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Every Little Girls Dream
Book One
This work is fictitious, and any similarities to any persons, alive or dead, are purely coincidental.
I have based the tragic incident in the first chapter on a real event, and I salute those public servants and volunteers who worked so hard to manage the event, from every angle. My heart goes out to those directly and indirectly involved in the whole horrible affair, and I hope that I can, in some small way, pay homage to those who sought to bring relief and help.
Mention is made of persons in public life only for the purposes of realism and for that reason alone. Certain licence is taken in respect of medical procedures, terms and conditions, and the author does not claim to be the fount of all knowledge.
The author accepts the right of the individual to hold his/her (or whatever) own political, religious and social views, and there is no intention to deliberately offend anyone. If you wish to take offence, that is your problem.
This is only a story, and it contains adult material, which includes sex and intimate descriptive details pertaining to genitalia. If this is likely to offend, then don't read it.
Synopsis.
Tom Stewart is a rough, tough, seasoned, twenty-nine year veteran Police Inspector. Used to command, he is a popular, dedicated family man, on the eve of his half-century and facing the end of his career. He has lived with a secret for most of his life, successfully managing it. With retirement, he stands to lose the major factor in that success and he is very uncertain about how he will control the hidden urges.
Jenny Adams, a sixteen year-old schoolgirl, has her whole life ahead of her. She is bright, sensitive and pretty, she has everything going for her. She is returning from a day's shopping with her mother on a train.
The train is derailed in tragic circumstances. Jenny's mother is killed while Jenny sustains serious head injuries and is in a coma.
Inspector Stewart is aware of the incident, but not directly involved. Time, however, is perhaps up for Tom, as he is rushed to the same hospital in which Jenny lies on the brink of death.
One of them survives, but which one?
Join me in a voyage of true discovery.
Chapter Seven.
Funerals and Friends
The week up to the funeral was rough. Not least, because Gran would burst into tears almost as soon as she saw me after a break of anything from two minutes to two hours.
A few friends and relatives dropped in, but most were very embarrassed and clearly didn't know what to say or how to deal with me. Dad had asked most people to stay away for my first week back, to let me become familiar with the house and get to know my relatives again. Dad and Ricky were great, as they'd warn everyone that I had no memory of anything before the crash. It was quite funny the amount of people who didn't understand at all.
Some thought I was pretending, while others couldn't accept I didn't remember them. They accepted I couldn't remember my own name, but how on earth could I ever forget them?
The two grandpas were very good as well, as was Grandma. Poor old Gran was inconsolable really and I knew she'd be bad at the funeral. I didn't blame her, as it must be awful to lose your daughter and almost lose your granddaughter. However, she made it so much harder for everyone else, particularly Dad.
Dad was trying to be so strong and yet every evening, I heard him crying.
On the second night, I went in to see him. He was embarrassed and we just held each other for a while. Ricky came in and we made it a threesome. We all slept on his big bed and thereafter we slept like that every night up to the funeral.
I escaped Gran by helping Grandma in the kitchen. I know that Dad's parents stayed just to help us deal with Gran, and Grandma was a wonderful cook.
She chatted away while we worked, so I was able to relax and follow her directions. We'd talk about anything and nothing and I found her so nice to be with. I didn't have to think or mind what I said. We got on very well and she taught me a lot about cooking.
On the Friday morning, I was up at seven, as Charlotte was coming up to do the horses early. We'd met on the Tuesday evening after she came home from school and I found her to be good fun. I could see why we were friends. She came over most evenings and it was brilliant to get out of the house for a while.
She was tall, a couple of inches taller than I, but much slimmer than I was. I wasn't fat at all, but my figure was more womanly, whereas she was like a beanpole. She had dark hair and kept it quite short. She was quite pretty, with brown eyes and a big smile. Her face was a little long to be really pretty, but I liked her a lot.
After a stilted few minutes that first day, we just got on and mucked out the horses together. I wasn't able to do much, but I was able to keep her company and do the lighter stuff.
“I was so shocked when I heard the news. It was awful. We heard that you and your mum were both badly hurt if not dead. The whole village was in shock for a couple of days. Then the news came through that Auntie Eleanor had died and you weren't expected to last another day. Honestly, I cried myself to sleep. It was wonderful to hear you were getting better!”
I found her honest love too much and I started to cry.
We never looked back. She told me everything I wanted to know before I needed to ask.
“Tim Barton has been almost inconsolable. Mind you, I saw Samantha Spears trying very hard to console him last week.”
