The End is Where We Begin

Maria Goodin

Description

'I very much enjoyed this moving and absorbing book. In her compassionate depiction of one man’s struggle to live with the aftermath of trauma and loss, Maria Goodin weaves together a compelling cast of characters, drawing the reader into Jay’s quest to seek the forgiveness of others - and be able to forgive himself.' Fiona Valpy, best-selling author of The Dressmaker's Gift and The Beekeeper's Promise.

Jay Lewis is a troubled soul. A single father, just trying to keep everything together, he knows he sabotages any real chance of happiness.

Tormented by nightmares and flashbacks, he can’t forget the events from one fateful night that steered the course of the rest of his life. Struggling against the crushing weight of guilt, Jay knows there are wrongs he needs to put right.

Determined to get closure, he seeks out old friends and a past love. But in his quest for a more peaceful future, is he ready to face the trauma of his past?

Praise for Nutmeg:
'A delicious confection. A tender fable about love and the power of the imagination to both sustain and heal us' Laura Harrington
'A beautifully quirky gem of a novel' Laissez Faire
'...a heartwarming story about love and the reasons why it's sometimes easier and kinder to tell lies rather than the truth... simply enchanting' Bookish Magpie
'[A] quirky and touching tale' Woman's Weekly

Informations

• Publié par: Legend Press
• Date de parution: 16 mars 2021
• Nombre de lectures: 5
• EAN13: 9781789559446
• Langue: English

