The Vine
Authors: C.A Ellis
ONTENTS
The Vine
C.A ELLIS
www.authorcaellis.wordpress.com
Published by C.A Ellis 2014
Copyright © C.A Ellis 2014
Carol Ellis asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN: 9780992950422
This novel is entirely a work of fiction.
The names, characters, and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Dad, not a day goes by when I don’t miss you like crazy.
There are two things that are certain in life, birth and death. I have had times when I wished I had never been born, and I have had times when I wished death would take me, if only to ease my emotional pain.
In between life and death, there are key people and moments that define you as a person. I am Elizabeth Jane Maynard, and here is who I believe are the people, and also the moments during my life that define me—my best friend Katy, the loss of my parents, and meeting the love of my life.
Katy Stephens has been my best friend forever, and is the greatest friend a girl could ask for. Up until now, she has been the driving force behind me, my rock during bad times, and my own personal clown to brighten even the gloomiest of days—and trust me, she’s had her work cut out with the amount of them I’ve had over the last few years.
Katy is an amazing, confident woman who I love almost as much as she loves herself, and just thinking about her brings a smile to my face. If you were to ask her if she was A- pretty, B- beautiful, C- gorgeous, or D- stunning, Katy’s answer would be “all of the above.”
Oh, yes, she definitely knows she’s a stunner, but her motto goes something like, “I can’t help what I was born with; it’s not my fault,” and she refuses to apologise for it. I love her for that and the fact she’s so comfortable in her own skin. When people do take the time to talk to Katy and get to know her, they absolutely love her, because not only is she a hot, sassy, confident chick, but she also has an absolute heart of gold and is definitely as beautiful on the inside as she is on the outside. I adore and admire her, and I think that’s mainly due to the fact I am so different from her in so many ways.
Firstly, there are our physical differences. Katy has wavy, wild blonde hair, whilst mine is straight and dark. My eyes are brown
in contrast to her green hues, and I have naturally tan olive skin against Katy’s perfect porcelain complexion.
We are both fairly tall, but Katy is of an average build with boobs and an arse to die for, whereas I’m very slight and athletic in frame, with petite features—all arms and legs really. As much as Katy’s looks are a joy to behold, I am more of a plain Jane—a ‘natural beauty’ as my dad used to say, but what did he know? He was just biased toward his only daughter.
Katy and I aren’t just physically different; we have totally different personalities too. I certainly don’t have an ounce of the confidence she has—although sometimes I wish I did—but regardless of all this, we are best friends, and have been since nursery. We can laugh, cry, shout, scream and be totally honest with each other, and it would never affect our friendship.
If it was at all possible for Katy and me to become any closer, it happened when my mum and dad passed away four years ago in a car accident after a drunk driver careened into their car after jumping a red light. My life changed forever that evening; no longer would I have my wonderful parents in my life to guide me. Mentally, I was a complete mess, so Katy immediately took me under her wing and was truly the crutch I relied upon during the difficult times.
When I was down and feeling guilty, Katy always pulled me back up, saying things like: “You were meant to be in the car with your parents that evening, but you chose not to go, and because of that decision, you’re here alive today” or, “The accident wasn’t your fault; stop blaming yourself. Of course you need time to grieve, but it wasn’t your time to die” and, “You’re only twenty-two; you’ve still got so much life to live, and still so much to give to this world.”
Deep down inside, I knew Katy was right; Mum and Dad had been on their way home from my Auntie’s thirtieth wedding anniversary party that night. I was meant to attend the party, and normally I would have, but on that particular evening, I had a bit of a headache and just didn’t fancy plastering on a false smile
whilst everyone told me how much I’d grown since the last time they’d seen me. So instead, I made my excuses and stayed at home, preferring to sit in my PJs and have a date with a tub of ice cream whilst watching a chick flick with Katy.
Mum and Dad hadn’t minded at all, in fact, Dad had whispered in my ear as he left that if he had the choice, he would have stayed at home too. My last memory of him as they were leaving for the party was Dad with an impish grin on his face over what he’d just revealed to me.
I wish to this day that they had stayed at home, but they didn’t. And over the years—with lots of therapy—I’ve had to come to terms with these facts, but it still doesn’t stop me from beating myself up about it, or from blaming myself and having this river of guilt running through me twenty-four hours a day. I wouldn’t say I’m broken, as I do function on a day-to-day basis—I go to work, I go shopping, and I even have the odd night out. But it’s like a part of me died that night too, and even now it’s a constant pain I have to live with. On good days, it’s hard, and on bad days, it feels almost unbearable. I have feelings I’ve worked on in the past with therapists, but there are also a lot of feelings I am still trying to figure out. I suppose I will probably always have certain issues surrounding the death of my parents, but I am at least living some sort of a life, and I guess people deal with grief in different ways…right?
