Second Chance

Nicholas Day-Lewis

Description

A leopard cannot change its spots, but can a man change his life? Ray Ferris' career is on the skids while his nymphomaniac wife Susan manages to escape from his alcoholism, his cruelty and his miserly nature. As Ray fights his addiction he has a fortuitous meeting with a young street busker. Other characters enter both his and Susan's lives, as well as a strange windfall of cash that affects each of them in different ways. They gather at the debut concert of a newly-formed orchestra where a shocking accident leads to an unexpected conclusion. This is a story of love and humiliation, of diminished responsibility and survival, of musical talent and the many possibilities of second chances.

Sujets

• Second Chance
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Xlibris AU
• Date de parution: 22 septembre 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 11
• EAN13: 9781669889380
• Langue: English

Extrait

SECOND CHANCE
 
 
 
 
 
Nicholas Day-Lewis
 
Copyright © 2022 by Nicholas Day-Lewis.
 
ISBN:
Softcover
978-1-6698-8939-7

eBook
978-1-6698-8938-0

 
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.
 
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
 
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.
 
 
 
Rev. date: 06/15/2022
 
 
 
Xlibris
AU TFN: 1 800 844 927 (Toll Free inside Australia)
AU Local: [phone] ([phone] from outside Australia)
www.Xlibris.com.au
843453
CONTENTS
Chapter 1The Mousewife
Chapter 2The Cuckold
Chapter 3The Lover
Chapter 4The Counsellor
Chapter 5The Musician
Chapter 6The Sleuth
Chapter 7The Graduate
Chapter 8The Misfit
Chapter 9The Traveller
Chapter 10The Thief
Chapter 11The Teacher
Chapter 12The Detective
Chapter 13The Cheater
Chapter 14The Prisoner
Chapter 15The Conductor
Chapter 16The Separation
Chapter 17The Supervisor
Chapter 18The Student
Chapter 19The Correspondent
Chapter 20The Jailbird
Chapter 21The pick-pocket
Chapter 22The Busker
Chapter 23The Bride
Chapter 24The Flutist
Chapter 25The Couple
Chapter 26The Audience
Chapter 27The culprit
Chapter 28The wife
Chapter 29The betrothed
 
 
 
 
 
What I love best about music is the women who listen to it.
Jules Concourt (1830 – 70)
I’m the girl who lost her reputation, and never missed it.
MaeWest (1892 - 1980)
 
