Scarred Roses

Chapter 3-the arrival

The morning after, we made pancakes, before tackling the living room with a sluggish enthusiasm. The camp beds were put back into the basement, the pillows and blankets back on their respective beds, the sheets in the laundry to be washed later on, and the cushions were piled neatly back onto the blue, suede sofa. I scrubbed all the plates and bowls clean whilst Ingrid did a once-over vacuum of the living room, Bridget put away the food we’d taken out of the pantry, and Flora was calling her mum, asking if she needed anything from the convenience store on her way home. When it was time for them to say goodbye, they each gave me a quick hug and a ‘thanks for the fun night’. Ingrid held onto me the longest-knowing fully what was to be in store for me this afternoon.

“If he gives you a hard time, come straight to my house!” She told me, “We’ll set up camp in the attic; Leo and Victor can even stand guard.”

“Thanks Ingrid,” I said earnestly, hugging her back. “But I’ll be fine. I’m not as weak as I was then.”

“Well, if he ever hurts him, we’ll all beat him up for you.” She swore, “Remember, I’m on speed-dial and online!”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I laughed gently, pulling back. “You’d better go and make sure the twins aren’t giving your mum an aneurism.”

“Oh, good point.” She hurried along. “See you at school Monday!”

“Goodbye!”

Audrey made her dramatic entrance, not long after they left. Wearing a pair of scarlet, high-waisted shorts and a red-polka dotted, chiffon top, you hardly even noticed the big, black sunglasses she was wearing to cover her likely bloodshot eyes. I knew just what that meant-hangover cure. And I knew just the thing she needed.

“Fun night at Viola’s?” I enquired casually, moving into the kitchen to get started.

“Quite fun. First, we sampled a merlot, followed by some aged shiraz-five years. After that, we broke out the sauvignon blanc and the rest is…a blur.”

“Was Thomas there?” I thought it I kept the questions harmless enough, I’d have less of a chance of provoking her headache-induced temper.

“Of course, he was-he brought all the other samples. Where’s the Panadol again?”

“Right here,” I handed her the pills. “And block your ears.”

She did so, just a few seconds before I switched on the blender. Watching the tomato seeds, the cranberry juice, green tea powder and ginger swirl together into a thick, slightly lumpy liquid. After it was done, I pulled the jug free, pouring the concoction into a tall, cylinder glass, sliding it towards my sister and watching as she took a sip. Grimacing as she did it, but swallowing nonetheless. She would’ve needed to get rid of her hangover before mum and dad got home, and like it or not, this cure was the fastest way to do it.

“After you’ve finished that, go and take a nap. You can have the rest after you’ve woken up, then you’d better eat something. I’ll make some sandwiches with the last of the silverside for lunch.”

“But we’ve got to clean up the spare bedroom before mum and dad get back- “

“I’ll do that. Just chase that hangover away first.”

“Hazel, you’re an angel.” She sighed, taking another, large gulp of her drink. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“Don’t worry about it-I’d do anything for family.”

She dropped a kiss onto my forehead before departing the kitchen with her drink. She stunk of deodorant-a heavy attempt to cover up the smell of wine and liquor. That could be easily fixed with a shower, I thought. Hopefully she’d remember to take one after her nap. In the meantime, I ought to get started on the guest bedroom.

There wasn’t an awful lot to do-hardly anybody even used the guest room, so all it needed was a vacuum through, and fresh linen on the bed. With my hair pulled into a loose ponytail to keep it out of my eyes, I set to work. Working the little, red vacuum through the big, square space, around the furniture and under the bed, then collecting all the used linen to add to todays’ load. After a quick trip to the hot water cupboard, I came back with a fresh duvet, a pair of puffy, white pillows, and some clean, crème-coloured linen. After making the bed to a high standard, I thought that ought to be five-star, hotel quality! Mum couldn’t say a bad word about it, so I very much doubted Nicholas would. I bet he hardly even made his own bed-not many boys I knew, did.

After putting on the washing machine, I went back up to the kitchen to make a start on lunch. Knowing Audrey’s body-clock, she’d have to rise and shine, just in time for the food to touch the plate. And, just as I’d predicted, her thumping footsteps could be heard the second she started heading down the stairs.

“Could you put mustard on mine?” She called from the foyer, on her way to the dining table. Perfect timing, I surmised, cutting through the thick loaf of bread.

“Already done,” I replied, gesturing to the plate I’d set aside from her.