“Samantha, is she a friend?”
“No, Samantha is a tart, and definitely no friend to you or me. She hates you for going off with Tim at Rachel's party last June. Every chance she gets she has a go behind your back. The last I heard she was saying you were no better than a vegetable and would probably not be able to wipe your own bottom.”
“The cow! Why?”
“She wants Tim; it's as simple as that.”
“Do I like Tim?”
“Next time you're in your room, read your diary. You practised writing your name, Mrs Jennifer Barton, so I guess you must like him a little!” she said, grinning at me.
“Oh, shit! Why can't I remember?”
“It must be dreadful. I mean, you don't know who's nice and who isn't. Looks like I'm going to have to keep a close eye on you at school.”
“Always supposing I can go back,” I said.
“Why shouldn't you?”
“I can't remember anything. I tried the clarinet last night and I was hopeless. I haven't a clue how to play it.”
“Bummer!” she said.
Well, Friday had arrived and we were going to bury my mother. Charlotte, or Charlie as I came to call her, arrived at seven thirty to do the horses. She was off school today, as was half the school by all accounts. Loads of people were coming, as Mum had been very popular and all my school friends wanted to be there for me. It was quite emotional, but I still felt a bit of a fraud.
“Are you wearing black, or what?” she asked me.
“No. Dad says that Mum hated black. I found a red dress in her wardrobe that Dad used to like. He asked if I'd mind wearing it in memory of her. So I said yes.”
“Is that the one she wore at Christmas last year?” she asked.
I smiled and shrugged.
“I don't know, Charlie, I can't remember.”
“Sorry Jen, I keep forgetting. If it's any consolation, you haven't changed that much.”
“Have I changed at all?”
“Yeah, a little. You've grown up. You'd giggle at the slightest thing and to be honest, I found it slightly irritating at times. You're more serious now. It's as if you've just added several years. I suppose losing your memory does things like that. If anything, you've changed for the better.”
“Really? Or are you just saying that to make me feel better?”
“No, Jen, really. We've been friends for ten years. We've shared everything and I wouldn't lie to you. It's almost as if your Mum's spirit has come along and added something to your own. You are more like her now.”
I was quiet. I hoped it was a compliment. But then I got to thinking. What about if that's what happened? Was I having memories that were my mothers?
But why didn't I recognise people in the flashes of memory? I mean, it would make sense that my grandparents would be in them, rather than complete strangers!
I shrugged, I didn't think I'd ever know for sure.
In the event, the funeral was about as bad as I expected. It rained, but then it always rains at funerals, doesn't it?
I was surprised at the amount of people who turned out. The little village church was packed and some people had to go to the church hall where there was a televised link. There were even national TV crews there, as the crash was still newsworthy. Dad kept the reporters away and to be fair they didn't try to get close.
I wore Mum's dress, with dark stockings and red shoes that matched. I wore a red coat and even a white hat with a red ribbon. I wore a red and white spotted headscarf, pirate style, which hid my lack of hair. Actually, my hair was growing back, but was very short. I was very conscious of it and thought the scarf looked very chic. It had been Richard's idea, of all people. I hugged him for it.
I could see that some people were shocked that I wasn't wearing black and then Granny appeared in a pale blue outfit and matching hat. Dad told everyone that I was wearing his favourite dress and that Eleanor would have wanted me to wear it.
I still ached, so found the hard pews quite a strain. I was conscious of everyone looking at me and could hear the, “Poor dear!” and “Isn't she brave?” amongst other mutters.
I cried during the service, but not all the way through like Gran. Dad stood up and gave a eulogy. He was choked up, but fought his way through. He mentioned that the fact I lived was what kept him going and that every day he could see his dear wife in his daughter, and he thanked God for such a blessing.
I cried like a baby then.
So did everyone else. There wasn't a dry eye in the house.
They didn't bring the coffin into the church. We had a portrait of Mum on an easel at the front, with a garland of flowers around it. It had been painted when she had been in her twenties, at about the same time that she had married Dad. I stared at this face of the person I was destined never to know.
She looked a little like me, but her eyes almost hypnotised me. She had lovely eyes. I think of all her features, these were the most like mine.
They were smiley eyes that exuded a love of life and laughter. I missed her then, even though I couldn't remember her properly. It was as if she was reaching out to me from death. I missed the fact that now I never would know her properly so I felt very sad.
