Forget Me Not - Georgie Armstrong (beach read txt) 📗

Down by the pontoon; where the forget-me-nots grow heavily in the undergrowth; where the sun’s fingertips stretch down on to the edge of the clear water, I sit and I listen quietly to the buried memories retelling themselves to my mind. There are so many of them, spilling back upon me, it’s almost too much to handle after all these years… But maybe, just maybe, they will wait there for me this time, before parts of my existence slip away from me one more time.

I watch the memories flickering past my eyes as if a hallucination, a familiar dream of some sort, and allow them to settle safe in my head… And after a while, I am too overwhelmed by all of this that I take to my page. With a pen poised evocatively in my hand, I write. I write it all out.


Chapter One

Three days. Undoubtedly too long. Nothing too short. Just three days ago they had arrived, and already Evie was regretting ever letting her Mother persuade her to pack her bags and leave. She left. They all left it. The place which had been their home for fifteen years. And how easy it had been for Oliver and Lillian. How intolerably hard it had been for Evie. Now sitting on her balcony, her pale skin blushing in the heat, she found it hard to imagine her old bedroom back in London. After three days. Just three days. What memories would be left after a week, a month, a year? If anything at all.

Perhaps all that would remain were the photographs pinned upon the empty walls of her new bedroom. There were four in all. One, laminated in glossy plastic, of her old home; the three story London house in Trafalgar Square. The next, a black and white print of her parents on their wedding day. Evie had always been jealous of her Mother’s beauty, especially in this photo. The third photo was of one Christmas; the first and last snow of the year. Evie’s Mother had insisted they had a family photo in front of the house.

And the fourth photo. The day of Evie’s 13th birthday. The day which marked the decline of closeness between her Mother and herself. It seemed that turning into her teenage years had its effects on Lillian. Evie was no longer the little girl with glossy blonde hair, scraped high into bunches with pink bows upon her head. Her ultimate goal for each day no longer to become a fairy princess, but to silently curl up in a corner with a notepad and pens, and to write. Her Mother hated this. She used to say that Evie was wasting her time. That it was virtually impossible to make a way in the publishing business. Evie paid no attention, however true her comments may be. Her Mother became less of a Mother. It was clear that she was solitarily fond of children, and not teenagers.

Star Bay was a place of American perfection, friendliness and accomplishment. Apparently. It was a small village located off the coast of Florida, on a hill opposite an island. Envied by all but those who lived there. Apparently. To Evie, it was different to how everyone else saw it. The minute she had set foot in the new house, her life, her beloved dream of becoming a published author, was destined for the trash bin. Her life belonged back in London - not some tiny town somewhere in the east of America, where dreams were surrounded by water, and all the latest air cons and American inventions were the greatest inspirations around.

Perhaps you could call her shallow. Small-minded in the fact that she did not care for the beauty of Star Bay and the moderately fresh loaf of inspiration it could potentially be to her imaginative mind. How she stepped upon earth where independence ruled the soil, and the bricks laid upon one another were crafted by true American Dreamers. The American Dream. Surely the clues are in the very words? America is the Motherland for dreams. However Evie, a stubborn mule at times, could just not see that and so it happened that America; the land of rich inspiration, was nothing but a dried out piece of history to her.

* * *

The air was thick and hot, and the sun pushed down to kiss Evie’s skin, and to grovel respectfully at her feet. Every inch of the country was begging for her approval. But she sat, in the early hours of the evening, with pens and paper decorating the table in front of her, as she tapped the notepad furiously, longing for her imagination to take her to places far away from Star Bay.

Soon, her Mother’s voice became audible in the background noise of nothingness.
“Evie, I did tell you three times already, you were to be downstairs at six o’clock so that we could go out for dinner. It is now ten past six and,” She appeared in the doorway, “You are still on this balcony doodling your nonsense in that wretched book of yours.”
Evie peered up, blinded by the evening sun.
“You have no self awareness about you. And your Father still isn’t best pleased with your little moment at the airport. You lost that book of yours, didn’t you? We had to trek around the whole terminal to find it. And exactly where was it in the end?”
Evie’s skin pricked as her Mother’s eyes locked with hers. “In my bag.” She cringed. She still felt dreadful about delaying the family onto the plane. But the reality was; she had intended it all. She had complained to her Father that she had left her ‘greatly important’ notebook back in the waiting area, and that if she didn’t locate it sooner or later, ‘her life was well and truly over’. Accept that her brilliant plan was not so brilliant in the end. They still made it onto the plane with two minutes to spare. She glanced up to her Mother who was shaking her head disapprovingly. “Put that notebook away and hurry up and get downstairs.”
Downstairs, Evie’s Father stood by the shiny front door. “Evie,” He smiled, “Nice of you to join us.”
“She was writing.” Lillian snapped.
“Really? What were you writing? Some poetry? A limerick?”
“Don’t encourage her, Oliver.”

