Free From the Tracks
Page 8
Chapter Eight
Sophia woke up half an hour later by the clock on the dashboard. She felt stiff and tired, aware she slept with an unusual heaviness. Her head felt foggy and drugged. It wasn’t an unpleasant feeling, just odd.
“Drink,” she said hopefully into the silence, hearing her voice sounding alien and strange. Her tongue felt thick but she sat still a while longer and tried to keep her brain empty of all thought. A peaceful sensation surrounded her, making her smile as she wondered if God had finally noticed her and set angels around her while she slept. He must have done and she felt like crying with gratitude.
Everything felt fine as long as she didn’t move any part of her, but as soon as she shifted in the seat, pain shot up her leg, reminding her of Sandra and the trouble she was in. “Oh, God. What have I done?”
Her brain clicked on as though someone flicked a switch on a conveyor belt, parading problems, consequences and dilemmas before her eyes. Sophia was a good girl from a good home and would be deemed as knowing better. Sandra on the other hand, was a bad girl from goodness knew where and would probably be pampered and forgiven by those in authority, while they hung Sophia out to dry.
Only one other car shared the car park but it looked far enough away to be of little concern. Sophia saw it through her peripheral vision but didn’t want to turn her body, lest she unleash on herself the dreadful ache again. When she assessed it, she realised it wasn’t an ache anymore but a tearing, raw kind of pain which sent shooting sparks up her thigh and into her stomach. She lay still for a while longer, savouring the silence and coaching herself through her problems. It didn’t matter if they expelled her because by the time they sent the letter ordering her to a Board of Trustee meeting, she’d already be on a plane to the UK. Her father would open the letter embossed with the school crest. For some odd reason, Sophia couldn’t remember anymore what it looked like, or the motto underneath. It blurred in her inner vision. Yet she remembered the Latin alternative Matt invented as a replacement for the official and rather corny one.
‘Adepto Cumulabitur’ if Google translate could be trusted. It meant ‘Get Stuffed’ in Latin.
The smell of cigarette smoke wafted across on the breeze and got into Sophia’s nose. It also made its way into her stomach which reacted with violence. “Ugh!” She gripped her guts as a wave of nausea swathed her in weakness. Sophia pushed at the door handle, remembering to unlock it when it resisted. As she swung her legs out onto the rough surface, bits of stone stuck into the soles of her bare feet. She struggled to stand, resting for a moment with her body bent and her forehead on the panel above the door, trying to rid herself of the nausea enough to stand up and walk towards to the long drop. “Come on girl, get a grip!” she panted. “Keys. Where’re the keys?”
She used the open door to lean on as she turned, so couldn’t even shut it. There was a jangle of metal as the keys dropped from her lap and she groaned in frustration. Sophia left them where they lay and stumbled around the vehicle, using it like a baby lurching around furniture before daring to let go. The rear of the vehicle faced the long drop and Sophia staggered unevenly towards it like a drunk, feeling miffed as it listed and rolled, moving away from her. “Stay still!” she hissed at the small wooden building as it pitched sideways and then stood back up.
It seemed an age before her hands contacted the metal sink as the floor rolled underneath her. She had the fleeting thought that her skirt might be tucked into her knickers and decided she didn’t give a damn. “Oh Jesus, please no,” she heard herself beg in a small voice as a sign above the outdoor tap came into focus long enough for her to read the printed words. ‘NOT POTABLE WATER. DO NOT DRINK.’
Sophia felt desperate enough to push down on the metal button at the top of the tap and cup her hand underneath the gushing spray. But her fingers wouldn’t close and she watched as water leaked through them and then stopped with the automatic cut-off. Trying to lift her wet fingers to her lips whilst gripping the sink, Sophia looked down and saw a trickle of blood on her foot and a huge red stain on the front of her skirt. It hadn’t stopped at all. Like everything else in her life, even her body lied to her.
Her damp fingers never made it to her desperate lips. She pitched forwards and banged her already sore forehead on the metal lip of the sink as she went. A rational, conscious part of her brain waited for her to hit the floor, ready to explain it all away to her fuddled mind; but the impact never came.
A strong pair of hands gripped her beneath her armpits and halted her descent, catching her up and lifting her high into the air. A familiar smell assailed Sophia’s last sense before it shut down, deodorant, spearmint and the overwhelming stench of cigarette smoke. The last acted like the flick of a switch as her indignant and disgusted brain powered off and sent her back into welcome oblivion.