Shadows of the Dance

By Lynne Scott

Pip is a New Zealand woman who is working as a Pain Management Counsellor in a hospital in the Scottish Borders. She has come to the UK in search of her destiny.

When Pip meets Osi, a staunch British Army Officer, they are both overwhelmed by their physical and spiritual connection. The timing is not good for their relationship as Osi is deployed to Iraq. When he goes, their bond takes Pip into an intense emotional and spiritual adventure. As she no longer has physical contact with Osi, she maintains her connection with him via a journal, where she lives pain and health care by day and pain and war with Osi by night. She becomes reliant on the media for any information regarding his mission. Her visions and dreams of war become so entangled with her daily life that she is not sure where the boundaries of reality lie.

When Osi returns, his experiences in Iraq confirm to Pip that her dreams and visions are a spiritual gift. His return is short lived. Throughout her journal Pip uses songs and poetry to entwine her dreams with stories of her life in the Borders, travel, visits with her old friend Milton and Jacquie who has cancer. Through it all Pip is supported by these close friendships and her sister in New Zealand, with whom she relies on regular contact. As their paths continue to cross in her dreams and in reality, she is inspired to write a book about the richness and pain he has brought to her life.

This heart warming story explores relationships across age and culture, set against the backdrop of Army and Healthcare institutions. It identifies with anyone who may have been touched by the God of War.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Dec 31, 2010
• ISBN: 9781467891004

Lynne Scott

Lynne is a New Zealander who resides in the UK. She is a Health Professional who has established a long career in the world of Pain. She has been writing for many years; however this book is her first novel. It began as a series of songs that came to her in the year prior to her move to the UK. She felt these words belonged to a greater story which became clear after she arrived. The war in Iraq was just beginning, and in the following months her interest in these world events combined with her experiences in the world of pain, brought the story to being. She is a self confessed dreamer who believes we all have abilities, often beyond our recognition, and continues to write in the hope that others too may be inspired by her dreams and the words that follow.

Book preview

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER 14

EPILOGUE

I share this journey with many people; however I give special thanks to my fellow dreamer Karen, whose eternal belief in me and in this project, encouraged me to take these steps. Also to Andrew, who has faithfully supported us, even in the times when he has suspected we may be just a little bit crazy. You have both made it possible for me to experience this life on the other side of the world.

Arohanui.

CHAPTER ONE 

When peace like a river

Attends to my soul

In the autumn of my breathing

I will know that you are there

When my daytime turns to darkness

And the shadows start to fall

I am covered by your lightness

And I do not fear at all

I know, I know, I know

That you are there

Pip was jaded. It was early morning, she was cold, feeling ill and waiting for a bus. Her travel partner was an ungainly black bag that did not seem to know how to balance upright on its wheels, in the manner for which it was designed. This could have been something to do with additional weight from shopping at the Christmas sales – an attempt to enthuse cheer. That had not worked. So here she was; cold, sick and desperate to get home.

In front of her a thin European gent hopped from one foot to the other, anxiously monitoring his watch. His flight was leaving in fifty minutes. ‘He is right to be nervous,’ Pip thought, the trip to the airport would take at least that long. She knew the airline company was particular about check in times, and were not known for flexibility on this matter. He was doomed.

In many ways she felt she could identify with that sense. Although Pip knew the New Year at work would be busy and challenging, somehow that was not enough. It was certainly not why she had packed up her life at home and made the transition to the UK. Especially when life at home had been going so well. She knew there was more, but right now it did not seem to be so. She was tired, despite having slept for the majority of her Christmas break. She felt ill and cold, and now, as she gazed at the dank, colourless winter scenery passing by, she longed for sunshine, sushi and sauvignon, bar-b-ques and bare feet, and people who knew her.

Continuously having to explain herself to strangers had taken its toll. The difference between her culture and the ones in which she had chosen to immerse herself, was immense, despite the belief that antipodeans were in essence, pretty similar to the northern hemisphere stock from which many had originally been bred. She encountered that a lot, probably enhanced by the popularity of Aussie soaps. The Neighbours or Home and Away concepts were not strictly typical of all antipodean lifestyles. Especially not from a Kiwi point of view! Oh how she longed for her piano and her paintings. The items that held her in connection with her roots and that had the power to uplift, and soothe her soul when needed. She was homesick. Staunchly, she new she would carry on – this was where she met her destiny.

