M.E. A Day in My Life

I got the idea to write a day in my life with M.E. after watching a young man in his 20s called Barry John Evans on youtube, a video in which he'd filmed a typical day for himself with this illness. Like most people with an invisible illness he looked well, but looks are very deceiving. Here goes, this is my day.

7.30 a.m. Wake to the phone alarm. I don't feel refreshed. My sleep is poor. I wake every two hours but I need to wake up at 7.30 because it takes me three hours to function. If I sleep any later I can kiss goodbye to the day. Dark winter mornings are a nightmare.

Once I've got enough energy I wash and dry my hair. I had a short style two years ago so that I could wash it in the morning. Previously when it was a layered bob I washed it in the evening in the bath but it was too exhausting. After washing my hair I need to get back into bed and just sit for an hour until enough energy comes back to get up and dressed. I watch people going to school and work through the bedroom window and how I envy them.

9 a.m. Downstairs for breakfast, porridge done in the microwave. I'd never have the energy to do anything like cook bacon. If I've got any washing I put it in to be doing whilst I sit. It takes an hour before there is enough energy to go back upstairs and clean my teeth. I mostly go upstairs on all fours, it seems to spread the energy out.

10.30 a.m. Downstairs with the laptop in a recliner armchair to do my tweets and retweet others who do the same for me, to promote my books. Check emails etc. Do any computer work. Put latest part of my book onto word if I'm happy with it. If I've got any washing I'll put it out before I start.

Midday. Tea and toast plus banana, well they're supposed to give you energy aren't they but I can't say that I've noticed that they do. 12 noon is the magic hour. If I'm going to have a reasonable day, e.g. if I'm going to be able to visit a friend for a couple of hours I'll usually have an idea if I'll be able to by then. If I can I will be wiped out the following day and all I do is sit on their settee and chat.

If I'm not having a reasonable day but a chair day as I call them I'll maybe do some writing, that's as long as I've got the energy to think and to pick up a pen. Stupid as it seems I often haven't got the energy to do either. As I've said in my author profile writing has saved my sanity through the long hours I spend alone. I can escape into a fictional world where there is health, energy, normal life, and live in the shapes of my characters.

4.30-5 p.m. Tea time. Usually something that comes from Sainsbury's/Bird's Eye straight out of the freezer into the microwave, or a sandwich. I don't have the energy to cook a meal - or shop! Online shopping is a Godsend!

5.30-6 p.m. Bath, to be in comfy pjs to watch TV in the evening.

6.30-7 p.m. Downstairs after bath. Completely wiped out. I don't know if it's the heat of the water having a relaxing effect on the blood vessels or the effect of gravity on the body after the water has supported it but I am exhausted after a bath yet feel better for being clean.

10 p.m. Time for bed. I can be falling asleep watching TV or drinking my cup of tea in bed but as soon as I lie down my brain goes into overdrive and it can take  me ages to get to sleep, tired but wired I've heard it described as. I then wake every two hours, sometimes able to go off again, sometimes not. Wake the next day feeling groggy and unrefreshed.

In his video Barry John said his limbs always felt heavy and on the day after he'd been out for an hour he felt as though an elephant was sitting on him. I can totally relate to those statements. My limbs feel like lead weights. He also mentions brain fog, which again I can relate to. That brings mental heaviness which won't be shaken off and causes lack of energy - and the headaches! They are like no headache I ever had before I was ill. I have a variety of different ones. There are the ones which feel like the side of my skull has been smashed in with a hammer, then there are the ones that knock out my central nervous system. They turn my brain and nervous system to mush and leave me so weak that I can barely raise my fingers. Reading a book or looking at the computer screen are out of the question. These headaches can last anything from a couple of days to several weeks leaving me housebound apart from an odd day's respite. On days like those I have no chance of even getting to the local shop - I can't walk there even on a reasonable day although it is only just up the road, I need to go in the car. My fifteen year old Toyota Starlet is my legs.

I don't have good days. That would imply having days where I felt well ALL DAY! I NEVER  feel well,only occasionally slightly less ill. During an exceptional week I might have two days where I can visit family and friends for a couple of hours in the afternoon or evening but the days either side and in between are either resting or recuperating, I can't go out on two consecutive days. Mornings are a complete write off EVERY day, my energy doesn't build until the magic hour and then only occasionally. I can never guarantee to be anywhere at any given time and I have so many cancelled arrangements, when before I was ill if I said I'd be there at I o'clock I'd be there at 1 o'clock. I am lucky in that I have understanding family and friends. I sink into manic depression though if I can't get to visit my son and his family. I don't see any point in being alive if I can't spend time with people I love.

