Thursday, January 29, 2015

Memories of Forgotten by Cheryl Headford



Title: Memories of Forgotten Love
Author: Cheryl Headford
Publisher: Featherweight Press
Genre: Young Adult, Gay Romance, Mystery
Length: Novella (135 pages)



Synopsis
After waking from a coma, Noah discovers that memories are tricky things and sometimes blissful ignorance isn't such a bad thing.

Noah wakes from a coma with no memory of who he is. As his memories return they become stranger and more sinister at every turn. He begins to suspect the accident in which he was injured wasn't an accident at all, and refuses to accept what everyone is saying that he threw himself off his balcony in a suicide attempt. It just doesn't feel like something he would do. Struggling to come to terms with the shocking story he gradually uncovers, he's helped by his friends. Yet, his best friend, Luke is acting strangely, leaving Noah to wonder just what exactly he isn't telling him. 

Excerpt:

“I’m not doing it.” 
“Is there nothing I can say to change your mind?” 
I stared at him, my mind in a whirl. How on earth would he ever even begin to think that I would do that? I thought he must have been insane…and he was, just not in the way I was thinking. “You know there isn’t. I’m not going to lie for you.” 
“I thought you might say that. What about Luke, Noah? Would you lie for Luke?”
“For Luke? What do you mean?” I was even more of the opinion that he was crazy, especially when he smiled, took out his mobile, and dialled. I watched him suspiciously as he listened for a moment and then spoke into the phone. 
“You ready? Get on with it then.” He waited for a while, then grunted and handed the phone to me. 
I shook my head. “What’s going on?” 
“I think you are going to want to take this call, Noah.” 
Suspiciously, I took the device out of his hand and pressed it to my ear. At first, I heard nothing, then something that sounded like a slap in the background, followed by a low moan, and then nothing but strange, heavy breathing. 
“What the hell are you playing at? What is this?”
“No…ah?” The voice sounded strange, distant and breathy, but there was no mistaking who it was. 
“Luke? What’s going on? Where are you?” 
“Noah…Noah, I…I…” 
“Luke? What’s wrong?” 
A voice that I didn’t recognise spoke in the background. “Say nighty night to Noah, beautiful. Time to go beddybyes.” Luke groaned, and then the strange voice spoke again, closer, into the speaker. 
“Hello, Noah.” 
“Who the hell are you? What are you doing to Luke? Let me speak to him again.” 
“Sorry, sweetcheeks, but Luke’s not feeling too good right now. Don’t worry; we’ll take good care of him.” 
“You bastards…what the fuck!?” 
“Now, now, there’s no need for that. We won’t hurt your boyfriend—at least as long as you are a good boy and listen to Daddy.” 
“Fuck you! I swear to God you hurt him…you harm him in any way and I’ll take you apart.” 
“Calm down, Noah. Didn’t I tell you that we won’t hurt him? We’ll have a great time together. We’ll warm him up nicely for you. Now, be a good lad and put Daddy back on the phone, will you?”


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About Cheryl Headford
Cheryl was born into a poor mining family in the South Wales Valleys. Until she was 16, the toilet was at the bottom of the garden and the bath hung on the wall. Her refrigerator was a stone slab in the pantry and there was a black lead fireplace in the kitchen. They look lovely in a museum but aren’t so much fun to clean.
Cheryl has always been a storyteller. As a child, she’d make up stories for her nieces, nephews and cousin and they’d explore the imaginary worlds she created, in play.
Later in life, Cheryl became the storyteller for a re-enactment group who travelled widely, giving a taste of life in the Iron Age. As well as having an opportunity to run around hitting people with a sword, she had an opportunity to tell stories of all kinds, sometimes of her own making, to all kinds of people. The criticism was sometimes harsh, especially from the children, but the reward enormous.
It was here she began to appreciate the power of stories and the primal need to hear them. In ancient times, the wandering bard was the only source of news, and the storyteller the heart of the village, keeping the lore and the magic alive. Although much of the magic has been lost, the stories still provide a link to the part of us that still wants to believe that it’s still there, somewhere.
In present times, Cheryl lives in a terraced house in the valleys with her son, dog, hamster and two cats. Her daughter has deserted her for the big city, but they’re still close. She’s never been happier since she was made redundant and is able to devote herself entirely to her twin loves of writing and art


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