Once

It is not just because Astrid Ohletz is a great publisher, a savvy business woman, the Boss Lady, a patient teacher and guide, or a woman who strives for perfection in everything she does that makes me so happy that I am blessed enough to publish with Ylva. It is more than that. But, without rambling too much, I am grinning stupidly because she is also a very good friend. And so is Daniela. Don’t think I am going to forget you. Thank you for not strangling me when you were trying to sort out my chapter headings. Very much appreciated. My neck thanks you, too.

Although Once has previously been released, there are many changes to be found in this edition. These are due to the skill and dedication of one woman—Day Petersen. Weirdly, or not so weirdly after all, Day worked with me on the original edit all of those years ago. It is amazing how a writer’s writing style and a reader’s expectation have changed over the years, but I believe my vision for the story remains intact. This is all down to Day and her talent as an editor. A very big thank you.

Once again, thank you Amanda Chron for the wonderful cover you have designed for this revised edition. Even though my furry lad was not best pleased about having his adorable face replaced by a buff-looking border and two lady luvvers, he has finally forgiven you. I think. After he has finished licking his most intimate place, I’ll ask him again. I don’t think his current action is a criticism of your work, but then again, he was miffed.

Finally, I would like to thank you, the reader. I hope beyond hope you enjoy this edition of Once. Without your support over the years, writing for me would be a thing of the past. You have shown me faith when I thought I had lost it, support when I believed I was sagging, and optimism when things seemed darker than they should. But most of all, you have been a constant point of reference in my writing—if you like what I do, then I’m doing something right.

Let’s hope I don’t let us both down. Enjoy.

Dedication

To living life, forging friendships, having hope, and loving with no holds barred.

Once upon a time, in a land far far away, there was a young woman...

Aw fuck. I can’t start my story like that. Let me think. What about:

It was a lovely day…

What a load of bollocks. Here am I, wanting to spin you a tale, and I can’t even decide how to begin. Should I start at the beginning, the middle? Or even begin at the end and then go backwards. I think I’m diverting into some kind of literary cul de sac. Before you know it, I will be using tired old clichés and quoting Shakespeare.

Perhaps I should set the scene. You know—paint a picture with words. Number one in the tired old cliché brigade. Setting is important, though, isn’t it? It gives readers a feel for the story. Without it they will be visually bankrupt, much as I am feeling verbally bankrupt at the moment.

Okay, here we go, setting the scene, thereby readying my reader. Just a minute—you are ready, aren’t you? I don’t want to waste ink starting and then find you are still fiddling around in your handbag, looking for a mint.

Consider this the beginning, the setting, the start.

Now to the scene: Shall I set it with time or place, or shall I go for the gold and set it with emotion?

The latter, I believe. Visualize, if you will, a metaphorical pushing of glasses up onto the bridge of my nose, which gives me a look of intelligence.

Right. I’m ready too.

Cough.

On your marks, get set...

The Start. Formally Known as The Introduction

She said she’d love me forever. For e ver. Three syllables, seven letters. Go on; - count them. And those three syllables and seven letters turned out to be a one-syllable, three-letter word.

Lie.

Unless forever meant it was okay to treat me like pond life and then shag her work mate. If that is the case, then I’m sorry, I’m wrong; it is forever. But in my dictionary, forever means something completely different. Let’s just check.

Forever / fǝ're.vǝ / adv 1. also for ever, FOR ALL TIME, for all future time. 2. also for ever, FOR A VERY LONG TIME, for a very long or seemingly endless time (informal).

See? FOR ALL TIME and even A VERY LONG TIME, if you want to be informal.

Don’t get me wrong; I’m not a pedant. I don’t typically carry a dictionary around with me and contradict people on their usage of the English language. But come on! When someone tells you they will love you forever, it usually means longer than three and a half years. Or it should.

In my own way, I loved Sue. I didn’t like the way she treated me, but I loved her all the same. We had lived together for just over three years when I came home to find her rolling around on our bedroom floor with a woman I’d met briefly at their company dinner two weeks previous. The prevailing thought bouncing around in my head was I hope I don’t have to steam clean the carpet, then I turned, walked down the stairs and out of the door.

I’d barely grabbed the handle on my car door when Sue was behind me. Gripping my arm, she spun me around and started throwing accusations. Words literally splattered on my face, words like cold, heartless, and the blinding one that charged me with indifferent.

Even when you catch me fucking someone else, you just walk away!

What had she expected me to do?

Why can’t you show any emotion?

Why should I? That wouldn’t change the fact that she’d lied when she said she would love me forever.

