All You Never Said

By H. Pearce

June's journey has been anything but ordinary

 

Raised by a single parent, carrying the heavy weight of an early onset Alzheimer's diagnosis, she has come to accept that her world would forever be defined by uncertainty and struggle.

 

As her mother's condition worsens, June finds herself becoming increasingly disconnected from the world, until a chance meeting with Craig, an impoverished boy with a gentle soul, changes the trajectory of her life forever.

 

In Craig, June discovers the sanctuary she has long yearned for—a refuge from the chaos and turmoil that defines her world. However, as their connection blossoms, June grapples with the weight of her mother's hidden truths, torn between the silence that binds them and the urge to unveil the secrets that threaten to unravel everything.

 

Set against the backdrop of Ireland in the early 90s, All You Never Said intricately narrates the captivating story of a young couple in a battle against the odds, leading to a powerful and thought-provoking exploration of love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: H. Pearce
• Release date: Nov 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215658581

H. Pearce

H. Pearce is a multi-genre author, partner, mother, and student studying mental health and creative writing. Her two areas of study often merge together in her written work, creating heart-wrenching stories that are relatable and raw. She is passionate about bringing attention to matters that are often overlooked in literature, using her areas of study to bridge the gap between what exists and real-life stories people need to read.

Book preview

Chapter One

I’m staring at the clock, watching the hands tick, and I can’t make out the numbers. They’re here, right in front of me. I can see their outline, and it feels familiar, but it’s like staring at a stranger who makes you do a double-take. You should know them, you tell yourself; that face, it sparks something in you–a recollection of sorts, and then it’s gone again.

Right, I hear Michael say. He’s been my neurologist for a while now, and the more I’ve come to know him, the more I’ve realised our relationship has evolved into an unethical friendship. He’s young, and those professional boundaries are something that’ll come in time. I, on the other hand, know all about them. I’ve just chosen not to employ them this time around. And who can blame me? After spending close to two decades as a practitioner, it’s me who’s the patient now.

Can you try to draw the clock for me again?

I nod and pick up the pencil. I’m confident that this time, it’ll align because ten minutes ago was surely just my brain short-circuiting from work stress. But I’m wrong. I can’t get the shape of the clock right, let alone the numbers or hands.

Well, that’s just...great now, isn’t it? I say, swiping the paper from the desk. I try not to cry, but I’m helpless in holding back the tears. Now what?

Do you have any family I can call?

You know I don’t, I fire back, folding my arms.

Come on. You must have someone.

Not a single fucking person, Michael, I snap. Who comes up with this shit anyway?

Before he can try and reason with me, I stand, heading for the door.

June, wait.

No, I say, shaking my head. We’re done here.

Isn’t life ironic? You can spend your whole life thinking you were satisfied with every choice you’d made, and then something happens, and an alternative version of you comes to life. If I hadn't done this, where would I be now? If I’d said this, would this person still be in my life?

It’s a long and winding road of what-ifs, and once you start, it never ends.

I walk down to the riverbank and sit for a while, watching as life goes on around me. A teenage couple are in the midst of an argument over suspicious texts, and a man is sitting alone with his dog, watching as the river bends and turns before him. To my left, there’s a pair of middle-aged women power-walking, and I know full well that within the hour, they’ll be sitting around a kitchen table drinking a bottle of wine between them.

Then I see a couple who look as old as we would be now. The man had his arm around the woman, walking in unison as they breathed in the cool January air. I thought of you at that moment for the first time in many months. What would you say about my situation? Would you, like Michael, give me sympathy, or would you hold me, telling me life can be a bitch, but I’m a bigger one. You always did try to make me laugh. And I miss that. I miss having someone in my life who would’ve done anything to make me smile.

Lovely day for it, isn’t it?

A woman's voice pulls me from my thoughts. She’s older, wearing a padded navy coat and bright red wellingtons. She appears confused about something, her words sounding hesitant and her face etched in confusion.

Are you alright? I ask.

Yes...I think so, she replies softly. She slides into the seat next to me and starts searching in her purse.

Have you lost something?

No...I...What day is it?

It’s Thursday.

What month?

January.

She nods to herself, repeating what I just said.

Is everything alright? Can I help you?

I...caught the bus. I had somewhere to be... I-I can’t remember.

Hey, it’s okay. Do you remember what bus you took?

She ponders my question, placing her bag down. No.

That’s alright. Do you have a phone on you?

A phone?

You know, to call someone?

She doesn’t register what I mean.

Tell you what, I say, gesturing to her bag. Do you mind if I have a wee look? There might be something in there I can use to help find where you’re meant to be.

She hands me her bag, and I search inside, finding a cell phone within seconds. I unlock the screen and see she has thirteen missed calls, so I call the number back.

Mum, I hear a woman say. Where the hell are you?

She’s safe, I say. We’re on the bridle path.

Not again, the woman says, bursting into tears.

After telling the woman where we were, she arrives within ten minutes with an infant strapped to her chest. I can tell she’d been frantic as all the colour from her face has drained away; she looks nearly translucent.

I’m so sorry, she says, running her hand across her face.