“Oh great, thanks.” She took a sizeable bite out of the corner, humming contently at she chewed. “Do we have any of that food money left?”

“About twenty pounds, I think. I only used five of it last night, plus two quid for the DVD’s.”

“That should be fine-you remember how mum was last time she left us with emergency funds.”

We were overcharged at the Chinese restaurant we ordered from and were refused a refund because they hadn’t given us a receipt. Mum thought we should’ve asked for one, but it wasn’t until she ordered from there herself when she realised they withheld the receipts on purpose. She was a chef at the Remo Restaurant, an honest business renown for it’s authentic, Italian cuisine. She knew honest trade, and prided herself upon being a part of it, so it came as a surprise to her when other businesses in Derby weren’t quite as wholesome. Still, we’d at least learnt our lesson not to go there-the fried rice was cooked in filthy oil anyway.

“At least we know how to make our own wontons from now on.” I pointed out, taking a seat at the kitchen table with my own sandwich in hand. “And in honesty, I much prefer Indian.”

“So, do I,” Audrey concluded, taking another, big bite. “Speaking of which, do you think mum and dad will want to order takeaways tonight, in honour of our new guest?”

“I don’t know-I’ll ring mum and ask.” I decided, “If not, we can make something for them for when they get back; I doubt either way, mum won’t want to make dinner after such a long drive.”

“You’re far, too good to us.” She replied, in between bites. “If you are cooking though, you should make one of grandma’s recipes. Seasoned-fried chicken! Everyone likes that.”

“I’ll ask mum first-they could be bringing takeaways back for all we know.” I reasoned, “If not, then the season-fried chicken sounds perfect.”

After finishing off her sandwich, Audrey wandered upstairs to take a shower. Meanwhile, I tracked down mum’s cell phone number and dialled it carefully into the home phone. Mum picking up after a few, dull rings of the dial tone.

“Hello?”

“Mum it’s me, Hazel.”

“Oh! Hello darling, I’m glad you called. We’ve left London with Nicholas and we’re in Cheshire now for a pit-stop. You know, there’s a café here that does these excellent, little doughnuts! We’re bringing some back for you and Audrey.”

“Speaking of which, what time do you think you’ll be back? And would you like me to cook dinner?”

“Oh darling, would you? It’d be a relief if you did. We’ve got the fridge and freezer fully-stocked but if you need anything extra just use the emergency funds we gave you. How much is there left?”

“Twenty pounds.”

“Oh, great! What were you thinking of making?”

“Some of that season-fried chicken?”

“Perfect. Is the spare bedroom ready?”

“It’s ready mum,”

“Thank you, darling. We’ll see you soon; I love you.”

“I love you too, mum.”

Mum hung up. I stood there for a second, holding onto the receiver in silence. I’d always thought that I had the best mum and dad in the world, and I still want to think that but…if they were the best parents in the world, why would the bring a boy who nearly killed me, their youngest daughter, here to live under the same roof? Why would they risk years’ worth of work in trying to make everything seem normal, just to tip it all upside down again? Oh, stop it Hazel! It wasn’t all about me, it was about trying to make a boy who’d lost his parents feel as if he had somewhere to go. A home. And to do that, I’d just have to put my own feels aside and help mum and dad in the best way I could. By playing the part of an obedient and dutiful daughter.

{}

Coriander, rosemary, thyme, parmesan and the smell of chicken, sizzling in the frying pan. The world of cooking, creating was the world mum had fallen in love with, and the world I sometimes took refuge in. The rhythm I found in slicing the coriander, the measured sprinkling of the chilli-powder, turning the salad, the way mum often had, it was all like painting. When an artist planned to paint a picture, he had to consider all that went in it. The exact outline, which colours he’d need to mix to get the right shade of hair, the skin tone, and how the exact brush-strokes would affect and blend the paint to his satisfaction. It’s same way preparing a meal worked, I thought. With an element of science in every, creative practise.

After checking the chicken for a third time, I was finally satisfied with the shade of golden-brown and scooped the thick fillets out of the pan. Making certain to pat them at least three times to get as much oil out as possible. Setting them aside to cool, I threw the next batch in and left them to cook as I went to pour myself a glass of water. Cooking was calming, but it could thirsty work too! And I was glad I had at least five minutes to sit down and relax for a moment.

