A Stone In My Shoe

By Heather Ridge

Two novellas explore sacrifice and betrayal and show how had it not been for war or illness, people whose paths would never have crossed, meet and change their lives.

On Not Saying Everything
After many years Georgina is contacted by her ex-husband, Guthrie. He is dying and needs help. Against her better judgement but fired by curiosity, she agrees to go to his farm where she meets his stepson and daughter.
Their behaviour is bizarre and she becomes determined to manage the situation for his sake as his condition deteriorates.
Guthrie’s wife is absent but her influence is ever present and all of them have scores to settle.


An Exchange of Fire
It is 1944. Dora is a virtuoso pianist who, after initial hostility falls in love with Dieter Cordus, head of the occupying forces, after he requisitions the Villa Berceuse where Dora and her mother live.

Dora’s mother, friends Jack and Briony and housekeeper, Hannah Greener, all have secrets they are desperate to keep – some succeed and some do not.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Mar 14, 2017
• ISBN: 9781326958060

Book preview

A Stone In My Shoe

A Stone In My Shoe

Copyright © 2017 by Heather Ridge

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

First Published: 2017

ISBN 978-1-326-95806-0

www.byzantiumfineart.com

On Not Saying Everything

‘So wanting to be all in all

Each for each, a man and a woman

Defy the limits of what’s human…’

Cecil Day-Lewis

For

Dr Margaret Spittle OBE

and

Robert Devčić

Week One - Whale Island

For pain: Paracetamol tabs 2-4 hourly for three doses in the day

For nausea: Maxolon 10mg twice a day

As Georgina put the key in her front door her telephone began to ring. She opened the door and walked swiftly through the house to the kitchen.

Hello.

Hello. Is that you, Georgina? asked an unfamiliar male voice.

Yes, who is this?

It’s Guthrie.

"Guthrie? said Georgina slowly. Why are you calling me after all this time?"

I won’t beat around the bush. I need your help.

I cannot begin to think why you would need my help.

You haven’t heard then?

Georgina balanced the telephone against her ear and shoulder and, as she began to unpack the two plastic carrier bags, said, Heard what? We split up more than 20 years ago, rather acrimoniously as I recall. We’ve both moved on – or at least I thought I had. I’ve heard nothing about you. 

This was not strictly true. A mutual friend had fed her snippets of gossip over the years. She knew, for instance, that he and Galatea had had a daughter together about 20 years ago and that he was stepfather to Galatea’s son from her previous marriage.

Georgina had also been told that when Guthrie had retired from the law about 10 years ago he had taken up Galatea’s interest in horses and maintained a keen interest in the stables Galatea had set up at the farm shortly after she and her son had moved in.

Guthrie said firmly, Georgie, I’ve got prostate cancer.

Good Lord, she said. When did you find out?

It was diagnosed a while ago, he said vaguely, impatiently. I’ve had all the treatment and so forth but it’s the aggressive kind and I have been told it’s at the end stage now. 

I’m so sorry, Guthrie, Georgina said. Thanks for letting me know."

No, Georgie, I’m ringing because I need your help.

Help? What help is that?

Well, I’ve decided I need you here to help me get through to the end.

Georgina had to ask, What about Galatea and the children?

Galatea is not here at present.

Where is she, Guthrie?

Well, she has gone on a sabbatical.

A sabbatical? Are you sure? repeated Georgina, realising she had started to echo what Guthrie had been saying.

Georgina remembered Guthrie’s occasional pomposity, which combined with the odd solecism of pronunciation or syntax was slightly ridiculous to those who knew better.

However, as most of the people in their set had not been too bright, it had not mattered. So his habit of nodding and saying, Yes, that’s a mute point went largely unnoticed and therefore unchecked. He also used the word reactionary incorrectly. He thought it meant revolutionary.

Still, it’s not the end of the world, is it? The odd split infinitive was neither here nor there in what would come to pass.

Yes, a sabbatical – from life at Whale Island.

Does she know you are ill?

Oh yes, of course, but she has to look after herself, you know, and I couldn’t and didn’t really want to stop her.

When did she go?

Oh, about two months ago. Galatea found my treatment really hard to deal with.

"She found it hard? What about you?"

Guthrie’s voice changed and took on the petulant and at the same time defensive tone that Georgina remembered.

We all choose our own way to deal with things. I know it brought back all the memories of when her mother was ill several years ago and she had to look after her.

Guthrie, where is Galatea? Georgina repeated.

To be truthful, Georgie, I don’t exactly know.

Georgina resisted the temptation to echo, "You don’t exactly know?  and said instead, Oh, I see," though she didn’t really see at all.

Oh, Justine and Mulliner are still here but they are finding it really hard to cope as well. It’s not been easy for them and, with their mother gone, they are finding it even tougher. Anyway, most of Justine’s time is taken up with the horses. 

‘They are in in their twenties, for God’s sake,’ Georgina thought.

The realisation was slowly dawning on Georgina as to the form of the help Guthrie was asking for.

She said carefully, Where are you now, Guthrie?

Still at Whale Island – where do you think? he replied testily.

Why have you contacted me after all this time?

Georgie, at the age of 63, I don’t really have anybody else to turn to.

Thanks for your honesty, Guthrie. By the way, what’s that shrill noise in the background?

Oh, said Guthrie impatiently, they are my two Madagascan love birds.

Georgie, please will you come and stay, at least just for a couple of weeks. I am sure Galatea will be back by then, when she has sorted herself out.

