It’s Time to Let Me Go
You’re doing what? You can’t go away on your own, Mum. Not at your age!’ It was ‘Not at your age’ that made Audrey decide that she was going away, even if it was the last-damned-thing-she-ever-did. She was a widow, not dead. Life must go on!
Olive has spent the last fifty years married to George, who has made it his life’s work to control every aspect of her day. What they ate. What she wore. Whom she spent time with. So, when her mother leaves her an inheritance, Olive seizes the chance to book her dream holiday. Will she be able to lay some memories to rest or does George have other ideas?
Lucinda, mother of teens, has lost her way since her ex cheated on her. It’s not so much Netflix and chill as Netflix and Sauvignon Blanc. Her loving, despairing widowed father persuades her to take a trip with him to Croatia, where he holidayed with her mother. With no better offers on the table, she reluctantly agrees to go.
As Audrey, Olive and Lucinda begin their holiday in beautiful Cavtat, one person’s misfortune begins to benefit them all. And as they become the most unlikely of friends, they realise that you are never too old to seize the day, to live life to the full and to make memories to last a lifetime.
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https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BYFB18D2
Olive had been foolishly optimistic. She had wanted a nice little terraced house, a lovely garden, and two perfect children. She got a nice terraced house, a makeshift garden, but never the children. Whenever the subject of children was brought up, George would explode.
‘I don’t want my wife taking care of brats.’ He would thump his fists on the table, throwing at her whatever he had to hand. ‘I want a wife whose number one priority is me, do you hear?’
Olive learned over the years not to provoke him. Her mother had always taught her to cultivate two words that would see her through life. ‘Yes, love.’
That became Olive’s mantra when things became fiery with George.
George always had a temper. These days, she would have a case for coercive behaviour. He always timed how long she was away at the shops. Over the years, her friends had dwindled away as George had seen to that. He didn’t like her socialising without him. When he had his friends round for a game of cards, they would sit and drink well into the night.
‘Olive, get our drinks. Olive, make some sandwiches. Olive, top up Gordon’s glass.’
George was always demanding drinks and food from Olive. She would then fall wearily into bed at midnight and be up at six am the next day to prepare his sandwiches for work. One morning, she had challenged him over it.
‘George, you can’t have me waiting on you until midnight, then expect me to be up at six to make your sandwiches. I can’t cope anymore.’
George’s nostrils had flared, his face had gone beetroot. She could see the anger in his eyes. It had been the worst thing she could have done. George had lunged at her and grabbed her hair.
‘No, stop, George.’
Olive’s screams were ignored as he bundled her into the understairs cupboard. He locked her in, then left the house. He had been gone for three hours. She had cried, stuck in the dark.
Her one solitude back then was that he was out all day working! Those hours between seven am and five pm were the best. Now, however, he was retired. It was unbearable; he was around 24/7. It was only on her daily walk that she had some respite from his company. She blamed herself, though. She had let this happen, hadn’t she? It was her fault, wasn’t it? She hadn’t been a good enough wife over the years. He shouted that at her often enough. You’re a useless wife, look at you!
Olive had known better than to reply.
This holiday should have been an escape. She had watched Shirley Valentine often enough. In the afternoons, when George was at the pub, she would sneak out one of the DVDs that Jeanie had given to her. She loved a good rom com, a love story, and Christmas movies. It was her guilty pleasure with a bar of Cadbury’s chocolate.
Sighing now, she opened her eyes. The plane’s engines had started, and they were pushing back. George, thank God, was snoring beside her. Olive hoped he would stay like that for the rest of the journey. A dream, she had to admit. For now, however, she was going to enjoy the peace.
Born in London, Cheryl grew up in Cheshire. Cheryl married Phil in 1991 and that same year they moved to Scotland where they both worked in Edinburgh & grew a family of two children. In 2011, with the young adults off at University, Cheryl’s dream of living in France became a reality.
Renovating an early 19th-century farmhouse, in 2014 Cheryl & Phil made the permanent move to the Creuse region of southwest France, opening their B&B.
Whilst Cheryl had talked of writing a novel for many years, between the demands of full-time work and all that comes with a young family, there never seemed to be the time.
Moving to France brought the opportunity of a (slightly) quieter lifestyle, and then Coronavirus arrived, pausing the world, halting the B&B and delivering long stretches of precious free time! So, one such time- led day, Cheryl typed an opening sentence into the computer. After eighteen months of writing, re-writing, and learning how to publish later the debut novel; “In My Mother’s Footsteps” was ready.
What was originally a dream to simply write a book “one day” had become a tangible result. Cheryl is now on her third, book due out this year, and plans to keep writing! If you would like to contact Cheryl, she would love to hear from you. www.facebook.com/cherylwaterswrites
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