One Snowy Week in Springhollow

by Lucy Knott

  After a few moments and a brief distraction of my dad placing Mum’s tea on the table, she reaches out and takes my sweaty hands in her tidy manicured ones. She opens her mouth then closes it again as a tear falls down her cheek. My leg starts nervously twitching, anticipating her response.

  ‘Scarlett, of course I love you.’ She wipes at her wet face with the back of her hand. ‘All of you.’ She gives me a pointed glare and releases my hands. ‘Oh, honey, I’m sorry. When you were a child, I just wished for you to enjoy the things that I had loved as a little girl. I know I was wrong to try and push those things on you and I am sorry. But darling when Devon left you became so quiet and watching you just plod through school and college with no passion, well I didn’t mean to control you or push things on you, I just wanted you to have options. I wanted to see your face light up like it did when you were little – always excited and running around. And I do love your drawings, honey, maybe not the ones with those creepy villain things you would draw, but of course I see your talent. But you’ve never pushed for it and so I thought it best to try and give you different ideas.’ My mum leans back in her chair, releasing her hands and fiddling with her nails.

  I feel my own eyes growing wet. I never looked at it like that. Have I really been going through life so unenthusiastically? I don’t know what to say.

  ‘I know you need to draw; you need to be creative. Oh, sweetheart, it’s a joy to see you at the Christmas fair each year; you do such a magnificent job of bringing people together. Maybe you could draw a happy comic book, fewer weapons and spooky monsters, some festive cheer,’ my mum suggests, her eyes sparkling with a little humour now, causing me to laugh.

  ‘A Christmas comic book? I think I like that idea, Mum,’ I say, rubbing at my eyes. Had my mum just given me a suggestion for a comic book? Hello, Santa? Where are you hiding?

  ‘Whatever it is, Scarlett, you’ve got to go for it. I promise to take a step back, as long as you give it all you’ve got. You don’t need my help, but I will give you some space,’ she says, taking my hands in hers once more.

  ‘And the clothes, Mum, will you stop buying me clothes?’ I plead, squeezing her hands in mine.

  ‘Oh, but you look so pretty in pastel colours and bows,’ she says, putting her gentle hand through my hair and sounding so sweet. I do not look pretty in pastel and bows.

  ‘Mum,’ I say more sternly.

  ‘Oh, all right, honey. I will try, but if I see something with your name on it, you can’t be mad at me,’ she says with a smile, as I cringe, hating to think what else has my name on it in her eyes.

  ‘Right. Now, Mum, don’t freak out, but I’m off to New York tomorrow morning to go and find Devon. I’ve got it all planned out so there’s no need to worry. I will be back on Christmas Eve, OK?’ I say calmly and matter-of-fact as I stand up. She does a wonderful impression of Eddie for a few moments before composing herself and forcing what I know is a fake grin, because my mum loves me and no matter how many times I tell her not to worry, she’s going to worry. This time instead of rolling my eyes, I retrieve something from my bag, step around the table and wrap my arms around her and give her a kiss on the cheek as I place my card on the table.

  ‘What’s this?’ she asks.

  ‘I made it for you when I was nine and then I think we had an argument over my not wanting to wear a bow for the school photos and so I never gave it to you,’ I explain as she picks up the card and gently traces her fingers over the unicorns and teddy bears I had drawn and decorated with sparkles, lace, buttons, and glitter. I had really been trying with the birthday cards and, after seeing her face year after year with all the goblins and ghouls, I had known what to do to make her happy but after the argument I didn’t want to give it to her and out of spite went back to my original designs from then on.

  ‘Oh, I love it, Scarlett, and I love you,’ she says, swivelling around on her chair to hug me properly.

  ‘I love you too. Now, I best be off,’ I tell them, hugging my dad and gathering my things before heading to the front door. It’s getting late and I still have to pack.

