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Lyn and Dave

November 22, 2018 Comments : 2

Lyn and Dave.

Part 1:

**Trigger warning: Domestic violence **

Lyn had been married to Charles for going on thirty years. Thirty miserable years filled with heartache and abuse. The only thing that made all those lonely years bearable were their two wonderful children. Lyn had focused all her love and attention on them but time moved on.

Now they were grown and had moved out of the family home, so she had little to distract her from her terrible marriage to a man who enjoyed hitting her and humiliating her any chance he got.

She should have gotten out years ago, but things were different back then. Her parents had been fiercely religious and her entire life she’d been taught that marriage was for life, no matter what.

Lyn remembered when she was newly married and Charles had hit her for the first time. It had come as such a shock. With her adrenalin racing and her jaw burning, she wasted no time packing a small case and running all the way back to her parents.

When the door to her parent’s house swung open she flung herself, weeping, into her mother’s arms and clung to her. Once she’d told her story over a hot cup of tea and freshly baked banana bread, her parents shocked her. They told her that she’d made her bed and now she needed to lie in it. They spun her right around and sent her back to him. She sat on the curb just down from her house and cried. The desperate pull to turn and run away was strong. She would have done practically anything to avoid walking back through that front door to the monster waiting for her.

But she had nowhere to go, no money, no support network. Everything she owned was inside that house, with the exception of the nightgown and single change of clothes she carried in her tiny case. So as the sun went down and the chill in the air picked up, she wrapped her jacket tighter around herself, lifted her chin, and returned to him.

And so, life went on. Dark days filled with misery and fear, with no way out. One day seemed to blend in with the next one week to another. The only bright spot, besides her children, was the once a month visits from Dave and his wife Sue. Dave was Charles’ best friend. The four of them would share a lovely dinner, followed by a game of cards, a few drinks and a chinwag.

The social interaction kept her sane, even if secretly she didn’t particularly like Sue. Sue was the female version of Charles. She openly berated Dave during dinner, putting him down, and nicknaming him Idiot. But in Lyn’s eyes it couldn’t be further from the truth.

Dave was the loveliest person she’d ever met and gave her faith in the male population. She focused her attention on him and his adventures, living vicariously through him. Because although he had a miserable home life, he had an exciting job in advertising.

When he would talk about an upcoming campaign, Lyn would be glued to the radio in the following weeks, waiting to hear the finished product. It was like sharing a tiny piece of Dave’s life, away from Charles and Sue. She would learn all of his advertising jingles off by heart and would hum along to them, like some would their favourite love songs. Because if she was completely honest with herself she knew she’d fallen in love with Dave. She tried to deny it, and then to fight it. But while she scrubbed the floors and did the housework, thoughts of what her life might have been like if she married Dave filled her mind and warmed her heart.

She would never act on it. She was an honourable woman. And besides, she doubted a man as handsome and sweet as Dave would be interested in her. Not that Dave’s opinion would even matter. She was stuck in a loveless marriage and years ago became resigned to the fact she would live out her bleak life by Charles side.

Until the summer barbeque of course. That’s when everything began. When her life began at the ripe age of 50.

To Be Continued…

Lyn and Dave

Part 2:

**Trigger warning: Domestic violence **

Lyn and Charles had invited Dave and Sue over for an informal barbeque dinner. Lyn stood at their outdoor dining suite which she’d decorated to an inch of its life. There were bright yellow napkins wrapped around the cutlery, matching the yellow gerberas in a vase at the centre of the table. Small tea light candles scattered across the tabletop gave the outdoor space a lovely ambience. Lyn was proud of how lovely it looked.

The wonder of the outdoor space didn’t last long. Charles came storming into the garden, letting the screen door bang behind him. He stopped and glared down at the table before his eyebrows dropped into a frown.

“What’s all this then?” he snapped, turning to face Lyn.

“Oh it was nothing. I just thought I might spruce up the old table a touch,” she managed to stutter out. The shift in Charles’ mood had the hair on her arms standing on end. She knew this look and tensed her shoulders, waiting expectantly for the swing of his hand.

“How much of my hard-earned money did you waste on this crap then?” He stepped closer to her, towering above her 5-foot frame.

She dared not move a muscle and continued to stare at the spot on the ground where there was a small chip in the cement.

“Nothing love. It was all just things we had laying around. I thought it might be nice to –“

“Why are you trying to get fancy all of a sudden? Is the Queen coming?”

