SunFlowers & Sins

By Phil Webberley

A simple misunderstanding in a cafe between Evelyn Barnswell and an elderly gentleman results in an argument from which he suffers a fatal heart-attack shortly afterwards. She is unaware of his death yet this tragic event - and her role in it, is to come back and play havoc with her life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: XinXii
• Release date: May 20, 2020
• ISBN: 9783969310465

Phil Webberley

Phil was born in Margate, Kent just after the war. His father was in the army so he was moved frequently from one country to the next as a child– Middle East, Far East, Germany, Malta and Cyprus.He miraculously came away from school with six ‘O’ levels including English. He went straight into the RAF for many years and then into civilian street as a salesman for a short spell before joining an engineering company, until retirement.The author developed the reading bug when in some far-flung posting. Apart from ‘Biggles’, Phil’s first real book was Scaramouche by Rafael.Sabatini. Since then he enjoys a good read with unusual aspects to it.The author has always enjoyed an active life, but these days it’s more sedate activities like reading, music, golf – and hopefully, writing, which Phil now actually finds quite enjoyable.

Book preview

Together

A began with a sin...

A Break

'Oh no, surely not!' exclaimed Evelyn Barnswell, looking out of her bedroom window after sliding out of bed; the sky was grey, not looking promising at all. 'Typical! I plan some shopping, and this is what happens with the weather and on my day off too!' she lamented to her reflection in the mirror.

By the time she had sorted herself out, picked up little Daniel - her cousin Jessie's little boy - and parked up in town, the weather had further deteriorated. It was now wet, that horrible 'mizzle' in the air that seems to cling to everything. And it was cold. Matters had not been improved when, before she left, she received a text from the Care Home...the Care Home she managed as part of Barnswell Holdings; it was another security lapse...someone had 'wandered' off.

She had responded, 'Please Take care of it for me Meghan, I'm actually supposed to be off today, but I'll come in later to tidy up before I disappear on my short holiday tomorrow.' There's always bloody something happening she thought. Her previously happy mood was already being challenged, what with the weather - and now a security alert at the Home, but 'hey-ho' some shopping beckoned and a sense of purpose reasserted itself.

However --- important, memo to herself - Does our internal security and alarm systems need an update? Must check.

Evelyn made her way along the pavement in the middle of the very busy high street keeping an eye out for puddles and splashing vehicles - a real heavy shower had passed through earlier - as she manoeuvred the buggy in the direction of sanctuary, sanctuary being a department store cafe on the top floor with the promise of peace and respite from the hustle and bustle of what seemed like a million shoppers, all fighting for space on the pavement.

Little Danny was unconcerned, being nicely covered up and protected in the equivalent of his Humvee-type buggy contraption, big wheels, high up, almost armour-plated. You know the type - needing a mortgage to buy one. He even looked happy. Yes, Eve was child-minding today for Jessie...again, while Jessie was recovering from her usual excesses. This had annoyed her if she was honest with herself – being taken for granted by her cousin who often sneered at Eve's kindness and sense of family duty; she had gone too far...and Eve was beginning to lose patience. 'Why do I have to pick up the pieces every time...?' she asked herself - '...but one day...one day she'll regret it.' Then a little calm settled upon her to steady her mood, to almost the level of normal Evelyn. Almost, so much promise for her day off she mused until humanity interfered.

First, she nearly had her glasses knocked off by someone's umbrella, and some thoughtless idiot bashed into her as he fiddled with the controls of some gadget wired to his shell-like ears. When she bent down to double-check on Danny’s cover, she suddenly realised as she looked at reflections in an adjacent, large puddle – a puddle the size of an Olympic swimming pool she thought – that an Octavia taxi was just entering it; and not slowly either. A huge surfer-sized splash sprayed them both, but Danny was okay in his sturdy contraption. Eve was not - the splash came at face height when she was bent down, knocking her glasses off; the taxi had succeeded where the umbrella had not.

Already agitated from the gadget-man encounter, now she was really angry.

And cold, miserable. Fed up.

She retrieved her glasses; they appeared undamaged.

But there was worse; before she had time to stand back up somebody in a hurry stumbled over her, nearly falling and shouting, 'For Christ's sake what the hell are you doing down there you stupid idiot!' ....as the contents of one of her shopping bags had begun to spill out onto the wet pavement. She desperately scrambled about retrieving 'this & that' - no one helping. A brief thought crossed her mind...

