Living Lives: Living Lies

By Ruth Allen

When secrets are shared they become weapons...

The four central characters are attractive women in their prime: Jacqui, dark, fit and fiery; Hazel, elegant and cultured; Sonia, gauche; Paula, vivacious, magnetic. On the surface they have it all, but beneath the veneer of successful respectability there lurks a totally different story.

Disillusioned and looking for more, their search for sexual fulfilment and adventure leads them on a journey which will change their lives and those of their families for good. They are drawn together by chance, ripped apart by fury.

You will become the fifth member of the group, totally involved in the compelling lives of these women as they reveal secrets, which, when shared, have devastating consequences.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: May 31, 2012
• ISBN: 9781467896894

Ruth Allen

Ruth Allen is a is a counsellor and eco-psychotherapist, specializing in outdoor practice and nature connection, and has a PhD in geology. A writer, speaker and adventurer, she explores the intersections between the natural world, health and wellbeing, movement and story. See more at www.whitepeakwellbeing.com

Book preview

Living Lives: 

 Living Lies

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Ruth Allen

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AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

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© 2012 by Ruth Allen. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 05/23/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4678-9688-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4678-9689-4 (e)

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

DEDICATION

PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

PART TWO

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

PART THREE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EPILOGUE

DEDICATION

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To Sonia who is now living her dream.

PART ONE

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CHAPTER ONE

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Jacqui stood in front of her bedroom mirror, completely naked, and dripping with sweat. She scrutinised every detail of her body, gently moving her hands over each contour, from the broad shoulders, over the taut biceps, across the almost completely flat chest, to the nipples erect and wanting. She smiled to herself as she carried on down to the stomach, so flat and firm. She turned slightly to look at her bottom… or lack of it, her bum had become an extension of the extremely long firm legs. She looked great. She’d been right all those years ago to put some of her addictive energy to good; to work on her health, strength and fitness. Each day she completed an hour of jogging, and an hour-long, high impact aerobics session. She knew she didn’t need to exercise at this rate anymore, but the natural endorphin-charged high it gave her pushed her on. Her hands stopped between her legs, she stroked herself and became aroused immediately.

Jacqui again looked at herself in the mirror: her naked image, powerful, beautiful, her fingers now reaching deep inside her. She knew she could bring herself to a satisfying orgasm within seconds. She liked the feeling of being right on the edge… sometimes she could carry it with her all day, ready for the moment when Adam came home. But not today, today she needed to feel the release right now. The world slowed as the waves of pleasure grew. Her legs buckled and she had to steady herself with one hand. She then dropped down to her knees and let the sensations take her.

She showered, towel-dried her spiky short hair, pulled on black designer leggings, high boots, and a long angora sweater. No panties and no bra, she didn’t see the point of either. Minimal make-up was applied with an expert hand. She had a meeting with her Project Manager at the West Hampstead renovation and then it would be time for wine club.

Wine club! It was quite by chance the wine club had come about, all those months ago.

*     *     *

. . . and Grapevine to the left, two three four and to the right, two three four…

The instructor barked out commands, the room reverberated to the blast of the music, and dozens of trainers squeaked against the polished flooring.

The mid-morning aerobics session had attracted mainly young mums who put their babies and toddlers in the crèche and who afterwards hurried back to their children in order to take them to their next activity. This left Jacqui and another three women, whose baby years were behind them, naturally gravitating together.

Jacqui had never been one for close female friends, but this group were harmless and fun, and most important of all, no competition. Jacqui was better than the lot of them. Hazel performed the exercises accurately in her designer gear, ending the routines with a mere flush to the cheek; Paula put more effort into how her blonde curls looked in the mirror than the routines; Sonia, struggled to keep up, huffing and puffing in her ill-fitting creations half a beat behind everyone else. Their quick greetings and goodbyes developed into short conversations, which ended up in the juice bar as a regular hour-long chat when clean and fresh from their showers the four women dutifully sipped healthy fruit concoctions…

. . . not Poppy Jennings? Paula asked Jacqui, almost clapping her hands in anticipation of a good gossip.

Yes, the very same! came the reply.

