WE ARE DELIGHTED TODAY, TO WELCOME OUR GUEST AUTHOR, GERALDINE STEVENS, WHO IS SHARING THE PROLOGUE AND EXCERPT FROM HER NOVEL, 'A TARNISHED LIFE' #RWRTeamBlog #ReadWriteRepeat
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A TARNISHED LIFE – sample chapters
PROLOGUE
The afternoon was drawing to a close and the last rays of sunlight forced their way into the basement through the thick curtain of cobwebs covering the tiny window. Most of the room remained in the shadows, but as if on stage, the spotlight fell on the tiny, emaciated figure curled up on the filthy mattress. Instinctively, to protect her eyes from its harsh beam, the woman raised a thin arm towards the dust motes swirling in the air as if she wished to join them in a macabre ballet.
*****
She did not know how long she had been dozing as the days and nights seemed to pass in a blur of greyness, shades of light, then greyness and finally darkness again. The only clock in the room had stopped God knows when and its hands were held fast in the silken threads of a spider’s domain. It was becoming chilly and the light was fading, gradually surrendering to the gloom which would pervade the room and hide the squalor until in turn it would succumb to blackness. If he were coming, it would be soon. He only came after dark, never before. She listened for the sound of a key grating in the lock, the sound of muffled footsteps approaching. She tried to recall when he had last been, was it yesterday or the day before? All she could remember was that she had screamed a string of abuse at him. As always, he had simply placed the frugal provisions - obscure plastic triangles, fruit and bottled water – on the table amidst the chaos. As was his wont, he gave no reaction to her outburst but merely looked at her in a way she couldn’t quite decipher: had she detected a hint of disgust? She decided that this time she would try a more conciliatory approach. Maybe then he would stay and talk to her for a while instead of turning on his heel and disappearing into the night the way he had come. She had no way of knowing how much time had passed but now the room was cloaked in darkness. All her resolve melted away in the heat of her anger: it was obvious he wasn’t coming.
She dragged herself to her feet. A wave of nausea overcame her as she stumbled towards the wall groping for the light switch. A naked bulb caked in grime made a feeble attempt to shed some light on her surroundings to little avail – perhaps it was just as well. On pulling the plastic triangles apart, the smell of mouldy sandwiches containing Goodness knows what assailed her nostrils although she had little sense of smell. Feeling sick and giddy she settled for an overripe banana and found what she had really been looking for. She took a generous swig of the clear liquid and almost gagged as the fire hit her stomach. Clutching the bottle to her chest lest she let it drop, hesitant steps led her back to her haven. She lay down and pulled the soiled blanket up over herself and waited for fitful sleep to claim her.
When she awoke sometime later, the room was shrouded in a cold, clammy blackness that made her shiver. Trapped in the bleakness of her existence, a wave of loneliness swept over her. But it hadn’t always been like this ...
EMMA
Daylight was fading fast and would soon surrender to nightfall. Surely, he would put in an appearance soon. Loneliness forced itself on her and swept away her reveries. She wouldn’t go for him this time she told herself. That way he might stay for a while and tell her about his day. It wasn’t long before she heard his key grating in the lock and footsteps approaching in the hall. She braced herself in readiness to capture his mood.
‘Hi there. I thought you weren’t coming after all.’ No, she hadn’t meant it to sound like that, petulant and reproachful. ‘It’s just that I can never go out and see anyone.’
His eyes darkened and his jaw tightened. ‘Why do you suppose I lock all the doors? And where on earth would you go anyway?’ Then his expression softened somewhat and he said gruffly, ‘I have brought you a thermos of hot soup, some bread and cheese, fruit, oh and some chocolate as well as the usual stuff. That should tide you over.’ It was the usual stuff that interested her most.
After plenty of tantrums and wheedling, he had had to give way on that. He approached with the intention of helping her to her feet. As he came closer, his nose wrinkled in disgust. ‘Bloody hell, you’ve wet yourself again.’ Whatever his former intentions had been, he pulled her roughly to her feet and dragged her towards the tiny bathroom. Ignoring her protests, he turned on the taps and began to strip her of her clothing.
She wept with humiliation and struggled to free herself from his grasp. To no avail, he was much too strong for her. ‘How dare you? You rotten beast!’ She sank her teeth into his wrist but still he didn’t loosen his grip and simply slapped her hard on her backside like a naughty child. All the fight went out of her and she submitted meekly to being washed from head to toe.
Then he wrapped her in a towel and said, ‘I’ll find you something to wear.’
With that he took himself off and started rummaging around looking for suitable garments. While she stood there waiting for him to return, she caught a glimpse of herself in the cracked, fly-spotted mirror. She hardly recognised the woman staring back at her. The once thick, silky auburn curls had been replaced by wispy strands streaked with grey. The result of years of dyeing and neglect. Gone was the soft, peachy glow of her skin and a sallow, wrinkled face was reflected in the mirror. Her once full, enticing lips were now drawn in a thin line. The large, hazel eyes were still the same – well, perhaps more sunken and not quite as bright. Dark smudges like bruises circled them and it was difficult to say how old she really was. The beginning of a bitter, little smile played at the corners of her mouth. She was thirty-nine and had been for ages. As soon as she had reached what she considered to be an acceptable age limit, she had never budged from there. His return turned her attention to the effort of getting dressed. Although she would never admit it, she felt better for his ministrations. In an attempt to win him over, she sat down to a cup of soup in the hope he would keep her company for a bit. Nothing doing.
