sarasmallmanwrites

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You, Me & Us.

Jim and Amy are best friends, from the day they first meet in the university students union, through births, weddings and funerals, until a badly-timed affair leads to the breakdown of Jim’s marriage and an unexpected baby on the way.

But Jim is left reeling when Amy’s premature death leaves him raising their two children alone and revealing secrets in Amy’s past that she tried to keep hidden. Everyone thinks he’s going mad, but Jim is convinced she is speaking to him from beyond the grave, turns out that she is…

Halfway between this world and the next, Amy comes to terms with, well, being dead, and helping her husband realise that the end of life doesn’t mean the end of love.

1997 - Common People

“So where are you from?”

The boy had a southern accent, probably not London, but the Home Counties masquerading as something much more common, as was the current trend. He was dressed in a slouchy t-shirt decorated with a Mancunian band, faded jeans and a pair of trainers that looked like they would smell really bad. He was taller than her, so he had that going for him, and he had already bought her a drink - lager and lime - the cheapest drink at the cramped and smoky student bar at Elephant and Castle, populated by grungey band boys, and lithe glittery girls waiting for the Ministry of Sound to open.

“York,” she said, taking a deep mouthful of the cheap beer whilst unwrapping the cellophane off her packet of cigarettes.

He was studying her fingers moving deftly around the box of Marlboro Lights. Glittery nail polish, a mood ring.

“It’s up north,” she clarified.

“I know where York is.”

He wasn’t sure what to make of this girl with the Doc Martens and the flippy sundress, who had freckles speckled across her nose and the greenest eyes he had ever seen. She was, he thought, the kind of girl he would like to take on a date, even though he imagined she would think going out for dough balls and a La Reine at Pizza Express was decidedly middle class.

“That makes a change,” she sniffed, painted fingers fumbling with  “I’ve only been in London for twenty-four hours and I’m already sick of explaining where it is.”

“I’m sure most people know where York is.”

She smoothly pulled a cigarette from the packet with her teeth; he noticed that he focused a little bit too long on the shape of her lips around the white-tipped filter.

“Do you want one?”

He shook his head, “I don’t smoke.”

“I shouldn’t really, it’s so bad for you,” she inhaled deeply and then blew a perfectly formed smoke ring into the air, “but it makes you look so fucking cool,” she gazed over at him and he found himself temporarily unable to feel his tongue in his mouth.  “Don’t you think?”

Jim took a deep mouthful of his lager, trying not to think about Amy Bailey and her mouth and her fucking cool, and the curve of her as she leaned back again the bar. Christ, this was hard, he was… oh. He moved subtly, relieved that her gaze was elsewhere as if she was searching for topics of conversation.

“I mean, I could try one?” he gestured to the packet, awkwardly fumbling holding it, lighting it, taking a deep and ill-advised drag. She looked on in amusement.

“So, what are you doing then, Mr James Henry? Sean said you were at St Martins.”

“Yeah,” he shifted, “sculpture.”

“I’m guessing you have a thirst for knowledge,” she said, looking at him for confirmation that he knew exactly what she was on about.

He realised it was the song, “oh, yeah. My dad is loaded,” he said with a roll of the eyes and knowing nod. This hadn’t been the first time.

“I guess in that case I’ll have rum and coca-cola!”

A grin, she was teasing him.

“Fine.”

They looked at each other, a glance of understanding and shared respect for their mutual coolness. There was a laugh from her, a shrug from him.

“It’s actually Fine Art, if you’re being picky, but I am a sculptor.”

“You’re good with your hands, then?”

“No, I’m rubbish at doing people. I tend to stick to abstract stuff.”

Amy realised that he had misunderstood the question, but he amused her. She could sense that they were going to be great friends, she couldn’t even explain it.”

“You’re funny, Jim, and you have a first name for a last name, which makes you pretty special in my eyes.  You know, my boyfriend was jealous as fuck about me coming out tonight, I spent about forty minutes on the phone to him before, cost me five pounds!”

“Five pounds? Crikey.” He gulped down a mouthful of lager before looking up at her, “so, you have a boyfriend?”

“Yeah, back at home,” she said, glancing around at the rest of the clientele. There was a way about her that he quite liked, couldn’t explain.

“In York?”

“Yes, in York.” She stubbed out her cigarette on the floor, “what about you? You got a girlfriend?”

