Shifting Horizons

by Sheena Billett

a large cup of strong coffee

Betty anxiously studied the horizon and wondered what might be, tantalisingly, just out of sight. She hoped it would be more of the same: Wednesday, hair dresser; Friday, choir; Sunday, church. She couldn’t imagine anything different any time soon. Everything was flat calm just as it had been for the last three years, since Reg had angrily and resentfully disappeared over his own horizon.

If you asked Betty, she would say that the horizon was probably about two weeks away. She knew there were landmarks beyond, as yet out of sight, such as Christmas and the autumn concert with her choir. She turned the page on her calendar and October was reassuringly blank. Betty didn’t want any storm clouds gathering to disrupt her quiet, ordered life.

The long years with Reg had been turbulent and noisy, but Betty had clung on to the wreckage of her marriage because she couldn’t imagine any alternative life.

Today was Wednesday – hairdresser day. Betty put on her raincoat. It had a hood and she didn’t want her newly done hair to get wet on the way home. It was looking like rain. She decided against an umbrella – too much to carry, and picking up her bag and keys, Betty set off for the bus stop.

Much to her consternation, she spotted a hooded youth already ensconced on the bench seat. Betty slowed her pace, wondering for a moment if she should take a detour past the shops and catch the next bus once the hooded person had gone, but that would make her late for her appointment with Carol and she didn’t want to be fobbed off on one of the other girls. In any case, Betty prided herself on being punctual.

She arrived at the bus stop and stood as far away from the hoodie as possible. They were engrossed on their phone – no doubt looking at a load of rubbish, Betty primly thought to herself.

A crash made her jump, and she turned as the girl swore. Betty turned to see her bend with some difficulty to try and pick the phone up. She could tell it was a girl now, from her voice and delicate features. As she bent forwards her hoodie fell back to reveal a bald head. Embarrassed, Betty looked away.

‘Do you think you could pick my phone up for me? Sorry to bother you.’

Reluctantly, Betty turned and looked at the tears welling in the girl’s eyes. She retrieved the mobile and handed it to its owner.

‘Thank you so much. I know it’s pathetic I can’t even pick up my own phone!’

And much to Betty’s alarm the girl started to cry. She fidgeted uncertainly, wishing the bus would come.

‘It’s this bloody cancer! The chemo has made my fingers numb, so I keep dropping things and it hurts when I bend. I feel like a bloody old woman.  

Betty decided not to be offended.

The girl’s hand flew to her mouth – ‘Oh I’m so sorry – I didn’t mean...’

‘It’s okay.’ Betty sat down beside her.

‘I’m Jessie.’

‘Betty,’ said Betty. For some reason she had abandoned the usual ‘Mrs Brown.’

She looked more carefully at Jessie, noting the shadows under her hazel eyes, which were now red from crying. ‘Where are you going?’ asked Betty with genuine curiosity. For some reason she needed to know more about this sad girl.

‘Off to my next round of chemo. I’m not really supposed to go on the bus, especially not on the way home, but there’s no choice, and anyway, I usually get home before the aftereffects kick in. Only a few more sessions after this and then I’m in the clear, hopefully.’

‘Well you’re not going on the bus today, Jessie,’ Betty said firmly, all thoughts of the hair appointment forgotten. ‘Can you use your phone to call a taxi?’

Jessie lifted her head and met Betty’s gaze. ‘Are you for real?’

‘Indeed, I am.’

‘Okay, well I have the Uber app, not that I’ve ever used it much.’

‘Can you call a taxi to pick us up here?’

Jessie worked on her phone, intelligent concentration evident in her focused gaze. ‘Okay, so I need to put some bank details in for the payment – it’s all done online with Uber.

Betty felt a twinge of panic at giving her card details to the internet, but it felt important to help this girl, and she berated herself for her earlier thoughts that all young people in hoodies were bad. Didn’t everyone wear them these days?

Jessie tapped in the details from Betty’s card and sat back. ‘They’ll be here in two minutes. Look, you can see where he is.’

Jessie handed Betty the phone, and she held it gingerly, afraid that the picture would disappear from the screen. She saw the flashing icon a few streets from where they were, moving steadily towards them. ‘Goodness me. Whatever next?’

***

Jessie looked no further than the end of each day. Today was no different. She got up, drank some strong coffee from the Nespresso machine, checked her head was smoothly shaved, and fixed the now-familiar make-up. Extensive research about chemotherapy and its side effects was paying off.