This illness struck when I was 40 in 1995 so I had at least had half a life before it was totally destroyed by M.E. My heart goes out to young people with it who have been robbed of so much of their lives. I'd enjoyed my babies although they were only 14 and 11 years old when I became ill and I was then divorced, so it was a struggle to bring them up. This struggle is covered in my memoir BETTER OR DEAD.

Better or Dead

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There is a lot of research going on worldwide and here in the UK though M.E. Research U.K. If anyone would like to leave a donation or organise a fundraising event please visit their website http://www.meresearch.org.uk/ it would be greatly appreciated by the research scientists and sufferers alike, thank you.

Their postal address is ME Research UK, The Gateway, North Methven Street, Perth PH1 5PP 

I fervently hope that in the not too distant future there will be a breakthrough where a cause will be found and subsequently a treatment to correct what is malfunctioning and preventing energy production, which I think is the root problem. If there is not enough energy for the body to function it has a negative effect on every organ as you are pulling on energy that isn't there. You can work through a degree of pain, and I have done in the past but if there is no energy you can't do anything. I can't imagine what it would be like to have my life back but I'm eternally hopeful that one day I just might!

If you would like to see Barry John's video here is the link.
youtu.be/TIvc_1SCKhI 

The Best Christmas Present Ever

Here's a humorous excerpt from my memoir BETTER OR DEAD, sequel to Shadow Across the Sun. I bet none of you guys reading my post can beat this for a Christmas present for your wives or girlfriends!

If it gives you a giggle and you think you'd like to read the book I'd be so grateful for a review on its Amazon page.

Many thanks.

A week later, after Elliot had made his stage debut as a king in the Nativity and walked proudly down the middle of the hall carrying his gift, it was Christmas Eve. Barry and I – both sober – put the presents out, the boys’ filling the settee, ours on our respective chairs; I couldn’t resist a little glance over at the presents for me – not too closely, I didn’t want to spoil the surprise, but one in particular intrigued me. It was a small parcel; I touched it, it felt like a box and I felt a tremor of excitement. He’d bought me jewellery. At last! I was always telling him I’d love a ring – or earrings even, but preferably a ring. The only rings he’d ever bought me had been my wedding and engagement rings and that had been twelve years ago. He’d splashed out on the most expensive engagement ring we’d seen giving me the mistaken impression that he was generous but had somewhat taken the sparkle off it by saying it was an investment; not the most romantic of comments to your new fiancée. Now at last he’d got me another. I wondered if it was an eternity ring. I’d always wanted one but he hadn’t been very forthcoming when I’d suggested it. Perhaps he’d wanted to surprise me. I’d really like to have chosen it myself but then I’m sure it would be in keeping with my other two rings. I didn’t finger the present too much; I wanted to wait until morning.

I think I was more excited than the boys that Christmas in anticipation of what was waiting for me in the small, enigmatic parcel. Usually my Christmas was seeing the look of delight on Matt and Elliot’s faces, and it was of course that year, but I was dying to get round to mine. However I didn’t want to rush it, I wanted to enjoy it, to savour the moment so I watched Barry open his presents then he said, “Go on lovie, open yours.”

He wanted to see my reaction when I looked at the ring and I smiled a Mona Lisa smile as I opened all of the others and left that one until last. There it sat, the only one left in its wrapping. I felt Barry’s eyes on me as I picked it up. Part of me wanted to rip the paper off to reveal its hidden secrets but the other part wanted to hold onto the mystery and surprise for a few seconds more. I peeled off the Sellotape, pulled back the paper to expose…. a box of After Eight mints? A tiny box at that, not even full sized, it only contained five!

“Well I always said I wouldn’t buy you chocolates lovie so you don’t get fat,” said Barry totally oblivious to my look of incredulous disappointment.

“I thought… I thought… you’d got me a ring.”

“Ha ha! Ha ha! Ha ha!” He all but rolled on the floor in hysterics.

I could feel tears of dismay and loss for the gift I’d never have amassing in my throat but I wouldn’t give them their freedom and reveal my innermost feelings. “I really wanted a ring,” I said in a muted tone.