Extrait

Legend Press Ltd, 51 Gower Street, London, WC1E 6HJ [e-mail] | www.legendpress.co.uk
Contents Maria Goodin 2020
The right of the above author to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data available.
Print ISBN 978-1-78955-9-453
Ebook ISBN 978-1-78955-9-446
Set in Times. Printing Managed by Jellyfish Solutions Ltd
Cover design by Kari Brownlie | www.karibrownlie.co.uk
All characters, other than those clearly in the public domain, and place names, other than those well-established such as towns and cities, are fictitious and any resemblance is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher. Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
Maria Goodin studied English Literature and French at university before going to train as an English teacher, massage therapist and counsellor. Her writing is influenced by her experience working in the field of mental health, and by an interest in how people process traumatic events.
Her debut novel Nutmeg was published by Legend Press in 2012 and The End is Where We Begin is her second novel.
Maria lives in Hertfordshire with her husband and sons.
Follow Maria on Instagram @mariagoodin author
For my boys.
Whether it s them, me, whoever just make sure you don t hold everything in.
Chapter 1
Memories
Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear J-o-sh
In the semi-darkness, the room around me seems to fade away as I watch the candles, mesmerised. Fifteen individual orange flames seem to blur into one, melding into the memory of a burning bonfire licking the night sky, bright sparks ascending. The sickly scent of icing gives way to the smell of smouldering wood, and the kids singing is drowned out by distant voices in my mind; the voices of other kids from long ago
What was that noise ?
Are you scared ?
Shit! He s bleeding
I close my eyes, feeling my chest tightening, my throat constricting. Not again, please. Not after all this time.
Run!
We need to get help
Slow down there, son
Dad! snaps Josh.
My eyes flit open.
The knife?
I stare at him. The knife? I glance down at the silvery scar that runs across my right palm.
For the cake? he elaborates, eyeing me quizzically.
Oh, right. I quickly fumble in the drawer behind me. One of the kids pulls the blind back up, allowing early-evening light to flood the kitchen once more.
I hand the knife to Josh and head out of the room.
Don t you want any? he calls, but I m already in the lounge next door, pacing, trying to catch my breath, trying to recall the tricks that used to help.
so weird I hear Josh mumble.
One of the girls says something back that I only half catch. not weird he s totally
Ugh, shut up, that s my dad! I hear Josh retort, and the girls burst into giggles.
I try to take a deep lungful of air, but it won t come. My throat emits a faint rasping sound. I want them all out of here, urgently.
All of them apart from my son, that is. I want him to stay and never leave the confines of this flat. Here I can keep watch over him. Here he ll be safe.
I hear them talking with their mouths full, laughing at Alex s ability to polish off an entire slice of cake in three mouthfuls. At first they all sound disgusted, but then the boys seem to take it as a challenge to see who can manage it in two. The girls call them gross while egging them on. One of the girls - the skinny one probably, Jasinda, is it? - claims she s on a diet and everyone groans. The girls then start lamenting their ugliest body parts while the boys turn their talk to trainers.
I want to go to my room and shut my door, but I know I can t. It will look too strange and Josh will be concerned. I just pray they eat quickly and go.
Over the din of them talking and laughing, I hear Josh s ringtone.
Hi, he answers. Yeah yeah yep. Thank you very much for the money. Yeah. No, that s great, I really appreciate it. I don t know yet, I might just put it in my account. I wanna get a new guitar so yeah. We re heading out soon. Just bowling, then some food. Uhh, yeah, he s here somewhere, hold on.
No, no, no , I inwardly groan. Not now, please.
I quickly turn my back to the doorway, knowing Josh is about to appear, and busy myself with examining the remote control. I know I don t look right. I feel clammy and my chest is starting to heave. Josh has never seen me have an attack, doesn t even know I have them. It certainly isn t something he needs to find out about, especially not tonight. I always need to seem strong for him, even when I m not, because when you only have one parent, they need to be your rock.
Dad, she wants a quick word, Josh says, swinging round the doorway. I try to take his phone without looking at him, but he grabs my forearm and gestures for me to hurry up because he wants to go out. I take the phone quickly and turn away, trying to conceal my increasingly laboured breathing. Fortunately, teenage boys can be remarkably unobservant when it comes to other people s suffering, and Josh swings back out the door without another word.
Is that your mum? I hear one of the girls ask.
My mum? Fuck no, Josh mumbles, clearly assuming I m already in another conversation, like she d even remember my birthday.
A jolt of pain and surprise pierces through me. It s not like him, that kind of bitterness. Or is it, deep down? From the outside, my boy seems perfectly well adjusted, but sometimes I feel like I m just waiting for the emergence of all the ways in which we screwed him up. Every time he s angry, sad, anxious, disengaged, I m always searching for a deeper meaning behind it. Is that our fault? Did we damage him? Surely, it s got to come out at some point.
I close my eyes and try to drag some more air into my lungs, but it s like my ribs are contracting, squeezing the breath out of me. Luckily, I know that my sister only requires minimal input from me at the best of times.
Hi, I say into the phone.
Hi, listen I saw Dad today and he was in a pretty bad way, I just thought you should know. He kept going on about how he hasn t seen you in years, and he was getting quite upset and angry about it. And he was saying all this weird stuff about how he should never have lied to you-
What am I meant to do about it, Laura? My tone is blunter than intended, but I can t be dealing with this right now. I need space. I need air. And I need to get the kids out the door before this damn thing overwhelms me and I end up ruining Josh s evening.
I don t expect you to do anything about it, Jay, I m just letting you know. It was pretty difficult to deal with, okay? So I m just telling you because I thought that was the idea, that we keep each other up to date with what s happening, or is that not what we re meant to be doing, because-
Okay, okay, sorry, I lie. I just need her gone. On another evening I might be tempted to ask her why the hell she feels the need to tell me all the stuff my dad says. It just makes me feel miserable and it s not like anything s ever going to change. But then that s always been the difference between me and Laura; I keep my pain to myself, she tends to expel it onto other people.
Anyway, that s not even really what I wanted to talk to you about. My car s still doing that thing, so can I bring it over on Monday after work for you to have a look
I move towards the doorway, Laura a grating noise in my ear, and discreetly watch the kids, who have finished their cake and moved into the hallway. They re next to the front door, pulling on shoes. Seven pairs of legs all in skinny jeans. Jasinda and Amelia put their arms around Josh and all three of them hold their phones in the air and snap a selfie as they pull funny faces.
My son s a nice-looking boy, perhaps a little too slender, but broadening slightly at the shoulders now, a side-parting that makes me worry about the way he holds his neck at an angle in an attempt to keep his hair out of one eye. I don t think it can be good for posture. His skin is fairer than mine, his hair a lighter shade of brown; his mother s genes fighting for their half of him. At least she staked her claim to him on some level.
I hear the toilet flush and Chloe comes out of the bathroom. Josh picks her pink hoodie off the peg by the door, shoves it clumsily at her. They exchange a few words, laugh. They ve known each other since they were small, and although Josh denies there s anything between them, I m certain he s either lying or in denial. I see it in their body language, the way they interact. It might have been some time ago, but I remember teenage love all too well.
Chloe takes a strand of her blonde hair, sniffs it, then holds it out for Josh. He sniffs it, too. He tugs at his own fringe before figuring out that it s just too short to reach his nose, so instead Chloe sniffs it for him. I have no idea what they re doing, but Chloe looks impressed and wraps her arms around his neck. Without missing a beat, he puts his arms around her waist and they stand there hugging, while their friends laugh and jostle around them. I remember the feeling so clearly it scares me; the newness of it all, despite having known each other for years, the uncertainty, the first tentative kisses