A Little Hope, page 1
© Text: Francine Beaton
© Publication: Francine Beaton
P O Box 2347, Pretoria, 0001
E-mail: beatonfrancine@gmail.com
www.francinebeaton.com
Cover Design: Francine Beaton with Bookbrush
Typography Setting: Francine Beaton
A Little Hope
ISBN 978-1-991241-08-5 (Epub)
ISBN 978-1-991241-18-4 (Mobi)
© 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 written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review
Also by Francine Beaton
Op die Kantlyn-reeks
Keuses van Gister
Kans vir Liefde
The Hope Series
A Ray of Hope
A Little Hope
Watch for more at Francine Beaton’s site.
For those of you who risk their lives for others
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Note from the Author
Acknowledgments
CHAPTER ONE
Friday, 18 December
“Go, join,” Coach said. “It would be an experience. You’ll enjoy it!”
Ben snorted. He was ultra-cautious not to slip on the ice still covering the pavement. As he turned the corner leading from his street into the last stretch before he reached the stadium, an arctic wind blasted almost through him.
“Hah! Thanks, Coach. You didn’t say it was so freaking cold that you can hardly feel your extremities,” Ben grumbled, pushing his hands deeper in his pockets. He lifted his head a bit to judge where he was and how far he still had to suffer through the cold before he reached the stadium. At least it was not far to go, so he dropped his head again.
He continued his monologue as he turned into the entrance and huddled deeper into his anorak. The thick padding of the jacket stood little chance against the extreme weather currently blasting through the West of Scotland. “Coach didn’t say you must wear ten layers of clothing to stay warm. How the hell do you play rugby in this freaking weather?” he grumbled again.
“Talking to yourself again, Saffa?” Murray Dempsey suddenly said next to him.
Ben glared at his teammate. Apparently, he would be called Saffa, and that was it. As he was the only South African in the current squad, he didn't mind the slang word for a nickname. It was better than some.
As he opened his mouth to speak, his breath whirled in wispy clouds in front of him, distracting him for a moment before he mumbled, “At least I have an intelligent conversation. All you can talk about is the blooming' weather.”
“Well, if I heard you correctly, Alexander, you were also mumbling about the weather,” Murray pointed out with a laugh. “You’re becoming a true Scot, even if you don’t like it.”
Ben glared at Murray again, but then he laughed. It was true. But hell, Coach Dan didn’t tell him it would be so cold and it’s in the middle of freaking December. He didn’t know if the guys tried to motivate him by telling him that the worst was yet to come. They all pointed out with glee that January was the coldest time in Glasgow.
No wonder his grandfather moved to Africa …
That thought had Ben sobered in an instant and he shook his head. He didn’t want to think about his family today. To be honest? He didn’t want to think about things back home for the next few days. He needed to get through this week without dissolving into pieces.
Friday afternoon, 18 December
Jenna stared dismayed through the hairdresser’s windows at the snow fluttering down in Great Western Road. “All this hoo-hah for nothing,” she muttered under her breath. “By the time I reach the apartment, it will all be for naught.”
It was just as well. She didn’t know why she went to all this trouble.
Because you can. It’s your birthday. You deserve to treat yourself.
That’s right. She does. Unfortunately, it would be just her luck that the first of the three storms which had been forecasted for Scotland in the following week, had reached Glasgow two days before it was due.
But maybe the dreich and miserable weather was an omen. Tonight was the night she would give Paul his matching orders once and for all. She can’t do this anymore. Three months she tried to do it, but the man ignored her like the taxis ignored the stop signs in Dorp Street. Not that Jenna had any experience with taxis in Dorp Street, but her mother brought that saying with her from her student days in Stellenbosch.
To Jenna, South Africa was far away and her time living there a distant memory. Scotland had been her home since she was ten. Even though she’d lived here for fourteen years, both her parents still spoke Afrikaans and used Afrikaans idioms to this day.
Her mother’s idiom was apt, however, especially when referring to Paul. He would ride roughshod over you, just to get his own way. Jenna had enough of it.
Tonight is the night I’m finally going to send you on your way, Paul Rafferty.
“What is it, dearie?” the young assistant asked and looked up from her task. The poor girl was focusing hard on figuring out the bill and the till while blowing her gum at the same time. She wasn’t born for multi-tasking, that’s for sure.
“It’s nothing, Lucie,” Jenna assured her. Maybe if the girl continued to struggle for a while, the snowstorm might pass over and she could get back to the apartment without ruining her expensive hairdo.
But, according to the weather bureau, there wasn’t much chance of that happening. Storm Kevin or Kyle, or whatever it’s called, was here to stay. Until a storm carrying a woman’s name, starting with L, would replace it. Might be Lucie for all she knew. The girl was a disaster on two legs.
All Jenna wanted to do now was to get home with her hairdo, get the unpleasantness out of the way, and then go out to celebrate her birthday with her best friend. That was if the weather won’t put an end to those plans.
