Great Big Second Mother

By Mandy Sheridan

When Sam loses her mother, brother and sister in a car crash, her abusive father is all she has left.  He brings her to the house of her elderly grandmother Betty in a small village in the south of England.  When her grandmother dies and her father rejects her, she meets her cousin Amelia.  Life will never be the same again because Amelia is part of a secret society called the Women of Bride.  Sent out of Ireland centuries ago by St. Bride, to protect them and their secret, they now work all over the World to protect the Earth.  They can communicate with Mother Earth and use her Earth magic; they are very clear that they are not witches.  Sam meets David, who rescues her and gets close.  She also meets Hanna, whose family is unique, Kez, Delia and others.  Can the friends be chosen by the Mother to join the Women of Bride?  What is the Mother's Gift and how will Sam deal with it?   

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mandy Sheridan
• Release date: Aug 4, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201522124

Mandy Sheridan

Mandy was born into an armed forces family and grew up with her siblings in Scotland, Germany and Singapore. Used to a household with dogs as pets, it was only when she met her husband, John, that she learned the joys of living with cats. She and John now live in the countryside near the port of Oban in Northern Argyll, Scotland, where they have nine free-range chickens (who give them the best eggs in the world) and five wonderful cats, including Polly who appears in the Mikie books. Mandy has been a children and families social worker for 32 years and currently works as a service improvement officer.

Book preview

1

Awakening

Sam woke to the sound of the birds singing loudly outside her bedroom window; it didn’t make her want to dive cheerfully out of bed and start the day. For a start she was a city girl and hated the country; she was also fourteen and preferred bed to school. Especially when she was the new girl in that school and the yokels took the piss out of her for her accent. The other reason was that her family consisted of her alcoholic father and his mother, her mad granny Betty. That was all that remained of her family after her mother, younger brother and sister had been killed in a car crash. After this, Sam’s father had managed to become even angrier and more of a git, moved both of them to live with granny Betty, and taken to the drink big style. So all in all, Sam thought she would stay in bed and think about how crappy her life was and how it couldn’t possibly get any worse.

Then it did get worse; her father banged open the door and stood leaning back against it. Get your lazy butt out of that bed and get to school; I’m not having that bloody Social Worker at the door again he yelled, his voice hoarse with cigarettes and vodka from the night before.

Sam shouted back: Yeh I’ll get out of this shit hole; how about some money for lunch though, I don’t need to ask if you’ve made any breakfast.

What do you think I am, made of money? Wiggle your hips at the boys and maybe they’ll let you share their lunch he sneered and she hated him all over again. She didn’t answer back because that would mean he would stay in her bedroom and argue with her. All she wanted now was to get out of the suddenly claustrophobic cottage and away from him.

So she said nothing and just glared at him until his sweaty, unshaven face turned and left, slamming the door behind it. She got dressed into her scruffy school uniform, grabbed her bag and headed for the door leaving her cold bedroom behind. In the living room she passed her Grandmother, dozing as usual in her tatty old chair by the single bar electric fire. Sam didn’t pause on her way out of the door; she wasn’t sure that her gran even knew who she was any more and probably wouldn’t still be around if Social Services didn’t pick her up everyday and bring her to the Day Centre. Sam knew they would turn up soon so she felt OK leaving her in the house.

Outside, a country lane stretched passed the picturesque cottage, meandering around fields where horses and sheep grazed. Sam marvelled again at how so much misery could be hidden behind such beauty. Shouldering her bag she walked as slowly as she possibly could towards the bus stop at the end of the lane. If she timed it right she would get out of sight of the cottage but miss the school bus. Around her, other kids were walking quickly past her; some of them looked at her. She was aware that she stuck out like a sore thumb; she was bright enough to know that her appearance screamed out that here was a person that nobody gave a damn about. Their looks didn’t bother her any more, since her mother had died she had built a wall a metre thick around her feelings; the only ones that seemed to seep through were anger and hatred. That suited her; they seemed to do the trick when it came to dealing with her father and the pompous Teachers and judging girls at her new school.

