This is the story of Jasmine Elemita. It's set after my first story, Breaking Free, and features some of the characters from there.
Hope you enjoy!

— Silver, 2007

I may be silent, but
I'm thinking.
I may not talk, but
Don't mistake me for a wall.
— Tsuboi Shigeji

I climbed out the taxi after the long journey from London and sighed in the chill September air. It had been two months since I'd found out my husband had been cheating on me with not just one, but at least six other women, in the three years we had been married.

I felt humiliated, like everyone knew what he was up to before I did. I was sure that everyone was laughing at me behind my back. Seeing that I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, my friend Angel hustled me onto a train for a one-way journey back to my parents in Cloud Magna (or "Every-silver-lining-has-a-Cloud Magna" as I used to call it.)

So here I was, battle-scarred and husbandless, staring at my parents' front door.

"Hello, Dad," I said tearfully as he opened the door to me.

He gave me a big hug. "You're awfully late. We thought you were never going to come, Jasmine. How are you?"

"Awful," I laughed through my tears. "I wish I was dead. Where's Mum?"

"She's inside waiting for you. Come in. So... it's really over?"

"Yep." I sniffed.

I sat down in the living room, where Mum put her arm around me. "You know, you're always welcome here, ma petite, any time," she said. "You stay here as long as you like."

"It's not like I have a choice," I sighed. "We're selling the house as part of the divorce settlement." The tears began streaming down my face again. "Everything I do, everything I touch crumbles to dust."

"Now don't you shed any tears over him, Sparky." Dad said. "If David Fortier Quinn doesn't know what he's thrown away, more fool him. Can I get you something to eat?"

"No, thanks," I said. "I'm tired, I just want to head to bed."

As I lay on the bed I thought about how I always managed to ruin everything. When I was fourteen, my little brother died because of me. My best friend Saffron's fiancé dumped her because of me. My parents were now having to deal with their basket-case of a daughter, because I couldn't hold on to my husband. I always came out the loser in everything I did, and often dragged others down with me.

I had no one to blame but myself for my last cock-up; I can't say I wasn't warned.

I was ecstatic when David had asked me to marry him. When Saffron came over from Cloud Magna (in all her magnificent pinkness) to see me in London I could hardly contain my excitement, but she wasn't impressed.

"Are you sure it's such a good idea, Jaz? I mean, he seems a bit, well, flighty. You know what actors are like, egos the size of the moon."

Of course, I'd thought it was just jealousy that caused her to disapprove. "Saffron, that's awful stereotyping. Besides, he loves me, this ring proves it."

"If you insist, Jaz. Just make sure you go into this with your eyes open, that's all."

She wasn't the only one who warned me, but needless to say, David was flawless in my lovestruck eyes. I continued blissfully on. Those were the days where I could wear bright colours, dye my hair and party hard.

How times had changed.

Now I'd spend my time sitting alone, thinking dark thoughts, wearing black (to match my mood) and watching trashy chatshows all day. How the mighty have fallen.

A couple of days later, Dad thought it would be a good idea to invite some people round to cheer me up. Why oh why?!

It was great to see Saffy again but who on earth were these other people?

He went through a long list of names: Freddie Leigh, a parish councillor; Amber Leigh, his sister; Tony Oxford — "He's grown into a fine lad now, hasn't he?" Dad remarked. "Do you remember how his mother hated you? She was always coming over to complain. By gum, but that woman got on my nerves." He paused. "I don't know why the hick from the sticks is here though." He frowned. "I don't remember inviting him."

And it was just my luck that Mr Rich wanted to talk to me. The last time I'd seen him he was a little squirt. As I remember, I used to tease him quite a bit. Yes, in fact I distinctly remembered capturing him on his way home from school when he was seven and forcing him to walk home in a pink dress, holding a fairy wand. Hopefully he wouldn't remember that.

"Hello," he beamed at me. "I'm Tony. Remember me?"

Talk about smiley. Then I noticed his wedding ring. "So, you're married?" I said bitterly. I managed to convey a lot of venom with those three words, but it was lost on him.

"Yup, to the only girlfriend I ever had! Six blissful months of marriage and hopefully many more to come! My wife's just great — she's so cool and clever — you've got to meet her some time."

Good Lord, sick bag please. Why did my dad make me talk to these people?

"Huh, what was that you were saying?" I heard a voice say behind Tony. I looked. It was Hick from the Sticks. I groaned inwardly.

"You had a girl before you married my Melissa," he muttered. "What was she called? Sarah? Sandy?"

