Belonging #2

  BELONGING

  PART TWO

  J. S. Wilder

  Copyright © 2014 J. S. Wilder

  BELONGING

  By J.S. Wilder

  All rights reserved.

  Cover Design by

  Louisa Maggio @ LM Creations

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  Hot Tree Editing

  This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. All characters and storylines are the properties of the author and your support and respect is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Both author and editor have taken great effort in presenting a manuscript free of errors. However, editing errors are ultimately the responsibility of the author. This book is written in UK English.

  CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  COMING SOON

  J.S. Wilder, Author

  Chapter One

  Everyone is running around the university like chickens, with the same question at the tip of their tongue.

  “Have you heard?”

  “Shit, what’s going to happen?”

  I try to find out, but I’m not in the ‘in crowd’. I’ve got a select number of friends I study and work with. Boring to some, but a simple life to me. There are just so many politics in this university, from the cleaners, to the lecturer, and especially the students. I like my time to be plain and simple, always. I had one drama in my life, and that put me off having any more. Trouble doesn’t come to you unless you go looking for it.

  An assembly is being held this afternoon. I’m so close to my finals that I really don’t want to hear it. I thought I could lay in bed a bit, perhaps up to ten, and then spend the rest of my time in the library. Unfortunately, I need to drag my arse to the assembly hall.

  Great! What is it this time? New wing? More donors?

  Debbie, calm down. Take a deep breath; it’s probably nothing interesting. I need to pass my exams or the Wicked Witch of the South (my nickname for Mrs Sparks) will be after my guts. I can hear her cackling like a true witch on her broomstick if I fail my finals. She really would love that. That would mean, because she sponsored my studies and I failed, I would need to pay her back every penny she spent on me while I was here. This was the contract she made me sign…before she kicked me out of her house and life. She would probably add interest just to spite me.

  All because I was tricked into sleeping with her husband.

  I’m the one that was used. Not the other way round.

  Kevin, my boyfriend, grabs my hand as we walk to the assembly hall. All students have been called for this meeting. Whatever is the news? I just know even after three years of successfully passing and at times with merits, I’ll be gutted if I don’t pass my finals.

  From the time I came here, I haven’t heard a whisper from her. Just like we agreed. I studied, passed and then I wouldn’t have my scholarship revoked, and we would never be in contact with each other. A perfect arrangement. Every time that woman spoke to me, I felt I needed to do my hair, or make sure my bra or my glasses were on straight or that my t-shirt was tucked into my jeans. She had a way of staring at you like you were beneath her, something she could wipe off her feet.

  My first few days at university were hard. I used to cry myself to sleep at the thought of never seeing Mr Sparks again. No, Roy— I finally found out what his name is, so I no longer refer to him as Mr Sparks. I stopped crying when the realization that he used me to piss off his wife, settled in and I grew up. I’m no longer that naïve eighteen-year-old he seduced and took her virginity from. I’m so much more than that.

  In my second year, when I met Kevin, I learnt the true meaning of a relationship. I’ve even taken him a few times to meet Grandma. She loves him, and the feeling is mutual. No, I’ve not spoken to my mum since the time she asked me for the gas card, the day I left home three years ago.

  She lost her flat soon after I left, and moved in with my aunt. The family felt maybe I should speak to her, because not only did she lose the flat, she lost her job at Tesco’s Supermarket. She started going to work later, and at times, never showed up at all. They had a disciplinary hearing and she never spoke. Grandma said she just sat there as they questioned why her attitude had changed after a decade of working there. They even called Grandma in because of mum’s long service with the supermarket to find out if there was some family crisis. Grandma was in shock and couldn’t believe she would behave like that. She tried talking to her, and so did my aunt and practically every member of the family. Mum never responded to their questions or confided in any of them, until one day she turned up at my aunt’s and said she had nowhere to live.

  Grandma never pressed me to go and see mum, because she knew the real reason for her depression wasn’t me, but my dad. Mum couldn’t believe he never came back to her. It drove her mad after he left her over fifteen years ago to buy something at the shop and he never returned. She felt me going to university meant there was no need for him to get in touch with her again—the man she waited for fifteen years to come back to her, the man who messed up her life and used her the whole time they were together just so he could get his papers to stay in the country. Once he got that, he left with no hesitation.

  The refusal of her trying to come to terms with it has led to her destruction. Do I feel sad about it? Of course, she’s my mum. I want to love her the same way Kevin talks about his mum. At times when he does, resentment and jealousy take over me and I pick a fight as a result of it. I feel bad afterwards, and don’t reveal to him the real reason, but I have a suspicion that after all this time, he probably knows; he suspects it’s jealousy. How can there not be? Normally, girls are so close to their mums. It’s just natural. Shopping together, talks about boyfriends…all the things I see my friends, and even Kevin, doing with theirs. I will never understand why I’ve been punished and don’t have this type of relationship with mine.