Mildly she noticed the speedy exit of the jiggling, late man as he made a dive for his bag and ran toward the terminal. She, on the other hand, had plenty of time. Queues were surprisingly short for this time of year, so a wander about the limited array of terminal shops seemed like a good option.

As she meandered past the music store, a song playing across the shop caught her attention; Crowded House, ‘Where ever you go, always take the weather with you!’ Hah! Pip knew she needed to buy that CD. Another reminder of home, and she needed to cling to her heritage right now. Somehow she felt that would keep her on track with her life mission in this grey land.

As she sat drinking cardboard tasting airport coffee, Pip reflected on her thoughts. ‘God, I’m being so negative. Life for me is great really, I mean, I have so much compared to most and I have guts and strength and courage and…..’ She took a moment to laugh at herself. Clichéd ‘power talks’ were definitely not her style. ‘What a nutter! Pull yourself together and get a grip.’

‘Yeah, get a grip!’ She could hear her neighbour Maddy’s delightfully accented Scottish voice barrelling her favourite phrase around inside her head. Mads would certainly not be impressed by all this self-pity. Mind you, she would probably prescribe a hefty gin and tonic and some kind of therapy for added distraction.

Pip sometimes got tired of having to be strong. It would be so nice to have someone to take the lead, even just for a moment. Luckily these moments did not last long for her. She usually had a way of lifting herself up and moving forward with enthusiasm. In fact, she was known for her independence and unending energy. Most of the time, it was those around her that she was empowering, and spurring on with her enthusiastic approach to life. Just not right at this moment! Right now it was all she could do to drag her weary spirit out of this space and find that plane.

As Pip pulled herself out of the chrome-plated seat, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror-lined columns decorating the arena. ‘Oh my God! No wonder I feel jaded – look at me! My hair is looking so faded and fuzzy.’

Pip had wild hair. It was deep red, long, curly and uncontrollable. At home she would usually have a pair of sunglasses perched atop her head; the closest Pip could bring herself to the conformity of a hair band to control the unruly mop. Over here there were not so many days that wearing of sunglasses could be justified. Regarding the colour, in truth some of this was bottle aided, but to be fair she did have red threads under it all. Problem was that of late, well for years really, she was being attacked by increasing amounts of grey, or as Mads would say ‘blondes’. Still this was nothing the latest dye could not handle, except that in the past few weeks Pip just had not had the energy to face it. So now she made a mental note to stop at the nearest supermarket on the way home. Dye was added to the list – she would write it down when she got on the plane.

At least today she had made an effort not to wear her baggy old tracksuit pants and the t-shirt that had become her holiday uniform. Instead she had opted for her smart red trousers, boots and black coat that uplifted her appearance. She had remembered dreaming that her grandmother told her to look good on the plane. As she had dressed this morning, that phrase must have been floating about somewhere, even though she knew it did not really fit. That dream had been prior to the big flight over here, and nothing special had happened then. And that was despite her best efforts to maintain a glowing appearance throughout the thirty-six hour marathon of her journey across the continents.

‘I wonder if this is what they mean by mid life crisis?’ she amused herself. Laughingly she remembered the conversation with her friend Jacquie the day before. They had been reading a woman’s magazine from home. There had been a questionnaire relating to longevity and lifestyle. Her amazing friend was currently battling with breast cancer and it was a buzz for Pip to see Jacques getting into the quiz with gusto, despite her trials. All that counselling and woman-to-woman talk must have had some effect. ‘Go Jacques!’ she thought, and came back to the quiz. Pip had done very well, in fact her life appeared to be very healthy, disgustingly so. Her predicted life span, according to the magazine, was ninety-one. The joke had been that she was missing two areas. One, a healthy relationship with a partner and two, sex! If she had those, she could tip over the hundred mark! According to the magazine of course!

