Twenty Years a Stranger (The Stranger Series Book 1)

by Deborah Twelves

  Twenty Years

  a Stranger

  Deborah Twelves

  First Edition 2020 Fortis Publishing

  Copyright © Fortis Publishing under exclusive licence from Deborah Twelves.

  The rights of Deborah Twelves have been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998.

  No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-913822-00-2

  Fortis Publishing

  Kemp House

  160 City Road

  London

  EC1V 2NX

  Although this story is based on real events, is is a work of fiction. Some characters and events have been added for creative purposes and are entirely a product of the author’s imagination.

  About the author

  Deborah Twelves was born in Sheffield, but raised in Ponteland, Northumberland. She studied French and Spanish at Edinburgh University and taught languages for some years while living in France, Spain and Northern Quebec. She now divides her time between her home in Pwllheli, on the Llyn Peninsula of North Wales and her family home in Northumberland but often travels abroad. She has a black Labrador called Nala and a black Lusitano horse called Recurso (Ric), who take up a lot of her spare time, although yacht racing, which she began at an early age with her father, remains her great passion.

  Deborah has written many articles for the sailing press over the years and Twenty Years a Stranger is her debut novel, based on true events in her life.

  It is the first book in the Stranger Trilogy. The other two books, Ghost of a Stranger and The Boy Stranger will follow soon.

  For Dad

  There is a special place in Heaven for a father who teaches his daughter to sail

  For Mum

  I am a strong woman today because a strong woman raised me

  Thank you both for always being on my side and for teaching me that giving up is never an option.

  Acknowledgements

  My heartfelt thanks go to the following people:

  Ken Scott, my amazing book coach and mentor, for believing in me from the start, for giving me the confidence to write this book and for guiding me through the whole process.

  My editor Joan Elliott and the team at Fortis Publishing.

  My friend, Michael Oliver, who shot the cover photo on Marsden Grotto beach at sunrise.

  I consider myself very lucky and am eternally grateful to have such a loving family and so many wonderful friends in my life, who supported me, not only through the process of writing this book, but through some of the worst times of my life. Sadly, I cannot name you all here, or the book would be twice as long, but I hope you know who you are and that your friendship means the world to me. Whether you gave me a place to sleep, fed me, plied me with wine, made me laugh, gave me a shoulder to cry on, listened to my rants, came to my rescue or gave me a kick up the backside when I needed it, know that I would never have got through the last few years without you. Thank you for believing in my ability to write this book, for encouraging me when I faltered or doubted myself and for inspiring some of my characters.

  You are the people who understood my past, believed in my future, accepted me as I am and helped turn my dreams into reality. I love you all.

  Contents

  Prologue

  PART I

  The Awakening

  The Promise

  The Dating Game

  The Good Life

  Life after Brian

  The Camera Never Lies

  Tick Tock

  The Dream House

  The Acceptance

  The Trap

  A child is born

  The Conversation

  The Calm Before the Storm

  The Miracle

  A Diagnosis

  A Dish best served cold

  Lighting the Fuse

  The Explosion

  PART II

  The Email

  Picking up the pieces

  The Thief

  The mother of his child

  The waiting game

  Letting go

  The Fallout

  The Brother

  The Other Woman

  A turning point

  The Liar

  The Investigator

  The Mistake

  The American Connection

  The surprise

  The worst of times

  The First Born

  The Spreadsheet

  The fear

  PART III

  The funeral

  The time capsule

  A courtroom battle

  A judgement

  A Friendly Warning

  Shifting goalposts

  A surprise party

  Girl on fire

  The one that got away

  Letting go

  Dangerous Lies

  Day of reckoning

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  The Gaslight effect is a form of emotional abuse that causes a person to lose their sense of identity, perception and self-worth. It may ultimately cause them to doubt their sanity. The Gaslighter feels compelled to dominate and control.

  Julia

  The woman who opened the gate to the small terraced house was unremarkable. Loose strands of her mid-length, mousy brown hair blew across her face in the breeze and she squinted slightly in the bright May sunshine. A perfect English summer’s day in the sleepy little village on the edge of the Derbyshire Dales, where she had lived throughout her whole life.

  She glanced nervously back up the lane as she let herself into the house, but she needn’t have worried. Nobody noticed her. Not the teenager from next door walking his dog, nor the young couple strolling hand in hand, totally engrossed in each other and oblivious to the outside world. She had perfected the art of melting into the background and it suited her perfectly.

  She didn’t much care for social interaction these days. She no longer even noticed how overgrown the garden had become, or how grubby the windows were, or how the paint was peeling off the window frames. The chipped fingernails of her hand that would once have been perfectly manicured went similarly unnoticed.

