Splinters Read online

  SPLINTERS

  © 2015 M. R. Field

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any form, or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author, except by reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously and are coincidental. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  All products mentioned in this book belong to their rightful owners.

  I do not claim any of these products to be my own.

  ‘Any song’s’ lyrics used are not affiliated with the author.

  Edited by Lauren McKellar

  http://mcstellarediting.blogspot.com.au

  Proofread by Gaelle Pain

  and Karen Mandeville-Steer

  http://karensbookhaven.com/editing-services/

  Formatted by Max Effect

  www.formaxeffect.com

  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  WHAT SOME BLOGGERS ARE SAYING ABOUT M R FIELD:

  “I adore MR Field. Her writing prowess, her multi-layered, and always engaging stories leave me wanting more.” Karen’s Book Haven- top 50 reviewer on Amazon.com.au

  “I am so glad to have read, met and worked with MR Field. Her writing gets you so wrapped up in her stories that you don’t want to leave. A definite Must Read.” Angela- Novels In Heels book blog.

  “M.R Field is an author that will captivate you with her breathtaking stories of eternal love. She is an author that you should watch out for!” Amy- One Book Boyfriend At A Time book blog.

  NOTE FOR THE READER

  This book is set in Australia and has been written using UK English and contains euphemisms and slang words that form part of the Australian spoken word, which is the basis of this book’s writing style.

  Please remember, that the words are not misspelled, they are slang terms and form part of the everyday, Australian lifestyle.

  If you would like further explanation, or to discuss the translation or meaning of a particular word, please do not hesitate to contact the author – contact details have been provided, for your convenience, at the end of this book.

  To my parents.

  Happy 50th wedding anniversary.

  Thank you for teaching us the beauty and sacrifice of love and adventure.

  I love you xx

  HAZEL

  When I’m on stage, it’s me. It’s the moment where I’m not alone. I adapt to my characters, camouflaging into them, but one thing remains—the unadulterated love of that final applause. It’s when I know my message has been received. Where I know I am appreciated. After all, in show business, the show must go on and so do I. Tonight, I will shine.

  Clipping the final buttons on my topcoat, I step out onto the darkened stage. My feet gently pace to my position and I adjust my costume ever so slightly. The stage is black, apart from very faint droplights to downstage left. It could be pitch black and it would not matter. I know this floor like it is my own skin.

  Hushed breaths whisper near me, gentle shuffles along the carpeted floor in the auditorium linger in the cloaked darkness as I wait for the cast to assemble. I see the faint movement of shiny metal from the pit as the instruments line up to commence. I take a deep breath and close my eyes, willing the dull ache in my chest to dissipate. Here’s where I want to be. When I’m here, the outside will not bother me. Here’s where my forlorn heart will be comforted.

  The distance from my loneliness fades, the stage lightens, and real life wilts into oblivion. That moment where I change and am no longer me—but someone else—arrives. My metaphorical mask slowly takes over. My chest loosens, my pulse slows and my heart lightens. I glance stage left as I sense the familiar movements around me taking shape and I grip my coat in anticipation for the special. I straighten my shoulders and clear my throat inaudibly to loosen any lingering jitters. I freeze and hold my position, I’m a mannequin ready to be given a breath of life.

  The stage illuminates, my vision adjusts and I smile into the audience. Here, I am not alone. My diaphragm lifts, and my voice sings its chorus.

  Applause.

  Then I know I’m home. My sanctuary. My life.

  The musical ends and applause erupts, filling the hole in my soul. My home has healed me once again.

  “She is clothed in strength and dignity and she laughs without fear of the future.”

  Proverbs 31;25

  HAZEL

  London

  Autumn, 2014

  The whirl from the zip of my suitcase echoed in the silent room like a sharp blade. My knees trembled as I slowly stood from kneeling against the cold hard floor. Don’t look at him. Don’t let him see your eyes.

  “You’re really leaving?” he asked, standing by the bedroom door.

  “Yes.” My voice wavered. “I really am.”

  “But I thought we could work this out—”

  I held up my free hand to silence his words, I turned my head sharply while closing my eyes firmly to block him out. Out of sight, out of mind. My body jolted suddenly as my mind began visually betraying me once again, causing a frustrated breath to leave my lips. Clear images flashed haphazardly like an action flip book, burning my eyes in a rapid, poorly executed movie; the bedroom door swinging open, the grunting voices, the gyration of the familiar hips of my boyfriend between long slim legs that were not mine … the clawing of her red fingernails down his back, as the wave of ecstasy tipped back her head … the face of a friend, or so I’d thought.

  I shook these horrid images from my mind, clenching the handle of my suitcase tighter. The tell-tale taste of bile resurfaced up my throat. Ice formed around my heart, encasing it in a poor fortress against my pathetic attempt at love yet again.

  “Petal …” he begged softly. My shoulders stiffened at the unwelcome pet name.

