Before You Leave: A Romance Novel

Before You Leave

A Romance Novel

By Amelia J Hunter

Copyright © Amelia J Hunter 2015

ISBN:

The right of Amelia Hunter to be identified as the author of this book has been asserted in accordance the Copyrights, Designs and Patents Act 1988.  Copying of this manuscript, in whole or in part, without the written permission of the author and her publisher is strictly prohibited.

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to
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All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events ort existing locations.  Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales are entirely coincidental.

Published by Amelia J Hunter, 2015

All rights reserved

First Edition

Cover by SelfPubBookCovers.com/LaLimaDesign

Editing Services by Dedicated Ink

Dedication

For my mum

The strength of a mother, a bond that is strong, and a heart that is kind and full of love.

Acknowledgments

I want to thank Dedicated Ink for their tremendous support and patience. Elisia has been my saviour in preparing this book for release and I’ll be forever grateful.

To my beta readers who were the first to read through my raw story and give me the encouragement I needed. Not many fingernails survived the waiting for the feedback but thankfully they have grown back now. Being told I was forgiven that this story is not erotic was the seal of approval for me.

To LJ Book Creations, thank you for your help with the designs for the bookmarks, swag and patience.

To Designs by Cat for your teasers you have made and for the ones I have yet to ask for. Thank you.

My playlist, without all the songs singing in my head, taking me to a place to let me write, my emotions would still be mixed up.

And to you, the reader.

Without you books would be left on shelves getting dusty, eBooks would never be downloaded and a writer’s imagination would have no escape.

Thank you

My words, emotions, and imagination are in your hands.

To read is to dream

To read erotic is to fantasise

To read romance is to breathe life into your heart

A time where the world stood still because of one moment, until the sun decided to tell you, wake up.

The sun shines so brightly through the closed curtains that I wake with a cold dread. The heat from the rays hit the duvet and my feverish body that’s hidden underneath. Turning, I pull the cover over my head and close my eyes letting a tear escape from the corner. Today the sun seems to be laughing at the feeble attempt I’m making at hiding from it as it awakens the whole room in pure, hated sunshine.

The past few months the rain and grey clouds have been keeping me company and I enjoyed sharing my misery in them. No one expected a smile or a happy mood from me any more when I do decide to leave the apartment to buy supplies. When asked how I am, I blame the heaviness of the clouds for my misery. Isn’t that the way it is done? Wake up with a headache and say it is because of the fog that’s on the horizon or you’re feeling sleepy so blame the rain? That’s what I believe anyway and I don’t expect them to understand how I truly feel, even months after the incident.

The sun is a horrid surprise and one I’m nowhere near prepared for. If I could predict the weather, the blackout heavy curtains would be up instead of the light cream ones. It’s not like I don’t know spring always comes after winter but I’ve lost track of the seasons. Since that awful day, it’s rained in my heart and it hasn’t stopped. Today the sun isn’t wanted and it certainly isn’t welcome.

From under the covers my thoughts trail back to last week when I was in the communal garden in the rain. Sat with my hood up and my jeans sodden, I stared at the daffodils standing tall with their heads bowed. Spring was certainly showing itself now that I think about it. The shoots trying to poke through the frosty earth a few months ago and I knelt down covering them with gravel, leaving a bruise on my knee. Gathering the grey dusty stones from the nearby path I spread them all over the area. Just the thought of anything sprouting up and breathing life was unbearable. Daffodils though, they seem to have a mind of their own and a determination to root and bloom even when they were buried by my own hands.

I rock in our bed trying to bring myself some comfort. This is the same sun that shone down on my Ryan then; shining through the van window and blinding him for a few brief seconds. So many questions left unanswered, so many what ifs’ and whys. Did he have to squint his eyes from the glare on the window screen? Was his view completely blocked? The papers said he must have heard the young girl’s high-pitched cry as she ran out into the road that made him avoid her. Making him hit the curb instead and stall his van that morning when he was making a delivery. For that brief moment, he must have been rejoicing to himself that he missed harming anyone and in all the commotion didn’t hear the sound of the horn from the artic lorry heading towards him until it was too late. Attempting to start the van several times, he dropped his keys in desperation. His hands shaking so much that the key left the ignition and slipped out of his sweaty fingers.