“Hazel!” Audrey came back downstairs, this time donning a fresh change of clothes. A floaty, fuchsia-paisley dress that flowed longer at the back, like a mermaid’s tail. Her long, wavy, coal-coloured hair was worn to the side in an elaborate, fishtail braid, making the ultimate contrast against her porcelain complexion. “What do you think?”

“Pretty, but I wasn’t aware we were supposed to be dressing up for the occasion.”

“Well, you know I always like to look my best. And I thought that if you’re going to be meeting your childhood enemy for the first time in ten years, then you ought to show off how much of a little hottie you’ve become.”

“Audrey- “

“No, Hazel. You are gorgeous, and I’m going to prove it. As soon as you’ve finished, come upstairs and we’ll pick something nice for you to wear. We’ll show him just how nicely you scrub up.”

“Audrey, I don’t know- “

“Don’t argue with me, Hazel. If you want to show him that you’re a different person now, use the first thing he’ll see of you to your advantage.”

I thought, it couldn’t hurt. And it was nice when Audrey and I got to do this sort of stuff together; it was that normal, sisterly kind of fun Ingrid often talked about, but missed out on due to her own vain, self-absorbed sisters who’d sooner get into an argument with a mirror, rather than spend time with her. Me and the others would do that sisterly stuff with her, but for me to learn the best ways to go about it, there was Audrey.

And so, once the second batch was done, I fished them out of the sizzling-hot pan, patting them down religiously before untying my apron and hanging it back up on the coat rack by the back door. Making my way through the living room, where everything was in order, not a photo-frame, or couch cushion out of place. And the foyer, where all our winter coats hung, in a neat row beside the door. Dad’s work boots, mums’ sheep-skin ugg-boots, Audrey’s red, leather boots, and my floral, combat boots sitting directly beneath their respective coats. It might’ve been just a regular, old house to some people, but to me, you could tell a lot on who lived there by the first things you saw. Audrey’s black, trench-coat, the tin, rainbow-lorikeets of mum’s, hanging on the wall, my artistic-styled photographs of dads’ retro telephone collection that he enjoyed tinkering with. Our house, it said. Our sanctuary.

Audrey was already waiting in my room by the time I got up there, three of my summer dresses laid out against my bed. She chose the ones she considered the nicest out of all my ‘forties garb’ and was now pondering the choice of either a satin scarf, or a trinket-necklace to go with the outfit.

“The blue is nice, but a little childish: we want him to see that you’re sixteen, not six. The white and the magenta is pretty, but you don’t have much that goes with it, so I think the rose dress is what we should go with. You suit the sweetheart neckline and that crème-coloured cardigan you have will go with it perfectly.”

“Audrey, are you sure about this?”

“Trust me Hazel, I know what looks good on you. Now put it on and I’ll do something with your hair.”

I did as she instructed, slipping off the skirt and blouse I was wearing until I was down to my underwear. Pulling down the zipper, ever-so-slowly, then stepping into the hoop-shaped skirt before pulling the dress up, over my body. The nylon ghosting over my skin like the soothing caress of a kind hand. It was a nice dress, I thought, glancing briefly at my reflection. With a soft-pink, tulle bow, wrapped perfectly around my narrow waist. The benefit of liking retro dresses was the fact that they could be extremely flattering to the figure if you wore the right kind.

“Pretty as a picture,” Audrey said, appearing behind me to pull the zipper up. “Now I think you ought to wear that red ribbon in your hair-it makes you look very virtuous.”

I felt too much like a dress-up doll as Audrey sat me down in front of my dresser mirror and started to shape and mould me into the figure of virtue and innocence she said that a lot of boys go for. But she was right about one thing; the ribbon made all the difference. I felt as if I were snow white; kind, soft, but delicate. Very delicate.

“You know this means we’ve got to stick together, more than ever now.” She said, sitting down at the mirror beside me. “I don’t know what’s going to happen with Nicholas, but until we know whether or not he’s trustworthy, I’m going to be keeping an eye on him.”

I didn’t have time to answer. We heard dad’s Pajero pull up in the driveway, followed by the opening and closing of the car doors. This was it. They were here: he was here.

“Hey,” Audrey sensed my tension, placing her arm around my shoulders. “We’ll face him together.”

We crept downstairs, hand-in-hand, just in time for the front door to swing open; mum and dad making their pronounced entrance. Mum’s glossy, jet-black hair was swept back at the front, and tumbling in loose waves around her neck and shoulders. Dad was wearing his lucky, brown pageboy cap, a better way of concealing the tiny sprinklings of grey in his chestnut brown hair.

