Pieces of Me

By Laura J Whiskens

Celeste is not like other girls...

Celeste was found standing alone on a busy street at five years of age. With no memory of where she came from and no one to claim her, Celeste is sent to live with Mrs Potts.

At sixteen she leaves her childhood home in the dead of night; but before she goes she sneaks into Mrs Potts' room to kiss her goodbye. As she does so, a strange light passes between them... Here lies the first 'piece' of her.

The incident occurs again as she says goodbye to other loved ones in her life. But what is this strange light, and what does it mean? How much of herself can she give before she simply fades away?

Where she came from and what her gift means is a mystery; someone out there must have the answers. Is Celeste ready to find out the truth?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Laura J Whiskens
• Release date: Oct 23, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499356670

Laura J Whiskens

Laura began writing as a hobby when she was still at school. Always very shy she never let a soul read any of her stories and sadly she has lost all of her old notebooks and discs from back then so can't salvage any of her younger self's work! In Autumn of 2012 Laura began thinking about a book which she tried hard to dismiss - after all it had been around a decade since she had last allowed herself write anything. But the idea would not go away and so Danny Boy was born. Apprehensively, she gave a copy to her parents to read - they were so encouraging that she found a way to publish it and got some fantastic 5* reviews. Since then she has published a further three short stories and two novellas. Laura is currently working on two novels and a new collection of short stories. Telling Tales and Pieces of Me are also available in paperback.

Book preview

To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all."― Oscar Wilde.

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For my Mum who has a piece of me with her always.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I’d like to thank everyone who made this book possible. Writing a book is a team effort and readers may not see the work which goes on behind the scenes but no book would be possible without those great people.

Thank you to my editor Adele and beta reader Gemma for stepping in and saving me at the last moment!

A huge ‘thank you’ to Natasha House, who took time out of her own busy writing and editing schedule to make time to read parts of Pieces of Me and help to edit the book that it has become.

Thank you to my partner, Ash, for listening to my ideas for the book right from the beginning..

Finally to my dear, much loved and missed Mum; she is a big part of this book. Without her it may not have been written at all. I spoke to her about the idea first of all and she told me: Get on with it then. My only regret is that you never got to see it in print. I know you would have been proud of ‘our book’.

A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

As an independent author I cannot express enough how important reviews are. A reader's comments can make the difference of whether or not another person will buy a book or recommend it to a friend.

And so I ask you, my reader, for a favour. If you like this book – even if you don’t and can give constructive feedback – please take a minute to leave a review on my Amazon page.

The link to your local Amazon page for Pieces of Me is myBook.to/PiecesOfMe . 

You could make all the difference!

Thank you.

PROLOGUE

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"HUSH now. Just a little further.

Keep on moving, it’s okay.

This – here – is where you begin again."

Bright light blinded me as I opened my eyes; blinking, I tried to make out where I was. The gentle voice that had been guiding me was now gone and the busy hustle and bustle of the street took its place.

I held my hands out in front of me and turned them slowly, taking in the smallness of them. Resting my arms back at my side I began to look around where I stood. I didn’t recognise the scene around me, it looked alien and the noise hurt my ears.

In fact, it occurred to me that I didn’t even know who I was. My lip quivered and tears began to roll down my cheeks as pitiful sobs escaped from my lips. People rushed around, not noticing me in their haste to reach their destinations.

I stood there for what felt like an age, the crowds began to disperse and the pace of people slowed down. My sobs become laboured and my nose blocked up from crying and so I tried breathing from my mouth instead, which was difficult since I was still crying.

An older lady approached me through the thinned crowd of people. She had a concerned look on her wrinkled face and was pulling a small tartan shopping trolley behind her.

Oh dear, are you lost? She leaned down to look me in the face and pulled a clean tissue from her pocket. She wiped my tears and nose in a well-practised motion.

I don’t know, I pouted as fresh tears welled up. My bottom lip stuck out as the lady stood back to look at me properly.

Taking my hand she looked around, searching for anyone who might be looking for this pitiful little girl beside her. There was no one in this vast, bustling crowd around us.

My name is Mrs Potts, she told me in a gentle voice. Can you tell me your name dear?

I thought hard about this. If I had a name I didn’t remember it. I didn’t know how I got here or where I was from.I – I don’t know.

She pursed her lips at me and tried again, Were you here with your mummy or daddy?

I shrugged and sniffled some more as my nose began to unblock. I’m sorry, was all that I could manage.

