Always & Forever Read online

  Always & Forever

  By Lauren Crossley

  Always & Forever

  Copyright © 2014 Lauren Crossley

  All Rights Reserved. This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. All characters and storylines are the property of the author and your support and respect is appreciated.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Cover photo © istockphoto.com

  I want to want to thank everyone who is about to start

  reading this book. You have always been my motivation and I wrote this

  for you. I hope you enjoy it.

  Chapter One

  This is exactly what I needed. The water is so hot, it burns my skin as it gently laps against my body. The music coming from my earphones is helping me to relax and I close my eyes and enjoy the beautiful melody of Yiruma’s ‘River Flows in You.’ I don’t normally listen to music whilst I’m in the bath but earlier tonight I was craving peace and solitude like never before.

  Whenever I listen to this piece of music I somehow manage to find the freedom I so ardently desire. My imagination allows me to leave this house; it transports me to another time and place, an unidentifiable location where I don’t have to think about him, a place where he doesn’t exist.

  I shake my head forcefully; I don't want to think about him right now, all I want is to forget him. I shut my eyes and try to rid myself of the tension that I feel, once again I attempt to immerse myself in the music that’s playing through my earphones. Unfortunately, it proves to be harder than I thought. I’m unable to rid my mind of the unwanted anxiety I feel creeping up inside of me and I’m acutely aware of the reason for my struggle. Knowing that he’ll soon be home is enough to unsettle me for the rest of the night.

  I’ve been begging my mum to get a lock for the bathroom door since I was thirteen, at least then I’d have some privacy. Unfortunately, that decision has never been hers.

  I’m suddenly startled by the sound of the front door slamming downstairs. I groan inwardly, knowing the meaning of that noise. It means he’s home.

  I decide to give myself a few more minutes before I get out and go downstairs. I know I’m just delaying the inevitable but I need to mentally prepare myself for another evening with him. I’ve just stepped out of the bath and wrapping a towel around myself when I hear his big, booming voice yell at me from downstairs.

  “Bethany, I’m home! Come on down when you’re ready.”

  I sigh irritably; the sound of his voice actually makes my skin crawl.

  “I’m in the bathroom, Dad. I’ll be out in a second.” I reply quickly, knowing that it’s best to not keep him waiting.

  It’s as though I’m two different people. There’s the real me, the one I keep hidden and then there’s the other version of myself, the one my father believes to be real. Over the years I’ve become an expert at playing the role of my fraudulent self, sometimes I lose track of who I’m supposed to be.

  “Hurry up, Bethany! I have some good news to tell you.”

  I jump when I hear his voice from the other side of the bathroom door. I didn’t even hear him make his way upstairs. If he opens that door I really will scream. He gives me no space or privacy whatsoever and it’s enough to drive a sane person crazy. Not that I’m an expert on sanity.

  “I’m coming, Dad. I’ll be two minutes, why don’t you go downstairs and see mum?”

  “Ok, sweetheart, don’t be long.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief when I hear his footsteps descend down the stairs. I still can’t believe how gullible he is when it comes to my lying. Does he really believe that I have any interest in anything he has to say? I’ve hated him for years and for some reason he’s too stupid to realise it.

  I hastily pull on a T-shirt and some jogging bottoms before making my own way downstairs, raking my fingers through my hair and willing myself to play along with this façade until I can make my excuses and go to bed.

  I need to lock the real me away now. I have to become everything that he wants me to be and embody everything that he expects of me.

  I try to avoid any time alone with him as much as I can. I frequently go to bed at ten o’clock and lie awake for hours, tossing and turning because I’m nowhere near tired. Going to bed so early is a small luxury for me because it means that I can escape from his watchful eyes and his constant presence. I savour the time that I spend awake in my room because as much as I hate insomnia, I hate my father more.

  I make my way into the living room; the television is switched on but silent, the light from the screen flickers in the darkness and there’s no sign of my parents which means they’re in the dining room. We’re in the middle of autumn and the low temperature not only exists outside, the frosty atmosphere in this house has always been enough to leave me with a permanent chill.

  “There’s my girl! What have you been doing with yourself this evening?” He asks me as I open the door to the dining room. I’m not surprised to see that he’s already sat at the head of the table, awaiting his meal.

  “Just the usual, I watched a little bit of TV and I was in the bath when you arrived home. I’m thinking about having an early night, I’m really tired.” I fake a yawn, hoping to convince him of my fatigue. It’s only nine o’clock and I’m far from tired but I really can’t stand to spend the rest of the night with him.

  “But it’s still early. I thought we could stay up a bit later tonight, seeing as its Friday and you’re not working in the bookstore tomorrow. You’re forgetting the exciting news I have to tell you.”

  I force a smile on my face and remain silent; I’ve learnt that sometimes it’s better to just say nothing.

  “Bethany, could you please set the table for me?” My mum calls through from the kitchen. I know that she’ll be in there struggling to get everything ready by herself. I go to help her but I’m stopped by the firm grip of my father’s hand around my wrist.

