Raspberry Juice: A novel Novel

By Lynne Wivanee

Although this is a novel, it is full of true life experiences that we all encounter at times: the break-up of a marriage and the anger and heartache it brings to all who are involved, our children being bullied at school and the pain surrounding that, the feeling of failure, lack of confidence in ourselves and the torture of following the procedures when someone dies, let alone dealing with our emotions. This book offers a possible way to look back at these experiences and view them from a totally different perspective, a more healthy and accepting one and not full of guilt for not being ‘good enough’. We are all ‘good enough’ and we do the best we can with the resources we have at the time, we can do no better. Scattered throughout there are references to books, song lyrics and poetry that give a positive aspect to changing our whole view of our lives and seeing it all as a true learning experience to accept and welcome even though some of our experiences may have been horrendous at the time, there is still a way to gain from them, in retrospect.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Oct 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9781528939560

Lynne Wivanee

Lynne lives in a lovely old finca in Southern Spain with her partner, her dogs, cat and about 50 goldfish. She enjoys life in the warmer climes as it eases the arthritis which she says is a ‘pain in the ***’ whilst she is also working on the ‘letting go’ of it, not her ***, the emotions that generated the pain. She has three childults who are all in their 40s, one is almost 50, which she can’t believe as she isn’t old enough! Two live in the UK and one in the US and she’s very thankful that social media exists so that she can see them, as recent global events have limited travel.

Book preview

About the Author

Lynne lives in a lovely old finca in Southern Spain with her partner, her dogs, cat and about 50 goldfish. She enjoys life in the warmer climes as it eases the arthritis which she says is a ‘pain in the ***’ whilst she is also working on the ‘letting go’ of it, not her ***, the emotions that generated the pain. She has three childults who are all in their 40s, one is almost 50, which she can’t believe as she isn’t old enough! Two live in the UK and one in the US and she’s very thankful that social media exists so that she can see them, as recent global events have limited travel.

Dedication

To my long-suffering family who have been dragged through all my emotional traumas incessantly – poor sods. To Mr Pid, my kids and his, love you lots, LymPid. xxx

Copyright Information ©

Lynne Wivanee 2022

The right of Lynne Wivanee to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

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

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781528939553 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781528939560 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2022

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Acknowledgement

I completely acknowledge and offer my thanks to NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) for without this organisation, this novel, would never have been written. I have been talking about writing it for years and until I found NaNoWriMo, I don’t think I would’ve got off my backside, even though it feels like I’ve spent most of the time ‘on’ my backside, writing it.

To my lovely partner and wonderful family who have suffered with me for years. Lots of hugs, you’re ‘simply the best’ – I love you all. You have taught me so much about how to become a loving human being. You are all beautiful people and I am blessed to have you in my life.

To my friends, I value you all. I’m sorry that I don’t see you as much as I’d like, but you’re often in my thoughts. I can’t list you all because sometimes I forget your names, even if I’ve known you for yonks and that’s not because I don’t love you anymore, it’s because my brain is gradually fading away! Without any one of you, I wouldn’t be me, as much as I am, thank you.

A very BIG thank you to, Rose Helm, who painstakingly has dragged me through some of the initial editing process. Without her, this book would make no sense as I ramble rather a lot. Also to, Debs Jenkins, for her ‘oomph’ advice.

Thanks also goes to those who put me on the road to finding out how to publish this. To, Austin Macauley Publishers, who have been brilliant in following up every little nitty-gritty query I’ve had. I’m indebted to all that have made my dream possible.

Lynne – Mum/ Partner/ Friend/ Colleague…Author

Introduction

This book is a stream of consciousness, with vignettes of memories. It follows the main character, Jen, through a journey of issues that have come up in her life. Transports us back in time with her as she begins to heal the wounds of her past. Reveals the depth of her being through her thoughts and deeds and shows us all that there is always a way out of the mire of confusing experiences that we as human beings suffer. It offers us profound and spiritual words from others and the chance to explore the ‘words’ of different genres of music, to open mind and soul to other trains of thought.