The last few days had been hectic. Everyone wanted to get their work done before the holidays. They worked late every night. That’s why she hadn’t got this unpleasantness out of the way before tonight as she had planned to do. Or rather, as she wanted to do the last three months.
No, as she had done. Paul pretended that it’s not over. If he didn’t accept it’s over, Jenna couldn’t get on with her life.
Jenna almost had to work late tonight as well, but when her boss found out it was her birthday, he gave her the afternoon off. It was rare. Maybe that was why the weather turned so nasty. Mother Nature couldn’t believe that Mr Miser could be so nice. The older man’s surname and many nicknames suited him to a T. Old Miser. Or Scrooge. Or just plain Old Grumpy.
At last Lucie sorted out the account, and could Jenna leave the popular hairdresser in Great Western Road she had frequented since she moved to Glasgow.
She rushed up the outside stairs leading to their apartment building just before five. Jenna had been staying here for the last five years with her best friend since high school.
Jenna hadn’t let Lisa know she wasn’t working until six anymore, but Lisa should be home, waiting with a glass of wine, Jenna hoped. She shivered as she pushed open the door.
She breathed a sigh of relief when the entrance door closed behind her, cutting off the arctic wind. The first thing she did was to get rid of the soaking anorak and boots before she attempted the flight of stairs leading to the apartment in her socks.
With boots and bags and jacket in her hands, she already envisaged the struggle to unlock the front door, but to her surprise, it stood ajar. Pushing the door open with her shoulder, Jenna opened her mouth to shout at Lisa, then everything stopped. The breath caught in her throat and her legs and heart came to a standstill when she regarded the couple in front of her.
A rather naked couple amid a heated coupling session. Lisa’s naked butt bumped up and down on the console table for which Jenna had saved up for so many months. She was, or rather had been, so proud of it.
In front of Lisa—well, inside her, rather—stood Paul. The same Paul who had studiously ignored her attempts to break off their relationship the last three months. Despite Jenna’s attempts, Paul had still professed his everlasting love to her only last week. The same Paul who imitated this morning that he had something important to discuss with her tonight.
And the same Paul that Jenna prayed would not ask her to marry him.
Jenna knew before today that she didn’t want to be with Paul anymore. That’s why she wasn’t heartbroken. Well, not heartbroken about Paul, anyway. She was more saddened that her best friend had stabbed her in the back.
Sarcasm had always worked for her as a defence mechanism. It might work for an attacking weapon, too.
“Well, well, well, what a nice birthday surprise.”
The two people jumped, shocked at the intrusion, with Paul’s private bits dangling in the air as he jumped back. At least Jenna didn’t have to view Lisa’s private bits as well, as that wasn’t a view that she would like to take with her into the future.
“Jenna!”
Both gasped her name and t
“That’s my name as far as I know, yes,” she muttered. “And I know you’re both naked, having sex on my console table, mind you, so it’s no use hiding it. How long has this been going on?”
“I’m …”
“It’s not what you think. It just …”
“Oh, come on! Don’t tell me it happened out of the blue! I’m not stupid.”
“I’m sorry …” Lisa started.
Jenna rolled her eyes and then stared her former best friend down. “Sorry for what? For stabbing me in the back? For having sex with my ex-boyfriend? Geez, you know how long I’ve been trying to break it off, so what you’re doing doesn’t bother me in the slightest. Quite the opposite. Or are you sorry because you know what this is going to do to our friendship? Because that’s what disappoints me the most. I haven’t expected that from you.”
“And you?” she added, glaring at Paul. “You want your bread buttered on both sides, or what’s your idea? If you had accepted that our relationship was over when I told you three months ago, and several times since then, this whole situation could’ve been avoided.”
“Don’t be hasty …” Paul pleaded. “It doesn’t have to be over …”
“Oh, you bet your ass it’s over. Finish. It had been for a long time.”
She turned back to Lisa and added, “And so is our friendship. I’ll pick my stuff up over the weekend.”
“Jenna, don’t …”
“Now you’ll have to excuse me. I have a birthday to celebrate …”
“But …”
“Without you.”
Then she turned, slamming the door behind her.
Paul still shouted her name, but Jenna ignored him and rushed down the stairs. At the bottom step, she sat down to pull on her boots and zip it up. She shook out the anorak and pushed her arms into the sleeves of the damp sleeves, zipped it up and pulled the hoodie over her head in a half-hearted attempt to save the expensive straightened hairdo before she rushed out of the building.
Instead of turning right in search of a drinking hole at one of their usual haunts in Ashton Lane or Byres Road, Jenna crossed Great Western Road, and on impulse took the first street left. The light snow had melted a while ago, but the icy rain still poured down, make it treacherous to walk on the sidewalk. The wind had picked up too, and after a while, Jenna gave up trying to push the hoodie into position and wiping the rain from her face.
