Changes: How to Move On

By Lesley Atherton

So, You Think You Can Manage Change?

Illness, motherly love and moving on. Heart-warming and powerful.

The world’s a complex place, and fast-moving too.

So, when you want to really get a great psychologically written profile of characters, but don’t necessarily have time to read a full novel, why not try novelettes?

In Changes, you’ll find
A single mum with a life-threatening health condition.
Her desire to discover more about her past.
A grown-up, autistic son who will struggle to live alone.
And a sister who is always there to support them.
‘Changes’ is a tale of love, pain, adoption and change, written and read by Lesley Atherton, from Words Are Life. Enjoy!

Deep, compelling and often difficult, ‘Change’ is a wonderful reflection on human life, relationships and the joy that comes from making huge decisions.

Published by Words Are Life. Do support independent publishers!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lesley Atherton
• Release date: Dec 23, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005725877

Lesley Atherton

I’ve always been a writer. I was the kind of kid who would create little books of my own, and I also did quite well at school when it came to writing projects and exams.I’ll always remember my lovely English teacher, Mrs Nash, giving us an assignment. We had to read Seamus Heaney’s poem ‘Blackberry Picking’ and then were told to write our own version.My resultant poem, though simple, used some strong words and brought positive and glowing reactions from Mrs Nash, both at the time and later in her literary flourish of an end of year report card in which she told me how much my writing had blossomed and would soon become wonderful. I loved that teacher so much. She was awesome, kind, creative and a little eccentric. Unfortunately, I don’t have her report anymore, and I don’t have the poem either. I just remember that it began something like this:Blackberry picking, sweet and sticky, Dum de dum de dum de dum, Like a gaping wound.Later in life, I married a writer who became a publisher and helped him out with office and business management. I loved the writing-related work that came with it too - reviews, articles, copywriting and editing, proofreading and the rest of the whole shenanigans. Yep, I loved all that.Later, when we split up and the children were a little older and more self-reliant, writing seemed to become my ‘thing’. It was what I wanted and needed to do.When I got a little braver I saw a poster on a bookshop wall. It was for a writing group, and it gave Michelle’s email as a contact. I emailed her a few breathily nervous messages, then we agreed to meet at a local café. It was a lovely and unforgettable meeting. She directed me to join a writing group and this was what I did. Joining the group expanded my new writing confidence massively.So I began publishing more. Writing a little less (temporarily). And Scott Martin Productions was born.The company became Words Are Life as I moved away from publishing fiction (I am truly appalling at selling things, and nonfiction sells itself to some extent). I carried on writing, ready to publish.So, that’s my history. Good at editing, not bad at imagination and writing skills, but bloody awful at selling stuff.​In recent years I’ve published ‘Melissa And The Mobility Scooter’, which is a gorgeous book of bedtime stories for children (not just girls!) between 5 and 8. Older children will enjoy reading ‘Melissa’ themselves.I’ve also published a collection of novelettes called ‘Conflict Management’. It’s an interesting collection of stories about good and evil twins, managing autism and long term illness, making serious life decisions, ghostwriting, revenge, and working with a male supermodel.My first novel originally came out under the name, ‘Past, Present, Tense’, then was slightly re-written under the name ‘Life’s a Mess... And Then You Die’. I love this book. It’s all about hoarding, family lost and found, dysfunctional relationships, vengeance and hope for the future.And, I've also written what might just be the largest, floppiest book of empowering short stories ever created. It is called 'Feet On The Table'; and is the result of many, many years of work.At the time of writing, I’ve just published my second novel, ‘The Waggon’. I normally don’t have much confidence in my work but I believe this to be the best thing I’ve ever written! It came about as the final assignment of a Masters Degree in Creative Writing. This was back before Covid times, and I was due to publish it, but lost a lot of creative confidence when I was given a Merit on the course. I genuinely believed the writing deserved a better grade, which is unlike me. Unsure about how to progress, I gave it to a number of beta readers for feedback. It is their feedback that’s enabled me to rewrite the book. I hope it is deserving of a Distinction grade, even if it is only in my own head! Better late than never.I have also just published short ebooks, 'Crash Test Dummy', 'Could This Be An Office Romance?', and 'Bigheart'. Also, my books, Can't Sleep, Won't Sleep - short story anthologies available here on Smashwords.So, that’s where I am at the moment. I’m publishing on a few different platforms and am concentrating on editing and writing. There aren’t enough hours in the day to write all I want to write, but it’s getting a little easier every day.

