The Song Of The Swallows

3

Fly for me?

Fly free.

Fly so I can see.

~~

We avoid each other. Or I avoid him. In the cold hour of midnight I grab things from my room. Things I might need. My pens, a book, some clothes. I sneak into the kitchen, grab a few bags of crisps and pick out that stupid bottle of vodka that sits in the bin.

He must have put it in there.

The house downstairs smells like lemons and lavender. The dust is disappearing, the windows have been opened slightly, so the wind can sneak through the gaps. The main room is clean and, the photo frames have been turned back around so I can the faces. Mum and dad smiling at the camera, Lilly swinging from a trunk of a tree. Me. An old version. A carefree me. My face is smooth in the photo. Long blond hair that tumbles past my shoulders, and green eyes like Lilly's and Mum's. I just stand there and stare at that girl who was once me.

How?

I have to put the vodka down and hurry to the pictures. Turn them back around. I can't bring myself to throw them away, but I won't have that man twisting everything around,

"So you're still here." A soft voice breaks into the room. I jump and drop the photo frame. The glass smashes at my bare feet, "Are you ok?"

"Stay back!" I hiss. It's the man. I thought in the hour of midnight he would be asleep. He doesn't move. Through the window, the moon beams drift on his face. I blink down at my feet, the glass glitters like a thousand stars. My old face stares up at me, jagged glass along my skin. Now that looks like the new me,

"I'll get a dustpan, don't move, or you'll cut your feet." He turns away, switching on the light as he leaves. I jump over the photo frame. Grab the vodka and dash back up the stairs. In the silence of the house, I hear him sigh.

But let him sigh. I don't need him here. I didn't need anyone anymore.

******

Oh the sweet joyful burn of numbing vodka. It can swipe away the feelings and leave you with nothing. It's so good to feel nothing. Nothing but the tingle of alcohol dancing in your fingertips. But the bottle empties too quick. So I lose myself inside the memories again, I grab my pen and begin writing on the spare room's walls;

Once,

Once there was a man,

Who painted the sun and the sky,

He brought the pictures to life,

So they danced in front of your eyes,

And you could fly in his clouds,

And run inside the sunshine and rain.

I know I'm crying before I've finished the words. Because it's not fair. Because I'm here. And I'm alone. And they are together. Why am I still here? Why was I left?

Why? Why? Why? Why?!

I sliver down the wall and rest my head on my knees. I close my eyes tight and listen to the clock ticking, until sleep dances up to me and grabs my hands so we can twirl into dreams.

~~~

He is outside the door. He has found me and I don't know how to escape him,

"Willow?" He knocks and waits. I wait as well. Wait for him to leave. So I can slide back into my mind and dreams and the ticking of the clock, "It's a nice day." He tells me. It is. The sun glimmers her rays through the room like a pathway to heaven. Birds chatter and there's not a cloud in the blue blanket sky. If my window was open I would probably smell flowers drifting on the softest of winds and, maybe hear the small stream trickling behind the trees,

"I'm cooking breakfast and, then I'm going to work out in the garden." He says so softly I almost think perhaps I imagine it, but he's gone. His footsteps gently echoing away and I am calm again because everything is as it should be. I am alone. So I can let my thoughts tumble away.

~~~

I watch him. Through the window. The gardens are a mess. They're big and stretch far and wide. The tree swing is covered in weeds and brambles. The roses in full bloom but grass hides their sun yellow petals. Mum was our gardener. Dad was the artist. Lilly sang and gave music and I watched them give life to the world. Now he is in the grass with a strimmer. The noise buzzing through the air loud and crashing. He is strong. With hidden muscles under a white tshirt and black hair that's messy but tidy all at once. I am captivated by this stranger in my house, cutting my grass and making breakfast in the kitchen, filling the rooms with lavender and lemons. It is the first time for a long while that I am here. In this world of reality and not hiding in dreams and memories. It will take days for him to cut all of the gardens and what's the point? When he goes I won't do it. Mum done the garden. That was her job, her passion, it was why she was famous and how we afforded this house. He stretches his back up and wipes his brow, green eyes blinking up to my window. I flinch back from his stare. How much of me did he see? The sun had been shining on my face. Did he see me? But no the strimmer buzzes again and I know if the man had looked at me, seen me in full light, he would have been ducking into a bush heaving out his guts with sick. Even I couldn't look in a mirror without feeling vomit slide up my throat.

~~~

The phone cries loudly into the house. It'll be my Aunt. She remembered to call which is rare. She usually forgets, or perhaps I don't pick up the phone when she does and she gives up on me,

"Willow? Your Aunt wants to talk to you." His voice says behind the door. I take a breath, reach for the handle and slide my hand through the gap. I don't see his face and he doesn't see mine, but the warm plastic phone is gently placed between my fingers,

"Thank you," I manage to whisper before I press the door closed and I can breath again, "Hello?"

"I don't have much time." Aunt Ronnie tells me quickly. She never has time, "But seriously Willow? You can't hide in your room forever."

"I'm not." I tell her plucking at the wallpaper, ripping it from the wall softly so I can see the mint green paint beneath it,

"I know it's hard, but you have to give Rev a chance. He's a good man." Her words are clipped and rushed,

"How do you know?" I ask frowning,

"I checked out his work history and police records. Did you know he worked with your mum once on the Yorkshire Gardens?" I'm thrown into a memory so quick I have to grip the wall to stay balanced. Mum's voice full of awe and laughter in kitchen, she'd been teaching a gardening class in the Yorkshire Gardens, and her eyes were still shining with the beauty of the flowers and trees. Dad was sat on the table top side, sketch book in his hands. I peered at his paper and saw he was sketching mum and her eyes that glittered with stars and excitement. In the distance, as always Lilly sang softly by her tree swing. Something so simple but a thousand meanings that clench at my heart. So much love. Lost,

"Willow?" Ronnie's voice barks on the phone and I am thrown back into this room,

"Can't you come here?" I ask her and my voice breaks. I'm surprised. Because I never knew I missed her so much, she may be the exact opposite of mum but I do miss her,

"The company needs me, I need to do my job." She says. I want to shout at her, what about me?! I need you! Why don't you care about me? But I don't,

"Ok." I mumble instead,

"Please can you try? Can you just do as he asks? I've got so much to do here, I need to do my job." Her voice is soft, begging. I know what she wants. Me to behave, listen to the man, take the exams I missed in school. Be good, so she doesn't have to worry about leaving me here, alone. It's selfish of her. But we've both lost things,

"Ok." I say again,

"After this job, I'll come back. We could go out somewhere, do something. Whatever you want. I lov..." A voice in the background talks to her for a moment, "I have to go. I'll ring tomorrow."

"I love you too." I say but the phone is disconnected before the words finish. Silence again. I stare at the sun and close my eyes. I'd have to leave this room, meet him, be good. I don't want to be a good little girl. I've lost too much to care about my new life and yet so has my Aunt. She never asked for any of this.

But neither did I.