large_Red Green Gift Time Facebook Ad (2).webp

medium_Red Green Gift Time Facebook Ad (2).webp

small_Red Green Gift Time Facebook Ad (2).webp

thumbnail_Red Green Gift Time Facebook Ad (2).webp

Red Green Gift Time Facebook Ad (2).webp

Novelo Rectangle

It was the party to end all parties. Gillian’s parents had hired the Robert Clive Room at the Tern Inn and invited nearly everyone. Family, friends, neighbours, a few of Gillian’s old schoolteachers — even the vicar who’d baptized her had made an appearance. She stood near the display table, where a neat pile of her first novel lay next to a sign that read: Battle of Blore HeathBy Gillian Sutton, MA£8 — Honesty box The guests were treating the table like a souvenir stall, dropping coins and notes into the box and asking her to sign copies. She smiled through it all, trying not to let on that most of the book would go right over their heads. It was technical. Dry in parts. Still, they were proud of her. Fancy writing about Blore Heath, the locals had a soft spot for the site they passed on their way to the Potteries.&nbsp; Her father, Reginald, slipped an arm around her shoulders. “Eeahh, I’m right proud o’ you, Gilly, and all you’ve done.” “Yeah, yeah,” she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “But it was you who told me to keep going, remember? ‘Think positive. Learn from your mistakes.’”&nbsp; He smiled, adjusting the cuff of his jacket. His attire, as always, was impeccable—a charcoal blazer and pressed white shirt—though he never used adventurous colours. The very opposite of her mum. “I reckon everyone in Drayton’s bought a copy of yer book,” he said. “Yeah, yeah. And they all wanted me to sign ’em too. I never thought I’d be doing that. I just wanted to get all the research down in one place, but now it feels like… like they’ve all bought a bit of me.”&nbsp; “Well, in a way, they ‘ave. You’ve done more than just list facts. You’ve brought it to life — made it clear, imaginative. That inna easy, Gill. Not everyone can do that.”&nbsp; “Thanks for believing in me. I needed that. I’m ready to write the next one.”&nbsp; Talking about the writing helped. It was safer ground — it deflected attention from the one thing she couldn’t talk about, not under any circumstances with her folks. “Oh aye? Yer doin’ another then?”&nbsp; “Yeah, yeah — it’s about Henry Tudor marching through Shrewsbury to Bosworth. But I doubt it’ll make the same splash as the last one.” She had to raise her voice to be heard over the background music and chatter. Bronwen, her mother, appeared next to them. She brightened the corner of the room in a dress Gillian hadn’t seen before. It was surprisingly flattering — green with yellow daffodils, ankle-length. The dress didn’t hide her figure, but it didn’t try to, either. A gold fascinator sat resembling a cheerful bird’s nest atop her auburn curls, and a small robin tattoo peeked out from her upper left arm. “Oh, Mum — thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Gillian wrapped her arms around her and held tight. The three of them stood together for a moment, Gillian between her parents, basking in the warmth of it all. It was the kind of night she’d always remember as a turning point in her life. And yet — in the back of her mind, the secret still hovered. The aspect of her life hidden from others. The part she couldn’t bring herself to share, not even with Reginald or Bronwen. She smiled and kept talking history, letting the hum of voices and clink of glasses drown out the silence she was persistently guarding inside.

Try Premium

Try Premium

The Secret Life of Gillian Sutton

AstroGeoffrey

Dryfe Publications

Share

Synopsis

Chapters

Word Count

Read Time

Publish Date

Story Updates

This story has no updates.

Reviews

This story has not been rated yet. Login to review this story.

Advertisement

About Author

Geoffrey Hugh Lindop

Advertisement

Other stories by AstroGeoffrey

The House of Time

Flight to a new Reality

Browse