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Post by PamA on Dec 1, 2006 16:10:26 GMT 1
“Helen, you look fantastic!” George held her friend at arms left and looked her up and down. “Married life obviously suits you. Come on. Come in. Everyone’s here and they’re dying to see you!” George took Helen by the hand and pulled her into the living room where the rest of the Mill staff stood eagerly waiting to see their old colleague. “Helen!” Julia kissed Helen’s cheek. “It’s wonderful to see you, but where’s Marc and the children?” “Getting the bags from the car.” Helen explained. “It’s amazing how much stuff you need to pack just to get away for a few days.” Greg made his way over to greet Helen. “Married life evidently suits you. You really do look great.” “Looks like it suits you too!” Helen laughed. “Where is the mysterious Rico? I’ve been looking forward to meeting him!” “He’ll be here a little later. Had some cryptic errand to run. Ah,” Greg looked towards the door, “Do my eyes deceive me or is that young Master Daniel and the beautiful Miss Clair?” Daniel and Clair ran across to Greg, throwing their arms around him and hugging him tightly. “What have I done to deserve this?” Greg said with a laugh, “I hope you’re not labouring under the misapprehension that I might, just might, have a Christmas present hidden away for you! You wouldn’t be so mercenary surely!” “Oh they would,” Helen said wryly, “Believe me they would. Now you two put Greg down.” Marc appeared in the doorway struggling with two heavy bags. “Where do I put these?” He asked, glancing across at Ronnie. “Leave them in the hall for now, we’ll take them up later. Good to see you Marc.” Ronnie shook Marc’s hand and patted him on the shoulder. “Now, what can I get you?” “A beer would be good. What about you Helen?” “Actually, too be honest, a cup of tea would go down a treat at the moment and a few introductions wouldn’t go amiss.” Helen looked quizzically at the strange faces in the room. “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry. Didn’t think. Now,” George glanced around, “I believe you know Jimmi, but you won’t know Joe or Nick or, come to think of it, Michelle or Donna.” “So, who is who?” Helen smiled at her friend, glad to see that she was still as scatty and mad as ever. “I’m Nick. I’ve heard a lot about you.” Nick stood and made his way over to Helen. “That,” he pointed across to where Joe was sitting, “is Joe and sitting next to him is his daughter Emily. The beautiful blonde is Donna, and I do believe I’ve made her blush, and sitting on the floor in front of her is the equally beautiful Michelle. Michelle took over from Faith and Donna’s the new receptionist. Now you know us all.” Ronnie came back in to the room carrying a Helen’s tea. “Here you are. Hope it’s not too strong.” “Stronger the better.” She took a sip and sighed blissfully, “That is the best cup of tea I’ve had in ages.” “Oh,” George exclaimed, “I’ve just remembered. I’ve got something for you. Someone left a parcel for you at the Mill so I brought it back here. I’ll go and get it.” George left the room, returning almost immediately with a large gift-wrapped box. “Here.” She said passing it to Helen. “What on earth is it and who on earth is it from? There’s no label, just my name written on the top. I’m sure all my patients must have forgotten me by now, and why leave it at the Mill? Still, looks interesting.” Helen avidly ripped off the wrapping paper while the others looked on curiously, each one craning their necks to get a better look. She opened the box and with a voice tinged with disappointment said, “Oh, it’s just a Christmas wreath.” “What were you expecting?” George said with a grin, “A mink coat, perhaps, or a super large box of chocolates?” “It’s not a Christmas wreath,” Ronnie said seriously, lifting it from the box. “There’s a card on it.” “What does it say?” Helen asked. “Is it from some unknown admirer, or even a known one.” “I hate to be the one to worry you, but the message is very short and not very pleasant. It simply says R.I.P. Helen Thompson.”
to be continued..................
