This Life

By Lorraine DeSousa

THE HUSBAND
Michael is in an unhappy marriage with his wife, Maggie, who has become bitter with her life and has turned into a drunk. As the years tick by, Michael’s life becomes more desperate and lonelier. Every day at lunchtime, he sees a woman he feels is the love for him, but lacks the courage to approach her.
But then everything starts to unravel when he receives a book from an old man which tells him his life story. This is when everything changed for him.
THE WIFE
Unbeknownst to Michael, Maggie has also received a book telling her of her future. Frightened and uncertain as to how she can save her marriage, Maggie turns to alcohol to forget, before realising there is only one path she can take to save her marriage.
Which is to keep Michael by her side at any cost…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Mar 1, 2024
• ISBN: 9781035816514

Lorraine DeSousa

Lorraine DeSousa was born in Cheshire, England. This is the second book she has published, her first book Delusions came out last year to five star reviews. She has also published a few poems in small poetry anthologies, and has loved writing since she was a child. Lorraine now lives in The Algarve with her partner and her dogs.

Book preview

About the Author

Lorraine DeSousa was born in Cheshire, England. This is the second book she has published, her first book Delusions came out last year to five star reviews. She has also published a few poems in small poetry anthologies, and has loved writing since she was a child. Lorraine now lives in The Algarve with her partner and her dogs.

Dedication

I would like to dedicate this book to my friend, Liz, whose inspiring words gave me the courage to submit this book for publication, and Carlos, who always believed in this book and pressed me to try and get it published.

Copyright Information ©

Lorraine DeSousa 2024

The right of Lorraine DeSousa to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

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

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781035816507 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781035816514 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2024

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Acknowledgement

I would like to thank

My mother and father for encouraging me to read, and Dan Costinas for helping me try to make this book perfect.

Chapter One

Michael

I feel like a chill wind has entered my life and wrapped its glacial fingers around me. My heart is now numb with the cold and my emotions seem to be frozen in an ice capsule.

I wonder for the first time why I never noticed; I cannot remember suddenly feeling this way. I have started to physically ache with the need for warmth.

I saw her again yesterday, my glimmer of cold morning sunshine who only seems to intensify my frozen artic wastes. I nearly spoke to her, but lacked the courage, tossing my white feathers to the ground and walking past her myself unacknowledged.

I arrived home around seven, my mask in place, and my son Mathew was sitting on the worktop in the kitchen. He was simultaneously feeding himself and our dog Max, from the biscuit tin. Hi, Matt, how many times have I told you not to feed Max sweet stuff? I asked as I took the tin from my sheepish son’s hands.

But, Dad, he was sat there with sad puppy eyes,, and his paw kept bobbing up and down; I had to let him have one. Grinning, he jumped off the worktop and sat next to Max on the floor, rubbing the dog’s silky golden ears.

Where’s your mum? I asked trying to inject a note of brightness into my voice.

She’s in the lounge watching telly. Dad, can Max and I go to the park to play football? Hearing the word park, Max’s ears cocked and both of them looked at me with puppy dog eyes. I waved them both out shouting after them, Be back by eight thirty, it's school tomorrow. I love Matthew very much; he is a good thing in my life. He is like I was at his age, tall, blonde, outgoing, an animal lover with a sensitive, but fun nature. His elder brother Joe is more like his mother Maggie. He is fifteen, tall, dark, studious and introverted. He is allergic to cats and has a stubborn, but inquisitive nature.

I subtly adjusted my antennae and headed for the lounge. Maggie was as usual sat in her favourite chair watching one of her favourite soaps on television.

Maggie and I have been married for fifteen years; we were nineteen years old when she became pregnant with Joe. At the time, it seemed the only thing to do was to face up to my responsibility, as our parents said. She was only the third girl I had been out with, and I found her attractive and fun to be with.

Maggie at nineteen had long, dark brown curly hair, the colour of melted chocolate. She had almond shaped eyes, the colour of toffee in a dainty heart shaped face. Her frame was tall and sturdy and her personality was shy, but determined.