"Uhh... Sophie," Tony stuttered, nervously. "Well, I guess, but we weren't really an item, my mum just kinda pushed her on me. Umm... Jasmine, this is my father-in-law, Ashley Milton."

Great, I thought. Now I'm supposed to make conversation with this weirdo, too. Didn't they realise I just wanted to be alone? Being surrounded by shiny, happy people just served to rub in how miserable and alone I was.

"Hi," Hick smiled shyly. "If there's anything at all I can do for you —"

"Yes," I said. "You can leave me alone."

"Okay," he said quietly, and turned away.

Eventually, they left.

"Dad," I said. "If you ever do that to me again I shall shoot myself."

He just sighed, as if it was nothing less than he expected from me.

He did do it again. They just didn't understand. Okay, so there was a time, in the very distant past (i.e. six months ago when I was still happily married) when I loved to be the centre of things. But that part of my life was over.

I'd spent the last two months with my humiliation plastered all over the tabloids each time a new mistress came forward. I'd had the media outside my work asking for statements. Colleagues looking at me and nudging each other and whispering. The last thing I needed was a bunch of bored villagers coming to gawp at the loser wife in the flesh.

Now my life was a struggle for survival. It's so easy for people to tell you to pull yourself together, but real life isn't that simple. Especially not for me.

I thought about that for a bit. Other people went through worse break-ups than I did, so why did they manage to get over it yet, for me, the pain was getting worse every day?

Two weeks later, I got a letter from my solicitor telling me my and David's house was sold.

I felt like dying.

Instead I used the money to buy my own place. I got lucky, for once — the burnt out old industrial estate on the edge of town was being converted into a residential area. The old security office was the only completed building so far and had been rebuilt as a bungalow on the edge of the street; it was perfect. I'd have a few months' peace before I had to worry about well-meaning neighbours popping round for a chat.

Yup, I could go back to watching repeats of Ricki Lake all day instead.

I would never leave the house unless I needed to. All my shopping was delivered to me, and luckily the couriers never tried to start up a conversation. Perhaps the scornful looks I'd give them as I handed over the money put them off. Even the task of taking out the rubbish I would save until after dark.

But success got to my head. I thought I'd become immune to other people's attention. One night while watching TV, I realised I had exhausted my stash of chocolate digestives, so I headed out to the newer part of town where the big newsagents was. I was just approaching the road to the high street when I was accosted by none other than Hick from the Sticks. In dungarees.

Tops.

Oh no, I thought, oh no, he wants to talk to me. Oh please don't, I willed. I really haven't the energy.

"Hello," he said shyly. "It's Miss Jasmine, isn't it?"

I decided there and then I wasn't going to talk to him. I didn't care what he said. I would not say a single word to him. If he got offended then that was his problem not mine. Have I Got News For You was starting in an hour and I wanted to be home with my biscuits by then.

He continued talking. "I wanted to talk to you that day at your parents', but I didn't get the chance. I just wanted to tell you that I— "

Then the heavens opened.

He gestured me to his front door. "You'll catch your death out here, Miss Jasmine, come in, I'll get you a nice hot cup of tea." I hadn't the energy to resist and the rain was getting heavier, so it was easier to go along with it, even if it did end with me being carved to death with a bread knife. But I still wasn't going to talk to him. I realised I was going to miss Have I Got News For You after all.

Ash made us some tea and launched into a one-sided conversation. "Here's your tea, Miss Jasmine. Would ye like a chocolate biscuit to go with it? Go on, you will. It's very quiet here since Melissa got married. Sure, I don't know what to do with meself half the time. So what's the story?" he yapped. I tuned out. Yeah, he had a daughter, so where was the mother? I was curious, but darned if I'd actually ask. I glanced at him. She probably left him after he cheated on her, I thought, rather irrationally. Men! They're all the same. For the next half an hour, he droned on about his farm in some backwater.

"This one time, me da bought this chicken — big showy thing — he was going to name her Dymphna after his ex-girlfriend. He said she was the spitting image of her, so she was. Me ma went spare, said she's not having his aul' wan's name in the house. Me da said to stop whingeing, sure wasn't Dymphna going to live in the coop with the other girls? My brother Francis thought it was great craic and he put the chicken on me ma's side of the bed and she half killed him and we had to spend the next twenty minutes chasing aul' Dymphna around the house. And the next Sunday, we had the most delicious roast. My da didn't talk to me ma for a week."

Oh my God.

Ash shook his head. "Ah, listen to me going on like the aul' culchie. I bet half what I'm saying is going right over your head. The kids at the college are always poking fun at their old teacher, saying my accent is too hard to understand. That cheeky red-haired wan always asking if I can repeat it in English, the lil pup."

