Beneath the Distant Star

by Lisa Shambrook

  A week!” This time Mum was not silent in the car. “A week, a whole week’s exclusion!”

  Jasmine stared out of the window, the words of her year tutor still ringing in her ears.

  Her mother continued. “I can’t believe you’d do something so stupid, so aggressive, so—so damned horrible!” The car swung across the road as Mum cast a glance at her daughter. Jasmine grabbed the seat. Mum glanced back at the road straightening the car. “A week’s suspension, and if you ever do anything like this again, it’ll be worse than suspension. In fact you’d better not ever—not ever, do anything like this again! I mean it—we’re all so fed up with this! Next time they’ll expel you! Mr Harvey said, next time you do anything, anything, it’ll be the last time. Next time you’ll be out! One foot out of line…”

  “Mum! I know!” yelled Jasmine, “I was there! Next time they’ll have no choice but to exclude me on a permanent basis.”

  “And you’re okay with that?”

  “No, no of course not…”

  “Your studies, your exams, did you ever think about that while letting your temper control you?” asked Mum.

  “Of course I do, I don’t mean it, you know! I don’t do this on purpose!”

  “You don’t? Well, you could have fooled me!”

  Jasmine snorted in frustration. “What would you do if someone was bullying Thomas, or me, or—if they’d been bullying Freya?”

  “You’re the bully in this case! And don’t you dare bring Freya into this!” Mum’s hands clutched the steering wheel.

  Jasmine’s knuckles were as white as her mothers, and for once she bit her tongue.

  “Don’t you ever bring Freya into this; you sully her memory associating her with this, this kind of thing!”

  Hot tears stung like red hot pokers behind Jasmine’s eyes.

  Mum continued driving. The car jerked with her shoulders as anger turned into tears that rolled down her face. Mum sniffed and wiped her tears with her sleeve.

  “Don’t you ever taint your sister with your wrongs,” she hissed evangelically.

  “I…” began Jasmine.

  “NO!” Her mother’s cry was loud and unexpected. “Not ever, I won’t have it!” The car swerved into the pavement, roughly climbing the kerb on the side of the road. Mum slammed on the brakes, jerking the car to a stop. Jasmine stared at her mother. The engine idled, purring beneath them, and Mum swung round to her daughter. Jasmine shrank back against the car door as her mother jabbed her finger at her. “You have no right to bring Freya into this, and right now I won’t even have you say her name! Now get out.”

  Jasmine stared at her mum.

  “Get out!” Mum fumed. “Get out, get out of the car. Get out now!”

  “Mum…”

  “I mean it, get out NOW!” Mum shouted, her voice rising with wild vitriol. “I’m not driving any further with you. Get out! Get out, get out, GET OUT!”

  Jasmine unclicked her seat-belt with shaking fingers and swallowed her sobs. Her mother’s eyes bulged with fire and fury. She pulled the door handle and let the door fall open. She met her mother’s eyes as she scrambled out of the car.

  “Mum…” Her voice was small, lost even.

  “Shut the door.” Her mother’s voice was cold and forced.

  Jasmine pushed the door closed, and the click, as it shut, echoed in the silence. The engine stormed into life and roared as her mother put her foot down on the accelerator. Jasmine’s sobs choked her, her face wet with tears, and her hands cold and sweaty despite the sun that beamed upon her. She watched with disbelief as her mum and the car sped away, disappearing into the distance.

  Shock carved through Jasmine like ice slicing her heart as the car vanished leaving her abandoned and alone on the pavement. Her stomach churned and the cool spring breeze pricked her eyes. Her bag and phone were still in the car, there would be no rescue from this desertion.

  She remained standing at the kerb, staring down the road for a few minutes, trying to balance the emotions surging through her mind. In the end her abandonment gave way to her default setting, easy anger.

  Hot tears rushed to her eyes as she realised she was truly alone. She stamped her foot and growled, and rubbed her tears away with balled up fists. Her vision blurred again and she berated herself for crying. She sniffed, blinking rapidly, then began to walk. She crossed the road and took to the towpath, down by the river. She didn’t want to meet anyone, least of all with red eyes and a tear-stained face. The sun danced on the water, glistening like myriad stars and Jasmine let her angry tears fall.

