Scarred Roses

Chapter 4-On shaky grounds

“Hazel! Breakfast!”

I’d spent the last, five minutes trying to fasten the buttons of my blouse. Normally, I had no trouble with the embroidered, school-shirts we were all made to wear, but recently, I was surprised to find the bust of the blouse getting tighter. I thought, perhaps hoped too much that I had stopped growing since that awkward transition through puberty, but my body might’ve just been playing tricks on me. Mean, spiteful tricks that made my dresses and blouses too small, and brought too much attention to my…chest.

Oh, it was no use! I’d just have to wear the vest-jumper over top, until Audrey could let out the seams a little. With a frustrated huff, I left my blouse alone and pulled on the navy-blue jumper-school emblem showing itself boldly and proudly, on the breast pocket, then taking the loaded school-bag from my dresser chair and strolling down the hall, over the carpeted stairs, and through the foyer where Audrey was, mucking around with her hair in the mirror. Upon seeing me, she joined my little stroll to the kitchen where the sweet scent of piping-hot pancakes wafted enticingly from the living room. Mum stood at the table, ladling two, thick pancakes onto dad’s plate, where he topped it with bananas and a squeeze of orange juice. Taking that impulsive, empty ache in my stomach as I sigh, I sat down beside dad, greeting him and mum good morning before taking a plate and helping myself to a glass of milk.

“Audrey, do you think you could have a look at my blouse tonight, if you’ve got a moment?” I asked her.

“Sure, is there anything wrong with it?”

“No, I think I just need some seems taken out. Around the front.” I added, the last part said in more of a whisper.

“Oh. Yeah, that should be fine.”

Mum came to me with the frying pan in hand, lowering three pancakes, nearly the size of the plate itself, onto my dish. Smiling slightly to myself, I took the bottle of maple syrup in one hand, and the tub of vanilla yogurt in the other. Mum only ever let us have whipped cream on our pancakes when we were having them for dessert, so with yogurt as my substitute, I’d just have to make them as close to Canadian pancakes as I possibly could.

“Oh-sorry, I didn’t realise you guys were having breakfast.” Nicholas had emerged from the basement door. Drenched in sweat, wearing a pair of loose, grey sweat-pants, hanging precariously off his hips. It took me a few seconds to realise that was all he was wearing. I should be more mature than this. I’m sixteen years old! I shouldn’t be in awe at the mere sight of a bare chest, corded, muscular arms, and a nicely drawn abdomen, every inch of his skin tanned gold… stop it, Hazel! He might be attractive on the outside, but that didn’t mean he was the same on the inside.

“That’s fine, but if you’d better get dressed quickly; we’ve got to get your enrolment details sorted, and pick up your new uniform.”

“I won’t be a minute,” He said as he left the kitchen. Good riddance, I thought, turning back to my food. Any longer, and I would’ve been ogling. And god knows he was going to be getting plenty of that when he actually started school this week.

“Hazel, Audrey, you may as well get a ride with us.” Mum said, sitting down with her own plateful of pancakes. “I’m taking Nicholas down to the school to get the rest of his enrolment sorted out.”

“Thanks mum,” Audrey replied, chewing on a mouthful of maple-drenched pancake.

“Don’t get used to it-you’ll be walking home this afternoon.” Mum added, with a grin. “Now eat up; the sooner we get to the school, the better.”

Polishing off the last of my remaining pancake, I gulped down the rest of the milk before rinsing, stacking, then following mum, single-file, out of the house and towards her lipstick-red mini. Mum has had it since 2010, when I was nine and Audrey twelve. We all used to have quite a laugh when we all tried, in earnest, to squeeze into the back of her car! Dad would yell ‘roll up! Roll up! Come and see how a family of four can fit into this tiny, clown-car!’ The joke was old, but still oddly funny. Considering that Nicholas would have to work his way into the front seat.