In hindsight, I should have asked her the question, but all I wanted to do was get out of there, flee the scene of her crime, block it all out. I couldn’t see the point in staying to listen to her blast out all my alleged shortcomings to all and sundry who happened to be passing by at something nearing a hundred shrill decibels, a level that was loud enough to make dogs howl.

And that’s where my story truly begins.

The True Beginning

Sue was the longest relationship I’d ever had—forty months, to be precise. We met through a friend of a friend of a friend, which nearly made our introduction an urban myth. It was lust at first sight, and we barely knew anything about one another before we were inside each other’s underwear. We scarcely even made it inside my house before we were at it. The front door clicked, and so did her bra strap.

Sex had always come easy to me, or it used to. I wasn’t the type of person to form long-lasting relationships, and that suited me just fine. I actually preferred it to be just my little boy and me. When I say little boy, don’t misunderstand me. I’m not a single mother, and I most assuredly never slept with a man. My little boy has the most gorgeous brown eyes and wet nose any mother could wish for. Unlike most, the child in question had four legs instead of the customary two.

Dudley, Duds for short. Black and tan, fuzzy, with a tail that wagged liked crazy taking his whole bum with it. His smile was the perfect overshot jaw of the classic Border terrier. We’d been a team long before Sue came on the scene, and I knew we still would be long after Sue had gone.

It was weird how it all kicked off, the relationship with Sue, that is. Before I knew it, we were seeing each other every night, and if I were to say I didn’t enjoy having sex with her, I’d be lying. Things between us just grew. We became dependent on one another in a way that was a bit like smoking: You know it’s bad for you, but you believe you need it to feel normal.

Duds found Sue suspect from the first moment he clapped his beady eyes on her. The first time I introduced them, he tried to bite her tit. To be fair, we were in the hallway, and he was just protecting his property. I should’ve asked her to leave there and then, because dogs are never wrong, but at that moment in time I wanted to bite her tit, too, so I kind of ignored Duds’ warning. I can guarantee that gross negligence will not be repeated.

After four months of being together, Sue began to apply the pressure. Why couldn’t we move in together? It would be so much easier, cheaper, fun. And on and on and on, and then on and on and on some more.

I can hear you saying, Why didn’t you just tell her to sling her hook?

Ah, easy for you to say, but you weren’t the one receiving wonderful, mind-blowing sex, were you? You weren’t the one who steadily began to believe that you actually couldn’t do all the things you used to do; you were suddenly dependent on another person. Even washing up. I couldn’t even do that right. She systematically broke me down until I thought I would have difficulty trying not to drown in the bath.

When I agreed to her moving in, she was in, unpacked, and settled in less than twelve hours. She must have been half packed and waiting for me to give her the go-ahead. Duds was not a happy boy, as she banished him from sleeping at the foot of my bed from the very first night, claiming it wasn’t healthy.

I missed him, missed the way I would wake up in the night and stretch my arm down to feel a warm wet tongue lavish my fingers with kisses. I even missed the way I would inadvertently tickle his winkle because he was sprawled on his back, snoring away.

As you might have guessed, the relationship between me and Sue wasn’t easy from the start. But when she moved in, I began to see a different side to Sue than the one she had presented to me over the first six months. At first I would argue, especially when it came to Duds, but then it just became easier to go along with her. Oddly, that seemed to infuriate her even more. Arguments would start as soon as I got home from work. She didn’t even wait for me to take my coat off before she was accusing me of the usual things—not appreciating her, not telling her I loved her often enough, loving that damned mutt more than I loved her. Erm, well I… Nah, you get the picture.

Eventually I didn’t have the energy, or inclination, to argue. I just took it on the chin, rolled up my sleeves, and began to wash up. Badly. Sex went out the window after the second year, and I spent more time in the sunroom with Duds, reading or just arsing about, as Sue so delicately phrased it.

I thought these things were a blip most couples went through when they first moved in together. I truly believed I loved her. Honestly.

Because, you see, she had told me she’d love me forever. And I, like a fool, believed her. It didn’t even occur to me to wonder whether I wanted her to.

* * *

Self-confidence was a thing of the past. I was beginning to believe I was a worthless piece of shit. I’m not saying Sue purposely set out to make me feel that way, all I’m saying is that I felt vacant. The only thing I believed in was that she would always love me. The most sorrowful thing was that I hoped she was lying.