  “Stay where you are.” He instructs me.

  I sit back down and wait for him to release his hold on me.

  “I should probably help mum.” I whisper quietly.

  “Don’t worry about it, she can manage by herself.” He says spitefully.

  I inwardly cringe at his blatant disrespect and intolerance of my mum. I’ve never understood his hatred for her and I’ve equally never understood her endurance for him. She worships the ground he walks on and I have no idea why. He’s always been her main priority, regardless of how badly he treats her.

  “I’m really not that hungry.” I say, knowing it won’t make any difference. If he wants me to eat then that’s what I’ll be forced to do.

  “If you don’t want what your mum’s prepared for me then she can easily fix you something else.” He replies.

  Just at that moment mum walks in with his food on a tray. She looks exhausted. Her hair’s a mess from the heat in the kitchen the bags under her eyes are worse than ever. Everyday she’s forced to get up at six o’clock. She usually spends her mornings tidying the house and preparing his breakfast. She’s more like a slave then a wife.

  “Dad, I’m fine. I already ate and mum’s already spent so long making your meal, it really looks delicious. I’ll sit with you whilst you eat and then you can tell me your good news.” I smile at him, feeling sick to my stomach. I saw my mum’s face when he disregarded what she’d made for him and all of the effort she must have gone to. It’s safe to say that her hard work has always gone unnoticed and unap
preciated by him.

  “Ellen, why don’t you go and make a start on the washing up?”

  Mum pauses, now incredibly embarrassed. She was in the middle of pulling out a chair, obviously intending on joining us at the table. My father doesn’t even look at her but I force myself to witness her hurt expression. I hate to see her treated like this but I know that things would be much harder for her if I were to jump to her defence. I stopped trying to protect her a long time ago; in the end it only made things worse. He’d resent the fact that I’d try to protect her.

  “That’s a good idea; it will save me a task in the morning. I’ve got the dessert prepared if either of you want any.” She gives me a weak smile before walking away. The look of rejection on her face physically causes me to hurt.

  “Well, seeing as I haven’t even taken my first bite of the main course yet, I can’t say that a dessert has even crossed my mind.” He says sarcastically.

  I inhale slowly, reminding myself to keep on taking deep and calming breaths. I ball my hands into fists underneath the table, digging my fingernails into my palms, hoping that the pain will distract me from the need to punch him in the face. The overwhelming desire to make him suffer is becoming stronger and stronger each day. I despise him for the way he treats her, for the way he’s always treated her.

  “I’m sorry; just give me a call if you need anything.” She mumbles and continues on into the kitchen, closing the door behind her. I start to wonder whether my mum wishes she could have a lock on the kitchen door like I do for the bathroom, anything to keep him out.

  “So, how have you spent your day, Angel? Done anything productive with yourself?”

  I swallow the bile that rises in my throat when I hear him refer to me as ‘Angel.’ It’s always been his term of endearment for him but because it comes from him I absolutely hate it.

  “Well, this morning I helped mum with some of the housework and this afternoon I spent a couple of hours reading.”

  “What are you reading?” He asks whilst shovelling a forkful of food into his mouth.

  “Wuthering Heights.”

  “That’s excellent, are you enjoying it?”

  “It’s a bit of a struggle but I’m getting there.” I lie. I purposefully chose a book that he would respect; I’ve also read it so I know that if he decides to quiz me on anything I should be alright in answering his questions.

  “We will read it together sometime.” He grins at me cheerfully, as though I should bestow my gratitude upon him for making such a suggestion. In reality, the thought of reading with him makes my stomach churn.

  “Maybe.” I reply ambiguously.

  “There’s no maybe about it, Bethany.” He smirks at me, forcing me to avert my gaze. If he were a normal person then I’d think nothing of it but I know him too well, I’m able to recognise the underlying threat behind his smug smile.

  “So, what’s the good news that you have to tell me, Dad?” Another thing I hate is being forced to call him Dad. There’s nothing more revolting to me than referring to him as such.

  “I knew you wouldn’t be able to wait for me to tell you. I was going to wait until after dinner but I may as well tell you now. I know that we haven’t been able to have a holiday in quite a few years, mainly because I’ve been too busy with the bookstore and it couldn’t be helped but this year I’ve been thinking that we need to get away, we deserve a little vacation and that’s why I’ve decided to close the bookstore for a couple of weeks, meaning we’ll be able to go somewhere.” He beams at me from across the table; he looks so pleased with himself as though this is the greatest gift he’s ever given me.

  “Wow, that’s great. It’s fantastic news! Where are you thinking of?” I ask him, willing myself to keep up with the pretence and the agonising façade until I can escape to my bedroom.

  “It’s a beautiful caravan site in Scotland and it looks glorious, Bethany. We’ll be able to go for long walks everyday, scrumptious pub lunches and no distractions, just the two of us.”

  I feel like my heart just stopped. I gape at him in astonishment, wondering if I heard him correctly. Surely he can’t mean what I think he does. I continue to observe him munching away on his food without a care in the world and I know I heard him clearly.

