Cold Water Page 2

  “Fine, thank you.”

  She passes me a plate of toast. “Are you sure?” she presses. “You had a bit of a fever last night. If you have a headache at all, you should stay in bed and-,”

  “Mum,” Ash interrupts, saving me. “She said she’s fine.”

  I nod in agreement and take a large bite of the toast to prove my point. It tastes like a combination of sandpaper and plywood. “Thank you for your concern,” I murmur politely. “And for letting me stay here.”

  She blinks, as if not expecting this, while Ash snickers. “You don’t have to be so polite,” he says.

  “He’s right dear,” she smiles. “And you can call me Jenny.” She extends her hand and I shake it.

  “Hope,” I introduce myself.

  “So, where are you from, Hope?”

  “Sunderland, you probably know it.”

  She nods. “I do, quite well actually. I used to work there.” Pause. “Do your parents know that you’re here?”

  “Actually I’m living with my older sisters at the moment,” I explain. “I called to let them know.”

  “At least they won’t worry then,” she approves. I feel like snorting in contempt; I doubt they would worry about me. I shake away these thoughts as she continues. “Maybe you can call them again once you’re feeling better and you’re ready to go home.” I nod mutely and don’t argue. It’s just going back to where I started. Back ‘home’ where I’m no one.

  In a way it is Cinderella and the evil step-sisters all over again, minus the ‘step’ part, the ‘happily ever after’ part and the ‘prince charming’ part. Maybe I should rethink that comparison.

  The rest of breakfast passes smoothly. The discussions are ordinary and the questions are mundane. Afterwards, once her son has left the table and has retreated back upstairs, Jenny asks me to stay behind. It’s obvious what she wants to talk about, what she wants to ask me. I can see the apprehension flashing in her eyes.

  “Hope,” she starts hesitantly. “I’m happy to let you stay in this house until you’re better, or actually as long as you want. However there’s some things I would like to know first.”

  I reel in the sigh that had been threatening to escape. I have to agree to this. I owe her that much at least. “Of course. I’ll try and answer your questions as best I can.”

  “Thank you,” she smiles reassuringly. “Now, who are your current legal guardians?”

  “My three sisters. Well, technically Faith. She’s twenty six.”

  “And she knows you’re safe?”

  “I left an answer phone message.” I can tell that she wants to ask me why my elder sister is my guardian, not my parents. Luckily she doesn’t.

  “Will they be coming to collect you?” she asks.

  I falter. “We haven’t worked out the details, yet.” I stare down at the floor, feeling guilty. “I’ll try and call them again as soon as possible.”

  Jenny’s expression softens slightly. “Don’t worry about that, dear,” she says. “You’re staying here until you’re better, providing your sisters let you.”

  “Thank you.”

  For a few moments there is a long, awkward pause. And then she asks one more question. “Why did you run away?”

  I’m not sure how to reply. Eventually, I answer with a twisted version of the truth. “We had an argument, that’s all,” I mutter, looking anywhere besides her face. “I was stupid and overreacted. I shouldn’t have run off like that.”

  She seems to consider my words. Then she puts a warm, comforting hand on my shoulder. “You should go upstairs and rest now,” is all she says with an air of finality. I’m only too happy to oblige.

  *****

  I lie there on the bed for a long time after my conversation with Jenny, unsure what to do. It annoys me how weak my body is and I try desperately to stay awake. I suppose it’s stupid really, but I’ve already listed my flaws. I’m ridiculously stubborn. I don’t like to lose, especially to something as silly as sleep. I refuse to let my eyes close and stare obstinately up at the patterned ceiling.

  My mind wanders over everything that has happened in the last forty eight hours, and I silently decide to call my sisters in a day or two, so that everything can go back to being normal again. They will come and collect me. They will scowl and shout and then I will go home and hide in my room in a bid to stay out of their way. It is the summer holidays. I think of the small stack of homework that resides on my desk. Once I get home I will have to do something about that.

  It is nearly half an hour later when I hear the concerned voice of the boy invading my thoughts: “Are you okay?”

  Startled, I bolt upright which causes a wave of dizziness and my head to throb. I wait until my vision clears. Finally, I see him – Ash, I need to remember his name – leaning in the doorway of the room. “Fine,” I mutter.

  He cautiously enters. “You’ve been staring at the ceiling for the past five minutes,” he notes. I eye him warily as he approaches.

  “Were you spying on me or something?”

  “I just walked past and noticed,” he explains, popping one of the beans into his mouth and chewing. “If you want privacy, you really should close the door.”

  “Thanks for the advice.”

  He sits down in the chair beside my bed. “I thought you’d be tired.”

  “I am.”

  “You can tell me to go away if you want, you know.”

  “I know,” I reply. “But I don’t want to sleep, anyway.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s a waste of time. And besides, I’ve already slept too much.”