I felt trapped, caught like a poor fox in the woods, leg stuck in a mantrap and waiting for the end to take him. The pain wasn’t physical, more an emotional rendering of the helpless, if you get my meaning. Vacancy morphed into hollowness, and hollowness seeped into an abyss, trickling away and leaving me clutching at straws, at what I once called hope, but what eventually seemed like a last ditch attempt to maintain my sanity.

Then I came home one day and saw her, saw her on the bedroom carpet with another woman. At that excruciating moment, any excuse she might have offered for her infidelity wasn’t important, and I wasn’t going to stick around and ask her why she was shagging someone in our home.

A few weeks after the event, she finally admitted she had wanted me to catch her in flagrante delicto, wanted me to respond in some way that would prove to her that I loved her as much she loved me.

I said the only thing that made any sense. Bollocks.

The word conveyed an inner strength I thought had died, but by dignifying her argument with any response at all, I believed it also robbed me of what little self-respect I had left. And I wanted to keep that; she’d taken everything else.

Well, not straight away. She did give me a little time to adjust before she turned up with a removal van and wiped me out. Most of the furniture was now stacked in her apartment—unused for the most part and collecting dust. Not surprising, considering that nearly six months had passed.

When she demanded visiting rights for Duds, she went too far. Duds hated her. At the time I didn’t know why, because it isn’t in a dog’s nature to hate, only humans have that capability. But as time went on, I began to get the whole picture.

Why would a dog that has been loved from the minute he wiggled his fat little arse into my arms until now, dodge when I lifted my hand up suddenly? And why would a dog hide when I slapped a newspaper on the side of the chair?

Mmmm. It was not rocket science.

That was the moment when things started becoming interesting. That was the moment when I thought I might choke the fucking life out of her. But I didn’t. Nope. That wouldn’t have been satisfying enough.

Part of me still believes that what I did next wasn’t just because of what I thought she had done to Duds. I think it was because of all the times I had never fought back in the past—verbally, I mean. I am not offering this as an excuse; I’m merely trying to explain how I felt and why I did the thing I am about to confess to.

Sue opened her front door, and I smacked her right in the face. Her look of surprise was priceless, and the satisfying crunch of her nose under my fist will live with me for the rest of my life. I revelled in the sight of the once-straight feature leaning to one side and pissing blood like a soda siphon.

Cold? Heartless? Fucking indifferent? I grabbed the front of her shirt. The buttons tore away from the cloth. I stopped. This wasn’t me, wasn’t who I was. I never fought, whatever the provocation.

Grey eyes looked into mine. One emotion in them stood out above all others—fear. And I had put it there.

Duds was going crazy in the car, howling and scratching at the window in a vain attempt to get to me. He distracted me for less than the blink of an eye, and that’s all Sue needed.

Bang! Knee up and meeting my crotch with the speed and precision of an all-in wrestler. And down I went. Flat on top of her. Face to face, her blood smearing on my cheek.

You haven’t heard the last of this, Beth, she spat into my face. I’ll get you, and your little dog, too.

What the fuck was that? A twisted version of The Wizard of Oz? Were Munchkins going to clamber out of the flowerbeds and start singing in voices that sounded as if they’d been altered by inhaling helium?

I tried to pull away from her, but she clutched me nearer so she could then push me away with extra force. I clattered onto the paving slabs and tried to stop myself from skidding. Sue shakily got to her feet, wiping the back of her hand across her nose and wincing in pain. I just sat there while the neighbourhood squatted in eerie silence, apart from the demented howling of my little wolfman.

She slowly stepped forward, and I cowered, lifting my hands to my face, believing she was going to hit me. Her shadow loomed over me and stayed, and I cowered, curled into my protective shell.

You’re not worth it.

And then the shadow left, and the sun warmed the backs of my arms and dried the tears that had trickled down my face at the introduction of her kneecap to my private parts.

I don’t know how long I sat there, but by the time I struggled to my feet, both my right leg and my backside were numb. I undoubtedly looked ancient as I hobbled back to the car, where I was greeted by a very concerned bundle of fur. Duds licked all the dried tears from my cheeks. He even cleaned all the new ones that raced down my face. Bless him.

Unconditional love. If only humans could do that, I’d be set for life.

* * *

Things went downhill from there, really, although I’d had no sense that they could get any lower than they already were. The only time I went out was to take Dudley for his walks or to collect more work to do, as I’d stopped going to the office and did all my design work from home. My boss, Jim Adamson, had no objections, as he realized that drawings and ideas came from within, not from one’s surroundings. That’s what he said to me anyway. All I needed to do was to go in to the office to collect the project files allocated to me. Of course, all my accounts were small fry in comparison to what else the company offered, and mainly concentrated on local business promotion. I used to be one of the high fliers in the company, but not anymore. This was my choice, though. I didn’t think I could cope with too high profile a workload.

