The Birthday Card

by Pauline Barclay

  Unsure where Kes had gone, Doreen knew there was nothing she could do. Shrugging at the pointlessness of worrying, her mind drifted to her friend Jan. She had heard nothing from her. Was this how it was going to be from now on, with old friends wanting to keep their distance? Not comfortable about being ignored, she made a mental note to call Jan when she returned from talking to Stephanie. She needed to see Jan and see how they stood.

  Mindful of all the changes in her life, she headed to the door. Today was the real beginning of her new life.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Doreen punched in the alarm numbers. She used the six numbers that had brought her so much luck. The three beeps told her the alarm was armed.

  ‘Crikey, I’ll never get used to this lark,’ she mumbled pulling the front door shut before she set the alarm off again!

  In the short time they had lived in this fabulous house she had set it off three times. Stuffing the bunch of keys into her bag, a bunch that wouldn’t be out of place if she was to unlock Fort Knox, she stood, listened, then sighed with relief, thankful it had not gone off. All the years she had lived in Wentworth House, with some of the toerags for neighbours, nobody had needed an alarm. Funny how living in an upmarket area you needed to have one; it made no sense to her, but as she was only renting the mini-mansion, she needed to set it.

  Standing back, she gazed up at the four bedroom red-brick house with its triple glazed windows, three bathrooms and a conservatory that reminded her of Kew Gardens, a place she had visited with school many moons ago. Taking a deep breath, she felt like pinching herself to remind her it was real.

  Stephanie had been true to her word and, within days of having lunch with her, this little gem had been available for her and Trish. If it had only been that easy when she had moved into Wentworth House - she’d had to wait months.

  Turning, she headed down the long herringbone-brick drive to the waiting car. She had two things that needed doing today; one of them was lunch with her old mate Jan, but that would have to wait until later. She sighed, knowing Jan had taken her win badly, not in an envious way, but Jan had found she didn’t know how to talk to her. A bottle of gin and a few packets of decent fags and plenty of laughs had sorted any worries. Of course she had seen her old mate alright. Jan had not easily taken the gift, but Doreen had won out in the end. Before she could catch up with Jan, she had an important task to carry out first.

  Twenty minutes later Doreen walked with purpose along the shrub-bordered footpath, the evergreen foliage spilling over the edges, her soft leather boots silent on the clean white paving stones. The last time she had walked along this winding path was with Annie, to say goodbye to her neighbour, Jack. They had been the only ones to see him off; a sad end to a life. Today her visit to the crematorium was in stark contrast to the day she and Annie had bid goodbye to the old boy. Today she was going to say her thank you to him. He would never know that he had, in the strangest of ways, changed her life.

  Thinking about the last time she had seen Jack, she smiled at the memory and the laugh they’d had as she had cavorted around his flat singing Simply the Best. Well, old Jack, it turned out, you were the best, and today I’m going to say a big thanks.

  With her thoughts on her task, Doreen followed the path that meandered through gardens with fragrant plants, areas of immaculately trimmed grass and cleverly shaped trees that reminded her of pompoms. She had no idea what the plant names were, the only tree she could safely name was a Christmas tree, but only if it was decorated with lights and baubles. She giggled at her ignorance. Turning the corner, she saw what she had come for. Lengthening her stride, she headed towards the reason for her journey.

  ‘Hello, Jack,’ she said standing in front of the memorial plaque she’d had made for him. ‘Bet you don’t recognise me?’ she said her voice barely above a whisper as she ran a hand through her designer styled hair. ‘I don’t blame you if you don’t, I’ll be frank, I didn’t recognise meself after the hairdresser had finished,’ she said, adding a little giggle. ‘Not only has my mop been sorted, but today I’m wearing designer jeans and top, and my jacket has a designer name I’ll never be able to pronounce, but who cares. So you can see I can scrub up if I want to,’ she said as a lump rose in her throat.

  She was not expecting this. She swallowed in an attempt to suppress the emotion, then taking a deep breath, continued. ‘Another thing you won’t know and that is we ain’t living in Wentworth House, neither. You’ll never believe where we are.’ She swallowed again, ‘Blimey, this ain’t easy, but I’ve got to tell you. We’ve got a big flash house in a posh street. You’d have been too scared to walk down that road. I’ll be honest, I am.’

  She giggled loudly then reached forward and touched the plaque. It was shiny and felt smooth. With her index finger she traced the carved letters and, as if reading to her daughter when she was little, she read out. ‘Jack “Sparrow” Bird, a diamond geezer, my very own discovered diamond. Thank you.’ She ran her finger again over the words, thank you.

  The lump of earlier had risen and this time no amount of trying could hold it back. The choking emotion overwhelmed her and, unable to stop, the tears spilled and ran down her face. ‘This wasn’t supposed to happen,’ she sobbed. Leaning against the plaque, she eventually added, ‘Had I not gone and bought you a birthday card, I’d never have dreamed of wasting my hard earnt dosh on a lottery ticket, but I did. Thank you, Jack, your birthday card changed our lives. I just wish you could be here to share some of the millions. Once again, thanks from the bottom of my heart.’

  Doreen retraced the steps she had taken earlier, her eyes dry and her emotions under control. She had done the only thing possible to thank Jack. At least he would not be forgotten, and those visiting the memorial garden would see Jack’s plaque.

  Climbing into the car that waited for her, she now looked forward to catching up with Jan. Tomorrow she and Trisha would be flying out on their very first holiday. Stephanie had organised that too.

  ‘Villas Bonitas is a prestigious sun soaked private complex designed for the rich and privileged,’ Stephanie had enthused, showing her photographs that had excited and frightened her.

  ‘What if we don’t fit it?’ she had asked.

