The Face Of It
A Patchwork Of Rivers, Volume 1
Rosie Williams
Published by Purple Trunk Press, 2021.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
THE FACE OF IT
First edition. June 22, 2021.
Copyright © 2021 Rosie Williams.
ISBN: 978-1914607004
Written by Rosie Williams.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE | Bad Good News
CHAPTER TWO | Home Comforts
CHAPTER THREE | Climbing the Walls
CHAPTER FOUR | Paige's City Tours
CHAPTER FIVE | Helped Back on the Horse
CHAPTER SIX | Labels
CHAPTER SEVEN | Rain and Sparks
CHAPTER EIGHT | The Past in the Present
CHAPTER NINE | Forest Fun
CHAPTER TEN | The A Word
CHAPTER ELEVEN | Departures
CHAPTER TWELVE | The Date
CHAPTER THIRTEEN | Lost
CHAPTER FOURTEEN | Found
CHAPTER FIFTEEN | Bedding and Beginnings
CHAPTER SIXTEEN | Reaction and Action
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN | Appointments
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN | Gifts and Gratitude
CHAPTER NINETEEN | Christmas at the Spencers’
CHAPTER TWENTY | Spring
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE | Brotherly Intervention
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO | The Meet Up
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE | A Change of Plans
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR | The Assessment
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE | Results
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX | Epilogue
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About the Author
To Roe, without whose encouragement this book would never have been completed.
To Rob, who read it first.
And to Charlotte, for supporting me in everything I do.
Thank you to Greg, who is a very patient editor, and to Dad, who is an even more patient proof reader.
CHAPTER ONE
Bad Good News
PAIGE
A thin panel of shatterproof glass embedded in her office door neatly framed Dr Paige Spencer as she worked at her desk. She tucked her shoulder-length auburn hair behind her ears and scowled at the computer screen that displayed this year’s class schedule. Her desk was under the lone, high-level window, while bookcases inhabited most of the other wall space. The books were stacked two deep which made the shelves bow slightly in the middle. Additional towers of books were piled on top of the bookcases, some of them precariously forced over the edges by the odd pot plant or framed certificate. A giant, well-worn beanbag occupied one corner of the room, surrounded by note cards and different colour highlighter pens. Extensively annotated journals lay open in front of it, as if in audience. The office was quiet; term did not start for another fortnight. There was only a smattering of staff traversing the hallways, and over-eager freshers nervously making small talk in the courtyard below.
Dr Spencer closed her class schedule and opened Facebook. She was immediately greeted by a video of a dog and two children playing in a pile of leaves, her elder brother Brandon and his wife laughing behind the camera. A little further down her sister Jenna had checked into a posh hotel in London with the hashtag ‘blessed’; the accompanying photograph of her and her now-fiancé strategically taken so as to draw attention to the engagement ring.
A few scrolls later and Dr Spencer had caught up with her news feed. Thomas, her younger brother, hadn’t posted an update in months. He was probably too far down the rabbit hole with his photography again; he had been enthralled by it since the first time he held a camera. Paige was reminded that she hadn’t posted in months, either, or even spoken to Thomas in that time. She sent him a quick text requesting proof of life. The next conversation in the app was the group chat the four siblings had with their parents, with Jenna and Brandon valiantly keeping the conversation going with little help from the other two siblings. Jenna had been talking about her latest career change, and Brandon about a new hobby that had taken his fancy. The rest of the chat was taken up by pictures of Brandon’s children.
The latest picture of her niece and nephew grinning at the camera was suddenly replaced with a shrill ring and a green button demanding she answer.
‘Hey, Maya. You know how I feel about phone calls,’ Paige chastised her by way of greeting.
‘I know, lovely, I’m sorry, but I’m driving so I didn’t really have a choice.’ Dr Spencer could hear the faint noise of an indicator in the background, and Maya’s distracted voice sounded distant and electronic. ‘I just wanted to let you know I’m running a bit late, my meeting overran. I should be able to make it for half seven?’
‘OK, no problem. Drive safely’
‘I always do, Paige,’ Maya laughed, before hanging up.
Paige and Maya had known each other for over a decade. Maya had crashed into Paige’s life only a few days after Paige moved into her university halls of residence. Maya had come through the front door carrying too many boxes and not paying much attention to the room numbers. She didn't notice she was in the wrong room until she dumped the boxes on the bed, only for the bed to yelp in response - Paige had been lying there reading one of her new textbooks. Maya’s way of making up for her mistake was to persistently entice, cajole, and bribe the disinterested Paige to leave her room and attend every freshers' event. Paige in turn had made sure Maya got home safely from the freshers’ parties. Maya had helped her inexperienced friend with the rules of dating and romance as best she could for a then eighteen-year-old, and had introduced Paige to her first girlfriend.
