Happy Ever After Not!


SKU e-book Category

168 in stock


By Alison Haydon

ISBN: 978-1-84747-768-2
Published: 2008
Pages: 66
Key Themes: asperger syndrome, relationships, mental health system, empowerment


In a quiet village, maybe not so far away from you, lives a person that has a mental health problem that has gone unnoticed for years.

Every thing is fine until the ideal little world that this person lives in is destroyed. After viewing the families of the village in a different light feels that someone needs to help the children. That is the right thing to do to send them to heaven early, so to avoid a life of misery and upset, as they carry the baggage of a bad childhood through to adulthood.

The killer can see not wrong it what is done and feels in fact they are a saint for saving these children, releasing them into paradise early.

How far will the killer go, you will be shock!

But is this a cold hearted murderer? Or are they helping these children to avoid the suffering that this world brings? That is up to you to decide!

About the Author

Alison Haydon was born in the year 1968 in the September, an autumn baby. Alison got through school obtaining, to her shock, O levels and left not wanting to go to collage. She then went from job to job until children came along.

Alison is happily married to Ian and have four children, two boys and two girls. Her eldest girl has Asperser Syndrome and she is the reason behind the book, Happy ever after – not! Alison believes that not enough help is given to the families of children that have mental health issues and are just left to get on with it. She hopes the story shows the world that not ever killer is cold hearted and not ever one with mental health issues is a killer, but as a society we should be more encouraged to welcome and help people that are deemed as not “normal” to hopefully stop anything like this happening.

Alison is currently doing an Open University degree in English, a creative writer’s course and a teaching course to, hopefully, go on and teach adults with learning problems the joy of being able to get the story from the head to the paper. She also has the good luck of going and playing for two hours a week in a drama group.

Book Extract

The sun is shining, you know, this morning is going to be good, oh yes; I can feel it in my bones! – thinks Donna as she signals and pulls into the next road. She smiles to herself as she checks her image in the car mirror while waiting for the traffic lights to change: black hair smartly pulled back into a pony tail, not a hair out of place; make-up subtle; nails short, filed, buffed and shiny; uniform freshly-washed, pressed, no creases. She smiles, all checks completed, all perfect, roger over and out, so let the morning appointments begin.

Parking correctly, neatly and at first attempt she stops outside the first house of the day, grabs her bag and glasses before locking her car.

Can she walk away without double checking it? Today she thinks about it, but no, oh no, she has to go back. She has to make sure that she had in fact locked the door; you just can never be too careful these days.

Donna stands for a moment looking at the house: nice area; tidy front garden; clean car in drive; hanging baskets either side of the newly-painted front door, nice touch, swinging gently in the breeze. Donna knocks the door not too loud, but not too quietly.

He opens the door as if he had been waiting for her; watching her; standing tall ready for inspection. A great big, but tired, beaming smile filling his face.

“Donna, Donna, Donna, you were fantastic yesterday! Fiona would not have been able to do it if it had not been for you.” He reaches over, filling the air between them, squeezing Donna hard. “Well” says a startled and rather crumpled Donna, “Lead the way, shall we see how new mummy and baby are doing?”

Fiona slowly, very carefully, sits up from her lying position on the couch. She feels clots of blood; oozing, seeping out of her body on to the sanitary towel spilling over the edge like water tumbling over a waterfall. No doubt staining her big, baggy, unisex, jogging bottoms.

I will never, never, ever have sex again, bastard! – the thoughts trampled through her mind, as he, the devil, her husband; her smug, look-at-me-I-am-not-a Jaffa, fertile stallion; puffed up; proud; loving husband lead the bitch – who kept telling her to breathe; not to breathe – to pant; to push; not to push – into the room.

Fiona was sure she had given birth to a giant. That at some point in her life an elephant had mated with her when she wasn’t looking; yet this cow had handed her her baby: her bloody, slimy, wrinkly, baby, with the words: Well! That was a lot of fuss for a wee, small baby!

Fiona had had a terrible night; it felt as if she had fallen asleep and woken up in her worst nightmare. Just as she closed her weary eyes, a small, snuffling, mewling sound came up from the Moses basket, hovered over the top until speeding up like an Olympic runner charging into her ear drum; its noise translating into: feed me, feed me now. How can something so wanted cause so much pain and suffering; she had more stitches that the average cross stitch pattern, a chest the size of large melons, and nipples that were cracked and sore, but with a mind of their own, leaking milk at the sound of any baby crying, not just her own.


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