Two Kinds Of Truth

by Lynette Creswell

  Two Kinds Of Truth

  Lynette Creswell

  Published in 2018 by FeedAread.com Publishing – Art Council funded

  Copyright © Lynette E. Creswell

  First Edition

  The author Lynette Creswell has asserted their moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

  All characters and events in this publication other than those clearly in the public domain are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Other Stories by Lynette E. Creswell

  Romance:

  Cracks In The Glass

  http://getbook.at/CracksintheGlassKD

  The Witching Hour (Short Story)

  http://getbook.at/TheWitchingHour

  Fantasy:

  Sinners of Magic

  http://getbook.at/Sinners1

  Betrayers of Magic

  http://getbook.at/Betrayers1

  Defenders of Magic

  http://getbook.at/Defernders1

  Clump A Changeling’s Story

  http://bookgoodies.com/a/B00QXO08MW

  For my family, with gratitude and love

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to thank the following people for their help and encouragement during the writing of Two Kinds Of Truth:

  My dear friend and fellow author, Joy Wood, for her inspiration and determination to ensure I wrote this book in the first place. Words fail me when I think of your unwavering support.

  To Julie Best for enabling me to conjure a vivid image of a flower shop and for helping me shape the scenes within The Budding Florist.

  To Fiona Graham, for her invaluable insight into daily life on a farm. Oh, and those puppies you hand reared are adorable!

  I’m eternally grateful to Pauline Mountain for getting me in touch with Fiona. It’s amazing how many lovely people you meet on Twitter.

  To Madison Rose McDonald who gave me the inspiration for my protagonist, Maddie.

  Cherisse Pymm who talks to me about my characters as though they’re real people. You inspire me, frustrate me and give me a kick when I need it.

  A huge thank you to Nikki Clark for her lightbulb moment and coming up with the Tarot Cards.

  Carol Stevens, I promised you a mention in the acknowledgements. Thanks for guiding me to the ITU nurse.

  Hannah Creswell, my daughter-in-law and brilliant nurse. Thank you for your guidance with Angina sufferers.

  To Sandra Fraser for her in-depth knowledge of the Highlands of Scotland—well, who better than a wee friendly Scot from the town of Penicuik to check the local dialect. Thank you for your continual support. I’m grateful we’ve formed an eternal friendship.

  Brittany Eckhardt, a talented New Yorker, who showed me how to make my story beautiful. I will be forever in your debt.

  To Jacqui Barwell, proof-reader extraordinaire—remember: time is a great healer.

  To Sallyann Cole for working hard behind the scenes to ensure you, the reader, received the finest print of this book.

  Letitia Hasser, you’re a truly talented lady. The book cover tells a story in itself and shows the world your unique gift to me.

  Clive Johnson, aka my editor and miracle worker. None of this would have been possible without your magic touch.

  You, the reader, thank you for picking up my book—I really hope you enjoy it.

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter 1

  Maddie

  I grab the phone from its cradle and balance it against my ear.

  “Hello…yes, you’ve reached The Budding Florist. How can I help?” I wave my hand in the air, trying to get Keira’s attention. When I catch her eye, I gesture for a pen. “Yes, that’s fine, and no, it’s not a problem.”

  With the cheap Biro Keira offers, I scribble down the customer’s details.

  “Sure, we can do a mixed bouquet for that amount, and yes, delivery is included.”

  I swing around to stare at the calendar pinned on the wall behind me.

  “Uh-huh. You said the twenty fifth of February? Yes, that gives us plenty of time. Thank you and you’re most welcome.”

  I replace the handset onto the receiver.

  “Is that yet another satisfied customer?” Keira asks.

  I nod. “Yes, and that makes four bouquets in less than an hour.”

  “If we carry on like this, I’ll have to take another trip to the wholesalers,” Keira says.

  I glance down at the pad and rip off the top sheet of paper. “I’ll go and make a start on the flower arrangements. If I don’t prep soon, we’ll be here until midnight.”

  Clutching a reel of red ribbon in one hand, I grab a small handful of message cards with the other. As I visualise chopping one long-stemmed rose after another, the shop bell jangles and I turn around, a light smile on my face, a friendly greeting perched on the tip of my tongue. The customer approaches the counter, but I say nothing, letting my smile slide from my lips when I notice her large swollen belly. The woman catches my stare and strokes her tummy with obvious affection.

  “I’ve only got a few weeks left before he arrives,” she explains with a grin. “Although, if he carries on kicking me as though I’m a football, I’ll be glad to see him sooner rather than later,” and she chuckles at her own joke, but her laughter dies away as I continue to stare.

  “Is everything okay?” she asks, and a puzzled expression replaces her smile.

  I lick my lips, but find I cannot form any words in response, then break eye contact and drop the red ribbon and message cards onto the counter. My fingers reach out for the cellophane wrapping instead, and I fiddle with the hinge, pretending the roll has come loose.