Maya almost dropped out near the end of her second year. Her spring term tutor had taken an instant dislike to her, and his constant cruelty and criticism were almost too much. Paige sat with Maya in their shared flat, night after night, drying her tears, eventually convincing her to put in a formal complaint, and holding her hand the entire way through her meeting with her head of school. They attended each other’s graduations, both of them graduating near the top of their classes, and their excited cheers for each other could easily be heard above the polite clapping in the auditoriums. Maya celebrated graduation by going travelling for a few months, though only after making Paige promise to pursue her dream of becoming a professor despite the saturation in the field. She sent Paige postcards from every new city and country she visited. Upon her return she got an entry level job at a computer software start-up in a city several hours away and began working her way up the corporate ladder. Her current job was in health software and less than an hour away from Paige. The upper management position she held at the international health software business allowed her some flexibility with her hours, so the friends were able to meet up regularly; though this evening’s type of delay wasn't unusual.
Paige leaned back in her chair, stretched, and rubbed her eyes; she wasn’t going to get any more work done today. She got up from her desk, glanced at the hand-written notes scattered over the floor, and shook her head. It was a paper monument to her failure. Her application for internal research funding had been turned down. Again. Although her predominantly male colleagues accepted that women’s contributions to the French Resistance in World War II were invaluable, they thought there were enough books on the subject already. Their conceptualisation of the project only extended as far as imagining fact-laden textbooks and dry repetition of names and dates, like the works they churned out. Paige had not been able to communicate her idea of bringing these historical figures to life in a way they could understand. She had already
started preparing a fresh application on the same subject, which she hoped would be ready for the next round of funding. This was the second time the panel had rejected her idea and seeing her notes sprawled across the floor just reminded her of her defeat. She really needed that drink with Maya.
Paige turned off the lights as she left her office, and locked the door behind her, and smiled politely at the few people she passed on the way to the lift. Her office was on the fifth floor of the university’s Silverton building, a structure which the History department shared with Journalism and English. There was a large cafe on the ground floor that served good food and was popular with the students, including those studying in the neighbouring smaller buildings. Paige always tried to avoid it at lunch times, but would sometimes grab a tea refill in the mornings, before too many people had arrived.
Once outside, Paige walked past her car in the car park, deciding instead to walk to the pub where she was meeting Maya. It was only about two miles along the river and there was still enough light; the autumn sun was only just starting to paint the sky with pink and orange hues. She used this footpath regularly during the summer, immersing herself in the serenity of the babbling river, and the fresh air always made a welcome change from her stuffy office. This evening a few fallen leaves welcomed her as she strolled along. A couple of gentle rapids serenaded her as she walked past; the sound of moving water was sometimes the only thing that could calm her frantic mind. On another night the musical waters might have been adorned with the bright colours of university kayakers paddling in their waves, and in the summer she would often see the vibrant swim caps of the open water swimmers who trained upstream of the white water. Regardless of the human presence on the river, Paige could count on the company of various animals for whom the river was either home or hunting ground. Even when deep in thought about her latest paper or journal article review, she never failed to appreciate the beauty of the herons, the skittishness of the squirrels, or the cuteness of the ducks. However, it was the owls that were her favourite, even though (or perhaps because?) they were the most elusive. Even on the rare occasions when she decided to walk along the river and had left work late enough, there was never a guarantee she would hear an owl, let alone see one. But there was always that enticing chance.
About halfway towards her destination Paige tried to re-focus her thoughts on her research project. The niggling doubts she always carried with her threatened to claw their way to the surface. Had she been too direct in her delivery? Too blunt in her defence of her project? She knew that people often bristled at her abrasiveness. Her first girlfriend had broken up with her over it. Paige didn’t understand why someone would ask a question if they didn’t want an honest answer, and how she was expected to know that her girlfriend had actually meant the opposite of what she had said? At the time she had consoled herself by burying herself in her studies, the one thing she knew she excelled at. But now it felt like the academic side of her was being questioned; her whole existence was under attack. Maybe Maya would be able to translate again.
‘So sorry I’m late, Spence!’ Maya apologised as she stumbled through the pub door, quickly spotting her best friend in the corner they had claimed as forever theirs. Maya had dragged Paige to the pub’s open mic poetry night in their first year, and they had been in love with it ever since. The mismatched furniture was all reclaimed or upcycled, and there was an open fire that was perfect for warming cold toes; especially for students who prioritised drinking money over paying to heat their draughty student houses. An old-fashioned jukebox completed the atmosphere. It was full of songs from before the friends were born, but that didn’t stop them feeding it fifty pence and dancing away, much to the bemusement of the older patrons.
Maya sat down at the table, her large white wine ready and waiting, courtesy of Paige.
‘Traffic was a nightmare and there were roadworks getting out of the city centre,’ Maya continued.
‘It’s fine, it gave me time to walk here instead of drive. Clear my head a bit.’ Paige let out a barely audible sigh. The fresh air of the river hadn’t helped blow away the dark cloud that had followed her from her office.
‘What’s up?’ Maya probed.
‘Just the research funding thing again.’ Paige had texted Maya earlier that week, as soon as she’d been told about her latest funding rejection, on the verge of tears and feeling like she might explode. ‘It’s stupid. Rejection happens. It shouldn’t get to me this much.’