  She wandered down towards the water’s edge and walked down a small slipway to where the river lapped gently across the slope. She crouched and dragged her hand through the water, letting it lap casually at the toes of her boots. The calm ripples did nothing to soothe her resentment and she batted at the surface, rippling the water frantically with her fingers. Water splashed her legs and she stood. She stared at the river wildly trying to control the urge to dive in and swim.

  Her body itched with the desire to launch off the slipway and leap into the shimmering river. She teetered at the edge for a moment, before stepping back and shaking her head at her cowardice. The river meandered nonchalantly along its course and Jasmine sighed.

  She moved back to the towpath. She dawdled, but her feet gained speed as her ire grew. It didn’t take long to find herself back on the road and walking home.

  Not wanting to see her mum, she turned into the field and skirted the back garden fences. At her own garden, she climbed back up onto the wall and ran along its length, up onto the extension roof and in at her window.

  She flopped onto her bed and allowed the tension to ease. Instead her resentment flourished as she watched her mother drive away in her mind, she drove away again, and again, and again.

  She jumped as the front door slammed.

  “Jasmine?” Her name echoed up the stairs. “Jasmine?”

  She didn’t answer. Mum’s feet ran up the stairs and she burst through Jasmine’s bedroom door.

  “Ever heard of knocking?” asked Jasmine evenly.

  Mum stood at the foot of the bed, her hair a mess and her hands wringing in front of her. Grey tracks from her mascara marked her face and her eyes were red-rimmed and wet.

  “You could’ve knocked,” Jasmine repeated.

  “You’re here?” It came out as a question and irritated Jasmine more.

  “Where else would I be? Suspended from school, kicked out of the car, and nowhere to go…” Jasmine muttered.

  “I,” Mum swallowed,” I, I went back to find you,” she paused, “But you were gone!”

  “What did you expect? Did you want me to wait around, patiently waiting for you to remember me and come back?” Jasmine turned onto her stomach and buried her face in her pillow. She didn’t want Mum to see her puffy face.

  “I went back for you! I was only gone a minute, then I went back for you!” said Mum. “I had to calm down!”

  “It was more than a minute.” Jasmine’s voice was muffled in her pillow.

  “I did though, I went back. I was sorry I yelled, and I went back.” Mum paused. “Where did you go? Why didn’t you wait?”

  Jasmine moved her head to the side so she could speak clearly. “Oh, you did want me to wait then? I think, when you threw me out of the car and drove away without a word, you should’ve said something, something like, ‘Jasmine, wait for a moment, while I come to my senses.’ Then I might have waited, then again, whatever.”

  “You should have waited!” said Mum. “What if anything had happened?”

  “Would you have cared?” Jasmine’s voice was still muffled against her pillow.

  “What?” asked Mum. “Say it again…”

  Jasmine ignored her.

  Mum tried again. “What? Where did you go? I couldn’t find you anywhere!” Mum was quiet for a moment. “I couldn’t find you anywhere I looked. I drove around for an hour looking for you.”

  Ther
e was still no response from Jasmine.

  Mum’s voice rose. “I didn’t know what had happened to you! I had no idea where you were!”

  “Like I said before, would you have even cared?” said Jasmine.

  “Of course I care.” Her voice was hurt and Jasmine twisted and sat up on her bed.

  “You care if I upset you, or if I do something wrong, or if I’m not perfect,” she paused, “but nothing further than that.”

  Mum shook her head. “Of course I…”

  Jasmine interrupted. “You only care if it affects you.”

  “No, I…”

  “You do, it only matters if it affects you,” she said her anger rising. “You don’t care what I do, or who I am, just that I’m not Freya, that I’m not perfect, that I’m not like your long, lost little angel!”

  Her mum’s mouth opened and closed.

  “Well, that’s just what I’m never going to be!” Bitterness poured from her eyes. “Never, never ever!” Jasmine swung her legs off the bed and stood, her eyes blazing. Then she grabbed the window frame and pulled her body up onto the sill. She glanced back at her mum. “And until you realise that, there’s nothing here, nothing for us at all.”