  From somewhere behind me, Keira clears her throat.

  “I’ll help with this customer, Maddie. Why don’t you go and sort out those arrangements?”

  Keira pushes past me. “Is there anything specific you’re looking for? Only we’ve got some beautiful orchids just in, and the yellow and purple Peruvian lilies are exceptional.”

  The woman’s gaze falls onto Kiera, and although she hesitates, she follows her to where several aluminium buckets hold an assortment of fresh flowers.

  “I’ll just be out the back,” I rasp, and without waiting for a reply, head straight for the toilet, slamming the door behind me and sliding the tiny silver bolt across the wooden frame. Standing in front of the pedestal sink, I look into the mirror. Tears burst from my eyes and the salty liquid streams down my cheeks, an explosive pain in my chest refusing to go away. Nestling my head in my hands, I allow my heart to break yet again as that nagging question continues to bounce around inside my head, over and over: Why me?

  There’s a gentle knock on the door, which stops me short.

  “I’m going to put the kettle on, and then I’
ll help you with those arrangements,” Keira whispers. I take a few deep breaths to steady my nerves, eventually managing to calm down, then I grab a handful of toilet roll and wipe the last stream of tears away.

  I let myself out of the tiny cloakroom and make my way to the kitchenette, blinking away the last of my tears as I join Keira.

  “I’m so sorry,” I whisper, “I don’t know what came over me. It’s just…”

  Keira rushes forward and puts her arms around me. “Shhhhh, there’s nothing to be sorry for,” she soothes. “After what you’ve been through it’s hardly surprising you acted the way you did. It’s only been a few weeks since the IVF failed again; what did you expect?”

  Her embrace is warm and I feel safe and secure within her arms. With some reluctance, I pull away and wipe my nose with what’s left of the sodden tissue.

  “I know, but I thought I could handle it. But then, seeing that woman just now, made all the misery come flooding back.”

  “Come on, give yourself a break,” Keira insists, and raises her hand to lift my chin gently towards her face. My sapphire-blue eyes lock onto Keira’s brown-eyed stare. “You and Callum have suffered so much, and in such a short space of time.”

  I turn my face away and stare at the wall, concentrating on the ugly dark stain from last year’s burst pipe, and shake my head in despair. It cost a fortune to fix and the wall could do with a lick of paint.

  “Are you even listening to me?”

  “Huh? Sorry…What?”

  Keira heaves a sigh. “Maddie, I really do think it’s too soon for you to come back to work. I know you insisted but look what’s just happened.”

  I stuff my hands into my jeans pockets and give her my best attempt at a smile. “So, where’s this tea, then?” and I glance towards the kettle.

  Keira clutches my arm. “Maddie, please, listen to me. Why don’t you let me run the shop for a while? Maybe you and Callum can get away somewhere? Somewhere nice. Give yourselves time to heal, both physically and mentally.”

  I shake my head. “No, thanks, you’ve been a rock already; I couldn’t possibly.”

  “But I don’t mind, and it isn’t as though I’ve not done it before.”

  “Yes, I know, but things were different then.”

  “How?”

  “Oh, I…I…don’t know. It’s Callum… he’s been so distant lately, since…well, everything; and then there’s his job. He works so hard and—”

  “Then all the more reason to get away. Perhaps you both need some quality time together.”

  I lean against the edge of the sink as Keira finally reaches for the kettle. Absently, plucking a piece of white cotton lint from my jeans as I watch her pour boiling water into two mugs.

  “I guess a few days away wouldn’t hurt. The weather’s mild for this time of year and a change of scenery might do us both good. I’m not sure where we’d go, though. The treatment’s pretty much taken care of every penny we have.”

  Keira opens the fridge door and pulls out a carton of milk. “How about visiting Callum’s grandfather? Doesn’t he own a farm in the Highlands of Scotland somewhere?”

  I nod, accepting the steaming mug Keira offers me.

  “Yes, he does, just outside Inverness, a place called Camburgh. It’s beautiful up there, and there’s a stone built cottage at the back of the farmhouse where we stayed for our honeymoon.”

  “Sounds romantic,” says Keira with a smirk. “Perhaps you can re-enact your wedding night there?”

  I roll my eyes heavenwards. “Yeah, right; I wish. Those days are long gone.”

  Keira jolts back. “God, Maddie, I didn’t mean… Oh, why can’t I learn to engage my brain before opening my big, fat mouth?”

  I am not offended in the least, so I reach out and place a caring hand on her shoulder to demonstrate this.

  “Relax; it’s fine, honestly. The last thing I want is for you to feel you’re always walking on eggshells whenever you’re around me. Besides, you know all my secrets, good and bad.”

  Kiera shrugs. “That’s not the point; that was just plain tactless.”

  “Ah, forget it. Just because Callum’s the one with the problem downstairs, doesn’t mean I don’t want to talk about it. The truth is, if I didn’t have you, I think I’d go insane.”

