Destiny

By Eddie Peter Parr

Destiny is the tale of a young disabled girl, a first love and her journey of self discovery in the local equestrian world of dressage and the story of a dying grandfather coming to terms with his own great loss and his determination to make good on an unfulfilled promise once made to his granddaughter Rose

• Language: English
• Publisher: Eddie Peter Parr
• Release date: Feb 15, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311962492

Eddie Peter Parr

AUTHORS PROFILE:The author was born into a family of seven on a Whitley council estate in Reading England he attended the university of life not having any formal qualifications whatsoever as he never attended University, he always carried a passion deep inside him and wanted to write a novelHe is thankful to e-publishers like Smashwords for opening up the once elitist world of publishing to the less fortunate in society .Knowing full well that the fact is, if it was not for the likes of e-publishers you the reader would not be reading these very words. today. I hope you enjoy the efforts of this uneducated naive writers first attempt to communicate with you the reader..This may not be the best novel you have ever read but it was written from the heart of a man who never gave up on his dream and the conviction that no matter how humble your beginnings you can leave your own mark and write your own storyThe short time we all have on this beautiful planet earth and the memories we leave behind is the only testament to our brief existence some of us can ever have, success in life for some is not measured by wealth but by being humble, fully appreciating what they have, appreciating the joy of love and happiness and most of all the kindness they have shown to others, if you leave the world a much better place for all you have done then you can leave this mortal coil with no regrets and that my friends cost nothing.May your God bless you for all your good deeds and never forsake you we are all born into the same cruel worldonly you can make a difference to make this world a better place just as long as you seek out and look for the goodness we were all born with in others, sadly life for many is made complex and confusing by the cruel actions of others who feed off the weak and vulnerable sadly these people are normally the ones who have the power to rule our livesBe strong, be patient and never forget to be honest and true to yourself but most of all hold on to the ones you love and create the wonderful life you deserve, after all love is all we truly have in this mixed up crazy world but only if we seek it out for it will not come a knocking on your door and once found true love will change your life foreverNever hold on to hate for hate will eat itself and destroy the goodness in all things until nothing is left but an empty shellCover design created by the author Eddie Peter ParrDURING THIS COVID 19 OUTBREAK THE NHS ARE FIGHTING ON THE FRONT LINE TO SAVE LIVES EVERY DAY THEIR COMMITMENT IS OVERWHELMINGWE ALL OWE THEM SO MUCHPLEASE SUPPORT THEM BY STAYING HOME AND SAVE LIVESHELPLINES:DO YOU KNOW SOMEONE WITH AN EATING DISORDER PLEASE CONTACTThe Beat Adult Helpline is open to anyone over 18. Parents, teachers or any concerned adults should call the adult helpline.Helpline: 0345 634 1414Email: [e-mail] YOU BEING BULLIED NEED HELP PLEASE DON'T SUFFER IN SILENCECONTACT youngminds.org.uk or call PARENT HELPLINE - 0808 802 5544IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO HELP DISABLED RIDERS IN THE U.K. DONATE AT: http://www.rda.org.uk/WOULD YOU LIKE TO SAVE ABUSED PONIES IN THE UK PLEASE DONATE AT https://www.rspca.org.ukOR SAVE THE ENDANGERED American Mustangs please make a donation by Paypal to [e-mail] more information on all their websites.Thank you

Book preview

Destiny

by E P Parr

Copywrite©2014Eddie Peter Parr

DISCLAIMER

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

(Please excuse any literary mistakes as I am not a professional writer)

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Dedicated to my Grandchildren

Shannon, Aneira, Olivia and Ryan

THANKS FOR BELIEVING IN ME

Lin, Ritchie

MEMORIAL

Mum. Dad, Trevor, Michelle, Robin Williams and Beloved Jadeyboo

May you all R.I.P

Dedication

I dedicate this book to everyone with a dream

I hope one day you will shine like a diamond

CONTENTS

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER4

CHAPTER5

CHAPTER6

CHAPTER7

CHAPTER8

CHAPTER9

CHAPTER10

CHAPTER11

CHAPTER12

CHAPTER13

CHAPTER14

CHAPTER15

CHAPTER16

CHAPTER17

CHAPTER ONE

THE RESCUED PONY

The sun shone down over the golden rape seed fields in the heart of England, as a bright red post van made its way along the tight country lanes, weaving its way across the open countryside on its way to deliver mail and packages to the small villages of rural England, Ritchie held on tightly to the steering wheel of the old post van as he bumped over the hollow dips and mounds of the many potholes in the road, splashing his way through the muddy puddles left behind by the previous nights’ storm.