The others had passed her now and were hurrying to the top of the lane where the bus had just arrived. Sam smiled and made a show of stopping to tie her shoe laces. When she looked up it was to see the bus disappearing into the distance; sorted!

She was out of sight of the cottage and knew that her father would not leave the house until noon when he would stroll into the centre of the village to buy a paper and a bottle of something for the night to come. She couldn’t remember when he had not been a git but she supposed that there must have been a time; her mother had married him after all. She thought about her little brother Paul and how her dad had played with him and taken him to the football even though he was only five. He had never seemed to notice that he had daughters. That was fine for Sam and her seven year sister Gill when their mother had been around to make it up to them. But when Paul, Gill and mum had all gone on that one horrible day, her dad suddenly seemed to notice that he had a daughter and that he didn’t like her.

She turned off the lane to enter a field and stash her school bag in a hedge. There were horses and sheep in the field so she spent some time just watching them before starting to talk softly to the one she liked the most, a Shetland pony with a blond mane. Sam forced herself periodically to be gentle with an animal or a younger kid. She was really worried that she would end up like her father who seemed incapable of being gentle or caring to anybody or to understand anybodies needs but his own.

Hello boy, how are you doing, it is a bit too hot today isn’t it? Let me chase some of those flies away for you she said. She plucked some long grass and used it to wave the flies off the ponies back. The pony looked up and, seeming to appreciate the gesture, waffled his nose into her shoulder. Sam smiled and felt soft and human again for the first time in a long time. After a while she left the warm flank of the pony and walked across the field to the old stone wall that marked the start of the church grounds and the graveyard. She had come this way many times, feeling drawn to the silent shapes of the grave stones, compelled to read the names and dates on the markers. They had become almost like friends to her, never yelling or abusing her, never blaming her for something that wasn't her fault.

As she walked she felt the long grass whipping against her bare legs, her un-ironed school skirt attracting seeds, insects and flakes of dry grass: the hot sun burned her left cheek and made her squint and wish for a pair of sunglasses. As she reached the crumbling dry stone wall she could hear the cries of some bird she didn't recognise; I never had to worry about that kind of crap in the city she thought cynically. Crappy old village! Climbing over the wall she paid no attention to the fact that she was displacing more stone from the wall.

In the grave yard it was quiet and peaceful, fifty metres away she could see the Norman Church with its benches and wooden sign on a stick declaring to the World that this was St. Bride’s. Ignoring the church she began to walk along the neat but tumbling rows of stones, reading her favourites all over again.

Here lies Thomas Marlham 1768-1823, beloved husband of Mary Marlham 1778-1850. Also their children Thomas died 1799 aged 8 months, Martha died 1800 aged three months, Mathew died 1802 aged five, Luke died 1811 aged fourteen, Jane died 1861 aged sixty and David died 1869 aged sixty six.

Poor cow said Sam to no one in particular, imagine losing that many children so young; mind you she probably had a dozen. Did that make a difference to way you felt about each one? Would Sam have felt it more if mum and Paul and Gill had died in separate accidents over time? The thought was too painful to carry and she felt the all to familiar mixture of anger, guilt and self loathing fill her up. She turned and ran across the graveyard to the neighbouring apple orchard; when she got there she jumped the wall and ran through the windfalls, crushing some underfoot. Suddenly she stopped and fell to her knees and began grabbing the ripe apples up and cramming them into her mouth. Sometimes in the past the frantic eating and filling up with bitter apples had made her feel full, dulled and better. After about five or six she realised that this time it wasn’t working; leaping to her feet she looked at the apple in her hand and, walking over to the gnarled trunk of an apple tree she smashed the apple into it with as much force as she could. She felt the force hurt her hand and jar every muscle in her arm. She pushed her hand into the trunk again and rubbed the squashy mess into the wood until her hand bled. The sight of the blood cut a cord in her and she relaxed and walked back into the graveyard feeling numb.

There she found her favourite stone, a big, flat table one with moss growing in the lettering. Here lies Hanna Hawksmold, departed this world 1547 aged ninety seven. May God bind her. What did that mean?