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Post by PamA on Dec 5, 2006 13:39:10 GMT 1
Part Two
George was standing at her bedroom window staring out at the garden. She was trying to decide which, if any, was her favourite season of the year. She loved the garden in springtime, when the trees displayed new foliage and blossom gave a new beauty to the apple, pear and cherry tree. She loved the summer too; the cascade of colourful flowers growing in the borders, eating lunch on the patio, sitting outside on a warm summer evening enjoying a glass of chilled wine. Then again, though, there was something delightful about autumn in the garden; the glorious reds and gold of the autumn leaves, the rustling sound as you walked through them kicking them up in the air. Now it was winter and, outside, the grass and the bare branches were tipped with just the faintest touch of frost giving a new, strangely delicate beauty to the garden. Two squirrels chased each other across the lawn causing a solitary blackbird to take to the air. She watched as the squirrels made for a tree, jumping across from branch to branch with fearless agility. George sighed. Ronnie entered the bedroom, walked across to George and, resting his hands upon her shoulders asked, “What’s up?” George sighed again. “It must be great to be a squirrel. Nothing to worry about except where your next acorns coming from.” “You had that dream again, didn’t you?” Ronnie turned George round so that they stood face to face. “You did, didn’t you? You were very restless again and awake very early if I’m not much mistaken.” George stared up at the ceiling and chewed on her bottom lip. “What am I going to do Ronnie? Helen’s due here in a few days. Do you think I should put her off?” “It’s just a dream. Come on George you’re far too intelligent to believe it’s going to come true. You know what I think?” “No, but I expect you’re going to tell me.” George looked lovingly at her husband. “Well go on then, let’s hear what you’re thinking.” “I think it’s all that business last Christmas that’s getting to you. You know, the Nicholas Davis thing.” George pursed her lips and gave another sigh. “You know, my darling, you could well be right. The subconscious can play all sorts of tricks and maybe, just maybe, I’m afraid of things happening again this year so, well, I’m dreaming that things will start up all over again.” “He’s in a secure mental institute. The police would have informed us if he’d been released or escaped. Helen’s been gone for months and we are all looking forward to seeing her again, oh, and Marc and the kids too, of course. So, come on, don’t let a silly dream spoil all our Christmas plans.” “I’ll try not to Ronnie, but it’s just horrible dreaming the same thing over and over again, and seeing that wreath with Helen’s name on, well I can’t help thinking things. But you’re right, it is just a dream.” Ronnie put his arms around her, clutching her tightly to his chest. “It’s going to be a great Christmas,” he said, “Nothing dreadful is going to happen, I promise you.” “You’re right,” George replied, and raising her head so as to look directly in to Ronnie’s eyes, added, “Now, we’d better go and get Miss Woodson up for her breakfast.” Ronnie looked at her blankly. “Miss Woodson?” The expression on his face was one of total bafflement, “Who the hell’s Miss Woodson?” George, looking equally baffled and with a slightly crooked smile on her face, replied, “Miss Woodson. Bracken. You remember, cute little red head, our daughter.” “George what are you on about? We agreed no children and as far as I’m aware we kept to that. Unless you’ve managed to have a very secret pregnancy and smuggle a baby in........” George broke away from Ronnie and ran out of the bedroom and into the room next to theirs. With a look of sheer horror on her face she looked around the room. No trace of Bracken, no nursery furniture. It was, as it had always been, a spare room. “I don’t understand,” she said, turning to face Ronnie who had followed her into the room. “We had a daughter, I know we did. Where is she Ronnie? What have you done with her?” Ronnie made no attempt to answer but backed slowly out of the room shaking his head at each question George levelled at him. George ran out of the room, pushing past him and crying at the top of her voice, “Bracken!! Bracken!! Where are you?”
to be continued.................
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Post by PamA on Dec 13, 2006 13:15:44 GMT 1
Part Three
“Well, I must admit I’ve never heard anything like it before.” Nick leant back in his chair and looked across his desk at a very agitated George. “If I understand you right it’s a sort of recurrent dream within a dream.” George nodded agreement. “I have a psychiatrist friend who’d be very interested in this.” George glared. “I’m not mad,” she hissed at him, then, in a softer tone, added, “Though I could be going that way.” “Don’t be too hard on yourself. I think you could merely be having anxiety dreams, maybe things you haven’t properly dealt with; the Nicholas Davis thing for a start. Pretty traumatic stuff from what I’ve heard.