Living The Difference

By Richard Frost

The story commences on the same day as Looking To Move On concludes.

We follow newly-weds Sophie and Matt West together with Tilly, the daughter from his first marriage, as thry continue their life in Eastwood Minster. Two other stories are weaved in with that of the Wests.

The first is about Liz James (who

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chronos Publishing
• Release date: Nov 8, 2023
• ISBN: 9781914529764

Book preview

Living the Difference

An Eastwood Story

Richard Frost

Published: Nov 2023 by Chronos Publishing

ISBN: 978-1-914529-75-7 Paperback Edition

ISBN: 978-1-914529-76-4 E-version

All rights reserved.

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

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.

Cover design by Danji’s Designs

DEDICATION

To everyone who feels they are different... it is that which makes you special.

Contents

Chapter 1 – Sunday Morning

Chapter 2 – Saturday Bargains

Chapter 3 – Secrets & Lies

Chapter 4 – One Small Step

Chapter 5 – Long Lost Family

Chapter 6 – Family Life

Chapter 7 – Touching History

Chapter 8 – Lost

Chapter 9 – Moving On

Chapter 10 – Neighbourly Relations

Chapter 11 – Saint Lucy’s Day

Chapter 12 – The Night Before Christmas

Chapter 13 – Connecting the Past

Chapter 14 – Living Differently

Chapter 15 – Ice Cream!

Chapter 16 – Closure

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Credits

Chapter 1

Sunday Morning

The rain fell. The wedding cake crumbled. The people pounced. Closer and closer they came. Shouting. Yelling.

‘Long live George! Long live George!’

The dark robe rose up from behind the gravestone and swallowed her face. She fled naked (apart from a dog collar).

‘No!’

Sitting bolt upright, Liz James felt the empty bed space beside her. ‘Tony... Tony, where are you?’ she called, the panic still holding its grip. ‘Ah, there you are.’

Comfort. Security. Warmth.

‘Those dreams again, Tone,’ she sighed, exhaling a lung full of breath. ‘I don’t understand it. It’s not as if I’ve got lots on tomorrow... today.’

She held him tight. Her sprinting heartbeat slowed. Her breathing calmed.

‘It was a lovely wedding yesterday,’ she smiled, remembering. ‘So nice Sophie and Matt invited me to the reception too. Shame you couldn’t come. Gorgeous hotel. Tilly certainly made her mark.’ Laughter eased her remaining tension.

In the warmth of the July night, Tony put his mouth to her cheek and then her ear. ‘Not now, Tony. We need to sleep,’ she said with a smile.

Tony jumped off the bed and returned to his basket in the kitchen.

* * *

The Reverend Liz James had been vicar at St Mark’s for five years, but early Sunday morning dreams didn’t get any easier. She enjoyed preaching but never got much reaction beyond ‘Nice sermon, Vicar.’ She didn’t want it to be nice. She wanted to comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable, as someone once put it. And, if she was being totally honest, wanted them to do what she told them to. Liz often wondered if she still believed. She’d become so good at doing church she’d almost forgotten how to do God.

She laid down. Naked (apart from her pyjamas).

Night-time thoughts buzzed like bees in a hive as she tossed and turned…

‘They think I only work one day a week. One day off, more like it. They want me to be at their church and nowhere else. There’s five of them.’

…Turning and tossing

‘George Armstrong. Can’t do anything right for George Armstrong. Never good enough for George Armstrong. George Armstrong points out which candle wasn’t lit and how he can’t hear properly. Turn it to ‘T’, George.’

Tossing…

‘George Armstrong talks about how it was in Reverend Sims’ day. Packed church. Children. Choir. Twenty years ago. Go to hell, George Armstrong.’

…and turning

‘Baptism next week. Katharine or Catherine? Godparents – what do they know about God? Banns. Treasurers’ meeting Tuesday. Joy. Twelve-hour days all week. Visit Mrs Conway. Must arrange. Hymn number 2..7..’