It expresses insight, through the life of Jen, how we obviously don’t experience exactly the ‘same’ emotional situations, but often, we can relate to what someone else is feeling because there’s an element of our ‘own’ truths in what they are going through. The focus of this book is in emphasising how important it is to not only ‘say’ exactly how we feel but also to ‘listen’ to the feeling, ‘behind’ the words that others speak, taking in what is being said with ‘love’ and understanding. All too often, we are quick to make assumptions and feel critical, then wind up with unexpressed emotions that stay trapped inside.

I believe we are all basically the same but obviously with different life experiences. I’m hoping my words will trigger the understanding, the ‘reality’, that in many ways we ‘do’ feel the same, so it’s okay to speak openly because we all experience these human conditions and it’s safe to share them, even if we fumble with our language, at least try to explain our feelings. Allow natural intuition to guide us to those we ‘know’ we feel comfortable to confide in and who will not criticise nor judge negatively.

We need to find our own way to open up; otherwise, all this unexpressed emotion remains trapped and can make us physically ill, as I can testify. If we don’t express these feelings, the deepest and darkest part of us has the ‘potential’ to explode and commit the worst of atrocities on other members of our human race. There are those among us who really can’t express this anger, resentment, hate, who would possibly murder and within large groups – ultimately mass murder – ‘war’. Trapped with powerful emotions and not finding the freedom in peace. I say ‘potential’ because we all have that within us, as we are basically – animals and can react like that even though we are ‘supposed’ to be civilised.

Unexpressed emotion also has the potential to implode and cause psychological damage too. When we focus on the negative and allow it to multiply, it can come to a point of no return. Don’t let it express it before it mounts up and explodes, otherwise, it could implode, which is worse.

‘Imagine a balloon before the knot is tied to hold the air in. Instead of blowing more and more air – in (negative emotion), so that it explodes, let it out slowly (talk about it) and it will deflate. If it’s left and the knot is tied, filled with powerful emotions (very hot air) and someone comes along with a pin (words that trigger that strong emotion) that balloon will burst immediately (rage and anger). Use the same metaphor for other unexpressed emotions.’

I have written this book to focus more attention on this need to express our emotions. Throughout my life, I have been searching for a way to do just that and my hope is that it will help you to recognise that it is essential for your own well-being. We can always relate in some way to the problems we all encounter. What I’m saying is, find that person to talk to, if it’s not a friend, find a counsellor, therapist, the ‘right’ person, so that you are not holding in what needs to be expressed. Let it go and be ‘free’ to ‘enjoy life’.

Chapter 1

A Step Back in Time

I was just an ordinary woman (or so I thought) until I found myself walking back into the past…literally. I’ve had many regrets throughout my life, then one day I found myself back in them. I began a new journey, reliving those moments, finding I could see them totally differently, in a way that would change my whole perspective on how I live my life now – forever. Not only regrets but experiences. As I started reliving them, everything in my life ‘now’ seems to make sense. Obviously, nothing could change what had happened in the past, but at the same time, I could see my life from a different aspect.

It all happened when for some reason I was just sitting, thinking about when I was 10. I admit I was in a bit of a dreamy state when I got up to make a drink, walked through my sitting room, opened the door into my kitchen and found myself in the old sitting room of my family’s house in Debden, Essex. The shock was incredible, one minute I was in my house, in December 2019 and just ‘thinking’ about when I was 10 and the next I knew I was actually ‘in’ my old house. The one I had lived in when I was 10, 60 years ago! I was so shocked I felt myself feeling faint and had to sit down. As I lowered myself down to sit, I glanced at the seat and saw the distinct pattern of the red fabric on the old put-u-up we used to have. I could feel the texture of it. It was a bed settee and Mum and Dad used to sleep on it because I had their room upstairs and Anthony (my brother) had the room at the back of the house where his train set ran along one wall.

I remember our house, so clearly; it was a two up, two down council house in Debden, very small and very ordinary, in a terraced row that all looked exactly the same, apart from the different coloured front doors, which as kids we all used to try to guess what colour ‘our’ front door would end up when the council came to paint them. That was exciting in those days, sounds a bit pathetic now, but our worldview was pretty limited. No mobile phones, no internet, nothing to escape to, only what we invented in our minds. I used to spend some of my time sitting in the laburnum tree outside our front door, picking its lovely yellow flowers off. I had no idea they were poisonous. It was a me-time moment and I just enjoyed sitting up there, away from everyone, my kind of peace.

