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Troubador Publishing Ltd - Christopher Santos

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163 pages

English

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Why does Cindy, who is a beautiful, educated seventeen year-old girl from a good, middle-class background, suddenly, on precipitation of a broken promise, make what seems to be a random, frightening, vicious and unsubstantiated accusation?Family secrets and hidden tensions underline psychological and social disturbances as we try to understand the motives, denials and lies that perpetuate the trauma the family is plunged into. It becomes evident that there is far more to the accusation than is immediately apparent. Although Cindy is competent and convincing, further incidents unfold which cast doubt as to her honesty. When the truth is finally revealed, Cindy then finds her resolve tested to the absolute limit. Years later, the answer to the unasked question - did Cindy say it all an hour too soon? - is finally resolved.

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Publié par	Troubador Publishing Ltd
Date de parution	28 mai 2017
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781848768901
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0050€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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An Hour Too Soon?
An Hour Too Soon?
CHRISTOPHER SANTOS
Copyright © 2010 Christopher Santos
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.
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ISBN 978 1848768 901
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
For more information regarding the author visit
www.christophersantos.net
For the real Cindy
CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
CHAPTER ONE
Sunday, 13 th March 1994
The high-pitched shrill reverberated around the stillness of the bedroom. Seventeen-year-old Cindy Howard wakened abruptly, grasping onto consciousness before reaching across to her bedside table to deaden the clock alarm. She lay back and contemplated her day ahead whilst listening to the gentle snoring emanating from the cat that slept contentedly on the bedroom chair. Smothering a long yawn with her thin right hand, Cindy pushed back the sheets and got out of her double bed. She briefly touched the small silver crucifix on the wall before drawing the curtains open and padding in bare feet to her en-suite bathroom.
Finally, dressed and with hair dryer in hand she sat on the side of her bed in front of the full length wall mirror gently brushing and methodically drying her long, fair hair.
Satisfied with her appearance she whispered goodbye to the cat and quietly let herself out onto the shadowy landing. She paused momentarily outside her parents’ bedroom door. It was 7a.m. and all was quiet. Downstairs in the kitchen Cindy made herself her usual breakfast of fresh orange juice and dry brown toast.
Dressed in clean denim jeans tucked into equally clean green Wellington boots, a thick tartan shirt, which she had purloined from her father’s wardrobe, and a large, sloppy woollen sweater her grandma had knitted for her, Cindy prepared to leave the house. Glancing at her watch she picked up her duffel bag and crept silently from the hall, making sure not to waken her parents as she gently shut the front door behind her.
With decisive movements she walked down the driveway, opened the black wrought iron gates with their gold painted spikes and stepped out onto the pavement, remembering her father’s continuous reminders to close the gate behind her. She turned and her eyes lingered on the closed curtains of her parents’ bedroom window. Her face suddenly became expressionless and momentarily it lost its youthful beauty.
Turning, she saw the old Land Rover waiting for her at the end of the cul-de-sac. She smiled, walked briskly towards it and opened the passenger door.
“Morning!” Cindy said joyfully to the elderly driver as she swiftly climbed in. Their journey involved little conversation, for Cindy, or Cinders as her father affectionately called her, was happy to sit back and visualise her day. As the Land Rover trundled along the deserted streets Cindy glanced into the passenger door mirror and peered at her reflection. She saw her face staring back at her and gave a self-conscious smile before turning to look out of the windscreen. Ever since she was a young girl, Cindy had frequently been told that she was beautiful and had often been compared to the fair haired, blue eyed Sindy doll that she had been named after.