* This, er, thing about Ronnie and you agreeing not to have children – any truth in that?” George sighed and chewed on her bottom lip before answering Nick. “Actually yes, there is. Well, we did agree to no children, but to be perfectly honest I never really meant it. I always thought Ronnie would change his mind in time and when he didn’t, well, I kind of got pregnant by accident. Only it wasn’t really an accident.” Did Ronnie take it badly?” George waited a few moments before answering Nick’s question. “Very badly,” She finally replied, “in fact it very nearly split us up. Then there were other things that kind of spoilt the pregnancy.” She lowered her gaze as if to shelter her from Nick’s steady stare. “I thought he was having an affair with one of his clients and, well, I didn’t even let him be present for the birth. But,” she added brightly, looking back up at Nick and smiling, “that’s all in the past now. We’re happy, he adores Bracken and is just the best father possible.” “It does sound as if there could be unresolved issues bothering you, making you anxious and feeding your dreams.” “Maybe,” George said her voice tinged with doubt. “Perhaps I do need to see your psychiatrist friend.” Nick stood up and moved around his desk until he was standing next to George. He placed his hands upon her shoulders and, chuckling, said, “I never meant to imply that you needed to see him. He’s expertise is in the realm of dreams and I wonder if he’s ever come across anything like this. Dreams within dreams – strange.” George stood up. “Strange or not, I have a full morning of patients to see. Thanks Nick thanks for listening.” “Anytime.” He opened the door of his consulting room. “I mean it George, anytime.” George smiled and made her way in to reception. “Right Sarah,” she said, picking up her box of patient notes, “Whom have we got here?” She flipped through, stopping at one and pulling it out. “This can’t be right, Sarah, Denis Connelly’s dead!” “Dead! When?” In the night?” Sarah looked askance at George who looked at her as if she’d gone mad. “What are you talking about Sarah? He died at least three months ago, if not more.” “What am I talking about? What are you talking about would be more like it! Denis came in here yesterday for his usual blood test with Faith and made his appointment to see you at the same time.” “We are talking about the same Denis Connelly aren’t we? Wee little man with a bald head?” “That’s the one.” “I don’t understand. I signed his death certificate. I know I did. It was really sudden. One minute he was playing darts and the next he keeled over, a heart attack, fatal.” “George, he is not dead. You must be confusing him with someone else.” The phone rang and Sarah turned away to answer it. George walked away in the direction of her consulting room but it was as she went to open the door that a thought crossed her mind, and she walked back to where Sarah was just finishing on the phone. “What are you doing here?” She asked Sarah. “I work here,” Sarah replied, “It’s not my day off if that’s what you mean.” “That’s not what I mean at all. I mean you’re meant to be in Brazil with Rico’s sister!” “George what are you talking about and who’s Rico?” “Greg’s partner – Rico. You were at their wedding. That’s where you met his sister and she offered you that great job in Brazil.” “I wish.” Sarah looked puzzled. “ But George I don’t know what you’re talking about. Greg doesn’t even have a partner and I’m fairly sure I’d remember going to his wedding.” “We were all there.” George shook her head in exasperation. “Look, is this some kind of joke. Is everyone going to jump out in a minute and say, I don’t know, `fooled you’ or something?” Faith walked into the reception area. “Is there something wrong?” She asked looking from Sarah to George. “Yes, there is.” George replied and, turning to look at Faith added, “And you’re not meant to be here either!”
to be continued.......................
* For more on Nicholas Davis see `Tis the Season’
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Post by PamA on Jan 17, 2007 16:19:47 GMT 1
Part Four
George and Ronnie were sitting side by side on the sofa, both holding a glass of wine in their hands and gazing at the fire that burnt steadily in front of them. A log suddenly shifted causing a shower of sparks to hit the fireguard and spill on to the hearth. Ronnie turned and looked at his wife. “So,” he said his face creased up in concern, “things are all wrong. People where they shouldn’t be and our lives all different.” George nodded. “Do you think I’m going mad?” she asked him, “Well, it’s either that or I’ve suddenly been given the gift of seeing into the future.” “A future where, now let me get this right, Greg is married to someone called Rico and Sarah has gone to work for this, um, Rico’s sister. Faith is going blind and is expecting a baby, oh, and has gone off travelling. Some character called Nicholas Davis kidnapped you, Sarah and Faith, and we have a daughter called Bracken. You know George that last bit is the worst! I mean, we’ve agreed no children and if we did, by some miracle, have a daughter, do you really think we’d call the poor child Bracken!!” “It’s not funny Ronnie. I’m getting really worried. I mean am I hallucinating? It’s like I’m living my life backwards. I’ll probably wake up and find I’m back at University or at school or something.” George looked so downcast that Ronnie shifted closer to her and took her in his arms. “Maybe you should have a word with Mac,” he suggested, “he might have some idea of what’s going on.” “Mac!” George exclaimed. “Mac’s in Ireland.” Ronnie looked puzzled. “Are you sure?” he asked George. “What? That he’s in Ireland?” Ronnie nodded. “Of course he’s in Ireland,” George continued, “He left to be with Kate. Remember?” “George,” Ronnie said patiently, “I had lunch with Mac today in the Letherbar and, unless something dramatic happened between then and now, he is still very much married to Julia.” George’s face crinkled in puzzlement. “Ronnie, what are you talking about? The Letherbar closed ages ago. It’s the Icon now. And, I don’t care what you say, Mac is back with Kate and they're living in Ireland!” Ronnie sighed. “George, my sweet, I don’t know where all these strange ideas of yours are coming from. The Icon? No. It’s