Looking back now, I see the determination she had to make me hers. With steel wrapped in cotton wool, she pursued me relentlessly until I was her man. Reading back over what I have just written, I know I must sound bitter and melodramatic, and maybe I am.

Opening the lounge door, there I see the Maggie of today. Her lovely hair now cut short with blonde highlights; her liquid caramel eyes framed by reading glasses. The heart shaped face puffy with a slight double chin, her sturdy body stuffed into leggings two sizes too small, and a baggy tee shirt covering the marshmallow pillow of her stomach.

The obligatory glass of wine is in her hand as she acknowledged my presence with, You’re late. I wanted to ask late for what, but did not want to travel down that well-worn path, instead I asked her if she would like anything to eat. No, thank you, I have all I need here, she replied pointing to her glass of wine, which was perched precariously on the arm of her chair. I nodded and tried to smile, but failed, and a sensation of disquiet entering me as I wondered how much she had had to drink already.

I walked back to the kitchen, the now familiar feeling of helplessness sitting on my shoulders; I made myself some cheese on toast and a cup of coffee then sat at the kitchen table with the newspaper.

How had I come to be on this island? I was thirty-four years old, married with two boys I adored, relatively successful within my career, but so lonely; my unshed tears would make a waterfall look like a dripping tap.

I cleared away my plate; the newspaper lay on the table, still unread. I wondered how I was going to fill the night until I could enter my unconscious mind, where blissful nothingness awaited me. Matthew and Max entered on the dot of eight thirty; they were both panting from running, Max’s pink tongue dripping water all over the floor. I gave a drink of orange juice to one and a bowl of water to the other. The kitchen now filled with slurping sounds, and I smiled as they drank their drinks with relish.

You were right on time, Matthew, go and have a bath now and say goodnight to your mum. I will be up later.

Dad, I’m ten years old now, I think I can manage to go to bed by myself.

I know you can, it’s not for you, it’s for me, I still get a kick out of it.

Well ok, but not kissing, he replied with a stern look on his face.

I ruffled his hair and promised I wouldn’t; he sped out of the door like a bullet being fired from a gun, yelling, Night, Mum, as he shot past the lounge and jumped the stairs three at a time.

I returned to the lounge and looked at Maggie whose position had not changed; the only difference was in her eyes which looked glassier.

Not taking her vision from the TV screen she asked, Decided to deign me with your company now?

Don’t start, I snapped, then mentally berated myself as it normally made matters worse.

Oh, I’m sorry for wanting to speak to you. Should I make an appointment for some of your time?

Sighing I replied, No, don’t be stupid, what did you want to tell me.

You! I want to tell you nothing at all. She spat as she turned to face me for the first time since I arrived home.

Ok, I see where this is heading and I don’t want to fight with you, I’ll go and check on Matthew and get out of your way. I turned to walk towards the door, but she stopped me with a dangerous quiet tone that entered her voice.

That’s right, you coward, run away. God, you can’t even bear to be in the same room as me for five minutes.

You know what, Maggie, you’re right, when you are like this I can’t! I knew as I said it, my chance for peace was lost.

She flew at me, You, condescending bastard, all I wanted was a little of your company, now you’re making me an excuse so that you can be on your own without feeling guilty.

Guilty! What have I to feel guilty about? As I asked the question, an image of a crystal ball entered my mind. I knew exactly what her reply would be. Our arguments were like the Ferris wheel at the fairground; they just went round and round and round. I tried to retrieve the situation before she could respond. Look, don’t answer that one. Matthew is waiting for me to say goodnight, shall I go or do you want me to stay and argue?

Daddy perfect aren’t you, great excuse to use our son to get away from me.

Maggie, you have had too much to drink, and I hate talking to you when you are like this, sober up and I will talk to you.

Ha! I’ve had nowhere near enough yet, at least alcohol keeps me company and makes me forget what a shit of a husband I have got. Suddenly, she collapsed back into her chair, and rested her head on her arm, she rubbed her eyes and said in a small voice, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that, go and say goodnight to Matthew. I am going to bed myself in a minute.