She usually frequented bus stops as that’s where lonely old people were often to be found. And often, they were not poor. Today, she had hit the jackpot with Betty – actually harvesting her bank details. But who would have thought that the old woman would actually want to come to the hospital with her? Jessie did her best to shake Betty off, but she had been surprisingly tenacious.

When they arrived at the hospital, Betty insisted on booking the driver to take Jessie home after her treatment, and Jessie had to think on her feet to come up with a fake address.

She heaved a sigh of relief as she waved from the door of the oncology department, as Betty at last turned and walked away.

Jessie fished the phone out of her pocket and retrieved Betty’s bank card details with swift efficiency. She probably had about 24 hours before the fraud would be spotted and reported. Old people didn’t usually do online banking, but the bank would alert Betty by phone before the day was out, and Betty was probably the sort of person who still answered calls on her landline.

At the library, Jessie was soon hard at work on the computer. Amazon was her one-stop shop for most things, and today she was shopping for books for her Open University course, and maybe she would treat herself to some new clothes, and a different wig. It was time for a new hairstyle.

The most important and expensive thing she left until last – paying this term’s tuition fees. Jessie held her breath as she typed in the card details – she had made sure to get Betty’s address, saying it was necessary for the Uber account. She was reassured by the confident Thank-you for your Payment message. The bank would certainly be alerted by such a large payment – and Jessie shut down the computer.

***

Betty never made it to the hairdresser. Having left Jessie at the hospital, she had got a bus home. Now she was sitting in the conservatory with a cup of tea, thinking about Jessie and feeling increasingly anxious. She got out an old A-Z and looked up the address Jessie had given the Uber driver – and as she suspected, it didn’t exist.

A phone call to the bank to cancel the card revealed that Jessie - if that even was her name - had wasted no time in spending Betty’s money.

But it was what she had spent it on that shocked Betty most. Books and a large payment to the Open University of all things! Apart from the annoyance that she had been taken in, the strongest emotion Betty felt was curiosity. What was this girl studying? Why would she go to such lengths to get an education? Somehow this was not the type of young person Betty had imagined would con you out of your money.

Awake until the early hours of Thursday morning, Betty decided to do some detective work, but there were several hours until she could make any enquiries so she drank several cups of tea and made a list of all the ways she could possibly track Jessie down. Suddenly the horizon had become very close – only a few hours away, at 9 o’clock, but, even so, it crept forwards at a snail’s pace as Betty waited.

A few minutes after nine – she should probably give the OU people time to take their coats off – Betty rang the Open University, having got the number from Directory Enquiries. A rather brusque, no-nonsense voice answered the call and Betty was reminded of her old French teacher. Having explained her dilemma and the fact that she wanted to find Jessie to get to know her, rather than get retribution, Betty was faced with the brick wall of identity protection. ‘Even though she stole my money, she still has the right to protection?’ Betty was tapping her foot in irritation.

‘I’m afraid so. Whatever any of our students do outside of the university, does not allow us to divulge such information.’

‘Even though I want to help her?’ Betty found herself saying.

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘Well thank you anyway.’ Polite as ever, Betty huffed and replaced the receiver. This was a serious set back. She consulted her list. The next possibility was to hope to meet Jessie at the bus-stop again, but after a few days of walking up and down the road and loitering around the shelter, Betty felt that this was more than her hip could take.

Back to the list. The next option was to visit other places where she imagined Jessie might go, such as the library, or fast food outlets. At the library Betty was happy to spend hours wiling away the time – she could take out membership and even start reading again, something she used to do voraciously when she was young.

Fast food outlets were another thing altogether, and Betty was out of her comfort zone, having never been inside a MacDonald’s or Burger King. She steeled herself to make a visit, and found herself at the counter in the MacDonald’s on the High Street overwhelmed by the number of options available to her.

‘What would you recommend for someone who has never had MacDonald’s before?’ she asked the server, a young girl with a long ponytail pulled through the hole in her baseball cap.

‘You’ve never eaten McDonalds?’ Anna, said shaking her ponytail in disbelief. ‘Wow! That’s a first for me – a MacDonald’s virgin!’

‘Well, I wouldn’t put it quite like that’ Betty clutched her bag to her chest and frowned.

‘Ok, we–ll, what about a Big Mac and a side of fries? Anna continued blissfully unaware of Betty’s discomfort.

‘Yes, I’ll have that,’ said Betty decisively.

A few minutes later she was at a plastic table with a huge paper cup full to the brim of weak tea and her MacDonald’s. Betty bit into the burger gingerly and was pleasantly surprised. Before she knew it, she’d eaten the whole meal.