She didn’t answer so he continued, his voice rising more with each new accusation. “Well? You think you’re too good for us now do you?”

He lifted his hand in the air and Lyn squeezed her eyes shut tight. Here we go. God please give me the strength to endure what is about to come.

“G’day everyone. We rang the doorbell but no one answered. We assumed you must have been out the back.” It was Dave’s voice. Lyn peaked out through one eye and saw Charles had now turned away from her. She let out her breath. Although she was under no pretence that she had avoided the beating, merely delayed it until later, she was thankful all the same.

“Dave! How are you old mate?” Charles greeted them. “And Sue, looking gorgeous as ever.”

Lyn fought not to roll her eyes. Such a schmoozer.

Dave glanced past Charles and met Lyn’s eyes. “Evening Lyn. What a lovely dress and oh my, that table.” He turned back to Charles. “You have a talented wife there Charles.”

Charles grumbled an inaudible reply before offering their guests a seat. Lyn popped into the kitchen to grab the salads while the meat sizzled on the barbeque. Dave looked gorgeous in his summer trousers and pastel shirt. Heat singed at the tips of her ears but she couldn’t help smiling at her own silliness. Acting like a teenager at the mere sight of Dave. It was ridiculous. She was ridiculous.

The night went well at first and the conversation flowed. Charles and Sue got through at least one bottle of wine between them, and Dave and Lyn shared the pitcher of juice. Sue was being her usual vicious self, yelling at Dave throughout the night. Lyn’s heart hurt, manifesting in real physical pain. Poor Dave. He deserved better. He deserved the world. But like her, he believed in the sanctity of marriage and was in for life.

Charles was busy bragging to Sue about his latest promotion as Sue batted her fake lashes and oo’d and ahh’d in all the right places. Dave winked at Lyn across the table and rolled his eyes, jokingly indicating Charles. She threw him a tiny grin and reached for the pitcher of cranberry juice, but Dave reached at the same time and they managed to tip it over, spilling the contents all over the table and each other.

Charles jumped up from the table, rage consuming him. He automatically backhanded Lyn across the cheek in one foul swoop. He’d acted on impulse and seemed to realise suddenly what he’d done in front of his friends. He glanced from Sue to Dave and back again before his glare finally fell on Lyn who had been knocked to the ground. No one said a word and the air prickled in shock.

To Be Continued…

Just A Love Story

Winnie and Richie

October 28, 2018 Leave a Comment

It was the summer of 1959 and I had just turned eighteen. Life was tough and my family weren’t wealthy. My siblings and I didn’t have the means to be going out on the weekends to the cinema or the local hang out for milkshakes like a lot of others our age. But friends were free and my parents were social people, so there was a constant stream of friends and family popping in for a cup of tea and a chat.

One of those people was Leonard Johnson. He was a big man, with a booming laugh and rosy cheeks. Leonard was one of my favourite visitors. Not only because of his jovial personality and his ability to spin a good yarn, but the fact he usually brought his son Richie with him to visit.

Richie was two and a half years older than me but we’d always been friends. When we were younger, while our parents whittled away hours telling stories about the old days, Richie and I would play in the backyard or down by the creek catching yabbies or climbing trees.

He was funny and sweet, and being around him had always been fun and easy. Although I hadn’t seen him for a while, I didn’t doubt we were still friends. He’d just grown up and gotten a job and wasn’t always free when his father came calling. By the time I turned eighteen I hadn’t seen him for over a year, but that summer when I answered the door to see Leonard with Richie in tow, my breath caught in my throat.

How was it possible for the scrawny boy I knew to have transformed into the handsome man that stood before me? He had a mop of jet black hair that shone in the sun and a strong jaw stubbled with dark flecks, almost enough to consider it a beard. If it weren’t for his familiar, silly grin, I might not have believed it was Richie at all.

The skinny kid I used to run under the sprinkler with was now tanned and muscular and my eyes almost refused to blink, should I miss a second of his presence. How had this happened? How had he changed so much yet I was still the same gangly teen I’d always been? My family once likened me to a newborn foal with my long limbs, knobbly knees and awkward stance. But by the way Richie stared at me with his jaw slack and his eyes as unblinking as mine, I wondered if he could see changes in me that I couldn’t.

We strolled, unspeaking, out into the garden and sat under the shade of an old lemon tree. Finally, he turned to me, weaving a strand of my waist length hair between his fingers before letting it slip through his grasp.

