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If It's To Be -  Peter (Doug) McArthur

If It's To Be (eBook)

It's Up To Me
eBook Download: EPUB
2024 | 1. Auflage
268 Seiten
Bookbaby (Verlag)
979-8-3509-8363-0 (ISBN)
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Ros is 32 years old she has been raised by a domineering and controlling single mother to the point that she has no life skills and her knowledge of men and sex is almost nil. From an early age she was sent to a boarding school under the tutelage of nuns with a strict moral sense. Since finishing school she has remained at home with her mother on a rural property and had limited contact with people outside the home. Ros has never had a job and never been out with a man. Ros's mother is now dead and Ros wants a piece of life and sets out to get it.

The author is a 79 year old retired policeman, he lives with his wife in rural Victoria Australia. He has three adult daughters, 8 grandchildren and to date 13 great grand children, he is an active member of PROBUS, enjoys life, lunches out too often and drives a Prado.
Roslind Quirk is 32 years old, she has been raised by a reclusive, man hating, single mother and now that her mother is dead she has no idea how she will continue, although well educated, she has never had a job and has no life skills. On a train enroute to consult the family solicitor she has a chance meeting with a young mother with a new born baby girl, Ros is enraptured by the baby and decides there and then that she wants children, although, she has no idea how to go about it, her knowledge of sex is less than basic and she knows no marriageable men. Gilbert McCrickard is 52 years old, he is a widower and retired, he is known by sight to Rosling and her likewise to him, although they have never met he stables his horse on property belonging to her. Circumstances and on advice from her solicitor Rosling engages with Gilbert to seek advice and perhaps mentoring, there is no thought by either party of romance. Through her frequent contact with the man Ros becomes fond of his horse and dog and slowly her thinking turns to considering him as a husband and father of her children. Gilbert doesn't want a bar of it. Although his thoughts sometimes stray and he gets angry with himself. Ros working on the credo she has been given "e;If it's to be then it is up to me"e; makes her play.

Chapter 1

“What now? What am I to do?” Rosalind Quirk had thrown herself onto her bed and was bawling her eyes out in total despair. “Mother why have you left me? What am I going to do?” Rosalind, Ros, had just returned from the local cemetery having witnessed her beloved mother, her life if you like, lowered into the ground and covered with two metres of God’s earth. Sleep, in a little while, took away the despair and put off answering the questions which had plagued her for the past four days, ever since discovering her mother’s lifeless body in her bed that fateful morning. Natural causes declared Doctor Drew, he had been treating her mother for some time for heart problems, a Death Certificate was issued without fuss. Doctor Drew offered his condolences and left. Ros had no idea her mother had been so ill that her death was not entirely unexpected by the Medico.

Ros woke feeling wretched, if she knew of the phrase ‘Feeling Shithouse’ that’s the term she would have used, but her Convent schooling and mothers desire to protect her from all such commonalities robbed her of the ability to express herself in such a vulgar tone so ‘wretched’ would have to do. It was dark, she had no idea what time it was, sometime since throwing herself onto the bed she had crawled to the top so that her head rested on the pillow, her pillow was damp from her tears. Ros just lay there feeling so sorry for herself and how badly done by she had been. After a while the sniffling stopped and her head cleared, she turned her thoughts around, I am an adult, healthy, well educated young lady, I can cope, she leapt from the bed; “Enough of this, I have a life to live.” Ros leant across and turned on her bedside lamp, she realised she was cold, in fact she was freezing, she reached for her old dressing gown behind the bedroom door and pulled it on over the clothes she was still wearing from her mother’s funeral. She just stood for a moment to gather her thoughts. The clock on her bedside table told her that it was a little after 7.00pm, the same clock had been ticking her life away for as long as she could remember, the bedside table, the bed, the bedspread, the framed ballerina print on the wall, the colour of the walls, the carpet on the floor had all been part of her life since her childhood. The dressing gown she had just donned had been brought for her when she was fifteen years old, she had grown out of her well worn previous gown which she had had since she was a six year old. Ros hugged herself and took comfort from familiar surroundings. Realising that she was hungry, having not eaten since leaving for her mother’s funeral, even then she had just nibbled the corner of a sandwich. She switched on the kitchen light and went to the refrigerator, aware that everything she looked at or touched, apart from fresh food, was exactly as it had been for all of her life, she was 32 years old and living in a child’s world. Would she have the courage to change any of it. Did she want to?. Ros grabbed two bananas out of the wire basket on top of the fridge and headed out the backdoor, she had developed a habit of, most evenings, taking a stroll to the front gate and watching the outside world, not that there was much world to see, only occasionally someone, or a couple would walk past, more often than not with a dog on a lead, rarely was she noticed standing in the shadow of the Cyprus hedge, those times she came under notice she might get a “Good evening” to which she like responded, often resulting in the recipients of her tiding hurrying off giggling. The house, Rosalind’s house now, is set in the centre of a three acre block, a little over one hectare in modern parlance, it is situated at 94 Chapman St Kilfra in rural Victoria. The town got its name from Charles Ryan the 21 year old son of a Kilfera, Kilkenny in Ireland Solicitor. Charles Ryan migrated to Australia in 1839 from Dublin, arriving in Sydney and overlanding in 1840 to the Port Phillip District of New South Wales where he took up a run ‘Kilfera’ on the Broken River. Ryan’s Creek in the district also bears his name. Kilfera is 130 Kilometres north of Melbourne along the Hume Highway and sits on the banks of the Broken River. Ros leaned on the front gate, her chin resting on her forearms and mused, sometimes quietly to herself and at other times out loud. “I have lived in this house for 31 of my 32 years. I have been told that the house was built in 1901, and today it is much the same as it was at that time. Am I always going to be happy continuing to live here, in this house?” The house has a brass just to the right of the front door which proclaims that the house is named ‘Beckwith’ so named by a previous owner believed to be Scottish.