What was he talking about? His accent wasn't that hard to understand. "I understand you." Damn. Too late I remembered my vow of silence, but he just grinned.

"So Little Mermaid Jasmine has a voice after all!" Ash smiled warmly.

Caught out again! I looked at the window and noticed the rain had stopped. I muttered a hasty thanks for the tea, dashed out the door and literally ran all the way home.

That night I settled down with my treasured copy of William the Outlaw. There was a lot to be said for William Brown, I smiled. He was always good for a laugh.

I tried to concentrate on the book, but my mind kept wandering back to my encounter with Ash. That was scary, I thought. I best not let that happen again. If I ever go out again — which I won't — I'll make sure to take an umbrella with me. And a mac. Just to be on the safe side. Satisfied, I fell asleep.

Two days later, Saffron arrived at my house and told me there was someone she wanted me to meet. Not David, she hastened to stress. "Leave me alone, Saffron," I begged.

"No really, Jaz. It's Jack Faerie, from our uni, you remember him? You know he moved here after graduation, right? He says he's sorry he missed you at your parents', but he's just come back from abroad. It would be nice for you to chat to him." And I found myself being dragged away for a session of torture — I mean socialising.

"Umm... you and Jack have a lot in common..." Saffron smiled. "Like... you both wear black! And like listening to that depressing music... and watching car racing and... umm... stuff..." she faltered. I glared at her. "And... you're both half Indian."

"I thought he was half Peruvian?" I asked, bewildered.

"Yes, that's it! South American Indian — it's the same thing, isn't it?"

That wasn't even worth responding to.

"And other things, as well," she added quickly, grabbed my hand and rang the doorbell. I felt the will to live slipping away from me.

As soon as I stepped through the door, Saffron ran off to see Jack's girlfriend, Amber, and I was suddenly grabbed by Jack who proceeded to hug me fiercely. "You poor, poor thing," he said. What the...? Okay, so I knew him from uni — he'd been in the year above us and dated one of my housemates for a bit — but it's not as if we were close. He was more Saffy's friend.

"I know how you're feeling, Jasmine. I've been made a cuckold of too."

Really? I thought. Now you're talking! So butter-wouldn't-melt Amber wasn't quite so innocent as she looked, eh? Great, I loved a good bit of juicy scandal, especially when I wasn't involved — but I still wasn't going to talk to him.

"It was Genevieve, you remember her?"

"WHAT?!" I exclaimed. Meh, my vow of silence could take a day off, no harm.

"Yeah, from uni, I'm sure you knew her...?"

"Genevieve from France, THAT Genevieve?"

"Yeah." He smiled sadly.

"Crumbs!"

"Yeah, we started dating just before graduation. After we graduated, Saffron persuaded me to move here — she said it's much cheaper than London — and Genevieve and I got a houseshare together with another couple. It was okay for the first few months, but after that she kept trying to change me. Like telling me to quit the art and get a proper job and to start wearing suits, stuff like that. I didn't mind so much like, cos you know, I just ignored it, but obviously it was important to her."

"Crumbs. How awful," I cringed. "So then what happened?"

"After about, eighteen months or so, I caught her getting busy with another man in my own hot tub. Do you not know this, didn't Saffron tell you?" He looked genuinely puzzled. "It was with Saffron's boyfriend Johnny. I caught Gen with Johnny."

"Crumbs!" I said again.

"So of course I kicked her out—"

"Damn right."

"—she left without too much fuss. Guess she planned on moving in with ol' Johnny Bravo. The funniest thing was, he wasn't even interested in her. He was only using her to get back at Saffy, cos they'd had a massive row over something and broken up. So of course when she turned up that night, he told her to get lost."

This was great! I was glad Saffron forced me to come. I actually began to enjoy myself. But still —

"It really sucks that she did that to you though, Jack." I sympathised.

"Yeah, I was miffed for a while, but then I thought, hell what's the point, she was making me ruddy miserable all the time anyway, and then my art took off and life's been great since. Not a sign of a suit anywhere!"

"So it's all worked out quite well for everyone in the end." I smiled.

"Yeah. Except maybe for Gen. She ended up dating a politician who already had a wife. Last I heard, she'd gone back to France."

"Crumbs!"

"Crumbs is right. So Saffron tells me you're half Peruvian, too?"

"Umm..."

Luckily at that moment Amber came back and told Jack that it was time for his haircut and if he didn't hurry he'd miss his appointment, and for some reason Jack seemed to comply without any resistance. Strange.