“We’re back!” He announced, stepping into the foyer with a jovial smile on his face. Dad always did have a nice smile; the kind of contagious, laughter-lined smile that made you want to smile too-whether you wanted to or not. “Where, oh where are my lovely daughters?”

“We’re right here, dad.” Audrey replied, pulling me along with her to greet him in a big embrace. “Did it go well?”

“As well as can be expected,” He replied, his smile fading respectively. “We did see a lot of our old friends there, including the Harrowitz’s. They said Gretel got your letter, and she’s writing one back as we speak.”

“That’s great,” I answered sincerely. Call me old-fashioned, but Gretel and I quite liked the idea of writing authentic letters, like real pen-pals. “Do you need any help with your bags?”

“Oh no. Your mother and I only brought a travel bag each for ourselves and Nicholas is having the rest of his things sent over from London, since we could only fit so much in the trunk.”

“Theo! Could you give me us a hand with the suitcases?” Mum called from outside.

“Speaking of which,” He said to himself, “I’d better go and help your mother. Would you girls put the jug on?”

We retreated to the kitchen while the sound of suitcases being dragged against the gravel could be heard outside. As Audrey retrieved the milk from the fridge, I put the mugs out and placed the preferred amounts of sugar into each one. It was probably a good thing I wasn’t pouring the water; it seemed my hands were shaking a little too much to have done a safe job.

“Hazel, it’s alright.” Audrey whispered, placing a hand over mine to still the trembling. “I’m here, and so is mum and dad. We’ll be watching closely this time, so there’ll be absolutely nothing to worry about. And if he, god forbid, try anything to hurt you, he’ll be castrated so fast he won’t even have time to pick up his manhood off the floor before dad throws him out.”

“I know Audrey, and I’m grateful you’re willing to help, but I’ve got to face him eventually.” Some way or another, I think I’ve always known that.

“Well, you’re not doing it alone. I promise you that.”

I held my own mug of tea, as well as dad’s as we approached the living room, our parents, and our newest house tenant. Mum and dad were seated, side-by-side on the sofa, holding onto one another’s hands, and Nicholas had his back to us, facing them. My heart fell into double-time, pulsing into my ears until the sound of the frantic metronome was all I could hear. He was here. He was actually here, the boy I’d spent ten years trying in earnest to wipe away from my memory. What should I do? What should I say?

“Ah, here they are.” Dad said, looking up at us. “You remember the girls, don’t you?”

He stood up to face us properly. Audrey’s grip on my hand growing ever tighter. I should’ve known he’d be handsome. He was a dirty, scruffy sort of kid when we were younger, but there were signs in his appearance that he’d grow up to be good-looking. Wavy hair, the colour of chameleon; streaks of brown, red-gold and chestnut mingling with flaxen-gold, shining like a prism in the sunlight. A nicely structured face, roman nose, high cheekbones beneath the childish roundness, and a straight jaw, meant for beneficial maturing. Those signs had developed and flourished into contributing features that made him as handsome as those model-boys I’d seen in a few of Audrey’s magazines. His hair, unkempt, partially hid his striking, cerulean eyes that stood out, like a pair of headlights. His face matured, like a Greek-gods, his skin a natural, golden tan, his physique both lean and muscular, and tall. Standing side by side, the top of my head would barely reach the end of his shoulder. I hadn’t even expected him to grow up! Much less, grow up being so attractive.

“It’s good to meet you,” He spoke for the first time since he got here. His voice was clear, blunt and deep. Nothing at all like the boyish growl he had back then. “Audrey, is it?”

“Indeed,” Audrey replied tightly, shaking his hand. It was…surprising, to say the very least. Whenever Audrey used to see a good-looking guy at school, she’d switch on her alluring charm to low at first, then slowly turn the dial up as the guy would warm to her. Right now, she was ice-cold. His looks alone hadn’t been enough to win my sister’s approval at first glance.

“So, I guess that makes you Hazel.” He turned to me, and if there was ever a time I felt like running away, it was right now. “Isobel told me you’ve cooked dinner, what are we having?”

“Chicken,” I spat out, feeling completely true to the name. “Season-fried chicken with pasta and salad.”

“It sounds good,” He replied, offering his hand to me. “I’m sure I’ll like it.”