still very much the Letherbar and Mac is most definitely not back with Kate.” Seeing the look on George’s face, one of complete disbelief, he added, “I’ll phone him if you like. Talk to him yourself, then perhaps you’ll believe me.” George shook her head. “No, it’s alright, I believe you. Oh, Ronnie, what am I going to do? I need help. I’ll talk to Nick tomorrow and ask him to recommend me to someone.” “Nick?” Ronnie looked puzzled, “Who’s Nick? I’ve never heard you mention him before.” “He’s one of the Doctors at the Mill. Come on Ronnie, you know Nick!” George’s raised her voice in anger. “This is not funny Ronnie!” “I’m not joking. The Mill? Where’s that? Perhaps that’s why I don’t remember him, perhaps I’ve never met anyone from this Mill.” “The Mill is where I work Ronnie. For goodness sake you can’t have forgotten where my practice is!” “I haven’t forgotten,” Ronnie emphasised each word as he spoke it. “It appears you have. You practice at Riverside – remember. You really do need help George and, in my opinion, as soon as possible.”
to be continued..............................
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Post by PamA on Feb 8, 2007 18:30:49 GMT 1
Part Five
It was the night before Christmas and George was lost. She remembered going out to buy some more wine but then everything seemed a blur and here she was, knee deep in snow, dressed totally inappropriately for the weather conditions in high-heeled sandals. Oddly enough, though, she didn’t feel cold. The snow was covering her feet, settling on the shoulders of her velvet coat and decorating the long strands of her dark hair with millions of tiny white crystals. “I ought to feel cold,” George said to herself and then panicked as the concept of hypothermia entered her brain. She bent down to feel her feet and realised, with a shock, that they were warm. They shouldn’t be. According to all her medical training they should be numb with cold. George took a moment to look around. A sheer blanket of white stretched before her in every direction. There were no landmarks to be seen. No treetops, no fence posts, nothing showed above the fields of snow that surrounded her on every side. She had a feeling, a suspicion really, that she was in Derbyshire, though why she had no idea. She remembered getting in her car to go to the local supermarket so how she’d ended up where she now found herself, was a complete mystery. It was as bizarre as all the other events that had caused her so much puzzlement lately. “It’s a bit like being Alice in Wonderland, except this is George in a Winter Wonderland. Any minute now,” George paused and took a quick peep around, “a white rabbit will come dashing by. Now, which way do I go?” Loath as she was to admit it, George was scared. Talking to herself was the way she always coped with her fears but, in the situation she was now in, it was doing little to calm her or make her feel less afraid. “I think I will go – this way.” George pointed in a random direction and began to walk in the direction her finger indicated. She walked for what seemed hours but still could only see snow lying deeply before and on every side of her. “It will be getting dark soon,” she thought and then, out loud, added, “Wait a minute!! It was dark when I went out, how the hell can it be light now!” George’s face creased in puzzlement. “This doesn’t make sense. I’m warm when I should be cold. It’s light when it should be dark. I’ve walked for hours, seen no one, no signs of life, no landmarks, nothing. What the ..........” George stopped talking and stopped walking, for ahead of her, as if in a dream, a small cottage had come into sight. Lights glowed in its windows and a lazy furl of smoke puffed from its chimney. “I know that house,” George said to herself. It was a house that she hadn’t visited in years, a house that had once been like a second home to her. George smiled to herself as she remembered the many holidays when she’d visited this place, spending a week or two with her beloved grandparents, her Father’s parents. Grandma and Pop she’d called them and, oh, how she’d loved them. They were the archetypal grandparents. Grandma was round and cuddly, with snow-white hair and a permanent warm smile on her face. Pop was tall and thin, always ready with a story to tell. Pop loved nothing more than showing his grandchildren the wonders of nature and encouraging them to explore the world around them. George saw the door of the cottage open and there, surrounded by light from the room behind them, stood Grandma and Pop. They waved to her. For a moment George hesitated. “I thought they died,” she whispered, “but everything’s been so weird lately, I’ve probably got that wrong to. I thought I was a mother but I’m not, thought Mac was in Ireland with Kate, thought I’d been held hostage but I haven’t, so I must be wrong again.” She looked towards the cottage door again. They were still there, waving and beckoning to her. She knew that in the cottage there would be a blazing log fire, hot soup and a cup of tea awaiting her and started to walk towards it. “George, George!” From behind her she heard someone call her name. She turned but could see no one, so she continued to walk towards the cottage. “George!” Again she turned to see who was calling her, but still there was no one. A strange beeping noise began to fill the air and she shook her head to try and clear the sound, but she couldn’t. In front of her the door to the cottage slowly began to close. Her grandparents waved to her as they slowly disappeared behind it. “No,” she cried, and began to run towards the little house. Once more, though, a voice behind her cried, “George! George!”
to be continued........................
