The Sun Sharer - Free No.1 UK Chart Best Seller by David Edwards - HTML preview

Acknowledgements

Thank you to my trial readers who gave me encouragement to

change the many drafts and the confidence to carry on when all

seemed impossible. You were great.

Thank you John, Neal, Lulu, Elizabeth, Kate and especially

Franny who never lost faith, when others judged us wrongly from

a base of their own immorality.

Written by

Jack George Edmunson.

March 2008.

Exactly fifty-four years after the day I was born in 1954. Everything

I do and say is preparing for my death and rebirth into the

Collective in 2054. That is my fate and true path and therefore it

cannot be changed.

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Each day when eight-year-old Jack arrived home from

school he would squat in the window ledge of the modern

semi-detached’s lounge to be as far away as possible

from the foot of the stairs and the ghost that haunted his

imagination from somewhere above.

He would squint at any remaining sunlight, desperate to see

his Mother returning from work as she strode expectantly up the

road, anxious to receive a hug from her handsome little boy.

He was too young to be ‘a latch key’ kid living near Bewdley in

Worcestershire but because of his youthful innocence he noticed

things in his loneliness that adults would miss, but accepted his

thoughts were never to be shared.

Sometimes, he would gather up all of his courage and quickly

stamp up those seven stairs, counting upwards from zero until he

leapt onto the top landing where he yelled in a panic stricken and

tearful voice.

“Go away! Leave me alone whoever you are; you have no right

to be in my Mummy’s house!”

Was it a fantasy created by the fear of an imaginative little boy

or was it the dawning of his awareness that he had a psychic gift?

The fear as he felt unloved and alone needing his Mother to praise

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him about the events of his day at school. The unknown gift

pushed to one side like the child who needed the love.

But Nim was always there acting as his spirit guide; trying to

protect him at that tender age and of course Nim never went away.

So an invisible Nim listened quietly, no matter how often a

trembling Jack screamed whilst facing the closed bedroom doors,

terrified in case one should open.

Then Nim would smile as he watched the mature child with

the brown hair scramble back down the stairs, jumping the last few

to resume his safe window perch and listen to his thumping heart.

Jack had been a sensitive and lonely child troubled by the spirit

World and would experience those same feelings of insecurity

when he became a man living in Catalonia and searching for his

true path.

Only then would he understand the reality that knocked on his

door just like his beloved Mother.

Inevitably, forty-one years later Jack George Edmunson was

still watched by Nim as he pulled his silver Mercedes into the gravel

drive of his home in Tettenhill.

It was a ‘Cheshire Brick’ cottage with a dark blue front door

centralised between windows to create a smiling and symmetrical

face that stared at the sun warming its south facing walls. Jack

adored the mirrored smile when it regarded the summer across

the most colourful cottage garden, complete with a living pond

that was an inherent part of the beautiful spot.

But on a Friday evening in the winter, and after a gruelling

weekly commute home, he was only watched by Nim who

remained silent in Jack’s mind, repulsed by those original

childhood defences.

Jack stared intently to see if his six-year-old son Joseph was

waiting for him, sitting in the front bedroom window, but turned

away disappointed as he saw the curtains were drawn.

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Tettenhill. The beginning of the end.

Jack, listen to me again and start to believe in me.

I still feel those same fears I sensed in ‘little’ Jack when

I watched over you and they will never disappear

until you find and follow your true path.

It doesn’t matter what you look like Centurion.

I know your Karma and will always find you after

every reincarnation.

You don’t remember yet but your time has come again

and this will be your last opportunity for eternity.

Jack opened the heavy car door and stood motionless, feeling

the light westerly wind on his face carrying a distant voice that he

struggled to hear. He wiped his two hands across his nearly bald pate

but with his dreamy green eyes he was still handsome as he stretched

his arms above him and ignored the voice of his spirit guide.

He looked and thought like a successful businessman.

A small man in a small World who didn’t realise that in this

Karma he was meant to be a big man in a big World.

Nim was above Jack as he strode purposefully towards the rear

entrance of his home, leaving his briefcase, laptop and suitcase in

the car boot in his excitement to see his son Jojo. A smiling moon

shone above, closely caressed by a few bright white stars.

I know this man who doesn’t understand either his

history or his destiny.

Listen to me again Jack; it’s been a long time since we

spoke together.

You were born in Catalonia sixteen hundred years

ago and became a proud Roman Legionnaire who

nobly died for his Sun Sharer.

Now you must seek her out again to serve your future

and become my instrument in delivering the

‘fifth World’.

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Jack stepped into the warm cosy kitchen and looked around

for his boy.

