By the New Year, I had picked myself up somewhat and gotten myself back into gear. I wanted – needed – to prove to Jeremy that I loved him, because I knew what it was like not to feel like your mother loves you. I was glad that my nasty bitch of a mother had probably spent Christmas alone – I never remembered her having any close friends, and she was never one to like being around people anyway.
I started getting out of the house a lot more, following Jeremy's suit a bit. I went to Newcastle to visit Mary a lot. I visited Shirley, too, and we were becoming close again. She was getting on by now -I think she may have even been pushing for fifty - but she was still the same old Shirley.
I started exercising, going swimming during the winter months and going for runs in various places across Durham and Newcastle when the spring came. I surprised myself, because I never believed that I would be one to run. Those were better days, although I was still not content in myself knowing that Jeremy was still not speaking to me much. I was taking it one step at a time, though, often the best thing to do.
I was even more up-to-date with current events. That year, the miner's strike came to an end and the coal mines were continuing to be closed – I was following that side of the news very closely. The first mobile phone call was made that year. Boris Becker became the youngest winner at seventeen years of age to win the men's Wimbledon championships. I could not imagine Jeremy, only a year older, standing with a trophy like that. The wreck of the Titanic was finally discovered, after being lost for over seven decades. Another discovery was that there was a hole in the ozone layer – that could be bad news for us in the future, although as yet it is uncertain as to how much damage will be done to the planet because of this. My favourite film of that year and one of my favourites of all time, Back to the Future, was released in cinemas. It's funny – it's exactly what I'm doing now in a way. I've gone back in time, and I'm slowly working my way towards where I am now (not that it's anything to be happy about, so don't look forward to a happy ending because there isn't one here).
Fashion was also changing slightly, for me anyway. I was into the blue-collar dresses, or the simple shirt and jeans. I made more of an effort with my hair, having it done in a perm instead of just straightened all the time. For once in what felt like a lifetime, I was starting to feel good about myself. I was still taking my anti-depressants, but for the first time I felt as though I did not need them to simply get through the day. I would never stop taking them, though, because I knew that I could come crashing down again if I did.
The first half of the year was fairly undramatic, although if I had to pick a few consecutive years in my life that were the most eventful, I would pick the years between 1985 and 1988, the year in which I write this. Things have happened which have changed the way I view things, if only slightly, in relation to my son's death. I will come to those things soon.
I was coming home from a run in June when the first eventful thing happened. I saw the handwriting on the envelope before I saw what was written on it, and when I saw that it was Harry who had sent another letter, I assumed it was for Jeremy, but it was not. My name was clearly written on it.
Without delay I opened the letter to see what he had decided to write. I knew it was not going to be good, whatever it was.
"Dear Jessie,
I know it's been a good few years since we last spoke. I still remember that time you came to visit me as clear as day, and I sometimes play it over in my head. I'm sorry if that sounds creepy, but I still love you, despite everything.
I'm writing because I think it's time that we put this to bed. My clock is ticking. I'm lucky to be alive as it is, and any day now, I could die. I could still go on living for another few years, but we all know that is unlikely. My aneurysm has been monitored, and they tell me it's ready to explode at any time.
YOU ARE READING
Stranger at Home
Mystery / ThrillerWhich one of my parents killed my baby brother? That is a question Jeremy Preston has had his whole life... In 1970, eight-month-old Christopher Preston is killed in his home. His parents, Harry and Jessie, accuse each other of the murder, although...