’d been ushered into the back door of big house. Concentrating so hard on not falling over and being beached upon the hard streets, she’d taken little notice of where she was. Ma Belcher led her into a small room, shown the way by a kindly gentleman with a warm Scottish accent. Eliza’s breath had been robbed, and her heart had trammelled as she’d seen the luxury of the surroundings. There was an iron bedstead with proper mattress and ticking, and clean cotton sheets. A small rug on the floor, and washstand beside, as well as curtains on the high windows. They were closed and the room was lit by candle light.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">‘Settle yourself in now lass, and I’ll send someone in to you, my assistant.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">Eliza gave Ma Belcher a fearful look, but the older women hushed her fears. All would be well, would it not?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">Eliza settled down on the soft clean mattress as the tears cascaded down. Ma Belcher patted her once on the shoulder, then departed. A young man came in and introduced himself as a doctor, and he was called John, and did she need any help getting undressed and into bed? Eliza was too afraid to meet his gaze, and shook her head violently, hoping he would retire. He did, leaving behind the soft cotton chemise that he’d held as he came in.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">Eliza had taken off her filthy and smelly clothes, which she’d not known were that filthy, or that smelly, until she’d stood in a clean room with clean clothing in her hands, and was almost too afraid to her take dirty smelly body into the bed. The lice had dropped from her body and her clothing, and were scrabbling on coverings as she watched. She pulled the chemise over her head, grateful it was full enough to cover her belly, and took her soiled garments and left them by the door. There was warm water in the jug that she poured into the washbasin, and she rubbed a damp cloth over her body as best she could under the protection of the chemise. The man was outside, as she could see by the candlelight under the door way. The sound of the bed creaking under her gave him permission to enter again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">She swallowed up her fears as the soft gentle caress of the bed cuddled her, and the proper mattress held up the weight of her hips and belly, in such a way that she was out of pain. She could smell hope in the clean cotton of the pillows that supported her head. The promise of salvation was in the faint trace of lavender that drifted off the bed linen. She had once washed sheets clean, and had spread them over the lavender bushes to dry in the warm sun. She would do so again, she was sure. So she endured.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">She endured the two doctors, Dr John and Dr Colin, examining her body. They both agreed she was near to birth. She endured the leaking from her breasts that stained and stuck to the clean chemise. She endured the cramping and pains from her groin and her lower back. She endured the feeling of being small and filthy and unworthy as the two gentlemen calmed her tears and attended to her. She ate the soup and bread brought to her, and drank the hot sweet tea that they gave her in abundance. She fell asleep, sated and warm and hopeful for her babes: her arms cupped around her belly, keeping them safe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">As she slept, in another room at the furthest end of the hall, Colin MacKenzie and John Hunter were finishing setting up the scene. William Smellie, whose house they were in, brought in all the lanterns he had, fully filled and trimmed It was important to make sure there would be enough light, if it took longer than they expected. A messenger had been dispatched to the artist who was to record the affair, telling him of the fortuitous arrival, and instructing him to come at once. William had made sure he would be free, by checking on his plans earlier that week, not mentioning why. The lamps full, the drawing area clear, he turned to the men laying out the instruments:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">‘I’ll be going upstairs, to rest. Call me down.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">‘Aye, that’ll be best.’ Colin Mackenzie replied, as he set up beakers of wax. ‘Knock the floor when he arrives.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">William nodded as he left. Colin glanced over at John.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">‘You ready?’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">‘Aye.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">‘Yer sure?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">John, who was pale and sweating, nodded violently.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">‘Fine. Just gee’us a minute then.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">Colin finished with the wax pellets, and set a flame under the cauldron that was to melt them. Satisfied, he wiped his hands down and checked his handwork. All was set.