As before she felt drawn to the peace that Hanna’s table seemed to offer and, tired by the sun and her madness in the apple orchard, she lay down to sleep, stretching out on the stone. She had a feeling that Hanna would understand and excuse the blood and crushed apples that fell from her onto the table; soon she was asleep.

While she was asleep a tall, well dressed woman of about sixty came up and sat on the neighbouring table stone, crossing her legs and supporting her chin on the manicured hand attached to the arm that she rested on her knees. She smiled slightly as she considered the sleeping girl. What she saw was a tall, very skinny girl with long, dark brown hair. She could smell the blood and crushed apples that were smeared onto the girl’s hand and it made her frown. Even in sleep the girl looked troubled or pained and that, the woman was sure, was a look that seldom left her. It would not be easy thought the woman but somebody had to try and make the poor, skinny waif smile again. She settled herself to wait. As the sun started to cloud over Sam began to stir, feeling the colder air around her sleeping body; she didn’t want to open her eyes to her troubles again but she knew that she must. Suddenly she was startled by a voice: Yes I think it is time to get up Samantha, I really have been waiting quite long enough.

Sam sat up in a hurry bringing up her arms in an automatic, defensive pose and looking around franticly. On the table grave a few feet away from her she was amazed to see a tall, short haired older woman in a smart tweed suit. She had a smile on her face that Sam decided looked confident and smug. Well don’t let me keep you lady, take your zimmer frame and blow said Sam as rudely as she could.

The woman laughed uproariously, rocking backwards on the table in mirth. Well done my girl, I knew you would turn out to have grit.

Sam felt confused, the woman wasn’t getting offended or storming off as she had expected. Look who the hell are you? she said, her anxiety making her feel aggressive.

Good a question and straight to the point; that is the sign of a first class mind. All right then, my name is Amelia Braithwaite and I live in the big house with the long driveway at the end of the village. I'm here to talk to you because I want to help you.

Well I don’t need any help said Sam getting to her feet. Silly old bag she thought, that’s the last time I fall asleep in this graveyard. She stood up and went to walk away but the woman stood up and blocked her path.

Look I know you probably think this is strange but I know all about you, what happened to your family and what your circumstances are. I’ve made it my business to know because I used to be great friends with your great aunt Hanna, your grandmother’s older sister; she did me a great service a long time ago and I would like to return the favour by helping you.

Sam stared at the woman; I don’t have a great aunt Hanna she said.

She died a long time ago; I’d love to have the chance to tell you about her some time.

Sam swerved around the woman and began to run, shouting over her shoulder; you’re nuts and I don’t need help!

I mean what I say shouted the woman, come and talk to me any time.

Sam kept running, climbed the graveyard wall and ran across the field back in the direction of the ponies. She got to the ponies and stopped, doubled over and panting; what the hell was that all about? Had there been a great aunt Hanna; would her spaced out grandma be able to tell her?

Still doubled up and breathless she heard an ambulance siren from the lane ahead; she stood up and ran to the gate, getting there as the ambulance drove past. She looked down the lane and saw her father standing there, sweating and unshaven, his eyes on the departing ambulance. He had a lost little boy look that she had only seen once before, at the Hospital when they were told the terrible truth; her blood ran cold as she slowly climbed over the gate and walked up to him. He turned his gaze to her and she saw his eyes harden.

Your grandmother just died, he paused and sneered, it seems that you are all that I have left. Sam stood frozen as he began to laugh at what he seemed to think was a very funny joke. Sam felt her insides turning to stone, not at her grandmother’s death but at this final evidence that her father hated her. She said nothing as he turned and went back into the cottage slamming the door behind him.; after a few minutes, not knowing what else to do, she followed him in.

Inside she was just in time to see her father disappearing into his bedroom with a bottle of vodka. She looked at her grandmother’s empty chair and thought; well I won’t be able to ask her if I had a great aunt Hanna now. She found it hard to feel the loss; she had hardly known her before she and her father came to stay a few weeks ago. By then her poor grandmother didn’t know what day of the week was and probably hadn’t recognised her as her granddaughter. Sam managed to find enough milk to make a cup of tea and sat drinking it very slowly at the table in the darkening kitchen; outside she could hear birds singing in the overgrown garden and the shouts of children playing in the