They Live Within Me

Thomas Owen

Description

This novel is a thank you, but it may not seem that way at first. As Owen struggles through a life of abuse and violence, good people start to notice, because there are good people in this world. He will get a small respite in children's homes. But then his family moves back to Gosport and his missing brother is found in the pill box, where our story began. As the final struggle comes, he will need the help of all the good people he knows. He will have to trust someone and they will need to pray. You can do a lot of praying in the dead of the night.

Informations

• Publié par: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Date de parution: 28 juin 2019
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781528965293
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

They Live Within Me
Owen Thomas
Austin Macauley Publishers
2019-06-28
They Live Within Me About the Author About the Book Dedication Copyright Information Preface 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 Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen
About the Author
The author still lives in Gosport and works locally. When he returns home in the evening, he wanders in his garden with his cats trailing along behind him. His wife brings him a cup of tea and they talk about their day.
He has reflected much recently on times past, reading many of the files written about him. One quote that always gets him was spoken in reply to the comment “distant and hard to reach”, “Happiness is relative, how happy you are depends on how far you’ve had to come.”
These days the author is a happy and contented man.
About the Book
This novel is a thank you, but it may not seem that way at first. As Owen struggles through a life of abuse and violence, good people start to notice, because there are good people in this world. He will get a small respite in children’s homes. But then his family moves back to Gosport and his missing brother is found in the pill box, where our story began. As the final struggle comes, he will need the help of all the good people he knows. He will have to trust someone and they will need to pray. You can do a lot of praying in the dead of the night. 
Dedication
To my wife, for her patience and love while I wrote this novel.
To my faithful and loyal friends Roger and Caroline, who were the first to read it and to whom I still owe the cost of a highlighter pen.
To Karen at work, for her support and discretion.
To Steve, who will get his signed copy.
And to the retired social worker who remembers the scruffy urchin in poorly fitting trousers and shoes that were too small. She has smiled at the man who was the boy. She wants to talk. He wants to talk. But instead, he crawls back into his shell, where he feels safe. Please be less discreet and professional, talk to him.
Copyright Information
Copyright © Owen Thomas (2019)
The right of Owen Thomas to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him 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 9781528927970 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781528927987 (Hardback)
ISBN 9781528965293 (ePub e-book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2019)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LQ
Preface
The young man remembered her saying to him, “One day when you get through all this, when you feel stronger, will you write it all down for me. Start as far back as you can possibly remember, write down everything that happened to you and how you felt, all the bitterness, the anger, and the loss.”
So now that some time had passed. And to repay her kindness, he began to write. Struggling at first, just as a small boy learning to ride a bicycle would. But each evening he would sit at his desk and write. Then in the morning he would read his work, taking his thoughts with him throughout his day, then settle back down to write some more when evening came. The pages turned into chapters, more chapters followed, and then more. It became easier as the memories grew stronger.
The days grew shorter and then longer again. In the second year as the shorter days returned, he took his completed manuscript and presented it to her.
She asked him how he felt, after thinking for a while he replied, “Healed and free,” and when she asked him to explain he said, “It was like lancing a giant abscess, each time I wrote I eased a little poison out. Then when I returned, I would ease out a little more. Gradually as the poison left me, the skin became less inflamed and angry, then the pain left me, and the wound began to heal. The young man you see before you is the product of all of this, but is no longer chained to the memory.”
Chapter One
The sleek black Jaguar coasted to a stop where the long thin clearing emerged at the roadside. A contractor’s four-wheeled drive was parked in readiness at the mouth of the clearing, its driver, not one of the workers. His blue suit still showed from under the bright yellow jacket he wore as he climbed out of the vehicle. His manner more dignified, as that of a manager should be. He headed towards the Jaguar at a gentle pace, allowing the lady inside enough time to gather herself together and secure her car.
