Please Release Me
Authors: Rhoda Baxter
Tags: #Ghosts, #romance, #Fiction, #contemporary
Copyright © 2015 Rhoda Baxter
Published 2015 by Choc Lit Limited
Penrose House, Crawley Drive, Camberley, Surrey GU15 2AB, UK
The right of Rhoda Baxter to be identified as the Author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher or a licence permitting restricted copying. In the UK such licences are issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency, 90 Tottenham Court Road, London, W1P 9HE
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available
from the British Library
MOBI ISBN 978-1-78189-244-2
To the staff and families at Martin House
I will donate 50% of the royalties I get from this book to Martin House Children’s Hospice, here’s why:
I was lucky enough to be able to talk to some of the families and staff at Martin House, a specialist children’s hospice for families with children who have life limiting conditions. Most health conditions are life limiting in one way or another, but in this context, it means children whose life expectancy is lower than most. You’d expect heart-breaking sadness and death there, instead I saw hope, laughter, friendship and children playing. Together.
To the families who are supported by Martin House, it’s an absolute life line. It provides much needed respite for parents who haven’t had a good night’s sleep for ages, it provides time for siblings of sick children to hang out with their parents without their sibling’s needs getting in the way, it provides a place where parents can talk to other parents in a similar situation and, when the worst happens, it provides bereavement support. Friendships made during respite stays reach well beyond the confines of the hospice. If you want to find out more about this amazing place, check out their website:
www.martinhouse.org.uk
I wanted to write a book that shows this positive side of hospices. Most people think of hospices as places where sick people go to die, but they are also communities and have ups and downs, frustrations and friendships just like any other community. Government funding to these sort of places is scarce (and shrinking) so they rely a lot on fundraising efforts.
Please support your local hospice. They need you.
I would like to thank everyone at Martin House, families and carers alike, for all their help. I would also like to thank my critique partner, Jen Hicks, for nagging me to write more; Zoe Goodacre from South Wales Critical Care Network (@ZGoodacre) for advice on Sally’s coma; Laura E James (@laura_E_james) for conversations about being a carer and how hard it is to move on; Mark English from Rock City in Hull (@RockCityClimb) for advice about the abseiling scene, to the Romantic Novelists Association (@RNAtweets) posse for being the best support network ever and everyone at Choc Lit who helped get this book from me to you. And of course, a big thank you to my family for supporting me and not minding that the house is a tip and it’s fishfingers and baked beans for tea. Again.
Thank you also to the Tasting Panel readers who passed
Please Release Me
: Olivia, Jo, Fiona, Isabel, Sandy, Jill, Lucy, Helena and Betty.
They were lucky with the weather. Sally stepped out into the sunlight. A breeze blew her veil across her face and she laughed as Peter moved it out of the way. He took a long tendril of hair that hung in a carefully styled curl and tucked it behind her ear. The camera shutter whirred. That would make a nice photo. She turned to the camera, trying not to squint into the sun. She didn’t want to look like she had wrinkles around her eyes.
‘Can we have just the happy couple please?’ said the photographer.
People skipped off the steps, leaving Sally and Peter alone to be photographed. Peter slipped his arm around her waist. His gaze locked on hers. He looked at her as though she were something precious and treasured and true. She felt a surge of hope. As long as he looked at her like that, she would be the happiest woman in the world.
Peter grinned at her and kissed her lightly on the lips.
‘Perfect,’ said the photographer. ‘Now, can we have the groom’s family, please.’
As Peter’s parents and his sister and the bratty nephews were being arranged around her, Sally let her eyes wander over the people who were milling around at the bottom of the steps. They looked bright and cheerful. There were a few people from work. She noticed that a few of them were wearing the same shiny suits that they wore to work during the week. Cheapskates. A couple of Peter’s female friends stood apart, resplendent in Miu Miu and perfect make-up. She wondered how many of them had been after Peter themselves. Hah.
The photographer touched her arm and gestured for her to move. She stepped back. Her gaze drifted to the back of the crowd. She froze. It couldn’t be. She wouldn’t dare.
The woman was wearing a shabby blue coat and a hat with a feather in it. Standing in the shadows, she looked like someone passing by who’d paused to look at the happy couple. When Sally’s eyes met hers, she raised a hand a fraction and gave a little wave. Sally’s throat tightened with anger.
‘Sally?’ said Peter. ‘You okay?’
She looked at him and back to the spot. But the woman had gone. Like a ghost, she’d disappeared into the shadows. Sally looked back at Peter and forced a smile back onto her face. ‘Yes. I’m fine. Just … you know. It’s all so amazing.’
He tightened the arm that was around her waist. ‘Isn’t it.’ His face shone with happiness. That was one of the many things she loved about him. He was so … trusting.
‘I love you,’ she said, and laid her head against his shoulder.