  None of it mattered.

  She stepped inside, closed the door behind her and hung her jacket on the hook in the hallway, pausing as she caught sight of herself in the full-length mirror. She was not unattractive, but her flat, black shoes and unfashionably straight jeans, together with her slightly scruffy, navy blue jumper and total lack of makeup, gave the impression that she was older than her thirty-two years. Everything about the woman staring back at her from the mirror screamed: Anonymous. Forgettable. Invisible.

  It had not always been like that, but little by little she had seen the happy, carefree, fun version of herself slipping quietly away without a backward glance and she could do nothing to stop it happening.

  She remembered one particular evening, as clearly as if it were yesterday, because she knew without a doubt that it marked the point of no return for her. It was three months ago, give or take a few days. She had tried so hard, cooking his favourite meal of Chilli con Carne and even dressing up for dinner, just as he liked her to do. No leggings and baggy top for her that night. He had told her repeatedly, in no uncertain terms, that she was letting herself go and she was determined to show him he was wrong, daring to dream that maybe things could work out for them after all.


  Staring at her reflection in the hallway mirror, her insides twisted uncomfortably as she relived in her head the crushing humiliation she had felt that night. She could almost feel the buttons of the red, lacy suspender belt she had worn to seduce him digging painfully into her thighs.

  She knew it had been a mistake to suggest trying for another baby, even before the words had left her mouth, but she just hadn’t been able to help herself. In her mind’s eye, she saw herself take an involuntary step backward, recoiling in horror at the look on his face. She cursed her stupidity and wished that she could somehow stop her life unravelling before her very eyes but, before she knew it, she was speaking again and the bitter words of accusation were spilling out like overflowing bathwater, never to be taken back.

  ‘You’re glad she died, aren’t you? You never wanted her anyway! Admit it!’ she had sobbed.

  Two years and seventeen days had somehow slipped by since she lost baby Ava. Two years and seventeen days since the unspeakable horror of that day, when she had endured the torture of childbirth. The indescribable pain of pushing out a baby whose cries she would never hear. A baby who would never draw breath. Packed off to a cold hospital morgue and eventually cremated, her ashes scattered on the wind. She had cuddled and rocked the lifeless little bundle, utterly and completely alone in her desolation.

  He should have been by her side. He should have held her close and sobbed with her, sharing the grief and the pain, but he had barely even looked into the face of their beautiful, angelic little daughter. He had remained on the other side of the room, looking uncomfortable as he fidgeted and paced the tiled floor, unable or unwilling to connect. He had abandoned her when she needed him the most. She had looked into his eyes, silently pleading for some comfort, searching for a unity of some sort, but she had seen only a cold detachment on his face and that was what had shaken her the most.

  ‘Don’t be too hard on him,’ one of the nurses had said to her afterwards, trying to be kind. ‘People grieve in different ways. The important thing is that you are both there for each other as you move forward.’

  The same nurse had sat with her for the rest of the day, even when she had finally been forced to let Ava go. Let Ava go? The other nurses had had to almost prise the dead baby from her mother’s arms. When they were the only two people in the small room, the same, kind nurse had held her hand, stroked her head and passed her paper tissues when the inevitable tears flowed.

  He was nowhere to be seen.

  In those early days she could not begin to imagine ever being able to ‘move forward’, but little by little, she dragged herself back into the land of the living and forced herself to carry on. She knew she would never be able to get over the agony of her loss, but she had learned to live with it and was ready to try again, despite the heartache she had experienced. She was desperate to become a mother and she had convinced herself that he wanted it too.

  She had been wrong.

  Her thoughts returned to that evening three months ago, when everything changed, when she finally found the courage to speak out and say what she was thinking. Her words of blame hung in the air, and for a moment he said nothing but the look of contempt was enough to silence her. When he eventually spoke, his words came out in a venomous sneer and she realised in growing despair that things were most definitely not going to be okay. There would be no fairy tale ending to her story.

  ‘You’re pathetic. How many times have I told you I don’t want children?’ he snarled. ‘How much clearer can I make it? Seriously, are you completely brain dead? I don’t want children now and I didn’t want children then. Get it through your thick head.’

  She searched for some words of defiance, of reason. She found none.

  She jumped as he slammed his fist on the table and continued to berate her.

  ‘It was your responsibility to take the pill every day but you couldn’t even get that right, could you? I wouldn’t mind betting you actually ‘forgot’ to take it deliberately. I am sick and tired of you and your constant whining about kids. You’re just no fun anymore. It’s boring. You are boring. You’re not the only one who ever lost a baby for fuck’s sake. Stop making such a drama out of everything and get over yourself.’