“Oh well never mind. Come on, let’s get the dinner on.”

Better or Dead

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The Onset of M.E

Memoirs aren't for everyone, some people like them, some don't. I haven't led an outstanding life, more one where my well laid plans went wrong. That's not glass half empty, that's fact. I'm sure many people will relate to this. In 1995, just after my 40th birthday my plans went wrong in spectacular fashion. This excerpt from my memoir BETTER OR DEAD, sequel to Shadow Across the Sun, is how it all started.

The first part of the book may seem  little slow to fellow M.E/C.F.S sufferers who want to compare their experiences to mine but I hope you'll bear with me through my 'normal' life until this post below which as the title says was the onset of M.E. It perhaps will help indicate why we grieve for our lives as they were before the illness struck.

If you can identify with it and subsequently download the book, I'd be so grateful for a review on the book's Amazon page.

Many thanks.

It was sometime after the Easter holidays that I started to feel weird. I couldn’t put my finger on it at first. I’d just feel a bit disorientated. It panicked me a little. I wondered if I’d got epilepsy coming on. What if I had? I wouldn’t be able to drive, then how would I get to work?

At the end of April Barry had come to see the boys one Sunday and I went to the local shop while they were together. It is only about a five minute walk up the bank to the top of the estate and I’d done it a million times and thought nothing of it. That day however, when I got to the top of the bank I was gasping for breath, I was exhausted and almost had to stop and rest. ‘My God,’ I thought, ‘what if I’ve got a heart problem and can’t work?’ I completed my errand but when I got back home I was so exhausted I had to sit and rest for half an hour. I’d never known anything like it.

After a few days I thought no more of it and thought I must have had an off day. Then it happened again. I’d gone to pick Elliot up from school after work – I can even remember what I was wearing, an animal print blouse – and I’d had to park at the bottom of the bank where the school was situated. I had the overwhelming feeling that I couldn’t walk up that bank, but of course I had to to fetch Elliot. When I reached the playground I was worn out and glad to stand and rest while I waited for him. We were due to walk up to the Salvation Army citadel in town that evening for St Michael’s children to sing. How on earth would I manage to do that if I’d struggled to walk from the car? I did manage; the weak attack passed.

The next two attacks came over half term. The first one was when I was doing some gardening. My back became suddenly very weak and I had to go in and sit down. The second was when I was peeling carrots for Sunday lunch. Sunday was usually a busy day. Both boys played football. Matt went with his friend and I took Elliot to lads and dads but fortunately not that day. It was the same as before, my back became suddenly weak and I went and sat on a dining chair by the table. Matt came in and saw me and asked what was wrong.

“I don’t know,” I said, “I was just peeling the veg for lunch and I went really weak.” I looked into his concerned young face. “Oh Matt what if I’m ill and can’t work? How will we manage?”

He put a reassuring arm round my shoulders. “You’ll be all right. Perhaps you just needed a sit down.”

I seemed to be needing to sit down a lot!

I went to the doctors and saw Dr Collins and told him of the weak attacks and the weakness in my back. I told him that it scared me and made me panic. He signed me off sick for a week and put anxiety state on the sick note. Naïvely I thought that after a week I’d be fine.

At first I was once I returned to work but I’d get strange feelings like a sudden urge to lie down on the settee, a feeling of what a long way it was to Kerry’s room when previously I’d skipped up the stairs. One evening I had the most excruciating headache and had to lie on the settee. Rob and Leah had come round to play games but I couldn’t join in, they played upstairs; Emily and Cassie had also come round.

“Play quietly,” she told the boys as Cassie rushed up the stairs to join them, “your mum’s got a headache.”

The most frightening thing happened in Asda. Our Thursday evening routine was, I’d come home from work, pick the boys up and we’d go to Asda in Wolstanton to do the shopping, where we’d have our tea and I’d buy the boys a magazine. We collected the trolley, got inside and the boys shot off to look at the magazines. As I entered the greengrocery section my back went weak and instead of enjoying selecting what I’d buy I just threw the items in the trolley. When I got to the shampoo aisle I picked a bottle up, turned it over to read the back and suddenly all the words blurred into one. I squinted, I blinked but all of the letters became jumbled up and didn’t make words. I panicked, big time! I’d got to drive home, for some way down the A500, a dual carriageway and a fast road and I couldn’t see straight. I rushed round the store throwing everything on my list into the trolley then rounded up the boys.