Oh come on do share… begged Sonia, following Paula’s lead.

Well I heard she and Dean thought they were here alone, and decided to make rather inventive use of the facilities.

Who did you hear this from? Asked Hazel, a bit miffed this juicy snippet had passed her by.

I’m afraid I can’t reveal my source, replied Jacqui with a wry grin.

But I can tell you Dean was spotted giving Poppy some personal training, right over one of the Swiss exercise balls in the room they use for Pilates. I have been assured it was quite a display of both fitness and dexterity! And when they realised they had an audience the Swiss ball wasn’t the only thing to deflate!

I’d be mortified if I’d been found like that, said Hazel with a shudder. I wouldn’t dare to show my face round here.

She felt the same. Apparently she’s lying low at her villa in Marbella. Although rumour has it she’s now getting her action with the pool boy.

But how come Dean is still working here? enquired Sonia.

All four women sneaked a peek at Dean who was serving fruit smoothies to the 11.15 yoga group.

Oh, Sonia, they were consenting adults. I think the management were quite happy to turn a blind eye. In fact a bit of gossip like that might increase business. Let’s face it, it’s only sex, answered Jacqui.

Where can I buy a Swiss ball? Paula pitched in, applying more lip gloss. Her hair was flowing in smooth waves well past her shoulders. One of the trainers winked at her as he passed and she beamed back at him. The three other women looked on in amusement. Well, if you’ve got it… she said dreamily as she adjusted her micro top to show off even more cleavage.

I can’t wait for Billy to come home this afternoon, he loves it when I am all pumped up after a session here. We will probably head straight for the bedroom, Paula continued with a giggle. Don’t you find that exercise is an aphrodisiac?

I don’t need exercise… boasted Jacqui, not wanting to be outdone.

Sonia, who was still red in the face from her workout, flushed a deeper shade still. These women were so up front about everything, and she wished she could be too. But the possibility of ever having anything remotely positive to say about her sex life with Richard was too absurd to contemplate. Hazel was more concerned someone might overhear their conversation, and some garbled gossip might get back to James. She enjoyed it when the group’s conversations veered towards the risqué, but felt the juice bar wasn’t quite the right venue.

Suddenly Paula was scrabbling for something in her handbag. Come on ladies, she began, fancy a tipple? and with that she produced, what looked like a bottle of spring water from her bag. Vodka, she whispered, bound to make this juice go down a bit better.

All four laughed as she poured a generous amount of the clear liquid into their glasses, and she was right, it did help the juice go down.

The following week Hazel had suggested a change of venue, explaining that her husband, James was a wine importer and they had a cellar full of bottles waiting to be sampled. They had all readily agreed to meet and try different wines. Of course, originally they had had good intentions, even noting down their preferences and description of taste, this had been dropped after the first meeting.

*     *     *

And now Jacqui was looking forward to seeing her friends. Shit, she was going to have to get a move on, she hoped she wouldn’t get held up in West Hampstead or she’d be late again for wine club. She grabbed her handbag and dashed out the door.

CHAPTER TWO

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Low guttural sounds… high plaintive cries… Puzzled, Hazel carefully put down the glue gun beside the pile of Christmas cards she’d made that morning, pushed back the white wicker chair and briskly walked to the open conservatory window to shoo away what she thought were a couple of urban foxes. All she could see were rays of early summer sun falling on her smart patio, and beyond that a healthy green lawn flanked by brightly coloured flower beds. She peered to the end of the garden, maybe they were down beside the workshop? She felt a bit guilty whenever she saw the wooden structure. James had spent a small fortune having it made for her. Not only did it house her potter’s wheel, but also a small kiln where she could fire her own pots. But she hadn’t used it for years now. It had been like a sauna in the summer and an igloo in the winter. Making cards in comfort had been much more fun, to begin with.

Thinking the foxes must have run off, Hazel turned back to the trays of crystals, sequins and ribbons, and the neat stacks of card on the table. Christmas cards in June! She’d be glad when this batch was finished, and then she could start on her next project. She grinned as she glanced across at the large box in the corner of the conservatory, her next big thing, the knitting machine. As soon as she could figure out how to assemble it she would be up and running. If she got a move on, her family and friends would be receiving lovingly handcrafted cards this Christmas, and beautiful handmade scarves too.

