Tagan's Child

by ammyford1

  Tagan’s Child

  by

  Amelia Ford

  Smashwords edition.

  Copyright 2014 by Amelia Ford

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  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.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing of the author.

  License Notes.

  This ebook is for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  For my husband whose encouragement and support are unstinting.

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you to all those people who helped me on this journey. Without your help and support this book would never have reached completion. You know who you are. I would also like to thank the Wow Factory for producing such a brilliant front cover. Finally, thank you to my amazing children who have put up with a mum whose head has been in a fictional world for a significant portion of the last three and a half years

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Connect with the author

  Chapter 1

  “Goodnight lovely boy.” I stroked the side of my eight year old nephew’s pale face, noticing the purplish smudges under his eyes caused by a day of crying. I tucked his duvet in around his shoulders. “Your mummy would be so proud of you. I’m so proud of you, it’s been a difficult day and you’ve coped with it so well.”

  “I miss her auntie Sophie.” His voice wobbled and I watched a tear roll down each cheek. My heart went out to him. There had been times today when my grief had threatened to engulf me, and yet in spite of his tears and his own grief he had tried to be my pillar of strength.

  “Come here.” I gathered him in my arms and he began to sob quietly into my shoulder.

  It was the first anniversary of Katie’s death. A year ago today her life had been snuffed out on a lane just outside our village when her car had skidded on a patch of ice causing her to lose control and nose-dive into a ditch. She suffered fatal head injuries. It was the tragic end of a young woman’s life, the end of a doting mother and the end of my very special sister.

  “I know you miss her, my darling, I miss her too.” My throat constricted. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath willing my tears to stay put. The pain my sister’s death had caused could only be matched by the pain I felt for my nephew’s loss. No child should ever have to suffer the death of their mother.

  Toby took a shuddering breath. “Do you think she can see us?” He wiped his eyes.

  “I’m sure she can.” I gave him a reassuring squeeze. I sat back and put my hands on his shoulders. “Your mummy is with you every second of every day, watching over you, watching you grow into a clever, funny, and wonderful young man.”

  He gave me a weak smile.

  “She loves you and is counting on you to hold your head up high and be brave.”

  He sat up a little straighter and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his pyjamas. “I mustn’t let her down must I?”

  His look of fragile determination swelled my heart. “You could never let her down.”

  He was a handsome little boy, tall and muscular for an eight year old with a natural talent for sport and a distinct phobia of hairdressers.

  I brushed a curl away from his right eye. I felt a desperate urge to reassure him and let him know he wasn’t alone. “I want you to know that I’ll always be here for you. I may not be your mummy but I will always look after you and keep you safe as if I were.”

  Toby nodded and his bottom lip trembled.

  I wasn’t sure I could hold it together for much longer. I got to my feet. “It’s getting late and you’ve got school tomorrow.”

  I said this maybe a little too brusquely as I struggled to hold back the tears. I needed to go downstairs and bury myself in the sofa so Toby couldn’t hear my sobs. But not before I had made a significant dent in the bottle of rosé chilling in the fridge.

  I stood up and switched the lamp off beside his bed.

  “I love you Auntie Sophie.”

  “I love you too,” I said, swallowing back the lump in my throat. I bent down and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Sleep tight and see you in the morning.”

  I made my way down to the kitchen taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly in the hope that it would ease the pain lodged in my chest. It had been a tough day and I felt sad and wrung out. I knew that Toby would be asleep in a matter of minutes. I, on the other hand, would struggle to find any respite in sleep until the early hours of tomorrow morning. Insomnia had become my new best friend since Katie’s death. Why was it that, as an adult, I had lost that ability to switch off? I envied that about children.

  I let Toby’s dog, a Weimaraner called Mungo, out for a last wee before retrieving the bottle of wine from the fridge. All I wanted to do now was curl up on the sofa and cry until I couldn’t cry anymore. I made my way into the lounge and poured myself a glass of wine. I downed it and stared into the fire roaring in the log burner. My tears began to fall. I put my glass on the coffee table and buried my face in the cushions. I sobbed for my sister and the future she would never have, for Toby who would never feel his mother’s comforting arms around him again, and for myself, who felt the loss of Katie so keenly that it had been a constant weight tugging at my heart over the last twelve months.

  Eventually, my tears subsided and my grief was reduced to dry, chest heaving sobs. Despite feeling exhausted, I knew if I went to bed now I would only lie there, staring at the ceiling in the dark. I scoured the sitting room for my Kindle. The days I could cope with, I could keep busy and push the shadows of grief to the background, but it was the nights I struggled with most when the house was quiet and dark. Darkness only seemed to emphasise my sadness and fear.

