First Chapter discussion

Freya's Child by P.J Roscoe - not suitable for children.
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Freyas-Child-...

Chapter One
The rain had finally stopped sometime around four
thirty. Getting out of bed for the sixth time Helen wandered
around the house, their home for the last eleven years.
Thoughts and memories of their lives ran at full speed
through her head; it was beginning to hurt. Yawning, she
made herself another cup of tea and climbed back into her
cold bed, the mug resting warmly on her knee.
She sat that way for a very long time, trying to recall
good memories. Most had centred around her daughter, but
there had been others: though rare, they were there. She had
woken abruptly with the early morning sun on her face and
the cat purring loudly in her ear, the empty mug lying
beside her.
Heaving another black bag out of the front door, Helen
wiped her brow as the sweat trickled down the side of her
face, tickling her neck. She glanced quickly inside the car
to check that her daughter Charlotte was okay. She smiled
as she watched Charlotte carefully comb her doll’s long
blonde hair. Her high-pitched voice spoke clearly and
precisely to the doll about what was happening today.

“You all right, baby girl?” Her voice did not betray
her inner turmoil.
Charlotte looked up, waved the comb and smiled,
“We’re okay Mummy. We are getting pretty for the
journey. When are we going?”
Helen sighed loudly and pushed back a lock of hair,
“Just getting the last bags now and then we’re off on an
adventure; five more minutes …” She hated pretending,
hoping to keep Charlotte from getting upset. Although, if
she really thought about it, her daughter hadn’t got upset
about the move when she’d been told. She had merely
asked a few questions which had consisted of why, when
and how and what would her new bedroom look like?
Truth be told, she was the only one who felt negative about
the move. She was the only one with doubts; but no one
had cared if she would be upset.
Feeling miserable, exhausted and very lonely, she
turned back towards the house and yanked out her large
brown suitcase stuffed with clothes and knick-knacks.
Jamming it into the last bit of space in the boot of the car,
she ran back inside the house and picked up her large,
multi-coloured shoulder bag that she’d had forever. It had
so many patches on it she could barely remember the
original pattern. Shifting it further up her shoulder, she
scooped up a small handbag, a plastic bag full of sweets,
crisps, fruit and sandwiches, a large bottle of water and a
flask of hot coffee, all of which would be her life savers for
the long trip.
Dropping them all onto their driveway she stopped.
This was it; the moment she had dreaded for five months.
From this instant her life was apparently supposed to
change for the better! At least, that’s what she’d been
attempting to convince herself. Staring at her front door, a
memory came rushing back and she swallowed hard to
contain the growing emotion that was choking her.
He had wanted to paint it a bright red colour that she’d
said reminded her of blood. She’d suggested a lovely
forest green colour that he said looked like something
you’d find in your nose. They continuously argued and
bickered about it until finally she had given in for a bit of
peace. He had painted it red. It did look hideous and after a
few months he changed the colour again, to black. Only
this time, he hadn’t asked her opinion.
She thought of all the times he got his own way.
Where they ate on the rare occasions he had taken her out
on a date. The area they lived in, the holidays they had and
when they could take them. It was always his friends from
work that they met up with because he didn’t like her
friends, saying he hated all the girlie giggling.
Work had been another battle. When they had met and
married, she’d been a full time nurse at the local hospital. A
fact he’d used on numerous occasions to make some
inappropriate joke to his work colleagues. However, once
Charlotte was born, his attitude changed. She’d agreed in
principal that she wanted to be a full time Mum for a while
anyway, but once Charlotte reached a year old, she’d
wanted to return to work on a part time basis. It was the
cause of many disagreements on child-care, which was a
joke as far as she was concerned, considering his lack of
parenting.
Robert had not been happy about her pregnancy and
had even hinted that the timing was bad. She’d known
what that meant and withdrew from him even further.
Robert played very little part in her pregnancy. Always too
busy at work to come to birthing classes or meetings with
doctors; he even missed the scans.
It was the morning her waters broke she caught him
watching her in the kitchen, a slight smile on his face.
“You’re carrying a cherry pip. You look ready to burst …”
She’d rounded on him, months of frustration
unleashed, “Cherry pip! This is a baby, you idiot … A
BABY! You haven’t shown one ounce of interest until now
and that’s the best you can come up with? You bastard!”
Robert had rushed to her side, taking her completely
by surprise and held her tightly. She tried to fight him, but
she was too big and too exhausted.