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">They entered the room where Eliza slept. Colin signalled John to the foot of the bed, where he grasped strong hold of her swollen ankles. Eliza stirred, and turned her head upwards, to be met by the strength of Colin’s hands bearing the pillow down on her face. She struggled, her muffled cries almost breaking free, her hands came up to try and wrestle his off her face. John kept his weight down on her ankles as Colin placed his all on her face. She wrenched under them, her body buckling and one ankle almost pulled free. She scratched at Colin’s forearms but found no purchase with her broken, bitten down nails. One final buck of her back, whereby the sheets fell from her body, her huge belly rising up in the air, desperate for release... and then her body fell back, still. Colin and John kept her there for another few moments until they were both satisfied she was dead. Colin went for the gurney as John slipped off the chemise and they moved her body on to it the way they have killed her, by her ankles and her head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">Wheeling her into the theatre, John saw the stomach bulge and move, as a tiny hand fought desperately for release. He reached for a scalpel from the gleaming tray.</span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;"><a href="http://thedreyfusstrilogy.blogspot.co.uk/2012/12/p.html">Chapter two HERE</a></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13479061759803882187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3608311425893904266.post-22920781735155758252012-08-17T18:04:00.001+01:002012-08-17T18:15:00.885+01:00My life simply is drama.. <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So Not What I've Been Doing</td></tr>
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<span style="color: white;">Amongst the emails lately there have been several people wanting to know when Lucifer's Stepdaughter will be out. Sorry folks, it's delayed, again.</span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white;">It's probably worth saying why. In the past 5 years, we've seen more drama and trauma than most people want to see in a life time. In the past 18 months alone, my husband has been carted off to hospital by emergency ambulance three times. In the past two months, I've been on two consecutive courses of anti-biotics to try and clear a strep throat that nearly had me in hospital.</span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white;">In the past week, the car failed it's MOT, the dvd player died, the washing machine threatened to, the oven stopped working properly and my hubby's wheelchair required major maintenance. I had to find a new second hand car that's an estate that takes my husband's wheelchair within three days. (I picked it up today.) Yesterday, we had plumbers stripping out the central heating to fix something upstairs, went car shopping and had appointments at the opticians.</span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white;">Tomorrow, I have the usual run of Saturday activities for my son. I actually use them for writing!</span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white;">All this, and run a family, be a director of a national charity, be a lactavist and manage to not do much housework, and spend too much time online wasting myself by having social contact. I have something like 5000 sheets of paper to print stuff onto, fold into packets and post out over the next few days for a conference I'm running for said charity.</span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white;">I'm also going away for three nights next week, to Pittenweem (yes, THAT Pittenweem) to have a short respite break with the family. Where I have to do all the care and all the packing and unpacking etc. So it's lovely, but a wee bit tiring.</span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white;">I have two more weeks work to do before Bedlam Maternity goes to the beta readers and then the editors.</span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white;">However.</span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white;">However.</span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white;">I have cleared my workload down in other areas. Hopefully, the drama is slowing to a stop. And I'm very actively writing on Lucifer's. Yesterday I did nearly 3000 words, on an important scene that opens up the whole first half of the book. (As the last third of the book is written, this is A Big Thing.)</span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white;">So, with a fair wind, no more drama, and no one interrupting me for Other Stuff (tm), Lucifer's will be finished by Christmas. Then ti's just beta reading and editing. </span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white;">So, soon people, soon. All good things come to those who wait & if ti's worth it, it's worth waiting for.</span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white;">:-)</span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white;">I'll stop now, and go back to work.</span><br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13479061759803882187noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3608311425893904266.post-82227057287030478412012-08-14T10:11:00.000+01:002012-08-14T10:11:02.575+01:00The Dreyfuss Sleeping Challenge<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="color: white;">Can you sleep with the book anywhere near your bed? Apparently not, for some... </span><br />
