I think I saw you …
It’s been twenty years, and Helen Stephens has
come home to stay. And to get revenge on the person who murdered her mother. If
only she knew who it was … But nothing is ever black or white, and when she
rents a room in a house full of ex-offenders, the events of that fateful day
blur even further, leading her to question her resolve and her memory.
Jason Moody, who runs the half-way house, has
his own shame. When he uncovers her intent, he begins to suspect that someone
close to him could be involved …
A coincidence? Or is there something else
going on?
Purchase Links
UK - https://www.amazon.co.uk/Henriette-Gyland/e/B00AVZQQZW
US - https://www.amazon.com/Henriette-Gyland/e/B00AVZQQZW
Excerpt
This is a scene from the Prologue seen from
the viewpoint of the main character aged five years old. Her mother has woken
her in the early hours and explained that they need to meet with someone, and
here they are sitting in the car near a park waiting for this unnamed person.
Her mother was rushed and forgot to give the child her usual medication, and
Helen who suffers from epilepsy experiences the kind of tiredness which she
knows is the forerunner to an absence seizure.
<>
Helen yawns. She’s feeling sleepy, but it’s not the
real sort of sleepy like when it’s bedtime. It’s the kind of sleepy that Mummy
says she has to be a good girl and take her medicine for. The doctor calls it a
medical condition, and Helen knows the name for it. It’s a long word which rolls
off her tongue when she says it.
Epilepsy.
Plepsy, plopsy, flopsy, she chants silently. Flopsy is
the name of her pet rabbit, who lives in a cage in the garden, and who eats
carrots and apples and his own poo. She smiles. He sleeps a lot too, even when
you hold him, and that’s why she called him Flopsy.
The dog is back. Fighting back the drowsiness, Helen
watches it running playfully from tree to tree. She wishes that she didn’t feel
so tired, then perhaps she could’ve played in the leaves too instead of sitting
in the car, which is boring, boring, boring, but she can’t because they have to
meet someone. Who, she asked, but Mummy wouldn’t say.
A little light flashes inside her head, and she blinks
and rubs her eyes. This is what happens if she doesn’t take her medicine, she
sees lights and colours that aren’t really there, and she worries because she
doesn’t think Mummy gave it to her this morning. Mummy was in a strange mood,
dressing her roughly without a word, no breakfast and no teeth-brushing. Helen
didn’t dare remind her of the medicine.
Mummy’s big shopping bag is lying on the back seat
next to Helen’s car seat. It’s a cream cloth bag edged with red ribbon and red
carry handles, and it has a picture on the front of an Indian prince riding an
elephant. Mummy has a lot of handbags – and lots of nice clothes too – but
Helen loves this bag best because it’s embroidered with gold beads and red
sequins.
She lifts the top of the bag and peers inside. Perhaps
Mummy put the medicine in there. Secretly she hopes not because she doesn’t
like taking it. She only really likes Calpol. The epilepsy medicine is a red
liquid which tastes horrible, and she has to wash it down with something. Water
is best; orange juice just makes it taste even more yucky. But the medicine
isn’t in there, and instead the bag is stuffed full of boring-looking papers
and computer discs. She sighs and looks out of the window again.
Her gaze falls on a car on the other side of the road.
She can’t remember if it was there when she and Mummy got here, but she’s sure
she’s seen it before. She looks at it more closely. It’s a small blue car with
a dent in the door. She cranes her neck, straining against the seat belt which
is attached to a clip on the side of her car seat, but she’s firmly stuck.
A lady is sitting in the blue car, and even though
she’s wearing a large coat and a thick scarf around her neck, Helen recognises
her. This lady used to be Mummy’s friend, but not anymore. Now she sometimes
stands outside the house where they live, and when Helen points her out, Mummy
runs out into the street and shouts go away, leave us alone. Helen feels sorry
for the lady who looks like she’s lost something precious, but she doesn’t like
to say anything. Sometimes Mummy can be a bit scary, a bit like Auntie Letitia,
actually. Helen likes Auntie Ruth better, even if she cries a lot when she
thinks no one is watching.
Helen lifts her hand and waves, but the lady tugs up
the collar of her coat then slides down in her seat as if she wants to sleep,
and Helen can only see the top of her head. She considers telling Mummy about
it, but Mummy is busy talking on her mobile phone. She’s keeping her voice
down, and Helen can’t make out what she’s saying. She knows she’s not allowed
to interrupt, and she doesn’t really want Mummy to go chasing after the lady
anyway, leaving her alone in the car, so she keeps quiet.
Blue streaks of light blink in her head, and
everything around her turns a hazy sort of purple, like smoke. Helen knows
what’s happening to her. It’s called fitting, and it means that her head goes
funny. She doesn’t like the fitting; before it starts, it makes her tremble all
over, and it’s always horrible afterwards. But there’s nothing she can do.
Helpless in her car seat she gets that sick blue feeling of being all alone
which she knows so well. Terrified, she tries to call out to Mummy, but the
words don’t seem to come out of her mouth …
<>
Author Bio
–
Originally from Denmark, Henriette Gyland (who also writes as Ella
Gyland) has lived in London for many years, surrounded by her family, cats,
books and the Scandinavian hygge she tries to create everywhere she goes. As a
linguist she loves playing with words and language, and she's addicted to
story-telling. She also believes strongly in social responsibility and
sustainable living.
Social Media
Links –
Website: https://henriettegyland.wordpress.com/
Facebook author page: https://www.facebook.com/EllaGyland
Twitter: @henrigyland
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/henrigylandwrites/
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