“Yes,” it was a lie.

“What’s her name?”

He looked around, “Stella.”

“Stella what?”

His eyes landed on whatever, “Guinness.”

“Stella Guinness?”

“Yeah.”

“Really?”

“Yep,” he gulped down a mouthful of lager.

“So, where did you and Stella Guinness meet?”

“College.”

“Has she gone to uni?”

“Yes.”

“Is she pretty?”

“Yes.”

“Do you love her?”

“Yes.”

“Are you lying?”

“Yes, I mean, no.”

She raised an eyebrow and turned back to the bar, ordering two more pints and two small shot glasses filled with a dark brown liquid. Reaching into her bra she pulled out a twenty-pound note and handed it over to the barmaid with a smile, receiving the clinking pound coins and crisp tenner back, he noticed her wrist was adorned with beaded bracelets and braided friendships bands.

“You don’t have to lie about it,” she said after they had downed the shots of sambuca with grimaces. “Plenty of boys haven’t had a girlfriend yet.”

He was still wincing as the medicinal tang slipped down his throat, “I did have a girlfriend.”

“Was she called Stella?”

“No,” he said as they moved over to the edge of the dancefloor, placing their pints on the shelf next to the speaker, jostled and nudged by people squeezing past to reach the loos. “Wendy.”

She couldn’t hear him over the thud-thud-boom of the speakers, her face scrunched into a frown, “What?”

“Wendy!” He said loudly, as there was a temporary lull in the noise. “She was called Wendy.”

“What happened to her?”

“She slept with my best mate. A-Level results day.”

Amy pulled a face, “ouch!”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” she lit another cigarette, “that’s sad.”

“It was.”

“No, I mean, it’s sad.”

He shifted indignantly, “thanks!”

“I’m not saying that you’re sad, I’m saying that it’s sad that she felt the need to cheat on you.”

“It happens.”

“It shouldn’t,” she pulled a hard drag. “I don’t believe in cheating, if you don’t want to be with someone, just leave. She did a shitty thing.” A mouthful of lager, “you’re okay, aren’t you?”

“I guess,” he shrugged. “I miss Dave more than I miss her if I’m being honest.”

She looked him up and down again. He wasn’t bad looking, his hair was sticking up in the wrong places, but he had quite a pleasant face if she hadn’t been with Rhys then… But she was with Rhys. Jim was alright, they would get on, even if there was something about the way he stood as if he was apologising for taking up space which irritated her.

At midnight they all caught the night bus back to Tooting, fumbling with travelcards and salty chips wrapped in newspaper as Emma and Sean resumed their make-out session. Jim and Amy sat next to each on the top deck as the lights of London passed by, occasionally nudging Tom, the lad from Birmingham who was nearly asleep, his head resting awkwardly against the window.  

“This is university then,” Jim said, as Amy shifted uncomfortably on the seat of the bus.

“Yep,” she grabbed his arm and wrapped it around her shoulder. “That’s better, comfier see? You don’t mind, do you?”

She snuggled against his chest, and he felt immediately vulnerable and invincible. And turned on. Again. Fuckssake, Jim. He looked out into the night as the city faded into Zone 3.

“My boyfriend isn’t as comfy as you,” she said.

“Is he nice?”

“He’s training to be a mechanic.”

“Nice.”

“He’s a good bloke, I love him a lot but -” she paused, her face in a frown.

Jim knew that there was always possibility in a ‘but’.

“But what?”

“…it’s just going to be difficult when he comes to stay.”

“He’s coming to stay with us? In halls?”

“Yeah, after Christmas. I can’t wait for you all to meet him. You’ll like him,” the words disappeared into a yawn. “I know you will.”

Her voice took on a sleepy tone and he pulled her in closer, waiting for her body to relax a little bit, then he rested his head on hers and closed his eyes until the bus jolted them awake in the centre of town and they began the walk back home.