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<br /><br />The things that cheer up writers! I suppose, I better finish Lucifer's... tap tap tap tap....<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13479061759803882187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3608311425893904266.post-24576452449880912512012-08-13T19:08:00.000+01:002012-08-13T19:08:00.018+01:00Olympian Ideals<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="color: white;">Loads of people, including me, expected London 2012 to be a write off. After the superb opening by Danny Boyle, simply the best television show ever made... I felt differently.</span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white;">I felt we might have a chance, to show who we are.</span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white;">This made me wonder why I'd doubted it in the first place. The answer was quite simple: the Millennium Dome. Everything about the Dome project was a complete, utter, trite failure.</span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white;">Yet it was supposed to display the best of what it was to be British. And it was toe curling bad.</span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white;">I expected the Olympic Opening ceremony to be as bad as the Dome.</span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white;">Instead, it was superb. What was the difference? I suspect it's rather simple...</span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white;">The Dome - designed by committee to tick boxes on how to be really good as a Brit.</span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white;">The Olympic Opening ceremony - designed by a film maker with genius, vision and the guts to make people do it his way.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAN0khBut61YoNhNTdJaIw8M-c_2O8OScL7jnPwjd1CkZrgExZVcFmXXr1UweTyUcHD-riTungVpcORyDlSHdPUJ4AalnC0IYxZZjz2OXAYyq_i0h8XX0iClWVmWk_Si98XQi8xKV5pac/s1600/Olympic-Stadium-London-2012-Wallpaper-1920x1200.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="color: white;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAN0khBut61YoNhNTdJaIw8M-c_2O8OScL7jnPwjd1CkZrgExZVcFmXXr1UweTyUcHD-riTungVpcORyDlSHdPUJ4AalnC0IYxZZjz2OXAYyq_i0h8XX0iClWVmWk_Si98XQi8xKV5pac/s320/Olympic-Stadium-London-2012-Wallpaper-1920x1200.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<span style="color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white;">Risk factor on getting it wrong on the Dome? Low to minuscule. Done by political discussion, loads of tick boxes, loads of places to blame and cop out on individual responsibility.</span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white;">Risk factor on getting it wrong on the Olympics? Huge. Massive. End of career for a couple of decades. Financial ruin as an individual, years of being mocked. Probable move to other side of world until fuss dies down.</span><br />
<span style="color: white;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: white;">And yet... the individual with vision, wins through. warms the cockles of yer heart, don't it? </span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13479061759803882187noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3608311425893904266.post-90749044245036366422012-07-29T11:51:00.000+01:002012-08-13T19:15:42.479+01:00Sample Sunday July 29th<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsosbDFS-qaK4CHuNX567ljdPiaxYcZos7Zrd4iyBrecwAv4Db5FdNCmweBh__m8b7Bk1Bv_7nNm162qrdScLJVoBuQPhxRa0513WN1dX44lYT4aEd5K5fLylw4PzE7TFz4GMcEhw9ubU/s1600/Mary_-_Mystical_Rose__2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsosbDFS-qaK4CHuNX567ljdPiaxYcZos7Zrd4iyBrecwAv4Db5FdNCmweBh__m8b7Bk1Bv_7nNm162qrdScLJVoBuQPhxRa0513WN1dX44lYT4aEd5K5fLylw4PzE7TFz4GMcEhw9ubU/s320/Mary_-_Mystical_Rose__2.jpg" width="145" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 27px;">The resolution of the murder is neither closure nor ending.</span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">(<i>The Fool</i> is the first in a series of 22 stories. The second story, <i>The Magician</i>, should be published next year. You can read The Fool in its entirety in <i>Fragments</i>. )</span></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3608311425893904266.post-13847337465266046072012-07-22T11:28:00.000+01:002012-07-29T11:51:48.347+01:00Sample Sunday July 22nd<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguU0p_GkeggWpxjsXM25uQ2d8Rdb-RooS5xBHlt8zJJx_Tp33cbR9Qa_FJpZyc9jhSBIMYFL_80-htmMIww0rNJzE4dZX64LBq1k36rCHjfn6nSftVONu5WOfwyKWYz93UaFcgWIqXVjc/s1600/lamb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguU0p_GkeggWpxjsXM25uQ2d8Rdb-RooS5xBHlt8zJJx_Tp33cbR9Qa_FJpZyc9jhSBIMYFL_80-htmMIww0rNJzE4dZX64LBq1k36rCHjfn6nSftVONu5WOfwyKWYz93UaFcgWIqXVjc/s320/lamb.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">The story </span><span style="line-height: 18px;">unravels</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> to the core of the issues facing the murderer... </span></span></span></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;"> Too late!</span></span></div>