'My kingdom for a machine gun - and all these buggers will be out of my way!'

Evelyn was normally a calm person...but that's what she was thinking right then. Or just to scream and shout at someone.

'Try and be calm...you have Danny with you,' she told herself.

Nonetheless, she was getting more hot and bothered with the crowds, but sanctuary beckoned - the entrance to the store was close by...the peace and quiet of the cafe on the top floor...a cup of tea, a bar of chocolate, an orange juice for Danny - and maybe a sticky ice-bun or an Angel Cake. Then she might be able to compose herself and have a quick look at the local paper. Danny was remarkably quiet, not bothered with all the hassle, noise and wet.

But she still had to fight her way to the lifts...please God, let's hope they're working. They were, but there were queues, so sanctuary was delayed a little...with some more scrummage, brollies being shaken, scarves being unwound - everybody jockeying for space waiting for the doors to open.

On the top floor she stepped out of the lift into calmness, quiet, a low-talking hum mixed with the occasional clink and clatter of crockery and cutlery...and some inviting savoury smells including that of strong coffee.

¡Oh no - horror! No spaces, no empty tables. Wait a minute – yes, there's one over there. Eve made a beeline to a table not yet cleaned but hey, any port in a storm. It was a two-seater which she thought safe - who is going to want to sit next to a mum-and-kid combo, perhaps a noisy kid at that? Only a masochist.

Coat over a chair and buggy parked next to it, Eve made her way to the counter and came back a few minutes later with the goodies...including her favourite - a KitKat...that constant in the universe. Always good. She made sure Danny was happy first before unfolding her newspaper. It's the little pleasures in life that make all the difference she thought...and perhaps in 20 minutes she might be restored to full sanity and dryness. But a shadow cast itself over her Page One, and on looking up saw, to her quiet annoyance, an elderly chap negotiating himself towards the other chair opposite her, placing his glass of juice next to some glossy magazine he had.

'Do you mind...' he asked... '….is it free?'

'Not at all – please help your-self,' she lied in reply - it was the only chair left as she could see. The table shook as he moved, spilling her drink - one of those tables that wouldn't stand still on its legs...we've all encountered them, haven't we?

As the man settled himself Eve looked at him with lowered eyes pretending she was reading; before he had sat down she noticed he was quite tall and fairly slim with a non-descript face that sported a pair of glasses...I suppose glasses come to us all eventually she thought. He began reading his mag...it looked like steam-engines or something – there was a thumb-nail picture of Portillo peering out from the front cover wearing clothes as bright and mixed as Las Vegas on a Saturday night. Made a change from the constant news about the London Olympics that was almost upon them.

Just as she was about to turn over the page, she was struck dumb – he reached across and snapped off a finger of KitKat!

My God...what is he doing?!!

Her mouth dropped open and stayed that way for seconds.

Help! - she screamed in her mind. This cannot be happening to me. She looked at him now, becoming furious but also partly scared because she had Danny - the sense of added responsibility for his safety increased her discomfort, preventing her doing what she should have done - making a scene and challenging him; she was now feeling more vulnerable. Who the hell does he think he is? Leave my bloody KitKat alone! she wanted to say – to say something, anything, but was suddenly frozen into in-articulation.

Then she looked around to see if she was being set-up...the star on Candid Camera or You've Been Framed or something: or hopefully, if anybody else had witnessed this blatant, rude and intimidating behaviour? But no, the world continued to orbit the sun...nobody else had seen a thing; nobody looked up. Now she felt acutely embarrassed at her hidden humiliation, being taken advantage of so quietly, so matter-of-factly.

What should she do, having looked around to see if the cavalry - or any other help - was at hand? She then considered; let's wait a minute – maybe it's a simple mistake and that he would notice, make profuse apologies and that everything would become beautiful again...let's face it, old folk can be forgetful, or just plain stupid, or thoughtless. Yes, that must be it! But it had further unsettled her in her current state of agitation.

Benefit of the doubt - she'd give him another minute...

Her hopes were short-lived.

She was devastated when within seconds and quite nonchalantly, his hand wandered over the table searching by feel for the chocolate, before once more, breaking off another finger of the KitKat - he completely engrossed with a steam engine that looked as if it had a hundred large wheels on it. Now she wanted to scream. How dare the world does not notice what was happening!