  Mungo barked outside the back door. I suspected the reason he hadn’t barked sooner was because he’d been through the rubbish bag I’d put out earlier. I opened the door and he came trotting in licking his lips confirming my suspicions. “You are a naughty dog!”

  He gave me a look as if to say ‘well, if you hadn’t left me out there so long I wouldn’t have been forced to do it’. An uninvited blast of cold air chased in after him and I shut the door quickly. “It’s chilly out there Mung.”

  He was disinterested in my assessment of the weather and sat expectantly, swishing his tail across the floor waiting for his last biscuit of the day. I couldn’t hel
p but chuckle. “Mungo, all you think about is your stomach.” I held out my hand. “Paw!” I demanded. He quickly obliged. I gave him a biscuit and he swallowed it whole. I smiled and bent down to give him a kiss on his wet nose. Even though he was Toby’s dog and his greediness knew no bounds, I was fonder of the mutt than I cared to admit. He sauntered off to his bed and I went back into the lounge, refilled my glass and sat back down on the sofa.

  Earlier this afternoon, Toby and I had visited the place where we had scattered Katie’s ashes. It was a beautiful spot and a great vantage point on the South Downs. It was one of the places where we had all loved to walk. We spent a long time sitting on the hill, looking into the distance and reminiscing about the sweet, gentle, fun loving person we had both lost. We laughed and cried and hugged one another, and then walked down the hill to the village pub where they were holding Hatherley’s annual Thanksgiving festival. It was a celebration peculiar to our village and was a throwback to the area’s farming roots. We stayed long enough to watch the procession leave the pub as it began the traditional candlelit walk through the high street, and then went home. Neither of us felt in the mood to take part.

  I sighed. Where was my Kindle? I felt between the cushions of the sofa to see if it had slipped down between them. There was no sign of it. I continued to search for it until I remembered it was on my bedside table. I checked the front and back door and switched off the lights before scooting upstairs, leaving the darkness of downstairs behind me. I passed Toby’s bedroom door and a sad smile crept across my face. Katie had met his father, Tagan, at a bar one night whilst she was at university. She quickly became besotted with him. Two months later he walked out of her life leaving her pregnant and devastated. She had tried to contact him but he never returned her calls. Callous Bastard! He was obviously a player and my poor sister had got her fingers burnt.

  I brushed my teeth and padded into the bedroom, sure enough, my Kindle was there. I pulled on my pyjamas and climbed into bed. I had been dating Marcus Hampton one of the junior partners at the local doctor’s surgery for a couple of months now. He was keen and clearly wanted to take our relationship further. I enjoyed our meals out, trips to the cinema and a kiss at the end of the evening but after a number of failed relationships, that was enough for now. I liked him. He was nice looking and had a good sense of humour, even if he was a bit short. The problem was, like with most of the men I had dated, I didn’t feel we had much chemistry. I remember Katie telling me that when she and Tagan had been together it was like there was a palpable electricity that charged between them. I had to take her word for it because I’d never felt anything like that. I obviously wasn’t the chemical or electrical type.

  When I really thought about it I had never really let anyone get too close. I preferred to keep men at a distance where they couldn’t hurt me, disappoint me or die, just like most of the other important people in my life had done. There had been a rather sad pattern to my existence. I had lost my father, my mother and now my sister and their deaths had left me with a debilitating fear of what the future might hold. I was powerless against the nasty little voice in my head which was always ready to whisper sickening doubts about what could happen and what might be. I did my best to silence it but it was never long before it resurfaced.

  I sighed and looked over at the bedside clock. It was getting late. It was Monday tomorrow and the usual routine would begin for another week. I hadn’t ironed Toby’s school shirt and I had to get to the Cash and Carry first thing.

  My phone bleeped with a message. I picked it up.

  ‘Hi Gorgeous. Hope today hasn’t been too traumatic for you. Just to say I’m thinking of you. I’ve got a busy week ahead but can’t wait to see you on Friday. Thought maybe we could catch a film and go for dinner afterwards. Give me a call and let me know what you fancy. Marcus x’

  I smiled to myself. He was very sweet. I tapped out my reply.

  ‘Thank you. It’s been pretty tough. I’ll have a look at what’s on and give you a ring.’ I paused. Oh what the hell! ‘I’ll miss you. Sophiex.’

  It was the first time I had said anything like that to him. Maybe it was time to settle for what I had and move our relationship on. My phone bleeped back almost immediately.

  ‘I’ll miss you too! Marcusxxx’

  I put the phone back on my bedside. Yes, maybe I would give Dr Marcus Hampton more of a chance.