  He nods in understanding. We are both quiet for a little while, enjoying the silence. Then, he has to go and ruin it. “Why did you run away?” He springs the question at me unexpectedly. Maybe he had been waiting for that moment, so he could have the element of surprise and startle me into answering. “Well?”

  “I’d prefer not to say.” This boy is definitely too nosy.

  “Okay. You’ll tell me one day, anyway. I can wait.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “What makes you so sure of that?”

  “I’m not. It’s just a feeling I guess,” he laughs. “Intuition, even.”

  “I thought only girls were supposed to have that.”

  “That’s sexist.”

  “You’re kind of odd,” I say, brow furrowed.

  “I’ve been told that before.” It is still morning outside but the curtains are closed. Personally, I prefer the dark. But he does not seem to share my opinion and gets up to pull them back, exposing the sun. Light dribbles in through the clear windows, almost blinding me. “It’s a nice day,” he says. He turns back to me, smiling that sunny smile again that seems too cheerful to be real. “Maybe tomorrow, when you’re feeling better, I can show you around.”

  I desperately want to ask him why he is so happy, but I force the urge back. Instead I just nod indifferently. “Yeah, sure, whatever.”

  “You don’t have to, you know,” he frowns at my tone. “It’s an offer, not an obligation.”

  “I know that. It’s just that I’ll be leaving soon, anyway.”

  “I know that,” he mimics me. “We can do it before you leave, right?” He smiles again and I feel like asking him if he ever gets tired of smiling. “I thought we could be friends.”

  I frown. “What?”

  He seems sheepish now. “Well, why can’t we be friends?”

  And then my mouth opens and those words pour out before my common sense can catch up. “I never said we couldn’t.” I bite back a grimace, silently chastising myself. I’m getting soft.

  However he, oblivious to the current state of my mental health, practically beams. It’s worse than the stupid, chirping birds outside and the too-bright sun put together. “Great!” he exclaims. “Tomorrow, then?”

  I can’t disappoint him, not when he’s grinning like that, I’m not that heartless. I let out a defeated sigh. “Fine.”

  “I’m looking
forward to it already,” he declares. With a last cheerful smile he saunters out of the room, motioning his hand lazily in farewell and closing the door behind him.

  I watch in bemusement and consider the likelihood of successfully faking a heart attack before tomorrow. Desperate times call for desperate measures, after all.

  Chapter 3: The lady dost protest too much

  If I were a character from a movie, I would be the lion from the Wizard of Oz; the one looking for courage, because at the moment I don’t even have enough of it to pick up a damn phone. But then again, I don’t have a tail or paws or fur either. Maybe I need to stop comparing myself to fictional characters. It’s insulting to the lion, either way.

  The wretched contraption is sitting only a tantalisingly short distance away, mocking me from the table just across the bed. Just a little stretch and I could reach it and call home, tell them where I am and ask them to come and pick me up. Then I would be back to square one, where I started from; living with my three personal demons older sisters. I consider Jenny’s words and mull over the pros and cons of staying here for a little while longer. Anything would be better than going ‘home’.

  It’s raining outside. The clock illuminates a bright green ‘5:24 am’ after a long, dreamless night and I’m not surprised because I’m used to getting up early in the morning. I used to love getting up to watch the sunrise, to see those pretty shades of rose pink and light indigo splayed across the sky. The habit never left. I liked cloud-watching too; picking out shapes from the white masses that hung, greyscale, in the sky. I used to imagine Heaven would be up there somewhere, a huge castle on top of the clouds. It turns out though that clouds are only water, nothing else.

  I perch on the edge of the window sill of my room. Although my body still aches, it’s a bearable kind of pain easily subdued by an aspirin. It’s cold in my borrowed pyjamas, but it’s worth it. The trees can be heard rustling gently in the distance and rain dances on the rooftops. I stare out through the fogged up glass into the misty morning, seeing the pampered estate of newly built houses looming in the dullness. I trace my dainty fingertips along the line of the window pane, eyeing those raindrops that cling to the glass and slide down slowly, like tears. I remember I used to do this once, a long time ago on those stupid road trips we took into the middle of nowhere, when all five of us simply piled into the car and drove in any direction just because we could. Sometimes, it would rain while we were driving. I would stare outside in wonderment and count the trees that flashed past, race the raindrops that trickled across the glass, only half listening to the pointless conversation going on around me.

  “Can we get a dog?” Had been a hot topic of discussion, started by a 6 year old Dawn. Her grey eyes had been alight with excitement as she sat wedged between Faith and I. Our father, the irresponsible pushover, had chuckled and asked:

  “What sort of dog?” which had caused mother to immediately send him a pointed look that said clearly ‘it’s never going to happen.’ After that, I had tuned out. Dawn became so excited by the concept of getting a puppy that she rambled aimlessly on about them for the whole journey, not seeming to care that no one was listening to her. That was just the way our family worked. There was Faith; the eldest, the calm and the serious one. Then Lily who was second eldest, fiery and easily angered. Dawn was the cute, innocent and shy one. And finally there was me: the odd one out.