If only she didn't have Danny with her to worry about.

Eve noticed the man also had a sticky bun before him, not yet touched - too busy with the KitKat no doubt - but her mind was now in turmoil; so far she'd had a real, real bad day and being cold, wet, soggy in parts, and wanting peace, the last thing she needed was some arrogant bully to add to her misery.

And the world not noticing!

But...I'll give him one more chance...he could be suffering from something...

However, a strategy was already forming in her mind because it did not look as if he was going to apologise any time soon...he looked quite calm and nonchalant, seemingly without a care in that steam-driven world of his; but there was no way he was going to get away with it scot-free, oh no!

No way.

She moved her belongings, set her bags ready and pointed Danny in the right direction - towards the lifts, ready for a quick get-away, taking a final sip of her drink.

….and he does it again! Another piece of KitKat gone!

That's it! She's furious - now in a quiet but seething rage. Forget the machine gun, give me a base-ball bat instead, I want to lash out!

Trembling now, beside herself in a complete – and so far – silent rage, she abruptly stands up, quickly dons her coat and reaches over to his bun, picks it up, takes a big bite out of it, slams it back down on his plate and for good measure, picks up his drink and throws it at him - most of it going all over his head because he had leant forward to rescue his bun – and triumphantly shouts, with her mouth half-full...

'SO THERE, you bully!'

Within ten seconds she's at the lift, smirking, quivering, shaking and panicking all at once, urging the doors to open fast...and they did. She didn't want to look back to see that horrible man again and, on the way down she began to feel much, much better, calmer.

'YES!' she cried out in the lift, 'Serves him right – the sod!' Now she could get home and prepare for that short holiday she was going on tonight, to stay with a friend a hundred miles away as soon as Danny was back with Jessie. On the journey home she felt smug, ‘…getting one back – justice!' she thought. But as more minutes passed there was just a little part of her thinking maybe she went over the top with the coffee. Just a bit.

It was not like her at all. She realised she was shaking a little.

Oh but...she was so pleased because it was really not like her; it was out of character, however, a small glass of wine and the attentions of her newly acquired pup with large, sad eyes - Cleo, she had named her - beckoned at home.

Through the front door and there she was, little tail wagging vigorously; she picked her up giving her a tickle then put her back down while dumping her handbag on the table to get out her phone to let Jessie know that she was back. There would be no answer...there never was. She'd still be in bed.

She opened her bag. The first thing she saw in the handbag was her unopened bar of KitKat.

. . . . . .

Back in the cafe, pandemonium broke out. The elderly gentleman shouted out loud, automatically thrusting himself backwards in his chair away from the attack, juice dripping from his face as he spluttered and gasped. His movements had propelled his chair back just as it began to topple...the chair hovering at the point of neither falling one way – or the other. But his flailing hands and legs tipped the balance and over he went backwards with an almighty crash sending other cafe chairs flying, his legs overturning the table.

For one very brief moment there was utter silence in the cafe before shrieks rang out and several people rushed to his aid...he was lying partly on his side gasping, asking....

'What happened - why did she do that? What did I do?'

No one noticed the lift doors closing.

Then the horrible, unmistakeable sign of an encroaching disaster...he started to clutch his chest, gasping. Voices rang out...

'999 somebody – quick.'

'First-Aider,' another voice shouted.

But it was all to no avail - within one hour, our elderly gentleman was dead...never even made it to the hospital despite the best efforts of the paramedics who had quickly turned up.

The police were called. CCTV was scoured but no actual coverage of the incident was found, only the image of a women leaving the store downstairs whose face was partially covered by a scarf, wearing glasses – and pushing a child in a small pram...along with many other shoppers with their prams and buggies. Neither were the police too impressed with the department store's poor-quality CCTV – in black and white! A news item, with pictures, was put out in the 'locals' the next day asking for help in identifying the mysterious woman...without any luck.

The authorities soon traced the gentleman's next of kin – a son, who did not live locally but nevertheless arrived at the hospital within two hours. He just stood there quietly weeping by the bed holding his father's still-warm hand.

The usual questions began to come quick and fast when he eventually managed to compose himself.

'An altercation - what in the cafe in a department store...how is that possible?' he had asked. When told that witnesses had seen this argument - with a 'youngish' woman - he had then asked the police, 'Who was it – do we know? Why didn't she help him?'

