The Passenger

By Audrey Carnegie

Life is a journey full of fun, adventure, and the unexpected. For sisters Sarah and Clara, who have been raised by their father to watch out for one another, there are challenges around every turn, along with determination and mystery.

Follow the sisters as they navigate dreams, curiosity, love, and rivalry. Will Sarah heed the guidance and protection of her elder sister Clara as she tries to steer her along the right path? And who will be there for Clara when darkness falls, helping her rediscover the lightness and joy of better days?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Feb 2, 2024
• ISBN: 9781035814374

Audrey Carnegie

Audrey Carnegie was born in Jamaica but has lived most of her life in the UK after immigrating at the age of seven. A well-travelled global citizen, she now resides in southeast London where she pursues a diverse range of hobbies. Known for her adventurous spirit, maternal warmth, and strength of character, Audrey has lovingly earned the title of ‘mother to many’ despite only giving birth to two children of her own.

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About the Author

Audrey Carnegie was born in Jamaica but has lived most of her life in the UK after immigrating at the age of seven. A well-travelled global citizen, she now resides in southeast London where she pursues a diverse range of hobbies. Known for her adventurous spirit, maternal warmth, and strength of character, Audrey has lovingly earned the title of ‘mother to many’ despite only giving birth to two children of her own.

Dedication

To Daphne and John, Adrian, Gary, Gail, for their support.

Copyright Information ©

Audrey Carnegie 2024

The right of Audrey Carnegie 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 9781035814367 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781035814374 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2024

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Acknowledgement

With thanks to Jean B, Daphne and John, Gail, Adrian, Gary, John Paul, Rosemarie, and especially Rajeev for his patience.

A New Sister

At the age of three, I can remember rushing into my playroom at nursery and shouting, ‘I have got a sister,’ at the top of my voice. I jumped up and down and some of the children joined me.

‘Settle down, children,’ the nursery workers were sternly saying with raising their voices, trying to be heard. ‘Say goodbye to your parents.’ I turned and vigorously waved to my Aunt Valerie, and as rules permitted, we all sat on the floor mats, waiting for the register to be called.

At the end of registration, Susie, one of the nursery workers, said, ‘So Clara, you have some news for us.’

‘Yes, miss. I’ve got a sister,’ I said.

‘Tell us about your sister,’ she said. I was a bit stumped.

‘Well, she is this big,’ I said, using my hand. ‘And she’s got tiny little hands and feet so tiny, so tiny,’ I said, thinking about what to say next. ‘Oh yes, she got black hair.’

‘What colour are her eyes?’ my best friend Regina asked.

‘I don’t know,’ I said. ’She is always sleeping and when she cries, she keeps them tightly closed. Mum says that’s how she grows when she is sleeping.

Susie asked, ‘And does your sister have a name?’

‘Oh yes,’ I said. ‘Mum and Dad said I could give her a name and she is Sarah.’ ‘Sarah’ mimed a couple of the children.

‘Why Sarah?’ Susie asked.

Preening myself, I said, ‘My Sunday school teacher told us a story about Sarah, and she said her name means princess.’ Susie laughed and said, ‘Okay, you can all go to your fun tables now. Well done, Clara.’

Sarah was taking a long time to grow, although she still slept a lot. When Mum collected me from nursery and we went around the shops, people would stop and ask to see her. They would then say she was a beautiful baby. Some would smile at me and walk away. This made me a little sad; I wanted to be beautiful too. Mum must have read my mind because she then used to say, ‘You are beautiful too. I have two beautiful little girls.’ This made me happy. In the evenings, Dad would sit and feed Sarah, while Mum gave me my supper and bath. I would then sit with Dad and Sarah and before going to bed, he would tell us both a story and then he would say, ‘You two girls have to look after each other,’ and that’s how it was. I always felt that I had to look after Sarah.

Trouble at Home

By the time that Sarah got to two years old, she was a bit of a bother. If I wanted a toy, she would want the same toy, too. One day, we fought for my favourite doll, Betty.

‘It’s my doll,’ I insisted. ‘You have your own.’

‘But I want to play with this one,’ Sarah said, holding on to Betty’s head. Suddenly she fell backwards with Betty’s head in her hand. I started to scream, which brought Mum running out of the kitchen.

‘What’s all the noise about?’ she said. ‘Oh dear!’ she said. ‘Poor Betty has lost her head.’

‘She did it. She did it!’ I screamed.

‘Sarah,’ Mum said, taking Betty’s head from her, ‘that was very naughty, time out, go and stand in the corner.’ Noticing my distress, Sarah came over and tried to give me a cuddle. I pushed her away and rushed into Mum’s outstretched arms while Sarah proceeded to a corner of the room.

‘Oh, poor Betty,’ Mum said. ‘When Daddy gets home, he will ask the toy angel to make her better.’

When Dad came home, Sarah and I had had our supper, been bathed and ready for our bedtime story. I was still very upset and tearful; I cannot think why Sarah was crying. After all, she had killed my Betty. Mum had obviously spoken to Dad. Dad sat in the big chair. ‘Sarah, come here,’ he said. She walked slowly to Dad.

‘How do you feel, Sarah?’ he said.

‘Bad,’ she said, ‘and so you should. You have made Clara very unhappy. There are enough toys in this house, you girls, neither of you should be fighting each other, particularly over the dolls.’

‘Where is Maggie, your doll, Sarah, go and get her.’ Sarah came rushing back into the lounge.

‘I can’t find Maggie, Daddy,’ she said, ‘so I suppose she is also upset by your behaviour. Maybe because you were fighting Clara for her doll. Yours has gone and hidden herself.’

‘Go and apologise to Clara. You two girls are supposed took after each other.’

‘There is no story tonight.