Funnily enough, Pip could see herself in the eighty-plus age range, wearing a bright caftan to accommodate girth of age, soft white hair, and in front of people, still teaching. In fact, she had dreamed this many times and expected it to be. Teaching was one of her passions and something she knew she was good at. Her type of work had presented many opportunities so far to explore this talent

She had reached forty only a few months before. At the time, and even now if she were honest, Pip loved the idea of being forty. Most people did not really put her in that category anyway, probably something to do with being single and not having children to judge her age by! She felt so much more in control, full of self-knowledge and wisdom at this stage in her life. There was also a sense of ‘what next world? Bring it on!’ After all, that was why she had come here. As these thoughts started to play in her mind, Pip could feel her spirits lifting again. ‘Yes, bring it on world – I am ready!’

As she wandered lazily about the airport complex, Pip decided to get her act together. Her steps started to take on the familiar Pip spring. She was coming back – ‘Yahoo!’

‘OK’, she was on a roll, ‘So number one was hair dye. What else?’ Duty free sported a range of cosmetics that promised de-creasing wrinkles, and illuminated complexions. ‘I’ll have that! Oh yes, and perfume – always uplifting – ah ‘Attraction’, it was one of the latest and Pip had pondered this fragrance before. ‘How shallow,’ she thought, ‘Still, worth a try.’ She sprayed liberally and added this to her basket. ‘Even if it doesn’t work, I will feel good.’

‘Right; books. If I am to be alone for the duration, at least the next few busy at work months, I shall ensconce myself in someone else’s trials and joys.’ Fantasy is a great place to go and Pip’s imagination was virile. Four books made it to her bag. And there was still plenty of time to get to the gate. The departures monitor could not verify this. Easyjet 811 to Edinburgh was now boarding. ‘Oh shit!!’ Pip ran toward the corridor and paced quickly up the ramps, Bloody boots! she gritted between breaths. The heels were not made for running and looking good at the same time!

As she landed in the lounge, she noticed the number on her boarding pass was not congruent with the gate noted on the screen. A moment of panic had Pip resorting to a trick she had found invaluable since coming to live here. She swaggered up to the chap on the desk. He was surrounded by a very large crowd of passengers waiting to board. Excuse me, she put on her best antipodean accent, Which gate does flight 811 leave from? The unified crowd all seemed to look up at that moment.

Not boarding yet love, about ten minutes, he replied.

‘God, what an idiot!’ Pip tried to slink surreptitiously away to sit slightly apart from the group, who were now face down in their reading material, or chatting busily to their travel companions.

‘Yup,’ Pip thought, ‘Woman in control’.

Normality took hold, as she descended the stairs and transferred to the plane. In her seat by the window, goodies stowed away, Pip pulled out an old receipt and began her shopping list. Hair dye took priority at the top. She rested it on her right thigh, and leant her head against the window to combat the dizzy sensation that had bugged her for the last few weeks. It would be good to get home and get on with her destiny.

* * *

Osi was feeling jaded. He had transferred from a Mediterranean Island to the dank, dark welcome of English winter. In the past two weeks he had plenty of opportunity to review the last year or two of his life. He had achieved so much, yet not satisfying at all. In fact, he had to admit, depressing at times.

Osi – not his real name, but one that had stuck for the thirty odd years since he had entered the army. It had been his name so long now, that he did not really even remember how it came about. It was just one of those armed services quirks; everyone has a nickname. Phillip Mason was his christened name, but the only one who dared to call him that now was his Mum. That was on the rare occasions they actually talked. Not because they did not want to, but more because he just did not seem to have a lot of time in his life for relatives right now.

Sometimes he felt guilty about his lack of contact, particularly to her, but at present that is how things were, and he just did not know when, or if, he would be free enough to add these other dimensions to his busy schedule. He guessed that he would probably need to make an effort to be closer to his mum one day. He acknowledged that she had not had an easy life. She had been the sole parent in his family since he was about ten years old. Like many he knew, his dad had walked out and left her coping with a young family on her own. He admired her for that, even though she drove him nuts at times. Plus, she was his Mum, therefore he loved her. On the other hand, Osi was reluctant to even consider the impact his father’s desertion had had on his life. He doubted he would ever be able to forgive his dad for that.