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Post by PamA on Mar 12, 2007 18:09:13 GMT 1
The Night Before Christmas
Part 6
George turned. All around her she could see nothing but snow. There was no one to be seen. Not a soul in sight. “George! George!” The voice seemed to be growing more persistent. “Where are you?” George called back, “I can’t see you. Where are you?” She began to run in the direction that she thought the voice was coming from, but the deep snow and the ridiculously unsuitable shoes she was wearing made progress almost impossible. Within minutes the effort of moving left her breathless. She had no idea whether she had many any progress or not, as the lack of landmarks made it impossible to judge how far she had travelled. George took some deep breaths and bent over in an effort to ease the stitch in her side. “I think I want to die,” she said to herself in a typical George moment of melodrama. She began to move again, no longer running but moving, instead, at a slow steady pace. “I could be going round in circles,” she exclaimed. “I have no idea where I am or which way to civilisation.” She stopped walking and assessed the situation. “Someone will come and look for me, they’re bound to. I’m going to stand still and wait. Yes, that’s what I’ll do, I’ll wait.” “George, George!” The voice that spoke to her now seemed to be little more than a whisper. Whoever was calling her must be moving further away. “Don’t go. Please don’t go!” She cried, “I’m here, I’m here!” A tear trickled down George’s cheek and she slowly sank down into the snow until she was completely enveloped by it, and all she could hear was the strange beeping sound that she’d heard earlier.
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“George, open your eyes. Look at me. Come on open your eyes.” Ronnie held George’s hand tightly in his own. “Come on love. You’re going to be fine.” Slowly George’s eyes opened and she blinked a few times as the room and Ronnie came into focus. “Where am I?” “You’re in hospital, love.” Ronnie explained, “You had us very worried. Oh George, I thought I’d lost you.” Ronnie raised her hand to his lips and gently kissed her knuckles. “I don’t understand,” George said, her voice filled with puzzlement. “What happened, why am I here?” “You were involved in a car crash. You went out to buy some wine and a drunken driver lost control of his car and crashed in to yours.” “Is it the night before Christmas?” George asked. Ronnie smiled at her. “No love,” he explained, “You’ve been in a coma, George, Christmas has come and gone. It’s the 3rd January today.” George’s mind thought back to the strange things that had been happening. Were they real or part of the coma she’d been in? There was one sure test that she could use with Ronnie, for her to know for sure what was real and what wasn’t. “Where’s Bracken?” She asked. “Bracken?” Ronnie answered. “Yes, Bracken. Our daughter, cute little redhead.” “I do know who Bracken is,” Ronnie smiled at his wife, “I don’t need a description. She’s with Julia.” George let out a relieved sigh. “You know Ronnie, some really odd things have been happening in my brain. Sort of living life backwards, I suppose. I’m sad to have missed Christmas but I guess we can hold it again, can’t we?” “Don’t see why not. As soon as you’re home and well we’ll get it organised. Maybe Helen, Marc and the children will be able to get down again.” “Oh Ronnie, is Helen okay? He didn’t get her again did he?” “Helen’s fine.” Ronnie looked puzzled. “Who didn’t get her again?” “It doesn’t matter. I’ll tell you all about it one day. But for now Ronnie Woodson, could you get someone to come and turn off that infernal machine – the beeping is driving me nuts!” Ronnie laughed to himself as he made his way out of the room to seek a nurse or doctor to attend to his wife. There was a moment, only hours ago, when he really thought he was about to lose her. He’d called her name over and over again as the hospital staff had desperately fought to get her heart beating again. But she was back – his George had come back to him. He knew his life with George would always have its highs and lows, its laughter and tears but he wouldn’t change that life for the world. “Hurry up,” George called after him, “or I’ll get out of this bed and turn it off myself!” “I’m going!” Ronnie replied. She was back. Yes, George was most definitely back and he wouldn’t have her any other way.
The end
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