  “Don’t—” I grit my teeth. “Don’t you dare!”

  “She meant nothing; it was a lapse in judgement.”

  “No, I don’t buy that. You chose to bring her here to our place, you chose to take her to our room, and you chose to have sex with her.” I stomped towards the bedroom door, flinging my handbag over my shoulder, grateful that I had acted quickly and boxed the few belongings that I owned, then sent them away earlier that day.

  Wheeling the suitcase behind me, I quickly glanced around. This had been my home for three years after I lived on campus for my first year. For three years, I had been betrayed. The betrayal continued to swirl in my stomach, rising towards my chest like a coiled snake. I had been so stupid, letting this relationship go for so long. Taking a deep breath, I centred myself and turned my eyes upwards towards his clear blue ones. When he said I wasn’t letting him in, I never expected him to do this to me. What an idiot I was, wasting my time away.

  I
glared at the pathetic excuse of a man. “I can’t believe I settled for a half-lax relationship putting up with a condescending prick, thinking that I was enough pleasure for him. I should have never settled for less.”

  I pushed past him, but he reached out and grabbed my shoulder, halting me. I flinched, pulling free of his grip. Striding towards the front door of our apartment, I ignored the rooms that had provided warmth for me in a country far away from home. I had loved most of my time here, but it wasn’t enough.

  “Petal, we’re meant to be. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

  My gut sank at those empty words that I’d heard many times over in my life. Make it up to me? Not a chance.

  “Never,” I growled, opening the front door, drawing my jacket around me as the bitter chill slapped my cheeks.

  “If you go, I will follow you,” he jeered.

  I didn’t hide my scoff. “What? You’ll move back to Australia for me? As if.”

  “No one knows you like I do, love.”

  “You’re wrong.” I turned, gazing at him. His eyes narrowed as he surveyed me. “When I find him, he’ll know me better than you ever did.” He flinched, and I turned away in triumph. Pulling my luggage through the door, I said loudly enough for him to hear, “And I’ll love every single second of it.”

  No. I would never settle for anything less than someone loving me unabashedly. That someone to fill the love that had evaded me most of my life. A love so powerful that nothing would stop it. I knew where that love would be—inside my frozen chest, I longingly hoped that it would be returned by the one guy whose smile tortured my dreams.

  Robbie. But loving me back? I didn’t know if he ever could. Love never seemed to attach itself to me for very long.

  Now that I was heading home, pained thoughts that love would continue to escape me hit me with rapid succession. Bitter memories tumbled to the forefront of my mind. Times of when I was young, the inadequacies I felt, all seemed to steamroll me into the lost girl I once was. Oh, how things had changed.

  Spring, 2006

  The beep of an incoming text filled the silence of my bedroom.

  Robbie: How many redheads does it take 2 change a light bulb? None. They prefer to sit in the dark.

  Hazel: Lamest joke ever.

  Robbie: U love it

  I giggled and placed my phone back on my bedside table. These morning texts from Robbie were a great start to the day. I stood in front of my mirror, assessing myself. Have my boobs grown? Again? I lifted my shoulders up and down, and turned to the side. My breasts were encased in a soft white silk that was tight along my chest. Bra shopping it was. Unlike my friends, who preferred rock music and different coloured Converse Chucks, my chosen vice was to wear nice lingerie. My mother had forgotten how young I was when I’d first started to wear bras, and once she got me into the expensive silk, it was a struggle to get out of it. It was my hidden gem that lay underneath my everyday clothes.

  I began tensing and relaxing my stomach. Nope. Still curvy. I turned to the side to watch again as my ample breasts and hips swayed. I adjusted my stance and looked over my shoulder and cringed. My sister was right. My arse was definitely not for television.

  You eating that cake, fatty? You know you’re just adding extra padding to your already padded frame.

  But in my mind, I knew the entertainment industry was going to be hard, so it was best to start getting used to criticism, now, right? Keep telling yourself that.

  Flicking my hair over my shoulder, I imagined how different life would be if I got the genetics from my father’s side of the family. His sisters were all lean, exotically skinned, small boobed and tall. Instead, I got pale white skin, fiery red hair and curves that screamed I’d indulged in too many pies. It couldn’t be further from the truth. Yet, would I change it if I could?

  Years ago, I had considered extreme dieting of starving myself, but my Great-aunt Cynthia noticed. “Child, you have a body of a goddess; never change it. Accept it and love it.” Later that year, She also gave me a framed poster of Sofia Loren, who was one of my favourite actresses. It was captioned by her famous quote: “Everything you see, I owe to spaghetti.” I haven’t looked back since.

  I leaned down and picked up my blue summer uniform and draped it over my body. It had a full skirt, stopping at my knees. Brushing my hair back, I grabbed a white ribbon for a headband and wrapped it around my head. That will do.

  The pungent smell of burnt coffee assaulted my nostrils as I entered our stark white kitchen. My mother was seated at the kitchen table with a mug poised at her lips, her eyes trained on the bench, or more so, her laptop. She barely registered I had entered the room until I greeted her.

