Taking a Chance , livre ebook

Troubador Publishing Ltd - M. Francis Lesley

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120 pages

English

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Taking a Chance traces the relationship between Imogen and her mother, Ada, culminating in Ada's death when Imogen is fifty years old. Imogen's reminiscences start with her discovery of Ada's death, revealing her quirky coping philosophy as she does so. Incredibly intelligent but maybe 'too nice', a shock discovery will have devastating consequences for her good nature...Ada, with a head chock-full of romantic illusions, needs to lose a husband in order to facilitate her dreams. Claiming that his death was a tragic accident, she is convicted of manslaughter and sentenced to 5 years' imprisonment. Only her son, Robin, is convinced that she is a murderer - Imogen vehemently disagrees, at least at the beginning. It is only much later, after fear on behalf of her sick mother has taken hold, that she realises her mistake.On the night before Ada's death, Ada confesses devastating new information that destroys their relationship and has the power to tear the whole family apart. In a shocked rage, Imogen fails to return her mother's medication to the locked medicine cabinet as usual...

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Publié par	Troubador Publishing Ltd
Date de parution	21 juin 2018
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781785897016
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	1 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0200€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

Copyright © 2018 Lesley M Francis

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events
and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination
or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons,
living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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ISBN 978 1785897 016

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Matador is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd
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Contents
Overture