“Charlotte Grant?”
His tone which was more confirmation than question, allowed him enough time to look at the lady. Till now he had only spoken with her by phone. She was tall, in her sixties he would guess. Her silver hair complimented her distinguished appearance, and as she extended her hand to shake his, he noticed her long, finely boned fingers.
“Simon Hodges, we spoke last week.”
As his vehicle slowly picked its way across the loose gravel where train tracks had once stood, the manager engaged her in conversation. “We’ve put a few cuts in to weaken the structure, so it shouldn’t take long before it’s completely destroyed. The other two people are already up there waiting, so as soon as we get you there, we’ll get started.”
“My boss has put me at your disposal for the next hour or so, I’m under orders to ensure you have everything you need. I’m assuming you know each other.”
Charlie gave the man a polite smile, “Well not really, we’ve spoken on the phone and I took the liberty of sending him something to read.”
“He was telling me you used to be a detective inspector.”
“Yes I did, but then I took early retirement and studied to qualify as a social worker.”
“That must have been a drop in salary. Sorry I didn’t mean to pry.”
“No that’s fine, you’re going to be curious, it’s not every day that people turn up to watch you destroy something, and you’re right. The lord does not pay his wages bill in ten-pound notes Mr Hodges, but in rays of sunshine. I suddenly realised that this was what I wanted to do, it must have been building up in me for years without me knowing. But now when I look back, I realise exactly when it started. A little over forty years ago, with two small boys playing in the pill box.” She looked out of the window, searching, wanting to see it as soon as it came in sight. Her mood became distant and her voice low, “That’s where our story began. A story you’re now part of, because you will destroy that thing today and we’ll all be very happy to see it reduced to rubble.”
Their vehicle parked a small way off, just far enough away from the diggers and the possibility of flying concrete. She made her way to join the other two at their designated viewing point, making first for the lady.
“Hello, Jess, how is he?”
“A little distant to tell you the truth, as you can see he’s wandered off over there, he won’t admit it, but I think he needs you today.”
She squeezed Jess’s shoulder reassuringly, “I’d best go to him, see if I can bring him back here.” She walked over to him approaching slowly, conscious that he was deep in thought, sliding up beside him and gently brushing her arm against his. Her hand lingered by his for a brief moment then holding on she whispered, “It’s a day for being strong, and for being together, let’s get back over there with Jess, she needs to be included, not shut out.”
They watched as the large diggers roared their engines and moved in for the kill. The slits the manager had spoken of were clearly visible in the grey grim-looking pill box, a leftover relic from the war. Even when the track was occasionally used, the weeds were kept well back and maintained. But in the recent thirty years they had gained an advantage. The pillbox had been consumed by a thick blanket of ivy, which it used to cover itself and hide its shame. The first digger put its bucket straight up against a weakened part of the wall and pushed. The second turned at right angles and pushed at the structures roof, pushing upwards then letting the pressure off before pushing again. The first bucket crashed through with a cloud of dust. The second ripped at a corner as the roof cracked under its own weight. A large chunk of reinforced concrete was deposited onto the back of a waiting lorry, to be transported further along the site and used as hard core. More of the concrete came away, and then a wall gave way under the immense pressure exerted by the digger’s hydraulics. The rest of the roof now gave way, falling to the floor. The second digger drove over it, using its tracks to crack the concrete into hundreds of small pieces. The first digger was now free to roam without the unstable roof landing on it. For a moment it disappeared inside then burst out through the other wall. A large cloud of dust hid the moment the remaining wall collapsed. Another lorry came to a stop and was filled with rubble. Indeed a small precession of them now carted heaps of dusty rubble away. Soon there was nothing else to see, the noise of the engines silenced and the dust was slowly being blown away by the gentle breeze. A weak sunlight had already begun to awaken the soil that had known darkness for so many years as our group were invited to inspect the destruction.
The man Charlie was stood with, walked towards the piles of rubble and dust looking, almost searching for something that was no longer there. T