***

After a few weeks of detective work, Betty discovered that each day could be different. She found a whole new world of horizons in the books she read at the library, so much so that Jessie could have come and gone without Betty even noticing. But somehow, it didn’t matter. At the moment, she was working her way through Daphne du Maurier and was even wondering if she might take a little trip to Cornwall.

MacDonald’s became a weekly visit; Anna suggested something new from the menu each time, but Betty’s favourite was still the Big Mac and fries.

Although Betty’s horizons were broadening, a few weeks later she had to admit that the detective work had not been successful. She consulted her list, now tucked behind the clock, and discovered there was only one place left to check – the place she’d last seen Jessie, at the hospital.

At the hospital, Betty followed signs to the oncology department and arriving at the reception desk she hesitated, unsure about her next step.

‘Can I help you?’

‘I’ve just come to meet someone from the chemotherapy suite,’ improvised Betty, noticing the sign from the corner of her eye.

‘Can you give me a name?’ The receptionist looked at Betty over the top of her glasses.

‘Mine, or the person I’m meeting?’ Betty was desperately playing for time. Suddenly this visit seemed very important.

‘Both. If you give me your name, I can give them a message that you’re waiting.’

Betty swallowed. ‘Jessie.’

‘Ohhh Jessie! She shouldn’t be much longer. And you are...?’

‘Betty...’

‘I’ll let them know,’ she said rising from her seat.

The receptionist bustled back to her desk. ‘Only a few minutes, they’re just getting her meds ready.’

Betty nodded and clutched her bag tightly. The minutes ticked by, the waiting almost too much to bear, but it felt more important than ever now.

The doors opened and there was Jessie, although this time she had hair.

Jessie regarded her with undisguised hostility. ‘What’re you doing here?’

‘Looking for you.’ Betty said calmly.

Jessie eyes darted from side to side as if she was looking for some escape.

‘It’s okay. I just want to talk to you. Are you okay to have a coffee, or do you need to get home? We could call you an Uber.’

‘Are you fuckin’ with me?’ Jessie was holding tightly onto the back of one of the orange plastic waiting chairs.

A few minutes later they were in the hospital cafe. ‘I’ve been trying to find you, because I want to know what you’re studying, whether you really do have cancer, and why you’ve suddenly got hair.’

‘Okay.’ Jessie sighed and folded her arms on the table. ‘Yes, I’ve got cancer, so I thought I might as well make the most of a bad job. I’m studying psychotherapy, and I don’t have hair, this is a wig.’ She leant back.

Betty smiled through widened eyes. You’re training to be a psychotherapist?

‘Yup!’

‘But why?’

‘Why not? Knowing what makes people tick can be a useful skill. To say nothing of learning how to get people to trust you.’

Betty regarded Jessie in silence.

‘What?’ You disapprove of what I’ve spent your money on?’

‘I wouldn’t say that, exactly, but why not train in order to help people rather than take advantage of them? Isn’t that what psychotherapy is supposed to be about?’

‘Maybe, in your world, but not in mine,’ Jessie hissed.

‘Well, anyway, I’ve been looking for you because I want to help. Anyone who is as ingenious as you in funding their university education deserves a leg-up in my book.’

‘Oh and don’t forget the cancer pity card while you’re at it.’

Had Betty detected a hint of something softer behind Jessie’s harsh words?

‘How about we start by continuing with the Uber rides to and fro from your chemotherapy sessions – above-board this time?’

***

Jessie was exhausted in spite of the Uber ride home. She was nearly at the end of her treatment and the long haul of chemo was taking its toll. Drinking some flavoured water – she couldn’t face coffee any more – Jessie thought about Betty.

She wondered if the shock had registered on her face when Linda from reception told her someone called Betty was waiting for her. Betty? That Betty?

There was only one exit from the suite so Jessie couldn’t avoid her victim. She could have told Linda she didn’t want to see her, but deep inside there was a curiosity to know why Betty was there. How had she known where to find her? And anyway, she couldn’t very well attack Jessie with her handbag, or her tongue, in full view of Linda – after all she was a cancer patient.

The conversation in the hospital café had annoyed and intrigued Jessie in equal measures. Her first instinct was to classify Betty in her Middle-Class Do-Gooder file; but she wasn’t picky, Jessie would take any help she could get to reach her goal of getting a degree. A goal that, even now, still seemed way, way beyond the horizon. Jessie lived one day at a time – she didn’t look far ahead, other than her hospital appointments which peppered the calendar in her phone for weeks to come. Each day was about survival – taking her meds, conning old people into buying her food, and on good days, working on her OU course.