Georgina noticed the ice cream which she had bought at the supermarket was beginning to melt and leak through a small tear in the carton. She watched transfixed as it oozed on to the bench in two sluggish rivulets.

Look, Guthrie, I am completely taken aback by this and I am sure you will understand that I will need to gather my thoughts and think about it.

Guthrie continued in the slightly petulant tone, OK, OK, Georgie. I am sorry to have bothered you but I don’t have the luxury of time to gather my thoughts and think about things.

Georgina bristled at this – a familiar feeling.

She said firmly, I will call you back tomorrow – the number that is showing on the phone now, yes?

Yes, said Guthrie. Please call me tomorrow without fail.

The line went dead.

Georgina started to unpack the shopping and to mop up the ice cream; she then stopped mid-mop and went and looked at herself in the bathroom mirror.

At 55 she was eight years younger that Guthrie. Her hair was chestnut, thick and curly. A concession to vanity was that she had resolutely refused to go grey.

She had kept her figure – no children was the reason for that, she supposed.

Georgina stared again. ‘Let me process what has just happened,’ she thought calmly, still looking in the mirror.

‘My ex husband whom I haven’t seen or heard from for over 20 years has just called me, told me he has prostate cancer and asked me to look after him for an indeterminate period of time – maybe two weeks – could be two months or more because his wife – the woman he left me for, has gone AWOL as she couldn’t cope, and her son and their daughter, who both by now must be at least 22 or 23, can’t cope either.’

To her horror a tear suddenly trickled unbidden from her left eye and down her cheek.

Georgina for a moment did not know who she was or what she saw in the mirror. She realised she had a decision to make, a decision that involved something so preposterous, so unwanted, so unexpected and so, so unfair.

‘Why me?’ she thought. ‘Why the bloody hell me?’

An extremely agreeable summer beckoned: concerts, outings with friends arranged, painting the watercolours she had recently taken up as a hobby and for which she had been told by her teacher she had a certain flair; and above all a trip to Italy with her longstanding friend, Ben Wylie.

They had planned to start in Friuli, where they had friends, and then drive on down to Tuscany, where they had bought a farmhouse together outside Siena two years ago.

Georgina’s mobile phone interrupted her thoughts.

It was Ben. Hi, Darling Girl was his usual greeting.

Hi Ben, I am so glad you called.

"Still on for tonight?

Yes and no, said Georgina.

Ben laughed. You retired as a lawyer five years ago and you still give expensive answers to questions. Is it going to cost me a fortune to unscramble that one?

Yes and no, repeated Georgina. I know you’d booked Scarsini’s but I feel like cooking here for us. There’s something I want to run past you.

Is there anything wrong? Ben asked anxiously.

Georgina said in what she hoped was a reassuring tone, Again, yes and no. Well not exactly. I don’t know. There could be and I would like to use you as a sounding board for something that cropped up today.

OK, said Ben. I’ll come round at about 7.30. I’ll cancel Scarsini’s.

Ben knocked on Georgina’s door later that evening. Although he and Georgina had known each other for nearly 10 years, both assiduously, almost ostentatiously, respected each other’s privacy.

Neither had a key to the other’s house and both would have found it odd if the other had offered this.

Ben loved Georgina. Georgina, who thought she had really never experienced love, liked Ben very much, valued his friendship, enjoyed his company and his physical presence.

She thought their relationship enabled her to have the best of both worlds – her world and his world – entering and leaving when it suited her.

Georgina calmly told Ben about Guthrie’s phone call. She looked miserable. Something inside Ben told him that she would go. He thought her decision would be informed by guilt.

Do you want to go? he asked.

No. I feel very angry I have been put in this position and I am also angry that I am feeling like this.

Feeling like what?

Feeling like I am being used. You know, when we spoke, Guthrie didn’t even at any stage ask how I was or what my plans for the next few weeks were. Still, I guess he is absolutely desperate. I’d be the same in his situation.

Do you feel that you have to go?

"Yes. It’s very strange, I know I don’t want to go but I feel as though I have already been drawn to this like a moth to a flame. It’s almost as though another being has made up my mind for me and it is a fait accompli."

Then go.

That’s very generous spirited of you, Ben.

"No, it’s very selfish of me. I think I know you well enough to know that, if you don’t go, you will come to regret it and we will spend the summer in Italy with your mind elsewhere.

There’s always next year and besides I will still go – Dan and Lizzie are coming out at various times. It will be a chance to get to know Dan’s new girlfriend. You know, I really think she could be the one.

OK, said Georgina. It’s extraordinary really. This is right up your street being an oncologist. Tell me what will happen. What can I expect?"

Well, said Ben, all we know is that he has said it is, ‘end stage’ and ‘aggressive’, I haven’t seen him and he is not my patient but I can use an example of a patient of mine who died just before I retired. He was about your ex’s age and it was an aggressive tumour – pretty rare actually – bloody bad luck in fact.

Pain in his back and hips will be caused by the metastases in the bones but, if he has good care all that will be managed with morphine etc.

What do you think he will look like? I simply don’t know what to expect. I last saw him when he was 40.

"Expect to see him plump and feminine looking – that will be the hormone therapy. His skin will be soft and he probably won’t have much in the way of a beard any more. The psychological side-effect of that is that he will feel he has been robbed of his masculinity and is no longer a man. He may well feel very bitter about it.

"You will also