Anyway, he did not intend to focus on this right now. He just wanted to get on with this flight and see his friends up north. Somehow they were connections, that helped to give him a sense of balance. Their kids were still little and a source of joy. He really looked forward to meeting up with the little guys again, especially as his two were so grown up. His boys were at uni already, and their old dad, although always welcome, did not really feel like he fitted in their life so much at present. Maybe a bit later, when they were more settled, and him too, they would reconnect.

Osi felt a sense of sadness that he had missed so much of their youth. He had done his best to be there as much as possible, especially after the separation and divorce, he had made even more effort to make sure they got their time. It was just that sometimes the god of the army was an unrelenting force that took his focus, and therefore his time. In some ways, this time now with his friends’ kids, was a second chance to explore what he may have missed out on before.

Osi knew his friends and colleagues saw him as a man who went at life with full force. In fact they would say that he did not just confront demons, he took them by the throat and throttled them. If he were living in the time of King Arthur he would have been the dragon slaying knight. They saw a man who was courageous, if not arrogantly obnoxious at times. Few, he suspected, were aware of the man inside; the gentle, gut-led man who longed for entry to the world at times. The side he could not allow to be present. Not in most circumstances anyway; certainly never at work. He was a professional and he could not afford to drop his guard. In fact he had denied that piece of him, the real man, for so long that he could barely remember who he was.

This time a year ago he had been lying unconscious in a foreign hospital. His life so seriously threatened, that his best friend Max, an ex army colleague and fellow ‘man’s man’, had shed his masculine façade to be moved to tears of fear and concern for Osi as he had lain bleeding in his arms. So, he had come through all that with fewer problems than predicted by the medical team who had attended to him. However, that event seemed to spark a chain of what he considered to be disasters that brought him to date.

Having just recovered from the paragliding incident, and seeming to be back on track, physically anyway, Osi found himself taken out in a ‘friendly’ forces rugby game. Some bruising git had lunged at him from the side, and Osi had been the looser; that old officer versus non-com thing. The blow had seriously injured his left knee. Months of clinic visits and rigorously sticking to his exercises had not had the outcome he would have preferred. Added to this, he had broken his hand whilst trying to leap through mid air during an exercise he would rather forget. Gale force winds and a swinging barge arm got the better of his efforts. He had been determined to portray a brave front with his men, and he certainly was not going to been seen to be lacking in nerve in front of his Navy colleagues. Hence a lot of pain, and now two injuries to cope with. Luckily it was his left and non-dominant hand, so he could get by, but still a blow to his prided physical status.

To cap off his perfect year and physical demise, his Orthopaedic Specialist informed Osi that his knee would require an operation. This was the final straw. Surgery was not a new concept for him. He had undergone many operations on various body parts. Some would say he was a man of many lives. Usually he came through ok, but this year was just too much.

The surgery went well, but by Christmas he just needed to get away; to find solace in warmer climes, sanctuary in space. He needed to retreat to his cave to lick his wounds and reflect. Unfortunately, a minor trip over a minor curb – something that irked him greatly, had meant a flare up to his previously healing knee, and brought him to today.

Osi’s reflection interrupted for a moment, as insight flashed into being. ‘God, how negative am I sounding here?’ Not usually a man who took part in such grave consideration, Os surprised himself. Normally, he would wallow for five minutes, reflect on each situation and what was required, and then pull himself up and get back into it with his full force, no-holds-barred type of style.

Maybe he was getting too old for this lifestyle. Maybe it was time to reassess. He had to admit, that he had reflected a lot lately, about what he really wanted now, and perhaps even how it would be if he left the army. Maybe, but he did not have that kind of time right now – too many jobs left unfinished and therefore, for him unsatisfied. ‘Carry on man!’ this lonely mantra rang again through his thoughts.

So here he was, waiting to board the plane to Edinburgh. A sad, and somewhat lonely place to be.

Although Osi assumed that picture of staunch toughness, in control of his world, his knee throbbed as he made his way to the stairs leading to the plane. He tried not to limp, not to acknowledge the physical weakness that pursued and wore at him.