She sat back down and was about to start on another card, when, yes, there it was again. She sat very still, straining her ears to catch the elusive sound. She felt like she was trying to tune herself into a radio station which kept slipping away: muffled noises, a deep-throated regular rhythm. Surely not? Hazel blushed as it dawned on her.

Oh, oh dear! she giggled, glue gun in mid-air. She caught tantalising snippets, private words she should not be hearing. I really ought to close the window she thought, but instead found herself standing beside it, listening to her neighbours, the unremarkable Fullers, having a grand old time in their conservatory on a Thursday morning: lucky Valerie.

Hazel tried and failed to reconcile the picture of the couple she could hear getting up to high jinks, with the quiet piano teacher and accountant who had moved next door six years ago. As with the majority of families in this street, friendships tended to be polite, not going much further than a nod hello if they happened to be putting the recycling out at the same time. Not so quiet now, Hazel thought to herself. Valerie didn’t look like the type to be so uninhibited. But how could you ever know what people got up to behind closed doors?

The rhythm gained pace, became more urgent. Hazel reached out as if to close the window but instead stood rooted to the spot. She could barely hear a thing now. Oh, how disappointing. Then the unmistakable sounds started up again, louder. Thank goodness James was busy upstairs in his office on a conference call right now. On second thoughts, maybe if he heard this it might help kick-start their dormant sex life. OK, after nearly thirty years of marriage maybe you couldn’t expect the sex to be earth-shattering, but had it ever been for her and James? At least at one point they’d had a sex life but this had changed dramatically around four years ago when their daughter Jessica married Tony. It was as if a switch had been turned off in James, and from then until now they never made love. She had tried to talk to him about it but as always with James when he closed the door on a conversation, that was it.

Why had she and James never made the sounds she could hear right now? The repeated cries of the woman’s orgasm were followed a few minutes later by the harsh shouts of the man’s. With a sigh, Hazel tried to resume her card making. She wasn’t sure if she was more embarrassed, turned on or made envious by what she’d just heard.

Unable to focus on snow scenes and Santas, she started to tidy away her work, trying to push the feelings of discontent away. As she snatched up a box of ribbons she accidently knocked over the photograph of her and James on holiday in the Loire valley. They had been married for nearly a year, the rounded bump of her pregnancy barely showing. But there they stood, side by side, the age difference accentuating the distance between them. She remembered how lonely she felt back then, she was equally lonely now. Even though James had given her a lot—this beautiful house, the cottage in St Ives, holidays abroad, tickets to the latest London shows, meals at the best restaurants—this didn’t make up for his coldness towards her. His manners were impeccable. He would open a door for her and pull out a chair for her to sit, but he would never put his arm around her or stroke her hair; little things which she saw other husbands do so naturally.

She set the photograph back upright on top of the main crafting cabinet, beside the photograph of toddler Matthew holding baby sister Jessica on his lap: nappies to empty nest—gone in a blur. A life devoted to committees and fundraising events didn’t fill the emptiness she felt inside. Nor did the needlepoint, or the painting (her studio upstairs still held the easels and paints from that phase), or the pottery. Each hobby filling an empty room.

Her mind leapfrogging around, past and present, she tried to push the unsettling feelings away and get on with her day. She stepped into her spacious modern kitchen. This room alone was a testament to how much James had given her; the latest design and gadgets. She took out the homemade canapés from the fridge and placed them on the counter top so they would reach room temperature before serving. She opened a couple of bottles of a light Cabernet James had selected, set them on the counter top to breathe and then headed upstairs.

She glanced at her reflection in the bathroom mirror and saw her face and neck were flushed. She would have preferred to blame it on the first signs of menopause, but the truth was she had found herself becoming more and more aroused while listening to her neighbours. She stepped into the shower, turning the tap to ice cold.