* * *

As her Father gently quizzed her about her latest inspirations for writing, (at which point Lillian had vanished off to the toilet) Evie relished in the admiration flowing thick and fast from her Father. She scooped her spoon into the spiced carrot soup she had ordered, and answered her Father’s questions.
“I’ve not quite reached a plot yet,” She replied, “But I know there will be two main characters. Mary and Christopher. Mary is to be witty and wonderfully humorous, and Christopher the handsome young man who wins over her heart.”
Her Father responded quite bluntly. “I like it.” His subdued words and wondering eyes had Evie turning in her seat. She soon realised why his compliments were limited. Her Mother had returned from the toilets. “I do wish you two would give it a rest.”
“A rest from what? Evie and I were happily discussing the fine quality of food here, weren’t we Eves?”
Evie nodded hesitantly. She hated to lie, especially to her own Mother.
“Don’t mistake me for a naive old bat. I know exactly what you two were chattering about.” She turned to scold her daughter. “Evie, I’ll say this only once more,” Well, that was a lie. Evie quite well understood that she would be given this reprimand for the rest of her life as she knew it. “Writing is a silly habit. It will fail to get you anywhere in life, no matter how hard you try. If you want to get somewhere in life, take over your Father’s business.” Lillian caught the attention of a passing waitress, and abruptly interrogated her with the likes of the wine menu.
“If you ever do such a thing, then you are not my daughter.” Oliver whispered, winking his left eye. Evie smiled a smile of ambition; she would never let her Father down and she knew it.
“I spent half my life dreaming,” Lillian continued, “And where did it get me? No sodding where. I will not sit down and watch my daughter repeat my mistakes.” The end….for now.

* * *

Their house was unfortunately built up about two hundred and fifty steps. Her cheeks blushing crimson, Evie pushed her frail body further and further up the steps. She had never been overweight once, but more inclined to categorise as underweight. Her bones were ugly, and in some places, surfaced just under her skin. And her stomach was so thin that you could see every one of her ribs, and her hip bones forced out underneath her skin. She had never wanted to look like this, who would? But, she could not help it for the world. She ate as a normal person should, and therefore remained in perplexity over her physical shape.

She made it to her bedroom in twenty two minutes of leaving the restaurant. It was different to the small, simple room she had back home. In London she had rustic wooden beams and beautiful, rugged floorboards. This room had replaced beams with crisp white painted ceilings, and her floorboards had turned to fuzzy white carpet. Her mint green window shutters were now a pair of modern French Doors, leading out to a posh and overrated balcony. And finally her cupboards and shelves full of books were merely one confined wardrobe in the corner of the room.

She sat on her new bed, sinking into the mattress a few inches, and contemplated her new life. To her it seemed limited and empty of anything that reminded her of London. Whether that was a good thing, she left undecided.

The next morning was shy of cold, dull clouds; instead the sun captured the country and rose higher in the sky. Evie’s Mother had woken her with the brisk opening of her curtains to let light flood through onto her face.
“I’m glad you’re finally up.” Lillian frowned. “We’ve been invited to a neighbour’s house for a party.”
“Now?” Evie moaned.
“No, not now. We are to be there at seven o’clock this evening. I’m sure you can find something suitable to wear; which will not include anything of the sort of jeans and a t-shirt.”
“Okay.” Evie turned on her side and covered her head with the duvet.
“Don’t go back to sleep. You promised that you would hand out these cards today, remember?”
Evie searched her mind for a conversation with her Mother involving handing out cards. She could not recall a thing.
“Evie, surely you remember?”
Evie pulled the duvet away from her face and glared at her Mother. Lillian took a deep breath and let it out through her mouth. “For goodness sake Evie Summers. Now listen carefully because I won’t tell you again. Here are some cards for you to give to the neighbours,” She held up little blue envelopes in her hand, “This afternoon you are to hand them out to every house in Star Bay. I will leave them here on the desk. Your Father and I are going out. Can I trust you will remember to hand out the cards?”
“I’ll hand them out.” Evie groaned.
“Good. We’ll be back before