“I like you with your hair down,” he whispered into the breeze and I wondered if I’d heard him correctly. “And the colour has always suited you Winnie. Like fire. The same as your personality.”

“Hey!” I acted insulted and took a playful swipe at him. But he grabbed my hand, mid-air, and held it in his. The sizzle of his fingers against my skin, imprinted into my memory. We sat like that. I stared into his chestnut eyes while they searched mine, then darted back and forth across my face as though seeing each and every freckle for the very first time. My skin burned under his gaze but I couldn’t bring myself to look away.

He sat close, our legs almost touching, but I buzzed with awareness as though he was pressed against me. I realised at that moment, that this must be what love felt like and I closed my eyes, just in time for his lips to capture mine in our first kiss. My head spun and my stomach flipped, all the things my sisters had told me would happen when I found someone I loved.

We began to date even though my parents felt I was too young for affairs of the heart. Especially ones as serious as ours. We spoke about getting married almost from the start. Richie never got down on one knee or wrote a romantic speech or planned some elaborate proposal. It was always just, ‘when we get married,’ like it was a given. There was no question to ask, it was just so.

But in the first year of our courtship he got called up for national service. He left for a three-month stint in the army and I was heartbroken. Before long my first love letter arrived. I wrote back immediately and within a few days another arrived. We talked about how much we missed each other and how it seemed the entire world was conspiring to keep us apart, especially the government and their ridiculous demands that allowed them to tear us apart like they had. Richie could come home for the odd weekend here and there, during which time we would cling to each other.

It was during one of these visits, with Richie’s 21^st birthday rapidly approaching, we decided to make the birthday party a combined engagement. So we did. Both our families and friends attended and gave us their blessing. Richie’s father was overjoyed, he’d always had a soft spot for me and thought of me as a daughter.

When Richie’s time in the army was done, we planned our wedding. We were married in the church across the road in the summer of 1962, almost exactly three years after we’d started dating.

We had children and when Richie’s father passed away in 1970, we bought his family home. We wanted to raise our own five children in the place Richie grew up. Our children ran in the same garden and hid in the same trees, they had the same bedrooms and felt the same love Richie and I had growing up. Our children are grown now and we have grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Until recently my daughter and her children still lived in that huge old bluestone house, opposite the little church where we said our vowels, buried our parents, christened our babies and watched them when they got married and took photos in front of the same stained-glass windows we did.

Just A Love Story

Suzie and Rodger

October 10, 2018 Comments : 2

Growing up in the suburbs of Adelaide, my very first crush was a boy named Rodger. It was my 5^th birthday and my first day of school. He had turned 5, twenty-six days earlier. He was smaller than most of the other kids, me included, but he had the cutest little upturned nose and bright green laughing eyes.

In this new environment, away from my family, I felt safe with him. We became friends but as we grew and made other friends our interests saw us hanging around other people. We were still friends though and would often chat or I’d join in a game of lunch time footy. Our school was small so everyone in our grade was friends with each other, but it was Rodger that I was always drawn to.

Just before we turned thirteen, it was time to move on to high school. My mother felt I was too much of a Tom boy. I was always hanging around the boys and playing football and basketball and at home, I had 4 older brothers. She said I was being too submerged in male influences and as a result sent me to an all-girls school.

All of my friends went to a co-ed school just around the corner and I was devastated. I said goodbye to them on the last day of year 7 and shed too many tears to count. Amongst those friends was Rodger. I knew if I was to ever see any of these people again it would be as adults. My mother worked a lot and we were never allowed to have friends over or go to visit others. So, the chances of keeping in touch were slim.

It took a lot to settle in to my new, all-girls high school. No one played sport or had fun. They sat around and talked about hair and perfume and a bunch of things I had no interest in. I was lonely and I hated it. It took me a few months but finally I met some friends and thoughts of my primary school days slipped away, into the past where they belonged.

I grew up, went to university, got married, had children, got divorced and lived life. Not necessarily in that order. One morning I woke up to a notification from Facebook on my phone, letting me know a girl I went to primary school with, had added me to a class of 1986 Facebook group.

I hadn’t really had contact with anyone from Primary school for nearly 25 years. But I remembered them all as vividly as that last day of school. I opened up the group and scrolled through the posts. All the old gang were there. Well… all the girls were at least.

I said hello and promptly got caught up in a cloud of memories as I chatted with girls (that had now become women) about our antics many years before. I wasted hours in that group on the first day. One of the posts was asking who we had a crush on in Primary School. Before I could stop myself, my fingers flew across the keys and I replied, Rodger.

