Excerpt from More Lives...

More Lives is the story of a typical teenager who has already decided how she wants her life to be. A loving husband, family and friends. No dark clouds on the horizon. But Sarah Curtis has been having sad and confusing dreams, where she seems to be someone else entirely. A girl with terrible, disturbing problems that could hold the secret to her future.
The dreams become more depressing, and Sarah begins to worry that something in her own life must be wrong, and when a child goes missing, her life begin to mirror her dreams.Her aunt takes her to Cornwall for a holiday, but her mind refuses to rest. Trouble seems to have followed her there, and a car accident leads to surgery when a clot is discovered in Sarah’s brain.
Could this be the cause of her nightmares?

Excerpt from More Lives...
Two days later, mother and I went to see her lying in the Chapel of Rest.
She looked beautiful; it was like looking over the side of the coffin at some fairy-tale princess. I had the overwhelming feeling that if I was to lean over and kiss her cheek; she would awake. There was one thing missing. Grace loved to carry a lace handkerchief.  I knew I would have to get her one.
We went to Arding and Hobbs, and I bought one with a red rose in the corner. When we got back to the Chapel, I took the handkerchief from its cellophane wrapping and sat beside the coffin for a while, gathering my courage. I wanted it to be tucked into her hands and knew I wouldn’t be able to avoid touching her.
When I did, I wasn’t ready for the cold that embraced me and my breath was taken away, sucked sharply down deep inside; like a baby’s would be in a strong wind. I clutched the wedding rings that were on a chain around my neck, to stop myself from shaking her, to make her tell me what she had meant.
I stood there, holding the side of the coffin, crying, my tears dropping onto the white satin lining. Partly in anger, partly in frustration of losing George and Grace, wondering what part of me they had taken with them.
I felt mother’s arm around my shoulders, heard her say softly, ‘let’s go home now, Sarah?’ Her voice seemed to come from a long way off, some distant place, and reached my mind as a soft whisper, needing no answer.
Mother was expecting to lead me gently away, but my hands held fast to the walnut wood. I couldn’t let it go. I wanted to stay right there, forever if necessary, until Grace’s unspoken thoughts ran up the length of my arms. Hoping some death-like phantom could make me understand what she had wanted me to know.
There was nothing, not even silence. The Chapel seemed to hum with a sound that came close to slow moving water. All mixed with mother’s whispered attempts to comfort me, to stop my tears.
I couldn’t tell her I was crying for myself. That what Grace had said made my own feelings stronger, heavier to carry. Feelings that defied words. Knowing something bad was coming and I would be powerless to stop it. A feeling I was about to do something no one would forgive. Somehow, she had stamped a seal on it that said, ‘I know your burden.’

Finally, my hands slid from the silky wood that would carry Grace underground. A dark place, which would have terrified her, no light to paint by. Something she hated more than the danger of the small minds she had lived with. In my opinion, it was these that had taken them both from me. If they hadn’t stormed the prefab that night, Grace and George might still be here.
I decided to try talking to Joyce. I knew she had popped in every now and then with a bag of food for their past kindness. She must know a part of Grace I didn’t, shared things she may have thought me too young to understand. It wouldn’t be easy; Joyce kept her conversation to customer service kind of stuff.

I don’t remember walking home or the thick fog that seemed to have followed me, preventing further thoughts from forming. I barely touched the food mother put in front of me and could see I was worrying her. I tried, but each mouthful seemed to swell, refusing to be swallowed.

Sleep that night was virtually impossible. I tossed and turned, tangling myself in the sheets, until a great anger took me into black dreams. I seemed to be the lead character in this nightmare, and yet it wasn’t me. I was in a large house, three floors and a basement. Faintly, I could hear the pitiful sound of someone crying and it seemed to be a small child. Somewhere below me, voices shouting, angry swearing, the sound of things being broken.  I couldn’t leave the room, couldn’t help, couldn’t even go and see what was happening. The clothes I wore were old, thin, in need of a wash. No, better still, they needed burning.
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