Beverly Hunt - She Has My Heart

SHE HAS MY HEART

By

Beverly Hunt

She Has My Heart 2020 by Beverly Hunt. All Rights Reserved.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author.

The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
Cover designed by Shawline Publishing Group
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Printed in Australia
First Printing: September 2020
Shawline Publishing Group
Paperback ISBN- 978064882765 8

Ebook ISBN- 978064882768 9

To Mum and Dad.

Thank you for loving me for who I am and for who I love.

All my family: Where would I be without your love, your honesty and your acceptance.Sue, Margie, Hollie, Paul, Amie, Clare, Natalie, Jordyn, Vivienne, Violet,

Avery and Penelope. You are my rock. My world. And you all rock my world.

Bridget Berry for your honesty and friendship.

Alessandra Incarbone. Thank you for coming to the Norbreck Castle Hotel that Friday afternoon, and what was the start of many an adventure.

And for telling me to save the original story.

Leanne Bell. Thank you for believing in me and my story. Even after reading some of my chapters you couldn't look me in the eye without blushing.

My little Geordie mate.

Judy Drake. What can I say? We just clicked from the beginning. I love you, and I love our friendship.

H. I wish you nothing but joy, love and happiness.

Emily Santo. A big thank you Emily for your encouragement. You did motivate me more than you will know and I am forever grateful.

Robyn Mandell. My wild red-haired New Yorker. Thank goodness your Dad married an Englishwomen, otherwise my life wouldn't be as bright. Thank you for our friendship, your love and for being you. I know you're amazing.

Lisa Arnold. Thank you for listening. And listening.

Your sage advice has kept me sane, and that in itself is a job and a half. I cannot thank you enough. So, a big THANK YOU. And last but by no means least, Jannine Haydon. Nini. My dear friend. What wonderful memories we have. Over many a bottle of red we have solved all our woes, laughed, cried, laughed until we cried. Our Friday nights. Our Saturday mornings. You are my rock. My confidante. My voice of reason. My sanity. But above all you are my best friend, and I love you.

CHAPTER ONE

SOPHIE.

Since when did you become interested in art? I look at Hugo with bewilderment. I place the invitation down on the bench where Hugo threw it when hed stomped in from work earlier. Men. You cant read them. And why do you suddenly want to go to an art show? Weve been married for twenty-odd years and youve never once shown the slightest bit of interest in art, I speak with a tone filled with regret. Ive tried for years to get you to galleries and you refuse point blank. Why the change? Its just odd. I mumble the last bit to myself more than Hugo. Im facing him; my arms crossed. When I realise this, I relax and drop my arms aside, hoping Hugo hasnt picked up on my mood. Its bad enough my voice has a tone yet my body language being expressive also is just rude. Hugo always says I have an aggressive tone when I talk to him. I think its him being petulant; he would disagree; we often do .

Why are you being like this? I do something nice and youre critical. I cant win. Hugo says with a swift shake of his head; his voice angered to the point of abruptness. Our company did a warehouse conversion for this group. They own a few places around town and we tendered to them. They liked the changes and got us to do the work. They threw a few tickets our way as a thank you. Nothing fucking odd about it. I thought youd like to see a place I designed, not to mention the fucking art that I knew youd like.

I back down and change my tone. That would be lovely, when is it?' He has never hit me but when he raises his voice I often worry that he will cross that boundary and one day lash out.

It's Friday night. Hugo mutters as he grabs a beer from the fridge. The more I think about it, it was a lovely gesture and I dont understand why I can get so annoyed and angry with him some days and then on other days feel like Im on tenterhooks, never knowing when he will fly off the handle.

Pouring a glass of wine, I settle in front of the television, not listening to whats on, adrift in contemplation. Hugo and I have our own particular seats, always the same. Sometimes I feel were in our eighties, not our forties. Predictable, we are so predictable.

Is this all there is to life? I feel my life is dashing past on a downhill trajectory. Does it get any better than this, or is this all there is? Ive been feeling restless, bored, wanting more for some time now, but I have no idea how to get myself out of this funk. My middle finger traces the rim of my wine glass as I stare into it, thinking about this state of my life.

At 44, Im healthy and content, most times, and my children are happy overall. I think I give them a pleasant home life; drive them where they want and give them as much freedom as they can handle without getting into trouble. I laugh and joke with them; but do they feel the tension between their father and I?

I love my job, mostly. It fulfills and challenges me, juggling the professors schedule. Hes a Professor of Mathematics, an absolute genius, a gentle man, and a great boss. But he lives in his own world and needs guidance. If his schedules arent written down, he is thrown as to where he should be. Its like having a third child, or fourth child if you count Hugo.

This is my life; this is what I signed up for; married to Hugo for twenty-two years. It took me close to five years to fall pregnant, the first time I miscarried at six weeks. I didnt even realise I was pregnant till I had what I thought was a painful and heavy period, which were always erratic and never regular. After a visit with my doctor, and a positive pregnancy test, he informed me that even though I had miscarried the hormones were still in my body. I had drifted out of the doctors surgery in a blur, only noticing those around me when bumping into them. Some were aggressive in their tone. Watch where youre going lady. Others were more compassionate when they saw tears rolling down my cheeks. Are you okay? Can I help you; you look upset? Unable to speak, I nodded and kept walking. It felt like the world was running past while I was in the slowest of slow motions.

Do women know when they are pregnant? How did I not know? Maybe Im not maternal enough to have children and Im just doing this for Hugo? I can remember my thoughts like they were yesterday. It is ingrained in my memory, along with the little soul I lost, never telling Hugo, knowing he was as desperate as I was for a family. The miscarriage dwelt in my mind for a long time, feeling I had let myself down. I struggled through my grief on my own, crying alone in the shower, every morning under the cascading water. Then Id put on my makeup and walk out with my made-up happy face. No one ever knew. Its a secret I hold to this day.

Four months later I fell pregnant again. This time I realised. The signs were there; tender breasts, nausea and vomiting, often in the afternoon at work. The girls in the office joked that I was pregnant; I would always smile but underneath I was frightened. I didnt want to know. I would go into a mini panic at the thought, afraid of losing this one too; afraid of telling Hugo about the first pregnancy, of hurting him. I remember thinking more about him than dealing with my loss. I didnt want him to feel the pain I felt. The pregnancy test I bought from the pharmacy sat in my bag for a week before I built up the courage to do the test. I was afraid to feel excited, to hope. Further into the pregnancy, excitement grew.