‘Say cheese everyone!’ said the photographer. He took a few shots. ‘Thank you. Now, can we have the bride’s fam … friends please?’
Next to her, Peter tensed. She smiled at him and watched the tension drain. ‘Friends,’ she said. ‘I have lots of those.’
The reception was on a different side of the building. Sally excused herself and went to the loos. Being in a public building meant the toilets were down a draughty corridor. If they’d had the wedding in a church, things would have been worse. She picked up her skirts and hurried, her heels clicking on the stone floor. A quick glance over the shoulder reassured her that no one had followed her.
She was washing her hands when a cubicle door opened a fraction. She straightened up and watched in the mirror. ‘It’s okay. I know you’re in here.’
The woman stepped out, her expression a little sheepish. She smiled. ‘You look beautiful Sal.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I always said your face would be the saving of you.’
‘What are you doing here, Glenda? I told you never to come looking for me.’
The older woman’s face crumpled, as if it wasn’t crumpled enough already. ‘I wanted to see my daughter get married. What mother could resist that? You wouldn’t deny me that, would ya?’
Sally studied her. Her mother wasn’t as old as she looked. The years of alcohol and bad eating had taken its toll on her skin. This was one of the reasons Sally rarely got drunk. She would end up all wrinkled and pruney. And she couldn’t see Peter loving someone like that. Glenda smiled. Her eyes were teary. Sally relented, just a fraction. ‘Okay.’
‘He seems like a nice man,’ her mother said, as though she were making a peace offering. ‘You’ve done well for yourself there.’ She came up to her and raised a hand. Sally drew away. ‘In spite of everything, Sal. I just want you to be happy. That’s all I ever wanted.’
For a moment there was flash of memory. Tenderness, smiles. Before. Sally looked at the thread-veined face and softened. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘And I will be. Peter is rich and kind and he loves me.’
‘Do you love him?’
She shrugged. ‘I think so.’ She would learn to. How hard could it be?
Her mother nodded. ‘That’s good to know.’ She started patting her pockets. ‘I got you something. For your wedding.’ She pulled a folded piece of paper out of a pocket. ‘Here.’ She took Sally’s reluctant hand and pressed the paper into it. ‘It’s all I could get you. You might be lucky.’
Sally opened the paper and saw a lottery ticket. She felt the quickening excitement. If this was the winning ticket, she could pay off the little debt and buy Peter something nice. Like that watch he’d wanted. She looked up into her mother’s red-rimmed, washed out eyes. ‘Thanks. Glenda.’
Glenda licked her lips before she spoke. ‘There was a time when you called me mum.’
‘Yeah, well, not anymore.’ She looked for somewhere to put the lottery ticket where Peter wouldn’t see it. Wedding dresses had no pockets. You’d think that with all the flounces and ruffles, there’d be somewhere. In the end, she tucked it into the sleeve, just beyond the tight ruffle that clinched her wrist. She turned on a tap and quickly rinsed her hands. ‘I have to go. Remember our deal. You can never, ever, come and see me again. Understand?’
Glenda her hands back into her pockets. ‘But what if you—’
‘Never. Understand me? NEVER.’
A nod.
‘Excellent.’ Sally picked up her skirts and started towards the door. ‘Bye.’
‘Sal …’
She turned.
‘You couldn’t score me a drink, could ya?’
Sally took in the stooped shoulders and the plaintive longing of an alcoholic needing a fix. ‘No.’ She swept out and marched down the corridor, to her new life.
‘Ready?’ Peter held out his arm to her. The evening sun shone on his blond hair, turning it orange. He was still in his wedding suit. His eyes were full of smiles. He looked happy.
Sally laughed. Something bubbled in her chest. Happiness. This was what it felt like. To have limitless possibilities laid out in front of her. To know that she was married to Peter Wesley. She had security and comfort ahead of her. No more evaluating houses she could never afford. No more schlepping round extolling the virtues of the three bedroom semi, perfect for a growing family. Ready? Was she ever.
She shifted her bouquet into one hand and took Peter’s arm with the other. She looked over her shoulder at the women who were self-consciously standing in a semi circle behind her. ‘Okay ladies, here it comes.’ She threw the bouquet one handed over her shoulder. She and Peter both looked round to see who caught it.
A girl in a tight red dress waved it triumphantly in the air. ‘Nice one Maz,’ said Sally. ‘You next.’
Maz grinned.
People surged round and confetti rained down on them. Peter’s father stood next to the car, which was decorated with ribbons and crepe streamers. He handed Peter the keys. ‘Here you go son,’ he said. He leaned in and gave Sally a peck on the cheek. ‘Welcome to the family Sally.’
‘Aw thanks Roger.’ Sally’s gaze slid towards Peter’s mother. ‘And Diane.’
Diane’s smile didn’t quite make it to her eyes. She gave Sally a quick kiss and gave Peter a hug. ‘Be happy,’ she said. Her hand lingered on his cheek.