As I sat on our put-u-up, remembering my tree and our old house, I became aware of my body reacting to this strange experience. I could feel my heart beating fast. I couldn’t seem to calm my heart down. My thoughts were racing. This is frightening… And exciting at the same time… How can I be here now? I’m 70…it doesn’t make sense…where’s my own house gone? This isn’t a dream, it’s solid, I’m here…what’s happening?

I crept as silently as I could over to the kitchen door and listened. I could actually hear my mum talking to someone. So, there were people in this other reality. I knew from my past experience she must be doing someone’s hair, like she always did. I was too frightened to open the door so I turned back into the sitting room and looked around. I noticed all the things that used to be in this little room. On the shelf in the corner of the room was a little pink ornament, the China crinoline lady, with her lacy skirt. I walked over to it, gently picked it up and saw the crack in the neck that I had made when I had accidentally dropped it all those years ago. Dad had somehow secured the head with a metal rod running through the body of the lady so that if you moved it a bit, the head wobbled but would ‘never’ come off again. Poor Mum had been devastated, it was one of her favourites, but at least, the head was still on the shoulders even if it did look like someone had cut her throat. Very careful not to drop it yet again, I put it back on its shelf.

Turning around, over the other side of the room, I saw the old radio, which I used to listen to my Grandfather Art on. He used to write the morning story for the BBC and read it every week. I was so proud. I remember sitting listening to him and being excited that I could hear his voice on the radio. Everywhere I looked, memories were jumping out at me, it was overwhelming.

I was feeling a bit giddy and my heart was pounding so loud I could hear it in my ears, so I sat down again and tried some deep breathing to calm myself down. Gradually, as I breathed gently, my body (and mind) were slowly becoming adjusted to the surroundings. The eerie sense of déjà vu was real because I ‘had’ been here before. This was the house that I lived in until I was 14.

I continued looking around the room and saw the old television we used to have. It was an old, brown Bush TV, with a tiny screen and I remembered sitting watching the dot gradually disappear after the telly was turned off. On the screen, there was always that little girl and the blackboard with noughts and crosses or something on it. The test card. It was always the same picture, in black and white. My mind flipped for a second, like it does all the time when there’s a lot of distractions. This time, the word blackboard caught my attention. I’m always thinking like this, my procrastination vibe distracts me from doing what I was trying to do in the first place. As usual, I stopped and listened to myself thinking…

What’s wrong with calling it blackboard? What’s all that rubbish nowadays about not using the word black, it’s a ‘black’ board for gawd’s sake! We haven’t had to stop using the word ‘white’ for whiteboard. All this being politically correct is ridiculous; I don’t remember it being like that in ‘this’ time, in the 50s and while I’m on this so-called racist subject… I loved my golliwog and I never associated it with a person at all. It was my golliwog, ‘doll’. Robinson’s jam and golliwog badges, black and white minstrel show – well, that does seem insulting and very racist ‘now’ but looking at it from the same perspective as the golliwog being ‘just’ a doll, the minstrel show was entertainment and ridiculous as it might seem, it just ‘could’ have been a ‘compliment’ to the black soul singers who were amazing and ‘blacking-up’ could have been to emulate them because they were so good. Can we look at it that way rather than discrimination, just innocence and admiration, maybe. My mind just keeps rambling like this, on and on… I think it’s my way of avoiding thinking too seriously about what’s actually happening…‘right’ now.

At the sound of scratching at the door, I suddenly snapped back to the room and I knew immediately what that sound meant. It meant that my dog Tex, my only really close friend I had back then, was there, behind the door. Would he recognise me as I am now? I moved towards the door with a slight panic, my heart racing. Someone was opening the door to let him in and in his usual way, he came towards me, his whole body wagging. So excited. He was a corgi, like the Queen’s favourite dog used to be. In those days, corgis had their tails docked, so there was just a stump that wagged and with it the rest of the body. He was the same as always, happy to see me. I was so moved the tears rolled down my face. It made no difference that I was older, and bigger than he had known me. There were no conditions to his love; he obviously knew my energy.