  She jumped out of the window, her feet thudding on the roof and she was off down the wall, her hips swaying and her black hair bouncing, leaving her mother staring after her vanishing form.

  Most of the ensuing week was spent in her bedroom, or up on the hill. Suspension really wasn’t that bad! Dad insisted on collecting some school work. Jasmine, however, was shrewd and by Friday morning all her homework was done, and done well. Her essay for English was completed to the highest degree and was as close to the book and as safe as she could possibly get it. She was a little disappointed, because its clinical, neatly written pages served only to answer the questions, but barely touched upon imagination of any kind. She’d handed it to Dad with a wry smile and said, “Well, they’re not going to accuse me of anything with that!”

  Friday afternoon moved agonisingly slowly and by two o’clock she had overridden Mum’s directive to remain indoors. Grounding never worked and short of locking her bedroom window, her parents had given up on it as a punishment. Her father couldn’t justify locking anyone anywhere unless they’d committed a crime, and then a jail cell was the only viable option, homes were not. So Jasmine’s bedroom window stayed unlocked and Jasmine climbed out.

  It was a grey day, that sort of weather-less afternoon with no wind, no rain, or sun, just grey. Jasmine padded down her garden wall and jumped down to the footpath below. She moved up the slope through the long grass, until she reached the old oak bench. She pulled her knees up to her chin and clasped her hands tight around her legs, and stared down at her house.

  When her legs cramped she slid off the bench and shuffled into the grass. Clasping her hands behind her head, she reclined, gazing up at the sky. She chuckled. What use was cloud watching when the entire sky was grey?

  After a few minutes she sat back up and pulled daisies out of the grass. She pulled a long stem of grass and peeled back its narrow leaves then chewed on the shiny stem. Bored, she sighed, and dropped back to the ground. The wind had picked up a little and the grey clouds were churning, forming more defined shapes and contours.

  She was surprised when three o’clock passed her by.

  She must have dozed off, as even later a boy’s voice woke her. “Jasmine, Jasmine…” Thomas ran up the slope towards her. She sat up and watched as he bounded through the grass. He was breathless when he reached and flopped down beside her.

  “So, you’ve forgiven me?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  “I haven’t seen you all week, since Tuesday.” She tried not to sound too accusatory.

  He shook his head.

  “Fateful Tuesday…” she muttered.

  “I’m sorry…” he said, still trying to catch his breath.

  “S’okay,” she replied.

  “I thought suspension was…a bit…serious,” he began.

  “It was deserved apparently.” She bit her fingernail. “So what happened to Stella?”

  “She wasn’t in on Wednesday, but came back on Thursday.”

  “And—is she leaving you alone.”

  He nodded. “She’s actually very quiet. Hasn’t said much to anyone,” he told her. “I feel quite bad for her.”

  Jasmine shook her head. “I know I shouldn’t have lost my temper like that, but don’t feel bad for her.”

  “I do,” he said.

  “Did she say anything to you?”

  He shook his head then nodded. “She apologised.”

  “She did?” Jasmine sounded surprised.

  “She did.”

  “What about her cheek?”

  Thomas shrugged. “She’s got scratches, it looks painful, but she’s okay.”

  “So, I haven’t scarred her for life then?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Jasmine exhaled. “Well, it’s done now.”

  Thomas sighed.

  Jasmine turned to him. “You shouldn’t worry about it. It wasn’t you that did it.”

  “I’m not worried about her.”

  “Or me—I’m fine.”

  “I’m not worried about you either.”

  Jasmine laughed. “Then who are you worried about? It’s obvious something’s worrying you.”

  “Aunty Joan’s bad, really bad.” He sniffed. “Mum went to see her today. I could tell she’d been crying when I got back from school.”

  “What’s wrong then?”

  He shrugged. “No one’ll tell me.”

  “Ha! I know what that’s like!” She nudged his elbow. “Where is she?”

  “At home, but Mum says if she gets any worse she’ll go to hospital.”

  Jasmine clapped her hands together. “Right, let’s go and see her. She doesn’t live far from here.” Jasmine leaped up yanking Thomas to his feet. “C’mon, race you!”