<span style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 18px;">If you want to finish this story, you'll find The Fool in <i>Fragments.</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 27px;"><a href="http://www.osierpublishing.co.uk/morgan-gallagher/fragments/" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Osier Publishing</span></a></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 27px;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 27px;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 27px;"><a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Fragments-ebook/dp/B0080QVY9M/ref=pd_rhf_gw_p_t_1" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Amazon UK</span></a></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 27px;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 27px;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Fragments-ebook/dp/B0080QVY9M/ref=sr_1_6?ie=UTF8&qid=1336414110&sr=8-6" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Amazon USA</span></a></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 27px;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 27px;"><a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/158889" target="_blank">Smashwords</a></span></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3608311425893904266.post-27845634287366317632012-07-08T12:36:00.000+01:002012-07-22T11:28:49.070+01:00Sample Sunday July 8th<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFQKlR5PeX6DUVSWLL_XcTfyh35fGqWELM2WUJYEQlYCTDI3to4Y9h08IfTLR8YlwtngSLgeRU6CaFirdTiyPjFm6stg-v_W5Zn6QYiqkJ67pgxxboO5WMiyKtTOfPLJeDEtDlf0PPESY/s1600/sket-ashley-walters-007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFQKlR5PeX6DUVSWLL_XcTfyh35fGqWELM2WUJYEQlYCTDI3to4Y9h08IfTLR8YlwtngSLgeRU6CaFirdTiyPjFm6stg-v_W5Zn6QYiqkJ67pgxxboO5WMiyKtTOfPLJeDEtDlf0PPESY/s320/sket-ashley-walters-007.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/magazine-13445487" target="_blank">Sket</a></td></tr>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 27px;">Girls join gangs to belong. The price of belonging can be very high.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 27px;">Maryam finishes her interview with Atkins and then she and Iqbal join forces to uncover the truth... </span></span></div>
<span style="color: white;">SNIP</span><br />
<span style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 18px;">If you want to finish this story, you'll find The Fool in <i>Fragments.</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 27px;"><a href="http://www.osierpublishing.co.uk/morgan-gallagher/fragments/" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Osier Publishing</span></a></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 27px;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 27px;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 27px;"><a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Fragments-ebook/dp/B0080QVY9M/ref=pd_rhf_gw_p_t_1" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Amazon UK</span></a></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 27px;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 27px;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Fragments-ebook/dp/B0080QVY9M/ref=sr_1_6?ie=UTF8&qid=1336414110&sr=8-6" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Amazon USA</span></a></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 27px;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 27px;"><a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/158889" target="_blank">Smashwords</a></span></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3608311425893904266.post-67255634018102490462012-06-30T22:54:00.001+01:002012-07-08T12:18:11.477+01:00Sample Sunday July 1st<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl5LgwPL_ja_uc51GHN0WglB4v8891A8yw6ALqoRpNZp4H_WfRC0yAiTCbmOw33g2t3XFhlPG-5f3UROH0A1tbKCCnvyvUwW_A-lM1J8xJ_xktPvYF8vCYJZW_V9QXcjNbMF6cBnK0k5Y/s1600/LutherRose5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl5LgwPL_ja_uc51GHN0WglB4v8891A8yw6ALqoRpNZp4H_WfRC0yAiTCbmOw33g2t3XFhlPG-5f3UROH0A1tbKCCnvyvUwW_A-lM1J8xJ_xktPvYF8vCYJZW_V9QXcjNbMF6cBnK0k5Y/s320/LutherRose5.jpg" width="313" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">Confessing your sins can be agony... but not usually for the Priest...</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: white; line-height: 18px;">Maryam interviews Wyn and finally gets to the meat of the matter...</span></span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">Maryam
went straight into it, knowing that with her, unlike with the police, Wyn had
no choice but to answer when he could.
It was when he could not answer she was interested in, but bided her
time.</span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: white; font-size: large;">GONE!</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: large; line-height: 18px;">If you want to finish this story, you'll find The Fool in <i>Fragments.</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 27px;"><a href="http://www.osierpublishing.co.uk/morgan-gallagher/fragments/" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Osier Publishing</span></a></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 27px;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 27px;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 27px;"><a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Fragments-ebook/dp/B0080QVY9M/ref=pd_rhf_gw_p_t_1" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Amazon UK</span></a></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 27px;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; line-height: 27px;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Fragments-ebook/dp/B0080QVY9M/ref=sr_1_6?ie=UTF8&qid=1336414110&sr=8-6" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Amazon USA</span></a></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 27px;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 27px;"><a href="http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/158889" target="_blank">Smashwords</a></span></span></div>
<br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0