The only person he could see was his wife Melanie setting out

dinner plates on the cherry table of the conservatory. With her short

square body, flat head and highlighted blonde hair she was bustling

around the table in brown clothes bought that morning in the DKNY

shop in Chester. She didn’t even turn to face him as she summarily

greeted her husband after his week working away from home.

“You’re late! If you are going to shower and change you need

to hurry up. Everyone is due in a quarter of an hour. Put the new

Prada things on that I’ve left out on the bed.” Jack was confused.

“Hello lovely, don’t I get a kiss and a cuddle then?” He walked

around the large table and received a quick peck on his left cheek as

she brushed past on her way back to the cutlery drawer. He smelt

the familiar ‘White Linen’ perfume that instantly turned on his

desire but he was dismissed before he could grab and kiss her lips.

“I can’t stop now; I need to get on Jack.” He could only

plaintively ask about his second emotional thought.

“So where’s Joseph?”

“I sent him to bed early so that he didn’t get overexcited by the

dinner party preparations. I didn’t want him late to bed.”

“And what about me? What about the importance of seeing

his Dad for the first time since last Sunday?”

“Precisely, he would have been overexcited by that as well.

You’ll see him tomorrow so he won’t miss you.”

“That’s very convenient Melanie. Bundle your son into bed

early so that it is easier to prepare things to impress your friends.”

Jack resented the bad welcome from his wife but more especially

no loving hugs from his son.

However she didn’t reply and he had no time to dwell on his

emotions or argue with her, so he went outside to fetch his bags

from the car before getting ready for the dinner party.

Now I understand your circumstances Jack so all you

have to do is listen to my story and follow me to relive

your past and create your future in Catalonia.

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Tettenhill. The beginning of the end.

The wind had risen as he opened the car boot and made him

shiver through his thin white shirt as he listened to the rustling

leaves left on his neighbour’s tall beech tree.

He looked up at the myriad of stars in the clear winter sky and

then sadly across to his son’s bedroom window.

“Night night Jojo, love you lots.” Turning back to the cottage

with shoulders bent he crunched his way laden with his heavy load

that was more emotional than physical.

That Friday evening six friends arrived at the Edmunson cottage

expecting the usual convivial dinner.

Including the hosts there were Peter and Bridget Edam, Jean

and Martin Shilling and Matt Diamond with his wife Harriet.

They were all long-term acquaintances who lived locally and had

been collected by Melanie over the previous ten years through

meeting the wives at pre-school events.

Melanie had been planning for days to ensure her ‘fab’

signature dish of vegetarian lasagne was perfect, but no real time

had been wasted out of her busy social schedule as the ingredients

had arrived via Ocado’s home delivery service.

Jack was slightly tipsy when the guests arrived politely late. The

need for a drunken stupor was brought on early by another nagging

session shortly after the cool welcome home. This time it was about

the choice of clothes he wanted to wear after his power shower in the

Matki designer cubicle. Always brand names had to be used in the

Cheshire set with a cheap Mira never good enough.

“You can’t possibly wear that brown belt with those trousers

Jack.” Melanie expressed her disgust in a very clipped and exacting

voice, clicking the ‘ack’ part of Jack off the top of her palate to

emphasise he was doing wrong. Her husband was perplexed; half

his clothes weren’t even stored in their bedroom so as to make way

for all of hers and so he was still choosing.

“Well, I thought my Mulberry shirt, Church boots and Louis

Feraud jacket would look nice with this belt?” She stood with her

hands on her expensively clothed hips.

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“For God’s sake man. Are you colour blind? Even Joseph

would do better than that.”

Her tired partner chipped back. “Okay Melanie, I’d go and

ask him but he’s asleep.”

“Look,” she said, “wear a black belt and the Hugo Boss boots

with the Prada jacket and you’ll look ‘fab’.”

Jack slunk away to change into exactly as instructed, thinking it

was like being dressed as her Barbie Doll but not wanting another

fight. They were just clothes after all. He was hoping to keep the

peace until bed time to see if he could persuade her to have a quick

shag before his bollocks burst with all the pent up semen in them.

He quietly went downstairs, to avoid waking Joseph, defeated by his

wife for the second time in half an hour. He remembered their first

few months together when she was kind and sensitive as he battled

with the depression caused by his first wife leaving him for his best

friend. Number one had told him on Valentine’s night and left

him on Good Friday with his two young children waving goodbye

through the back window of her car. So Melanie was convenient.

Young, slim and willing to have sex many times a day. A shoulder

to cry on and a friend for socialising to avoid the loneliness, but

he knew it was wrong even then. However, convenience is what

most people are happy to accept in a relationship and his lack of

courage and her intense desire to snare a rich husband had kept

them together.