‘We will be,’ said Peter. He opened the door for Sally and, when she’d dropped into her seat, helped her gather up the rest of the skirts. He then hurried round to the driver’s side, waved to the guests and got in.
‘Woo hoo!’ Sally threw her arms up and laughed. ‘Thailand, here we come!’
Peter laughed too. ‘Glad to see you so happy, Mrs Wesley.’ He gave her a fond smile and returned his attention to the road. They were driving straight from the reception to the hotel. They had an early flight tomorrow. The party would have to go on without them. Sally was still in her flouncy dress, but she didn’t bother being careful with it any more. She didn’t need to now.
Peter pulled to a stop at some traffic lights. ‘You look amazing,’ he said, above the rasp of the handbrake.
‘Thank you, darling.’ She put a hand on his thigh, high up. ‘So do you.’ She slid her hand round, so that it was between his legs.
Peter gave her a sideways glance, his mouth twitching at the sides. ‘Behave …’
She pouted at him and moved her hand a fraction further up. The lights went to amber. Peter smiled again and removed her hand from his groin. ‘Just a teeny bit longer,’ he said, his voice full of warmth and promise, ‘and we can relax, properly.’ He released her hand.
‘Ah, come on baby, live a little. A hand job. On your wedding day …’
‘Not while I’m driving, Sal. You’ll get us both killed.’
‘Spoilsport.’
The car sped off, round the roundabout and onto a slip road. Sally waited until they’d joined the carriageway. Peter was gorgeous, but he could be so square. Teasing him was just too easy. She reached across and pinched his thigh. He batted her hand away, his eyes firmly on the road. Something fell out of her sleeve and landed in his lap. The lottery ticket. Crap. Peter mustn’t see that. She dived after it.
‘Sally!’ The car wobbled slightly before Peter got it back on track. ‘What is the matter with you?’
‘It’s just that … um … you’ve got one of my tissues in your lap.’ She tried not to speak too fast. He hadn’t noticed what it was yet.
‘Ah leave it,’ he said.
‘Oh, but it’s all a bit ew …’
Peter shrugged a shoulder as though to say he didn’t mind. ‘I thought the whole ceremony went rather well.’
‘Me too.’ She kept an eye on the red and white square of paper.
Peter said something else. Then ‘Sally?’
‘Pardon? Sorry, I was miles away then.’
‘Sally is something wrong?’
‘No. No. It’s just been … a big day.’
‘Of course, you must be exhausted. Poor darling. Why don’t you have a nap? We’ve got another twenty minutes before we get there. You could recharge a bit.’
‘I’m okay …’ The paper slipped out of sight.
Peter shifted. He removed a hand from the steering wheel. ‘What is that sticking into my leg?’ His eyes still on the road, he picked up the folded paper.
‘Let me take that,’ Sally lunged across.
Peter frowned and moved the paper out of her reach, unfolding it at he did so. There was a pause. ‘Sally. This is a lottery ticket.’ The mellowness in his voice had been replaced with a sharp edge. ‘Why do you have a lottery ticket tucked into the sleeve of your wedding dress? And please don’t insult my intelligence by telling me you blew your nose on it.’
Sally kept her eyes on the paper. ‘It was a wedding present. From … one of my friends. She thought it would be cool if we won, with it being our wedding day and everything.’
‘A … friend.’ He didn’t believe her, she could tell.
‘It’s true,’ she said.
He glanced at her, his anger wavering.
‘I didn’t buy it Peter. You know I wouldn’t do that. GA rules. I know.’ When he didn’t say anything, she pouted. ‘You’re acting as though you don’t believe me. I’ve never lied to you, have I? Don’t you trust me?’
He looked at her again, a quick glance, but long enough for her to see that he felt bad. He was so easy to manipulate. Being married to him was going to be a dream.
‘I didn’t buy it. It was a gift,’ she repeated, allowing a sob-like catch into her voice.
Peter frowned out of the windscreen for a moment and seemed to come to a decision. ‘I believe you,’ he said. ‘And I’m glad you didn’t buy it. But you understand you can’t keep it.’
Sally tensed. She had no intention of letting that lottery ticket go. It could have the winning numbers. Peter was an idiot if he let go of a chance like that. ‘Peter…’ She put her thumb on the catch of her seat belt. She wouldn’t be able to reach him while the belt tethered her.
‘I can’t risk you relapsing.’ He pressed the button to lower the window.
He was going to throw it out of the window. ‘No!’ Sally lunged across him to grab the ticket. There was a screech of tyres and the scenery swung round. Sally had an impression of Peter’s face, his eyes wide, his mouth open. All of it too close. Horns blared. Everything juddered and suddenly she was weightless. Flying backwards. Away from Peter. Everything in front of her went white. Something hit the back of her head.