A few hours later a notification lit up my phone. I stared down at it and saw it was from Rodger. What? I went in and had a look. He’d replied to my crush comment and said ‘oh shucks.’ I was a bit embarrassed but never the less we started chatting. We got along like we’d known each other a life time and in some respects, we had.

It didn’t take long to realise we had the same pathetic sense of humour. We chatted and laughed for days. Finally we exchanged phone numbers and talked on the phone before bed and it soon became my favourite part of the day. One day we decided to meet up. He only lived about three minutes away from me after all. We met at a local pub in the middle of the day.

Each man that walked in had me wondering if it was him. Then a man with gorgeous green eyes and the same snub nose strolled in and a smile lit up his face. He hadn’t changed a bit. We sat together and chatted for hours. I even went to work with him that night to keep him company. He was a barman and Mondays were slow.

I found out he’d never been married, never had children and had recently returned to his childhood home to help out his mother. He confessed that he felt he’d be alone forever. I hated knowing such a funny, vibrant, kind hearted man was lonely. He deserved better. I immediately went into match maker mode. Who did I know? Who could I pear him up with? I introduced him to all my single friends but none of them were a match.

One night I was preparing for bed when my phone went off alerting me to a text. I fell onto my bed and scooped up my phone, a huge smile on my face, knowing it was Rodger. Only it wasn’t. It was someone else and I acknowledged the disappointment swirling around my stomach. What was that about? Oh? The penny dropped. I didn’t want to give this nice guy away. I wanted to keep him for myself. And I did.

We got married less than two years after meeting again. We now have two gorgeous boys and he has taken on the father role to my older children. He is the best dad and an amazing husband. I love to tease him about the fact I loved him since I was 5 but because he’s not as smart as me, it took him an extra thirty years to work it out. He is not only my husband, but my best friend, my biggest cheerleader and the co-owner of our childhood memories. A childhood we lived together.

We started our journey together and we’ll end it together. Just not yet. There are still many laughs to be had and love to give.

Suzie

Romance Writers of Australia

July 8, 2018 Leave a Comment

In August each year, the RWA holds a conference. It’s a hectic few days filled with fun, friends, workshops and the opportunity to pitch to agents and publishers from across the world. I attended the one in Adelaide in 2016 but missed the Brisbane one in 2017. I don’t fly. I have a fear of planes and flying and it can hold me back sometimes. Like this year. I really wanted to go to the Sydney conference but the thought of driving from Adelaide to Sydney and back, all by myself, just seemed like too big of an obstacle. So I chose not to go. But then I won and finaled in a few RWA contests and completed a couple of manuscripts and the temptation to go and collect my awards and pitch my books to agents became too sweet.

So I gave in and booked the conference. I’d sort out the logistics later. I’m so excited and in preparation, I’ve ordered some absolutely gorgeous business cards. They reflect my brand perfectly and more importantly, they’re pink. Yes… Pink! They are so pretty I almost don’t want to hand them out.

I’m also madly looking for a costume for the Friday night cocktail party. The theme is royalty so I might go as Princess Diana, even if I’m more suited to the Queen at this point, possibly even the Queen mother when I’ve had a particularly rough day. Maybe I’ll go as Freddie Mercury or Prince or Tarzan, king of the jungle. Although I’m not sure anyone would really want to see me walk into the ballroom wearing nothing but a fur loincloth (I apologise for the image which may be floating through your mind now).

I decided I wouldn’t drive to Sydney alone after all and I booked a sleeper on the Indian Pacific Train. The last time I travelled across the country on a train I was 17 (so about 4 years ago- oh shut up! I know I’m lying) and I hear things have changed. It used to be a budget form of travel and my mum and I sat up in old vinyl seats all the way from Adelaide to Western Australia. There were no sleepers or fine dining for us.

So this trip will be an adventure and I’m strangely excited about doing it by myself. I’m imagining it will be like a scene out of a movie. A mysterious woman (that’s me) boards a train and travels across the country. She seems to have her nose in a book yet there’s something about her that alerts them to the fact she’s seeing and hearing everything. As long as it doesn’t end like The Orient Express I should be fine. I might even get some writing time in.

The countdown is on. I will keep you all updated on the fashion choices, the railway journey and of course the conference.

Lyn and Dave

Winnie and Richie

Suzie and Rodger

Romance Writers of Australia

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