He was told that she had left before he 'took bad', as the copper described it, but in any case, they were at that moment trying to trace her, but details were scant.

'Cold-hearted bitch,' he had muttered to the policeman in charge….and then to himself - 'If I find out who she is I'll, I'll....bloody strangle her.' His dad was a gentle, pleasant old soul who had never hurt anybody. Now he was trying to picture the scene...and what must have been going through his mind after the drink was thrown at him...I mean, why had she done that? His thoughts eventually coalesced as he wondered how he could to find out who the woman was. He just wanted to know why she had attacked his father. Why? What on earth could have happened? However, revenge began to creep into his dark mood the more he thought about it. In all probability the woman was local so he would use his contacts and call in some favours to track her down. To complicate matters, the police had informed him that at the same time as that incident took place, a gang of shoplifters had been active on the lower levels of Lattins.

. . . . . .

Eve stared at it for five seconds - the untouched bar of KitKat in her handbag – mortified – a momentary feeling of acute embarrassment. Her mouth dropped open as she thought back to the cafe.

'Oh my God...the poor man. Oh, I feel so terrible...I'm embarrassed,' she mouthed out loud. How did I get that so wrong she wondered? Probably all the shopping hassle – still – no worse than her soaking at the hands of that taxi and the puddle, but I do hope he's alright. Must think I was deranged.'

She became unsettled once more – that little nagging at the back of her mind; just have to keep it quiet – try and put it out of her mind but I'm sure he'll get over it she hoped...and then wondered, 'What must he be thinking right now?'

By this time, nothing.

Dear reader, she did not realise that this mistake, this mental aberration and out-of-character behaviour was to come back and play havoc with her life – and the lives of those around her.

Eve Considers...

Miss Evelyn (Eve) Barnswell of Barnswell Holdings considered the situation; her cousin, her 'troublesome' cousin, as she was often reminded had promised to mend her ways if...if she had a proper job to settle down to, thus providing at least a steady income.

But who would employ her, who would employ Miss Jessica (Jessie) Curzon? She had been 'let go' so many times from various jobs and on occasion, simply sacked for not turning up to work for days at a time. It was usually down to 'having a good time' - a combination of booze, a spliff or three...the result always the same - totally unreliable, a complete lack of concentration coupled with an unwillingness to see her situation for what it was – a continuing spiral, always downwards; and from one dead-end job to another. Nor did her potty-mouth help. Oh yes, if there were boundaries to cross, she'd find them and cross them.

'It's alright for you,' she would complain to Evelyn... 'You're a rich bitch – loads of money your dad left you, big house, no worries, swank car!'

'Swank?' queried Evelyn. 'My little run-around?'

'Well...new then.' These outbursts usually followed a period on the bottle; afterwards she would beg forgiveness. 'I just need a proper chance,' she would wail. 'Can't you find me a job in your little empire?'

The empire of Barnswell Holdings.

Evelyn had heard her business called many things...but an empire? Not likely, not in her books.

Jessie's only saving grace was her face. Pretty...probably too obviously pretty, a face and body that turned heads whenever she walked into a room, but that was also in Eve's opinion, part of Jessie's problem because she did not know how to deal with her physical assets responsibly; admiring glances, a drink or two and she was 'away'! It was that beckoning but dangerous glance of hers that reeled men in – of all ages.

The company she kept for some reason she always gravitated towards those that had an 'edge' – those that did not live or abide by the rules...always pushing it. Rebellious. If it had been the Fifties, she would have been right there alongside James Dean....or propping up the Jukebox in some motor bike cafe. As she got older, she was often found slumped-out in one of those smoking dens with empty bottles everywhere – oblivious. Eve deduced that Jessie always seemed to have something missing from her brain – some vital piece of social equipment which would have told her when she was going too far. Or being taken advantage of. Eve's dad had said quite bluntly that Jessie behaved like a first-class harlot - 'Don't get involved with her Evelyn – she's just trouble from what I hear.' And once or twice, Jessie had caught the tail-end of some derogatory remarks she knew had been aimed at her...a conversation would dry up as she approached. Then there were the many times of sneering disdain Jessie had seen and heard, that usually emanated from Eve's mother which, again, Jessie picked up upon many times.