Before long Hazel was standing in front of her mirror again. She stood back so she could see her full reflection. The beautiful beige silk shirt and the tan slacks complemented her classic English rose looks. All in all she looked the picture of cultivated and expensive elegance. Maybe a touch more colour in her wardrobe: some red or blue would brighten things up a little. She adjusted her hair for the fourth time in as many minutes. Appearance is everything, she heard James’ voice inside her head. Give me a break, she quietly replied to herself.

Over the years manicures and pedicures had become a weekly ritual, as were the hair and beauty appointments she slotted into her calendar. It seemed harder now to keep in shape but she managed it, with the help of her personal trainer, Sam, whose obvious affection for her was becoming more and more important to her. Dangerous territory maybe.

She looked at the bedside clock. She should be thinking about today and the imminent arrival of her three friends. Thursday was wine club day. With the wine flowing, all four would loosen up and discuss whatever was on their minds. She loved to listen to the women as they talked about their lives. Last week she had been left in fits of giggles when Jacqui had regaled the group with stories of her time in boarding school. From the sound of things she had spent her O-level year locked in passionate embraces with assorted boys from the local village. When Jacqui told a story you sat back and enjoyed the show. She was funny, but also painfully straight… she took no prisoners. But it did mean Hazel sometimes found it difficult to relax completely, she would have hated to be the target for one of Jacqui’s onslaughts.

Hazel was equally intrigued by Paula who after a couple of glasses of wine dropped her elocution class English, and reverted back to her south London accent. Paula looked as though she had stepped from the pages of a glossy magazine. She once told the group how when she set her mind to it she knew she could pull any man she really wanted and even turn a gay man straight. Hazel genuinely wondered if that was possible and would have loved to have pursued the topic but Jacqui had moved them onto something else and the moment had been lost. Where Paula was concerned you could easily forgive her occasional faux pas and forget any feelings of jealousy about her fabulous body, when you realised she could be such a warm and generous friend.

Then there was Sonia, who despite being the only one of the group who currently held down a demanding job, was the quietest of the four women. Hazel sensed Sonia’s lack of self-confidence was deep rooted. Hazel was pretty sure from hints Sonia had dropped there were problems with her husband Richard, maybe he was having an affair, maybe he didn’t want his wife anymore, but Hazel was wise enough to know she must never push the other woman. Sonia would share when she felt ready and not before.

Hazel loved the way the group was developing, she looked at the other women as a kind of support group for one another. All four appeared to have it all. Successful husbands and/or businesses, lovely houses, bright children, latest cars, and disposable incomes, but behind the dentist whitened smiles lay worries and secrets which were beginning to rise to the surface when the four women sat together and the wine flowed.

In the first few weeks their conversation had bounced from the latest star-studded movie to hit the cinemas and the new blockbuster book in the bestsellers list to brief snippets of their lives told as snappy anecdotes. But a month or so ago a conversation that had begun with memories of Thursday night’s Top of the Pops had ended with Jacqui recreating John Travolta’s Saturday Night Fever dance and insisting the other three women join in as well. Looking back, that afternoon had marked some sort of rite of passage which bonded the four of them. Since then they had grown closer, their conversations more revealing. These few hours together became their chance to be themselves, away from husbands, children and business. They could sit back and bitch if they felt like it, share worries and disappointments, but most of the time they seemed to laugh.

It felt good to be part of a friendship group again. When she and James had first married all her friends had been his friends, professional middle-aged couples with children almost off their hands, and despite the difference in age and life experience, she was fully accepted into their circle. She enjoyed socialising with these people and their sophisticated banter, their worldly knowledge, their confidence and sheen. The women were fantastically supportive when she had Matthew and Jessica, and she’d thought those friendships would continue. But somehow as they reached retirement and she reached middle age they had less and less in common, and those friendships were all but lost. Now the majority of these friends had moved on to country cottages, villas abroad, some were taking world tours they’d missed out on in their youth. She was glad James hadn’t followed this trend, at fifty-one she was far too young to be the wife of a retired man.