  “Morning, Mother.”

  She jolted and flicked her eyes up until the same shade of green hit mine. “Morning, Child.” She sipped her burnt coffee and went back to staring at her screen. I’d learned the hard way by drinking coffee that she’d made herself was bitter. Just like its maker.

  I strolled over to the pantry and retrieved the muesli. Not one thing was out of place in our kitchen. It was mostly bare, except for the essentials.

  The click of my footsteps sounded as I tried to gently pace over to the kitchen table at the opposite end to my mother. I ate quietly as she continued to um and ah while perusing her laptop. There was no morning chit-chattering; instead, I was used to getting lost in my thoughts. Enter Robbie. My imagination had a way of remembering every detail about him. His smile, his deep voice and how he held onto his latest girlfriend. I’d watch, helplessly as each girl he dated was held preciously in his embrace, while I could barely speak to him face to face. I daydreamed constantly that one day, that arm would be wrapped around my waist. But, my poor lonely heart ached at it never becoming true.

  “Have you put on weight again, Hazel?” My ears pricked to the caustic voice of my eldest sister, Chantal, as her heavy footsteps entered the room.

  “I don’t think so.” I looked down at my shirt and considered. Besides my boobs, there was nowhere else that seemed bigger.

  “Well, you look it.” She sneered, looking over my shoulder into my cereal bowl. “You eat too much.”

  Her callous words chipped into my pensive mood. I moved my shoulder to block her from my bowl as I continued to finish my breakfast. These games were getting tiring. I flicked my eyes ahead to my mother who, not surprisingly, had her eyes glued to her laptop.

  “What are you doing up?” I asked, turning back to look at Chantal. She stared back at me, while her right arm bent across to her left, scratching. I looked down at her forearms and noticed a red rash across her skin that I hadn’t seen for a while. She sniffed loudly, garnering my attention.

  “I have places to be,” she deadpanned, while looking away from me. She sniffed again while chewing on the corner of her bottom lip. “Mum,” she began, “I need some cash transferred. It’s for … ah …” My mother looked up and blinked. “I said,” she continued to scratch her infected arms, “I need some money transferred.” My mother, oblivious to her daughter’s state, simply replied. “How much?”

  “Five hundred. It’s for … work. I need to buy more work clothes.”

  I groaned and slumped my shoulders.

  “Of course, I’ll just transfer it over now.”

  I shook my head and snatched my bowl from the table. Marching over to the sink, I left it there for our maid to clean. Normally, I washed it myself, but I had to get out of there. Chantal was using again, and our mother didn’t even notice. No doubt our other sister would be in on it—

  “Whoa!” My other sister Calista grunted as I accidentally ran into her. “What’s the rush? Donut King got a new product out today?” she snickered. I ignored her and stepped to the side.

  “You’re too polite about it. If you just called her fat, maybe she’d stop stuffing her face.” Chantal called out, her dull eyes almost showing a hint of colour in amusement at my expense.

  “I’m fine,” I grumbled, as I conti
nued to march past. Despite her naturally lean physique, Calista still dieted.

  “Oh, did we upset you, Hazel?” Her saccharine voice, travelled after me.

  “Enough! Girls!” Mother suddenly intervened. “We need to get a move on. I am far too busy to deal with this rubbish!”

  Chantal left the room and headed towards her end of the house. I grabbed my school bag near the staircase as Calista brushed past me aggressively on her way to follow, knocking me into the bottom railing. My bag fell to my feet, landing on my big toe. I hissed as she muttered so only I heard.

  “You’ve got enough padding; that wouldn’t hurt. Lucky you didn’t break the staircase.”

  I took a moment to rub my hip before Mother saw me idling. “Come on, Hazel. I have meetings to attend to.”

  I snatched my bag and clutched it to my chest as Calista narrowed her eyes at me, her vindictive smile lingering upon her smug face. My chest huffed out in resignation. There was no point in fighting. She wanted a reaction. I wouldn’t give her one.

  The car ride to school was monotonous with the same repugnant dialogue—Calista on her phone, while Mum was on her speakerphone. Who was dating who, who was shacked up with whom, and who was, dare I say it … FAT. What leading watch brand was being introduced at her store? What were the seasonal colours?

  I rolled my eyes and stared out the window, pretending to be somewhere else other than where I was. I sighed in relief as we finally arrived at school, once the car idled, we moved quickly to get out. Mother drove away hastily without even a goodbye. To be honest, I couldn’t remember the last time she’d ever given me a hug. Growing up, I found it strange that kids had parents kiss them goodbye at the school gates, as both my parents had taken me in quickly and left without any form of endearment. Both Trice and Trinity had polar opposite families to my own. Theirs were the families that I hoped I could create someday. There wasn’t a chance that I’d ever ignore them. No way would my child not know how much I loved them or how much they meant to me.