I shook his hand as he shook mine, offering him a friendly smile before asking if he wanted a cup of tea. I was practically on autopilot. On the inside I was screaming, shouting, crying to get out of this house and just run. Run as fast as my legs could take me, all the way over to my special place in Lilac Park where Nicholas couldn’t find me. It was like my body was a cage; doing everything my inner-self was fighting against. Like old times, said a nasty voice inside my mind. Yes, I thought. Just like old times.

“It’s a good thing you’ve cooked something for us, Hazel.” Dad said, as we all moved over to the dining table. “Because I’m starving.”

“I’d better heat it first-the pasta and chicken would’ve gone cold by now.” The excuse came so easily, as I retreated quickly to the kitchen. “I’ll only be a few minutes. In the meantime, there’s Caesar salad if anyone wants some.”

As soon as I was in the kitchen, I dropped the pretences and tried to get a hold of my breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Slowly, careful, just focus on the breathing, and nothing else…there, it was getting easier. The walls, less constricting, the lungs fuller of air, the heart steadier in beat. The last time I’d actually seen Nicholas was in a department store, when I was eight. I’d seen him, but he hadn’t seen me. It was two years after the incident, since Nicholas was barred from ever seeing, speaking to, or touching me again. I’d heard through Audrey that he’d been sent to some sort of special councillor, someone who specialised in children with violent streaks. And as mum, Audrey and I were out shopping, I spotted him with his mother and sister, Alice, looking at some clothes. He was speaking with a couple of other boys; smiling, laughing, being so nice and sociable to them. It stung. How could he be so nice to them without trouble, and hate me when all I wanted was to be his friend? I was a stranger to him, just like them, but he never called them names. He never slapped them, punched them, threw them to the ground, kicked them so hard in the stomach they couldn’t even talk…and just now he greeted me and shook my hand as if I were nothing but a stranger again. Why? Was this just another one of his sick, mind games?

“Hazel?” Audrey stood in the doorway, concern worrying her pretty face. “Is everything okay?”

“Oh! Yes, yes, I was just finding my bearings.” I told her, “Would you mind carrying the pasta for me? There are two plates of chicken, so I can take those through.”

“Hazel- “

“Can we talk about it later, please? We’ll just get through dinner first and then I can talk.”

“If you’re sure,” She said warily, “I’ll pop the pasta in the microwave.”

When the food was heated just enough to be deemed edible, we carried the dishes out into the dining room where mum, dad and Nicholas had already served themselves some of the salad. Audrey took a seat at the end of the table, giving me a sheltered position between her and dad, and the farthest spot from Nicholas. Having at least some shield from him, I helped myself to some pasta and salad, letting dad take his share of the chicken before I took mine. At least I was able to look at something that wasn’t his face, I thought. Just acknowledge for a few, tiny seconds at a time that he wasn’t there. At our dinner table, making me feel as if I were the one who should leave.

“This is good,” He spoke again, turning the attention to him. “You have a real talent.”

“Thank you,” I mumbled, looking up for just a couple of seconds before returning to my food.

“I taught her everything she knows.” Mum added proudly, looking at me with her motherly affection. “If only her sister was paid as much attention in her cooking lessons.”

“I don’t like cooking mum, you know that.” Audrey said, “Besides, I’m much better with numbers than I am letters.”

“What do letters have to do with cooking, Audrey?” Dad asked her, his tone bordering on sarcastic.

“They don’t, dad.” She replied with the same mirth. “You know what I mean! It’s…Hazel, what is it?”

“When people think more with the left side of their brain than they do with their right.” I explained, “When they think more creatively than they do logically.”

“Even so, I never pictured Audrey to be a right-hand thinker.” Dad mused, “I always thought of her as a bit of both.”

“If that’s the case, why can’t she cook?” Mum challenged him, wagging a forkful of chicken in his direction.

“Could it be…giving away the secret, perhaps?” Mum feigned a gasp at that, and I gave him a mocking, horrified look.

“What’s the secret?” For a second I’d succeeded in forgetting he was there. Almost.

“If a Kavali-born woman gives away the ‘secret’ ingredient to one of our recipes, she is cursed for eternity to be a terrible cook. Anything she places upon a stove shall burn or curdle with a vengeance.”

We all had a chuckle at that-even Nick couldn’t help but smile. It was mostly just an old, family tale about one of our ancestors who had apparently given away a secret ingredient to the Kavali Ratatouille, and it was thus rumoured that she was never able to cook a decent meal again. Yet still, everybody was just a little cautious with what they said; even grandma encouraged us to keep tight-lipped on the family cookbooks, every time we visited.