[sarasmallmanwrites]

Becoming Lady Darcy - Cecily

Bits that didn't quite make the cut in ‘Becoming Lady Darcy’

Cecily Darcy never understood the strange English customs that her family adhered to, even though she had lived at Pemberley now for over twenty five years, sometimes it still felt as if she were a visitor; the shy and reserved American girl with the brash dresses and the skin that was slightly darker than they would have liked, but they liked the money she brought with her, a veritable bounty of gold, stocks, shares and bonds that would guarantee the survival of the Darcy estates. There had been a summer wedding, hastily arranged by her mother who eager to see her daughter joined in matrimony to the Earl of Berkshire, and a marquee had been erected on the lawn at Pemberley to celebrate the wedding of Cecily Adrianna Drew, daughter of the American railroad magnate, and Edward George Darcy, the future Duke of Derbyshire.

The move from the family townhouse in Manhattan to the draughty old house in the middle of the countryside was a culture shock, with an archaic set of rules and regulations, and a penchant for the traditional. Pemberley was uncomfortable and out-dated, with oil lamps and candles still being used, plus it hadn’t been redecorated for years.  So, there were the big changes that she had insisted upon after her marriage – indoor plumbing with proper bathrooms, and then the installation of electricity a couple of years later. It was after the birth of George and Albert that she had embarked up the grand scheme of redecoration masterminded by a pair of interior decorators from the continent, who had revived and restored the tired rooms. Staughton had visibly balked as the yellow hues and handprinted wallpapers that had been selected by Fitzwilliam Darcy were stripped and replaced by heavy velvet flock papers, the white plaster ceiling grained to look like wood.

“But it was Mr Darcy himself who decorated the library,” she had overheard the family butler complain to her husband.

“I understand that, Staughton, and as much as we all respect the memory of my great-grandfather, he did shuffle off this mortal coil over forty years ago now,” he reached for his cup and took a large swig of the now cold tea, “besides which, he was fairly intrepid. He liked change, he would approve, I think… he knocked through three rooms to make the library, so a bit of paint won’t make any difference.”

“If you say so, Your Grace.”

Edward sighed, “I know you dislike change and I know we have both lived here a long time, but it’s simply a change of decoration. The heart of the place won’t change! Neither will the chilliness… can you remember when my brother and I flooded the long gallery because we wanted to ice skate?”

“I do,” he allowed himself to smile, “but you weren’t the first and I doubt you will be the last.”

“Indeed,” Edward nodded, “and it will be alright, Staughton, Pemberley is always a constant, regardless of the redecoration.”

“I understand, Your Grace.”

Cecily walked into the saloon, she had been listening from just outside the door and felt that the time for subterfuge was over now.

“Mr Staughton,” she said, “I have received the new design from the Joubert brothers with their plans for the entrance hall… and… I would love for you to be involved and assist me with this,” she glanced over quickly at her husband, “for, you know this house better than any of us and, if it wouldn’t interfere with your other duties, I would greatly appreciate your help?”

 The butler sensed what she was trying to do, “if you wish, ma’am.”

“I do, Mr Staughton, what a happy pair we will make.”

Staughton had worked at Pemberley since he was eight years old, starting as a stable lad, working his way up. All he had ever known was the house in Derbyshire, and he had worked under Mr Darcy himself, serving as his first footman, and chosen to be a pallbearer at the gentleman’s funeral. Everything that Staughton was, he owed to Fitzwilliam Darcy, even his name. Staughton and Reynolds were titles more than names, but he was proud to bear his, happy to follow in the steps of the great Edwin Staughton, who had ruled Pemberley with a rod of iron.

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Branding for Elspeth and Ink

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all through the park...

Christmas poem based on the Lyme Park reindeer, who have a special secret every December 24th

