The reading of Arthur’s Will was expected to be straightforward and that he would dutifully leave his fortune to his grieving widow. A few minutes before her outburst, Lisa had been fighting to control her anger and Elizabeth, as usual, was the focus of her irritation. She’d arrived late, dressed like the Queen about to meet a head of state but, thankfully, not wearing a hat. She waited for the solicitor to pull up a chair for her and sat in wide-eyed anticipation waiting for the reading to start, whilst stifling the odd theatrical tear.
The first time he invited her back to his flat for a drink after a cocktail party to celebrate the New Year, she took advantage of his inebriated state. He flopped on to the sofa next to her, and she turned toward him, straddling his lap and pinning him down. Covering his mouth with hers, he felt he couldn't breathe. Although way out of his comfort zone, being pounced on by an eighteen-year-old siren with the sexual appetite of a tigress, resistance was futile. If he had any doubts about the morality of his seduction, Elizabeth had no intention of giving him any time to think about it. In the foggy waking moments of his hangover the following day, he dismissed what had happened between them for what it was, drunk sex. It would never happen again. He only had a few weeks left in London, and he would make sure he kept a low profile.
‘When women hold off from marrying men, we call it independence. When men hold off from marrying women, we call it fear of commitment.’ Warren Farrell Dear Diary Parador de Cáceres – 19th December 1999 'Not quite so much sightseeing today. We had a very long, leisurely lunch, followed by a stroll around the town.... Continue Reading →
We are like family now. Bound together by an invisible thread, our stories intricately woven together, ad infinitum. I know everything about each and every one of them. I uncovered secrets from their past that I know they would have wanted to let lie. It doesn’t make them bad people. The sins of their past only make them human, fragile, vulnerable. We all make mistakes and, I believe, the truth has set them free.
I was born on 11th July 1998, which coincidentally, is World Population Day. My mother, Joan, had been marvelling at the content of the Fresh Produce section of Didsbrook’s brand new Coop when her waters broke. Legend has it, my father, George, with the help of the store manager, bundled her into a trolley and wheeled her across the cobbled market place to the Didsbrook Cottage Hospital. Shortly after they wheeled her in, I popped out and the World Population counter flipped over to add one more.
JUST SAY IT is the bittersweet story about how the knock-on effects of growing up with a narcissist mother have on one woman's life.
In this bite-size piece of my first novel, Defining Moments, Elizabeth gets closer to finding herself a lawful wedded bank account. London’s bush telegraph had been rife about the demise of Fergus’s father and his untimely death on the hunting field. A higher frequency buzz was also being circulated at certain social gatherings reporting that despite the Grant's of Silkwoods not being listed in either Burkes or Debrett’s, Fergus was one of the most eligible bachelors around.