'What a haughty, smug bitch,' Jessie said to herself. And her opinion of Evelyn's mother she extended to Eve but in a more subtle way because Jessie knew that her prudish cousin was perhaps someone she could get along with if only to take advantage of her good nature at some point...and one day, she would - payback for all those family sleights and 'holier-than-thou' looks...just another spoilt brat with money who didn't smoke, didn't go out....just didn't have fun. Boring. 'My payback will be my looks,' she thought to herself. 'She can never compete with the goods.'

Nevertheless, there was a deep vein of jealousy that ran in Jessie's blood. Yes, they had crossed swords on occasion and Eve had to admit to a small but grudging slice of envy of Jessie's female assets, but kept her counsel, while Jessie, unusually for her, quietly simmered.

You see, reader, Jessie was one of those creatures that never forgot a slight or insult...she just stored them away for the future – 'Just you wait, I'll get even.' But just as quick she could revert straight back to some form of civility which made her both dangerous – and fascinating. Eve couldn't quite make out how to deal with Jessie sometimes and always forgave her.

But Jessie's green-envy store was growing...the reckoning will be huge.

Her folks had despaired and would often ring Eve – as a last resort – to go and extract their wayward offspring from some pit of a dwelling.

'Eve – could you please go and pick up Jessie?' they would beg. Or – 'Can you look after Danny for a few hours...?' She felt contaminated just walking into Jessie's various hang-outs, and the looks Eve attracted - those glances from the same dead-beats that seemed forever present around her cousin – these same unwashed dead-beats who would leer at her, blow kisses often accompanied by cat-calls and other crudities, she would absorb all these but good job they were usually too legless to do anything. She dreaded these pleading calls from Jessie's parents...... And of course, there was young Daniel; who looked after him? The usual…… ‘Well that’s what grandparents are for,’ Jussie’s respond, without any embarrassment.

However, Eve had pondered.

Because Jessie was kin, and fed up with the antics of her wastrel cousin and the 'rescue' calls, Eve had come to the conclusion that she should, would, offer Jessie a post in the company starting at the bottom, as a clerk – 'paid for out of my own pocket' she would remind her cousin - and the Board.

Eve was a caring person...she was that sort of person, so often worried about her cousin finishing up as some moll, or laid out on a slab somewhere, therefore a job close by with strict controls offered a solution.

'OK Jessie, I'll take you on – but under my conditions...strict conditions,' she had said later. Consequently – and after a crash course, brushing up on forgotten secretarial skills, Jessie eventually became ensconced as her personal secretary where Eve could keep an eye on her. There were a couple of scares, one such when Eve had to suddenly disappear at 10 a.m. one morning to dig Miss 'Wayward' out of bed, after all, Eve was the boss and could make excuses...

'Just want to make sure she's okay following her dental treatment...' she would mutter on the way out, cursing.

However, and surprisingly thought Eve, Jessie knuckled down well. As a bonus, the occasional lunch-time drink seemed to cement Jessie into the small group who frequented the popular drinking establishment - they could all watch over her.

. . . . . .

Barnswell Holdings began as a company when Evelyn's father, Josh Barnswell had quit his job as a junior manager in a road haulage firm…

'This is not for me,' he had moaned to himself – a job he'd taken up after leaving the army where he had served in the medical profession, not as a doctor but in the many administrative roles available at the time, having started off as a male nurse in the RAMC – the Royal Army Medical Corps. He had a soft spot and admiration for those who had looked after, and continued to do so, servicemen and servicewomen, but mostly men it had to be admitted, suffering the effects and injuries of several minor conflicts taking place around the world at the time. From this he had decided that one day, he would set up his own establishment that looked after those reaching the twilight of their years - and if they were ex-forces, even better.

Josh was a good organiser; he and Mrs Barnswell, toiled together expanding he business to fit the ever-growing need. But calamity struck when she succumbed to breast cancer leaving a gaping hole in his life. For a while he was inconsolable, but the business would not run itself and into the breach stepped their daughter, Evelyn...almost straight from school. Evelyn had already spent a great deal of time at weekends as a family 'helper' at the home while schooling, assisting her parents, even if it was only to visit and keep company some of the residents.

She too, had a strong leaning toward the caring profession taking her cue and genes from her father. At the time of her mother's passing, as well as helping out in the care home, she was also part-timing in Mrs Dimpson's greengrocers-cum-florists...the kind of learning job she had reckoned would help her one day in the future and, with some experience, to open her own little shop. This was an enterprise that had always figured in her life-map.