The papers all said it was the hottest day of the year. Temperatures reaching over 30 degrees causing the whole country to rejoice. The summer had passed with rare lukewarm days between the rain showers. The country had the worst summer of the decade and then to be hit in early September, when the schools all opened again, with a heat wave on the weekend was just too tempting not to enjoy. Red lobster backs and the farmer tans seemed to be commonplace in the small village where I was working when I received the call.
By then I had already served many customers that were wearing shorts and wanted a lunch basket filled to take to the beach to enjoy the day.

But not me.

As I put my coffee cup back into the cupboard in the small kitchen at work, my phone rang on the counter. Looking at the caller ID I smiled to see Ryan’s name displayed but wondered why he was calling at that time of day. It was at least another hour before I expected to hear from him. He always told me he could only ring at 2pm due to being in the van making deliveries and out of coverage until then.

I shiver under the cover as I remember clearly the dread as I put the phone up against my ear to hear a woman on the other end. The voice was unfamiliar and her tone official. I knew it wasn’t good news before I even heard it. Only a few words sunk in as the calming voice explained whom she was, giving a description of the van and Ryan. It took several hours after that initial call and a visit from my local doctor and the priest before the enormity of what happened actually filtered through. Devastated is not the word I would use to explain how I was feeling. Numb is probably more accurate.

He was and still is everything to me.

The days and months that passed were a blur. I went from someone who loved wearing make-up every day to someone who barely washed my hair. My eyes never dried for more than a few minutes and Ryan clouded my thoughts continuously. It didn’t matter what anyone would say to help me with my grief, I wouldn’t listen. Unless they could bring back Ryan, I didn’t want to hear it.

Christmas passed with a pain in my chest and my body not moving from our bed; even as I lay here now it makes me sick to think about how much I miss him. Many of my friends that surrounded me during the first few weeks were now back to their lives. Doing what I should be doing.

Living.

I just can’t bring myself to start living without him; I wouldn’t know where to begin.
Now it’s seven months later and my loss feels just as strong. Our bed forever cold, my arms ache for the man that should be in them. In the stillness of the night I speak to him and sometimes I actually think he answers me. Softly in the quiet of the walls, making the curtains move slightly with his presence, or his aftershave wafting on the pillow stronger than usual, small but subtle, just like Ryan would do.

Kicking off the cover in annoyance with the sun, I lean over and kiss the pillow where he would have slept. It’s something I’ve done since it happened, just to leave my lips where his head once was.

My mobile startles me with its ringing on the bedside cabinet, breaking the silence in the room. Reaching for it my hand trembles as I read the contact on the screen. Not many people call me anymore but the name doesn’t surprise me. She’s the one person who refuses to give up on me.

“Hello” I answer and already regretting picking up the phone, no point in ignoring it, she’d just turn up.

“Are you up?” The snappy caller asks but doesn’t give me a chance to reply before continuing. “Get your arse into gear, pack a bag, include a bikini, a good book and grab your passport. I will be there in exactly, one, two...” and then the phone goes dead in my ear as the doorbell rings. Not getting the grasp very fast on what is going on, a voice bellows through the letterbox.

“Answer the door will you, we’re on a time limit.”

Removing the phone from my ear, I look at the screen. The caller display has now gone back to the home screen and I know I’m going to have to let her in just to stop her from shouting in the hall. If I can hear Sarah from the bedroom, then I’m sure the neighbour can hear her too. The last thing I need is for her to come out to see who is making the noise. I’ve avoided her for this long and don’t want to see the look of pity she probably will have on her face. When will everyone understand this is my life now? All but a few have given up on contacting me. Invites to functions, dinner parties and even coffee mornings have stopped and I’m so bloody grateful for that!

Sarah continues to pound on the door and gets louder with each bang. I have no choice but to open it and let her in to convince her to leave me be when she enters.
Dragging my heavy legs out of bed, I wrap the cardigan hanging on the back of the bedroom door around me. Leaving the room I gradually make my way to where the noise is coming from. With the letterbox now quiet, I unlock the two dead locks and the chain. Hearing scuffling of feet coming from the other side. Someone sounds very impatient. 

“Come on woman, we haven’t got long. Abigail is waiting in the car. With. The. Engine. On.” The voice shouts through the closed door and my heart dips. The thought that Abigail is here as well with the shouting through the letterbox earlier is in only means one thing, Sarah is on a mission. Pressing my head against the door, I take a deep breath in.

Slowly turning the handle I open the door to Sarah who practically falls into the apartment. Barging her way past she heads straight into the bedroom and throws open the curtains.