Speak of the devil-along, he came. This time, dressed properly in a bottle-green T-shirt that complimented his complexion, and a pair of skinny jeans. Thank God, I sighed internally. The less I saw of his body, the more composed I would be.

The drive was only five minutes; five minutes of pure silence, broken only by the faint music of mum’s radio, and Audrey’s vague humming along. Sunshine streamed through the branches of the trees we passed, making miniature beams against the grass below. The blades fluttered in the morning breeze, dancing almost. Sick of being trodden upon and torn apart, just happy to have that one, free moment where it could find peace. I wish it were that easy for me. The only place I could find peace was Lilac Park, and it always felt as if I never got enough time there.

Mum pulled up at the kerb of Derby High, the four of us climbing out of her mini, one by one, then setting out on our separate ways. Mum and Nick to the main office, Audrey to her bus stop, and me to the courtyards to meet Ingrid. Curiosity bubbled from within her as I sat down, beneath the tree, beside her. She wanted to know what happened this weekend; my impression of Nicholas, what he said, what he did. I know that I promised to tell her but…should I, really?

“So?” She looked at me, expectedly. Her eyes shining, swimming with all sorts of questions.

“So, what?”

“How did it go?”

The words were stuck in my throat, struggling to form themselves into any, easy explanation. I wasn’t ready to go about, proudly spreading my story of triumph over Nicholas, not when I felt that it was hardly any victory at all. So, what was I supposed to do? Lie? Not tell her anything? No, I couldn’t. I promised an explanation, and I was going to give her one.

“Fine,” I lied, straight through my teeth. “He was the perfect gentleman; smart, respectable, well-mannered. Like a regular prince charming.”

“Oh, come on, Hazel! There’s got to be more than that. What did he say to you? What does he look like? Don’t you understand? With a severe lack of excitement in my life, I must live vicariously through yours!”

“Really, Ingrid, it wasn’t that big of a deal. He’s good-looking, makes a good, first-impression, and happens to be a smart boy. There’s really nothing else to tell-well, apart from the fact that he’s good at hiding his grief.”

“How so?”

“Ingrid, do you remember when Leo’s grandfather died? He had severe, lung cancer, and Leo had been very close with him.”

“Of course! Leo was devastated.”

“And we were there for him when he needed it. But Nicholas…he wasn’t upset, wasn’t triggered by anything. When mum and dad accidently mentioned his parents, he didn’t falter for a second. He just smiled, and continued talking as if nothing they could say would make him…hurt.”

“Well, my dad says that everybody deals with grief differently. When Romeo killed himself, Juliette stabbed herself in the heart. When Elizabeth of York died, Henry the seventh locked himself up in his room for weeks, only ever speaking to his mother, then died himself a few months later. Perhaps he’s just grieving on his own, and puts on that whole ‘I’m fine’ front when other people are around.”

“You could be right-it’s just unnerving, that’s all. If anything, ever happened to my family…I know how I would feel. They mean more to me than anything.”

“Well, until he opens up by himself, I’m afraid you’ll just have to make do with school, being your best entertainment. In fact, we’re so entertaining, one of your closest friends can be your one, on-call clown!”

“Hey!” Flora seemed to have impeccable timing, I thought, as she flopped down beside us. Wearing a wily, toothy grin. “So, first class is art, then? What are you going to tell Mr. Reed?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.” I answered cryptically, grinning inwardly at the one secret I had no guilt in keeping.

“But it’s form-class first.” Ingrid confirmed, “Shall we rendezvous here at lunch-time?”

“We always do,” Flora giggled, “But fine, we’ll all meet here for our three-course lunch.”

“A simple starter of cheese dip and wafers, followed by shallow-fried potato crisps, salted to perfection.” I said, “Mains will be roast beef on sourdough, brushed in olive oil, and a modest serving of chocolate, caramel nougat, and chopped nuts for dessert.”

“Then by all means, it ought to be a most prestigious lunch!” Flora shrieked in a shrill, posh voice that sounded too much like Julia Child. “With only the best sort of company.”