Jessie knew that education was her passport out of the life she found herself in, and she’d always been fascinated by people – why they did what they did, and what they were thinking. She knew she’d lain it on a bit thick with Betty about the whole ‘I’m learning how to con people’ line, but something told her that Betty had seen though the façade of bitterness and callousness.

***

Betty studied the young woman sitting opposite her in the sea-side café. Jessie was studying the menu with that same look of concentration that she’d worn at the bus stop so long ago. Had it really only been a couple of years?

‘How did the check-up and scans go?’

‘Still all cancer-free, so I’m celebrating!’

‘And the interview?’

‘Are you ever going to stop being my mother?’ Jessie rolled her eyes. ‘Good, I got the job, so double celebration. Just as well the NHS is desperate for psychotherapists at the moment.’

Betty reached across the table and took Jessie’s hand. ‘I’m so glad, Jessie. I knew you could do it!’

‘Thank you for believing in me, Betty.’ Betty revelled in the shared affection and respect of the fleeting moment. ‘And what about you, gallivanting around the world with your new hip?’ 

About the author 

 Sheena has been writing for around nine months, but has been thinking about it for many years. Her work has so far been included in Secret Attic and Glittery Literary anthologies, and the Cafe Lit online magazine. She has always been an avid reader and lives in Nottinghamshire 

 

Christmas Ice

 

by Sheena Billett

a  Bailey’s Irish Cream with ice

The details on the fir trees were finished and Sam sat back to study her work. She knew she could always do more, but had learnt over the years when enough was enough. Leaning back in her chair and stretching her arms above her head, she noticed the robin, perched in his usual place on the back of the bench in the garden. He tilted his head, looking at her solemnly through the glass.

This piece was special which made the pressure to achieve perfection even greater. It was her father’s Christmas present and she’d been working on it all through November. Mirroring the robin, she tilted her head and examined it again. The winter sun on the water was just right, and was reflected in a rosy blush on the mountain peaks in the distance.

Just a few stray snowflakes maybe? No, let the light be the main focus. Her photographer father would appreciate that, she hoped.

Leaving the canvas to dry, Sam went to make a cup of coffee and, putting on her puffa jacket, went to sit on the bench outside – the robin having disappeared as suddenly as it arrived. Blowing on the steam rising into the cold air Sam clasped her hands around the mug for warmth. She was fighting a battle for her father’s love and attention and her adversary was Diane, apparently, her soon to be stepmother. Sam considered Diane – only a little older than herself -  a talented singer and musician (her father always went for arty types), and, most worryingly, still young enough to have a child. After her mother’s death when she was six, Sam and her father had been a tight unit – clinging to one another for survival in the shared memories of Lisa. Yes, he had had ‘girlfriends’, Sam was realistic enough to know that would happen, but Diane was different. The look in his eyes when he introduced them over dinner had told Sam everything – he looked at Diane with a look that had always been hers until now. He even called her the same names – Sweetie; Hun; Princess (yes really!) In the past Sam had cringed at the last one, but now that someone else was claiming ownership of it, it was suddenly worth more than gold.

A few days later, over a coffee and cake debrief around the corner, her father had said, ‘Well?’

‘Well what!’ Sam had been unable to hide her panic.

‘Oh, Sam…’

‘Don’t patronise me, Dad. You go live your life. Look at me, I’m all grown-up now. I can look out for myself. You get on and live your life.’ Sam hated the self-pitying, needy feeling inside, but was unable to stop it from having a voice.

‘Maybe if you got to know Diane better—‘

‘Don’t…just don’t suggest a girly shopping trip!’ Sam stopped him, holding a stop hand in front of her.

She’d felt his sigh, but unable to stop the force of emotion threatening to overwhelm her, Sam had fled from the shop.

 

As she strode up the drive on Christmas day, Sam felt a tingling excitement at the thought of her picture holding pride of place, maybe in the hall? Or above the fire? She had had it wrapped and delivered a week ago – plenty of time to get it hung, she figured. The Thanks for the present xx text confirmed that it had been received. Sam had been taken aback by the lack of effusiveness in the message at first, but having thought about it, she came to the conclusion that her father was saving all the praise for Christmas day – not wanting to even try to express his feelings in a text. Confident that her reasoning was correct, Sam knocked on the door full of anticipation.

‘Happy Christmas, angel.’ The hug was warm and Sam felt safe. (Although, ‘angel’ was new)

‘Happy Christmas, Dad… Diane.’ She nodded a greeting at her adversary, hovering at the bottom of the stairs.