I throw my arm over my eyes to shield them as I follow behind her and adjust to the brightness, watching Sarah as she looks around the untidy room. Cushions are scattered over the floor, the bed isn’t made and there’s still the shape of my body imprinted on the sheets from a few moments ago.

Quickly she walks over to the bed and throws the duvet back into shape and shakes up the pillows, stopping just to give Ryan’s extra care before putting it back into place.
Sarah shakes her head slightly before asking; “Where’s your suitcase kept, you know the small one that’s allowed on the plane.”

I’m unable to answer, her presence in the room is overwhelming. Sarah takes my silence as permission to go into our wardrobe. Pulling out a black cabin size case with a purple stripe from the back behind the stacks of clothes.

“Ah ha, now,” Sarah says as she places it on top of the bed and starts to unzip it, “grab some stuff to throw in. The less, the better. No need for toiletries, we have them covered.”

My feet refuse to move. The realisation of what Sarah is unzipping has hit me and although I am shouting inside to stop, no words will come out of my mouth. Just the vile hurt rising from my empty stomach.

“Oh, Julia.” Sarah pauses as the contents of the case is exposed. Before Sarah is a fully packed suitcase already for a holiday that never happened. The clothes contained are neatly folded for the beach and as Sarah looks up at me, pity is shown across her face and she closes the lid fast.

It takes Sarah several seconds to snap me out of the blank stare. Clicking her fingers and waving her hand in front of my eyes while standing directly in front of me and shielding the view of the case.
             
“Julia, listen to me,” she says as she holds onto my upper arms to gain my attention. “I want you to go into the front room, get a large glass of something strong and get dressed. Will you do that?”

I nod my head at her. Sarah picks up a small pile of clothes that she must have found while I was dazed out and hands it to me. Guiding me towards the adjoining door, she leaves me standing on the only carpet in the house, while she closes our bedroom door behind her.

Dropping the pile on the sofa, I walk to the cabinet I keep a bottle of Jameson in and pour more than I should into an empty glass. With a quick tilt of the head, I empty the tumbler in one go and wait for the warm liquid to reach my empty stomach, burning my throat on the way. Letting out the deep breath I start to cough before I refill the glass and knock it back just as fast, gritting my teeth as it hits the spot, numbing the pain.

Sitting down on the chair I begin to dress with the clothes Sarah picked for me. The skirt swaying loose around my waist from the lack of food lately and the non-shopping trips my mother keeps telling me I need. As I lift Ryan’s pale blue t-shirt that I always wear in bed above my head, Sarah opens the adjoining door.

“Oh my god Julia, when was the last time food past those lips of yours.”

“I...err...I guess yesterday?” I manage to say now that the alcohol has started to settle in my stomach.

Trailing the case behind her, she enters the kitchen which is separated by just the wooden floor and the carpet. Sarah opens and closes the cupboards and the fridge, I already know she won’t find anything in them edible. I continue to dress and slip a light baggy top on covering the body that is failing me.

“Shit, there’s nothing in here worth bringing along for you to eat. Come on girl we need to hurry up and leave. We will get food at the airport.” Sarah says after checking the time on her watch.

“What? I don’t want to go anywhere, I haven’t even brushed my hair or teeth.” I argue with her as the realisation of what she is implying hits me.

“You have one minute then and don’t hang about. This time Julia you have no choice. Get your passport and hurry up, we’re leaving.”

I do as I am told, I don’t know why and my only guess would be because Sarah is demanding it and dragging me by the hand towards the bathroom door. Tailing into the small room I scattily pull a brush through my hair and get it stuck on a knot. Grabbing a hair bobble I left laying at the sink, I twist it around and make a messy bun leaving the tangle somewhere in the mess. Sarah is watching my every move from the open door. With my shoulders hunched I am standing in front of her with my toothbrush in one hand and passport in the other hoping this is all just a bad dream. Taking both items, Sarah tucks the toothbrush into the front of my case and my passport in her bag. Oh god a bag, I don’t even remember where I left mine. It has been my mother who has been cleaning up the house each week for me. Tutting and talking under her breath as she does. I have no idea where it could be or if I even have any money in it. Shit why am I even going along what Sarah wants? I need to hold my ground and tell her, I don’t want to go. I want to crawl back into my bed, put the covers over my head and shut the fucking sun out. But I don’t. I can’t. I can’t find the words, so I do what I am told and let Sarah hurry behind me, pushing me gently until I am out of my home and she is locking the front door with my keys.