* * *

Bags packed, the new Mrs and Mr West prepared to leave the plush hotel on the outskirts of Eastwood Minster.

Breakfast eaten and coffee consumed, they chatted amiably to the proprietor, Thomas Southcott, telling him how lovely their reception and first night had been (one in more detail than the other).

Waiting in the foyer, Matt smiled at the sight of four year-old Tilly running in. ‘Daddy! Sophie! Umm… Mummy!’ she shouted in confused excitement. Still wearing her blue bridesmaid’s dress, the dark-haired daughter from Matt’s first marriage leapt on to his lap. Three years had passed since her mum, Jo died in a car accident which had also left Matt needing to use a wheelchair.

Six feet two when standing (which he could do occasionally), the 30 year-old had recently finished the final draft of his second novel: another story set in the midst of the American civil rights movement. The first book sold well although he distanced himself from a marketeer’s comment that Jo’s death on the evening of the book launch had been ‘good for sales’.

‘She’s worn that dress all night,’ Matt’s mum observed as she followed her granddaughter. ‘We’ve been re-enacting your wedding all morning!’, Jan West added as she kissed her son and new daughter-in-law.

Next Sunday would be Matt’s parents’ own big day. Both now sixty, they were moving on from their respective careers, or callings as they preferred to think of them. Jan, a social worker with Adult Services and Des, minister of the town’s Pentecostal Church.

Having lost a child when Matt was a lot younger, they, like their surviving son, knew how death changed lives. In the coming autumn, they would take ownership of the hotel in which they now stood. No longer a going concern, Thomas Southcott was ready to move on to his own retirement, having gifted the hotel to the charity set up by Jan and Des for a support centre for people who were bereaved. He’d thrown in a year’s salary for the chef to stay on too.

Jan and Des had quickly accepted Sophie Howlett as one of their own. With her long blond hair, petite build and soft Yorkshire accent, she became the daughter they never had. The 29 year-old community nurse had been a fortnightly visitor after Matt’s ten-month hospital stay. She’d been key in arranging accommodation, funding and other support for his independent living. Friendship blossomed and eventually turned to love in a way Sophie never imagined possible (nor Matt for that matter). After a string of unsuccessful relationships, it seemed the only one who could ever reach her was the son of a preacher man, as Dusty Springfield used to sing.

And now they were wife and husband. They had both moved on.

* * *

Eastwood Minster is a close-knit community with a few dropped stitches. 26 year-old Steve Archibald is one of them.

His parents separated when he was six and he’d not seen his dad since. He occasionally texted his mum, who had left the market town a few years ago. She’d lived with a string of unsuitable partners, sometimes more than one at a time.

As a teenager, he collected ASBOs for a hobby and once got done for ‘taking without consent’. Drunk and disorderly was another speciality. But when the local Police Community Support Officer took an interest and helped him get a job as a glazier’s mate, Steve’s life began to turn around.

Jess Wilson was two years younger and until moving in with Steve had lived with her parents in what locals called the ‘Upper Quarter’. Always smartly dressed, Jess’s dark brown hair was tied in a chignon bun. A childcare assistant at the local pre-school, her life had been far more stable and secure than her fiancé’s. Her parents took to Steve quite quickly – which was a surprise for all of them. Their welcome and affirmation was an experience he’d never had from his own.

Of not dissimilar height and build, although Steve’s hair was a lot shorter (a number 3 fade), they’d been together for two years and lived in a rented furnished flat above the Co-Op on the High Street. Jess had proposed to Steve a week ago over a box of fish and chips in the park.

She’d seen the difference in him and was proud of all he’d done to get himself into a better place. She wanted them to spend the rest of their lives together. He said he did too.

Steve still had the occasional night out with his mates. Over the years, cheap alcohol often provided more than he bargained for (as the tattooed vulture which peered out from under his left armpit bore witness). His mates were a rough crowd and Jess worried they’d take him back to his old ways. But they’d seen the difference too: some even wished they could do the same.

That Sunday afternoon, Jess and Steve weren’t the first