He was beginning to admit to the emotional and spiritual toll this year was taking. If he was honest, and honesty was integral to this man, he would even admit that his soul was feeling eroded right now. He was normally a positive, upfront achiever. He had recently completed a master’s degree to prove it. Yes, in the face of all else going on this year he had managed to finish his degree, something that even now, astonished and moved him to his core. The runty boy, who joined the army so long ago, had morphed into a smart, energetic achiever. A man with a plan. He called himself a ‘late bloomer’. He was going to take on the world. Once he got through this piece of course!

The last two weeks of reflection had forced him to meet again with himself. This was not a comfortable experience, yet in some way, it filled him with a sense of excitement; a sense of ‘what next?’ He knew he had come a long way in this life journey so far. A long way from the lost kid, who joined the forces at seventeen years old, in order to escape the world at home. In order to find a way to break away from the patterns he had formed there. He had worked hard and suffered many losses in this process. He had no regrets, just some sadness for missed moments, but he knew there was no point in wallowing in things he could not change now. All aspects of his path had been necessary. Now it was his turn. He knew there was so much more to learn, and be. He felt ready. ‘So, yes world, bring it on!’

Osi knew he needed to find a way to meet his destiny. He believed strongly that his life had been preserved so far because there were things he needed to do. His gut told him he still had a mission with the world. He needed to meet his destiny.

He climbed the steps to the plane and made for the nearest available seat, where he knew he could stretch his sore leg. As Osi dropped his arms from the reach to the overhead locker, his eyes caught the figure of a rather sad and alone looking woman, sitting with her head resting against the side of the plane. Her long hair was wild and bright. She looked like she had Celt origins. Osi was surprised by the wave of spasm that twisted his gut, as he all but fell into the aisle seat.

CHAPTER TWO 

Look into my eyes

I see you falling

Fragile is the path

I’ll take you down

Look into my eyes

And hear me calling

With my heart

I’ll take your hand

And in the glow of your spirit

I will feel you through my soul

M ind if I sit here? She barely heard the phrase, and took her cue from his outstretched hand gesturing the seat beside her. From the dim recesses of her mind, Pip responded automatically, Please do. As she replied, her right hand snuck the receipt cum shopping list under her right thigh. It was one thing for her to know she used supermarket hair dye, but Pip wasn’t ready to share that with the world just yet.

Although she was happy to allow this gent to accommodate the space next to her, it was not her intention to get involved with conversation, too hard right now, and her own revere seemed more welcoming. Plus the view from her window was a nice distraction. A young man on the tarmac was fiddling away with wheel chocks and so on. The nice part was his rear end, which looked well honed and tight. Who cared about the brain, for now the sight was pleasurable. None-the-less, one of her pet hates was people who chose to clog the aisle seats on these usually full budget flights. Somehow their positions signalled a territorial gathering of space, which left later travellers either forced to move further down the jet, or to cause upheaval as they climbed over the aisle squatter in defiance of the set boundaries. It pissed Pip off, so she begrudgingly admired his move from aisle to mid row, in deference to the fast filling cabin.

She turned her focus from the body outside, to the one on her left. Out the corner of her eye, she attempted to study his form. The most outstanding feature from this angle was his hands, huge and muscley, a weightlifter perhaps? She was not into gym-buffed muscles. Or maybe a manual labourer, or perhaps construction work. She tried to focus on the written notes, resting on what also seemed to be very muscle bound thighs. Various words signalled carpentry or construction perhaps – ‘Huh!’ She was right. ‘Oh joy,’ she thought, ‘just my luck to get a brawn-centred hunk for the duration.’ She knew that was an unfair judgement, and something told her that it was also completely wrong, but she did not feel like contemplating the thought any more than that.

As she turned her head back to rest against the small window space, she noted the much more favourable form outside on the tarmac. ‘Mmmm, check out that backside – purely professional interest of course.’ Amazing how one could fool ones’ self into believing that their professional background was a plausible excuse for such avid interest in a body. ‘Bullshit Pip, maybe you just need to find a man of your own.’