  It’s funny because even though we never had a destination in mind, we always found somewhere perfect in the end.

  It’s pathetic but sometimes, these memories of a better place and a better time depress me. I have to leave my post at the window and amble quietly out of room, in a shrewd attempt to distract myself. I decided long ago that I suffer from the same imperfections the rest of humanity seems to. Just like everyone else, I never appreciated what I had until it was gone. And it seems that it is one mistake I never learn from.

  When I next look up I find myself in the kitchen, unsure of how I had gotten there. I lean against the window pane and listen to the sounds outside, my mind blank. I’ve been downstairs for a grand total of half an hour before I’m abruptly awoken from this meditative-like state by the steady slap slap slap of slippers on tiled floor. It’s too early for people to get up already I think, reluctant to socialise.

  “Hope?” A small yawn follows. “What are you doing up so early?” Forcing my features out of a fixed grimace and into something more neutral, I turn around.

  “Ah, morning Jenny,” I greet. “Sorry, I couldn’t sleep, so I came down here.”

  There’s a knowing look in her eyes that scares me a little. “I see,” she says. “How are you feeling?”

  “Still a little sore and my head hurts a bit, but a lot better thanks.”

  “That’s nice to hear, but you should probably rest.”

  “I will later,” I promise.

  “Okay.” She gives me an understanding smile, which irritates me. People can’t be kind and caring and happy all the time. Trying to keep the annoyance from showing, I sit down at the table.

  Jenny retrieves a small tub from a cupboard above the fridge. “It’s my special fancy hot chocolate,” she winks at me. “Please don’t tell Ash about it though, I want to keep it for more than a day.”

  A ghost of a smile flits across my face. “I won’t,” I say as she prepares the drinks. A few minutes later she shuffles over to the table, setting the steaming mugs down. I take a sip.

  “Do you like it?”

  “This is the first time I’ve tried hot chocolate. It’s nice.”

  “I’m glad you think so.”

  I take another sip. It’s deliciously sweet. “Do you always get up at this time?” I ask.

  “Only during the school term. I usually get up to make breakfast. But this morning…I just couldn’t sleep.”

  “I know the feeling.” I turn to stare down into my drink moodily, resisting the urge to fidget as an awkward silence ensues. Silence has become my companion over the years, but not this sort of silence. In the end, when it stretches on for a few minutes, I try to think of something – anything – to say to break it. I finally come up with: “Jenny, do you have a job?”

  “I used to,” she admits. “I was a primary school teacher, but I resigned about a year ago. I just don’t think it’s what I want to do in life.”

  “Then what do you want to do in life?”

  “I honestly haven’t got a clue,” she chuckles slightly. “You probably think I should know by now, considering my age.”

  “You’re not that old,” I murmur, but she just shakes her head.

  “Most women by now have already had their careers or have reached their dreams, but I’m still searching. I don’t mind though, if I never find what I’m looking for. I’m happy now, as I am.”

  “And you’re satisfied with what you have? You never wish for something…more?”

  The smile is still there, but it’s more wistful than anything else. It highlights the aged worry lines that crease her forehead, and her eyes are suddenly dull. “Of course I do sometimes, everyone does. It’s just part of being human.”

  I sigh quietly. “Well, being human sucks.”

  “Unhappiness is just a state of mind, you know.”

  “No, it’s not just all in our heads,” I say. “Being like this all the time gets tiring.”

  There is a glint of sadness in her eyes. “Then let others in for a change. From what I’ve heard, you could do with a break from your own mind.”

  I smirk humourlessly. “You’re right about that. After the fifteen year relationship with my sanity, we’ve finally decided to split up.” She laughs. “I’ve been waiting to use that joke for ages. Sorry, I’m a hopeless cynic.”

  “But you still have a lot of life to live. I doubt you’ll be a cynic forever.”

  “I hope not,” I frown, looking away. “I think I scare people off.”

  “You don’t. But it would be nice to see you smile more, dear.” I sip contently
at the long-forgotten hot chocolate that has turned cool, acknowledging her with a nod. “How did you come to be this way?” she asks.

  “Practice.”

  And then something finally seems to click behind those confused, dark eyes. “Hope,” she asks hesitantly. “Where are your parents?”

  I stutter for a moment, unsure what to say, but I realise in the end that it’s pointless because she seems to know anyway. “I don’t know,” I mumble. “But hopefully Heaven, if it does exist.”

  In the end everyone has secrets; some are just darker than others.