“Well, if you’ll excuse me Dame Field, Lady Kazia and I must be on our way to class.” Ingrid slid her arm through the crook of my elbow, the two of us walking off to class, still giddy and giggly from our usual Tom foolery. Nicholas was at the back of my mind now, which was just the way I liked it.

“Oh crap! Don’t we have an assembly today?” Ingrid cursed. Oh dear, we do! And we’d nearly forgotten all about it. We all knew how the head teacher, Mrs. Haze felt about no-shows.

“We do! Come on, we’d better get to the auditorium.”

Off in the other direction we went, following the gradual stream of students that led us to the twin-doors of the school auditorium. Kids were dumping their schoolbags against the walls, beside the doors, due to lack of coat-hooks and a safer place to put them all. However, relaxed the school was in dress-codes, they made up for in tightening their pockets to anything as simple as a place to hang our backpacks. I was never keen on the idea of having my bag out in the open, for any, year thirteen to take, nonetheless, I left mine beside Ingrid’s before we joined the stream of teenagers, trying to squeeze through the two, narrow doorways to get inside. Miss Kotter was already inside, along with half of our form-class, who took up one of the two, allocated rows for us to sit in. Not wanting to face any of Miss Kotter’s questions, I led Ingrid towards the very end of the second row, beside the wall. Much better, I thought. At least we had some privacy to talk before assembly began.

“What else could they have to say?” Ingrid whispered. “All of the exciting stuff is over for the year; the only thing I could imagine is announcements about the Chess Club and the poll-vote on whether we should bring back pizza squares at the tuck shop.”

“In fairness, that was a surprisingly big debate.” I replied, “One half of the school thought they should absolutely come back, one quarter though that they should come back with less cheese and more vege, and the other quarter didn’t think we needed them back at all.”

“A bit stupid, if you ask me.” She said, “Mind you, we don’t even need to order from the tuck shop-your mum’s a chef, mine is already used to catering for the exorcist twins, and the rest of us are too wary of the meats’ origins to even think of buying a sandwich from there.”

“They say it’s made from one hundred percent cow.” I giggled, “They didn’t say which part of the cow.”

We stopped when a compulsory hush fell over the auditorium. Our head-teacher, Mrs. Haze, had stepped onstage first to take her seat, followed by the deputy head, and some of the other teachers from our house. Everybody in Lancaster house (strange, I know) knew that to interrupt Mrs. Haze talking, in the middle of assembly, meant after-school detention. She was a hard woman-short in stature, which she often tried to make up for in silly high-heels that even Audrey couldn’t master, but had a fierce temper and a nasty mouth. You didn’t want to cross her. Not even her fellow teachers dared to question her authority.

“Listen up, Lancaster house!” She called us to attention, like a well-trained general. “First, I’m going to talk about the upcoming summer tournament. Our Tennis teams-singles and doubles have been filled, as is the school’s Rugby team, however the teams for Volleyball, Hockey and Archery are still looking for team members, so try-outs are this Wednesday. We encourage all Lancaster’s to attend for we need the encouragement as well as the athletes!”

My attention waned as she began talking about the Chess Club, the Debating Team, and the upcoming skits from the year twelve drama students. This, I already knew about through Flora. Towards the end of the assembly, however, I was surprised to hear her mentioned Green Thumb.

“Green Thumb are looking for volunteer students to work with their marketing team this summer. To invigorate their products, Green Thumb wants a transformation of their entire image. Graphic Arts students, even traditional arts students, and Photography students of any year are welcome to apply. And of course, for those wanting to get some extra money in their pockets, Blue Vines vineyards are looking for grape-pickers…”

The assembly ended quickly enough, after the deputy-head made his announcements and set us free. First class of the day, just my luck, art. I was almost prepared to ‘no’ to Mr. Reed about the reference-but then, I had a brainwave. Spending time at the Green Thumb gardens after school would at least give me some more time away from Nicholas. Soon enough he was going to be invading every, other place in my life, why not have one where even he can’t worm his way into? Miss Kotter would give me a sizable lecture if I said no anyway, so what was the harm? I might not even get the job anyway. All the year thirteens would probably get them all, even without references.