  She stared at him in silence. His face was ugly and contorted as he spat the words at her. Her bottom lip trembled and the tears welled up in her eyes. But he was not done yet.

  ‘And if you really want the truth, then yes, I was relieved. I mean, look at the state of you. Can you honestly imagine looking after a baby? You can’t even look after yourself. You’re an embarrassment and I have absolutely no idea anymore what I ever saw in you. You make my skin crawl. And what was this all about tonight? Some sort of desperate attempt to seduce me? Was I supposed to pounce on you and ravish you?’ he mocked, looking her up and down with disdain.

  She shrank from the spiteful words, which seemed to anger him even more.

  He stood up abruptly and shoved the table into her stomach, causing her to gasp in shock. He delivered his parting shot as he was half-way through the door.

  ‘I need to get out of here. I can hardly bear to look at you. You suck the life out of everything and everyone. Why don’t you do us all a favour and just fuck off permanently? Seriously, would anyone even notice? Or care? I for one have had a bellyful of your shit. And do not for one second think I will let you drag me down with you, you pathetic, snivelling bitch!’

  She flinched as the door slammed and she heard his footsteps on the gravel, heading for his car. She had wanted so desperately to please him, to feel sexy and desirable again, but she knew that he no longer looked at her that way and he had certainly dispelled any lingering doubts she may have been harbouring that evening.

  She had tried her best, she really had, but he had barely touched her since baby Ava. She had been prepared to do whatever he wanted, like in the old days, but no matter what she did it was never enough. He despised her and he no longer made even the slightest attempt to disguise it. She looked at herself in the mirror and felt like a cheap tart.

  If she was being honest the rot had set in the day she told him she was pregnant. It was true he had said he didn’t want children, but she had always believed he would come around. Who was she kidding? They had just grown further apart and she knew for a fact he was sleeping with other women behind her back. She had chosen to ignore that, just so long as he always came home to her and she could maintain her illusion of the happy family life she had always craved, a life that would one day include a child.

  She had realised that night, as she tried desperately to reconnect with her husband that her dream was never going to come true. For years she had held onto a fantasy future that would never translate into reality. She had finally acknowledged to herself that their marriage was over and with that acceptance, despite all the hurt, she felt a strange sense of calm wash over her.

  It was time to take control of her own life again. Time to move on.

  She turned away from the mirror in the hall, no longer able to ignore the frantic whining of her beloved black Labrador Ted, who had been with her from a tiny pup, through thick and thin. He was almost twelve years old now but still acted like a puppy. He leapt on her as she opened the kitchen door, unable to contain himself. He stood tall on his hind legs, front paws up on her chest, tail wagging and tongue licking any exposed flesh he could find. He was desperate to show how much he had missed her and how much he loved her.

  She spoke in a whisper and ruffled the soft fur behind his ears.

  ‘Gorgeous boy, yes, I love you too.’

  She noticed a few more grey hairs, another two or three white whiskers and he wasn’t as agile as he had once been. She felt a fleeting pang of guilt, but she pushed it to the back of her mind.

  She was quite proud of herself, feeling that at last there was some kind of order in her life. She was in control and it was a long time since she had felt like that. She had even remembered to post a birthday card to her mother and it wo
uld arrive in good time for once, instead of the usual two days late.

  There had also been a long and difficult phone conversation with her older sister, but she knew it had to be done and was glad they had made up after the horrendous row of the previous week. The argument had been about money as usual, or rather her lack of it, and her sister had said some awful, hurtful things, accusing her of continually sponging off their mother. The conversation had then turned inevitably to him and she retaliated angrily, jumping to his defence as she always seemed to do, with things that would have been better left unsaid.

  Someone once told her that saying sorry is like trying to repair a smashed plate. You can glue it back together but it will never be quite the same again.

  She hoped that wasn’t true.

  She paused for a moment to look at the picture of Amber, the chestnut mare she adored, before lifting it off the wall, reaching into the small hole behind it and removing the thousand pounds in cash she had got from selling her. She put the money carefully into an envelope and wrote simply: Mum xxx. Then she placed it on the hall table.

  It was too little too late, but what could she do? Things had been tough for her since he left and she could barely make ends meet most months. She was doing her best to make amends for what she had put them all through. She hoped they would understand one day.

  She replaced the picture, adjusting it to make sure it was hanging straight. Patting her thigh encouragingly, she walked into the kitchen with Ted trotting eagerly at her heels. She put a generous scoop of food into his bowl and placed it on the floor in its usual place. A smile crossed her face as she watched him pounce excitedly on the bowl, tail wagging as he started to devour its contents.