‘Just because it happens doesn’t make it hurt any less, lovely,’ Maya soothed. ‘How’re you getting on with the new application?’
‘It’s going about as well as you’d imagine,’ Paige said, scowling slightly at her gin and tonic as if it was the reason she was failing.
‘Have you thought that maybe you’re going about this the wrong way?’ Maya asked.
‘What d’you mean?’
‘Well, you want to tell the stories of these women, right? So why not actually write their stories?’
‘I still don’t understand,’ Paige stated with a furrowed brow.
‘Well...’ Maya trailed off, before taking a big breath in and rapidly spouting, ‘I know you’re an academic through and through, and that it’s important to you to talk about these people in an academic way, but why not write historically accurate novels about them? Outline their lives, their triumphs and losses, in a story that even an average Joe like me can understand?’
‘There is nothing average about you, Maya!’ Paige chuckled.
‘Well, yes! But aside from that. What do you think?’
‘I don’t know. It would be interesting to see if the research committee responded better to a more... human approach.’
‘I didn’t mean to submit it as a research proposal, lovely. I meant write a book. Get it published. Or publish it yourself? Tell these women’s stories and screw what some dusty old academics think.’
‘It’s a misconception that all academics are old, and I’m sure they all practice good hygiene,’ Paige said.
Maya rolled her eyes. ‘The point is,’ she continued patiently ‘you have the content already, you have the drive to do it, so to hell with what they think and just do it anyway!’
Paige stared into her glass whilst fidgeting with her beer mat. She had no experience with novel-writing. But these stories... they were so vivid to her, as vivid as one of Thomas’ photographs. She was about to respond, voicing her concerns about her lack of ability, when they were interrupted by a tall man casting a shadow over their table.
‘Hi... I was wondering if I might buy you a drink?’ he asked politely, looking directly at Paige.
‘No, thank you,’ she said curtly.
‘Paige!’ Maya scolded. ‘Sorry, what she meant to say was that she isn’t looking for a relationship or hook-up right now, but would gladly extend a hand of friendship.’
‘No, that’s not what I meant,’ Paige corrected bluntly. ‘I don’t make a habit of befriending strangers in pubs.’ The man skulked away back to the bar, ordering a lone drink before disappearing around the corner and out of sight.
‘You could have been a bit nicer to him,’ Maya said.
‘Being honest is being nice. I wouldn’t want to give him false hope,’ Paige stated, before adding, ‘If you roll your eyes at me much more, they’re going to fall out your head.’
‘I’m just saying, you should be more open to potential relationships, platonic or otherwise. Who else do you hang out with, aside from me and your family?’
‘I speak to people in work, and at the climbing club.’
‘Work doesn't count, and half the time at climbing you’re up a wall or belaying someone who is. Do you ever go out socially with the climbers?’
‘Sometimes,’ Paige answered, and Maya cocked an eyebrow. ‘Probably not as often as I should, but I don’t really have time.’
‘You should make time -’ Maya began, before her phone started ringing. ‘Sorry, lovely, I’ve got to take this, d
o you mind?’ she asked, already standing up. Paige shook her head and Maya headed outside.
The idea of writing a novel, of becoming an author, was alien to Paige. She hadn’t exactly excelled at creative writing in school, but then, the topics they were given never really interested her. This would be different. She didn’t have to come up with a complicated plot, or intricate back stories, or any of that stuff, she just had to give life to the characters that already existed in history books as footnotes. That’s what had started this whole crusade. One of her reference texts mentioned a Resistance fighter and ‘his wife’. She wasn’t even named in the book, just mentioned as the property of the man. As if her contributions weren’t valuable enough to even recall her name. But she had helped mothers escaping with their children by providing food and clothing for them and getting them safe passage. She had even acted as a midwife when necessary. Paige only knew all this because she had spent weeks trying to find out this woman’s name, so at least someone would know it, would know her; Emilie. During her research on Emilie she came across many more like her: just mentioned in passing in the books, or not even mentioned at all.
Maya thumped back down into her chair, snapping Paige out of her thoughts.
‘Everything OK?’ Paige asked.
‘Yes, fine. Great, actually.’ Maya answered. ‘But you’re not going to like it.’
‘Like what?’
‘That was my boss’s boss, offering me the job I interviewed for earlier this week. I got the job.’
‘You didn’t tell me you had an interview! Congratulations!’ Paige exclaimed.
‘Wait, Paige, that’s not the whole story... Our company is setting up new offices in Japan and they want someone to go out there and oversee the process. I’ll be moving there for six months.’
Paige was silent. All she could hear was the heavy pounding in her chest. She just stared at her friend. Tears burnt in her eyes, her throat closed up, and her ribs felt like a constrictive cage. Over the years Paige had constructed a reassuring routine for herself and it suddenly felt like the foundations of it were being ripped away, that everything was just hovering over a void, about to break apart as it fell in.
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