Love That Lasts Forever

Pat Barrow

Description

Everything was happy and carefree in the Taylor household. Hettie and Jonty enjoyed a privileged life in the Welsh countryside. Then everything changed, arguments and recriminations led to separation and divorce and in a flash, lives and dreams were shattered. As their parents'' conflict intensified, Hettie and Jonty were plunged into ever-more desperate situations, struggling with divided loyalties and powerful and conflicting emotions. How can they hold on to a loving relationship with both their parents? What does it take to maintain a bond when someone is trying to tear it apart? As Hettie relives her childhood and adolescence through adult eyes, the truth of her past emerges. What price has she and Jonty paid? Is true love unbreakable? Can love last forever?

Sujets

• Love
• Love (disambiguation)

Informations

• Publié par: Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
• Date de parution: 30 octobre 2019
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781528974400
• Langue: English

Extrait

Love That Lasts Forever
Pat Barrow
Austin Macauley Publishers
2019-10-30
Love That Lasts Forever About the Author About the Book Dedication Copyright Information © Acknowledgements Disclaimer Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Carol Ceri’s Story Jeremy’s Story The Family Dynamics 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 Carol 1 Chapter 28 Carol 2 Chapter 29 Carol 3 – analysis before court hearing Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42
About the Author
This powerful debut novel draws on Pat Barrow’s extensive experience as an independent social worker in the family courts working with families enmeshed in high conflict separation and divorce. She has expertise with the many guises of parental conflict and the far-reaching consequences for children who have become the focus of their battles. Her skill is in hearing the voice of the child and understanding their pain and the dilemmas they face; and then promoting practical child centred solutions which encourage parents to put their children first. Now retired, Pat and her partner enjoy the countryside of the Welsh borders and spend a delightful time with their grandchildren.
About the Book
Everything was happy and carefree in the Taylor household. Hettie and Jonty enjoyed a privileged life in the Welsh countryside. Then everything changed, arguments and recriminations led to separation and divorce and in a flash, lives and dreams were shattered. As their parents' conflict intensified, Hettie and Jonty were plunged into ever-more desperate situations, struggling with divided loyalties and powerful and conflicting emotions. How can they hold on to a loving relationship with both their parents? What does it take to maintain a bond when someone is trying to tear it apart? As Hettie relives her childhood and adolescence through adult eyes, the truth of her past emerges. What price has she and Jonty paid? Is true love unbreakable? Can love last forever?
Dedication
To my grandchildren with love.
Copyright Information ©
Pat Barrow (2019)
The right of Pat Barrow to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
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, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781528974400 (ePub e-book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2019)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LQ
Acknowledgements
My heartfelt love and thanks to Anni for her encouragement, words of wisdom and endless patience typing and retyping.
Disclaimer
Whilst I have drawn on my extensive knowledge of the family court system and my experience of working with families involved, this story and its characters are wholly imaginary.
Chapter 1
The blue velvet curtain slowly closed and Bette Middler’s ‘Wind beneath my Wings’ filled the lofty crematorium. I felt a lump in my throat and surprisingly, my eyes prickled with tears. I sniffed and glanced around at the sombre black clad individuals; where had they all come from? Who were they? I had a sudden urge for fresh air and freedom from the stifling hypocrisy of this place. Without a second glance, I hurried down the aisle, through the open door and across the stretch of grass to sink onto a bench under a weeping willow tree. As I cupped my face in my hands, my whole body shook, a million thoughts cascaded around my head, a whir of emotions too fast to make sense. The tears streamed down my cheeks, I sobbed big noisy sobs. I can’t say for sure how long I sat there but suddenly, I was engulfed by an enormous wave of relief. It was true, my nightmare was really over and yes, I could be glad that my dad had gone. For the first time in twenty-one years, I was daring to really face the reality of the manipulating, controlling man he had been and to see the damage he’d inflicted upon me and my little brother, Jonty.
