How would you like to read some of my book? I have decided to publish an excerpt for you today! Remember, if you love it – you can grab a copy, either book or digital media from Amazon – link at the end!
The lack of curtains on the dark stained wooden framed window gave no protection from the first shards of the winter morning sunlight, streaming through the dirty, time aged panes, warming but bright flooding onto Bea’s face, rousing her from her slumber. She stretched somewhat uncomfortably on the make shift bed, a mattress tossed hurriedly on the newly laid bare floorboards of the still strange room. Boxes surrounded the bed, a few scattered pieces of furniture were strewn around looking equally dishevelled.
Coming to slightly, still in that wonderful fantasy place where awake meets asleep, she rolled her tiny underweight body slightly backwards seeking the warmth of Matt’s form, waiting for his arms to catch her close. All at once the pain and angst hit her again, steamroller fashion, as it had done every morning for the past six months, the realisation tumbling into her mind that Matt was of course not there, nor was he ever going to be again.
It seemed to be the early mornings that hurt the most at the moment. Some days she swore she could smell him, so convinced she could feel the dip in the mattress of another body, even feel his solid tanned arms as they caught her up to him. The memories of her slight frame enveloped against his larger muscular frame, in that wonderful time before sleep becomes wake. An almost ethereal moment, such a treasured memory of the ten or so years they had slept together night after night.
A single tear rolled down over the freckle bridge that formed a path over the porcelain skin of her nose, and landed in the mass of her back length ginger curls. More tears followed as they always did, forming soggy trails around her ears. She would have given anything to travel back in time, grab hold of him, hold him tight never letting go, that gorgeous man with his blonde floppy hair and cheeky blue eyes, preventing him leaving for work as he had done that fateful morning.
July 7th 2005, the day that her world, along with the worlds of so many other people was turned upside down never to be the same again, the day the London underground was bombed. Matt along with 51 others lost his life, and countless other lives were changed forever in the blink of an eye. The chaos and carnage of 7/7 obliterated her life in just a few short hours. Derailing her life, setting her on a path she had not chosen, a path she did not like one bit. That calendar date would haunt her forever and she wondered for the millionth time why this had to happen to her, how fate could deal such a cruel blow. She believed she was a good person, she had never deliberately harmed anyone. What had she done to deserve this horrific blow.
She lay there in the crisp new white sheets and uncovered duvet, in this strange new room, painfully lost in memories wishing she could wake up from this nightmare and find Matt waiting, yet knowing it would never be.
That fateful day it was as if a black shroud had descended around Bea and for quite sometime she could not see her way out and to be honest didn’t care if she ever saw light again. How could life have been so cruel. Matt had been just weeks away from working out his notice at the advertising company, their dream life was finally taking shape.
They had just signed the purchase papers on a chapel, ripe for conversion, nestled in a sleepy village in Devon, the builders were booked, the plans into the local authority. Matt’s uncle had passed away and having no children of his own had left them everything, such a generous and unexpected gift.
It was enough to turn their once impossible dream into a reality, and an immense excitement was growing. On that morning, he kissed her goodbye as he always did, and pausing at the door of their London home, his blue eyes meeting her green eyes sparkling with the excitement of life, he said ‘Happy birthday my darling girl, six weeks Bea, our dream starts for real, just me, you and them, perfect! We will grab a meal tonight, and celebrate.’
Bea had lent against the grubby white of the door frame watching until he was long gone from sight, smiling in contentment and excitement before returning to the emails and calls of friends and family wishing her happy birthday. Just an hour later the nightmare began as she heard the news and began the frantic search for her husband.
The plan for Devon was Matt would run a consultancy from home, training it up to London when needed, and Bea could easily continue her illustration work via the internet, allowing them the freedom to spend valuable time with their 7 year old twins Josh and Ellie.
The plan was now empty and meaningless. Life had lost all excitement, dreams were shattered on the ground. It was late afternoon when the call came from a hospital staff member confirming her worst fears. Matt’s body had been found, identification checked, 100% certain, they were truly sorry for her loss. Hope was dead.
For the first few weeks Bea stumbled around as if in perpetual darkness, days merging to nights, nights to days. Nothing held meaning, lost without Matt she simply functioned on autopilot, constantly crying as she prepared meals, washed and cleaned, she was inconsolable and weak. Her weight plummeted. Those once sparkling green eyes now sunken and dull.
Family members shelved their own grief to try and get contact with her, but no one could break into her bubble of loss. Things looked very bleak.
The funeral had been a blur, she remembered very little from the day apart from various people taking turns to hold her on her feet. Her mother dressed her like a child that morning, she had chosen to wear a black dress and a long black coat. She was an outstanding and fragile beauty.
Standing unaided was simply not happening, should those around her forget and let go of her she slid to the ground as if her bones were missing. She spent a lot of time that day sobbing on the floor, the hearts of those that loved her and Matt breaking at this embodiment of grief before them. The children thankfully had been shielded from this display of grief safely ensconced with their great aunt for the day with the promise of sweets, DVD’s and other treats, too young to need to witness a funeral, especially that of their father.
In the weeks before they laid Matt to rest, Bea’s mother, Louise had flown in from her Parisian apartment, scooping her distressed daughter up in her arms as she had done many times when Bea was a child and had fallen in the street and scraped a knee. Holding her and rocking her as she howled and sobbed. Stroking her hair, making soothing noises.
However this was so much more painful that that scraped knee, and Louise’s own heart was torn in two for her daughters loss, she knew no way of making it any easier. But thankfully a mothers arms hold such sanctuary, and Bea gratefully allowed her to play mother hen, tending house, cooking meals and keeping the twins going. At the end of the day, when the door was closed, the curtains drawn, the world shut out and her grandchildren were safely tucked up she would retire to her room to allow her grieving daughter to fall apart, so hoping for some small sight of healing.
Tears, so many tears, pain, unbelievable pain, endlessly thumbing the pages of photograph albums. Images of happy smiley people became a blur as the saline tears fell endlessly onto the pages below. She would stare at the lounge door willing him to walk through, yet he never did. She knew he never would.
For a while all seemed lost, and the family began to discuss hospitals and medication, with heavy hearts and much sadness as they did not want that for her, but it seemed that she could not recover.
Thankfully though, time is a curious beast, Bea did indeed begin to heal and rejoin the world of the living. Her pain remained raw, but by Christmas Bea knew what she had to do. Driving her mother to the airport she confided her plans, and her Louise knew, as mothers do, that her daughter was going to be just fine and it was now safe for her to leave her to find her wings once more.
The chapel would be her tribute to her beloved husband.
The children were no longer thriving at the busy city school, their own grief leaving them flat and unmotivated; Matt had been so vehement in his wish to have them brought up in the green of Devon where he too had spent his childhood. His parents were now living just over the border in Somerset and would be without doubt delighted that she was bringing their grandchildren home; her mum was to remain in France but could be there within a day if she was needed. She would take her family, and although they were now three not four, they were still very much a family and they would create a home, maybe a future, as she reluctantly accepted that Matt was never coming home again.
Want more? Buy the book here…. http://www.amazon.co.uk/Spirit-Seven-1-Anna-Everett/dp/1512097047/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1444139808&sr=8-1&keywords=anna+everett
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© Anna Everett, 2015. Anna Everett – Author and Motivational Speaker