  ‘Be safe and say hello to Devon for me,’ Mum says as she and Dad wave from the front door. I wave back and blow kisses as I precariously race towards the village green on the icy ground, rushing to pick up a few things before I need to head home. I manage to pull together a pick ‘n’ mix from Mrs May’s sweet shop just before the clock strikes five – one that includes all Devon’s favourite childhood sweets, just as a small peace offering for when I see him again, and when I close the door of the small shop behind me I almost bump into Ruby.

  ‘Sorry,’ I mumble, stepping aside so she can get past me, but Ruby doesn’t move. She takes a step back blocking my path.

  ‘You really think you stand a chance now that Devon’s a big movie star? You really think his publicist is going to allow you two to date just because you jump on a plane and make some silly grand romantic gesture? Grow up, Scarlett, and get a clue. You wear beanie hats and your mum’s clothes – you look like you’re an overgrown child. Devon needs someone who understands the limelight and the glitz and glam,’ Ruby informs me, looking me up and down the way she has done since we were running around in reception class. But instead of feeling my usual anger or shame, I hold my head up high. Today I’m done with letting Ruby make me feel so small.

  Also, how bloody quickly does word travel around this village? How did she know I was going to New York?

  ‘Oh, the whole town thinks it’s so adorable, like they’re rooting for the childhood sweethearts to reunite. But you’re going to make a fool of yourself, Scarlett.’ My stomach twists, no pressure then. I have no idea why Ruby hates me this much and feels the need to give me this much of a bruising, but it’s time to put a stop to it.

  ‘Devon’s a man now, Scarlett, and he needs a real woman. He’s grown up, unlike you.’ She adds another dig in before I can open my mouth.

  ‘You know what, Ruby?’ I can feel my insides bubbling. All the years of allowing myself to feel worthless, not good enough for my mum, for men, for anyone, are over now. ‘No, I don’t dress like you, Ruby, and I don’t like high heels. I know what the acronym Shazam stands for and I couldn’t tell you anything about being the CEO of a company and nor do I have the desire to be one. I may get giddy at the sight of a pencil crayon and love riding my skateboard but I’m still a woman. I might not meet your standards of sophistication. I may not look like I’ve just walked off a catwalk. I might not always act like I have my crap together, and it’s because I don’t.

  ‘This whole being an adult, paying the bills, working a nine-to-five – it’s all terrifying to me. I want to be an artist, I want to draw superheroes every day and skateboard to get around – that’s who I am. And I’ve been ashamed of who I am for far too long, trying to please everyone and be what everyone else expects me to be, but I’m done. You can believe what you want about Devon, but you don’t know him like I know him, and you don’t care about him like I do. This whole glitzy and glamorous lifestyle you keep harping on about, it’s not him. Well, no actually I take that back, it is him, it’s a small part of him now but you can’t pick and choose the parts of people that you like – you have to love all of them,’ I say defiantly, digging my boots into the snow and feeling like I should have stood up to Ruby a long time ago.

  Ruby doesn’t say anything; she just stands there, eyebrows raised, nose in the air, her lips pursed curtly. A few icy moments pass. I pop the brown paper bag into my handmade recycled cork shopping bag, made by Emily, and go to walk away.

  ‘Oh, poor Scarlett, still holding on to the past because her future looks so bleak. I couldn’t possibly burst your bauble so close to Christmas. I’ll let you have your little fantasy; after all, what else have you got? But don’t say I didn’t warn you, that man needs a woman who can satisfy him,’ Ruby says, her words sly and condescending.

  I shake my head in sad disbelief at how someone can be so mean. But when I go to take anot
her step I pause as her words hit me in full force.

  ‘You do realise you are judging Devon based on his looks and new physique and his new career status? Just like you and so many people judge me because of the beanie and my tomboy ways. Inside, Devon is still Devon, a nerd with a heart of gold, and I am no less a real woman,’ I say feeling well and truly like I could lead The Avengers into battle right now.

  ‘You a real—’ Ruby scoffs but I interrupt.

  ‘Ruby, stop. That’s enough now. This has got to stop. I can’t stand here and listen to it anymore. What did I ever do to you that’s caused you to hate me so much?’ I ask, my voice firm, but soft.