  “We have a serious announcement. Can all students be quiet?” the dean shouts out through the mic, his heart sounding heavy. Wow, I thought he’s a man of ice. Yet he looks vulnerable and weak, as if he’s had the shock of his life. He always has his head held high, and his suits are always immaculate. Today, he’s just wearing a shirt and trousers. No tie, his hair looks like it has not even been combed. Seriously, can the real dean stand up? He must have been replaced by this imposter. Kevin and I exchange glances. What’s going on?

  As silence falls across the auditorium, he announces weakly.

  “It’s with deep regret I have to announce this to you all. She has become a dear friend to the university and has played a vital part in helping students over the years. Many of you know her, or of her, and you would have seen her picture or have even met her in person. She has sponsored thousands of students over the years in this institute and donated heavily by the same token.”

  He coughs to clear his throat as he prepares himself for the final part of his speech, a speech he’s slow
ly announcing without paper, which again is something totally out of character. The dean doesn’t believe in mistakes, and constantly writes his speeches in preparation for the students. He has voiced it many times that you can only get the right message across if you voice it properly. Here he stands, stumbling on his words and not reading from notes, causing a slow but strong chill to run up my spine.

  “It is with deep…the deepest regret…that I say with a heavy heart...um, I recalled first meeting her here in this auditorium when she was an English major. She was a promising student, and I say it with pride knowing she went on to do wonderful things. However, there was a horrific car accident last night, and we have learnt that both Stephanie Sparks and her only son, Simon, died last night. They were turning round hill…or so it is believed there’s an investigation into what may have occurred—but it is believed they had minimum visibility in the horrible weather we had last night. Their car lost its balance and they collided head on into a lorry. An autopsy has not been done yet, but she leaves her second husband, Mr Roy Sparks in this tragedy.”

  Tears swell up in his eyes as he leaves the stage. The only thing in my mind is second husband?

  Chapter Two

  Everyone leaves the auditorium whispering about the loss of Mrs Sparks. Some are saddened by this news and others look relieved, probably because they had the same treatment from her as I did. Others are disappointed about the news; they knew nothing about her, and then a few students point out her photos and shrug their shoulders as they carry on back to whatever they were doing before they were summoned to meet in the auditorium.

  Kevin stands looking at me as if he’s seen a ghost. A selfish panic enters my heart. I’m in my final year, and this? Why now? I start to hyperventilate at the prospects of what this could mean. The realization I’m being selfish settles in, and then I remember Mrs Sparks and I didn’t part on the best of terms. So, Simon isn’t Roy’s son. This explains so many things. Simon was so protective of his mother, and did not seem to care much for Roy. There was a distance between them, but I just naturally assumed this was a typical relationship between fathers and sons. Kevin and his dad talk, but I can’t see either of them confiding in each other. They just don’t have that type of relationship. In my family, there tends to be more single mothers, so there aren’t many men around.

  It explains why he was a lot younger than she was. It was hard to gauge her age; she had breasts that were paid for, so who knows what else she paid for? She was the type of woman to pay for a new face. Gosh, even in her death, she still creeps me out. I should feel remorse; instead, I remember the last time we saw each other. She dropped me at university in the morning like a paid prostitute.

  “What are you thinking?” Kevin asks as I start to distance myself from him.

  “Mrs Sparks,” I reply while looking down at the floor as all the memories rush back into my head.

  “Oh,” he replies.

  He’s right about that. Oh.

  “Let’s go back to my room, okay?” I stop and look at him for a brief moment. He nods and we start walking in that direction in silence.

  ~*~

  We left her house in the middle of the night. I wanted to put my suitcases in the limo, but she said Henry, her driver, would do it and I should just jump in so she could get rid of me already. So, we left Chelsea, and there was so much tension in the car. We sat at opposite sides of the limo. When we got here, I had none of my belongings in the car. She spent the whole time threatening me with words such as, “You’re lucky I’m a compassionate woman. I have a good mind to revoke your sponsorship.”

  I nodded in silence. What else could I do? She had caught me in bed with her husband and threw me out of her house. I had none of my belongings, and the fire in her eyes gave me visions of her dumping me in the middle of the woods.

  Fifty quid was all I had, which wasn’t enough to spend a night in the Hilton, with no clothes, nothing.

  We arrived at the Hilton in Oxford, which was near to the university. “Wait here. Don’t move an inch until it’s eight-thirty and the university opens. I will then take you there, and I never want to set eyes on you again!” she screamed as she got out of the limo. I could tell Henry wasn’t comfortable with the idea; he sighed when he shut the car door as soon as she got out.

  “Maybe I could check her into a local motel. Cheaper. I’ll use my money to pay for it,” he pleaded with her. I could hear them talking outside.