Jim believed in me, more than I believed in myself. He actually told me to take some time to get my life in order, however long that might take.

Every day I found it more difficult to get out of bed, and not just because I’d hit Sue or found her sleeping with someone else. Maybe those points were a factor, but I think it had been building for a while. There is only so much negativity a person can take before it begins to erode the positives in life, and, to be honest, I don’t think I was handling being on my own again. I know I should have been ecstatic, but that was not how I was feeling. Far from it, in fact. And if it hadn’t been for the necessity of taking care of someone else, I don’t think I would have even bothered to get up in the morning. What was the point? A black cloud had descended on me, and I had the distinct impression that my life had taken a swan dive off a cliff and landed on concrete.

As mums tend to do, my mum was forever phoning and trying to get me to Get my backside round to her place. My brother Will also wanted to come over, take me out, fix me up with a work mate, anything to take my mind off things. But I couldn’t face them; I felt too fragile. After realising Sue was no longer on the scene, old friends came out of the woodwork, only to discover I was unavailable for comment. I just wanted to be left on my own to simmer and stew and sink deeper into myself.

What I needed to do was get the facts of the case out in the open. Firstly, she said she’d love me forever. Secondly, she didn’t. Should I say thirdly? Nah. I should bullet point.

- She hit Duds. Fucker.

- I hit her. Sound of cheers from the crowd!

- She kneed me in the lady garden, and it still throbs at the memory, and she wiped blood and spit all over my face.

- The grabber nicked half of my furniture. Robber.

- She made me feel worthless and stupid. Erm…

- And I had to steam clean my bedroom carpet.

Sorted.

Now all I needed to do was to make a similar list to counterbalance that one.

- Shower.

- Dress

- Feed Duds.

- Eat.

- Go for a walk.

And that brings me to the development stage of my tale.

The Development

Earlham Park. Beautiful—green lolling fields and a clear sky. I would say blue sky, but this was England in October. Therefore, we have a clear sky, maybe greyish at best.

The day was cool, but not cold. It was cold enough for a jumper, and the ground was wet enough to wear boots, but all in all, it was a crisp autumn day in Norwich. The field was filled with butterfly dogs and their owners, you know, people who only walk their dogs when the sun is shining.

Duds didn’t know what to do first—chase his ball, or dash around yapping happily with the biggest dog he could find. Smiling occasionally at his antics, I became lost in thought, and ignored the first rule of walking a dog: Always be alert.

But you know how it is—thoughts pop into your head and you just go with them, and before you know it, thirty minutes have flown by and you have no idea how. It’s scary how we can ignore time, considering how we dwell on it so much.

Of course I had been thinking about Sue and how things had fallen apart. I was trying to put it all in perspective—from how we met to the final punch-out in front of her house. The blame was shifting from her to me and then back to her again. It was so unlike me to be violent. After I started living with Sue, I would do anything to avoid conflict, and physical contact of the bodily harm variety was not my style. Or hers, for that matter.

What had happened to the two of us? What had created the first chink in our relationship? I know what had triggered my outburst, but why had I felt the need to punch her, especially with no concrete evidence of her having done any harm to Duds?

The thought of Dudley being mistreated brought me back to reality with a crack.

I couldn’t see him.

Couldn’t see him!

Panic raced through me and choked off my breath. My heart was thumping against my ribcage.

Duds! Come on, fella! The shout broke the dam in my throat, and I felt the tears start to gather. Dud...ley!

I was running, my head whipping round trying to spot his little black body, but he wasn’t there anywhere. He was gone.

Sue’s words rattled around my head, the ones I laughed at: "and your little dog, too." I can guarantee I wasn’t laughing now. She had him. As sure as I was racing down the hill screaming his name, I knew she had him. All thoughts of physical violence not being my style flew out the window. If she hurt him in any way, I would rip her apart, limb from fucking limb. But all the smacking in the world wouldn’t bring him back.

Then I saw it. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t been on my guard, couldn’t believe I hadn’t followed the first rule of dog walking.

The river.

Fuck.

The river.

Duds loved the river. In the summer, I frequently took him to the shallow part so he could jump in and fetch sticks. I can’t tell you how many balls he had dropped in there to sink into the murky depths of a watery grave. Now Duds had followed them. He would drown in there this time of the year. The current would be too fast for him to get back to the bank.

There was no sign of him at the river’s edge. Despair shot through me, and my knees gave way