  Ruby’s eyes dart to the snowy ground, then around the square. I don’t move. I want to be patient; I want to hear her out. It’s the first time I have seen Ruby speechless and when she doesn’t answer for a long moment, I’m about to wish her a happy Christmas and be on my way when she opens her mouth and her voice comes out in a whisper so quiet, I have to lean in to hear her.

  ‘You were always so yourself. You and Devon were always so happy and laughing and having fun, like you didn’t have a care in the world about what other people thought of you,’ she mutters.

  I nearly drop my shopping bag on the floor, my whole body goes numb and the tears in my eyes quickly chill my cheeks in the icy air. ‘But, Ruby, everything you said to me – the way you treated me, all those horrible comments – they hurt, they hurt so bad that I started to hide myself. I started to care.’ I barely get my words out; my voice sounds so small.

  ‘Yes, well, I’m sorry for that but at least you got to feel what it was like for me always having to be pretty and perfect,’ she retorts, her voice becoming hard again.

  ‘I’m sorry about whoever made you feel like you had to be pretty and perfect. I never thought you had to be pretty and perfect. I would have just liked you to be nice and if you would have talked to me, I would have understood. I was constantly battling my mum growing up. I was constantly battling you, Ruby, and then I let you win,’ I tell her. I’m not angry; instead I’m more shocked and pained by her confession.

  ‘Well, whatever, it doesn’t matter now,’ she replies curtly.

  I grip on to my bag tighter, trying to process this conversation. It did matter, at least it had mattered to me for twenty-three years, but today has already taken a lot out of me and I need to start looking forward and not letting my past define me. ‘Look, I’ve got to go but I hope you have a lovely Christmas, Ruby, and I hope you find who you want to be and have the courage to be her and love her,’ I finish and walk off.

  22

  For someone who has never stepped foot outside of Springhollow, I think I’m doing a pretty decent job of navigating the Big Apple. Granted the taxi man helped a lot, bringing me from the airport to right outside my hotel and then scribbling directions on a piece of paper for me of how to get to the Comic Con convention centre tomorrow. I did receive an odd look at first when I explained that my phone didn’t have internet access. Is that really such an alien concept these days? There’s a lot of honking and loud noises when I do get out of the taxi and I find myself staring up at The New Yorker, A Wyndham Hotel. The building itself looks bigger than my whole village.

  I find myself frozen to the spot; one, because New York is absolutely freezing and two, because I can’t stop gaping at the thousands of little windows all lit up. It’s like one humongous Advent calendar. A check to the shoulder and a wheelie bag running over my toe snaps me into action. It’s early evening but there are people everywhere and they all seem to be in a rush to get somewhere. It takes me a second to make the two strides forward to the front door of the hotel without getting trampled on and muttering a plethora of “sorries” and “excuse me’s”.

  The warmth of the indoors engulfs me when I enter the lobby. I feel like Ant-Man, like I have suddenly shrunk in size. My mind can’t quite comprehend that the giant room I am standing in is just the lobby. It’s glorious and gold, with chandeliers dangling from the ceiling and the architecture is stunning. I mean I love our Village Gazette building, but this New Yorker is something else.

  I check in and find my room, which is all gleaming white with brown accents and a bed that screams bedtime the minute I lay my weary eyes on it. But it’s the view from the window that knocks me for six. I’d heard people talk of the New York skyline; only last week Devon had been his animated, passionate self, telling me that it was something I had to experience one day and well, here I was, experiencing it in all its magnificence. Lights upon lights upon lights, everywhere I turn.

  I kick off my boots as my right hand begins to tingle. Laying my suitcase on my bed, I open it up and pull out my sketchbook and make myself comfortable in the armchair by the window.

  The next minute I wake up, scrunched up in the armchair, legs curled up underneath me, my sketchbooks sprawled out on the floor displaying only a few sharp grey lines depicting the many buildings before me. Glancing across the skyline, a few lights have been extinguished but it is still very much a sparkling beauty. Looking over to the side of the bed at the small alarm clock, I read three-thirty a.m. and think it might be sensible to have a quick wash and get into the comfy-looking bed to finish the remainder of my slumber, if I’d like to remotely not resemble a zombie tomorrow.