“I’ll stay home today.” It was as if he’d known. Later
that morning, her waters broke and after nine hours of
labour, Charlotte was born.
“My cherry pip.” Was the first thing he’d said when
the nurse handed him his child and it stuck. She became
known as Cherry. He’d cared then. Taking the time off and
spending hours with her at the hospital, staring down at his
daughter, watching fascinated when she’d breast fed
Cherry. Two days after coming home, he’d gone back to
work.
Now he was getting his own way, yet again, they were
moving house because he needed a new start. He needed to
get away from the bad memories for which he was
responsible. He needed to run and hide and pretend
everything would be all right. He could go on pretending if
he hid in his old town, returned to his roots and started
again.
Robert had convinced himself that it could work, but
not her. She was sick and tired of hearing about his damned
needs. What he needed to survive, what he needed to get
his life back on track, what he needed to save their
marriage. ‘Needs’: it was a word she had begun to despise
this last year.
He hadn’t even had the decency to discuss the move
before making a final decision. She vaguely remembered a
brief conversation that went something like, “I need to get
away from here, how about the Wirral? I have been offered
a new job down there to start when I am ready. It’s not the
same amount of money, but we won’t starve, so how about
it? We leave as soon as we sell this place.”
She had sat in stunned silence for a long time after
he’d darted from the room in the hope of avoiding any
arguments. A large part of her hadn’t cared about moving.
One house was just like another when your marriage is a
joke, with no friends and no permanent job. The other part
of her hated his every fibre and wanted to scream in his
smug face to go to hell! Go to bloody Wirral and never
return.
However, there was darling Cherry. How could she
consider leaving her without a Dad? True, he hadn’t been
much of a Dad since her birth, except this last year. If his
breakdown had accomplished nothing else, he had found
his fatherhood and bonded with Cherry.
It sickened her that Robert finally decided to behave as
though Cherry existed and it had hurt her deeply that their
daughter warmed to him, accepting him without question
and yes, she could admit that jealousy played a big part, but
surely, she’d earned those feelings?
The day after his announcement, she’d cornered him in
the kitchen and pointed out to him that Cherry had only just
begun a new playgroup and would be starting school very
soon. Had he considered Cherry’s thoughts on the move?
As it turned out he had: and Cherry was fine about moving.
She’d stared at him dumbfounded, looking for any sign
of arrogance or smugness, but there’d been none. Merely a
look of hope and expectancy; and she’d quickly left the
kitchen feeling more like an outsider than ever before.
Shaking herself she tried to think of anything positive,
but it was an extremely hard emotion to feel after the
trauma of being married to a selfish bastard. She thought of
all the times that she’d packed a bag, determined that
enough was enough, only to cry and stay.
She was very aware that over the years she had
become weak, allowing him to dictate her life; it wasn’t
something she was proud about. She cringed whenever she
thought about it for too long. Robert had once been a man
she could count on. A man who looked after her, loved
her, wanted her, desired her, but that had been a long time
ago. Now she had no idea what he felt for her and
absolutely no idea what she felt for him.
The man in question had left yesterday in his car to
follow the removal van and had hardly looked at her
mumbling a goodbye and “see you around dinner time …?”
She’d closed the door without saying a word. Since his
breakdown, she’d scrambled around for anything positive
to cling onto, but her time had run out. They were moving
away from everything she knew and she hadn’t come up
with any alternative plan. The sale of the house had been
quicker than expected. Then the madness that followed,
caring for Charlotte, packing, and sorting boxes in-between
doing temporary work at the hospital; she hadn’t given
herself time to think about it.
She realised now that she’d welcomed the madness,
allowing it to take over and pull her in. It meant she wasn’t
thinking, remembering or grieving for the man she’d lost. If
she kept as busy as possible, she could pretend her life was
fine and not shit. Now, she couldn’t continue hiding from
the awful truth; they were leaving today and her stomach
clenched with fear at making a terrible mistake.
Her friends, who had once been many, had slowly
dwindled over the last four years as she shied away from
them, making excuses for not having nights out or morning
coffee. She had withdrawn and they had not followed. The
single goodbye card she received through the post
yesterday had confirmed her loneliness. They had stopped
coming to the house long ago, now they could not even
come to say goodbye. The card soaked, by her tears, was
stuffed into her shoulder bag, a reminder of what she had
once had.
“Mummy! When can we go?”

Only three quarters of first chapter as ran out of space!!!