Amelia's Story (Box Set the Complete Series Books 1 & 2) (26 page)

I truly believed that if people knew I suffered with depression I would lose my job and my friends, and that the invites to parties, balls, and do’s would fall to the wayside.

I really believed it was a stigma no one wanted to be associated with. At 27
-years-old, this was a huge burden to bear along with my everything else. But I did bear it, and I did manage it, and I was doing well moving upwards in my career. Each job I went for was better than the previous one, with more responsibility, with a higher salary, and a better position. I was succeeding in my quest for financial freedom.

Following the recent revelations about the horrors that had taken place at Bryn Tyn community homes, it got me thinking once again about my brother Jake. We had never spoken about our time in care. Had he suffered in these unimaginable ways? Had he been subjected to things that were beyond most people’s imaginings? I needed to talk to him. It had been quite a long while since Jake and I had spoken. So I called my mother. I asked to speak to Jake, but he was no longer living there. He had moved out and got a place of h
is own. He was renting a flat near Wellington with his new girlfriend. I was so pleased that Jake’s life was going well. I asked for his forwarding address and number, but I was met with a brick wall. My mother once again wanted to cause more pain for reasons only known to her. She refused to give me his details, knowing that this would further separate us, knowing that more time would be stolen from us because of her cruel actions. She made up excuses such as he did not have a landline, and that it was not for her to pass his address around. I was not just anyone, I was his sister. She never did like how close we were. 

So once again Jake and I had no contact details for each other. How on earth would I find him now? I could not believe our mother could do this to us. What did she gain from her obstructive
behaviour? That was a question I would never have answered. I had not been in touch with my mother for years. The odd phone call, to ask about Jake, was all I could manage. I rarely got to speak to him personally. Eventually, I gave up calling. I gave up trying to find out about my family. I was never going to find them now. Too much time had passed. I wondered if any of my father’s side of the family had tried to contact me. What was my father doing now? I imagined he had a brand new family, that he missed me and longed to see me as I did him. I wondered if he had more children. If so, then I would have more siblings to get acquainted with. So many questions and virtually no answers. This drove me crazy at times. My life was like a huge jigsaw puzzle with many of the key pieces missing.

Blanche

One day I had the news I always knew would arrive. Blanche was retiring and selling up. She was heading down
to the south of England to live; she wanted to be closer to her son and grandchildren. I was devastated, but tried not to show it. This was the best thing for Blanche in her retirement, as she would be living just around the corner from her family. But oh, how I would miss her! She had been the most amazing influence on me. She had been my guiding angel during those first few months when I had arrived on her doorstep, depressed, heartbroken and alone. She had taken me in, given me a home, advised me along the way and listened to me whenever I needed a shoulder to cry on. We had become very close, like family. I had a couple of months to find somewhere else to live. I was not quite ready to purchase my own home yet. I didn’t have quite enough saved for the deposit required.

One day I was talking to Olivia, my ex Peter’s mum, who I was still
in touch with. Olivia often called me for a chat and checked in on me to see how I was getting on. I had told her that Blanche was selling up and that I needed to find somewhere else to rent. As if by magic Olivia had something up her sleeve. As always.

“I might have just the solution to your problem Amelia,” said Olivia. “Do you remember Josie? An acquaintance of mine, I think you met her a couple of times. Well, she lives in the next village and is looking for a lodger to help pay the rent. Do you want me to have a word with her for you?” she asked eagerly.

“Oh Olivia you are the best! Yes please! That would be fantastic, and most definitely the answer to my predicament.”

About a week later Olivia called me, informing me she had spoken with Josie and she was more than happy to rent a room to me. Olivia had set up a meeting so the two of us could get acquainted before I moved in. The following week after a successful meeting, it was decided that I should move in as soon as possible. The rent had been agreed and was the same I was paying Blanche.

All I had to do now was tell Blanche. I was so sad. I sat Blanche down and told her that I had found somewhere to live. She was happy as she had been very worried about where I was going to live. We were both very sad though. A week later I moved into the next village with Jose, and for a few weeks until Blanche left for Bristol I would pop over and have dinner with her. On our last meeting before she left Birmingham to start her retirement in Somerset, she took me to dinner at a lovely posh establishment called the Grimstock Hotel. We shared a bottle of wine over a three-course dinner and reminisced over the last three years. With promises made to each other always to remain in touch. A few tears were shed; we hugged and said our goodbyes. My heart was so heavy that day; I was going to miss her so much. However, I knew Blanche would be a lifelong friend, one that I would visit as often as I could.

Josie

Josie was completely different from Blanche. She was 47
-years-old and still looking for her dream man after a long marriage followed by a divorce. With her divorce settlement, she had bought this lovely little two-bedroom house. She had three sons who came to visit her often. Josie and I hit it off immediately. We also became friends. We would go to the cinema together every once and a while. We would eat out or share takeaways on a Friday evening.