‘I’ll be off then.’
‘Yeah, sod off’, she mouthed to his retreating back. She almost giggled at her own daring: she would never have used that kind of language before Sam Doyle. Left to her own devices again, she downed the rest of her soup and ate some chocolate and turned eagerly to the usual stuff.
EMMA visits her mother, who suffers from Alzheimer, in the care home. Learning that all her life she has been living a lie pushes her further towards the abyss of alcoholism
Rough hands dragged her screaming from the room, ‘You knew! You knew all this time and you never told me! How could you?’ She was only aware of sounds and frozen images: the sound of her hand connecting with her sister’s face; Edie’s eyes wide open in disbelief, a quivering hand covering her cheek where she had been slapped.
*****
What should have been a perfectly normal visit turned into a nightmare. At the last minute, Ray had decided to keep her company – thank Goodness, as it turned out – and they had arranged to pick Edie up at the station. On walking into the common room, they were met by the usual muttering and whimpering of elderly inmates with vapid expressions, rocking back and forth in their chairs. Frustrated sons and daughters were making a valiant attempt to establish communication. Others were more fortunate because their loved ones were ‘having a good day’ and responded to their efforts. As soon as she registered her mother’s bemused look, she knew that it was probably one of her off days. She smiled at them as they approached, albeit in a vague kind of way, and for a moment she hoped she had been mistaken. Ray reached her chair first and, like a character out of a Jane Austen novel, raised her hand to his lips, ‘My respects, Mrs Cole. How are you today if I may ask?’ This was met by delighted, girlish giggling. Emma wasn’t sure if her mother could remember his name, but she certainly recognised the gallant gesture with which he had charmed her from the word go. Edie went next. She kissed the top of mum’s head and was rewarded by a peck on the cheek. Then it was her turn. ‘Hi there. What have you been up to?
A shadow of doubt clouded her mother’s face, ‘Who are you? Do I know you?’ For a split second they stood there dumbfounded.
‘Emma, Mum. Your daughter Emma.’
The uncertainty drained from her face and was replaced by a wistful expression, ‘Ah, yes. Emma. My sister’s little girl. Violet died all those years ago. I still miss her. She loved you to bits. She couldn’t have given us a greater gift.’
Emma felt faint. Edie had made a strange, strangled noise and turned as white as a sheet. It was then that she had lashed out.
RAY
Thankful that the rain had eased up and accompanied by MacDuff, he made his way cautiously towards the main house. In the agitated call to the station the man had reported hearing shouts and screams accompanied by loud barking. He seemed to think that the Doyles had surprised a poacher, or worse still, a burglar. They had just reached the front steps when the door opened and the master of the house came out with the same belligerent moue he remembered from his previous dealings with the man.
‘Oh, it’s you, Constable...’
‘Humpfreys, sir. Sergeant Raymond Humpfreys now, sir.’ - there was a certain satisfaction in saying that. ‘Mr MacDuff here heard a lot of commotion and thought there was cause for concern.’
‘Poachers, sir. When I heard the dog kicking up a ruckus, I could have sworn it were poachers.’
Doyle took another step towards them. His face was red and it was obvious he had been drinking. His wife remained standing in the doorway. She looked none too sober herself and there was an angry, pink welt on her pale face. The mention of poachers seemed to give him the opening he was seeking.
‘Yes, it was probably a poacher my wife saw. We were just about to let the dog out for the night when my wife caught sight of an intruder. She screamed and in her fright banged into the door.’ Banged into your fist, more like!
‘Mrs Doyle?’ She nodded in silent acquiescence.
‘Which way did he go?’
In response she lifted an arm indicating a random spot in the darkness beyond, and let it fall again, but not before he saw her wince. MacDuff was behind him and so he felt rather than saw the burly Scot stiffen. A glance in his direction was confirmation enough. His face was set in hard lines and he was tormenting the tartan cap he held in his gnarled hands. Neither of them believed the story.
‘You don’t mind if I search the grounds then, sir?’
‘Not at all. Take MacDuff and the dog with you.’
They set off on what they all knew was a fruitless search. As soon as they were out of earshot, MacDuff gave vent to his anger. ‘Bullshit! If they had let the dog out and there was a poacher, we would be taking him to hospital lying on his belly with the dog still hanging onto his arse, you mark my words.’
Ray knew better than to comment, but inside he was seething with rage. He had never much liked the bastard, but his loathing of wife-beaters and child molesters knew no bounds. Back at the station he filled out his report with a heavy heart. It was a faithful account of the night’s events but a load of lies nonetheless. The hurt and shock in her eyes haunted him for days to come, but unless she came forward and reported him, there was nothing the police could do.
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Amazon link is : https://amzn.eu/d/8L4yXtQ
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BIO
Geraldine Stevens was born and grew up in Essex, but has lived most of her life abroad. Eager to see something of the world, at the age of eighteen she moved to Germany, where she took a degree at Hamburg University. She continued her career in teaching in Italy. A love of storytelling and a creative writing course spurred her to put pen to paper and write her first novel, 'A Tarnished Life'.
Geraldine Stevens has three grown-up sons and now lives in Sardinia with her Italian husband. She is an Honorary Member of Trinity College London.
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COMING SOON: On Sunday, 13th September, we are delighted to welcome our guest author, Tuna Griffith, who is sharing an excerpt from he novel, 'Wednesday Mourning'.
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