So far, that was something Pip had managed to avoid, for better or for worse. She told herself that it was due to lack of time, and too much to do in the world. In reality, she knew that she just had not found anyone who could run as fast as her. Plus, she liked her space. She’d often joked that someone like a Pilot would make a great partner for her. Someone who often worked away from home, so she would be free to do her thing, yet on his return, their reunions would be so much sweeter. Perhaps that was not such a realistic view. She did know a captain of the airways, and she had information that gave her own theory about the romance of such a situation, cause for doubt.

The movement of the plane, as it started to ease its way from the tarmac to the runway, signalled the cabin crew to assume positions along the aisle. The now familiar orange and grey figures poised for action, as the lead attendant started to speak.

They certainly know how to patter off their spiel. The man beside Pip appeared to be speaking to no one in particular, yet Pip felt the voice pierce her thoughts of self-pity. Her stomach flipped, as if somewhere inside her she recognised the tone; like she knew that voice already, so familiar. In that moment Pip knew she was sunk! Whilst this terrified her, she managed to maintain a calm exterior – she hoped.

If only I could understand it. Another auto-pilot reply came from Pip. On the other hand, her inner thoughts were far from controlled. She willed him not to speak another word.

Northern Irish I think, but then you don’t appear to be a local either. Where do you hail from? He did not obey her unspoken plea.

Despite this, she had to give him top marks for not making an assumption here. Most people took a stab at it and presumed she was Australian, although she could not blame people for not knowing the difference. Heck, she could not tell the difference between the vast numbers of local accents she encountered here. It just annoyed Pip that people made assumptions like that. In fact, she could recall an occasion when she said where she came from, and the ‘local’ disputed her answer because ‘He knew an Australian when he heard one!’ Apparently not!

New Zealand.

Oh really.

God, that voice! Pip actually felt physical upheaval with every word he spoke. So smooth, with very British intonation, and completely what she had not expected to hear from this man.

New Zealand. I have just spent time with friends who have been out there setting up a business. They love it so far. We had lots of discussion about the pros and cons of emigrating there. What brought you over this way?

This man was intense. Pip could almost hear his mind clicking over, as he moved quickly into the conversation. Part of her did not mind, as she could listen to that voice all day. Another part of her was already feeling pressured. Like some kind of gravitational pull, locking her into his stratosphere. He was not a big man, but he seemed to have a magnetism that felt like he took up a lot of space.

By now the plane was in the air and the usual patter of cabin activity was in full swing. So was this man! It seemed to Pip that every one else in the cabin was quiet as they too, hung on to every word he spoke. Dimly, she was aware of the couple in front of her, they were sitting close, and although they were whispering to each other occasionally, their heads were turned slightly to the seats behind them. On the other side of the man was a lady, who also sat quietly, as if she too were soaking up the atmosphere. Pip could not hear any other noises about her, as if everyone was tuned intently onto the conversation between her and ‘Mr Construction’. She was conscious they heard her responses too. He seemed oblivious of the attention he held. They could have been alone in a room.

Work mainly. She tried to keep her own volume low. God, how boring does that sound! She tried to recover, Well, and the fact that there are lots of things I want to do up here.

Where are you based?

Down in the Borders.

Mmmm, quite isolated then huh? How do you find that?

Oh it’s certainly a challenge, but then that is partly what I wanted, to be immersed in another culture and to see how I could manage the transition. Pip was starting to warm to the conversation. He was certainly making her think, and her foggy brain had not had to do too much of that for a few weeks. She liked clear dialogue that stimulated depth of thought.

I imagine that you would be challenging the locals a bit too then.

He was sharp. If only he knew quite how accurate that statement was. Pip had the impression that this man did not miss much, that one would have difficulty ‘putting one over this man’ as it were.

How do you perceive they find you? Interesting phrasing.

Oh I imagine that I am rather an enigma to many. Whilst some appear to feel they have the right to know all there is to know about me, I sense that I may represent things they are not ready for right now.

Oh yeah, like what?

Well, Pip thought about how to say this. She could not be sure of his cultural origin, and she did not particularly wish to piss off a local,