“Well it does not burn or curdle with a vengeance because of some silly curse!” Audrey argued, “I never gave away any sort of secret; I just don’t enjoy cooking as much as you and Hazel do.”

“And besides, you’re better at things that we can hardly wrangle, like maths and science.” I assured her, “And you know exactly what looks best on anybody.”

“I suppose,” She answered, reluctant, but placated with my reassurance. “So, I heard through the grape vine that Green Thumb is looking for some fresh, young youths to help out with a new advertising scheme-are you going to apply?”

I hadn’t told them about Mr. Reed’s reference yet-I didn’t even know if I was going to take it. And knowing my family, mum would gush, dad would soak in all the pride and say that whatever made me successful- ‘She got from me’. And Audrey would just nod her head with a knowing smile, as if she suspected it all along. Perhaps I was thinking ungratefully, but I didn’t want to gauge their reactions in front of Nicholas. He used to hate whenever I received praise: this, he made clear shortly after, when he had me away from our parents view.

“Don’t I always?” I replied, chewing on a small mouthful of chicken and lettuce. “Marlon’s going to apply too, but we’ll probably get beat to it by the seniors like last year.”

“Don’t lose hope. Remember, by next year, you’ll be the seniors.” Dad pointed out, giving me what seemed like his own, private smile.

“And you’ll be ruling over the year nine’s and ten’s like I used to when I was in year thirteen.” Audrey said with a dry, careless tone. As if she were still addressing her little minions.

“Or we’ll be bossed around by the year nine’s and ten’s in charge of library duties and crossing guards.”

“I swear, those kids go mad with power.” Audrey surmised, waving her hand dismissively. “They seem to think they run the school; little brats.”

“Not all of them,” I said, “Some of them just want to get through their first year without any trouble.”

“I hate to break it to you, sister dear, but nobody can make it through their first year of high school unscathed.” She said with an ‘as-a-matter-of-factly’ kind of tone. “Unless, of course, you have a well-regarded and beautiful, older sister who’s willing to beat the sh- “

“Language!” Mum scolded.

“I’m sorry, ‘heck’ out of anybody who even thinks of messing with you.”

“You’d do that for a kid-sister?” Nicholas asked her, impressed. This hadn’t, however, flattered Audrey in the slightest.

“I’d do anything for her.” She told him pointedly. “I’d even castrate someone if I had to.”

It was as if she’d sharpened the tension herself, like a craft-knife to a pencil. Even mum and dad could feel it as she glared at Nicholas blankly. Making it clear in every way but her expression that he hadn’t won her over. Only the opposite.

“Now, none of that talk at the table.” Mum tried to brush the comment aside with a smile and a nervous chuckle. “How about a movie and some ice cream?”

“It sounds great,” Nicholas replied.

“No complaints here!” Dad added.

“Then you should have no problem in helping clean up.” Mum said to him, a smile dancing over the corner of her mouth. Standing, mum started to collect the now-empty plates and cutlery. I motioned to help her, but dad waved me down, getting up, out of his own chair to collect the dishes in the middle of the table.

“Why don’t you girls pick out a movie while we wash up? Just make sure it’s something we’ll all enjoy; I don’t think I can take more crying over ‘The Notebook’.”

Audrey marched into the living room with me in tow, heading straight for the movie cabinet for a DVD. Whenever it was Audrey’s pick, more often than not, we’d be stuck with something like ‘Titanic’, ‘Pride and Prejudice’, or ‘How to lose a guy in ten days’. The latter, admittedly, being quite a good film. I, however, was usually prone to old comedy and 1940’s musicals. Singin’ in the rain being my favourite movie by far.

“The Kingsman?” She suggested, pulling out the cover.

“We’ve only watched it once-I liked it.” I replied, “What do you think?”

“I’ve no objection to Colin Firth.” She added, “What say you, Nicholas?”

“I…think I’d better go to bed.” He said, “But thank you.”

He left the room without so much as a ‘good night’. Suit himself, I thought. At least it could mean that I got to watch a movie with my family in peace.

So, we watched the film. A bowl of popcorn between Audrey and me, mum and dad curled up together on one of the armchairs, and the lights dimmed to make it like we were in a movie theatre. For that short time, it felt as if it was just us. Just me, my sister, and my parents; one, big, happy family. Feeling Audrey’s arm around me, smelling the savoury goodness of the fresh popcorn, seeing mum and dad, wrapped up in one another. It wasn’t until the credits were rolling and the lights were turned back on that I remembered our newest guest, currently upstairs in the spare bedroom.