I was surprised, Maggie hardly ever backed down before a full-scale row. Usually, when she wanted to argue it would turn into an all-night session, lasting until the small hours of the morning. Maggie would never leave the room first, and if I tried to, she would follow me all over the house. So, I would better stay put and listen to her ranting for fear of Matthew and Joe listening to our fights.

By the way, Maggie added, Joe is staying over at Mark’s for the night.

Ok, well, I’ll go and say goodnight to Matthew and have a shower, I think. Goodnight. Silence was my response.

The following morning was a warm June day, so I decided to walk to work. Leaving the family sleeping, I hooked my jacket over my shoulder, and set off for the half hour stroll.

Nearing the town centre, I noticed a new book shop that had recently opened. I decided to drop in for a browse as I had plenty of time before I was due to start work. There was no particular book I wanted, but I loved reading so I scanned the shelves looking for something that would attract my attention.

Are you searching for something special? I jumped at the unexpected sound of the voice and spun round.

Sorry, you startled me, I answered facing a small old man in a tweed suit with reading glasses perched on the end of a large nose. His hair was wispy white, and his skin the texture of greaseproof paper. His nose was bulbous and had obviously suffered from an excess of alcohol.

Not at all, it is I who should apologise for creeping up on you. He removed the glasses from his nose and looked at me with the most brilliant sparkling blue eyes I had ever seen. They appeared incongruous set in that ancient face. It was as if the eyes of a teenager were staring at me from the body of a seventy-year-old.

Well, to be honest, I am not looking for anything in particular.

He slowly shook his head and replied, We are all looking for something in particular.

I smiled at his philosophical answer and responded, How true.

May I presume to recommend something for you then? He asked, coughing politely then adjusting the bow tie at his neck.

Not knowing my tastes, I wondered how he could possibly know what I liked, but under the old man’s gaze it felt impolite to decline his offer.

He shambled to what I presumed to be a storeroom behind the counter, and came out with a pair of stepladders that were bigger than him. He placed them against one of the bookshelves and went to the highest ledge, muttering to himself as though he could not decide which one to pick. Looking at my watch, I realised I was now going to be late for work.

Like a tortoise, he wrapped the book into a brown paper parcel and handed it to me. I was astonished that he had not even shown me the title, but thanked him asking, How much do I owe you?

Nothing at all, but the pleasure you receive when reading the book. He patted the back of my hand, as if I were a child.

But I must pay you something, I replied, feeling this was a distinctly odd situation.

Please read, enjoy, and return to me when you have finished; after, you may wish to purchase another book. A smile of benevolence greeted me along with the words.

Ah, right. Deciding this was a clever sales gimmick, I thanked him again and left the shop. Looking at my watch again, I realised I would have to sprint now, and flopped into my office ten minutes late.

I worked hard through the morning clearing most of my paperwork, and left my desk for lunch only when my stomach started to growl at me. Leaving the office, the summer heat clung to me, I bought a salad baguette from my usual bakers and found my bench opposite the lake in the park. I loosened my tie and rolled up my sleeves, tilting my head back onto the bench so I could feel the sun on my face. The sensation was wonderful and I stretched my legs out in front of me feeling completely relaxed. I realised I had left my book in the office and was quite glad I had not brought it with me.

The heat of the sun started to warm my face and I could see shimmering particles and black stars flickering behind my eyelids. From nowhere, I was surrounded by a grey swirling mist, rising from my ankles it crept up my body, encircling my torso. The mist started to thicken and envelop me, I could feel the greyness closing in on me and started to smell and taste the stale air. I needed oxygen and jumped up trying to see my way through the dense fog, but each way I turned there was no visibility just this billowing smoky grey. I started to panic and tried to push my way through the invisible force, but nowhere could I find an opening or way out of the claustrophobic column of air.

Oh, my god, I kept muttering. Let me out, please let me out. But the fog never released its grip contracting tighter and tighter around me. It swirled and rose endlessly squeezing and releasing my body. I have to get out, I thought. Think, Michael, think. As my panic rose, I spun round trying to clear the air, but all I could see were grey waves in every direction.