‘Let’s take your coat and it must be about time for some Christmas mulled wine.’

Glancing around the hallway, Sam could see no sign of her painting – maybe in the lounge then? A roaring fire greeted her as she approached the Christmas tree.

‘What do you think?’ Diane and I thought we’d start some new traditions, so we’ve got a new look this year.

‘What about all our old ones? The ones we always have?’

‘Well maybe you would like to have them, for when you have your own tree… and maybe your own family.’

‘Dad—‘

‘Sam, this is how it is. I’m sorry if it’s hard for you.’ There was that impatience in his voice again. That unheard sigh.

 And no painting. Maybe the kitchen?

‘I’ll just go and see if Diane needs any help – I know where everything is.’ She followed the sound of clattering saucepan lids and running water.

‘Sam—‘

‘Hi Diane. Anything I can do?’

‘No thanks.’ The reply was ice cold.

Still no picture.

‘Looking for your picture?’

‘Well, yes, actually.’

‘It’s in the upstairs spare room for now. Until I’ve moved my stuff in, it’s difficult to know where to put such a … large painting.’

Sam felt the breath leave her body and clung onto the back of a chair for support. She detected a sneery tone of triumph. Yes, it was a large canvas. She’d wanted to make a statement.

‘You okay, Sam?’ Diane was all concern now. ‘Bob, I don’t think Diane is feeling too good.’

Her father rushed into the room, putting his arm around her. ‘What is it, princess?’ Okay, ‘princess’ was back, a good sign.

‘I’m getting a migraine, I don’t feel well.’

‘Okay, I’ll take you home.’

‘Thanks, Dad. Would you mind? Sorry Diane. I’ll try not to keep him too long.’

This skirmish had been a draw but the war was far from over.

 

Over the following months, Covid made any personal contact more difficult and Sam put up a wall of silence following the disaster that had been Christmas day. After a heated argument her father had left Sam’s flat, exasperated, slamming the door behind him. He had changed – Diane had changed him – becoming distant, and irritable with her neediness. Her old father had always understood how Sam had felt – she could have told him anything, but to this new father, she was an irritating nuisance.  Everyone’s Christmas had been ruined.

Since then, texts, calls and emails from her father remained unread and unanswered. Eventually, they stopped coming altogether and the rift was established while Sam regrouped and planned her next move. Sam hated the person she had become – vengeful and angry, but found a strange comfort in being that person. More than anything she wanted to destroy Diane and punish her father, even if it meant causing herself pain in the process.

 

Everything changed when she met Dan. Over the summer holidays romance blossomed as they spent long, languid days and nights away from the stress and pressures of college, teaching under Covid restrictions. Sam had been drawn to him immediately when he joined the staff at the beginning of the summer term. As they got to know each other over coffees and long walks, she could feel her icy anger and bitterness beginning to thaw under his kindness and good humour. One night, she had told him everything about last Christmas and he had held her, tears in his eyes. ‘I’m so sorry, Sam, it must have been awful. How unkind and cruel. Maybe it’s better to let them go their own way if they’re going to treat you like that.’

‘But that’s not who my father is. He’s changed.’

‘The people we meet often change us as we fall under their spell, and not always for the better. There is nothing you can do, Sam, and you’re not a bad person for keeping your distance and keeping yourself safe. Think of it like your father is under a spell. You can’t do anything until he wakes up.’

‘You think?’ Sam sat up and looked into his eyes.

‘Yes, I do think. He jumped up. ‘You need a distraction. I know, let’s get the train to Cambridge and go punting.’

Sam loved his spontaneity and sense of fun.  Over the months Dan filled her mind and her life until there was no room for her father and Diane. The war had seemed petty on reflection.

 

The first time Sam met Dan’s mother, she wished she had been her own mother instead of the ghostly memories she had made do with. There was a warmth in the house and Sam had immediately felt at home. Like her, Dan had lost a parent in childhood, but unlike her, he still had the remaining one. Sam found herself spending more time with Dan at Mia’s house and eventually started visiting on her own when Dan was busy. Mia was an amazing cook and taught Sam all the basic skills, right from boiling an egg. They spent many happy Saturdays in Mia’s kitchen.

While they were having a cup of tea and waiting for the bread dough to rise one afternoon, Mia said, ’Why don’t you invite your father over?’

Sam immediately froze, the cup halfway between the saucer and her mouth. ‘What?’

‘I know you’re not in touch, and I can only imagine how painful it is for you. Why don’t you message him and see how he is? Even if you do it for yourself.’

‘No way.’