  ‘How could you not,’ Stephanie had replied emphatically, ‘you are seriously rich.’

  She had not argued, after all they needed a holiday and a little sun would be just the ticket. Now, as her driver headed to the little bar where she would meet Jan, all she could think of was slipping into her sparkling purple bikini and soaking up those sun rays at Villas Bonitas.

  THE END

  You can meet Doreen and Trisha again in Sometimes It Happens…

  Winning the lottery was just the beginning for Doreen Wilkinson, nothing prepared Doreen and her seventeen year old daughter for their holiday at the luxury Villas Bonitas and nothing prepared Villas Bonitas for the Wilkinsons.

  Sometimes It Happens...as a cast of characters, all have secrets and as Doreen and her daughter mingle with the rich, they find that deception, love, lies and laughter turns their holiday into one they will never forget.

  At the end of this book you can read chapter One.

  Available in Kindle & Paperback

  Acknowledgments

  I am deeply indebted to the wonderful Helen Hollick for encouraging me to write this story, but more importantly for all the help and advice she gave me regarding the lottery and the process once you are a winner - any errors in my story regarding this are down to me. Apart from being a dear friend, Helen is an international selling author whose books include; historical events, swashbuckling pirate adventures and books based on facts. You can find all about Helen and her books at www.helenhollick.net

  I am forever grateful to my very dear and great friend, Julie Dexter for her thoughts and keen eye, and her honesty.

  A huge thank you to my editor, Nicky Galliers for polishing my novel to a shine.

  Once again, a round of applause to t
he amazingly talented, Cathy Helms at Avalon Graphic for another stunning cover.

  And, not forgetting, my wonderful husband for his patience, support and love.

  To you dear reader, thank you for purchasing a copy and reading, The Birthday Card, I hope it made you smile as much as it did me.

  Also by Pauline Barclay

  Magnolia House

  Satchfield Hall

  Sometimes It Happens…

  Storm Clouds Gathering

  In The Cold Light of Day

  The Wendy House

  You can find out more about Pauline at:

  Web site

  Blog Site

  Facebook Author Page

  Twitter: @paulinembarclay

  Sometimes It Happens…

  Chapter ONE

  Nothing in her wildest dreams had prepared Doreen Wilkinson for something like this. But then, nothing had prepared her for winning the lottery either.

  Several million. Several million. Eleven million, three hundred and fifty four thousand, two hundred and ten pounds and nineteen pence to be precise.

  She had giggled at the nineteen pence. “Break the bleedin’ bank that will!”

  The media had made the comment a headline, “19p to break the bleedin’ bank!” splashed all over the Sun and Daily Mirror accompanied by her smiling face and a fountain spray of champagne. She had thought it a waste shaking that great big bottle and letting it fizz everywhere, but the reporters had told her to do it.

  Giggling at the memory, dressed in her silk pyjamas, Doreen stepped out on to the terrace. The warm morning air that caressed her face was in stark contrast to the chilled champagne she was sipping. She giggled again at drinking champagne before the sun had got out of bed. Padding to the end of the terrace, her bare feet absorbing the heat from the ceramic tiles, she looked out in awe over the Villas Bonitas complex of luxury villas. Apart from in films she had never seen exotic plants and trees, meandering tiled pathways and white walled, red roofed villas with sprawling private terraces. But then, she told herself, she had never won the lottery or been abroad before either. In fact she had never had a proper holiday full stop.

  As the sun began to rise the solar lights that lit the gardens during the hours of darkness began to fade. Doreen watched, mesmerized, as the colours of the neatly maintained gardens surrounding each individual terrace gradually turned from sombre shades to vibrant greens, reds, pinks and yellows, and the shadows darkening the walls of each villa changed to a dazzling white. In the distance she could just make out the silhouette of the volcanic mountains as the rising sun cast its morning rays against their dark, jagged shapes.

  Drinking the last drops of her champagne Doreen sighed with contentment. She had not known such beauty existed. Even the air had a sweet fragrance to it. She closed her eyes and inhaled the heady perfume, a high pitched shriek pierced the stillness, startled, she opened her eyes to see a yellow parrot dart past, almost within touching distance, its wings fanning her face. No sooner had the parrot disappeared into the tall palm trees, another, more muted sound rippled through the sultry, morning, air.

  She frowned as she heard it again; looked left and right to locate where it was coming from. Giggled. She had half an idea what was going on and was surprised that such naughty cries could be heard in such a posh place. Grinning she went to sip her champagne, tipping the glass to her lips, realised it was empty. Pulling a face, she ambled back across the terrace and stepping through the wide open patio doors, giggled. “Someone’s enjoying a good time.”

  Blinking rapidly, her eyes struggling to focus after the brightness of the terrace, squinting, Doreen looked around the lounge. “Blimey,” she cried seeing glasses and a couple of empty bottles on one of the low coffee tables. A makeup bag, its contents scattered on the dining table and an open magazine lay on the floor near one of the sofas.

  “God, what am I like?” she muttered as she reached for a packet of cigarettes and a lighter.

  Taking a drag from her newly lit cigarette, Doreen looked at her watch. It was still early, she thought as she paused outside her daughter Trisha’s door. Should she peep in? Her only daughter had gone out clubbing the night before, no doubt got home in the early hours. Her hand half way to the door handle, she wondered had she heard Trisha come in? She tried to think, but could not remember hearing any sounds; but then, she had been dead to the world, her first decent night’s sleep in weeks.

  “Youngsters,” she giggled, “on the go all day, party all night. Don’t know where they get their energy from.”

  Shaking her head, still giggling, she wandered to her bathroom. What she would give to be seventeen again!