The new kitchen area looked resplendent with its oak beams and

blue painted island unit. The Emma Bridgewater china at twenty-

seven pounds a plate sat ready on the exorbitantly priced granite,

specially selected and cut in front of Melanie somewhere in the

depths of Birmingham. A small sample would never have been

good enough for her to choose from and a trip to Italy would have

been preferred but Jack could put his foot down in extreme cases.

The stone was black but if you looked closely at the right angle

you could see random blue eyes stare back at you.

The lump had changed to match her husband’s attire and

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Tettenhill. The beginning of the end.

appeared dressed in black to make her look thinner. She always

wore trousers since their marriage although a miniskirt would have

looked grotesque.

“I see you have got yourself a beer then. Did you even think

about getting a drink for me?”

Jack was admonished for the third time since arriving home

and silently hurried to open a bottle of Cloudy Bay Sauvignon

Blanc as the door bell chimed.

The first arrivals were Jean and Martin.

“Mister Edmunson!” Jean stepped into the kitchen from the

porch and kissed him lightly on the lips whilst staring into his eyes

as a deliberate tease. Jean could be summed up in three ways.

Wild hair, wild thoughts and wild clothes courtesy of the expensive

Morgan shop in Chester.

Just three of Melanie’s friends addressed Jack formally. He

often wondered why and had vainly concluded that it was to

reinforce the physical boundaries whilst giving a sexual tease. ‘You

are married keep your cock in your pants’, but each one of them

would always kiss him sexily on the lips or hug him close, pushing

their breasts or groin into him as a temptation, a flirt without

possibilities but this was only when their husbands couldn’t see.

This discreet sexual behaviour was used to reinforce their closeted

need to feel sexy that is a basic ‘Britishness’ never shared by those

from the Mediterranean countries, who always lived their sexuality

rather than hiding it away.

However, one of the friends who called him Mister was Bridget

and she was different in Jack’s mind. The hug always lingered

when she manoeuvred to get ahead or behind her husband on

arrival. It was a sensitive touch and was charged with electricity

that made them both breathless. Then she would excitedly smile

into his eyes reinforcing that theirs was more than a friendship.

Jean pulled away from him with a squeeze to his hip and an

outstretched thumb resting lightly on his groin to reveal her husband

Martin. He had always hidden behind his wild wife in every way

since they were married. He was a typical tax inspector, boring,

never leaving the telly in his spare time and never missing a game

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of televised football especially if it was Man United. Martin and

Jean had been introduced to them by Bridget who was a close friend

of Jean since their children went to a privileged school together at

the Grange. They had always accompanied each other at school

functions as they represented the face of poverty in the parents

at the expensive school. It was ‘the’ school where you sent bright

children and the not so clever were always found an alternative but

with a plausible excuse from their parents. Sometimes it was the

child’s dyslexic behaviour or their love of rugby or in fact any excuse

implying that the school wasn’t suitable for their ‘thick’ child. So the

bright Shillings and Edams went to the Grange and their relatively

poor parents spent their money on education and did without the

rest of the pretentiousness like the Rolexes and Lexus four-wheel

drives. The latter were inevitably driven by the non-working

mothers, were powder blue in colour and specifically bought for

the half mile of ‘off-road’ lane that reached to their husband’s large

mortgage with its ten acres and a pony.

As Jean stepped further into the kitchen to be greeted by Melanie,

Jack watched her pert bottom swaying to entice him and secretly

envied his best friend Peter, assuming he was having a hidden affair

with Jean because of their constant and overt flirting, but as Peter

constantly quoted, “A secret is only a secret if you tell it nobody.”

Jack took that as an affront because it even applied to sharing things

with his supposed best male friend. He stopped his pondering and

took Martin’s proffered woollen overcoat.

“Hi Martin, what sort of a week have you had?”

“Oh you know, so so, not bad, you know.” The non-assertive

answer came back to kill any potential conversation but that was

Martin’s character. Bland and boring, a typical taxman who was

excited by his figures and ecstatic at every budget.

The tall blonde figure of the beautiful Bridget suddenly

appeared behind Martin and so Jack quickly pushed the quiet man

towards Melanie to concentrate on the lovely Bridget. But he was

too late as her husband Peter ran in through the half open door

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Tettenhill. The beginning of the end.

behind them. The rough diamond pushed past his demure wife

and asked coarsely.

“Hey Edmunson, how’s it hanging mate?”