  Kiera covers my hand with her own and gives my fingers a tight squeeze.

  “Anytime, chick. You only have to say the word, and I’ll be there.”

  Keira places her untouched cup of tea onto the draining board, then gathers stem tape and floral wire needed to prep the rest of the bouquets. Keira’s determination at her job and the devotion to our friendship moves and motivates me. I gulp a few mouthfuls of my own tea and then place the mug down inside the sink. Grabbing a pair of secateurs from off a shelf, I prune a bunch of baby pink roses that were lying waiting on a metal worktable in the centre of the room.

  “Do you know, Keira, I think a break in Scotland’s a great idea. We both need to get away, to recharge our flattened batteries. I’ll talk to Callum tonight and see if I can convince him to go. You never know, he might actually agree with me for once.”

  ***

  Later that same evening, I sweep a white linen cloth over the polished mahogany table in preparation for supper. It’s our best tablecloth, a gift from Callum’s grandfather, and usually only sees the light of day on special occasions. I study the row of vibrant lilac thistles hand-embroidered around the edging and hope it will instil something of that same ambiance of our wedding day. I set down an uncorked bottle of Callum’s favourite red wine, a fruity Merlot, which will compliment his much-loved dish of lamb stew with dumplings. Placing a small bowl of mint sauce atop the large flowerhead decoration I’ve set at the centre of the table, I go over in my mind how I’ll broach the subject of visiting Scotland.

  The mere thought of the Highlands gives me a moment of inner peace.

  Once the table’s set I make my way into the kitchen and empty the dishwasher whilst I wait for Callum to return from work. When I open the cutlery drawer to put away the clean utensils, I spot a dried-up sprig of white heather. My fingers curl around the silver paper holding the delicate flowers together, then I lift it to my face, close my eyes and try hard to relive the moment Callum picked it for me. Its scent is still present, and I inhale deeply almost smelling the sweet perfume of the fresh mountain air.

  Sighing, I place the sprig back inside its resting place. It may have been a few years since we last visited his grandfather’s farm, but the memory never fades. I was made to feel so welcome on our honeymoon. Callum’s grandfather, Alasdair, fussed over me, nothing being too much trouble. He’d been interested in me as a person, and Callum’s twin brother, Jamie, had treated me the same way, too. Jamie still lives with Alasdair on the farm. He lost his wife, Claire, just before I met Callum. I too understand loss, and Jamie is such a gentle and loving soul. He doesn’t deserve to suffer such tragedy.

  I light a candle and blow out the match, smiling to myself. Yes, to see him again, and Alasdair, too, that would be wonderful. Without doubt, the chance to be surrounded by close family is sorely needed right now.

  My thoughts are interrupted by a key turning in the lock.

  “I’m home,” Callum calls out.

  He’s standing by the front door as I rush to greet him.

  “Hi,” I say, and give him a kiss on his cheek. “Had a good day?”

  I wait for a response as he takes off his coat and hangs it over the bannister, a battered old briefcase in his hand, but he only brushes past me and heads down the narrow hallway.

  “Hey, Cal, whatever’s the matter?”

  When he doesn’t reply, I quickly follow him to the small reception room he uses as an office. He sits down at his desk and turns the chair around, so he can face me.

  “Callum, talk to me. Is everything okay?”

  He bites his lower lip. “If I’m honest, no, not really. I lost an important client today. Now my yearly bonus is out the
window,” and any hopes of visiting Scotland dissolve before my eyes.

  “Seriously, that is bad news,” I agree, and move closer and stand by his side. “What happened?”

  Callum slams his briefcase down on the desktop and lets out a deep sigh.

  “Bradley O’Conner’s only gone and left us to go and work for Brookers.”

  Confused, I move even closer, resting one hip on the side of the desk.

  “But that’s not so bad, is it? Only last week you said he was shirking his responsibilities.”

  “Yeah, well, that was before I found out he’d been scheming behind my back. The tosser’s screwed me over good and proper, and taken my best client with him in the process.”

  I shake my head in disbelief.

  “Why, the conniving little runt,” I say. “But don’t worry, you’ll get another client; you always do.”

  “Maddie, don’t be so frigging naïve. Decent clients don’t just wander in off the street. I’ve worked tirelessly for over five years to get Lord Fornhill’s business. Now, everything I’ve done has been flushed down the fucking toilet.”

  There’s no talking to him when he’s upset, and to make matters worse, I can see the last chance of us having a holiday fade before my eyes. Inside, I shiver. The last time he lost an important client, he stormed out, got drunk and punched a shop window. Twelve stitches and a Police caution later, he finally came home.

  I do my best to change the subject.

  “Right, okay, in which case, I think I’d better go and see to dinner. It’s your favourite: lamb stew.” I wait for a response, but he only stares down at the floor. I turn away, and as I leave, I hear what I suspect is his briefcase hitting the wall.