Evelyn loved flowers.

Mrs Dimpson, a lady in her forties or fifties - Eve couldn't really tell then, she was just 'old' to her and who would only respond to the name 'Dimps', had taken Eve under her wing when she was part-timing, grateful for the willing help after she too, had lost her husband some time back. As we see, Evelyn had always liked fauna; as a child she had spent many an hour in the large garden of her parent's house getting to grips with fuchsia, petunia and frilly-broom-begonias. Her favourites changed as she grew and in summer, especially summer, it would be the sunflowers. She loved them... 'Love them the best!' she had told her father when she was only knee-high.

Another season it would be lavender, then she would take a liking to 'Busy Lizzie' and also the lovely, beautiful 'Candy Canes'. She was in the habit of talking to them too... 'Hello Marigold – how are you?'…and, 'Aren't you big and bright today?' towards her favourites...the sunflowers; yes, they were definitely her favourites. She was thrilled when the family had taken a short holiday in Madeira to see the fabulous Spring Flower Festival…she loved the variety and wonderful colours.

In the very early days, between Evelyn, her father, and Dimps, they ensured that the Care Home was always festooned with plants; the old folk loved it. Josh also struck up a close relationship with the vicar and his wife who visited often and who, when needed, could be relied upon to say the right blessings to those of who felt they needed comfort and encouragement in their twilight years; just somebody to talk to. Josh would point them in the appropriate direction…

‘I think Mrs Staples would like…….’ Josh would say – ‘She’s in the ‘Tulip’ room…’ and off Vicar Lee would trundle, sometimes with Mrs Lee, sometimes not, while Josh shared with them all talk and gossip, mostly with Mrs Lee, over a cup of tea – they seemed to work well as a pair in providing comfort in and around the home to the residents, a closeness that did not go unnoticed by Eve who detected a certain frisson between the two.

'She's a very nice lady, isn't she?' Eve had commented while giving her father a look of 'notice'.

'Indeed, she is – very helpful – she certainly knows how to get on with our old folk,' he had replied without picking up on Eve's loaded comment. This association with the vicar and his wife also helped keep the church in colour when the sun came out – to match the brilliant rhomb of light from the stain-glassed portals and windows.

This arrangement continued through the years…

Yes, she liked her time with Dimps and was sorry to leave when she had to help her dad. But maybe one day, thought Eve. One day...my own shop.

Eve quickly learnt the ropes and soon became indispensable. Courses were attended and accreditations gained as her role grew. It was during this episode that she quickly learnt about officialdom – and those who needed 'nice talk' – those who were straight, those that needed to be taught the ‘Foxtrot Oscar’ dance – and those smarmy male types, who, on realising they might be dealing with a woman, would try it on. But dad was there…if needed.

The enterprise enjoyed success: Josh was an organiser, a good manager and a man who could talk effortlessly to all classes - who made sure that all who were employed there in an administrative or management position, spent at least a little time 'on the floor' with the staff. It was a well sought-after Care Home.

But one day Josh was no longer with us...a heart-attack had taken him away suddenly, unexpectedly. No warning.

Eve was broken. Even her first pet dog, Tilly - a Collie, knew something was wrong...she would normally sit in her allocated pen in the home's garden while waiting for the centre of her doggie universe to take her out for her lunchtime walk.

For Eve, now in her late 20s, the time spent assisting her father had ensured that she was well established and confident in being able to take on the responsibility; nevertheless, she was still very young for a care home manager. For one brief moment Eve had considered quitting – handing it over to someone else to do the managing, or some faceless organisation but as she looked around at those she looked after, decided against it.

Eve took control keeping very much to her father's formula. For nigh on fifteen years she continued - it was hard work, but she was determined to make it a success by sticking to the proper caring tenets. During this period her first love, Tilly, had passed away leaving her once more bereft; what a companion she had been, always there always happy to see her, so she quickly took on another lovely pup – a splitting image of Tilly....and calling her Cleo. Her new companion stabilised her life and sanity.