After parting with Ingrid, who had calculous for first period, I made my way towards the art block. Flora was already in class when I got there, Marlon following just a few minutes after me. Homework was due today-and I was already dreading it. Not because I hadn’t done the assignment-I had. But because I wasn’t exactly thinking with a clear head when I did it. Now I could only hope that the finished product didn’t expose too much of what I was feeling.

“First thing’s first, homework! Last Friday, I asked you to begin your portraits’ assignment with your own, self-portrait. So, come on, I want to see what you see-of yourselves.”

One of the best students, Erica opted to go first. She’d done a pastel-drawing of herself, presumably a photograph, sitting in her backyard, on the top of a picnic bench. It looked phenomenal: she’d blended the pastels perfectly to achieve her skin tone, the many shades of brown, green and blue for the background, and treated each and every curve with care and painstakingly hard work. Mr. Reed was impressed, obviously, but he didn’t show any favouritism. He was fair, that way.

Marlon, without a doubt, had done a digitally altered portrait. Using a few of his many tools on photoshop, he transformed his own image into something striking and epic. It was the quality you’d see on album covers and concert-posters for professional artists’. Flora, being Flora, had painted herself in water-colours. Dressed in pastel-pinks and purples, looking like a spring-flower, or a fairy. Now it was my turn. I was a little more hesitant than usual; what if they saw it, and knew exactly how I was feeling? What I was thinking? It was an actors job to bare their souls and feelings to the public eye-to show their vulnerability. But I was no actress. I was just a girl with a camera, and a messy past to go with it.

“So, Hazel, what have you got to show us?” Everyone was looking at me, expectedly. They wanted to see what I was going to pull out of my hat this time.

“I’ve done a photograph.” I stated the obvious, to everyone’s amusement. “I’ve used my Kodak-brownie to capture the image in black-and-white.”

It was me, sitting in front of my dresser mirror, looking out towards my bedroom window. The light was pouring in, through the open window, spilling across my face and body to create sharp-shadows and definition.

“And how did you take this picture?”

“I put the camera on a timer, and put it on the top of my bookshelf, beside the dresser.” It took me all day Sunday to find the perfect angle.

“Well class, what do you think of the picture?” He turned to the rest of the students.

“I think it shows a mix of emotions.” Ericka said, “Confliction, confusion, sadness and happiness.”

“I like how old-fashioned the picture looks.” Flora piped up. “Sort-of from the forties.”

“It’s caught the sunlight at the exact, right time.” Brendan, a boy you could consider being a bit of a know-it-all said. “When did you take the picture, exactly?”

“Ten thirtyish, I think.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’d be it.”

“I think the picture speaks for itself.” Mr. Reed concluded, “Well done, Hazel.”

When class had drawn to a close, I approached Mr. Reed at his desk. I felt strange, asking him for this. I was almost certain that I was going to decline his offer last week, but now it was different. And think that in his own way, he sensed that too.

“Mr. Reed?” I spoke, albeit, a little timidly. “That offer you made, last Friday, does it still stand?”

“Well, yes. Of course.”

“That’s…good, yes, that’s good. So, I was thinking…if the offer stands, I’d like to take it, if that’s alright.”

“It’s just fine by me, and I’m glad you’ve taken the time to think about this.” He pulled out the envelope he showed me last week, from the same place he kept it before. “Fill out the reference section of your application accordingly, and include the contents of this envelope. I wish you and your friends the best of luck.”