Tex had made such a noise it prompted my mum to come into the room to see what was going on because as far as she knew, there was no one in the room. She walked in shouting at Tex, Shush! What’s all this noise? She stopped abruptly and in disbelief, she stared at me, dumbstruck…

Who are you? What are you doing in here? How did you get in?

Err, the door was open so I just walked in, sorry.

Why didn’t you knock? Ring the doorbell or call out? Do I know you? You look really familiar.

I am…I’m a relative. I didn’t know what else to say. I couldn’t think.

"Oh, who?’

Errr, well, my name’s Jen.

That’s my daughter’s name too, Jenny. You look a lot like her, more than ‘I’ do.

Yes, I do because I am her. I know Mum was always into psychic things so I guessed it might be okay to tell her the truth even though it’ll be somewhat indigestible. Besides, at that moment, I hadn’t a clue how I’d get back to my own time.

I took a deep breath. I think you’d better sit down.

During my explanation of what had happened, I saw a glazed look gradually creep onto my mum’s face; it was like her brain had disengaged. It was obviously too much to take in. It was for ‘me’, but then I had no choice but to accept it. The other thing that I couldn’t take in was that the time I’d stepped back into was continuing.

How was that possible? Was it on some kind of loop system, like you could put a short video on Facebook, you clicked on something and it would repeat? Was it like that film ‘Groundhog Day’ where every day repeated itself, until one day the main character, changed his whole perspective on life? Was ‘that’ what it is? Do I have to change myself in order to get back to my own time? Was it like that Canadian series ‘Being Erica’ where ‘she’ went through a door, just like I had and went back in time to a place where she had an issue with something? In that series, she became her younger self and I’m the same as I was when I left 2019, still 70.

Is this all running in my head? Is this like a memory of how it used to be and the pattern just keeps going? Could it be that I have to sort something out before I can go back? A jumble of thoughts whizzed around my head and I just couldn’t take it all in.

Mum seemed to be coming around from the shock. Her eyes were still glazed and she looked really confused. It really did seem very real, Vicky (Mum’s first name) could see this person in front of her who appeared to be her daughter, only older. As she studied her, she could see the resemblance to Jenny, her daughter. Obviously, she looks a lot older, but there’s something about her that seems the same. Could it be that she really was from some kind of future?

Watching her, I could see that Mum was beginning to take in the concept and process it, that I really could be her daughter, from the future. I know she’s always had an open mind and so I can see she’s beginning to accept the possibility that this is happening although neither of us have any idea how. The loop idea of time just flipping over in a repeated pattern didn’t seem to fit, but anyway, I decided to just go with the flow and see where it took me. Mum was still lost for words. She didn’t know what to say but was obviously mulling it all over in her head. I could see her mind was racing, like her heart must have been because mine was still pumping faster.

Eventually, she uttered, Errrr, tell you what, I’ll introduce you as an aunt. How old are you? I reckon you’re about my mum’s age, you know, your Nan… Gawd, this is so unbelievable! …I think you’re more like my dad’s side of the family…but then, you can’t be a sister, you’ll have to be a cousin that they’ve never seen. Oh, flippin’ heck, they’re going to ask so many questions!

Look, I don’t even know how long I’ll stay here because there must be a reason why I’m here in the first place, I’m 70 now and from 2019!

Blimey! Mum gulped through her shock.

Well, if I begin to understand why I’m here, I can maybe get back. For the time being, do you reckon I could have something to eat cos I’m starving! All this time travel stuff has given me a huuuuuge appetite. I’ve got time-warpitis, I think. I know this is weird, but I think it can only be cured with a bit of magic and if by chance, you were cooking liver and bacon, I’d love that, bloody yum. I really miss the way you used to cook it.

Mum looked slightly disapproving when she heard me swearing and I could sense that she wanted to tell me not to swear, but it would be a bit incongruous now that I’m much older than her…odd and I found it quite funny cos it really wasn’t important in the scheme of things, but Mum had this ‘what will people think’ mentality, as was more the culture of the time. Come to think of it, it still hangs around despite all that ‘mindfulness’ stuff we are trying to follow these days.

Seeing ‘the look’, I recalled how I was always getting that ‘look’. I always felt I was doing something wrong; I wasn’t good enough.

