A Rough Kind of Magic Read online

  A

  Rough Kind

  of

  Magic

  Louise James

  AuthorHouse™ UK

  1663 Liberty Drive

  Bloomington, IN 47403 USA

  www.authorhouse.co.uk

  Phone: 0800.197.4150

  © 2017 Louise James. All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

  Published by AuthorHouse 04/22/2017

  ISBN: 978-1-5246-8049-7 (sc)

  ISBN: 978-1-5246-8050-3 (e)

  Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

  and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

  Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

  Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

  For Bryan and our children

  Phillip Christopher Lester Julie Linzi Gareth

  And in loving memory of ‘Pops’ Arthur Thomas James

  Who wanted to see this book in print.

  Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Acknowledgements

  I wish to thank all the team at AuthorHouse for publishing my books.

  Thank you Jude Cure and her team for talking me into this one I did have doubts. Thanks to the graphic team who I know will sort out my illustrations as usual.

  To Bob and Chrissie Thompson for their work on the electronics which enabled me to send my work so quickly.

  As ever I am grateful for the help and advice from all of you. Thank you.

  Chapter 1

  ‘Put your head down a moment lad’ The words barely penetrated but Greg felt the firm pressure urging his head down to his knees. As the swirling mists cleared he looked up to the sympathetic face of the nurse bending over him. He shuddered, pulling himself together with a tremendous effort out of the void which threatened to engulf him; bile rose in his throat gagging him, the nurse moved swiftly to bring a bowl and tissues. The keen grey eyes of the consultant met his with compassion. He sat up straight meeting those eyes with a great effort, His head swimming.

  ‘How long do I have?’ he demanded.

  Mr McLaughlin spread his hands eyeing the young man appraisingly. He recognised the type only straight talking would suit this one. Greg Morgan stood before him, six foot two in his socks, his body deeply tanned from sailing and his work on the oil rig, muscles honed to perfection with physical work and exercise routines. His hair dark and curling, eyes that could turn to steel with anger or lighten to deep sparkling green with laughter, a wide sensitive moth and dimpled chin, he was a hit with the girls, one describing him as “Sex on legs and lovely with it”. At the moment he didn’t feel like either.

  Mr Mcloughlin looked him over thinking it was so unfair that such a young specimen of manhood should have this burden; no one looking at him could begin to guess at the closing heart that could not be repaired. A transplant the only answer but Greg’s blood contained rare antibodies which made finding a donor more difficult. The failure to find one in time was a grim possibility.

  ‘We didn’t want to find this Greg.’ The Consultant placed a hand on his shoulder.

  ‘I am not going to hide the truth from you. We don’t have a lot of time to spare. You are young and very fit but without that replacement all I can estimate is a year to eighteen months but keep your courage, an urgent call will be on its way. You will have a bleeper which will alert you day or night once a donor is found and we will be waiting. You have a repeat prescription which you can pick up anywhere and we will keep a close eye on you. You must give up your job at once, rest, just laze about, no more keep fit routines. Do you have anyone you can stay with rather than live alone?’

  ‘My parents, they live in Swansea.’ Greg turned away and began to dress. ‘Just tell me how I can look after myself. I must get my life in order.’

  ‘It will take time for you to accept and I know you haven’t taken it in yet. Take care of yourself, avoid smoking or smoky atmospheres, take a little alcohol but not to excess. Plenty of rest out where the air is clean and pure, mountains or sea preferably (looking no climbing) plain food, no fats, no sugars, no stress, don’t get overtired, sleep with windows open but keep warm and dry. If you get problems come back and we’ll sort you out. Think positive, any day we may receive the message. It’s all in the hands of God. I cannot do more for you at present, you know the score. I have been as straight as I can because I know you wouldn’t want anything less

  Greg held out his hand. ‘Thank you for that. I have to cope with this in my own way although I don’t know how.’ Mr McLoughlin shook his hand firmly.

  ‘I know you will. Don’t forget that bleeper can go off any time. Keep faith in that.

  As the door closed behind him, Nurse Romsey busied herself clearing up the consultation room. She glanced at the consultant who was standing at the window looking out at the Plane tree overhanging the courtyard, a green film beginning to spread over its branches where sparrows squabbled as they picked at minute insects in the bark, spring was on its way. Mr Mcloughlin was a tall grey haired man liked by his patients and a situation like this was not uncommon to him but his face at the moment was grim. He murmured to himself ‘Sometimes I think we are here to work miracles and we do, other times I feel completely useless’

  Nurse Romsey softly closed the door behind her. Her throat was full of tears she was seldom affected by patients but today had tugged her heartstrings and if she didn’t leave quickly she would sob her heart out. She too had a grown-up son of about the same age; her heart bled for his parents.