  *

  I fill up on a breakfast of pastries and fruit, not quite to the deliciousness of Mr and Mrs’s Rolph’s treats but they weren’t bad, when I realise I’m mentally comparing Springhollow and New York in my head, almost like this is a test that will decide my fate next year and whether I attend the art school. If the art school has accommodation as good as the New Yorker, then count me in. The bed didn’t just look cosy, it had felt so glorious and snug that I’d not wanted to get out of it this morning until I remembered the plan for today.

  Now, I’m following the instructions the taxi man so kindly gave me yesterday while trying not to get bumped into by the stream of rushing pedestrians. This certainly would take some getting used to; I already miss the peaceful square back home and the fact that everyone stops and says hello to each other on any given day for any given reason. I’ve been walking a good twenty minutes when I start to see Spider-Man graphic tees and Pikachu bobble hats, which can only signify I’m heading in the right direction. My stomach doesn’t miss this information when it gurgles with nerves.

  I follow a small group of men and woman each sporting brightly coloured spandex outfits. I immediately think back to the cosplay Devon, Hope and Jess had told me about. On closer inspection I recognise that together they make up the five Power Rangers, and for a moment my nerves vanish as I revel in being this close to such ridiculously cool people. Is this the kind of stuff I have been missing out on with hiding who I am all these years? These are grown men and women dressed as Power Rangers and they look awesome. I tell them so and receive hellos and thumbs-up from each of them.

  My confidence is steadily rising, my shoulders relax, and I stand taller as the line to go inside dwindles down and I pass more amazing costumes and cheerful people. Handing my ticket over the man at the door, I can barely contain my excitement when the entire convention room comes into view. Everywhere I look there are posters representing my childhood and signs informing me where I can meet comic book legends and actors from all the movie franchises I have managed to miss in the last ten years.

  There’s so much to take in. The worlds I loved as a kid have all come to life through the big screen and I have so much to catch up on. Devon had got me caught up on The Avengers before he left and I’d watched a couple of the movie trailers that followed that one, so I recognise some names, but otherwise it’s the posters and the imagery all over the show that has me gawping like I’ve forgotten how to close my mouth.

  A little to the right of me I notice a line and a sign reading “The First Avenger”, a squeal of excitement escapes my lips and I jump in the queue. No way, it’s my first Comic Con and I’m going to meet Steve Rogers. My insides are doin
g a happy dance. Hope and Jess will be so proud of me when I tell them, and Devon will have a heart attack.

  *

  ‘OK, I think I’m hyperventilating,’ D informs me as we make our way into the packed movie theatre and take our seats.

  ‘Here, have some popcorn,’ I say, smirking. My insides are squirming with excitement too but I’m trying to keep it together so I can take in every morsel of Captain America: The First Avenger.

  ‘I’m sure you’re not supposed to offer people who are hyperventilating food,’ D says shooting me a look with his hand on his chest. ‘Scar, we’ve been waiting for this day since we were in nappies.’

  ‘I know, I know. Shh it’s starting,’ I reply, gripping D’s knee so hard my knuckles turn white.

  ‘Oh my God, that was epic,’ D practically squeals three hours later as we exit the cinema.

  ‘Tell me about it. Hands down best movie ever,’ I declare.

  ‘Can you believe we have to wait until next year for The Avengers?’ D moans, his sixteen-year-old brain not being able to deal with such torture.

  *

  ‘Scar?’ I swear I can hear my name, but with each step closer I take to Steve Rogers, I get distracted thinking about what I’m going to say to him. ‘Scarlett.’ I hear my name for sure this time and my stomach triple-vaults when I register the warm voice. I turn around and see Devon standing there with a man even taller than him next to him; whom I take to be his security guard. He’s broad and has a stoic face. The people in the line with me all turn too, immediately getting their phones out and snapping pictures and enquiring about selfies. The security guard raises his hands to calm them.

  I smile at Devon but the speech that I had planned on the plane over here gets lost somewhere in my overstimulated mind.