After the church service, everyone went to the hall for a cup of tea. Only close family and personal friends went to the crematorium. That was even more macabre. I was fine up to the moment the coffin slid out past the curtains and I knew that this really was an end.
We were all very tearful and I think, with hindsight, it was important to witness the finality of such an event. The human mind doesn't like to give things up, so now there was denying that she wasn't coming back.
In the limousine, Dad turned to the pair of us.
“Okay kids. Now we live for the future, your Mum would want that!”
Ricky and I were crying, while Dad had tears in his eyes as well. I nodded, taking his hand.
“I need you to tell me everything about her, Dad,” I said and he nodded.
The family and friends gathered at the house when we arrived back. Grandma gave me a cup of tea and made me sit down on a comfy chair. She thrust a sandwich in my hand and gave a little chuckle.
“It always makes me smile when I see the hungry ghouls that appear at events like these. Eat that up and I'll get you some cake. I've had to keep some back from these greedy buggers!”
I was in the middle of stuffing the sandwich in the general direction of my face when a boy appeared beside me.
He stood looking uneasy for a moment.
“Um, er, Jenny, er, hi,” he said.
I craned my neck to look up at him. He was tall, broad and quite hunky. His short fair hair was quite curly and he's let a single curl grow long down his neck. He had on a black leather jacket, with a collar and tie. However, it looked as if he would prefer to be wearing surf gear, as he appeared very uncomfortable. My pulse quickened and something deep within me stirred.
I took a guess, based on my body's strange reaction to his proximity.
“Tim, hi,” I said.
His facial expressions went through a host of emotions and then he half smiled before actually crying. He dropped to one knee and took my hand that didn't have a half-mangled sandwich in it.
“You remembered! My God, they told me you had amnesia, I can't believe it. You're even more beautiful than ever!”
I took my hand back and held it up like a stop signal.
“Hey, back up. Thanks for the lovely compliment, but I really do have amnesia. Charlie told me I was dating the hunkiest guy around. You are by far the hunkiest guy, so I took an educated guess, based on the fact my body seems to remember you even if my brain doesn't. Maybe it's wishful thinking but it seems I'm right. How've you been holding up? I heard you took the news pretty bad, I'm sorry.”
“Shit, you're apologising to me? Bloody hell, Jenny, you've been to hell and back, and I never even came to visit you. I feel so guilty, but your Dad told me not to,” he said, obviously quite upset.
I smiled.
“Yeah, I know. Look, I woke up not even knowing my own name. It's been a tough couple of weeks, particularly as I've just seen my Mum's coffin burned to a crisp and I can't even remember her at all. So, what do you say to starting out like we just met?”
He grinned and he really was hunky.
“Yeah, that'd be cool. I'm Tim Barton.”
“Hi, I'm Jenny Adams,” I said and held out my hand after transferring the mangled sandwich to my left hand.
“Pleased to meet you,” he said, grinning self-consciously.
“Charlie tells me you play guitar in a band.”
“Yeah, you want to come and listen, one day?”
“I'd love to. I used to play the clarinet, but seem to have forgotten how.”
“Really? That means you don't need to hang out with the orchestra geeks any more.”
“I suppose not. I'll have to see.”
“Can you sing?”
“I don't know, can I?”
He grinned.
“You're okay, I suppose we haven't found your style yet. We could find out?”
“That'd be fun. Won't Samantha mind?”
He stared at me, a slow smile spreading across his lips.
“The jungle drums don't half work fast. Actually, Sam and I are not compatible. She wanted us to be, but to be honest she really isn't my type. You were in hospital and I thought she was very insensitive to come on to me as strong as she did. I think I upset her when I told her so.”
“Hmm, interesting, so you think we are - compatible, I mean?”
“Don't you?” he asked.
“Oh, I don't know. I've just met you and so who knows. It'll be fun finding out, won't it?”
He looked at me and half closed his eyes.
“Are you sure you don't remember?” he asked, disbelief in his tone.
“I promise, I don't. By the way, can I have my hand back?”
He looked down at my hand. I was wearing a pretty little silver ring with a red stone on my right ring finger. I'd found it on my dressing table, and immediately liked it. It also went with the dress.
“You're wearing our ring,” he said.
“Our ring?”
“I bought you this about a month ago. Just after we all went back to school and you told me you loved me. You gave me this,” he said, and pulled a chain from under his shirt. There was a little heart on it, with Tim & Jenny engraved on it.
“See, I told you we were compatible,” he said.
I felt so awful. I just wanted to remember. My tears started again, his face transforming into an expression of real concern.