‘Sam, eight months have gone by. Things may have changed for him, as they have for you. Why not find out how things stand? Give him a chance.’

Sam pondered when she got home. She thought about how her feelings for Dan had blossomed and understood how her father might have felt the same way about Diane. Her finger hovered over the buttons on her phone.

Eventually after a large gulp of red wine she messaged, pressing Send before she had time to overthink:

 Hi Dad. I was just wondering how you are. Sam

An immediate reply bounced onto the screen:

Sam, how lovely to hear from you. I’ve missed you so much. I’m so sorry about what happened at Christmas. Xx

Without thinking, Sam typed a reply:

Can we meet for coffee?

Yes. Usual place? Are you free tomorrow morning?

Yes, ok. See you at 11 x

 

Once they were seated at their usual table, her father reached forward and took Sam’s hand. There was a long silence as they looked into each other’s eyes.

‘Sam, I’m so sorry about last Christmas, we were nasty and cruel to you. I don’t know what I was thinking.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘I absolutely love your painting and I can guess how much work went into it. Can you forgive me?’

Sam drew her hand away and looked down at the table. ‘What about Diane?’

‘Well, things are complicated.’ He sighed. ‘I have realised that she is not the person I want to share my life with. I can’t forgive her for the way we treated you – I know it’s not just her fault – I allowed it to happen. It’s like I was under some kind of spell.’

Sam waited.

‘Anyway, I’ve asked her to move out but she’s refusing, so it may come to taking legal action. Things are very tense,’

Suddenly the ice melted as Sam’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Oh Dad…’ She squeezed his hand. ‘I’m so glad I’ve got you back.’

 

Preparations for Christmas were well underway, even though Covid restrictions seemed to be changing by the day. Sam had spent time with her father repairing and healing the wounds of battle. Diane, when threatened with lawyers had reluctantly and angrily moved out. As promised, Mia had invited them all round for Sunday lunch a few times, and Sam had a sneaking feeling that her father may have received some invitations that she and Dan hadn’t been privy to. In return, Sam’s father had insisted they all come to his house for Christmas Day, as long as Mia was in charge of the cooking, ably assisted by Sam.

As Sam and Dan walked up the drive on Christmas morning, she reflected on how things could have turned out so differently. What if the anger and bitterness had kept growing? What if she hadn’t met Dan… and Mia?

‘You look miles away, Sam.’ Dan put his arm around her and held her close. ‘It’s going to be different this year. You know that don’t you?’ It was almost as if he could read her thoughts.

Her father flung open the door and enveloped Sam in a tight, safe, bear hug. He gave Dan the same warm reception. ‘Happy Christmas, princess.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, Dad. I’m not six!’ Sam felt a warm glow inside. There was no room for ice now.

‘Well, what are you waiting for? Get those coats off and let’s get stuck in to coffee and mince pies.’

As if on cue, Mia appeared with a plate of goodies. ‘Could you get the coffee pot, Bob?’ Sam noted the familiar tone and smiled to herself.

As she entered the room, Mia stopped breathing. There was her picture, in pride of place over the roaring fire. ‘Ohhh.’ She could feel self-control slipping away as a sob escaped her.

‘Oh Mia… that is something else! You are wasted at the college.’ Dan’s eyes shone with admiration.

She rushed, childlike, across the room to the Christmas tree. ‘Ohhh, they’re all here!’ Her father put his arm around her, pulling her close. He smelt like Dad again.

‘These are all our Christmas memories,’ he said to Dan and Mai, indicating the decorations on the tree – all except last Christmas, which we shall erase.

As they exchanged presents, enjoying the coffee and mince pies, Sam spied the robin perched on a branch near the window. He tilted his head to one side and they gazed at each other for a few seconds before he flew off.

About the author 

Sheena has been writing for less than a year but has been thinking about it for a long time. Her work has so far been included in Secret Attic and Glittery Literary anthologies, and the CafeLit online magazine. She has always been an avid reader and lives in Nottinghamshire.

 

 

 

Lost and Found

 by Sheena Billett

double espresso with a shot of brandy

Marnie knew for certain that she was a bad mother the day she lost Archie. One minute she was browsing through the second-hand books on Sam’s market stall, safe in the knowledge that Archie was beside her making a fuss of Sam’s dog, Bess, and the next, she was in a state of panic overlaid with a thin veneer of ‘Don’t worry, he’s around here somewhere.’