Act One
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty

Act Two
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Intermezzo

Act Three
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen

Act Four
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Finale

Notes
Overture
Trust her to die happy! Just lying there in bed – all tranquil – not a care in the world – smiling sweetly too like she’s taking a refreshing nap. Listening to the heavenly choir no doubt! And another thing, that’s a real smile… Well, anyway, it’s not the usual allure-free rictus she pins on – the one that’s about as soothing as a ‘Jolly Roger’ suddenly hoisted on the only lifeboat responding to your Mayday call.
You’ll have to excuse me. Not the moment for levity, is it? But along the way I seem to have developed an overwhelming urge to joke in the face of shock or fear. Shouting back at the devil I call it – giving as good as I get. That kinda thing. Softens the blow a tad I find.
Now let’s have a closer look-see. Her eyes are closed, mouth slightly open. Yes – all soft, eager surrender. And trace of exultation too? Yeah, definitely… more than a trace at that. Well, she never did have any shame.
Always thought she’d outlive us all – go on for ever like she was immortal! Well, how wrong can you be? Stone cold dead – and no return of any kind.
Me? I’m doing nothing but gaze at her – and what’s more, she can’t get mad at me for doing it. So now I won’t end up saying the wrong thing as usual; upset the apple cart, let slip the dogs of war, catch the tiger by its tail. It’s the same old tiger all right – but with a different tale this time. Can’t catch me!
Seriously though, is it because her face is immobile? I mean, years ago I was used to seeing her looking beautiful, but never quite like this! What’s the word here? Transcendental? Yeah, that’s it! That’s the one. Makes me feel, well, reverential – like I’m in the presence something almost holy. It’s also like being held in the unreality of one of those soothing dream sequences when you don‘t particularly want to wake up. Know what I mean?
Mind you, try to recall relaxing in the presence of this particular celestial being, or even approaching it, without fear-restricted breathing and that primal urge to flee, then I run smack into a hard place. So no, apart from a few treasured occasions, that just about sums up my normal reaction.
Normal? Is “normal” a word I should be looking for here? Normal and Ada? I don’t think so! And I should know – none better. Spent a lifetime trying to anticipate her delinquent moves, guess what horror of embarrassment lay in ambush – waiting to spring on the unwary. And I always was – unwary, I mean – ’spite of the warnings of bitter experience.
Well, that’s all over now. That’s why, for the very first time unchecked, I’m at liberty to study my mother’s face.
A nd I’ll tell you something else – I’m just plain hopping mad at her! Why was it always so easy for her to manipulate me? I wouldn’t say I was particularly dim, but she’s managed it right to the end. Always had to have her own way – and big stupid me – ever ready to accommodate!
Well, I didn’t ought to stand here all day gaping at her. Time to face reality I guess.
Naa. Slow down an itty-bit. Who wants reality just yet? Why not ignore it a bit longer, eh? After all, she spent her whole life doing just that, so why shouldn’t I – just this once? I’m in no rush for reality anyway. Not me! Only too well acquainted with the pain that particular thug brings to a party.
Seems like hours since I let myself in here. What’s the time? Nope, it‘s only just past eight. Five minutes – that‘s all it’s taken!
This is first of my twice-daily visits – thankless fixtures in my life when I attempt to bring order into the chaos that was hers. Was? My God! That’s going to take some getting used to… although it’s funny how easy it slips off the tongue… Hmm, yes, well, least said about that, the better.
Bring order to her chaos did I say? What a joke! What a sad, sick joke! She’d always recreate havoc soon as I left – probably out of spite. Don’t really know. Never going to now. Yeah, but I can make an educated guess can’t I?
Not that I care very much anyway – never have. To grab a cliché off the peg, she might have been a monster, but she was my monster. Makes all the difference, doesn’t it? Well, doesn’t it? Mother and daughter. Only survivors of our little family. Never had any sisters – brothers long dead – father too. So, with perversity that defies all logic, I’ve clung to her. Blood of my blood, bone of my bone.
Yes, I know! Could have left when I was young. Should have done really, you know, embraced my own fate – left her to… whatever. Instead I became a workhorse. Always carrying the weight of her life – in tandem with my own where possible – but always my life for hers. And I wouldn’t be minding so much if it was just my life she messed up.
All our birthdays, anniversaries, high days, holidays – waiting for the usual frantic phone call – mixture of alarm, pathos and arrogant command. ‘My electricity has all gone out! I can’t even make a cup of tea! You’ll have to come and sort it out for me! I can do absolutely nothing… don‘t even know where to start.’
‘Calm down, Mother – I expect it’s something quite simple. We’ll be with you as soon as possible. We’re having a party. It’s Geoff’s birthday… he’s forty. We’ve got friends round.’
‘What does he want with birthday parties at his age? In any case, how on earth can it be something simple? Everything’s off, I say! Just get here. And don’t tell me to calm down either! Who do you think you’re talking to?’
Blow out the candles, my darling, no point wishing for anything different. No point upsetting myself either now – it’s too late for that – and really, I can’t say I’ve any lasting regrets. Couldn’t have lived with myself if I’d… No – no! I’d do it all again. But different! Huh! Wouldn’t we all?
Right – that’s it! Dream-time over! I’m getting angry – and it’s just so much wasted emotion. Why’s her death such a shock anyway? Not as though it’s unexpected. She’s been poorly for ages. No need to go all of a wotsit. There must be something to do round here – there always is! Let’s have a deco.
Blimey – it looks odd. Tidy!
Few stray cups to clear and wash up. That’s it. Put everything in it‘s place. Hang the wiping-up cloth on its hook. Carpet to vacuum? Mmm? Maybe not… there’s no mess – not even round her chair! So – just her tablets to put away then. No need to lock the medicine cupboard this time. Right, that’s yer lot!
Now. Let’s have a look at her. What can we do? Mmm. Tuck in the bedding, plump up the pillows – make her more comfy. Brush back those wisps of hair from her face. Brrr! My God, she’s dead all right! Her make-up’s on the dressing table – just where she left it. She’d hate to be seen without it. S’pose she ought to look her best for the doctor. Don’t fancy touching her again, though! Besides, I’m not the artist she was.
CHICKEN!
Oh, all right then! Do my best. Bit of lippy – perhaps some blush. Eye shadow? Ugh! Cold. Still, got to make her drop-dead gorgeous – if you‘ll pardon the expression. I mean to say, can’t let her down now, can I? After all, it’s her last act! Time to take a bow, Mother.
Now. What’s the time? Just gone half past. Got calls to make.
‘Hello, this is Mrs Phillips’ daughter – could you ask Dr Chapman to come round when he has a moment. I can’t wake her up. Thanks.’
‘Hello, Mandy, it’s Imogen – I’m with Mother. Won’t be in today I’m afraid – tell Maggie for me. Thanks.’
Surgery and office – both know my situation. There are no questions.
Oh, well, may as well make myself comfy while I wait. Mmm, lov-er-ly soft chair! My