Honestly, that look has haunted my life. I always look for approval. Is this why I’ve come back? Maybe it’s to let go of this ‘good’ girl, stop trying to please other people, to find myself. To love myself as I am.

The strongest words my mother would use, in those days, were damn, blast, blow and flip, which in my time now are comical. It’s funny ‘cause Mum, only last year at 98, was saying bugger this and bugger that! She would ’never’ have said that in ‘this’ time, well, not in front of me at least. Unfortunately, towards her end, which happened only recently on the 7th of December, she began to lose her marbles a bit and didn’t really need to swear much about life cos it just passed her by.

But that look seemed to travel at the speed of light. I know now that that feeling of guilt I felt then was nothing to do with me, but at the time, I felt I couldn’t do anything right and was always getting ‘the look’. I realise now it was all about fear. I understand. Mum was frightened for me and only wanted the best. She didn’t want me to be unhappy, but at the same time, she wanted me to do what ‘she’ thought was right. Obviously, she did the best she could do with all the skills she had at the time. I’ve got three of my own children and know how incredibly difficult it is to bring them up.

Mum broke through my thoughts… Well, by amazing coincidence, it just so happens that that is exactly what we’re having for dinner tonight.

Now, is this coincidence or synchronicity, I’m thinking. Could I have manifested all this myself, I mean it’s very weird that Mum’s cooking the very meal I fancied having. Very weird.

Wow. I was over the moon to say the least. "That’s great, if you don’t mind, I’ll sit here and think things through before I meet myself when I come back from school… Totalmente Weird again, ay?"

Hmmm, Mum muttered as she went back in the kitchen. What’s all this totalmente stuff? Where’s that come from?

Oh, I live in Spain now, Mum, not very good at the lingo, just a few words, I get by.

Mum had retreated quickly to the kitchen, suddenly remembering she’d left someone under the hairdryer, so didn’t hear the last bit.

Whilst Mum was in the kitchen, I sat and went over what had happened. I looked back at when I’d come from my home in 2019 and had found myself in this sitting room in 1959. What was I doing before I went through the door? I remember thinking about my childhood. When I was 10, I felt very lonely. I know that my loneliness was in some way self-inflicted, I’d expected my parents to show me affection like I saw my neighbour’s parents doing with their children. Or so I thought.

Looking at the situation as it was then, I realise that all the time I had expected everyone to come to me, to give me hugs, rather than to ‘give’ hugs. It hadn’t been a family thing to hug each other. Like loads of other families at that time, my family wasn’t a huggy-feely type one. I made the excuse that I didn’t know how, so how could I know what to do and how to do it? That’s the way it was then and I assumed that next door was different cos I saw them hugging and kissing each other all the time, or so I thought. I used to wish I had a family like that. The really strange thing was that years later when I spoke to my friend Carole, one of the neighbour’s children, Carole said she had had the same feelings about ‘my’ family, thinking ‘we’ were a happier family than her own. So strange to grow up with this total misconception.

A woman walked into the room from the kitchen, closely followed by Mum who was obviously trying to hurry her through the room and not question me.

Hello, the woman said and I recognised her as Emmie, who now lives in New Zealand.

Hi. I didn’t want to say much, obviously but Emmie wasn’t going to just go.

Do I know you? What’s your name, you do look familiar? Now Mum was almost pushing her to the front door.

No! You don’t, she’s new here.

Yes, I ‘dooo’. I never forget a face and yours is definitely familiar. What ‘is’ your name, dear?

Jen.

‘Oooh’, same as Vicky’s daughter. That’s a coincidence; you’re so like her, you must be a relative.

Mum butted in, Oh, well… Emmie, I really have to get on with dinner now, Jenny will be back from school soon, so byeeee. With that, Mum forcibly pushed Emmie towards the hallway and out of the front door. I heard the front door click shut and she was gone. Mum came back in the room.

Phew! What on earth are we going to do! I can’t handle this; it’s a nightmare. I’m going to cook dinner, maybe that’ll help me get my brain back, and off she went to the kitchen.

I settled back down and distracted myself again with the sitting room, looking around, slowly scanning it. There was Mum’s sideboard, which she treasured and is still in her apartment we’re trying to sell to pay the residential home bills. It must