“Shit, Jen, don't cry! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you,” he said.
“You didn't, Tim. I just want to remember, but I can't!” I was so cross.
He took both my hands in his and looked down with distaste at the mangled sandwich he'd just grabbed.
I giggled and he laughed.
“I still love you, Jenny. I'll wait as long as it takes for you to learn to love me again,” he said.
I smiled. He had such a sexy smile and he was just so earnest.
“It might not be that long, you soppy bastard!” I said and his eyes opened with surprise at my language.
Granny arrived with two pieces of cake. She relieved us of the now inedible sandwich and walked off chuckling.
“Come on, get me out of here!” I said, so he helped me stand up. I was about five foot nine with the heels on and he was still a good five inches taller.
“You are big, aren't you?” I said.
“You don't know the half of it!” he said, and then realised what he'd said. I put one hand to his lips.
“It's okay. Really. I just want to be normal, so don't worry. We'll get by.”
We walked out and crossed the lawn to the paddock. The horses saw us and came over in the hope we'd brought some treats. I went to the stable and brought out a couple of horse carrots.
“How did you know they were there?” he asked.
“Duh, I've been back a week. Charlie and I mucked them out this morning.”
“Oh. I thought you'd been miraculously cured.”
I smiled.
“Considering I was almost given up for dead, I am miraculously cured. The memory is a small price to pay.”
“I think you're so brave.”
“Nah, Tim, I'm not brave. I haven't a choice, so I just have to make the best of it.”
“I heard Mike went to see you in hospital.”
“Apparently his mother insisted Dad bring him in. You know his Mum?”
He smiled and nodded.
“Yeah, she's a bossy cow.”
“Dad was too tired to argue and thought the face might jolt some memory. It didn't.”
“I sent a card.”
“Yeah, I know. It's by my bed.”
He grinned.
“I didn't want to lose you, Jen. Not just after I'd found you.”
“It'll take more that a train crash to get rid of me, buster!” I said and he laughed.
Flora nudged me for more carrots, so Tim went and brought another couple back out.
“Are you riding again yet?”
“No. I can't for a while. Not until the skull heals up properly and the ribs are mended. If I fell off now, I'd probably die.”
“So what happened?”
I told him what I knew.
“And you remember nothing?”
“Nothing. No, that's not quite true. I get glimpses, but I think they belong to someone else.”
“Eh? How do you know?”
“I don't. Look Tim, I can't explain it, and I don't want this to go any further, but it is like I used to be someone else and for some reason I've been allowed to start again in this body.”
He looked at me with a very strange expression.
“Shit, I knew I shouldn't have told you. Just forget I said anything. It's probably due to the head injury.”
He didn't say anything and I regretted saying what I did.
“Jenny, believe me, you are the same girl. If anything more beautiful and much nicer, but you are the same wonderful person I first kissed in the summer.”
“We kissed?”
He smiled and nodded.
“Ah, we, um, we didn't, you know, um, go any further, did we?” I asked.
“No. I think we both wanted to, but you said no. I respected you so much for that. No, all we did was kiss and you are a wonderful kisser.”
I looked down, feeling embarrassed. He placed a hand under my chin, gently raising my head until he was looking into my eyes.
“I love you, Jenny,” he said, gently kissing me on the lips.
My mind may have forgotten, but my body hadn't. I placed both arms around his neck, pulling myself closer to him. I opened my mouth and allowed his tongue entry. I explored him with mine. Our probing tongues met and caressed each other.
I felt a warm tingling sensation start deep within my abdomen and it spread outwards. My breasts seemed to swell and my nipples seemed to harden. I could feel his every move against me. He tried to move away a little, but I wouldn't let him. I rubbed my body as tightly as I could against him, and I could feel him harden in his trousers. The ache of my ribs forgotten, I just allowed myself to surrender to my feelings.
The kiss went on and on. I raised my hands and ran my fingers through his hair. He had one hand tightly clamped on my buttock, and with the other he gently caressed my breasts through the silk blouse. I lowered one of my hands and felt him through his trousers.
He broke off.
We were both slightly breathless and very flushed.
“Shit, Jen! Where did that come from? I thought we'd just met?”
I smiled and gently kissed him.
“I'm trying to play catch-up. Any objections?”
He smiled, stroking my face. I licked his finger.
“None whatsoever. I'm just a bit surprised, that's all.”
“Not as surprised as me. That's my first kiss, by the way.”