James worked from home most days now, leaving their son Matthew in charge of the plush City offices of Wheeler’s Wines. And how it niggled her when he still insisted on dressing in a suit, even wearing his tie. He’d sit with his morning coffee, his newspaper folded down, as if he was preparing for his cramped tube journey into the City. Then at 8.50am precisely he would head upstairs into the loft conversion.

It also niggled her that when James popped his head around the door to say hello to her wine club friends he would sometimes linger a little longer than necessary outside the lounge door. Up until this morning it had bugged her, but when you considered her behaviour today, she had no right to judge James.

Each evening after the girls had been round he was always full of questions about both them and their partners. Hazel knew he was always looking for new fee paying members for the golf club, and he was thinking ahead and looking out for potential voters. James was going to stand for Chair of his exclusive golf club and wanted to win with a good majority.

She looked at the clock again, nearly midday. She smoothed down her shirt and walked to the bedroom door. As with everything in the house, it had been designed and decorated to the highest standard, to someone else’s exquisite taste. She noted the lovely cream carpet, the beautiful bed linen, the crystal vases, the white roses. Perfection, boring bloody perfection.

At least Sonia would break up the sea of cream and white. She always brought colour with her. Not just the fantastic floral arrangement she usually arrived with, but the colour and design of her outfits. What would it be today, one could only imagine, but Hazel knew it would be vivid. She had a passion for rich fabrics, big prints, large belts, chunky jewellery, long scarves. It was an interesting look, but Sonia was hidden within its bright colours and outline. Hazel wondered if this was by accident or design. She thought Sonia was too small to fully carry off the look, and had been wondering how she might encourage her friend to tone things down a bit.

She jumped as the doorbell rang.

First to arrive was Sonia, hidden behind a large floral display. She swept into the hallway, and placed her creation on the hall table. She was already twittering about something she’d taken exception to that the cab driver had said on the journey from her office to Hazel’s front door. Before Hazel had a chance to take in what Sonia was saying the bell rang again and in bounced Paula. Blonde hair flying, strong perfume surrounding her and the tightest jeans imaginable. Sonia, predictably, was wearing a vintage, multi-coloured, multi-layered maxi skirt, with a tie-died long-sleeved t-shirt. The two women couldn’t have looked more different… one small and bird-like, the other taller, fuller, rounder. All three women smiled at one another. Jacqui would arrive last, she always did.

Hazel picked up the display and the others followed her into the lounge, where she set it down on the sideboard and poured them each a glass of the red which had been opened earlier. You know, said Paula taking a sip of wine, I am really glad Billy convinced me to join the gym. If he hadn’t, I would never have met you lot, and I would never have had the chance to get blotto each week on this lovely plonk.

Hazel shuddered.

Quite right, said Sonia, I wish we all got here on time though. However, it does mean we get to start in on the wine first, she joked, trying to cover up her irritation at Jacqui’s lateness.

How was Paris? Hazel asked Paula.

Fantastic, came the enthusiastic reply. I shopped and shopped and then shopped some more.

Here, have a sniff, Paula thrust a wrist first under Hazel’s nose then Sonia’s. What do you think?

Lovely, they replied.

Oh, good, said Paula rummaging in her bag, I’ve bought you all an eau de parfum, she continued, handing the dainty bottles to them. I’ll put Jacqui’s on the table here for when she turns up.

Thanks, Paula, you shouldn’t have, said Hazel putting hers on the dresser.

I couldn’t come back empty-handed, now could I? said Paula. You’d have done the same for me.

Yes, thanks so much Paula, said Sonia, putting hers in the pocket of her skirt and feeling a bit guilty because she wouldn’t have been as generous herself.

And, when I wasn’t shopping, we went to some fantastic restaurants. Too much food, and way too much wine. I might need to hire Sam.

You’ll have to book, the trainers get really busy… said Hazel.

Did you go to the Louvre? interrupted Sonia.

No, Billy said we ought to, but we went a few years ago, and all those paintings… well, it’s not really my thing. It was such a quick trip, as I said to Billy, you can’t do everything.

Yes, that’s true. And it’s such a beautiful city, said Hazel, It’s decades since I was there last…

And, it’s so easy to get there and back. First class on Eurostar—brilliant! All in all a one hundred percent successful trip! finished Paula picking up her wine glass and toasting the other two before taking a gulp.