Book preview

Changes

by Lesley Atherton

Published by

Words Are Life

www.wordsarelife.co.uk

Published in Great Britain in 2022 by Words Are Life.

Words Are Life

10 Chester Place,

Adlington, Chorley, PR6 9RP

[e-mail]

www.wordsarelife.co.uk

Copyright (c) Lesley Atherton and Words Are Life 2022

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

Table of Contents

How Will We Tell Dominic?

What Will Dominic Do?

Diagnosis Day

About Dominic

Second Parent

Work

Dreams of the Past

I Need to Tell You Something

The Road to Sheffield

Mark

The Bee Whisperer

Roots

Grandma and Granddad

Secret’s Out

The Journey

What to do About Andrew

Indian Summer

Andrew

Losing That Loving Feeling

Andrew Talks

Realisation

Decisions

Changes

Changes

How Will We Tell Dominic?

‘How will I tell Dominic?’ she cried. ‘How can I?’

I wanted to answer with something definitive, wise and non-negotiable, but I just couldn’t. I’d known her all my life - she was my sister, my best friend and my inspiration. And we both knew that, no matter how carefully Maggie or anyone else told Dom, he’d not necessarily understand, and even if he did, he’d immediately be sucked into a grief of unimaginable intensity.

Because, for him, it was only the two of them who mattered - Maggie and Dom: Mum and son alone in a world of near-strangers: a claustrophobic but beneficial symbiosis where only their duality had meaning.

‘I suppose I do have to tell him?’

Maggie’s puffed-up eyes seeped with silvery tears, and with her head cocked like an accident-prone puppy begging for forgiveness, I was putty in her hands.

‘Of course, you do. Well, somebody does,’ I said.

I knew that the somebody would be me.

Back to Contents

What Will Dominic Do?

Maggie had often buried her head when it came to Dominic. Her ferocity came to the fore when negotiating face-to-face with tangled bureaucracy for the protection of her boy, but when it came down to the difficult stuff - anything that might upset Dom or anything that required long-term planning, responsibility or form filling - she struggled, and that was when I stepped in. Good old reliable Auntie Sal who didn’t mind a bit.

Maggie’s approach to life left her hovering in perpetual chaos, while I’m the responsible one and the organiser who deals in details. Maggie deals with Dom.

It’s the very nature of his condition that’s made it that way. He’s more of a long-term commitment than most children, as Dom’s not destined to leave home after three years at college. He’s Dominic: with all that being Dominic entails.

It always worried me that Maggie never came to terms with addressing the universal fears of single parents everywhere. She hadn’t written a will, taken out life insurance or invested in private medical care. She has always lived on a wing and a prayer. Sometimes life with her is like flailing unprotected on the wings of a primitive aircraft, and sometimes the prayer is more desperate plea than calm supplication.

At least Dom is more realistic - if that’s the right word. An example. About six months ago, when Maggie’s symptoms began, and she was waiting for her first consultant’s appointment, she asked him (in one of our usual and almost daily tests) what he would do if she wasn’t able to care for him.

‘I will kill myself,’ he’d said, without thought or consideration. Not ‘would’ but ‘will’. No theoretical musing, more a statement of intent. From anyone else, it may have sounded melodramatic.

Maggie had looked away and began busying herself with the seemingly never-ending stream of washing up. She inhaled deeply and loudly, with breaths that were even audible over the sound of hot running water. Once again, Auntie Sal came to the rescue.

‘Interesting,’ I’d said, ensuring I did not look up from my coffee cup, for fear of such an action being interpreted as confrontation. ‘That’s a shame, love. That would be such a shame. You’re only thirty-something.’

‘Thirty-three,’ he’d corrected. I knew. I’d been there the day he was born, holding little Maggie’s hands as his body tore out of hers.

‘OK, thirty-three. So, how do you think you would kill yourself, then?’

‘I would stop breathing forever,’ he’d replied. ‘Forever. Actually, not forever. Just till I get to Mum again. I’ll meet her in heaven, and I’ll start breathing.’

‘And then what?’

‘We’ll play chess.’

‘And will you let her win?’

‘Of course not. That would be cheating. You can’t cheat in heaven.’

And then Maggie had made a forced little laugh and had reached over to stroke Dom’s sleek black hair with her hot, dripping soapy hand. As she would have expected, had her gesture not been instinctive and without forethought, he’d backed off, pulling away from his Mum’s single