She didn’t know how far she walked when the smells from a nearby takeout food vendor reminded her she was hungry and hadn’t eaten since this morning.
Yet, takeout would not do tonight. She needed a drink—to warm her up more than anything—and then she’d worry about eating. And then she would figure out where she would sleep tonight and the next few nights until she could go home for Christmas.
After Christmas was time enough to worry about the future.
The first place she entered didn’t bode well. You wouldn’t even be able to fit a mouse in there. It wasn’t unusual for this time on a Friday night.
All was not lost, though. A sign for another pub flashed only three shops further down the road. Jenna had been there once for a birthday party and liked the ambiance. Tonight, however, she didn’t care about the ambiance. If it wasn’t too busy, it would suit her just fine.
It wasn’t busy. Two older couples occupied a booth in the one corner, enjoying dinner. One guy sat on his own at the bar. He looked as miserable as she felt.
This would do for the night.
Ben stared morosely at the drink in front of him. The pub he had chosen was quiet on this Friday night, only a few days before Christmas. Most of his teammates already took off for the holidays, and the students did the same. According to the barman, it was usually a lot busier, this close to the University of Glasgow.
The pub, however, was far enough away from his house and Scotstoun that he hoped nobody would recognise him.
Ben discovered it one day soon after he arrived in Glasgow and rambled through the West End. It was close to Kelvingrove Park and had been a welcome reprieve from the crowds. Since then, Ben often hiked to Patrick and took the subway to Kelvinbridge. The subway station was situated just around the corner from the pub.
Tonight and the next few days, he had nowhere else to be. He didn’t think he still had any family left in Scotland. He also hadn’t formed close friendships with any of his new teammates to take advantage of their hospitality.
His aim was to drown himself in alcohol tonight, hoping it would numb the pain a little bit.
He snorted as an afterthought: just a wee bit. You’re supposed to become a Scot, so you have to say wee, as had your parents and your grandfathers.
Ben caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. Even before he turned his head to find who had to choose the empty seat next to him, a familiar perfume filled his nostrils. Pain slashed through him, so hard and fierce that he almost burst into tears. He threw the neat whiskey into the back of his throat, hoping to swallow his misery with it. The fiery liquid burned his throat, and he gasped for air.
If the whiskey hadn’t caused him to gasp for air, it would’ve been the woman who filled his vision after he turned his head.
She was beautiful, even with mascara streaking down her cheeks. She discarded the anorak and her blonde hair tumbled to her shoulders. She might’ve straightened them at one stage today, because parts of her hairdo were still straight. The hair which couldn’t escape the rain, however, formed little ringlets, framing her heart-shaped face, and accentuating the grey-blue eyes.
She reminded Ben of a young Meg Ryan as she appeared in the movie The Women, which had been one of his mother’s favourites. When he realised it, he glanced down to check if he had any whisky left in his glass. There wasn’t, of course. There never was when you needed it most.
“Could I have a glass of red wine, please?”
As miserable as he was, but oh so polite. Typical Brit.
Ben snorted. Just his luck to end up in the pub with a woman who seemed just as miserable as he was.
Then something registered.
She spoke English, but with an accent which sounded familiar. Ben struggled to differentiate between the accents here, so he shouldn’t speculate. It anyway didn’t matter when you’re drunk enough, which was what he planned to be tonight.
Still, the accent piqued his interest enough to sneak another glimpse. He caught the dirty look she aimed in his direction. She might’ve heard when he snorted.
Ben wanted to tell her that the snort wasn’t meant for her, but the barman, who had eyed the woman suspiciously, asked with a stern expression, “Are you old enough to be in here? Do you have any identification?”
When the woman didn’t answer, Ben glanced back at her. She stared at the barman, flabbergasted. He had always liked that word, but never had the chance to use it before. Now it fitted her expression to a T.
She shocked both Ben and the barman when she laughed.
Ben had to swallow his drool and ignore the ripples slipping down his spine. The sound was light, melodious, but the effect it had? It was as if someone flipped a switch, transforming her from the-girl-next-door-kind-of-beauty to breathtakingly beautiful. Ben hadn’t thought it could be possible, but when she laughed, she was stunning.
Her laughter proved that she was a woman who experienced little misery. She looked like she laughed often and with abandon.
There might’ve been a time when he would’ve …
Forget it, Alexander. You’re not in the right frame of mind. Especially not for a woman as beautiful as this one.
Her laughter ended in an unfeminine snort when she pulled out a driver’s licence from the bag she clutched over her shoulder. The barman studied it, then nodded. She stuffed the card back in her bag and beamed at the barman.
“If I haven’t been so miserable, I would’ve taken it as a compliment that you think I’m not old enough to be here. But let me tell you, even in the US I’m old enough to drink legally. And I need a drink tonight. Could I have a glass of red wine, please? Since it’s my twenty-fourth birthday,” she added with a grin.