So, Billy Jr looked after the house OK? asked Sonia.

Yes, Sonia, everything was still standing when we got back. I know it was a risk leaving a nineteen-year-old boy in the house for a few days, but he and the house survived! Billy’s like his father: dependable, honest without a bad bone in his body.

You are lucky then, I didn’t mention it before because I didn’t want to worry you, continued Sonia, but the last time we left Daniel in charge of the house he invited some friends round and they absolutely ruined the floor tiles in the bathroom. I’m glad he’s got a place in halls this year. I think he’ll grow up a bit. Unfortunately he seems to take after his dad too, but in Daniel’s case it’s his ability to drink a tad too much alcohol!

Hazel noticed they tended to talk about their children more when Jacqui wasn’t with them. They hadn’t made an agreement to avoid mentioning their children in front of her, but her childlessness was something she’d not talked about, and Hazel couldn’t find the words to ask outright. Had Jacqui and Adam not had kids on purpose? Was he or she unable? Not knowing if it was a big deal or not for Jacqui made it difficult for Hazel to know how to broach the subject.

Oh, try not to worry Sonia, Matthew went through a stage of drinking too much when he went to university then there was his foray into performance art… They soon grow out of all those marathon pub crawls and drinking games. Look at him now, surrounded by fine wines, but with the maturity to appreciate them. Talking of which, let me top you up…

Hazel topped them up and poured wine into a fourth glass for Jacqui, when the doorbell rang. She went to the door, glass in hand.

You have some catching up to do! quipped Hazel handing the full glass to Jacqui.

Greetings over, Hazel went to fetch the canapés and set the oval platters on the low, dark wood coffee table in front of the settee. Sonia glanced appreciatively at the roast vegetables in tiny filo baskets; minute blini topped with cream cheese, smoked salmon and a dash of dill; and feather-light shards of ham on mini granary rolls.

Help yourself, invited Hazel as she settled into the armchair directly opposite Sonia.

Thanks, they look delicious as ever, said Sonia, leaning forward to make her first choice, and marvelling at how Hazel could produce such delicious professional-looking food from a domestic kitchen. I don’t know how you do it. I can never get the food I cook to look so neat, said Paula holding up a blini for everyone to admire, Maybe I should talk Billy into letting me do a cookery course too, like James let you.

Sounds too much like school to me, said Sonia, and I don’t know about you lot, but I certainly wouldn’t want to go back to those days. It was bad enough to struggle academically but to be plagued with pimples, puppy fat and bad hair as well, my parents wouldn’t even buy my school photo the year I was sixteen because it was so awful.

The four women then began to talk about how much they had changed since school days, and what fun it would be to see if they could recognise each other in photos when they were teenagers. Hazel rose and crossed the room to the chest of drawers. She rifled through some photographs, picked one out to show the others, and put it on the table. They gathered round for a closer look. It was unmistakably a teenage Hazel, even in jeans and t-shirt she looked elegant and composed. Her clear creamy skin and large tawny brown eyes free of make-up.

You were a stunner, Hazel. Well, you still are, darling. But look at you back then, not a shred of slap on your lovely face, said Jacqui. At sixteen you couldn’t see me under layers of kohl, eye shadow and lippy.

The best picture of me at sixteen was my wedding photo. I’ll have to bring it to show you next time, said Paula.

I know I’ve said it before but sixteen, Paula, how could you marry so young? You were children, exclaimed Jacqui.

Paula spoke, Well, looking back, yes we were, but we felt ready to be adults. We’d been going out together for nearly two years by the time I left school. Wayne was already working in his uncle’s garage full time. He was renting his sister’s flat, she was a hairdresser on a cruise liner, so whenever she came home she crashed at their mum’s. The day I left school I moved into the flat. We got married a few months later and started trying for a baby on our wedding night. Initially we were so happy. He was my first love.

Sonia surprised herself when she found herself saying, Sean was mine. And even more surprised when she continued to speak and share her story.

"Sean’s dad was our gardener and he used to