Turning the steering wheel gently he slowly drove around the blind corner towards the widening main road, speeding up a little as he approached the hump back bridge, driving over it quickly, making Ritchie’s’ stomach churn like a roller coaster ride at a fairground, he beamed like a child, the sensation jolting him into a happier frame of mind. There had been quite a deluge the night before, some of the small streams in the villages had broken their banks, approaching the flooded ford, Ritchie carefully finds his way across, splashing slowly through the water to the other side, and making it across safely he followed the slow S bends out of the village to the next call of his delivery.

The young man had worked as a postman for the Royal Mail for many years, his family were well known in the area , his father Kevin and mother Sarah had run the local post office in the small village ever since the day he was born. Living in the post office all his life made it almost inevitable that he would eventually follow in his father’s footsteps as time passed that’s exactly what he did. Ritchie enjoyed the freedom being a postman gave him, though the job was difficult at times, delivering in all kinds of weather, he would not change his job for the world. He covered a large area, travelling many miles along the country roads, in his reliable bright red van.

He loved the way people reacted, as he gave out parcels, packets and letters from near and sometimes afar places; he was a lifeline of communication to those who lived in some very secluded out of the way places. The postman had become the only contact to the outside world many of the elderly people had, he was more like a care assistant, come social worker at times, helping them to fill out forms , listening to their ills and woes, after all helping people was just part of his giving nature. Even though he had witnessed many unsettling things, he coped with them well, never once thinking of himself but others.

Being a postman had always meant an early start to the day for Ritchie, his eyes looked much like a panda bear some days but it also meant an early finish, in the summertime it gave him plenty of time to enjoy a little fishing with his old friend Charlie Dapple, one of his favourite pass times. Rising up the steep hill Ritchie approached the local riding school run by an ex ballet dancer Mrs Bulmer, she was somewhat of a local hero to many people, mainly for all the charity work she had done for the local disabled children in the area and many other children from all around the country.

They called her the local Diana, she looked very much like the late Princess of Wales but a fair bit older, she had many of her fine attributes and traits, a giver of herself and a very charitable lady, she invested her time in the development and wellbeing of the disabled, Mrs Bulmer had become like a welcoming beacon of light to the cause of the young disabled people everywhere, she was always up for a challenge, she never gave up the fight to help them, Believe in yourself, was her motto, she practised what she preached and was resolute in all things, she would rather go down with a fight than give up, at all costs.

The stable was her life, she dedicated every second of the day to it, much to her own detriment having never married and having no children, her main concern for others overruled her own needs and wants, she had a very generous nature, not financially but emotionally, giving not only her time but giving herself completely to a very good cause, what you saw was what you got, she was not pretentious or fake in any way, to be completely honest she would of made a crap, useless, MP or politician. She was always direct , answered a question not avoided it, she never made up lame excuses or pointed the finger at anyone else , most of all, she never made a u- turn or went back on her word, she was resolute and as straight as a die.

Quite often many locals wanted to put her name forward to be nominated as the local MP, she refused point blank, saying You kidding, I like people and they like me , I would want it to stay that way, thank you very much, but no thank you. On occasion Mrs Bulmer would take in rescued ponies passed on by the RSPCA or from people who could no longer afford to maintain them as the cost of doing so was very expensive indeed, her pride and joy was a rescued dapple grey pony she had come across by accident.

It all began one day when Mrs Bulmer’s Cavalier King Charles Jade died, she was very old in dog years being fourteen was a ripe old age for a Cavalier, Mrs Bulmer was missing her so badly she had become distraught, she seemed lost without her, the local church mason had even made a memorial and he erected it at the stable yard. As time went by she thought it would be a good idea to acquire herself a young puppy, Mrs Bulmer was a very practical woman, a logical thinker, thinking that if she was too busy training a new puppy, she would not be able to dwell on her loss so much, maybe having a new dog would lift her spirits at the same time.