“Come on we’ll have to be quick, I don’t feel very well,” I told them.

They looked at me with puzzled expressions but put their magazines into the trolley and we headed off to the checkouts and the café. As they chose what they wanted to eat I just wanted to get out. I’ve learned since that that was my fight or flight reflex kicking in and at that moment it was telling me that I had to get us home, but I couldn’t disappoint the boys, they liked their Thursday tea in Asda.

I ordered a jacket potato and they had beans and turkey dinosaurs or something and we found a table. I bolted part of my potato but I couldn’t sit still to eat it, every instinct was screaming GO, GO, whilst by contrast they chatted leisurely. Luckily we were sitting near a fan in the ceiling and I had to go and stand under it to cool off. They seemed to be eating in slow motion, as though they had all the time in the world, which normally they would have but not that evening.

“Don’t talk, eat,” I commanded, wafting my hands as if shovelling food into their mouths from my position under the cool air fan.

They looked at me as though I’d lost the plot but I just repeated, “Eat!”

After what seemed like an eternity they finished their meal and I rushed them at breakneck speed to the car. I unlocked it, they got in, settling down to read their magazines, Matt in the front, Elliot in the back and I threw the shopping into the boot and raced to return the trolley, then raced back to the car as though I was in an Olympic track event and everything depended on my speed. My hands were shaking as I put the key in the ignition and pulled off the car park. I had to go for petrol then my next challenge arose, the other traffic on the road.

“Don’t read that magazine,” I ordered Matt, “you’ll have to look for traffic with me.”

He looked a bit bewildered – I think they both thought I’d taken leave of my senses – but he did as I asked and I felt better for his back up. By the time we reached home I was shaking from head to toe and once we’d unloaded the shopping both boys could enjoy their magazines. When it was all put away I could at last relax myself – but what ever was wrong with me?

I went back to the doctors and saw a different doctor, a young female doctor, new to the practice. I told her of the episode in Asda, of my back going weak then my eyes going weak and the words on the shampoo bottle running into one.

She almost sneered at me. “Well there’s nothing to connect your back and your eyes,” she said with contempt and I came away with still no explanation as to what was wrong with me.

If you wish to make a donation to M.E. research or to organise a fundraising event please visit 

http://www.meresearch.org.uk/ 
Postal address: ME Research UK, The Gateway, North Methven Street, Perth PH1 5PP 

Better or Dead

paperback available from http://www.feedaread.com/books/Better-or-Dead-9781784075842.aspx 

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Tartan Skirts and Triangles

The following is an excerpt from my memoir, #1 bestseller Shadow Across the Sun, set in the Staffordshire Moorlands area of Stoke-on-Trent UK, at the time soon after I'd started school aged five. If you enjoy it and subsequently download the book my sincere thanks and I hope you enjoy that too. I'd be so grateful for a review on my amazon page if you do.

Out now, the sequel

Better or Dead

Now it’s Friday, the end of the week and the pouring rain has washed away the ice and snow. The skies are grey, the wind is howling all around the buildings and the rain is battering on the windows so we can’t go out to play this dinnertime, that’s why we’re sitting in the classroom where they have hot dinners now that all the tables have been cleared away. I think it’s a pity they can’t clear away the smell too; custard and cabbage all mixed together, yuk!

I stay at school for my dinner now, but I have dry dinners. That means that Mum makes me sandwiches of lemon cheese, which is my favourite. She calls them pieces, but I think sandwiches sounds much better – it sounds posh and pieces doesn’t. Why on earth they call them dry dinners I don’t know, because lemon cheese isn’t dry, it’s sticky, and some people bring tomatoes and they are wet, but anyway, we are sitting in the room that is Class 3.

I’m wearing my favourite red tartan skirt and red cardy. I like red; it makes me feel happy. Some of the junior children are in with us and they are sitting at the back because they are very big. The room is full so we’ve all got to sit still.

Oh goody, one of the teachers is bringing the musical instruments in so it looks like we might get to play something. I don’t like this teacher; it isn’t Mrs Wardle, this one has a pointed nose and glasses sitting on the end of it. Her whole face is pointed and she reminds me of Jack Frost.