  Greg found himself in his car without any recollection of how he got there. He sat keys in hand feeling nothing. The nausea and fainting he had experienced earlier was replaced by numbness, all thoughts and feelings were suspended, although he was dimly aware perhaps he should not be driving, no one had told him so he sat completely lost. His first impulse was that of a small child, he wanted to run to his mother’s arms, sob his heart out, have her hold him and tell him it would be alright. ‘Mam, make it right’ he whispered but his parents
were far away, he’d have to keep this to himself for a while; it couldn’t be told over the phone, he would have to go to them and tell them that their son was ill. How could he tell them already in their sixties that their only child was almost certain to die before they did. He was alone very frightened. How he needed their strength at the moment. He sat back in the driving seat looking at his hands on the steering wheel, broad well shaped hands with artistic tapering fingers. He held his hand up to the sunlight seeing the transparency of skin almost seeing the pink glow of blood flowing through; for how long?

  He suddenly found himself wanting Stephanie his ex-fiancée wishing that she wasn’t ex. He had always been able to talk to her but in reality he was glad that particular entanglement was over because that is what it had become more than a relationship. They had lived together for almost six years, their intention to marry postponed time and time again. First they had planned to go into the hotel business together, then realising that Greg was happy in his career, they planned a large fashionable wedding (Steph’s parents were expecting it and more than happy to pay for it themselves) this was postponed yet again as Stephanie headed for promotion in the well-known fashion house where she was head buyer. Greg himself was away for weeks at a time, plans for home and family drifting further and further away.

  Greg coming home late one night finding Stephanie out sat for a long time deep in thought. She was obviously dining yet again with bosses or clients he didn’t know which suddenly realising he really didn’t care. He knew they had grown worlds apart and it had become pointless at least for him. He waited until she returned towards dawn, not missing her; not particularly caring where she was or who with, realising how long it had been since they had shared time and friends, talked about their future. It had been a long time since they had made love as lovers only taking each other out of need and habit.

  Steph had crept in at five startled to find him waiting more startled when a cold, calm Greg told her that it was over. She had cried, stormed, shouted and raged but Greg sensing through her tears a savagely wounded pride greater than the loss of their love, stood firm. They had argued for a week before she moved out to stay with a friend, he had loved her once but it was over, only now in this dark place did he have a regret that now he had no one to hold on to, an only child he was used to being alone. After his break –up with Stephanie he spent most of his time on the rig where he had several good friends, united in their work and the confined off shore life they led. On leave he’d missed Steph for a while but his good looks and humorous charm always bought him a date if he needed one. His biggest problem was keeping his flat empty and his life unencumbered; here his best mate Ray Bower was the expert at loving and leaving the girls so Greg took a few tips off Ray and was happy however in this awful moment of truth, he missed Steph, her cool practicality and common sense might have kept his mind balanced. He felt at the moment it might soon snap. It was too late now, Steph must not come back, not only unfair to her but she was an organiser and Greg hated to be organised. He started the car, aware that the impact of what he had just learned had not yet hit him and a storm was yet to come. He swung the Jaguar into the traffic. He needed to be at the place he called home although he felt more at home in his cabin on the rig.

  As the car idled at the lights, he realised to all intents and purposes his life didn’t amount to much in the face of what he had just learned. The flat was his, no mortgage and he had savings, and financially he was well off not that he would be for long if he couldn’t work. His pride and joy was his car, his heart always lifted when he could drive her around. The bright red Jaguar Mark 11 had been acquired through a friend of a friend when he was looking for something special. He and Ray had worked hard to bring her to concourse condition he had probably given her more tender care than he had Steph; perhaps that had been part of the problem. The lights changed and momentarily he felt the usual deep thrill he always felt as the car leapt forward. How long would he be able to drive? Not long, the pain and fatigue would make it impossible even before the doctors stopped him; he was surprised that Mcloughlin hadn’t already done it. At the top of the hill, Greg slammed into top gear swooping down to the seafront where he turned left continuing a further couple of miles then turning into a side road where he came to a stop in front of double garage doors. The instinct to go to ground was now overpowering. He slammed the car doors locking them and made for the stairs ignoring the lift although he knew that he shouldn’t; he let himself panting into the long quiet room, flinging himself onto the wide couch, he wept.

  The day moved into night and the room darkened but the man never stirred. From deep uncontrolled sobbing had come exhausted sleep, sounds from the street drifting into silence.