Mrs Bulmer travelled many miles to the dog breeder’s home, arriving at the kennel with great anticipation, her expectations were high, hoping to find the perfect puppy for her to train and keep her company, nothing could ever replace her beloved Jade, but it would fill the empty space the precious Cavalier had left in her heart. Approaching the main gate the wide wheeled Range Rover bumped over the cattle grid effortlessly, gripping deep into the loose shingle the powerful vehicle drove effortlessly down the bumpy lane as the vehicle meandered along the narrow winding dirt track, two dogs suddenly darted out from the bushes and began escorting her up the long dusty driveway, the two Rottweiler’s were barking very loudly at her arrival, in their excitement they almost ran under the bouncing wheels of her Range Rover, hitting the break hard the vehicle screeched to a sudden halt as Mrs Bulmer made an urgent attempt to avoid the manic animals. Mrs Bulmer sat looking down over the steering wheel seething, taking a deep intake of breath, she composed herself, watching the two out of control dogs chasing each other around the driveway like idiots, and apparently oblivious to their near death experience and the very lucky escape they just had.

An old scruffy lady stood leaning cross legged against the doorway of a huge barn smoking a cigarette, exhaling the poisonous toxins into the air she removed the cancer stick from her lips then flicked the smoking nail of death to the ground and continued to stamp the life out of it with her bright green wellington boot until it was extinguished. Raising two fingers to her cracked, dry blistered lips, she whistled, then shouted out very loudly, Boys, as she clapped her hands against her thighs, the dogs continued chasing each other, disappearing in to some overgrown long grass, as if the woman didn’t even exist at all, totally ignoring her loud demanding voice. She stood on the driveway with a very annoyed expression on her face, shouting out loudly in anger, You bleeding dogs, you just wait, you bloody little shits as she raised her head, tightly clenching her fist she shook it towards the sky. Mrs Bulmer watched the woman rage on at the uncontrollable animals, Nice, she thought to herself as the woman cussed and swore, not impressed at all by her gesturing antics and her total lack of control. It appeared the dogs were not only dangerously reckless and stupid; they appeared deaf as well they certainly didn’t seem to care about the old woman. Mrs Bulmer began tapping the steering wheel with the palms of her hands, she watched as the old hag came walking towards her picking the wax from her ear, releasing her tight grip on the steering wheel Mrs Bulmer shuffled across the driver’s seat and climbed out of the vehicle, stepping down onto the overgrown driveway she slammed the door shut, walking carefully over the pitted, uneven bumpy ground.

The old woman stood with her hand, resting on the handle of an old broken wheel barrow, it was filled with very dry clay soil, a few dead flowers, tufts of dried out grass and poking out of the split cracked wooden panel was a long dried out root, looking as if it was in search of a drink of water which never came. Mrs Bulmer looked the old lady up and down as she slowly approached her, rubbing her ear wax covered finger into her dirty old apron, Mrs Bulmer removed her leather driving glove; pausing for thought she put the leather glove back on, pulling it back firmly into place over her long slender hand,. Mrs Bulmer reached out politely to greet the odd looking woman and introduced herself, the old lady sniffed, wiped the back of her hand over her dripping nose and said, Well I suppose you’re the woman who phoned me earlier for a puppy, follow me, Mrs Bulmer was taken aback by the stench of strong alcohol and urine and the old lady’s rude abrupt behaviour towards her, leaving her feeling cold like an unwelcome visitor as she walked away mumbling something under her foul stale breath.

How uncouth, ignorant, rude woman, Mrs Bulmer cringed as some kind of black legged insect crept through the woman’s greasy, grey matted hair, stopped, then scurried away, disappearing under her tightly fitted head scarf. Plodding ahead of her into the old ramshackle barn the old woman’s green oversize wellington boots made a squelching sound as she walked ahead of her with a slow manly gait across the soggy straw covered concrete floor; rocking her shoulders in an unladylike fashion she walked across the barn towards two large rusty wire cages sitting on top of a heavy metal workbench. Adjusting her tightly fitting headscarf, she stopped, sniffed out loudly then removed a rusty old key from the pocket of her red frilly edged polka dot apron. Rubbing the dirty pink woollen sleeve of her moth hole ridden cardigan over her bulbous dripping red nose, she said,

Here they are my love, all have been weaned, little buggers don’t need their mother anymore, so you can pick between anyone of them, just choose the one you like my pet.