She’s giving the instruments to us younger children sitting at the front and oh, I’d really love to play the triangle. I love that magical instrument with its shining, three sided silver shape and the little silver stick to tap it with.

‘Ting’ it goes. It sounds like something that fairies would dance to in the woods. ‘Ting. Ting.’

I put up my hand, reaching it as high as I can until I feel I could almost touch the ceiling.
She gives it to a girl on the front row and I put my hand down, feeling like a party balloon when you’ve let all the air out. I put it up again quickly as she holds up the tambourine. It isn’t dainty like the triangle but it has a good sound. I like the jingle jangling metal circles in the side, and the slap slapping noise it makes when you hit it. Besides, girls use them in dance troupes, and I want to be in a dance troupe when I’m older. I love dancing. One teacher, Mrs Oakley, gives us ballet and tap lessons once a week, and I wish it were everyday.

I wave my hand at the Jack Frost teacher so that she’ll give me the tambourine.

“Here you are,” she says and I’m thrilled. She’s giving it to me, but no. She leans over and gives it to Brad behind me. My balloon shrinks even more.
“You can have these.” She gives me two blue sticks. “Tap them together and keep time.”

What on earth am I supposed to do with these? What kind of instrument is two sticks clacked together? They’re the most boring objects on the music stand. I don’t want these! I give her my dumb insolence look but she pays me no attention; she’s busy giving out the cymbals. I’m not happy and start to fidget. The wooden floorboards are scratchy on the bare tops of my legs.

“Ow!” I’ve squealed it before I’ve realised I’ve opened my mouth.

“What’s the matter with you?” asks Jack Frost. She wants to get to the piano so she can plonk on it and we can all bang and crash our instruments and the older children can sing.

“Nothing Miss. Ow!” It’s there again, an awful stabbing pain in my bum cheek every time I move. “I think I’ve sat on something Miss.”

“Come here and let me see.”

I don’t really want her looking at my bottom, but I know she’ll have to. As I go out to the front every eye in the room is on me.

“Bend over,” says Jack Frost unkindly.

I really don’t want to but I have to and my face must be as red as my cardy and tartan skirt. She pulls at my arm and drags me across her knee, face down, and flings my red tartan skirt up over my back, showing my white knickers to all the children. Everyone is straining to get a better look.

“Ooh you’ve got a great big splinter in your bottom!” She bellows it like the bull in the field we walk past in the lane and her voice bounces off the walls.

The big children on the back row have necks like giraffes as they stretch them so that they don’t miss anything. They haven’t enjoyed a wet dinnertime so much in a long time.

“Hold still while I pull it out.”

I’m thinking that Jack Frost is enjoying this. She tugs at the splinter making me yell and the other children get fidgety and excited and lean up even further to get a better view. They can’t wait to see the splinter. I don’t know which cheeks are redder, my bum cheeks or those on my face.

“There!” Jack gives a smile that says she’s pleased with herself and holds the splinter high for all the children to see, just as though it’s some silver cup she’s won. There are gasps of shock as Jack puts my skirt down hiding my knickers, but as everyone’s seen them now it doesn’t matter anymore. My face still feels hot as I go back to where I was sitting, and this time I look for splinters sticking up before I pull my skirt right underneath me and sit carefully. I’ll never be able to wear my tartan skirt or play the clacking sticks again without remembering a sore bottom and a red face.

Shadow Across the Sun
paperback http://www.feedaread.com/books/Shadow-Across-the-Sun-9781781760499.aspx

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The Independent Author Network ( #IAN1 )

As indie authors we are always looking for ways to promote our work, that's why we're tweeting like sparrows every spare minute we get. Therefore I think it's good for everyone if we share any new opportunities we learn of.

Lots of you will have heard of The Independent Author Network (IAN) from various different sources. I came across it through one of H.E. Joyce's @HEJoyce1 tweets with the link to his IAN page. I was very impressed with the way it was presented and after a tweet to Mr Joyce to see if he was happy with the service I decided to pay my £16 and sign up. I'm glad that I did. So far, one day after my page went live, I've already had some sales, which pleases me greatly!

It was a very easy process to add all my links then to list the books and copy and paste the book cover blurb from wherever it was saved. After it had been looked at by IAN and screened for its content they emailed and asked for jpegs of the book covers and an avatar. A very simple process.