  Jasmine bolted down the field with a head start, away from her home and towards the path on the opposite side of the field. At the bottom she climbed over the fence and ran on. Thomas caught up and they jogged along the track together.

  Thick clumps of bluebells pushed through beneath the hedgerow amongst the buttercups and starry-eyed wild garlic. Cow Parsley bobbed either side of them, its umbels covered with yet more tiny white stars. Jasmine curled her lip at the flora and grabbed her cousin’s arm, hurrying along the path. They reached the kissing gate and pushed through one at a time. Then Thomas led the way down the lane to the street. Minutes later and they were at Joan’s house.

  Sweet peas, pink, red, white and purple, filled a vase on the windowsill peeping beneath white jardinière nets. Jasmine followed Thomas up the path. “Some of the ladies from church have been looking after her,” he said as he reached for the doorbell. “I’d normally go in the back, but Mum said we have to show more respect at the moment, with her being ill and all that!”

  Jasmine paused. “So, who’s with her?”

  Thomas shrugged. “Don’t know.” The doorbell rang out, chiming inside.

  It was quiet for a moment, then soft footsteps padded behind the door and it opened. A huge smile lit up the girl’s face when she saw Thomas. “Wow, Thomas!” she said, “It’s been too long, and haven’t you grown!”

  Jasmine’s eyes shot heavenward.

  “Hey, Meg!” Thomas grinned, his smile almost as big as the one he usually gave Jasmine.

  “And who’s this?” Meg’s brow furrowed as she regarded Jasmine. “I’m sure I know you…”

  “Jasmine, my cousin.” Thomas introduced her with a flourish.

  “Ah, now I know,” said Meg. “I used to come over your house, many years ago.”

  Jasmine eyed the older girl with confusion. “My house?”

  Meg nodded. “Do you remember the Donald Duck routine from your neighbours?” She smiled. “With all the white feathers and the snow? No?”

  “He did that wh
en I was about six or seven or something, you weren’t there, and there wasn’t snow…” Jasmine looked confused.

  Meg laughed, a soft, friendly laugh. “He did it again for you when you were older then! Of course, I was just visiting, with Steph.”

  “Steph?” Jasmine shook her head.

  “I’m just confusing you now!” Meg grinned. “Steph was one of my friends. Wow!” She paused and shook her head. “You look so like her!”

  Jasmine braced herself. “Like Steph?”

  Meg continued. “No, Freya, your sister. She was my best friend.”

  You really do look like her!” said Meg.

  Jasmine paled as her fingernails bit into her palms. Thomas glanced at her and she relaxed her hands as he tensed.

  “Maybe I do, just a bit,” she replied through gritted teeth.

  Meg, suddenly aware of Jasmine’s unease, changed tack. “It’s just your eyes, the same colour, but otherwise, you’re actually quite different. You were so young when I was around. You were only about two, or three, when I last saw you. How old are you now?”

  “Fifteen,” Jasmine told her.

  “Well, that explains how different you are. I love your boots, gorgeous colour! And…” she gazed at Jasmine’s ears, “those earrings really suit you!”

  Jasmine grinned as her hand shot unconsciously to the blood-red and gothic wire-wrapped garnets hanging from her ears. Jasmine appreciated Meg’s intuition.

  “I didn’t know you were back,” said Thomas, his grin still as wide as his face.

  Meg smiled. “I’m back for the weekend, got my last nursing exams coming up, before I’m fully qualified.”

  “Have you finished university?” asked Thomas.

  “Soon, but I came back for a bit.” She gestured upstairs. “Mum told me how Joan was, and I wanted to be here for a few days, and to see Mum and Dad.”

  “How’s Aunty Joan?” he asked.

  Meg’s smile dropped slightly. “Not too bad, considering.”

  “She can’t be that bad,” said Thomas hopefully, “I can smell lemon! So if she’s still making cupcakes, then she can’t be that bad!”

  Meg pushed her fair hair behind her ear, and shook her head. “I made the muffins, Tommy, just like she taught me. So they’re probably, hopefully, as good as hers, but Joan isn’t up to baking, or much else at the moment.”