It’s okay, I reassure her. I’m a psychologist, I see this quite a bit. No harm done. She did the right thing by coming to me for help.

She came to you for help?

Not directly.

Oh, she says, sounding defeated.

The brain is a mysterious thing, I explain to her. Science would tell you in the later stages, there’s little to no comprehension of the world. I like to think it’s more like staring at the pages of a book you’ve read before, but you can’t remember each line. The familiarity is there, and you have a sense for what is meant to happen, but each line has a layer of mystery to it.

She smiles. I like that. Have you been a psychologist for long?

Fifteen years or so.

You look too young. Did you do it straight out of school?

I did, yes.

She reaches for her mother's hand. What do people in my situation do?

I watch as the woman takes her hand and slowly stands. Most delay it longer than they need to, thinking silence is their way of protecting the one they love.

And in your experience, it’s not?

In my experience, I say, pausing to gather the right words. Silence can change your life and often not for the better.

She holds my gaze for a moment, and a look of understanding passes between us. I best get her home, but thank you.

And as I watch her walk away, I pull out my notebook and begin to write.

Chapter Two

Iremember the day we met like it was yesterday. We’d experienced one of the worst snowstorms on record the week before, and for the first time in what felt like months, the sun was shining, giving us the first taste of impending spring.

Did you hear there is a new boy starting? Nora said as we slid into our desks.

And rumour has it, he’s cute, Lou added, thumping her bag to the floor.

You always wondered how the three of us were friends. Nora and Lou were two peas in a pod, and then there was me–the socially awkward one. If being introverted was an Olympic event, I’d be the gold medallist.

I ignored them both, hoping to finish the last of our English homework. In true fashion, Mr Webster had given us another of Ernest Hemingway’s confusing yet oddly fascinating novels. And in a truer fashion, I hadn’t finished.

Earth to June, Nora continued. She waved her hand in front of my face until I looked up.

Yes?

Did you hear what we just said?

I do have ears, I said, turning my attention back to the page.

The sound of the bell faded away, replaced by the sharp thud of books hitting the desk as Mr Webster entered the room.

Right, class, he said with his staple RP accent. We have a new student who will be arriving any minute now. I want you to all make sure he receives a warm welcome.

With two chapters left in the book, I was about to place it in my bag when my attention was diverted by the sound of excited whispers. I glanced up and saw you, standing hesitantly in the doorway. You were taller than most in our year with a full head of dark raven locks that framed your face. There was something unkempt about your appearance, but it didn’t seem to bother Lou, who looked like she’d just seen a young Colin Farrell in the flesh.

He’s a bit of alright, ain’t he? she whispered to me.

I could tell you were uncomfortable. We hadn’t had a new boy start our school in over a year, and you were by far the most attractive one any of us had ever seen.

I guess, I said, glancing at Nora, who had the same thirsty expression.

They both turned their gaze to me, and I wondered if you noticed. At the time, I was the only one yet to have a boyfriend. Then again, I didn’t see the appeal of playing tongue hockey or holding hands with the opposite sex. I wanted to travel and see the world, even if others assumed because of my disinterest, that I was a lesbian.

Right, class, can I have your attention? Mr Webster piped up again, ushering you into the room. You looked right at me as he said that, and I gave you a smile.

Does anyone want to show Craig here around?

Before I could stop her, Nora raised my arm. June will.

I didn’t have time to object before all eyes turned on me, and Mr Webster instructed you to take the spare desk right in front of mine.

June, before we start, can you show Craig where everything is? Start with the loos. Everyone should know that first.

I nodded, quickly reaching for my book again and tucking it underneath my jumper.

Neither you nor I spoke until we reached the jacks, and I opened the door.

I...I don’t need to go, you said. Your voice was deeper than I expected, and the way you punctuated your words made you sound educated beyond your years.

I know, I said, pulling out my book and waving it at you. It gives me a minute to quickly finish this anyway.

What if someone sees you?

I have a better chance of being seen out there. Mrs Walsh from the office is like...what’s that eye called in Lord of the Rings?

You smiled at me. Sauromon.

That. She’s the human version of that.

I walked in, and you followed me where I asked you to come into the cubicle with me. If you’d been like any of the other boys at school, you would’ve thought it was an invitation of sorts. But instead, you looked at me as if I’d admitted to murder.

Are you insane? Don’t teachers use this toilet, too?

I shrugged, and your face relaxed a little. Sometimes. We’ll be fast, I promise.

Reluctantly, you followed me in, and I pulled the seat down. Do you want to sit, or should I?

I’ll stand. You sit.

I took a seat and started reading when my eyes were drawn to your shoes. From a distance, they looked fine, but up close, I could see your socks through the unravelled stitches and holes in each toe. You have holes in your shoes, I said, gesturing to them.

I wonder now if this bothered you, but at the time, you appeared unfazed.

Not all of us are rich, you know.

I’m many things; rich isn’t one of them.

I focused on your mouth, then. You had such an attractive mouth, and I couldn’t help but stare at it. Just as you were about to answer, we heard voices enter. I knew from the heeled echo it was our science teacher, Mr Lynch. I also knew we had about two seconds before he