But after twenty minutes of Marnie and Sam searching and calling down every aisle of the covered market, her panic broke through. The traders on Norwich market were a close-knit bunch and word travelled fast, but in spite of all their efforts Archie had vanished. Marnie felt her fragile world imploding as she collapsed into a wailing heap. By this time Sam had alerted the two PCSOs patrolling nearby, and while one was busy talking on the radio, the other was doing her best to comfort Marnie: ‘He can’t have gone far, love. Don’t worry, we’ll find him.’

But Marnie knew that it was too late. Now everyone would know what she’d known inside for a long time – she was a bad mother. Georgie had said it often enough, after her first bout of post-natal depression, and again after her second breakdown when Archie was three and she had apparently walked out of the house leaving him alone, sleeping in his bed. Marnie had no recollection of anything about that night until she had come-to on the secure ward at Hellesdon. Although she loved Archie with a force that took her breath away, Marnie knew he deserved better. Just as Georgie had always said.

In defeat, she felt the energy leave her body. Nothing had any meaning any more.

‘Come on, Marnie. Don’t give up. You have to fight to find Archie – he’s your son.’ Sam was crouching, eye-to-eye with her, and Marnie felt his desperation to drag her back from oblivion.

She put her head in her hands and closed her eyes, as usual retreating from a situation that was too much to handle. Was this how she was going to live the rest of her life, running away from every challenge?

And then something clicked in her head: Whether I’m a good mother or not, he is my son! Nothing can change that...ever. If I don’t do something now, I’ll never be able to live with myself.

Marnie felt some of her energy return. She straightened her back and lifted her head and jumped to her feet.

‘I need to find him!’ She impatiently shook off the arm that Sam had put around her shoulders

‘Okay, is there anywhere around the market or nearby that he likes to go?’ The PCSO had become more business-like. Marnie saw from her badge that she was called Becca.

Marnie was tempted to reply, self-pityingly that she wouldn’t know because she only had access to Archie every other weekend, and that only recently had those visits been unsupervised. But she caught herself. ‘He is your son.’ She chanted the mantra inside her head.

She thought. ‘Well, I know he likes the toy shop in the arcade.’ What five-year-old wouldn’t?

‘Okay. Walk with me and we’ll see if we can find him. Sam, you stay here in case Archie comes back.’ Becca nodded to her colleague who was on the radio.

They walked along a stall-lined alley, heading for the toy shop. Marnie looked left and right down each alley that ran across at right-angles, frantically searching for Archie’s red T-shirt and mop of blond, curly hair. How could he have just vanished? He must be here somewhere. Marnie’s need to find him was now all-consuming and her focus was razor-sharp.

They reached the end of the market and searched up and down Gentleman’s Walk, Marnie showing passers-by a picture of Archie on her phone.

‘Can you send me that? I’ll get it distributed,’ said Becca.

Marnie did as Becca requested, reluctant to take her eyes away from her surroundings, even for a moment.

‘Okay, let’s head in to Langley’s, my colleagues have got this area covered now.

Today, Marnie was oblivious to the welcome cool of the Royal Arcade on a hot day – her sole aim was to get to the toy shop.

‘You look upstairs, I’ll search down here,’ Becca ordered.

Marnie rushed up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Her frantic search which took all of one minute was fruitless. She returned to Becca who had also drawn a blank. None of the staff had seen Archie.

‘It’s pretty certain that he hasn’t been in here. Do you think he could have found his way to the Jarrold’s toy department?’ Becca’s calm was starting to get to Marnie.

Her heart was thumping and a terrible sense of dread was growing with each minute. Without answering, Marnie set off at a sprint towards Jarrolds. Once inside, she climbed impatiently up the snail-paced escalators, pushing people aside with no time or thought for apology.

She raced past the cuddly toys and colouring books, and there he was!

Archie was looking at a box of Lego, Georgie crouching beside him.

‘Mummy! Look what Daddy’s getting me.’ Archie ran forwards grabbing Marnie’s hand to drag her over, but Marnie just took him in her arms and held him tight, sobbing with relief.

After a few moments, Archie wriggled free and looked uncertainly at Marnie, and then at Georgie. ‘Why is Mummy crying?’

‘I think Mummy thought she’d lost you,’ said Georgie giving Marnie a smug grin.

Marnie ignored him and turned to Archie, crouching down to speak to him. ‘Archie, you must never, never wander off when we’re out.’

‘I didn’t. Daddy just went like this.’ Archie did a beckoning motion with his hand. ‘And he did this,’ Archie put his finger to his lips, ‘just like in school when we have to be quiet and not say anything. It was Daddy so I knew it was okay,’ he continued earnestly.