Mrs Potts squeezed my hand and smiled gently at me. That’s okay dear. We do need to get you back to your rightful place, though young lady. Would you come with me?

I looked up at her friendly face and then around us. I didn’t know where else to go so I looked back at her and nodded my head.

***

The policeman was visibly irritated as I shook my head in response to his latest question. So far I hadn’t been able to tell him anything at all. His hair was thinning and speckled with grey hairs and his stern face frightened me.

I didn’t recall my name or how I came to be standing in the middle of the busy street that morning and I didn’t know where my mummy was. Or if I even had a mummy.

Well, how old are you? his annoyance clearly showed as he slapped his pen down on the desk, not even bothering to wait for a response.

Five, the word popped out of my mouth from nowhere. I didn’t know how but I was certain that it was true.

The policeman looked up at me in surprise and Mrs Potts patted my back gently in encouragement and I grinned at them both, pleased with myself for giving the right answer at last.

He was about to ask another question when he was interrupted by a younger policeman who opened the door to the small, grey interview room we were sat in.

Ted, the social worker’s here, the new policeman said. They nodded at Mrs Potts and disappeared for a moment.

When he reappeared a lady was with him. She was wearing a grey trouser suit and her blonde hair was tied into a high ponytail. She smelt of strong perfume that made me sneeze.

Bless you, she smiled, but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes and she seemed to be annoyed. She held her hand out to Mrs Potts and they shook hands in greeting. Mrs Potts? My name is Rachel.

Hello, Mrs Potts replied. I watched them size each other up.

Ted broke the silence. We’ve taken a statement from the lady and a picture of the girl is being processed for the MisPer appeal. Mrs Potts looked at him blankly. Missing Persons, he explained as he passed a brown paper file to Rachel.

Rachel flipped through the folder and held a sheet of paper up to Ted, raising an eyebrow at him in apparent disgust.

Kid couldn’t answer a single question, he shrugged.

I’m five, I reminded him of my one small victory just a few moments earlier when I remembered this thing about myself.

We’ll have to get a doctor to check her over; memory loss could mean a bump to the head. Rachel ignored me and I pulled a face at Mrs Potts.

Excuse me dear, Mrs Potts placed her hand on my shoulder protectively as she addressed Rachel. Perhaps you might care to explain to the little girl what is happening. Also I would imagine that she would like something to eat and drink. Are you hungry dear? She leant down and smoothed my red curls back in to the hair clip behind my ear.

Yes Mrs Potts, I replied and my tummy rumbled in agreement. We turned to look at the policeman and the social worker intently.

Ted cleared his throat. I’ll go and get something from the Canteen while you fill them in, he told Rachel.

With that he left the room, leaving Rachel stood alone facing us.

Perhaps we can all take a seat? She gestured to the small table and plastic chairs at the side of the room.

Mrs Potts and I took the seats on the nearest side and she held my hand reassuringly, offering me a small smile as Rachel took a seat opposite, scraping its metal feet against the grey linoleum floor, and opened the file again.

***

For a long time after my face was in newspapers across the country and in several television appeals on the news. There had been some false leads from calls received on the back of the nationwide missing person campaign. This was all very strange to me since I had been found rather than lost.

I lost my first tooth, and I had run away from the home they put me in five times and another four times from different foster families during the first few weeks.

Each time I found myself on Mrs Potts’ door step. I don’t know how I found my way there the first time, since I didn’t know her before she found me that day in town.

It had been raining on my journey to the house, and so my usually bright red hair was dark and I could see my breath coming out of my mouth in misty clouds. I was standing on her door step once more and before my hand reached the letterbox to knock, the door swung open, and Mrs Potts stood back as I rushed in and climbed on to the sofa in her living room.

Shoes. She reminded me. I kicked my shoes off quickly, and they landed haphazardly on the floor. She tutted playfully and held her hand out as I passed her my damp coat.

We had a routine by now, Mrs Potts and I. She made me a hot chocolate to warm me up and a ham and tomato sandwich. I knew that there would be two chocolate digestive biscuits to follow, but not until I finished my sandwich–even the crust.

Eat your crust dear, it will make your hair curly, she would say. I tried to tell her one time that my hair was already curly but I didn’t get chocolate biscuits that time so I didn’t say it again.

Then she would switch the TV on to a cartoon channel and called the social worker to let her know I was there again. Rachel was getting really frustrated with my knack of finding my way back to Mrs Potts’ house no matter how far away the foster homes that she placed me in were. I