I didn’t know how to feel as I walked out of the class, envelope in hand, intent on getting to English on time. Was there something wrong with taking a helping hand, if I worked just as hard as anybody else? I know it was stupid. I knew that the only person judging me about this was myself, and that I should recognize a good opportunity when I saw one. Perhaps, in the mean time I should just go with the flow. Burn the bridges when I come to them.

{}

When I got home, the living room looked as if it had gone all topsy-turvy. Book’s on sewing and clothing repairs sat on the arm of the sofa, Audrey’s brick-a-brack sewing-box was spread out across one of the armchairs, extending to the coffee table where rolls of cotton sat, in shades of navy and pearl-white, a half-empty cup of tea to complete the clutter. And there stood mum and Nicholas. Mum, sitting on a milking stool, measuring tape in hand, holding Nicholas’s trouser-leg, which fell over his ankle by a good, four inches.

“Hello darling!” She greeted me, smiling. “We got Nicholas’s uniform today, so I’m just altering it for Wednesday. How was school?”

“It was average,” I replied, sitting on the clear side of the sofa. “I’ve just got some English homework for tonight.”

“What are you doing?”

“Grammar exercises, I think.”

“Well, if you need help with anything, just ask. I’ll just take note of what needs to be done, then wrangle Audrey into doing it later. Oh, and I made biscuits earlier; help yourself to a couple.”

Shrugging off the vest sweater, I went to the kitchen, spying the cornflake biscuits, sitting on a dinner plate, on the kitchen bench. I poured myself a glass of milk to go with my afterschool snack, taking my loot back to the living room to enjoy while I dove into my English homework. Mum and Nicholas had left the living room-mum, to return Audrey’s sewing box, and Nicholas to take off the uniform to be altered. That gave me a few moments peace, at least, to get started.

“Hyperbole, subjunctive, conjunction-junction, what’s your function? ...” I hummed to myself, jotted down the answers in their allocated spots. It was child’s play; just figure out the use for the terms, and provide examples. We’d been learning this stuff since year nine.

“Well, if it isn’t mummy’s little Brainiac, back from school.” Nick sneered, redressed in his attire from this morning. “Well, did you enjoy yourself, Kazia? Did you have fun being an insufferable brat with your stupid, little friends? Or do you have any friends at all? You didn’t when we were kids. All you had was that Harrowitz girl, but she’s not here anymore, so I can only assume she got sick of you and ran off.”

“Are you quite finished?” I replied shortly.

“Not by a longshot.” He hissed, glaring at me like I was just a worm in the dirt. “You see, you might have your parents, your sister, and everybody else fooled, but you can’t fool me. I see what you are, Kazia, and it’s not pretty.”

“Oh really? Then, pray tell, what am I?” I played it as more literal than it really was-and I liked when it caught him off-guard. “Am I that monster that hid in your closet at night? Am I that child who said you looked like a monkey when you were four? Or perhaps I’m that woman at the supermarket who overcharged you on bananas and wouldn’t give you a refund! You must have some reason for hating me, so pray tell, Nicholas, which one is it?”

That didn’t earn me any favours. Anger, bubbling in his eyes, he lunged: one hand on my right, blocking my way of escape, and the other, holding my neck. Not tight enough to choke, but enough for him to know that I was pushing his limits.

“You think you’re so smart, don’t you Kazia? That now you’re all, grown up, you can just use your big words to hurt me and that I wouldn’t fight back! Well, here this. Keep your stupid, little mouth shut, or I’ll be forced to put you in your place. Understand?”

“No!” I growled back, snatching his hand from my throat and leaning forward to meet his fiery stare. “You don’t get to control me! Not again. This is my home, and I will not have you making me feel like a stranger inside of it. You can try and hurt me, you can try to make me feel less than human, but I will never back down. I’m not a little girl anymore, and the sooner you realise that, the better.”

“Not a little girl?” He snickered, looking me up and down. “Have you looked at yourself? You look like a child, dressed up in her mother’s clothing. Nothing at all like your sister; she’s smart, popular, quite the socialite, and-oh, yeah! She’s beautiful. Does it ever bother you when people compare you to Audrey? How pathetic you are in comparison?”

