As mothers, we see ourselves as the glue, the thing that creates order, fights without restraint for the benefit of our children and as such we can't fathom how they could continue on without us. It is both wonderful and terrifying to play such an important role in another person's life. What this book has allowed me to see and to understand is that life continues whether we are there to see it or not. People grief desperately, they remember those they have loved and lost, but somehow, they find a way to adapt, to continue and to smile again.
I hope that anyone facing the fear of leaving someone they love due to disease or illness will find comfort in the pages of this book. Your life, however long or short, has meaning, beauty. Your presence will have made a difference to those who know you. And the people you care about will forge a new path, never forgetting, but moving forward all the same. This has been the greatest comfort to me.
Someone asked me if this story had a happy ending and I didn't know how to answer. No, Roxy didn't survive. No miracle occurred and saved her. Yet I believe the ending, if not happy is one of immense positivity. What I hope it conveys is the importance of living a life filled with love, meaning, real experiences. Of not wasting time. And of knowing that the people we leave behind will be okay in the end.
Life is fleeting, make yours something wonderful.
Lots of love,
Sam
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Also by Sam Vickery
The Promise
Available on Amazon worldwide
Chapter One
Emily leaned over the tiny stainless steel sink, pulling her long black hair to one side and holding it in place as she bent forward to wash her face. The water splashed down onto the dark haired baby she wore strapped to her chest, and he squealed nuzzling his cheek into her cardigan, rubbing the moisture away. She winced as the icy water turned her fingertips blue, and reached over to the soap dispenser only to find it empty. Again.
Sighing, she took a handful of paper towels and rubbed the rough surface over her skin until she was dry. She took one more and held it under the trickling tap, then squeezed it in her fingers, watching the excess water filter away. She leaned forward, dangling the baby backwards so that she could reach his face, and deftly used the damp paper to clean his skin.
He arched away and she dipped into the woven wrap, locating a sticky hand and pulling it free. She cleaned it thoroughly and then found the other one. “No need to look so worried Flynn,” she muttered. “It's way to cold for a big wash, you're getting away with the bare minimum today, lucky boy!”
She tossed the paper towel into the bin and grabbed her backpack, slinging the heavy weight onto her shoulders. Loud, happy voices echoed through the public toilets, and Emily looked behind her to see two women entering, one blonde and soft looking, one pixie like redhead, both pushing buggies overladen with changing bags and souvenirs. Emily immediately spotted a plastic bag with the Natural History Museum logo on it and smiled widely. Jackpot.
Without a doubt, the best thing about being homeless in London was the tourists. They never failed to surprise her with their sheer naivety. Stealing from them, conning them in some way or another, it was almost too simple. But Emily didn't crave challenge, she didn't wish they would make it a little harder to get what she wanted. What she craved was food. Money to buy clothes for her growing son, safety. Day to day life was challenging enough. The easy tourists were a gift and she hoped these two wouldn't let her down.
Emily smiled confidently at them and pushed her numerous fake gold and silver bangles up her forearm, pointing to the two sleeping toddlers in their buggies. “Long day?” she asked.
“Yes,” the blonde woman sighed happily. “We've seen everything. They've had so much fun!”
“How old are they?”
“Both two. This is Thomas,” she said, pointing to the red cheeked, blonde haired boy in front of her. “And this is Elizabeth,” she gestured to her friend's child. “How old is yours?”
Emily looked down at her son, smiling with pride. “He's ten months.”
“You're not wearing any shoes,” the pixie woman exclaimed, noticing the dirty bare feet poking out from beneath her flowing skirt. “Is this a new fashion thing? You must be freezing!”
“Uh, no, not a fashion thing. More a stepped in a big puddle thing. They're in my bag. I was just going to go and get some new ones for the journey home,” she lied, not wanting to tell them the truth. That she had swapped her shoes last week for a BLT and a Starbucks latte with “Woozy Susie.” It had been getting dark and Emily hadn't eaten all day, when Susie, a no nonsense, afro haired, pickled livered, sixty year old woman who had been on the streets most her life, had struck up the deal with her. She had been too hungry to even think of saying no.
For some reason, and she couldn't fathom why, she got a lot less charity than others in the area. You would think that with a baby, people would be falling over themselves to help her, but it wasn't like that. If anything, they judged her harder and ignored her even more than the standard prescription for the misfortunate. If only they knew what she had been through to end up in this situation. If only they would open their minds for a second and give her a chance to explain.
So, she had no shoes. In October. In London. But she did have a pair of thick woollen socks. She just wasn’t about to ruin them walking around the streets in the filth and wet all day, when she could save them and have warm, dry feet tonight.
“I see,” the red head said uneasily, breaking eye contact. Emily smiled warmly, and looked away. Her goal was to look wholesome and trustworthy, not an easy thing to accomplish when she was waiting for an opportunity to prove them wrong, but she had been around long enough to know how to play the game. Hell, even before her street life she'd had to hone her skills as an actress.
Pretending. Lying. Trying to keep him from seeing the truth, to keep herself safe from his volatile mood swings. She shuddered, not surprised by the sudden turn of her thoughts. She regularly had flashbacks and nightmares, and she thought she saw him at least twice a week. She would be walking along the street and there he would be, striding purposefully towards her. Or sitting on the platform at the train station. Eating a sandwich outside a café.
When that happened, she would melt into the walls, hide her face and hold her breath. She couldn't risk him finding her, finding Flynn. It always took her hours to resume her sense of normality after these false sightings.
But right now, she needed to focus. She glanced over at the women. The pixie was taking a tampon out of her bag, the blonde busily peeling back the blanket from the hot, sleeping child. She needed them to feel comfortable, to see her as just another mother, not as a potential threat. She turned on the water again, making a show of washing her hands. Stalling. The two women parked their buggies beside the sinks and both of them went into the stalls.
Unbelievable, Emily thought, shaking her head. Though she had seen it time and time again, she still couldn't understand what must be going through their minds. To leave not only their belongings, their valuables, but also their precious children right there for the taking in a dirty, public toilet in the middle of London. Emily instinctively wrapped her arms around Flynn, sick at the thought of what could happen if the wrong person saw the unattended children.
Perhaps, she thought introspectively, her fear was a product of her past. Maybe these women had led such blessed lives that they couldn't fathom a time when life would strike them down and leave them ruined. She hoped they would never have to face the consequences of such trusting naivety.