It had been one Saturday afternoon when Cindy had seen the advert in the local free weekend newspaper. Volunteers Needed To Help Out At Cat Sanctuary . She had phoned immediately and offered her services for she had always admired cats and their philosophy towards life. The decision to work at the sanctuary had a double implication, for Cindy wanted to turn her talent for art into a skill for drawing and painting animals. The work would be rewarding and would allow her to get out of the house on a Sunday. There had been a slight disagreement with her parents when she had suggested Sunday work. Her mother, a church-going Catholic, had only agreed on extraction of a promise that she would continue to attend Mass at least once a month. Her father, a non-Catholic, had said yes without making any fuss. “But do you think you will fit in?” Pamela, the grey haired, middle-aged supervisor of the cat sanctuary, had asked the hauntingly attractive girl with the nervous smile and impractically long fingernails. Pamela had immediately recognised the dark maroon blazer, maroon kilt and cream coloured shirt as belonging to Saint Margaret’s, the prestigious local independent girls’ school. Cindy in turn had seen the scepticism in Pamela’s eyes and gave an open smile that made her blue-green eyes sparkle.
“I’ll tie my hair back and wear jeans and boots,” Cindy had offered in a quiet well-modulated tone.
“And what about those long nails?” Pamela had asked.
It was a vanity that Cindy knew she would find hard to get rid of. Her hands were thin and artistic and she was very proud of her well-manicured nails. “I’ll compromise,” she had said reluctantly. Initially she had cut her nails down to an acceptable length but now they were as long as ever.
Pamela had agreed a month’s trial period, but it was evident to her from the first weekend that Cindy and the cats were compatible.
One wet Sunday morning, Cindy had opened the cardboard flaps of a box that had been placed anonymously on the office doorstep. Peering in she saw an emaciated kitten whose unblinking eyes stared up at her. It gave a plaintive meow and without hesitation Cindy reached into the box, scooped the kitten up and hugged it. She felt its sadness as the small pink mouth opened to give out another heart-rending meow. Although the kitten was blind it was the first cat Cindy had immediately felt an affinity with. She took the kitten home and called her Pandora.
Cindy’s parents had been concerned about the arrival of a kitten into their neat and orderly house. Pandora’s disability had caused Cindy’s mother, Susan, concern but it was her father, Grant, who had pacified her into accepting it. Cindy had reassured them that the kitten was her responsibility, so Pandora in her sightless world had moved in.
Cindy’s weekend work at the sanctuary had become a regular part of her life. Here she found a much needed peace within herself. Her tenacity to stick at the job had surprised her parents, but not Pamela.
The Land Rover turned down the pot-holed lane. Cindy got out and pushed open the old rusty gate, allowing the Land Rover to move forward. She followed on foot to the small red brick building that housed the office, store, small veterinary surgery, reception and viewing area. The cats were all housed in kennels to the rear of the building. It was a charitable institution and depended heavily on donations and legacies.
Cindy’s day had been tiring but rewarding. It was now 4.30 p.m. and she made her way to the small cramped staff room to collect her coat and duffel bag. As she pushed open the door she heard raucous laughter and hesitated before entering, knowing that the conversation would be sexually based.
Barbara and Gail, both in their early twenties and well entrenched with boyfriends, seemed to Cindy to be always discussing their sexual experiences. On numerous occasions Cindy had seen Gail being picked up after work by her boyfriend. Gail seemed quite content to don a helmet and sit behind him astride his old motorbike.
“Not for me!” Barbara had said to her with a disdainful sniff. “I like mine to have cars, preferably with a large comfortable back seat.” And she had winked knowingly at Cindy.
Under the pretext of gathering her things together Cindy could not help but overhear that Gail had been seeing an older man whilst still living with her boyfriend.
“Playing away, eh?” Barbara said with a laugh. Knowing Cindy was listening she turned to her and asked if she had a boyfriend yet.
Cindy merely smiled, not wishing to be drawn on the subject, but Gail continued, “I wouldn’t mind getting a grip of the guy who picks you up after work!” The joke, if you could call it that, was in poor taste as they were referring to Cindy’s father.
Cindy wanted to remain aloof from the conversation as she placed her portable CD Player into her bag. It wasn’t that Cindy disliked Barbara and Gail, for they were both good with the animals, it was just that they were not people with whom she had anything in common. She couldn’t understand their sense of humour nor their constant wish to talk about sex. What irritated Cindy more was the knowledge that they thought she took herself far too seriously and, like now, often liked to tease her with crude innuendo.
Back in the main office Barbara and Gail said their goodbyes to Pamela and made their way to the door. At that mome