The following day I received an email to say that my page was live and I could hardly wait to look at it. When I did I was really pleased with its presentation. Have a look and see what you think. Maybe you'd like to try it yourself!

http://www.independentauthornetwork.com/sherrie-lowe.html

A Lapse of Sanity

Willow's Dip Book One

The ambience of the woods was all around her, serene and calming. She drank it in, absorbing its cool, fresh quality. She walked on and came to a large clearing. There, nestled cosily among the trees, was an ornate, anachronistic gypsy caravan. Parked alongside it, in complete contrast, was an old, red, Ford van. The caravan was beautiful. Dome shaped, red and gold, with wooden steps leading to a door in the front; a door which was closed. A thin wisp of grey smoke twirled upward from a chimney in its roof, signifying habitation, yet there seemed no sign of life. Curiosity began to gnaw at her but she fought it, remembering what had happened last time she’d given in to it. She turned and continued her walk, deeper into the woods.

There were more bramble bushes and she managed to find enough ripe berries to fill a pie. Peering into the carrier bag, she wondered whether she ought to pick any more. Maybe just a few, then she’d head home. She’d come to the edge of the woods, bordering onto some fields, when she noticed a bushy plant bearing shiny, black, cherry-sized berries. They looked so attractive she wanted to reach out and touch them, but she wouldn’t because she didn’t know what they were. However, it didn’t stop her stooping down to get a closer look.

“You don’t want to be touching those, they’re highly poisonous.”

The voice behind her made her jump out of her skin. She leapt to her feet and whirled round to face the most attractive man she’d ever seen. A shock of unruly black hair framed a sensitive face with dark brown eyes like bottomless pools, that seemed to bore right into her. He put her in mind of her favourite Hollywood star. At his side was a black dog of uncertain parentage, and a young fox.

“I.. I.. wasn’t,” she stammered, feeling a need to apologise for her actions. “I was just taking a closer look because they looked so tempting.”

“Don’t ever be tempted by them,” advised the mellow voiced stranger. “That’s deadly nightshade.”

Even the name had an evil ring to it and she shuddered involuntarily. Of course she’d heard of it, but never come across it before.

“I wasn’t going to touch them because I didn’t know what they were and you can’t be too careful can you. I’ve just been picking blackberries. Would you like one?” She opened the bag and held it out. (Why on earth was she offering this man the fruits of her labours?)

“Thanks.” The stranger took one and popped it in his mouth. A hint of a smile touched the firm line of his lips. “So I wasn’t saving you from a very nasty death then?”

She shook her head returning the smile. “’Fraid not.”

He extended a hand to her. “Nathaniel O’Keefe.”

She took it. “Chloe Hetherington.”

Her heart was beating like the wings of a trapped and frightened bird. The cool touch of his fingers sent a current of electricity right along her arm and up into her brain, triggering a chemical reaction over which she had no control. Why on earth was this man having this effect on her? She felt like an adolescent schoolgirl in his company.

“Well I.. I.. must be getting back,” she muttered. “I only came for the blackberries and I’ve been out longer than I intended.”

She moved on and he fell into step beside her, his animals gamboling on ahead.

“I haven’t seen you in the woods before.”

“No,” she answered. “I don’t usually come this far. I got a bit carried away today. Everywhere looked so beautiful with the approach of autumn.”

“Just like the poem.”

Chloe’s head whipped round to look straight into his eyes. His reference to the poem touched a chord deep within her soul; a feeling she’d never shared with Adam. “Do you like poetry?”

“Yes, I must confess to a weakness for it.”

“Me too.” She shook herself mentally to break the spell. “Do you visit the woods often?”

“I live here.”

“You live here?” She looked back into his face. “Oh, the gypsy caravan.”

“You’ve seen my humble abode then?”

She nodded. “It’s very beautiful.”

“Belonged to my grandmother. She brought six children up in it.”

“Goodness!”

“Hmm, hard to imagine isn’t it.”

“It is rather. How long have you been living here?”

“Couple of years. I move around.”

She cast a sidelong glance at him from under her lashes. He really was very handsome. He had a presence that was disturbing, magnetic. His clothes; jeans and checked shirt, had a careworn appearance. She could picture him in a neckerchief like a true gypsy but it was absent. Instead, round his neck, he wore an amulet. He was the complete antithesis of Adam.