The town of Kilfera is all to the west of Ros’s place, and to the east, open farmland, with the nearest house in that direction about a kilometre away. “Do I change anything, do I sell up and shift, how do I go about doing anything? I have an awful lot to learn, I know virtually nothing about living a normal life. What is a normal life?.” Ros turned and looked back toward the house, a curved Cyprus hedge ran either side of the gravel driveway for about 50 metres thus obscuring her view of her home, she would have to walk at least 30 metres along the driveway before she could see the house. The eastern side hedge finished a few metres from the house where the driveway branched off to run to the front of the building, while the western hedge continued along the fence line for a further 50 metres to a fenced off yard at the bottom of the back garden. Ros strolled back toward to the house, she was not at all tired and on impulse decided to continue on to the bottom of the back garden and look into to the fenced off yard, she was on her own property, nothing could happen to her, her way was well lit by a brilliant moon. A thought reminded her that the last time she ventured into the rear yard it was neglected and overgrown with a shed of some sort, perhaps a stable in the back corner, she remembered that she had got very excited and asked mother if she might have a pony, mother closed down any discussion on the subject with a curt “Girls don’t ride horses.”

As she neared the fence which was a standard paling fence Ros was startled by a noise and movement from over the fence “Holy mother of G..” she exclaimed, stopping just short of completing the blasphemy, thankful that mother was not around to have heard. “Who is in there?” she almost screamed. “I’ll call the police.” Suddenly an enormous figure reared up in front of her from over the fence. Now in Ros’s world there was little access to many swear words, any that she might use in this situation were blasphemous but the situation called for more than polite comment,“Jesus, Mary and Joseph” she shouted as she reeled back, not caring who might be around to hear. She could always beg forgiveness later.

Nothing jumped on her, nothing attacked her, she heard an animal like snuffle and realised quickly that it was a huge horse which had stuck its head over the fence and was talking to her in horse snuffle. bloody hell she exclaimed, where did that language come from? She realised that she had sworn more in the last 30 seconds than she had for years, probably since she left school. Not knowing a thing about horses Ros stood and just looked at it for a few minutes, all the while the horse was talking in snuffle, it certainly gave no indication that it was going to jump the fence and hurt her, she reached up and touched it on the huge snout and said as if talking to an infant; “There there”. A great tongue snaked out of the horse’s mouth and wrapped around her wrist, Ros yelped and pulled her arm away quickly, delighted to see that her hand was still attached. She turned and hurried back to the house slightly revolted by the goo dripping from her hand but quiet excited by her encounter with one of God’s creatures and determined to get better acquainted in daylight hours. “The daylight hours” she exclaimed; “I have to catch the 7.20am to Melbourne in the morning.” She had completely forgotten. On the morning of her mother dying, once the doctor had gone, Ros had sat on the small settee in her mother’s room just looking at the body with all sorts of things running through her mind. Her teaching was that the soul had left the body and was now in heaven, the alternative was unthinkable, her mother was in heaven. Ros had got down on her knees and prayed for her mother’s soul and then somewhat selfishly asked the Lord “What am I to do now?. “I have to arrange a funeral. How?” Ros was starting to get things straight in her mind, her mother had forever been in regular contact with the family solicitor and had stressed to Ros many times that should anything happen to her she was to contact the solicitor immediately. Mother’s little book of numbers always resided on the hall table, by the phone. A flick through the book told Ros that the family solicitor was Mr Trevor Burn of, Burn and Clunies, with an Ascot Vale address and phone number. Ros had dialled the number and after a few short moments on hold, a voice on the line introduced itself as belonging to Trevor Burn and asked; “How can I help you.” Ros had introduced herself and explained the situation she was in following her mother’s demise. “Miss Quirk, please accept the sincere condolences of this firm and from me personally, I have dealt with your mother for many years and held her in very high regard, she was a smart lady who knew her mind and kept me on my toes, I trust you and I will form a similar bond.” Ros had acknowledged Burn’s condolences and said; “Mr Burn my mother’s body still lies in her bed, Doctor Drew has examined...

Erscheint lt. Verlag 30.11.2024
Sprache englisch
Themenwelt Sachbuch/Ratgeber Gesundheit / Leben / Psychologie Partnerschaft / Sexualität
ISBN-13 979-8-3509-8363-0 / 9798350983630
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