I had given
Adrian my new address. On his next short stay in England he came to visit me. He seemed different somehow, and then he told me he had met someone. It was not serious, however, they were dating. I was so pleased for him and no longer had to worry about his feelings for me. He had truly moved on from that. We went out to dinner and he told me all about his trip to Norway. It was fascinating hearing all about his diving experiences around the world. We saw each other a few times before he headed off again, this time to the Emirates. Before he left I handed him the credit card that he had given me a long time ago. I did not feel right with it. It felt wrong to keep it. I had used it several times. At his suggestion, I had been shopping and bought new work suits. I had used it in Brussels, and I had used it to pay a bill. I assured him that I would one day pay him back, but Adrian insisted I kept the card. He said it was a gift, and that he wanted no payment from me whatsoever.

He left once again, this tim
e on his new Suzuki motorbike. Wow! What an incredible machine that was! It really was beautiful. He loved his cars and bike
s‒
he had two cars and a motorbike. He liked to give them a good airing when he was home.

A few weeks after
Adrian’s departure, Josie asked me if I fancied going on a week’s holiday to Tenerife, in Gran Canaria. She was going with her friend and said they would really like me to come too. I thought this was a great idea, and agreed. Within a couple of months the holiday was all paid for, and I found I was shopping a lot in my spare time for holiday clothes!

I was still running daily, a great love of mine. I didn’t feel complete unless I had run several miles a day. I was so fit and toned. I was truly happy with my physique; I had always worked so hard to stay fit. No matter what was happening in my life, for the most part a good run would always sort my troubles out, help to make me feel better about myself, and keep my nemesis at bay. I found exercise really helped fight my nemesis, unless it was very severe which was not too often. So I found I could pretty much control it with a healthy diet and lots of exercise.

I had learned to live with my nemesis. I was learning to control it, and the visits were becoming less frequent now. Only around once a year would I be rendered disabled by it. I just allowed it to overwhelm me and wait for it to leave. I was excited about my holiday. This infused happy hormones, and I was so excited about going to Gran Canaria: another tick of my wish list, another country visited. This would be my third trip abroad in just 12 months; I had developed a taste for travelling: from arriving at the airport, to the journey, and the excitement of getting off the plane in a completely different country. I loved it.

Our holiday was soon upon us. The flight was only four hours long. I will never forget stepping off the plane and being hit by the overwhelming heat. It was blistering. We had to take an hour-long coach drive to our apartments, and I remember on arrival how impressed we all were with it. It was beautiful; we had a large three
-bed apartment, with a balcony and sea view. It was amazing; the sea looked so blue, so clear, and so clean. We all had the most amazing week’s holiday; we toured the island, went on day trips and shopped in the island’s beautiful boutiques. I bought a couple of sarongs at a poolside catwalk show featuring none other than beach wear!

I could have stayed there for weeks. The people were friendly; it was so relaxing; and the food was to die for. But like all good things, it had to end. Before I knew it the holiday was over and we were heading back to
England, all refreshed, relaxed and recharged, and sporting great tans!

Finally, my own home!

I did not live with Josie for very long, a year at most. Then I decided I was ready to have my own home. I had saved; I had a good deposit; I had saved money over the previous two years from modeling jobs, some for Marks and Spencer’s, some for catalogues, and some independent jobs. I had made good money from these jobs. And I had a fair bit of money put by. I was ready to live on my own. I felt confident that I could support myself financially. I had a good monthly salary. I still did the odd bit of modeling on the occasional weekend and I had savings. I knew it would cost around £1000 pounds per month to run a home of my own, what with the mortgage, bills, and food. I could comfortably afford this now and still be able to save a little, go on holiday once or twice a year, and continue with my at
-home studies.

It was not long before I was moving out of Josie’s and into a rather derelict Grade II Listed townhouse in the small town of
Cosley in Warwickshire. I instantly fell in love with this house. It was full of original beams all throughout the property. The ceilings were very high and the doors small. There were secret little compartments, and a tunnel which took you all over the house. It was an incredible house, which needed much work. It was in need of a complete re-wire throughout. The wooden beams needed treating, and then preserving, it needed re-plastering throughout, a complete new floor put in downstairs, and a completely new kitchen fitted, as there was virtually no kitchen at all. But this did not deter me. It was beautiful and very old: part fifteenth and part sixteenth century. It really was a unique property.

I was very lucky to be able to buy it when I did, as house prices were low. This house had been empty for quite a long time. The fact that so much work needed doing to the property had driven the price down very low. I was lucky to purchase it for just £65,00
0‒
a bargain. My dream home: old, listed, and all mine. I will never forget the day I received the keys. I walked through the door of my new home, and ran all over the house laughing and screaming with pure joy.

I was shouting out loud, “It’s all mine, it’s
all mine, and this is my home. No one can take this away from me, not ever.”