Mrs Bulmer looked at the un kept odd smelling woman and nodded her head, O.K., as one by one the woman grabbed hold of the whining little pathetic looking puppies and dragged them out of the cages by the scruff of their necks, heavily plonking them down onto the greasy metal work top. Mrs Bulmer looked on with a disagreeable look on her face, holding up her gloved hand she wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. The old lady noticed her tearful reaction, Yes, the little sods do have that effect on some people, damn things are bloody cute aren’t they, Watching the heaving heap of young puppies scrambling about on the dirty worktop, Mrs Bulmer bit her lip and said nothing at all, as the leather glove tightened around her shaking hand, she clenched her fist tightly as her blood began to boil, feeling nothing but contempt for the cold excuse for a woman who stood there before her. Grabbing hold of one of the unloved puppies the old woman squeezed its’ belly tightly, it yelped out painfully as she asked, Would you like to pick one my dear, stepping forward towards the workbench Mrs Bulmer looked at the whimpering puppy in her hand, saying quietly, May I, gently she picked up the doe eyed, floppy eared ball of fluff , kissed it on the cheek and began stroking it behind the ears, she smiled as the moisture in her tearful eyes glistened in the half-light coming in from the broken window giving away her heart felt emotions.

The uncaring woman slumped up against an old wooden hay wagon, rolling a cheap cigarette and coughing her lungs out, lifting up her red floral skirt, picked a flea of her thigh and pinched the life out of it, Damn bleeding flea ridden dogs, as she coughed up a lump of something nasty from her throat, spitting it out onto the dirty cracked concrete floor. Mrs Bulmer winced as she stepped over the thick green sticky gob as she made her way closer towards the toxic woman and asked to see the pedigree papers for the puppy she was holding safely in her gentle hands. The old woman placed the badly made cigarette to her lips, scratching a red tipped match against the metal rim of the old wagon wheel, lit the long loose strands of tobacco poking out of the tatty end of her rolled up cigarette. Playing another game of Russian roulette, she drew the nicotine into her blackened lungs, exhaled the strong smelling poisonous gas, contaminating the clean air around her. Pushing her back up against the hay wagon she uncrossed her legs and looked up grinning with the anticipation of a sale, just about articulated between her intermittent coughing fit Alright darling- I’ll be back in a minute my luv- I’ll just go and find them papers- for you,. Mrs Bulmer returned to the workbench, she watched as the old woman who fell out of the ugly tree walked off out of the barn coughing her guts out, wondering if she would even make it to the barn door yet alone last another day. One by one she began to closely examine all the puppies in front of her as they milled around, nuzzling each other as if searching for the emotional comfort and the warmth they never had. The puppies whined as Mrs Bulmer picked them up in her caring hands, taking a closer look at the little fluff balls, noticing all their fur was wet and very matted, many of the puppies where covered in fleas, very dehydrated and generally in a very bad state of health. Their neglect and lack of hygiene was obvious, it appeared these poor little puppies where just a money making device to keep the woman well stocked in alcohol and cigarettes, she certainly didn’t use the money to maintain herself, yet alone the property or anything else for that matter.

Mrs Bulmer’s attention was drawn away from the puppies by a very faint sound coming from the far side of the barn; one by one, she gently returned the puppies back to their cages, she closed the rusty old catch, whispering, Don’t worry my little loves I’m here now, I’ll be back soon. Listening intently to her surroundings, trying to pinpoint the sounds direction she began slowly moving carefully around the cluttered space of the dilapidated barn. Stepping over a pile of broken glass and debris scattered across the slippery soiled floor, she followed the faint sound, Mrs Bulmer felt something run across her foot, a big brown rat scurried across the cold damp concrete disappearing under a pair of old woodworm infested broken barn doors. Steadying her footing as she tripped over the wooden handle of an old metal hay rake; she splashed her way across the shallow puddles of water leaking onto the floor from the stop valve hanging loosely from the wall. Peering into the distance she homed in on the sound coming from a well shaded corner of the barn, a cloud of vapour seemed to be rising through the half-light, creeping closer she climbed over a low brick wall towards the sound of a loud snort and a quiet whinnying sound, just making out the outline shape of something moving in the broken shadows. Moving steadily closer, stepping cautiously over an unravelled coil of razor wire, stumbling on the rubble beneath her feet she stepped into the shadows, to her surprise lying amongst a heap of dust and bricks was a pathetic looking pony, it seemed disturbed by her presence as its eyes widened with fear and its’ body began to tremble. Creeping upon her knees through the foul smelling stench of wet straw, tentatively making her way closer and closer towards the extremely nervous animal she whispered words of encouragement into the darkness, acknowledging her kindness the pony tried weakly to lift up its’ head as Mrs Bulmer rested it upon her lap and stroked it, caressing the ponies neck she began speaking quiet words of comfort in its ear.