Katy grew up having a completely different relationship with her parents than the one I had with mine; they did not get along at all. Fortunately, Katy has always been a very strong and independent person, so as soon as she was old enough, it suited all parties when she moved out.
I used to feel sorry for Katy since I got along so well with my mum and dad. I could tell my mum anything, and was a total daddy’s girl—always had been. I felt that Katy must have missed out on a lot of happy memories by not having the loving family unit that I’d had. Maybe that’s because memories are all I
do
have now.
Katy thought more of my mum and dad than her own parents. She never really spoke of it, but it’s a wonder really how she became so confident and self-assured, considering the upbringing she’d endured. Thank goodness she turned out to be the normal, caring soul that she is, and I for one adore her for it.
The only very slight flaw in our relationship is that she can talk me into anything, and one of the most prominent memories to stand out in my mind is the day that we went to the tattoo parlour.
I only went with Katy for moral support because she desperately wanted a tattoo, and as she always managed to do, she talked me into having one too. So I—sensible Elizabeth Maynard—had been coerced into getting a tattoo, and it was by far the wildest thing I had ever done in my eighteen years. The tattoo I eventually chose was a leafy vine that went across the front of my foot and around my ankle. I chose my foot for the tattoo believing my feet were my best feature. It’s sad that I think my feet are my only redeeming quality.
Jett Matthews, who created our tattoos, is a highly trusted friend of ours who we’ve known since our school days. At school, I remember Jett had always been brilliant at art and music, so it was of no surprise when he went on to open Ink Rocks in Camden Town.
Only a year into his business and people started coming from far and wide to be inked by Jett and his crew; he’s even tattooed a few famous rock stars, which is how he and his band started to get a few small gigs.
His band, Jetson, got their name by combining his name, Jett, and his drummer’s, Sonny, who both started the band back in school. Even back then, Jett was always at Sonny’s house writing and playing music. At college, they met their guitarists Jude and Ace, but the original name stayed.
Things seemed to be really starting to take off for Jetson; their gigs were getting bigger and life was pretty good for Jett at the time. I know it hadn’t always been that way for him, and he was such a lovely guy who worked hard, so he really deserved it.
Katy had tried to get it on with Jett loads of times, but because of their friendship, he just wouldn’t go there. I couldn’t blame Katy for trying. Although I’d never personally looked at Jett in that way, I could certainly see why girls would be attracted to him. There’s no doubt Jett’s got a gorgeous body, and two amazing full-sleeves of colourful artwork, which he always has on show under his trademark black, tight-fitting t-shirts. He has this mop of dirty blond hair, and an Abercrombie and Fitch-worthy handsome face, complete with a cheeky boyish smile.
Jett definitely doesn’t have a problem getting the ladies, and that was especially true since he’d starting gigging. There are plenty of groupies who throw themselves at the band. He has this sexy, raspy tone to his voice, perfectly suited for the rock sound his band creates, but when he softens it down for the slower numbers…
wow!
It is for this reason I had asked Jett to sing at my mum and dad’s funeral.
He sang acoustic versions of One Sweet Day by Mariah Carey and Boyz II Men, and Dance with my Father by Luther Vandross… and he had been amazing. I have a recording of him singing them, and although the memory still brings tears to my eyes, his voice alone makes all the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
After I lost Mum and Dad, I decided I wanted to add something to my tattoo as a dedication to them, but also in celebration of their life. Jett, knowing what I had been through, said he felt like he had a personal attachment to this particular ink, and what he created was amazing. He had entwined two of the most tasteful, beautiful red roses into my original vine tattoo to represent my mum and dad.
Having a memorial for them etched on my skin for life seemed like a fitting tribute, and also, I absolutely loved the image itself. It’s a shame, but we haven’t heard from Jett for a year or so now. His brother Evan had taken over the running of Ink Rocks, since Jett and the boys had moved away to work on their music careers. I really hope life is being kind to him, and he is fulfilling his dreams.
I wish I would move on from this claustrophobic bubble that I live in on a day-to-day basis, and I could start to fulfil some of my own dreams—if I even know what they are anymore.
Little did I know that something, or should I say
someone
, was going to change my life. They were going to help me move on, to show me I could have faith again, that maybe my hopes and dreams finally could come true, and that someone came in the shape of a gorgeous creature called Lucas Castle.
Well, having my tattoo was the wildest thing I’d ever done until I met and started dating Lucas. The only reason I say that being with him is wild is not because he is a bad boy or anything like that, but because I’m twenty-six and he is thirty-eight.
So as you can imagine with a twelve-year age gap, when we met, it was sort of frowned upon by both our peers for more reasons than one. Since then, we have certainly proven them all wrong, as we have been together nearly six months now, so finally the dust is starting to settle around us.