All through the park, the ground slowly changes, As the snow falls down, and the scene rearranges The icy white blanket softly lies on Cage Hill Snowmen in wool hats, stand solemn and still. And inside the house, the fires are ablaze, As the children arrive for these most festive of days, They all settle down and get warm from the heat, For tonight it is Christmas, they’re in for a treat. Up in the wood, the Lantern shines like a beacon, For Yuletide adventures, and the children who seek them Come hither! Come here! See who’s come to Lyme! We have a special guest this wintertime With his jolly red suit, and his beard all white, And shiny black boots, his crinkly eyes bright, On his coat are buttons; big, shiny and gold, Father Christmas is truly a sight to behold. And inside the chapel, all happy, there should Be boys and girls from the list that is ‘good’ Because due to arrive with a clatter and crash A sleigh filled with magic appears with a flash And Dancer and Prancer and Dasher and Vixen, Comet and Cupid and Donner and Blitzen, Then Rudolf we see, his red nose shining bright, Running to join Father Christmas tonight. ‘Welcome my friends, it’s our special night It’s time for magic, and sparkles and flight!” The Lyme reindeer disappear into the sky, Pulling the sleigh, can you believe it - they fly! Into Knightslow they race up through the trees, It’s a sight that you have to see to believe, Through Purselow and Calves Croft, a scamper of hoof, And, oh my goodness! They’re up over the roof! They venture out far, they venture out wide, To Paddock Cottage, the Bowstones, Lime Avenue they ride, Twisting and turning and looping they go, Lyme Reindeer, and Santa, and the sleigh in the snow. “I believe in you, reindeers, now listen clear, You’re all kind and clever, there’s nothing to fear’ You are the reindeer of Lyme, you are important and bold, And brought to live by the brave Knights of old Now don’t be scared, this is your job to do. I know you can do it, that’s why I chose you!” The reindeer all look at each other with glee, “I’m brave and I’m bold and that’s why he chose me!” Over and out to the edge of the park, they gallop and glide with a magical spark They disappear into a huge snow-filled cloud, Father Christmas knows Lyme reindeer will do him proud And up above if we look we see magical trails, The sleigh is a ship with galloping sails, Then Father Christmas shouts out as they take off in flight, “Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.” The reindeer fly out every cold Christmas Eve, Delivering presents to children who truly believe, High in the sky and working together It’s a story that Lyme will keep telling forever

[sarasmallmanwrites]

Mock-up of a guide book for young visitors at Lyme Park

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[sarasmallmanwrites]

you, me, & us

A middle-aged atheist dad of two struggles to deal with the sudden death of his wife, even though she haunts his thoughts. And his house. Literally.  

Romance/Supernatural

Jim, a former artist turned house husband, and Amy, a successful publicist, are unhappily married. A late-night fight over Jim’s friendship with local bookstore owner, Jude, turns into a morning row, and the two do not reconcile as Amy is killed in a car crash.

Jim refuses to acknowledge an after-life, which upsets his and Amy’s young children, Erin and Wilf, who begins to have nightmares. Amy wakes up in the after-life with a guardian angel, Cherry, who tells her she is dead.  Emma, Amy’s best friend, visits as Jim’s mum, Mary, is worried about him. He is depressed and drinking heavily. He comments that Amy's cat, Sukie, is acting strangely. Amy starts to regain her memories and remembers her children, which upsets her. She lingers in Erin’s bedroom and can be seen by Erin and Sukie, which makes her happy.

Jim struggles with depression and being a single parent, he starts to attribute weird occurrences in the house to Amy’s ghost. Emma worries about his mental health and suggests he get a therapist. He starts dating Jude but is unable to have sex with her because of guilt; he was sleeping with her at the time of Amy’s death. Amy sleeps in bed with Jim, he talks to her as if she is there and she is happy. Cherry warns her that he cannot see her yet. Mary preaches to Jim about heaven, whilst Wilf tells Amy that he can see her and they play together.

Jim discovers that Amy’s death has left him financially secure. Emma encourages him to rent an art studio, but is not inspired by anything and leaves downhearted. Jim reads Amy’s personal letters, discovering information that leads him to think that Amy’s boss Benn is the real father of Erin. He goes to confront him and the two argue when Benn chastises Jim for his infidelity. Jim breaks down, admitting to himself his own guilt, as Benn comforts him.

The house is York is put up for sale as Jim moves back to London. Amy walks around the empty house alone, filled with memories, waiting to go, but Cherry tells her that it’s not time yet.

Jim returns to his studio, and inspired by Amy and their relationship, he produces a collection of work dedicated to her memory. He goes back to their house in York to collect a few more boxes, and can hear her singing their song. He finally sees her. They dance and she kisses him goodbye, before walking towards the light with Cherry.

Emma tells Jim that she loves him, and he realises that he loves her too. Jim hears his and Amy’s song on the radio and smiles knowing that she approves. He kisses Emma and they walk home.  

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Promotional Material for Snowflake Productions

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Local Promo Work

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Becoming Lady Darcy - Book Cover design, second edition. Lyme Park. 

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One Waterfoot in the Past - Heritage Project

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Luisa Omielan Social Media Promo.

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Pride and Pemberley - Elspeth and Ink

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Branding