“Frankly pal, it was great until you turned up.” Jack was

sincere in his response as he’d only managed a quick cheek to

cheek kiss with Bridget before he took all of their coats upstairs

to lay them on his much sought after brand name bed from The

White Company.

Doctor Matt Diamond and his wife Harriet arrived half an hour

later.

He had been called into surgery at the Crewe General Hospital

after yet another car smash on the A51.

Short and stocky with thick horn-rimmed glasses, you would

place him as boring but Jack got on well with him, sharing his love

of sports, fine wines, fast cars and hi-tech gadgets. Jack shook

hands warmly.

“How are you Matt?” The consultant smiled and was happy

to see his friend again.

“All the better for a glass of red, old chap, and if you want

to crack open this fifteen-year-old claret we can relax into some

luxury. You know I’ve had this lying offshore for so many years I

thought it had gone into tax exile! Bloody good idea hey Martin?”

Matt went over to shake hands with Mister Boring.

“Oh yes, you know, not bad I suppose. Less tax is good yes.”

Martin sat on the fence with his reply as always. All of the three

men laughed together as Matt then moved on to kiss Melanie.

Matt’s better half or in fact better eighty per cent had quietly

lagged behind her husband as usual.

“Well Soul Shiner, have you had a good week too?” Jack was

entranced as he greeted Harriet. She had an air about her that was

soulful, and living on a higher plane compared to everyone else in

their circle of friends.

“I’m fantastic Jack my poppet but did you see the news about

the Pakistani earthquake – wasn’t it horrible?” She gave him a

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wholesome and genuine hug. “And how are you poppet?” She

stroked his right arm with her left hand lying gently on his right

shoulder.

“I’m always fantastic too,” replied Jack “it’s just everyone else

that’s not.” She laughed and looked with concern into his dark

green eyes to read behind the bravado. She had always considered

how hard it must be working away from home and the lack of

reality in a hotel without his family to relax with each evening.

“Jack, I bought this fantastic print yesterday by Ray Woodard

Fairchild. Have you heard of him? I can only say that the picture

looks fantastic in our lounge, it’s called Santa Maria Della Salute

and is a picture of a church in Venice linked with stories about the

Holy Grail. It’s so fantastic! You must come down to the house

tomorrow and see it poppet.”

You never knew how to reply to Harriet, whether it was

the painting, the potential visit or the use of her constant and

embarrassing endearment towards him but by the time Jack had

floated by on her wave of soulfulness, she had moved on to Melanie

and was into something else fantastic which became ‘fab’ in each

of Melanie’s replies. Harriet herself was fantastic which is why he

called her Soul Shiner.

She was a red-headed beauty with streaks of grey hair at

forty one. Short to match her husband, she was always happy

between bouts of extreme caring. Nothing meant more to her

than art and the events in the World. If she saw a tragedy like the

tsunami as on the previous Boxing Day, she lived and breathed

it through the souls of the victims as if she were there in spirit.

That was why everyone loved and respected her because she was

genuine and never changed her approach with anyone no matter

how badly they treated her.

The smoked salmon starters were consumed with a glass of

Moet et Chandon to many ‘fantastics’, ‘fabs’, ‘so so’ and ‘not too

bads’ and the generalities of children, schools and work. These

day to day issues were always essential to digest before the main

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Tettenhill. The beginning of the end.

course when polite niceties could give way to more relaxed fun.

Melanie’s vegetarian lasagne was hefted to the table in its giant

Bridgewater dish full of enough pasta to feed the party twice

over. The very concept of a signature dish which was renowned

far and wide in Cheshire worried Jack. It was a delight but

he always asked himself why you can’t enjoy your friends for

friendship and eat normally rather than trying to out do or in

this case out ‘sign’ everyone invited?

Even the new kitchen looked perfect with no sign of any

cooking remaining.

The boys were feeling argumentative after a few glasses of claret

and as always the girls seemed happy to drive home, although Peter

and Bridget only needed to stagger around the corner.

The first personal salvo came from Melanie and continued the

cold welcome home. She felt that she had cleaned up behind Jack

since his arrival in ‘her house’ where he was disturbing her routine.

“Bridget. I don’t know about you but sometimes I wonder

whether it’s just Jack or is it all men? They seem incapable of

putting the toilet seat down, don’t they?”

“Yeah yeah yeah,” Jack intoned. She carried on remorselessly

as Bridget remained politely quiet.

“Bridget, is it all men who in the dead of every single night

seem to miss the toilet completely and pee on the tiled floor?”

Melanie was smiling sadistically but Jack couldn’t let that one go.

“Well who put white tiles on the new ensuite floor for goodness

sake? It’s asking for trouble. At least the carpet used to