My mobile vibrated in my pocket; I pulled it out, I smiled, a text from Jonty. He was in Durham, probably between lectures, there with me in spirit if not in reality. It was his way of giving me his support. ‘High five kiddo, speak later x’. I realised I had better get myself a taxi to Cardiff Station or I’d miss my train to Birmingham and the connection to Newcastle. I hailed the taxi waiting by the gate and in minutes, I was whisked to the station. I grabbed a chicken wrap, an apple and a coffee, guessing that in spite of nausea and a griping stomach that I might feel hungry during the long journey home. It would be midnight before we’d get back to Newcastle.
It was 5.45 before I finally settled into my seat giving a brief hello to the adjacent passenger, a bright smiling woman, perhaps in her early fifties. She seemed keen to chat but I wanted my own space. Time to think and to make sense of my whirring thoughts, the game playing, the deception and the immense pain and sadness that had dominated our childhood and had gone on to blight our adolescence and beyond for both Jonty and me. I settled back in my seat and closed my eyes feigning sleep as we gathered speed, the countryside flashing by in the gathering dusk.
Mum and Dad, they had always had a stormy sort of relationship. They were both forceful characters and although physically Dad towered over Mum, she was no shrinking violet, well not in those early, carefree days that I remember so well. Life was good – we had a big Welsh longhouse just outside Welshpool. Mum worked part time in Shrewsbury but was always there for us – she was the one we could depend on if we weren’t well and she’d be the one cheering us on at school events. And Dad, well he was the joker, the fun maker – always ready for a laugh. I guess I was about nine when things began to change – well rather, Mum did. She became noticeably quieter, subdued, serious and I can see now that her confidence and belief in herself slowly ebbed away, as Dad asserted his authority and took control of us all.
I vividly remember the first time he hit her. I was ten and they had been shouting at each other, something which often seemed to happen. I don’t recall what it was about but suddenly, he pinned her against the wall. Then slap, his hand struck her across her cheek. I was horrified. I screamed and Mum quickly grabbed me, hugged me close and then Dad had his arms around the two of us bringing instant relief. The incident vanished as quick as it came and I expected to erase it from my mind but it stubbornly remained indelibly printed in my memory.
For the next twelve months, life continued much the same as ever. On the surface, we were a typical, happy professional family. Jonty and I both went to a private prep school in Shrewsbury. He was two years younger than me and he pretty much thought that life was perfect, but I had a nagging doubt that things were different at our house. Something was not quite right, life had changed and it was different from how it was at my best friend’s home. Her mum and dad were all touchy, feely and laughed and joked with each other. Somehow, my mum seemed anxious around Dad, as though she wasn’t sure about something. They were always arguing but after the time he hit her, she backed off as if she was afraid of provoking him.
Our bedtime routine was set in stone with Mum and Dad each playing a part, there would be smiles and cuddles, fun in the bath, then Jonty and me snuggling up together as either Mum or Dad read us a story. I especially loved it when Dad used different voices, it was such fun. Then we were tucked up in our own rooms, the light would go out and I would lie there trying desperately to fall asleep but wide awake and holding my breath listening for my dad’s loud voice and my mum’s shrill response. Then came the endless shouting; angry, loud voices and the occasional slam of a door or bang of something on the table. I used to hold my breath, “If I count to twenty, they’ll stop, well maybe thirty, forty.” With my hands over my ears, I would eventually fall asleep, often as I listened to my mum’s sobs.
The next day, I would anxiously scan Mum and Dad’s faces for some clue as to what was happening. Dad, as usual, was especially loving and affectionate, playfully ruffling my hair and joking with Jonty and me. Mum seemed quieter and over the months, she sort of shrank, visibly became smaller, less significant. I loved her just the same, but she seemed, well, sort of miserable. Until then, we’d always enjoyed girly chats and she’d put my hair up or paint my toenails – just Mum and me times. Now it was like she couldn’t be bothered. Dad was the fun one, the one who slipped us forbidden sweets if Mum was out. The one who let us stay up and watch our favourite DVD, “Shush, don’t tell, it’s our secret.” I can see now how he manipulated us, encouraged our bond with him, oh so subtly excluding Mum. Jonty and I just didn’t have a clue.
Slowly over the following months, the rows between Mum and Dad escalated. No longer just after bed time, but in the day time too. I can see now how Dad would provoke Mum and she would retaliate. Yes, he knew how to push her buttons, get her mad. Then he’d step back and somehow it was Mum and me arguing with me screaming at her. “Why do you hate my daddy, I hate you, I hate you!” The rage insi