“Well can I say, for a first timer, you rock, babe!”
I kissed him again, and I could feel my body craving the sensations that came with it.
“I don't know what they did with you, but I'm not complaining!” he said, returning the kiss.
“What do you mean?”
“Shit, Jenny, you are awesome. You used to be great, but now you are completely awesome!”
“Does that mean you still love me?” I said, kissing him again.
“Of course I do!”
“Then that's fine, we can stop now, before I totally lose control!”
He took my hand.
“Are you okay?”
I smiled and squeezed his hand.
“Yeah, I think I am,” I said.
We walked slowly back to the house. He held my hand and we took it in turns to squeeze. It was like some weird code and I suddenly got a flash of déjà vu. I'd done this before, but not with him!
I stopped as I realised. I had a fleeting mental picture of a funfair and a girl. I wasn't the girl, at least I didn't think I was. Then it was gone, but some music seemed to dominate the air. The lyrics went, “In the summer time, when the weather is hot…. ”
“Jenny, what's wrong?” Tim asked, worry etched on his face.
“A memory. You remember I told you about feeling like a stranger in this body?”
“Yeah, what about it?”
“I had a memory of another romantic walk. There was a funfair and I was holding hands. There was music and the lyrics went, “In the summer time, when the weather is hot…. ” Does that mean anything to you?”
He shook his head.
Sing it,” he said.
I did, as far as I could remember.
“Mungo Jerry. They had a hit in 1969 or 1970 with a song called In the Summer Time.”
“How do you know that?”
“My Dad's still got the single. It's crap, but fun.”
“Why should I remember that?”
He shrugged.
“This is weird, Jenny.”
“Tell me about it. You won't tell anyone, will you?”
“No, of course not. But if you need help or to talk, just let me know, okay?”
I nodded and kissed his cheek. I loved the way he smelled.
He traced the side of my face with his finger and then frowned.
“What?” I asked.
“It would have been such a waste, if you'd died. You are so beautiful!”
I smiled.
“You are such a softy!”
He laughed, kissing me again.
“Is the hair growing back alright?” he asked, nodding at my scarf.
“Slowly. I still look like a skinhead, but it should be okay in a few weeks.”
“You had gorgeous long hair, before.”
“Well, that'll take some time, but it should grow back.”
“Jen?”
“Hmm?”
“Thanks.”
“What for?”
“Coming back, in one piece.”
“I wish I had. There's still a piece missing, remember?”
“I don't care, as far as I'm concerned, the pieces that matter are here, and I adore you,” he said, with a tear in his eye.
“You are a soppy sausage!”
We went back into the house.
Finally, all the people left, leaving just the immediate family. I felt a sense of anti-climax and there was a sombre atmosphere in the house. Charlie had stayed, to help us wash up and we were alone in the kitchen.
“I see Tim didn't waste any time,” she said.
“It wasn't really him, Charlie, I think it was me.”
“You? Do you remember?”
“There's the funny thing. My brain doesn't, but I think my body does. He gave me the warm fuzzies, just by being there, and his eyes…. Shit, Charlie, he's gorgeous!”
She chuckled and I felt silly.
“So, Samantha Spears is going to be even more B and T?”
“B and T?”
“Bitter and twisted. You aren't her favourite anyway and now, just as she thought you were out of the picture, she will dislike you even more.”
“She's a silly cow and I haven't got time for people like that,” I said.
“When are you coming back to School?”
“I'm not sure. I've an appointment with the shrink on Monday and he will make a decision then. I hope not long, but I'm not sure I will be up to A levels any more. I don't know if I will be able to remember anything.”
“Why, is your short term memory affected?”
“No, I can remember everything that's happened since I woke up in hospital, but I'm worried that my memory won't work as well, or something.”
“Well, here's hoping you're going to be okay,” she said, draining her glass of white wine.
“Yeah, thanks.”
That night, in bed, I opened my diary and got a glimpse of the person I had been before the crash. There was little wonder that my body responded to Tim the way it did. The old me had written reams about how much she loved him! It was quite steamy at times and now it dawned on me why he'd been so upset.
I noticed the handwriting in the diary and pulled out the pad I'd written on in hospital. The handwriting was different, but not greatly. The diary was definitely written in a style that girls favoured, neat and flowing. My more recent scribbles were smaller and, if anything, more precise even than the diary.
Just as Charlie had said, there were loads of examples of where I had practised writing, Mrs Jennifer Barton .
Tanya Allen
Copyright 12.10.05