The next week there was fierce pounding on my front door at sunrise. Oh for Pete's sake —

"JAAAAAAAAAAAAASMINE!!! WAKE UUUUUUUP! WE'RE GOING DOWN TO THE GLASTONBURY TOR, ARE YOU COMING WITH US?!" It was Jack, Amber, the rich kid Tony, and a bunch of goofy teens. What the hell was wrong with people in this town? Just because you talk to them once, they decide to be your best mate.

"No, I'm not. Leave me alone, you big idiots."

"ALL RIGHT!! WE'LL SEE YOU MONDAY THEN!"

Flamin' bunch of prats, I thought.

This is your fault, David Fortier Quinn, I fumed that night, as I stomped out to the front gate. Some stupid kids had knocked over my bin. I angrily pulled it back up and kicked my garden wall. It's your fault I'm stuck in this crummy backwater where everyone knows me and won't — KICK — flipping leave me ALONE! Take that — BIFF — you dirty philanderer, and that — BASH — you lecherous lecher! Just as I stormed back up to my porch, I heard an amused voice.

"Notice that the stiffest tree is most easily cracked, while the bamboo or willow survives by bending with the wind."

Oh ruddy hell, it was him again. Hick from the Sticks. What the hell was he on?!

"Caffeine."

Huh?

"I'm dying for a bit of caffeine, Jasmine. Missed the bus home from Maidstone, I've had to walk, I'm asleep on me feet."

No, I thought, heading back inside. I thought he'd get the hint, but instead he followed me in and said not to go to any trouble, he'd make the coffee for the both of us, where did I keep it? I wanted to tell him to get lost, but I didn't have the energy.

Ash handed me a mug, then sat down, taking a big gulp. "Ah, thanks for this, Miss Jasmine. I was fair collapsing after all that walking. This reminds me of this one time," he started. Oh no. He was about to start one of his everlasting anecdotes, wasn't he?

"'Twas when I was about fourteen," he started.

Oh my God.

"It was tourist season up in the city, and me brother Francis, he wanted a holiday girlfriend, right? So he says to me, Ashley, he says, you keep an eye on the folks while I ready the horse — Finn McCool was his name — and mind you don't let them know what I'm up to or I'll half kill ye. So then I say it's not fair, so it's not, I want to go see the city too and if he doesn't let me come, I'll tell Ma. So he lets me ride along with him up the big road to Sligo, and we head to one of the small pubs, not too far in. He ties the horse up, tells me to shut me trap and then he gets one of the older lads to buy him a drink. He gives me a tap water and I sit in the corner, feeling very grown up.

"Well, Francis finds some cailín by the window seat and starts chatting her up and yer wan is impressed by the big eejit playing at grown ups, and then can you guess what happened, Miss Jasmine? Can ye?

"Finn McCool only goes and sticks his head through the window and takes a big long gulp o' the cailín's drink! It was gas! Francis gets so startled he spills his own drink all over himself and the cailín is screaming like a banshee and I've never heard a scream like that since. And then wouldn't you know it, Mrs Mulroney from Ard Coitinn, she's after hearing the commotion from outside, and she comes storming in and she grabs Francis by the ear and says she's calling his ma and she's taking Finn McCool too and Francis is fierce dying of embarrassment as she drags him out.

"And then I'm just left there in the corner trying to catch up with what just happened. So I finish my water and slip out and I'm not going to go after Mrs Mulroney, not on your life, and I don't have any coins for the phone or the bus, so I just head to the road back to Collooney. Two hour walk, so it is. And when Mrs Mulroney finds out I was in Sligo with Francis, she says to him, Ye daft eejit, ye left the wee lamb in the pub by himself?! Are ye simple? And she sends her son Ruairí to fetch me from the pub, but I'm already on the road home. So now me ma is going spare, worried about me lost in Sligo, and Mrs Mulroney is giving out to Francis something awful, and in the end, me da has to drive out and he sees me walking on the side of the road and then I get in big trouble too," he chuckled. "Ah, Finn McCool was the only one who had any fun that night."

To my surprise I actually found myself kind of enjoying his story. I shuddered at the thought; that had been careless of me. So when he left for home I suddenly found myself feeling very uneasy indeed.

Caught on the hop once again.

The following Monday I checked my mail to find a letter that wasn't bills. I looked at the return address. It was from my solicitors. I sat down and opened it with trembling fingers.

The decree absolute had been issued. My divorce was finalised. I was no longer married.

I don't know why I was so surprised. After all, it was I who had instigated the divorce. My solicitors had recently told me it would come through soon, but I wasn't prepared for the feelings of utter loss and devastation I was feeling now.

