Bittersweet Summer

Chapter 6

As she swept into the driveway, she felt a sense of relief, the Aston was not there. It was such good news. She at least could take her time, and make sure that, even if she hated the golf club, no one would see it, and most of all, that HE would be proud of her.

He must have not long left. She could smell his aftershave. He always smelt good. she remembered that from the first time they ever met all those years ago. It was time to get her game face on, and put on a show for him. Even if it just was to keep the peace, she knew he would be expecting her to turn up, perhaps not for long, but enough to save "face" at the club. She was still a good looking, slim petite woman, and despite the fact age had made her reconsider the length of skirt she wore, she was quite proud of herself, and she knew he was too.

First things first. She needed to wash her hair. She was feeling good, and had a spring in her step as she almost ran up the stairs and turned the shower on. As the water ran, she stepped into the bedroom and out of her clothes. It was seconds, and she was naked. She grinned, she had gone out this morning with no knickers, no bra, and Charlie had no idea......or did he?? She threw the clothes into the corner, and went back to the bathroom. Just as she was about to step into the shower, she stopped, and decided she needed a musical fix. "Alexa, play Stereophonics C'est la vie". The Sonos speakers that were dotted around the house then began to bang out the guitar riff, and she smiled and stepped under the powerful jet of water. As the heat penetrated her head, she began to think about what had brought her here all those years ago. She looked around, and still couldn't quite believe that the girl who had almost literally come from nothing, could now be enjoying all of this luxury. It had been the smell of his aftershave that had begun the drift back to the past, and she now allowed her mind to begin to wind back the clock...........

Michelle was born 23rd March 1972. A small village in France. During her early years, she hadn't really noticed her mother was not there and she was often left with her mothers friends. But as she grew older, she saw more and more what her mother was. The injections in her arms. The empty expressions on her face. Her mother had met a man who had taken them to England when Michelle was around eight years old. She couldn't remember too much of him, other than a beard, a loud voice, and beating her mother. He had not stayed around long after they arrived. He had left them both at the disgusting hostel to fend for themselves. The UK had been kind. And even though there was no way of her mother paying her way, with a young child in tow, initially, her mother had been given a house, and benefits. It wasn't much money, but it made it much easier for her mother to get the drugs her sad and ravaged body and mind so desperately needed now. As she approached ten, her mother's drug use became total. She told herself she had no idea of a home. She had tried to shut out her early life. But every now and again, the emotions took over her, and she allowed herself to dive back into the past. Ever since she could remember, her mother had "slept" a lot. She was always in bed. And most times not alone. Or she was totally out of it, arms by her sides and looking completely vacant. Eventually the people came. She had no idea who they were. But her mother was angry. She heard, and saw her mother screaming at the man and woman in the suits. But there was no turning back. They were adamant. Michelle would no longer be living with her mother. She felt herself scream too.....and she remembered the tears. Then fighting the man in the suit. But he was too strong. She couldn't fight anymore. She gave in and went with the suits. Her mother stayed quiet. She was shaking. And Michelle knew then she would never see her again.

The children's home wasn't too bad really. It was clean. She remembered that. She remembered the smell of bleach and everything being beige. Ordinary. Calm. Normal. Except it was NOTHING like normal. She could feel herself beginning to cry. As the shower pounded her head, the tears released themselves. And she began to sob uncontrollably. The hurt. The anguish. Her mother gone. And in truth, little prospect of another human being to fill the gap. She was determined from a very young age that she would NOT become her mother. She would know who she was. And be proud she had a direction and had made something of her life. She had kept her head down. Gone to school. Never been very academic. But she tried. She was Michelle Bogarde and she was proud of it. It didn't stop the girls at school taking the piss because she was French. Bogeys they called her. She laughed. But inside she was bitter. At her useless drug addict mother, and also at her weakness for accepting what they said without a fight. But she was determined. She would get to 16. Leave school. And make sure she and only she was in control of her life. There was no way she would be told what to do and what to say. Things hadn't quite turned out that way. She had never quite stood up to the bullying. It had got better, and she had showed fight and spirit . They had begun to leave her alone. And there was a degree of respect after her fight back. "DONT YOU FUCKING DARE DISRESPECT MY FAMILY NAME" She screamed, she had finally had enough of the "bogeys" taunts, and the explosion was inevitable.

It worked. The older girls now at least knew she would not take any crap. It had made her feel better at least. By the time she was 13 she was able to look after herself but she was still intimidated by the older girls. But she was determined never to show it and it would carry her through for the rest of her life. She also knew by the age of 13 that her body was changing, and she had experimented sexually with fingers and objects and enjoyed the feeling.

She had also realised that she was never going to be super clever. When she got her grades at school, she was constantly being told they were below average and she must do more to improve. At 13 that wasn't what you wanted to hear and the only solace she found was in something that she didn't actually know she had until around 11 years old. She had a voice! And she could REALLY sing. Initially it was singing along to 80s pop stuff that she heard on radios. The girls had initially taken the piss out of her but slowly they realised that she could actually sing and that she was good at it. From that moment on her life in the children's home had become easier. If nothing else they respected her voice, and had actually begun to ask her to sing stuff on request. She had no idea where it had come from, she certainly had no idea if her mother could sing, but she knew she could, and if the teenage bitches in the home liked her voice, then she would make damn sure that one way or another, she would use it to her advantage somehow. So she stayed quiet. She ambled through school, almost completely disinterested in anything except music. Her music teacher had become someone so important in her life, she sometimes wished she just lived with him. He was in his 50's she guessed. Married and boring. Always dressed in beige. Patches on the sleeves of his jacket. Your typical boring teacher. Until he began to talk about music. And then you could see the passion he had for what he did. He loved the way she sang, and rarely criticised, which she either took as a compliment, or that he flattered her and wanted something in return. In truth she knew he was as straight as an arrow. Mr Brock was a little boring, a little ordinary, but he too was possessed with a voice that could REALLY sing. He could also play a mean guitar, and the piano, and his boundless enthusiasm made school bearable, and if she was truthful, she loved his lessons, and always gave her best attention. It was that way from the age of 13 when she really discovered how to use her talent, and would continue as she carried on through her school life. As the shower pounded down, she heard herself shout. "Alexa play Trouble by Pink '' and as the song began, she allowed her mind to wander again, but this time, with her voice as the accompaniment. She let herself get lost in her memories again, and her singing...the pink song wasn't difficult, but it made her smile as she belted out the lyrics, and remembered being 16, and taking her exams...oh what a waste of time they were. All except music. Mr Brock had definitely driven her to succeed, but she put all the work in, and she felt rightly proud of her "A" even if the other subjects put together wouldn't have added up to a C minus. She left school with nothing more than her love of music, and an exam which told the world just that.