What was she thinking? Why was she suddenly comparing this stranger to her husband whom she adored and had never so much as looked at another man since she’d met him? Why that breathless, heady feeling after a chance meeting with a good looking stranger?

She couldn’t understand the power of her feelings. A part of her, the sane part, wanted to dash home, get away from him, back to normality, but the other part, the decadent part, wanted to run back with him to that beautiful caravan and have him make mad, passionate love to her.

How could she! Her cheeks blushed scarlet at the unbidden thoughts that had invaded her mind. The sane part won.

“I must go,” she said hastily, trying to hide the confusion that was fuddling her brain, and ran on, praying that he wouldn’t follow her.

“Jet. Tag. Come on.”

She heard him call the animals but not daring to turn, she ran on her way. Her heart had wings. It fluttered and danced and she felt very young and carefree. His face filled her mind, her senses. Nathaniel O’Keefe. No matter how hard she tried to force his image away, it remained, stubbornly, refusing to be erased.

A Lapse of Sanity

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If you enjoyed that excerpt please read on to the following post for a taster of the sequel.

After the Solstice

The Sequel

Willow's Dip Book Two

            “Hi darling! Guess who?”

“Ja… er, Gervais!”

“Darling, you remembered!”

“Of course! You’ll always be Jamie to me but I know you prefer to be known as Gervais.”

“You’re so sweet. Listen, what are you doing?”

“What now?”

“Yes.”

“Nothing. Why?”

“I was going to come and see you.”

“What now? Are you here? Aren’t you in London?”

“Yes, yes and no. I’ll tell you all about it when I come over darling.”

“All right then. I’ll dig out a bottle of wine. What time will you be?”

About eight OK?”

“Yes, that’ll give me time to put the boys in bed.”

“Fine babes, and don’t bother about the wine, I’ll get one from the offie on my way. See you later ducky.”

“Right then. Look forward to it.”

What was Gervais doing back here? Everything had been going so well for him in London. He’d been working in a top class hairdressing salon, had a swish apartment and a social life to match. Something must be wrong for him to have given it all up. Maybe he was just here visiting his mother. He hadn’t said he was here permanently, that was just the conclusion she’d jumped to, possibly due to the tone of his voice when he’d said, ‘I’ll tell you all about it later.’

On the dot of eight the doorbell rang. Just like Gervais, always punctual. She went to open it and there he was, flamboyant as ever: frilly shirt cuffs, tight, black leather trousers, just reaching the black stilettos, heavily made up eyes as artistically done as ever, and the peroxided, spiky hair.

“Darling!” He held his arms wide and she went into them, returning his hug.

“You look really well, make up’s perfect as usual, better than mine.

“Well you have to make an effort don’t you ducky.”

She looked past him to the sleek, black Porsche parked on the drive. “Snazzy motor. When did you get that?”

“My little extravagance darling. Got it last year. It is a beauty isn’t it. I’ll take you for a spin one day, show you what it can do. Now then,” he waved the bottle of wine at her, “where’s the corkscrew?”

Fifteen minutes later they were ensconced in the lounge, slippers and stilettos kicked off, feet tucked up on the settee. The log fire crackled and the wine flowed. Chloe looked across at her friend. It’d been years since she’d seen him; her wedding day was the last time, and he hadn’t changed at all. Well, perhaps he was a bit more flamboyant. She wanted to know all his news.

“So, is this just a holiday, or are you back for good?”

He looked suddenly serious. “Probably for good. It’s Mum. She’s been diagnosed with breast cancer.”

“Oh Gervais I’m so sorry.”

“Mmm. It came as a shock. She’s always been so fit and healthy. She’s got to go in for surgery to remove the lump. They hope to just do a lumpectomy as opposed to a full mastectomy, but if they can’t, well….” He raised his shoulders and twisted his mouth. “Then she’ll have to have chemo, so she’ll need someone to look after her, and since Dad died, that means me.”

Chloe just stopped herself from saying, ‘Will you go back to London after…’ but chose different words just in time. After all, breast cancer wasn’t the death sentence it used to be. Lots of women survived, or at least today’s treatment bought them several more years. “Were you gutted to leave London?”

He shook his head looking subdued. “No, the time had come. I suppose I’m running away. Broken relationship.”

“You poor thing. You are having a rough time aren’t you. Anything you want to talk about?”

He shrugged. “Nothing much to say. He found someone else.”

After the Solstice

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