Michael, hey, Michael. Someone was calling my name through the mist. I felt a gentle pressure on my shoulder, and as quickly as the fog came, it disappeared again.

Hey, Michael, you were well out of it there. I blinked my eyes and in front of me was Howard, one of my colleagues from the office.

Rubbing my eyes, I said to him, Howard, Hi, I must have dropped off in the sun for a while, Thanks for waking me; I have no idea how long I’ve been here.

He looked at his watch and replied, It is quarter past one by my reckoning.

No, it can’t be. I was shocked as I had only left the office at one o’clock, and by my reckoning when I arrived at the park, it would have been about that time. It felt like I was asleep for ages. The dream had unnerved me and I ran my fingers through my hair trying to make sense of what had just happened.

Naps are like that sometimes, Howard made as if to leave me then seeing the expression on my face, he asked, are you alright?

I quickly recovered my composure, not wanting to be the focus of office gossip, and said, I’m fine, just a shock being woken up suddenly like that. I didn’t get much sleep last night.

His head nodded understanding, and his expression was one of relief that he didn’t have to help his boss. I reiterated my statement that I was fine and thanked him for waking me up.

No problem, see you in the office later. Then considering his duty done, Howard left me to my thoughts.

It had felt like hours or even days whilst I was inside the fog. How dreams trick you like that when in reality it was no time at all. I started to regain my equilibrium when I saw her!

My stomach played host to a thousand butterflies taking flight, and my heart became the lone drummer boy in my ears. Her gaze was directed toward the lake and the sunlight caught all the gold and russet autumn colours of her hair and set them on fire. She was the most beautiful person, flower, sunset, star I had ever seen in my life. Not knowing her name, in my mind I called her angel, for her beauty had a transcendental quality like a Botticelli angel. Her skin was pale and translucent with a dusting of freckles, her eyes the colour of uncut emeralds, and her full lips the colour of soft amber.

She was a woman I had carried around in my head since a young boy as the only woman for me. I had never heard her voice, yet my love for her, you may say obsession, knew no bounds.

Being thirty-four years old, I have throughout my life seen thousands of women, but no one has ever affected me the way she does. Just looking at her across the park, I can feel my whole body vibrating intensely to her actions, the way she tilts her head, how she rests the chin upon her hands, the way her legs fold underneath the bench. I just want to run to her, enfold her inside my arms and never let her go.

I look at my watch and see that it is near two o’clock, another day dream is over and I get up to leave. As I do, her face turns towards mine and in an instant of recognition, she smiles tentatively. My heart melts and I return the smile as I walk past her, noticing for the first time the ring which is placed on the third finger of her left hand.

Chapter Two

Michael

The afternoon went by in a daze, as I robotically worked through the calculations on the screen in front of me, my thoughts centred on the implications of the ring. My God, she’s married, she can’t be.

My rainbow of dreams had turned to dishwater grey, feelings of emptiness and entrapment loomed like a huge black cloud over my mind. All my fantasies of a life with her, shattered like broken glass. I had often worried that my feeling for her would never be returned, but that was more to do with whether or not she would find me attractive, I never contemplated a rival for her affections, and yet how naive of me not to!

Maggie had never occurred to me as an obstruction to my being with the angel, but how could I now approach her knowing she was married.

Realising that the last five columns of figures I had just entered on the screen, made absolutely no sense whatsoever, I decided to call it a day. I grabbed my jacket, shouted goodnight to the others that were left in the office and headed home.

On the way, I passed the bookshop and glanced to see if the old man was still serving. Behind the counter was a young girl with bright green spikey hair, and a chain running from her nose to her ear. She caught me staring and gave me a hard look as if to say, What’s your problem?

Arriving home, I found the place deserted. Maggie had left a note saying that she had taken the boys to visit her mother. Entering the lounge, I found Max asleep on the sofa, blissfully taking advantage of the fact that Maggie was not around to catch him indulging in this heinous crime. He wagged his tail feebly, his ears plastered to the side if his head, grateful it was me and not Maggie who had caught him.

As I left the room, he climbed down from the sofa and padded after me, back to the