  “No! She’ll sit there and wait, if she knows what’s good for her,” Mrs Sparks barked and I heard the rhythm of her heels as she left to enter the hotel. He turned back and looked at the limo. As she arrived at the hotel’s entrance, she yelled, “Henry, what are you waiting for? Bring my things and let’s go. It’s three in the morning!”

  I was lost. I wanted to go to the toilet after a few minutes, so I snuck out of the limo and peed in a nearby bush. I had visions of her seeing me and scolding me for being so disgusting. She never had to share her thoughts about me; her stares did it all.

  At eight-thirty, she came into the car in her bright red suit. I remember thinking, How appropriate, the devil’s colour. I felt so uncomfortable in the limo that I was actually glad when we arrived and the photographer took the shots of her handing me a big fake big cheque to show her kindness in sponsoring another poor student. It was a horrible experience. The photos were all around uni and everyone used to laugh, saying I should have at least made some effort. I wore the same jeans and t-shirt I slept in, and my hair was all over the place. Being mixed race, my hair gets a bit wild unless I straightened it or brushed it. It was sticking up like a bird’s nest, as much as I tried to put it in some order.

  “Can, I at least go to the toilet and brush my hair?” I had pleaded with her when the photographer was setting up.

  “You take one step, my girl…I want everyone to see how vile you really are, so if you take one step, I’m gone, and so is your ticket to further education.”

  She had me over a barrel. No matter what, she was going to win.

  The only bonus was getting the cheque to freedom. I never had to see her or Roy ever again. Or so I thought, until she left me standing there with the photographer and rushed to her car, ordering me to follow her like a dog. She commanded me to sign a contract. Seriously, when did she have time to do that? It made me wonder if it was all a set-up. The contract meant I would never see her or any member of her family ever again. If I did, then I would have to pay my own tuition fees and the money she had spent on me to date. I was unclear what money she had spent to date, but I had a feeling I didn’t want to know. She could claim back possibly on my stay in her house, the drive here and picking me up from mum’s…who knows? I just needed a shower and to get to my new room, wherever it was, get the stench of Roy off my body and try to straighten out my glasses, which were more than lopsided in the photos.

  Before I signed it, I asked her, “My things, when will I get them?”

  She laughed, it was then I knew my little glimmer of hope to get the rest of my things was gone. I would never get them back. She had me sign the contract, which meant I couldn’t contact her.

  “I’ll send them to you,” she said as she checked my signature and got back into the limo. Henry sighed and shook his head as he closed the door.

  I watched her drive off, and then I tried to find out where I was supposed to be living. I had visions of her never paying for that, or something worse, she had tricked me and left me stranded in Oxford University with no means of finding my way back home.

  I never should have left all my suitcases so Henry could put them all in the back of the limo. I was naïve to follow her instructions. I found the registration desk for the halls and made my way to my new room. I remember going to my room and crying. My roommate, Michelle, thought I was homesick, and she did her best to try and cheer me up.

  Michelle found it strange I had nothing with me but fifty pounds, a purse and a mobile with all my documents in a rucksack. I sat t
hinking about how long that would last me and what I was going to do in the meantime with no money, no clothes and no toiletries. The more I thought about what was in my bags, the more it saddened me. Sure, I wasn’t rich like Mrs Sparks, but I had personal items that could never be replaced.

  I made up some story about my mother to Michelle. I used her as an excuse for my treatment. I claimed she hated me coming to university and tried to stop me from leaving, so the only thing to do was to leave the flat with the one thing I had in my hand, which was a backpack.

  I was telling Michelle a fairy tale of my life and deep down thinking it was so far from the truth. I had earned sympathy when the news got around, and before I knew it, everyone on our dorm floor was trying to help me out. I did feel guilty because of the lie and the real reason for everyone helping me. I had visions of me telling the truth, ‘Okay, so I’ve got no clothes, because I fucked my sponsor’s husband.’ Nope, I was disillusioned when I got here. None of it was my fault and all of it was hers, because she was a bitch. The realization I had slept with a married man hit home slowly but surely. As I grew up and wised up to the situation, I realised I had been used, plain and simple.

  Michelle was my helping hand; she lent me a couple of clothing items, especially with the poor weather, and when word got round, others did the same. She even lent me some money so I could buy some necessities, even on her tight student budget. I really don’t know what I would have done if it wasn’t for her generosity.

  Then, I was told about the job at the local student bar. I applied, and within a week, I got the job. It was my saviour. Things were looking up and I felt better about being here. There were times I was tempted to go back home with my tail between my legs, begging Mum for forgiveness and telling her she was right all along; I never belonged at university. Tulse Hill and in Tesco’s stacking shelves was where I belonged, and I would never think otherwise or bring up the topic again.