  Chapter 2

  The cold light of dawn slid through the undrawn curtains, its fingers crept over the thick blue carpet, trailed across the misty prints on the walls, caught the gleam of the Egyptian figurines on the cabinet, finally touching almost as a caress the dark head hanging over the edge of the couch showing harshly the ravages of the night. Exhaustion had sent Greg into a deep sleep an hour before dawn but even as the window lightened he lifted a haggard face staring about him. Within seconds came remembrance and he groaned aloud, pulling himself up, he sat head in hands until the clock on the wall chimed the hour of six.

  He rose staggering into the little kitchen, the need for coffee and painkillers keeping him busy for a moment then he was back on the window seat looking out where a triangle of sea spread like a silver hand between the buildings. Exhaustion and tension had brought back the nagging ache that gripped spasmodically though his chest and back; the strange pains that he had ignored as indigestion for weeks until their increased severity had sent him to the medical officer on the rig who after some tests had sent him to the mainland hospital for more until the final confrontation with the consultant. Now he knew.

  When the phone rang sharp in the silence, glancing at the clock he saw with surprise it was a quarter to eight, early for a call. He let it ring, he was the only emergency now, he thought savagely. ‘It’s my time.” The phone rang and rang with monotonous regularity when it stopped the silence flowed back almost tangibly. An hour later it rang again, Greg cowered on the window seat wrapped in himself like a whipped dog. Time passed unnoticed, he sat unmoving, not thinking numb.

  The phone shrilled again midday, cutting into Greg’s frozen state like a knife. He picked it up instinctively, his arm pins and needles. A cheerful voice the other end shouted down at him.

  “Hey you, what time do you call this? The day’s half over, called you at eight I’ve tried several times and your mobiles off. Thought you were coming on the boat today? We’ve missed the tide now!”

  Greg tried to get his voice to work it came out gruff and strange. ‘Sorry Ray, I forgot must have caught a bug or something- sleeping it off with a dose of whisky’

  ‘The hell you are’ answered his long-time friend. “Come on man and have lunch with Sheena and me. I’ll give Mandy a ring she’ll come if you do, like a shot.”

  “Sorry, Ray no.” Greg took command of his senses. “Some other time mate, honestly I’m bushed.”

  “You ok, really? Want me to come over? Hey, you were going to see the doc yesterday, weren’t you; you alright kid?”

  “I’m eighteen today, honestly I’m fine, can’t tell you anything yet though, will as soon as I can. Catch you. Ok. Going back to bed now, see yer.”

  As he put the phone down a tight knot of anger began to build deep in his being, it grew until he didn’t know if he would explode or go mad. A great rage filled him, choking, hot, filling his throat, searing across his brain. ‘Why? In God’s name why? He had a right to life. Who dared cheat him out of it at only thirty-five?’ A deep hatred of himself for housing the monstrosity, the doctors for not having a cure, God for allowing it to happen, the consultant for telling him, anybody, everybody, his mother for giving him birth. His rag
e filled his mouth with bile, his head with pain, a tight band growing ever tighter, red mist blurred his vision, and loud roaring filled his ears. With a howl like a wounded animal he swept the collection of statuettes, that Steph had bought him, from the cupboard, the clock he hurled against the wall. The lust for destruction sent him crazy, he swept the shelves bare, hurled pictures from the walls, tore at cushions, kicking over tables he threw lamps wrenching the sockets from the walls whimpering like an animal red mist clouding his vision. For what seemed an eternity he tore, smashed and destroyed. When the storm finally burned itself out, he lay in a heap on the floor with no sense of time or feeling, complete darkness.

  He came to slowly aware of cold and wet, the room dark. He lay contemplating the fact. Something cold and sticky was annoying him, it could be blood, his blood, he wondered if it mattered, finding to his surprise it did. Perhaps he had better have a look, gingerly levering himself up with the arm of the chair he was leaning against, he found he was light headed strangely without pain but disorientated. He realised that he hadn’t eaten, couldn’t remember when he had last eaten. He thought he must have some kind of injury but was quiet definitely hungry. Pulling himself to his feet he moved to find the light switch crunching china and glass beneath his feet. ‘Hell!’ he exclaimed as he slid in something in something soft and squishy. The room leaped into light. He stood staring in disbelief. The mess was appalling, china, glass, tapes lay broken everywhere. Earth and plants, fillings from cushions and papers from the desk lay scattered over the carpet. His computer thankfully remained untouched but the pool he had been lying in proved to be the remains of weed and dead fish from the aquarium which now lay on its side seeping water, a few fish still flopping in the small amount of water remaining. Splashes of blood were everywhere, looking down he saw it dripping steadily from a deep cut in his hand; for a moment the madness came back. Why not take a piece of glass and cut his wrists or his throat? It would soon be over Why not put an end to it now?