Looking up she felt a lump rise in her throat as a sudden shaft of light broke through the shadows, illuminating a leather whip hanging upon the wall studded with nails, covered in what appeared to be blooded horse hair, beneath it on the floor was a rusty old dented bucket containing what appeared to be scraps of rotting food. The marks on the pony’s body appeared to match exactly the pattern of nails on the whip; comparing the open cuts and welts along its’ flanks, it would have been a strange coincidence if they weren’t created by them. Mrs Bulmer’s’ sapphire blue eyes began to well up as she felt the pony’s ribs protruding out of its emaciated body. Softly speaking, she comforted the pony, trying to reassure it that very soon all its’ suffering would all be over, in her mind she had decided it already was. How could someone be so cruel, to neglect yourself is bad enough but to neglect a poor defenceless creature was beyond Mrs Bulmer’s’ comprehension, what planet did these kind of people come from she thought to herself, sadly it was called planet earth. The pony was totally exhausted, each breath it took appeared to be an effort as it breathed heavily upon Mrs Bulmer’s’ lap, she looked compassionately into the pony’s almost lifeless eyes, stroking the horses neck she whispered tenderly into its ear, Don`t worry my sweet I`m here now, soon all this will all be over, the pony pricked up its ears as if understanding, sighed a very heavy sigh. Each laboured breath seemed to be an effort for the poor neglected pony, Mrs Bulmer realised that action was required immediately, switching off her heart felt emotions, she took command of her inner feelings, went into practical mode, then determinedly said to herself , This means business, slowly getting up from the sodden straw covered concrete she looked down at the pony and smiled as she wiped away her last tear, Time for action my dear I will be seeing you again very shortly, I promise, she said in a very commanding voice.

Once Mrs Bulmer’s fuse was lit she became like a loose cannon and a powerful force to be reckoned with, if anyone rattled her cage, no matter who they thought they were then God help them from her wrath. Placing her hand, firmly on top of the wall she vaulted it effortlessly, removing her leather glove she slapped it against her thigh then marched towards the silhouette of the old woman standing by the open sunlit barn door as she waved the pedigree papers in the air like a mad tick tack man on a race course. With a very determined expression on her face Mrs Bulmer barged her way past the puzzled old woman as the old hag turned and chased after the resolute woman on a mission, shouting, The papers, what about the papers, Mrs Bulmer patronisingly shouted back, Don’t worry my sweetheart, I’ll be back my love, see you later darling, gritting her teeth she left the barn with nothing but a feeling of contempt and resentment towards the uncaring woman, knowing soon she would be getting her comeuppance.

Making her way back to her Range Rover, she jumped inside the vehicle then turned on the ignition key, the song War by Edwin Star blasted loudly out of the radio, crunching the gearshift into place Mrs Bulmer put her foot down hard, gunned the accelerator and sped off down the bumpy driveway, leaving a hail of shingle flying in the air and a very annoyed, confused woman standing in a cloud of choking dust behind her. Driving at speed Mrs Bulmer recovered her composure, lowered the volume on the radio, eased off the accelerator then took in several deep breaths and calmed down as she thought about her plan of action. Pulling over onto a dry grass verge she hit the brake hard, screeching the Range Rover to a sudden stop, she ratcheted on the hand break, leaving a trail of skid marks in her wake. Looking over her shoulder she began searching around the interior for her handbag, finding it she pulls the zip of her very modest handbag then begins rummaging around inside it looking for her mobile phone. Half emptying the contents of the well filled bag onto the passenger seat she eventually finds her archaic Matrix phone picks it up and slides back the cover, scrolling through her contacts list eventually finds the number she was looking for, hits the call button, the monotonous dialling tone seemed to go on forever as Mrs Bulmer tapped her fingers on the dashboard she impatiently waited for someone to pick up the phone.

Eventually the call was answered by the very deep calming tones of a Welshman on the other end of