  “Do you mean that mum won’t be coming with us?” I ask, trying to control the trembling in my voice.

  “That’s right.” He licks his lips, placing his knife and fork down onto his empty plate.

  “We can’t just leave mum at home by herself.” I say, trying to reason with him. Maybe I’ll be able to convince him that it’s for the best if he brings her with us. I know my mum and she’ll hate being alone in the house, almost as much as I’ll hate being alone with him in a wretched caravan with him.

  “Why not? She wouldn’t want to leave your gran and then there’s the charity store. At first she may be a little disappointed but in the long run she’ll realise that it’s for the best if she stays behind.”

  I can’t believe he’s using my gran as an excuse for why mum’s unable to come away with us. For as long as I can remember he’s openly hated her and to be honest I know the feeling is mutual. She only lives a few streets away from us and I try to visit her every Saturday with mum. I’d love to be able to see her more often but once a week is all that my father will allow.

  My gran is the kindest, wisest lady I’ve ever known. She’s the only person who knows the real me and she’s always understood me in a way my parents never have. Even as a child I always preferred to spend my time with her, I loved being at her house and hearing her stories. She’s also the only one who knows how I really feel about my father. We’re united in our loathing of him and over the years it’s strengthened our bond. She detests him for what he’s done to my mum who’s also her one and only daughter.

  When I was a little girl I used to get angry with my mum because I was under the misconception that she was weak. I couldn’t understand why she stayed with my father and why she let him treat her so badly. One day gran explained to me that it took a great deal of courage to put up with what my mum has over the years and I started to see things differently.

  Gran embodies everything that my father dislikes in a woman. She’s opinionated, strong, fearless and bold. Everything my own mother isn’t.

  “But she only volunteers in the charity store twice a week and we only visit gran on a Saturday. I’m sure she won’t mind rearranging a few things so she can come with us.”

  “My mind is made up, Bethany. Your mother will stay at home where she belongs and you and I will have a wonderful time in Edinburgh. We’re going in eight weeks time.”

  “And how long are we going for?” I ask nervously, praying that it won’t be longer than a few days. I really don’t know if I’ll be able to come if it’s much more than that.

  “We’ll be staying for two weeks. An acquaintance of mine recommended the caravan site to me. He regularly comes into the bookstore and he’s previously mentioned that he takes his own family there occasionally. He even brought in some photos of the caravan and the site we’ll be staying at. The caravan is a static so it’s nice and big, more like a small apartment than a caravan.”

  I listen to him drone on and on about our impending vacation and I start to physically sick as I start to contemplate what it will be like to spend fourteen days alone with him. Sleeping in the same area as him, I have no idea how I’m going to stand it.

  “Well, that’s wonderful; I’m really looking forward to it, Dad.” I say cheerfully, hoping that I somehow managed to sound convincing because wanting to go on this holiday couldn’t be further from the truth.

  He reaches out to touch me and it takes every single ounce of my willpower to remain still and not flinch away from him.

  “I knew you would be thrilled, Angel.”

  We both look up as the kitchen door slides open and mum pokes her head through timidly.

  “I was just wondering if you’re ready for your dessert now?�
�� She asks hesitantly.

  “Well, I finished my dinner ten minutes ago so what do you think?” My father asks her contemptuously.

  She hurries back into the kitchen and apologises profusely for her carelessness when she returns with his dessert. It’s hard not to pity her; I don’t understand why she lets him treat her this way. Regardless of the circumstances it’s almost impossible to comprehend why a bully and a victim play the roles that they do.

  After a few more minutes more of torturous conversation with him I decide I really need to make my excuses and go to bed.

  “Dad, if it’s ok with you I’m going to head on up to bed. I’m really tired.” I glance at the clock and see that it’s still only half past nine, my father’s not usually home this early on a Friday night. For as long as I can remember he’s made himself scarce on a Friday evening, leaving the house around six and not returning until after twelve. I have no idea where he goes but I’m thankful that I at least get one night away from him a week.

  “That’s ok, Angel. I can see how exhausted you are. I’ll ask Ted if he’ll loan me the photo’s he showed me, it’s really picturesque, I know you’ll love it.”

  “Alright then, goodnight.” I’ve only taken a few steps when he stops me by wrapping his fingers around my wrist again.

  “Where’s my goodnight kiss?”

  The nausea I feel is overwhelming as I lean in towards him and place a kiss on his cheek. His stubble scratches my skin and it feels like shards of glass. I grimace but manage to rearrange my expression before he notices anything is wrong.

  I decide to say goodnight to my mum as well and make my way into the kitchen. I find her at the kitchen sink, her hands immersed in the water and I can tell that she’s already started on the washing up. I regularly find her like this, just staring into space. I wonder what she’s thinking and where her mind takes her. Is she daydreaming like me? Is she wishing that she were somewhere else? Is she also hoping for an escape? I hate to interrupt her; I don’t want to force her back to the bleak reality that is her life.