  Chapter 2

  The persistent buzz of the alarm clock woke me up. I had slept! I couldn’t believe it. I had actually fallen asleep quickly and slept all night. I couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. I jumped out of bed. A good night’s sleep was a good omen. Yesterday had obviously been somewhat of a watershed and I had woken up feeling uncharacteristically optimistic. When I had showered and dressed I went into Toby’s room. “Time to get up,” I said, pulling back the curtains. There was a slight stirring but no answer so I left him to come to on his own and went downstairs into the kitchen. Mungo was lying in his bed and barely opened his eyes to register who it was.

  “You need to go outside, whether you like it or not.” I held open the back door. He ignored me. “Mungo!” I said more insistently. “Out!”

  He got up, stretched as if he had all the time in the world and ambled out, not giving me a second glance. I switched the kettle on and put the breakfast things out on the table.

  “Toby!” I turned the radio on and found myself humming along to it.

  Mungo scratched at the back door. I let him in and he went straight back to his bed, grumbling to himself as he did two circuits of the confined space before settling back down. I made a cup of tea and Toby came into the kitchen in his pyjamas, looking half asleep.

  “Morning sweetheart,” I said brightly.

  He mumbled something which I think was ‘Morning’ and got into Mungo’s bed, laying his head on the dog’s shoulder. He sucked his thumb and absentmindedly stroked one of Mungo’s silky ears. I had spent the last year trying to persuade him not to suck his thumb but had failed miserably.

  “Don’t lie in the dog’s bed you’ll smell all doggy,” I groaned.

  “But he’s nice and warm,” Toby protested, making no attempt to move.

  “Go and put your dressing gown on. It’s cold this morning.”

  “I can’t find it,” he said around his thumb.

  “It’s at the bottom of your bed.”

  He got up reluctantly and mooched back upstairs.

  I couldn’t help marvelling at my nephew’s lack of urgency in the mornings. If it was up to him, he wouldn’t get to school much before lunchtime, whereas I felt the pressure in the morning, largely due to my reluctance to come to terms with the alarm. Once I was able to drag my body out of bed and stumble downstairs to make a cup of liquid first aid, I would gradually start to come round. A shower and a second cup of tea was the final passage into full consciousness. When it hit, I usually had about twenty minutes to have breakfast, chivvy Toby along and take him the eight minute drive to his village school. We rarely got to school before the bell.

  But this morning was different. I looked at the clock. This morning I was actually early. And as if to celebrate my good start, the sky was a brilliant blue and the November sun was doing its best to look less like a watery Satsuma and more like the fiery ball it was. It buoyed my spirits no end.

  Toby re-joined me wrapped in his dressing gown and poured the milk onto his breakfast, slopping a glug of it over the side of his bowl.

  “Toby!” I got up to get the dishcloth.

  “Sorry,” he said sheepishly.

  I could never be cross with him for long, he was always so endearingly contrite. “Have you put your homework in your bag?”

  He nodded his mouth full of Cheerios.

  “And you’re reading book?”

  He nodded again. He was getting better at being more organised.

  “And don’t forget you’re going to Adam’s for tea tonight.”

  “I know. Can I t
ake my army gear?” he asked. One of Toby and his best friend’s favourite games was playing armies. It usually involved building a camp with cushions from the sofa and then hours of quiet discussion as they planned and plotted their next move. It was always more about tactics and strategy than loud, raucous attack.

  I started to clear the dishes away. “Go and get dressed and I’ll bring your shirt up when I’ve ironed it.”

  *****

  We made it to the school gates well before the school bell. I gave Toby a kiss on the cheek. Adam joined him at the gate and they walked into school with their heads together, thick as thieves. I smiled and pulled away in my old red Land Rover that clung to life by a spark plug.

  I wasn’t happy about having to buy stock from the Cash and Carry, it went against all my principles of only using local produce but I was left with no choice after being let down by one of my usual suppliers. Fortunately, my dear friend and saviour, Audrey Goodfellow was opening up the shop this morning.

  The Coffee Shop was a bustling little place and I was pleased to still be doing a good trade in spite of the economic downturn. I had built on the success of my mother and sister’s efforts and despite the sometimes haphazard way I went about things, I discovered I had a natural business sense which surprised nobody more than me. I’d tweaked the menu since I had taken over. The local workmen still came in religiously for a fry up but I had managed to attract the later commuters with a more upmarket fare.

  I got what I needed at the wholesalers and drove back to the shop. The last year had been a real period of personal adjustment for me. Not only had I had my sister’s death to deal with, but I was plunged into parenthood overnight, fulfilling my promise to Katie that if anything ever happened to her I would become Toby’s legal guardian. Nothing had prepared me for the daunting sense of responsibility and self-doubt this new role had engendered. I sighed as I pulled into the back yard behind the shop. I was determined not to dampen the optimism I had felt first thing this morning. I ground the gears putting my poor old Land Rover into reverse. It had been a tedious three and a half hour round trip and the lunchtime rush was starting to kick in.