Seddon - A Fools Circle

A WALLACE PUBLISHING BOOK

ISBN: 978-1-9996136-2-4

First published in 2018 by Wallace Publishing, United Kingdom.

Copyright: 2018 Suzanne Seddon.

The right of Suzanne Seddon to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All Rights Reserved.

This book is sold under condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the authors imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Cover Design: Hammad Khalid

eBook adaptation:

I would like to take this opportunity to thank a few peopleKen Scott for the help and advice he gave me.

My dear friend Emma Keast who encouraged and helped memore than she knows, always there to give me that well deservedkick up the backside when I needed it.

My beautiful daughter Poppy for putting up with me and theendless amounts of paper I left all over the place.

Thankyou x

For my mum who always gave me love strength and encouragement.

I miss you every day.

For my beautiful daughter Poppy, for the joy you bring and love you give me each day.

Im truly blessed.

For the strongest person I know, who has fought many battles.

Me.

A blonde head bounced on the floor in time to the yelling. Rays of the early morning sun caught her golden hair, and motes of dust hung in the air. Sophie Saunders was eight years old. Kneeling down on the floor she played with her dolls, drumming Ken and Barbie against the carpet, her body bent forward, almost as if she were praying in her immaculately clean and pressed school uniform. But today her school uniform was the last thing on her mind. She bashed the dolls heads off the pink floor in unison.

Ring-a-Ring-a-Rosie, she sang aloud to herself as she tried to drown out the voices that rose up through the floorboards.

The noises from downstairs were a regular occurrence, and fast becoming the norm. Sophie felt her dads anger, ever-present in his voice as it vibrated through her bedroom, positioned over the kitchen. Scared, she dropped her dolls, raising her arms and clasping her small hands over her ears. Sophie closed her eyes. Blinded, she felt for Barbie and Ken, gripped the toys by the legs. With one in each hand, she remained still for a moment, and as the voices intensified beneath her, she sensed them possessing the dolls.

Youre an old bag. I hate you!

Sophies voice was deep and rough, as she rammed Kens head into Barbies chest.

Why are you always so nasty to me?

She raised the pitch of her voice as she shook the dolls hard.

Because you make me want to vomit when I look at your fat ugly face, she growled. Please stop being so cruel to me, she enunciated. Who do you think you are? Dont you dare tell me what to do, bitch! With each word, she struck Ken against Barbie, again and again, until finally Barbies head popped off and rolled across the carpet.

That hadnt been her intention. She didnt mean to decapitate the poor doll. Shocked, she stood up as she searched for the missing head. She found it under the bedside cabinet at the back by the wall. She crouched down, stretched out her arm and grabbed it. Sophie sat up on her knees, struggling to reattach the plastic head to its body.

Bloody shit! Why wont it go on? The racket from below grew ever louder. Bloody shit. Frustrated, she gave up, and flung the dolls across the room.

Downstairs, her father, Alan, almost lost his head. He shouted louder as his wife, Kate, persisted as the peacemaker.

As useless as a one-legged woman in an arse-kicking contest.

His voice echoed around the large stark white room, drowning out the soothing music from the old radio sitting on the window ledge.

Youre one useless bastard!

The barrage of abuse had just hit average level.

Fucking useless.

The kitchen had seen better days, as had their marriage, but Kate worked hard to keep both spotless and functional.

Can you hear me?

She strived hard at everything, as she had for a lifetime.

Hello? Is there anyone home?

However, her efforts now went unnoticed or drew heavy criticism for no reason.

Im fucking talking to you, whore.

She knew only too well what was about to come her way, as she moved the blonde strand of hair out of her blue eyes and concentrated. She placed the boiled egg safely into its cup.

Wheres this fucking breakfast, for fucks sake?

She reached out her arm, picked up the knife and, clenching it tight in her hand, she decapitated the top of the egg.

I can hear you, Alan.

The toast was the light side of brown, just as he liked it, but who knew these days?

Theres no point keeping on at me, shouting. I cant go any faster.

She set the breakfast plate before Alan. His face was dark and menacing the antithesis of the light sense of fun that had been knocked out of her.

About fucking time. Talk about slow. Youre like a human fucking sloth.

After ten years together, she found it more of a challenge to stay positive. Alan had turned negativity into a vocation.

What the flying fuck is this?

She stared at the top of his head, bristling with the military-style haircut hed had since he was a child, raised by an army commander who gave no quarter.

Do you seriously expect me to eat this fucking lot of shite? Alan had adopted the same rank in the family, but hadnt served a moment in the services. All these years, and you still cant boil a fucking egg? I mean, its not fucking rocket science. She watched him as he snarled at her. Youve got to be having some sort of a laugh.

He pushed the plate away with such force it shot forward and hit the condiment pots. Kate flinched as the sharp noise pierced her ears. Why, whats wrong with it now? She clenched her fists as her body shook. Her nerves were all on the surface, as he mocked her and revelled in her fear.

Whats bloody wrong with it? Its the wrong colour, undercooked and looks like my fucking snot. You really are a fucking retard!

She watched as his sneer took what used to be a pleasantly rugged face a lifetime ago and warped it monstrously.

Well, I can do another for you, if you like. It wont take me a minute!

She tried her hardest to stay calm, fearful of what might come next.

Thats how long I think you boiled that one for, a fucking minute, so whats the bloody point? Youll only mess it up again, you thick tart.

Kate, petrified, noticed the pure evil as it manifested once again across his face.

Youre miles away these days. Maybe you should go see a doctor and get some happy pills from him. For fucks sake, you cant even time an egg.

Once again defeated, she bit her lip and her voice broke.

Well, I did boil it for three minutes.

She watched his face as it reddened. She knew the inevitable was about to happen, and wished it over and done with.

Yeah, yeah. Lets face it, darling, youre no good at cooking, no good in bed, in fact, youre no good at fucking anything really. I bloody dread mealtimes in this house.

The victorious grin that had taken residence across his smug face frightened her.