Chapter 1 The Mousewife
S usan sat at the table. She was dressed in a faded dressing gown and slippers, and she had not touched her hair since she’d arisen half-an-hour earlier. It hung down past her shoulders and covered much of her face. Once upon a time she had been proud of her hair, a rich lustre of dark curls, and it was apparent that she had once been quite beautiful, with wide set blue eyes, and a high forehead. But now the ravages of time and anxiety had taken away her allure. It was as if she no longer cared about her appearance, as if life no longer had any meaning for her.
The early morning sun shone in through the dining room window, picking out the dirty marks on the glass and the dust that covered the surfaces of the furniture. She had her back to the window and it was difficult to make out her features, but it was apparent that she was trembling. Every now and again she let out a deep sigh and shook her head. There came the sound of cursing from outside the room and she turned her head toward the sound. It was only then that her face could be seen. It was not a pretty sight; her right eye was puffed up and reddened and there was a graze on her cheek. She kept clenching her hands and pulling her dressing-gown more tightly around her shoulders.
Ray entered the room, slamming the door as he came in. He stood staring at Susan, an angry scowl on his face and a plaster covering a shaving cut on his chin. His short hair was still wet from the shower. He was only in his thirties, a few years older than his wife, but he already had the slightly debauched, ruddy look of a man that was lost to alcohol. He was dressed in office clothes and already appeared ready for the day’s work. He stood for a moment staring at the empty table before speaking.
“Well. Where’s my breakfast then?” There was no answer. Susan barely looked up, and Ray, seeing the damage to her face, became a little conciliatory. “Sorry about last night.” She remained silent. “Dammit woman, you’re my wife. You must never refuse me.”
“You were drunk,” she said at last, but her voice was so soft he could hardly hear her.
“What’s that?”
“You were drunk,” she repeated a little louder.
“That’s my business. If I want to drink I’ll drink.”
“And you couldn’t get it up.”
“Crap.”
“That’s why you hit me.”
“That’s bullshit. You refused me.”
“I didn’t need to. You were too drunk to do more than wave it around.”
“I just wanted…”
“Yes, I know what you wanted,” she interrupted. She was now beginning to show more life. Her voice rose. “But you stank. You hadn’t showered. That’s why I refused to touch you.”
Ray came to the table and sat down opposite Susan. He opened his mouth a couple of times as though he was going to say something, or perhaps even deny his impotence, but he remained silent.
“I’ll get your breakfast,” she said at last, and she rose stiffly from the table and went into the kitchen.
“I only had a few drinks with the boys after work last night,” he shouted at her retreating back. “I wasn’t drunk.” He sat with his head supported in his hands, staring out at the unkempt garden. “And I wasn’t incapable,” he muttered.
Ten minutes later Susan returned with a tray. She thumped down a plate with a couple of fried eggs in front of him, another with buttered toast and then a cup of coffee. She moved away and sat.
“Is that why you were so early last night?” she asked.
“Early?”
“You said you were drinking with your mates. I thought you would have been out with your floosie.” He looked at her with a surprised expression, but remained silent. “There’s no need to look so guilty; I know all about your womanising. So does everyone else in the street.”
“OK then, but I’m not seeing her any more. She went back to her old lover.”
“Good for her. Mind you I’m not surprised. Did you beat her up as well?”
“Of course not.”
“So it’s only your wife that gets a hammering.”
“Oh! Do shut up you old cow.” She bristled at his rudeness, but it was nothing new so she hid her thoughts behind a passive exterior. Eventually Ray looked down at his breakfast and picked up his knife and fork.
“Why no bacon?” he asked.
“Can’t afford it,” she replied.
“Nonsense. I keep on giving you more and more housekeeping money.”
“You don’t. I’m always having to scrape and save.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Have you any idea what things cost these days? If you want bacon tomorrow you’d better give me some cash now.”
“And where’s the marmalade.”
“You finished it yesterday.”
“I can’t eat toast without my marmalade.” He sounded petulant.
“Well, you’ll just have to. I can’t afford more of that either.”
With an air of great reluctance Ray fished in his trouser pocket and pulled out his wallet. He extracted a twenty dollar note and threw it down on the table.
“I want the change,” he said. Susan gave a small tense smile and gathered it up, but she remained seated. “I’ll be back at six,” he added, draining his cup of coffee. He gathered up his jacket and strode to the door, and without a backward glance or farewell greeting he left.
Soon Susan heard his feet scrunching on the gravel of the footpath, and the sound of the Ray’s car starting and pulling out from the garage. She quickly ran to the window to see the car disappearing round the corner of the road, and the moment the coast was clear she jumped into action. She placed the half-eaten breakfast onto the tray and took it into the kitchen. In a matter of minutes the dishes were washed up, dried and put away, and then she moved to the bedroom to make the bed. Finally she went to the bathroom for her shower.
As Susan washed the grime and memories of the previous night away she sang quietly to herself. She hummed an old song she remembered from her youth: ‘Three Coins in a Fountain’. She wondered what would be her wish if she had been in the movie. The events of her childhood and teen years were still vivid in her memory. Her mother, Elizabeth, was a so-called born-again Christian, a person to whom everything was ‘of the Lord’. It was never by, with or from the Lord, but always ‘ of the Lord’. Susan was subjected to her mother’s religion at every turn, and forced to attend her mother’s church. She wasn’t sure if she hated the church as much as she hated her mother for dragging her along to it.
Her father died when Susan was thirteen, and just entering puberty. He had driven his car at speed into the buttress of an overhead bridge, and had been killed instantly. He was the only occupant of the car. At the inquest he was decreed to have died by misadventure, and Elizabeth received the full proceeds of his extravagant life insurance policy. However, many of those who knew Susan’s father, and indeed Susan herself, thought he’d been driven to suicide by his wife’s preaching, but were reticent to say so. Susan had loved her father dearly, and became even more hostile towards her mother.
At school Susan had one particular friend. Francine was a year older than Susan, and when Susan had turned fourteen and her friend fifteen, Francine announced that she now had a boy-friend who was sixteen.
“Last night he let me touch it,” she told Susan.
“Touch what?”
“His dick, silly.”
“Oh!” Susan had little idea what Francine was talking about. Her parents had told her nothing about boys, or about sex. She vaguely knew about periods, but because her mother had never told her what to expect it came as an un