“Not really-it does, however, bother me when people don’t know when to give up and grow up.” I snarled back, “Now if you please, get out of my face. I’ve got homework to do.”

I stood, taking my afterschool snack, and my schoolbag, and taking them upstairs with me. I obviously wasn’t going to get anything done down here, that’s for sure. And I shouldn’t be that surprised; ever since Saturday, Nicholas had been doing everything he could to intimidate me. When my parents were around, he played the part of a perfect, young man. Dignified, refined, and noble. When they were gone, he was just like the Nicholas I knew and hated. Only, in the body of a Calvin Cline model. I just didn’t understand! Why did he hate me so much? What did I ever do to him? It might’ve just been grief over his family, or the frustration of being in a place he didn’t know, but why should I have to bear the brunt of his anger? I said I wouldn’t take anything from him, and I wasn’t. That didn’t mean I liked it. I never liked it.

So…why should I be doing my homework upstairs, in my room? This was my home, and I should have the right to treat it as I always had. I wasn’t going back into the living room, but there was another place I could go. Lilac Park. Nicholas didn’t know where that even was, and it was at least one, other place I could have to myself. So, I left a note for mum on the kitchen bench, and set out through the back door. Legging it over the fence, the same place dad did to get into the back paddocks, and taking the special, little shortcut through the tree-plantation to get onto the main road. With Nicholas growing further and further away from me, physically and mentally, and the sun, shining a comforting glow over bare arms and legs, I felt more at ease already. He could have a new uniform, a place of royalty at school, and mum’s biscuits, all to himself. I had Audrey, my friends, my cameras, and Lilac Park.

When I got there, things were winding down from the afterschool buzz. Kids were leaving the water-hole, towels hanging around their necks, hair straggly and wet, grins fresh from the relief of the warm, spring sun. The playground was nearly empty-save a few, stray children, making like spiders up the cardo nets and the monkey bars. And out of the forestry, came kids and teenagers, back from either some serious tree-climbing, or some ‘privacy’ in any, shadowed nooks they could find. Perfect, for some quick homework and a moments’ peace.

Making my way through the forestry, I smiled to myself in relief, as I spotted the opening for my special place in the park, coming closer and closer into view. Lilac Lake. It was deserted, as it always was, and bathed in a big, warm glow of afternoon sun. It was as if it were practically speaking to me, telling me to come on over and just leave all my troubles behind. Its’ walls would keep me safe, comfortable from those trying to get in and invade every small piece of space.

Dropping my schoolbag, I sank happily into the soft, cool grass, back against the one of the tree’s, and took out my English book. There really wasn’t that much more to do with the exercises: just some more conjunctions and ad-verbs. But they were done quickly enough, so I found myself sifting through the rest of my bag for more things to do. History was fine, drama didn’t entail an awful lot of homework, the only thing left was some sketching exercises for Graphics, that weren’t due until next Monday. Oh well, no time like the present. And there was definitely no guarantee that I was going to get anything done at home, with dad hovering over my shoulder, correcting my estimations.

The time melted away as I worked, so by when I finally emerged from my worksheets, I was surprised to see that it was dusk already. Pulling out my phone to check the time, my surprise heightened when I saw five missed-calls from mum, and text messages from her and Audrey, saying ‘where are you?’, ‘Why didn’t you tell us you were going out?’ I was gone for a few hours, but surely that didn’t surprise mum when I was here? I texted back, saying as much, only to be puzzled when he said that she had no clue that I was here! But the note…Nicholas. Who else?

Me: Are you sure there’s no note there? I left it on the kitchen bench, beside the biscuits.

Mum: There’s no note-I’ve checked about a dozen times.

Me: It must’ve gotten lost, because I was sure I left it there. Anyway, I’m coming home now.

Mum: Good-because tea’s nearly ready