Fool that I was, I'd always expected David to come rushing into my arms at the last minute and beg me to take him back. Would I ever learn?

Needing a bit of TLC, I asked Saffron to pop in after work. "Oh you look rough, Jasmine, what's wrong?" I think what she meant was, "What's wrong, now?"

I nodded at the document on the table. "The decree absolute's come through."

"Whaddat?"

"I'm officially divorced now." I wholly broke down and buried my head in my hands.

"Oh," she said. "Oh. Poor thing. You knew this was gonna happen though, didn't you?"

"Yes, but..."

She sat patiently while I cried my heart out. Eventually, she got bored and made us some tea and after a bit of rummaging around the kitchen, she found some cake to go with it. "This cake is great, didn't know you could bake, Jasmine."

"I can't. Mum made it," I said through my tears. We were silent for a while.

"I bumped into Ash Milton the other day," Saffron said thoughtfully, munching on the cake. "I didn't realise you two were friends."

"We're not," I said blankly.

"Oh." She thought for a bit. "He seems to think you are."

Then I remembered something.

"He has a daughter, doesn't he?" I said. "But he's never mentioned her mother. What's that all about?"

"Oh, I know this." Saffron said excitedly. "Melissa told me. Her mama died when Melissa was a toddler." She paused. "I guess what Ash needs now is the love of a good woman to heal his scarred and aching heart, only then will he —"

"I'll scar and ache your heart, Saffron Pastel, if you don't shut up." I hissed.

"Oh... umm... I gotta go now, doll, homework to mark, you know. I'll pop in tomorrow... err... if you want me to."

"Sure, sure." I sniffed. "You may as well take the cake, I've no appetite."

By evening it had started to rain heavily. I looked out the window and cried. I like thunderstorms, I thought, vaguely. If I was going to have black clouds in my head playing havoc with my emotions every day, it was only fair that everyone else had black clouds playing havoc with their laundries now and then. Or their barbecues.

But now I felt strangely numb. I always thought feeling numb would be nice, but it wasn't. I just felt worse than before, but in a dead sort of way.

I can't go on, I thought, trying, and failing, to see through the haze in my mind. I can't do this anymore.

I went to bed and drifted in and out of sleep. At some point, I thought of the pack of paracetamol in the bathroom cabinet and contemplated doing myself in.

Then I realised I didn't have the energy.

I didn't know how long I stayed there. Time seemed to lose all meaning. When I was really desperate I would leave to make a toilet stop or drink some water. The rest of the time I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, my heart aching, and wondering what exactly was the point of life, when everything was just sadness and pain?

I was later informed that I'd been lying there for almost a week. Eventually my parents and Saffron had to break their way in (with the help of the spare key) and they found me lying like a corpse on my bed, my face deathly pale and the sheets soaked with tears (I probably stank to high heaven as well, but they were kind enough not to mention it). The doctor was sent for and I was put on antidepressants. Mum said she would stay with me until I was better. I protested that I only had one bed, but she said she didn't care. She and my dad brought over the folding bed from their house and set it up in the living room.

But you don't get something for nothing in this world. My happiness — no wait, happiness is too strong a word. "My ability to function" would be a more appropriate phrase. Okay, my ability to function came at a price. A very big price.

The side effects of the drugs were truly awful. I lost my appetite completely (although to be fair I hadn't felt like eating before anyway) and I would spend most afternoons feeling nauseated. I'd also tremble a lot and get dizzy spells, especially in the evenings. That might not sound so bad, but when you have to go through that nearly every day for days on end, it really wrecks you. So much so that I felt maybe I would forget the tablets and take my chances with the depression. But Mum wouldn't let me. "You're taking those tablets even if it kills me."

I really wished she hadn't said that.

Even scarier was hearing my doctor say that I might have to be on the tablets for a full six months, to prevent a relapse. That was nearly enough to make me want to kill myself. Antidepressants my foot.

But like I said, my ability to function slowly returned, and thankfully the side effects eased off after the first three weeks. I still felt like I was a failure, but the burden wasn't quite so heavy. Soon I was able to get out of bed, comb my hair by myself and even answer the phone.

The pain was still there, but it was only pain, I realised. It wouldn't kill me. So my marriage is over, but I had my parents, my friends, my home, my health. My life wasn't over.

After a couple of months or so, I was well enough to actually laugh when I read my beloved William. One Saturday night, I was giggling at the story of "Dimtritch", The Mysterious Stranger, when I heard a muffled groan from the living room. I dragged myself out of bed just in time to see Mum flop onto the carpet. I cried out in terror.