“Well, I think it’s time we retired for the night.” Mum announced, “Will you girls be staying up?”

“Not me,” I replied, “I think I’m going to go to bed.”

“Suit yourself,” Audrey said, “I think I’ll stay up a little longer: watch some TV.”

“We’ll see you in the morning then.” Dad concluded. “Good night girls.”

“” Good night.””

I went upstairs, a few minutes after mum and dad did. Right now, I was keen to forget about tonight and just get some sleep. Then perhaps tomorrow, I could find a way to meet with Ingrid and tell her everything. It was all too much. Seeing him for the first time in years, having to smile at him, shake his hand…perhaps I’d get used to him. Perhaps eventually, I might even see him as a friend. But right now, being in the same room as him made me want to curl up in a corner and scream. Brick by brick, locked in, boxed in, protected from my own feelings. My greatest fears.

After reaching the landing, a feeling of dread sank into me. Like something mean and ferocious was going to reach out and grab me. Devour me silently in the shadows, where nobody could see. I tried brushing it off as a silly fear, and yet I could still feel it as I walked towards my bedroom door. A prescience, close behind me, footsteps of soft, you could barely hear them. And then, it grabbed me. A pair of strong, calloused hands, wrenching me by my shoulders and pinning me against the wall. I nearly screamed, and I should have. But the fear was gagging me. Closing in, overcoming me as he pressed himself against me to keep me from escaping.

“Are you scared of me?” He laughed, his break tickling my ear. I couldn’t respond, but whimpered. His grip was painfully tight, and I was fighting every fibre in my body not to give in to my submissive self.

“You should be, you know. You should be shaking and crying like a pathetic, little girl! Don’t you remember that? The way we used to play? I used to catch you on your way home from school, hold you down and then I’d have a little bit of fun. Such a shame you had to ruin it.”

He yanked me back from the wall, shoving me to the carpet where he knelt to straddle me. I thought of screaming again, but he seemed to sense my plea and smothered the cry with his hand. It was how he usually had his ‘fun’. Climbing on top of me, hands tucked beneath my back so he had free reign to hit, slap or scratch. What would he do now? I wondered. My parents were only down the hallway-if I cried or struggled loud enough, they’d discover him, and I’d be fine. But something told me that he wasn’t being stupid about this encounter. If anything, he was going to play it even smarter than he did before.

“Why did you tell on me, Kazia? We used to have such a good time together, and then you went and blabbed to your sister. She, and your parents never trusted me again-do you know that? Even today, I can see it in their eyes. Everything they did had to earn the approval of their ‘darling daughters’, and I hated it. I hated how they looked at me; like I was some kind of monster. Did you really hate me so much, Kazia? Did I really act like a monster?”

Come on, Hazel! I told myself. You’re older now, you’re better than this. Stand up to him.

“Yes,” I hissed through my teeth. “You were a monster.”

“So, she talks now?” He sneered, running his fingertips over the curve of my cheek. “I’ve got to say, it’s refreshing in comparison to the pathetic crying. But you aren’t meant to be a fighter, Kazia. Trust me.”

“Want a bet?” I dared. And before he could laugh at me, sneer at me again, I drove my knee up. Successfully locating the place that made him groan upon the blow, and shoving him off of me. Springing to my feet, I made a dash for my room. Slamming the door shut behind me, then turning the lock as quickly as I could. In a state of pure panic, I rushed about my bedroom. Making doubly sure my window was closed, then for good measure, I took my desk chair as used it to barricade the door. It was a lie, I thought, over and over, as I paced across the floor. His good-boy act, the sincerity, that flattery was just one, big disguise, cloaking the monster he truly was. He’d fooled my parents into thinking that he’d changed, he’d tried to charm us, earlier at dinner, he might’ve lost his family but I wasn’t going to use that as an excuse for what he just did.

My door was blocked, my window closed, and there was no sign or sound of Nicholas trying to get inside. And yet, I didn’t feel safe. I felt as if he could still creep into my room and steal me away; hide me somewhere dark and damp, then torture me whenever he saw fit. After all this time, I was still a punching bag to him! A tattered, old rag-doll. Well, not anymore! I declared. Tonight, I’d managed to defend myself, who knows what else I could do? Slap him? Tell him just what he put me through, all that time? No, I wouldn’t do that. I’d only be stooping to his level. Still, despite being scared, I was also giddy. Perhaps if he didn’t get the message tonight, I’d have to give it to him again tomorrow. Either way, at least it meant that he understood I wasn’t going to bow down to him.

