Prologue.
As I was sitting on one of the over-stuffed chairs in my Georgian front room, reading a book about a girl who was trying to find her own "Individuality", which by the way was the most boring book ever to be made that wouldn't recommend to my worst enemy, I drifted in to my thoughts, something I don't often do.
I thought about the book, and some particular questions came into my mind: Why would anyone write a book? What makes a person individual? To my surprise the questions linked. And I came up with answers for both. What makes someone individual? The story they have to tell. Why would anyone write a book? To tell their story.
I began to wonder whether I should tell my story. So here I am. I suppose I should introduce myself. My full name is Sinead Ashleigh McHugh. It's pronounced Shinaid. I hate it when people mispronounce it so just call me Ashleigh. It's much easier and my Dad never really liked Sinead. I'm twenty-five years old; with dark-blonde curly hair have an oval like face, full lips and very blue eyes. I'm approximately 5'7, and my husband Name is Liam Patrick David McHugh. He's 6',I think with shortish brown hair, slightly curtained at one side. He has dark brown eyes which could look sad enough to make you cry or happy enough to make you laugh. We've known each other a long time, since we were two or three.
My father's called Peter. Peter Jonathon Corey. He isn't Irish like my mother, as you have probably guessed from his name. His parents, my Grandparents, travelled a lot but my father himself was born in central London. Hence the name. He met with Kathlyn O'brien as a twelve-year-old and they did some duet shows for three or four years. Then, at fifteen going on sixteen, Kathlyn married Patrick McHugh after her parents meeting the family the summer previous. Soon after they went to live in the tiny Irish town of Galway. My father went at sixteen he went to visit her, and met eighteen-year-old Sarah Goodman. They had a fairy tale falling in love and married within a few months. At sixteen, Kathlyn gave birth to Liam David Patrick McHugh. Six months later I was born. Four years later, Sarah Louise Dinsdale Corey died of strangulation.
Cool, huh? I've always thought so. Then again, I always reckoned it was murder. But I'm not going into that.
Your probably want to know where I got the "Dinsdale" thing from, its what my mother used to say her second name was to anyone who was pagan- phobic. It's her fake name. Yet another cool thing about my mother.
She was pretty too. Dark auburn hair that came just below her shoulders, green-blue sparkling eyes, quite slim but not enough so that she was not nice to cuddle.
After her dieing we moved to York till I was eleven. Then we came back and it felt like everything had changed. As soon as we got into town, the first place I ran was Liam's house. After all, he had been my best friend. I knocked on the door, but no one answered. That's when I seen the rose ladder.
What the hell, I may as well do it. I thought. Why not? I started to climb up the wall, being careful not to rip my clothes. I reached the ledge and called out his name. I heard a commotion in Liam's room. "Ashleigh?"
His deep brown eyes came to the window. "Give me a hand, then." His hand grasped mine and helped me up. Unfortunately, he wasn't very strong at that age and I was quite heavy. We flopped back onto the bedroom floor, both giggling like the children we used to be.
We just took up where we left off; hanging out with Ally and Mike, joining the roses whose leader was now Lilah Feighton and Jessica McHugh. Yes they are related, half-sister. Such a cow that one.
As I was sitting on one of the over-stuffed chairs in my Georgian front room, reading a book about a girl who was trying to find her own "Individuality", which by the way was the most boring book ever to be made that wouldn't recommend to my worst enemy, I drifted in to my thoughts, something I don't often do.
I thought about the book, and some particular questions came into my mind: Why would anyone write a book? What makes a person individual? To my surprise the questions linked. And I came up with answers for both. What makes someone individual? The story they have to tell. Why would anyone write a book? To tell their story.
I began to wonder whether I should tell my story. So here I am. I suppose I should introduce myself. My full name is Sinead Ashleigh McHugh. It's pronounced Shinaid. I hate it when people mispronounce it so just call me Ashleigh. It's much easier and my Dad never really liked Sinead. I'm twenty-five years old; with dark-blonde curly hair have an oval like face, full lips and very blue eyes. I'm approximately 5'7, and my husband Name is Liam Patrick David McHugh. He's 6',I think with shortish brown hair, slightly curtained at one side. He has dark brown eyes which could look sad enough to make you cry or happy enough to make you laugh. We've known each other a long time, since we were two or three.
My father's called Peter. Peter Jonathon Corey. He isn't Irish like my mother, as you have probably guessed from his name. His parents, my Grandparents, travelled a lot but my father himself was born in central London. Hence the name. He met with Kathlyn O'brien as a twelve-year-old and they did some duet shows for three or four years. Then, at fifteen going on sixteen, Kathlyn married Patrick McHugh after her parents meeting the family the summer previous. Soon after they went to live in the tiny Irish town of Galway. My father went at sixteen he went to visit her, and met eighteen-year-old Sarah Goodman. They had a fairy tale falling in love and married within a few months. At sixteen, Kathlyn gave birth to Liam David Patrick McHugh. Six months later I was born. Four years later, Sarah Louise Dinsdale Corey died of strangulation.
Cool, huh? I've always thought so. Then again, I always reckoned it was murder. But I'm not going into that.
Your probably want to know where I got the "Dinsdale" thing from, its what my mother used to say her second name was to anyone who was pagan- phobic. It's her fake name. Yet another cool thing about my mother.
She was pretty too. Dark auburn hair that came just below her shoulders, green-blue sparkling eyes, quite slim but not enough so that she was not nice to cuddle.
After her dieing we moved to York till I was eleven. Then we came back and it felt like everything had changed. As soon as we got into town, the first place I ran was Liam's house. After all, he had been my best friend. I knocked on the door, but no one answered. That's when I seen the rose ladder.
What the hell, I may as well do it. I thought. Why not? I started to climb up the wall, being careful not to rip my clothes. I reached the ledge and called out his name. I heard a commotion in Liam's room. "Ashleigh?"
His deep brown eyes came to the window. "Give me a hand, then." His hand grasped mine and helped me up. Unfortunately, he wasn't very strong at that age and I was quite heavy. We flopped back onto the bedroom floor, both giggling like the children we used to be.
We just took up where we left off; hanging out with Ally and Mike, joining the roses whose leader was now Lilah Feighton and Jessica McHugh. Yes they are related, half-sister. Such a cow that one.