Marnie held his arms and looked into his eyes. Even if it’s Daddy, you mustn’t go off without telling me. I have been so worried. She saw understanding dawn in his eyes which soon filled with tears.

‘I’m sorry, Mummy.’

‘It’s okay now. I’m happy now I know you’re safe. Go and sort out your Lego, and I’ll see you when Daddy brings you home later.’ She gave Archie a final hug and gave Georgie a long, angry stare.

Just at that moment, Becca arrived.

‘I’ve found him. He was with his father.’ Marnie was so consumed with anger she found it hard to get the words out.

Becca seemed to assess the situation. ‘Is Archie staying with his father?’

‘Yes, for the rest of the afternoon, and he’s bringing him home later, isn’t that right, Georgie?’

‘Yup. I guess Marnie needs to take one of her tranquilisers and lie down for a bit after this fiasco,’ he sneered, putting his arm protectively around Archie.

‘Right. Marnie, let’s get a coffee and have a chat.’  Although she sounded her usual, detached self, Marnie noticed an element of sympathy in Becca’s voice. She spoke into her radio, calling off the search as they headed out of the department store to the nearest coffee shop.

 

Once they were walking along with two takeout coffees, Becca said, ‘So, can you fill me in on what just happened back there?’

Marnie was amazed at how cool-headed she felt. This wasn’t about her, it was about Archie, and for the moment he was safe and happy, that was all that mattered.

She told Becca the story of the last five years, and between sips of coffee, Becca listened intently.

‘So, are you telling me that Georgie deliberately lured Archie away to make you look as if you weren’t capable of looking after him properly?’ There was a tinge of anger in Becca’s voice.

‘I know it seems bonkers, but yes, that’s exactly what I’m telling you,’ said Marnie firmly.

‘Not as bonkers as you think. In this job, I’ve seen people do all sorts of things to get their own way. We’ll be questioning Georgie about this and possibly charging him with wasting police resources.’ Becca paused. ‘And I suggest you get some legal advice,’ she added, firmly.

 

 

When Georgie returned Archie later that afternoon, Marie refused to make eye contact, closing the door firmly as soon as the goodbyes had been said.

Once Archie was settled in bed, Marnie sat with a glass of wine and reflected on what had happened. Something had caused a monumental shift in her thinking, and she had seen a glimpse of the old, pre-Archie, Marnie. She thought back…

She and Georgie had met in the Student’s Union bar at the UEA where Marnie had been finishing her Geography MA on the lost rivers of Norwich. It was a subject that held endless fascination – how did a river vanish, or become ‘lost’? Sipping her wine, Marnie thought of the Great Cockey that had once flowed near the bustling market where events had unfolded earlier. It hadn’t just been Archie and the Great Cockey that had been lost – it was Marnie herself.

She had been lost, in a dark, underground place for five years. But today was the day that she had found herself, as well as Archie. Somehow, a strength had come to her enabling her to face anything and anybody – even Georgie, if it meant that Archie was safe. That meant that she was a mother, good, bad or indifferent. Marnie realised that she had heard what Sam said – really heard, and she had stopped judging herself – making everything about the weak, needy, Marnie, who was trying to prove…what? That she was worthy of Archie?

No more! Things were different now – she didn’t have to prove her worthiness to Georgie or anyone else. She was his mother.

 

 

Six months later, Marnie sat in the school hall, watching Archie play an angel in the Christmas play, feeling as if her heart would burst with pride. Miss Webster had cast Archie well – with his blond curls and clear singing voice, he was every bit an angel.

Now that he was living full-time with Marnie, she had learnt that he wasn’t always an angel in real life, but she had got to know that sensitive, caring, sometimes boisterous and demanding little individual, that was Archie.

Marnie had taken Becca’s advice, and once Georgie realised that Marnie had ‘lawyered up’ as he put it, his arrogance and emotional manipulation shrank and disappeared like the air from a punctured balloon. Within a few months, following a few letters from Marnie’s solicitor, he had meekly agreed that Archie should live with her, and that he would have access at the weekends. Lately, however, it seemed that he had a new, pregnant girlfriend and the visits had become sporadic. Marnie had wondered if she should warn this girl about what lay in store for her, but decided against it, thinking that the girl would probably think of her as the ‘bitter ex.’ She knew instinctively that’s what Georgie would be saying.

Now that Archie was at school, Marnie had been able to rekindle her fascination with the hidden history of Norwich, and was now employed, part-time, as a guide for walking tours around her beloved city. Now that Marnie was no longer lost herself, she had ideas for a book about Norwich’s lost past. She could already envisage the chapter titles in her head.