Thinking that I wasn’t going to get any sleep right away, I took Tess Of The D’Urberville’s and attempted to conquer another chapter. The words were soothing, and the story did distract me a little, but as any lover of good stories would, I found myself asking questions. Why did Tess leave home, all by herself? Why didn’t Angel have the courage to approach Tess before? How could she seem so hopeful and certain of her future when she really had no idea what was going to happen? If I were Tess, I probably would’ve over-thought it, far too much. I probably would’ve second-guessed my decisions and just stayed in the village; waiting for that fateful day when Angel would come back and sweep me off my feet. But then, if that happened, of course, there would be no story to tell.

“Hazel?” Somebody called me from the other side of the door. I was still shaken, so it gave me a bit of a fright. “It’s just me, Audrey.”

Sighing in relief, I stood up, unblocking the door and opening it for her. Audrey stood there, now in her pink-satin, shorts and camisole-pyjamas, hair falling elegantly down her shoulders, over her breasts. She could sense my anxiety from a mile away, even before at dinner, but for everyone’s sake, she didn’t say a word. Now that it was just the two of us, I had a feeling she was going to spill it all.

“Do you mind? It’s cold, and I don’t want to sleep alone tonight.”

I nodded, standing aside so she could walk in. She made sure the door was locked securely before she followed me to my bed. Me, crawling in first, curled onto my side beneath the floral duvet. And Audrey, winding her arms around my body and pulling me tight, against hers. Her embrace had never lessened over the years, nor had the simple warmth and comfort I got from it. It simply came whenever I needed it. Her hair, like a cloak of black silk, covered us both. Almost concealing us from the troubles and danger that awaited just outside the bedroom door. Tomorrow, we’d have to confront them, but for tonight, nothing could hurt us.

“I don’t like him,” She confessed, nose pressed against my forehead. “Nicholas Koster is everything mum and dad said he was; smart, good-looking, charming and probably talented at everything he tries. But there was just-this look in his eyes that told me that everything wasn’t as it seemed. Sometimes, when he didn’t think anyone else was looking, he’d stare…at you. I couldn’t read much into it, but I don’t like it. I don’t like him ogling you like you’re some piece of meat.”

“I don’t like it either Audrey,” I replied, fondling a black curl between my fingers. “And I know why he was looking at me. He…he tried something, earlier this evening. When I was going up to bed, he cornered me. He remembers what happened all those years ago-he remembers quite well.”

“We’re telling mum and dad- “

“No! Audrey, we don’t have to. He pinned me to the ground, but I…I knead him. Knead him right in the family jewels.”

“Very good,” Audrey giggled, “Did you do anything else?”

“No-I just pushed him off and ran here. I think I was in too much shock to make any sense of it.”

“Well, that ought to teach him.” She said decisively. “But what if he’ll try again, tomorrow? He might be ready next time, and if- “

“If he even tries to think of pulling something like that again, then he’ll know I’m not the shy, submissive, little creature he thinks I am. Won’t he?”

“No, he shan’t.” She agreed, nuzzling my forehead. “I’m still keeping an eye on him, though. Young men like that can’t just run about like wild gooses.”

“Now you sound like grandma.”

“And, why shouldn’t I? Grandma was an impressive woman, back in her day. Smart, assertive, and if the pictures are anything to go by, very beautiful. I suppose I get all of that from her.”

“So modest, aren’t you?” I said, with a chuckle in my voice. “The other night, Flora said that she thought we were all going to be just fine. I believed it, and I don’t see any reason why I shouldn’t.”

“While Flora-Fauna-Merriweather has been prone to say some strange things, I’m inclined to agree.” She settled. “Why don’t we do something fun tomorrow? Something girly and exclusive?”

“Cupcakes?” I suggested. “I bake, you decorate.”

“Tres Bien!” She concurred. “I’m quite tired…night, night.”

“Goodnight Audrey.”

Despite tonight, I wasn’t feeling defeated or afraid. Oh, no. I was hopeful that despite Nicholas’s prescience, and my own fears fighting against me, everything was going to be just fine. I had my friends, I had school, I had my photography and I had Audrey on my side. Nothing Nicholas could say or do would ruin all that for me now. But…why was that nagging feeling still there, in the pit of my stomach?