I celebrated by myself that night, and that was by choice. I wanted to take it all in. I needed to let it all sink in properly. I had borrowed a camp bed from Josie; I had a kettle, and an iron, a mirror and a toaster and my amazing collection of books. And, of course, my expansive wardrobe of never-ending clothes and shoes which had become a passion of mine. That was what I moved in with. Over the next few weeks, Josie, her son, and Adrian, helped me put the first lick of paint in the large bedroom, which was to act as my living quarters for the next two years while I renovated the property. The bedroom was painted cream in between the beams. The curtains went up and the thick cream carpet went down. I purchased a brand new double bed and a TV. I had just what I needed to live comfortably while the renovations were taking place. Each day I had to pinch myself. Amelia was a home owner. Amelia owned all this, and Amelia was on the property ladder. It was all so surreal. Just 28
-years-old. I felt I had travelled such a very long road already. Things were finally starting to go my way; things were starting to work out the way I had always dreamt they would.

I had never felt happier in my life. I was single, independent, employed and a home owner. I was on cloud nine. Over the next 18 months I went from room to room, with the help of a local handy man that a lot of the locals used and recommended. As and when I could afford his services, I would employ him to, plaster, tile, and treat the beams, put in a new floor and finally a new kitchen. I painted the whole building, which was huge.

I helped lay floors; I helped put in skirting boards, and had the whole place rewired. The roof had been repaired as there were a few missing tiles. The pointing was fixed and the rendering sorted. At the finish, I had the whole place carpeted, all new furniture delivered and new lighting put in every room. The house looked incredible. It was like something out of one of those house and home magazines. It really was beautiful. I had transformed the inside into my dream home.

To this day I remember the pride I felt. I had travelled so far; I was well on my way to accomplishing my wish list. It was when I had completed all the works on my house that I decided to invest in a computer and printer. The internet was a huge phenomenon I wanted to familiari
se myself with. This new tool was the latest fascination of the world: the doors it opened, the information you could have access to. I wanted to jump aboard this new speeding train and join the world in this new experience, which was appearing on every computer in every office across the country. I had already had a taste of what it had to offer through work, as the internet had recently been installed onto everyone’s computer. It was a truly fascinating thing. You could type in almost any question and there in an instant the answer would appear. I was truly in awe of it as many people were; this was changing everyone’s lives in ways they had never imagined before.

I bought a second hand computer from my employer, at the bargain price of £100. It was a refurbished one, complete with Word, Excel, and all the packages needed to get me up and running. This was when I started writing again. One weekend I locked myself away in my house, unplugged my phones, purchased a bottle of rose wine and started writing my very first novel. A thriller-based novel called
Cruel Intentions
. I had had this story in my head for a long time, so once I started writing I could not stop. By the end of that weekend I had written 16,000 words. I was doing exactly what I had always wanted to d
o‒
writing. My next major dream was to complete a novel and try and get it published.

I was approaching
29-years-old now and I was ready for another holiday. I decided I wanted to revisit New York for a short break. I called my friend and before I knew it we had organised and paid for our trip. I booked the time off from work, and before I knew it the day had arrived. I met my friend at the airport and then boarded the plane.

We had the most amazing time. We dined, we skated, and we took a horse and carriage around
Central Park. We shopped and we toured new places. I loved New York; it was so full of life, so fast, and so exciting. On our return home we made a pact to visit New York at least once a year. On my return, I had met a young man seven years my junior. He was only 22-years-old, tall, and very handsome. I had met him through a friend of a friend. He was from a wealthy family, and had been rather spoilt. At the age of 17, he had been given a BMW for his birthday, and subsequently ran it into the ground. He was unrepentant, a bit wild and rebelling against his parents. He was living with his best friend in a privately rented apartment. He worked for his uncle, in an engineering works, and basically had never really had to do a great deal for himself. Everything had been handed to him on a plate. However, on meeting him I discovered he was not happy, that he wanted to prove to his family he could make it on his own. He had a good and loyal heart, when it came to his friends and more especially to his girlfrien
d‒
me. I met him at just the right time. I had been on a few dates, but didn’t take them any further: they were either too arrogant, too selfish, not my type, and basically not what I was looking for.

By the time Patrick came along I was ready for a relatio
nship. He had been attentive at a party; he was the complete gentleman and I liked him. Within a few short months he had moved into my house and we were living together. At first all was well; he applied for a new job head of sales for a large company in the West Midlands. He took to it like a duck to water; he was a natural. He had a basic salary plus commission. The commission he was earning was incredible. We cruised along this way for a while. I was writing my book in my spare time, picking it up from time to time and then leaving it untouched for a few months. By now, though, I was up to 45,000 words. I had also started documenting certain events of my life: the big events, the main parts of my journey. I kept a journal and wrote in it from time to time, worried that I may forget things over time.