However, as the 'Holdings’ acquired more care homes, usually for the benefit of all those who had served either in the Armed Forces, police, or others of similar background, Eve realised it was too much for her and relinquished the absolute control she always had up until that time. A recommended outside group took over the general running of the Holdings, allowing Eve to look after some of the tactical elements rather than any strategic considerations. A 'Board' was appointed, a board that respected both Eve's legacy (from her father) and her sterling efforts so far in avoiding the scandals currently affecting the industry. She was determined to keep her residents as happy as possible - by employing the best staff she could find...a high staff turnover was symptomatic of an unhappy enterprise. And she had not forgotten her time with Dimps. One of the many steps Eve took was to maintain the set up and arrangement where Dimps supplied the Care Home with fresh flowers and even local vegetable produce. Everybody appreciates flowers, don't they?

It was while she was coming through a minor reorganisation that she began to look to her previous dream, never far away in her mind, which was now relegated to a Plan B - for some time in the future.

Had her parents lived longer she had always envisaged buying, or setting up, a small business dealing with plants, flowers and possibly becoming a small grocery or Florist just like Mrs Dimpson’s, but somewhere else, not too far away. Yes - she wanted to be a shopkeeper one way or another and to hell with Napoleon, to be her own boss free from 'this and that' department, free from council officialdom...and free from the myriad of mind-numbing rules and regulations that just seemed to flow continuously in her direction from 'up there somewhere' towards Barnswell Holdings - some silly factory set up just to churn out stupid regulations that made your life misery; rules formulated by people who were usually 'nine-to-fivers'...and only 5 days a week, who never got their hands dirty. Oh yes, she realised that even on her own, there would inevitably be someone 'on her back' demanding this 'n that. There always was.

Now that she was on her own with no Josh as back-up, she really began to find out who were the players in officialdom, the bad ones, and the occasional good egg. The bad ones weren't criminals – they were usually just full of self-importance or people who interpreted obscure rules from Bratislava or Outer Mongolia down to the 'n'th degree. Then there was the commercial fraternity as mentioned before – the plumbers, the builders. Eve soon got to know them well...one even offering to take her on a weekend to Paris – if she gave him the contract he was after.

Just an offer of sex...no thank you; if she'd had more time she might have been flattered - she had met these types many times before and had learnt how to deal with them. Subconsciously schooled, perhaps by years of association with her father and how he had dealt with difficult or unwelcome officialdom - in her case unwelcome attentions - she had come to bear herself with the calm self-assurance of a woman of her responsible position. And if normally she was of an official presence that commanded some respect, she had not forgotten how to display an endearing gaiety, part of the secret that rendered her popular. As for those who persisted she simply overspread her resentment by a serene coolness...

But possessing her own shop and running her own enterprise had always been in her mind, stored at the back of her head somewhere.

Not yet though – not yet. Far too early, build up a little capital first because the job she had, she liked; she was almost like a 'player manager'...keeping a 'hand in' and not getting too remote from the daily 'goings on'. The money – well, she was 'comfortable' - as Jessie kept reminding her and she gained considerable satisfaction knowing she provided a vital service.

Cousin Jessie

On the other side of the family fence.......

Josh had a sister, Marge, who married badly...to Jed. If you could consider Josh's marriage and career a success, you could not say the same for Marge and Jed. Constant arguments were the norm as far as Josh could tell, usually about money, other women, or other men...but they did produce Jessie, although Josh, and possibly Jed too, often wondered about her paternity.

Jessie was indulged in the wrong things - and neglected in others. Josh could see this, but how do you point this out to your sister without 'rifting' the family? And there was, it seemed, always an element of envy that came from Jed's side of the family, aimed obviously at Josh and his nicely behaved daughter...whereas Jessie was often on the wrong side of the rules and wilful with it.

It was inevitable, and no surprise to Eve, but one day Jessie found she was expecting. Both families had thought that this turn of events might be the making of Jessie, but they were to be disappointed. Jessie just thought that life could go on as before, relying on friends and relatives for some baby-minding...of Daniel, a placid little lad totally unlike his mother. And once again, Josh, in fact the whole family, wondered about the paternity and who might be 'Daddy'. The truth? Even Jessie could not herself with any degree of precision, have named his father.

Eve knew a little about Jessie's background as occasionally they would meet up...or there would be a family gathering necessitated by a wedding perhaps of a member of the extended family – or when they once went to see a concert. But mostly Eve would get a reasonable running commentary on Jessie's antics via her own parents and from the odd snippets of conversation she would hear...like the time she