by Sara Martin
Lana spent morning interval holed up in the library, getting her essay done, so I didn’t see her again until lunch time.
“Did you manage to hand your essay in on time?” I asked, approaching the bench behind C block, where she sat eating her lunch.
“Of course.”
“Phew!”
“Yeah. It was really down to the last minute.”
“Have you thought about what you’re gonna write about for the creative writing assignment?” I asked, sitting down and taking out my lunch box.
“No. I kinda suck at writing.”
“What are you saying? You’re a great writer.”
“You’re much better than me. Anyway, what about you? Do you know what you’re going to write?”
“I have a few ideas.”
“That’s good. If you end up with a spare idea, chuck it my way. I’m useless at story ideas.”
“Sure, if you really need it.”
“Oh, I will.” Lana got up and tossed her apple core in the bin. Upon her return, her eyes fell to my hands. “Oh my God! What happened to your hand?”
I pulled my sleeves down. “It’s nothing.”
“Doesn’t look like nothing.”
I reluctantly showed her my palms.
“What happened?”
“I fell off my bike yesterday.”
“Ouch.”
“I’m okay. The bike isn’t in such great shape, though. My phone got destroyed too. So, don’t bother texting me.”
“That sucks.”
“Yeah.” I sighed. “But at least something good came out of it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Have you heard of Opulence? It’s this amazing shop, just outside of town. There’s an artist’s studio there too.”
“I think I’ve heard of it. I think my mum has mentioned it before.”
“It’s like something out of a dream. I met this strange, kind of mystical woman there. I can’t stop thinking about something she said.”
“What did she say?”
“Well, I can’t remember exactly what she said, but it was like she knew things about me. Things I don’t even know about myself.”
“Is she psychic or something? Did she have a crystal ball?”
I chuckled. “Well, she seemed like the type of woman who would have a crystal ball.”
“Are you going to go back there?”
“Yeah. Probably should. I borrowed a sweater and I need to return it. Long story.”
“Well, let me know if you go back. I want to know more about this woman. She sounds interesting.”
I nodded. “I’ll go back tomorrow.”
The next day, I hopped on the bus after school. I got off at the nearest stop to Islington Lane. The sweater was stowed in my backpack. I headed towards the clock tower and found myself on that lane of pretty houses and cute shops once again.
I glanced around, but I couldn’t find Opulence anywhere. For a moment, I wondered if I were crazy. Had the encounter with Opulence and Priscilla really happened? It felt like it was just a dream. I cast the thought aside. I was being silly. The fact I had the sweater in my bag was evidence enough that it had really occurred. I finally spied the entry, slightly recessed—farther back from the other shops. Opulence was delicately carved into a wooden sign above the door.
Once again, the door was closed. I tugged the handle, but this time, it was locked tight. That’s odd. It was open later than this on the day of the storm. I pressed my face against the glass and peered through the lace curtain. All was still.
“Hello?” A male voice came from behind me, throwing me off-guard.
I straightened and turned. A young man with dark, wavy hair stood there. He was green-eyed and fair, almost elfin looking. A hint of recognition tugged at my mind but I wasn’t sure from where. He looked at me with a searching gaze, and I felt utterly exposed. “I, uh… I was looking for Priscilla.”
The man smiled, dimples forming in his cheeks. “Ah. The shop’s closed right now, but she might be in later. She sort of keeps her own hours. You never know when the shop is going to be open or closed. Regular customers know it’s best to call to make an appointment.” The man produced a key from his pocket and unlocked the door. “You wanna wait inside?”
“Yes, please.” I followed him in.
I was no less in awe of the shop than the first time I had seen it. This time, I studied the room more closely. My eyes opened to more wonderful treasures, like the display of lacquered boxes and a collection of Japanese cast-iron teapots.
“Can I get you something? Water? Tea?” the man asked. He was just as accommodating as Priscilla.
“No, thanks.” I realised this man might be Priscilla’s nephew and, if that were the case, there would be little point in waiting around. “Are you Julian?”
The man looked perplexed. “Yes, I am. How did you know?”
“I think I have something of yours.” I shimmied off my backpack and pulled out the grey raglan sweater.
“That looks familiar. Thank you.” He took the sweater. “Why did you have this?”
“It’s a long story. The short version is Priscilla lent it to me.”
Julian removed his jacket, revealing a tightly fitting white t-shirt. He put the sweater on.
I briefly wondered whether I should have washed it first, and I prayed it didn’t smell.
“Are you the girl who turned up here a few days ago, soaking wet and shivering?”
“Yeah. That was me.” I felt my cheeks redden. How did he know about that?
Julian chuckled. “Priscilla told me all about it. Thanks for bringing my sweater back. I’ve actually been wondering where it was.”
“That’s okay. It was the least I could do after Priscilla helped me out.”
“Well, thanks. I appreciate it.”
He smiled dreamily, making my heart flutter.
His eyes searched my face. “Hey, do I know you from somewhere?”
So, it wasn’t just me, then. He felt it too.
“Yeah, I think I’ve seen you before.”
Julian paused for a moment, thinking. “I know. I’ve seen you at Lucky Books.”
“Oh, really? I guess I go there quite often.” Lucky Books was a second-hand bookstore in town. With my addiction to books, it was one of my top shops to visit when I went to town.
“I work there.”
“That explains it, then.”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe I’ll see you the next time I go there.”
“You probably will. Come and say hi.”
“Sure.” I was glad the sweater was back with its owner, but I didn’t want to leave just yet. “Do you mind if I look around for a while?”
“Of course not. Take your time. I’ll be upstairs. Just close the door behind you when you leave.”
“Okay.”
Julian disappeared down the corridor. His footsteps echoed as he climbed the stairs. He must be going to his studio to work.
I looked around the shop until my curiosity was finally quenched. Priscilla didn’t return while I was there, but somehow, I felt sure I would see her again.
When I got home, the smell of dinner cooking flooded my nostrils.
“Ivy,” Dad called from the lounge.
He must have heard me come in. I turned into the lounge, threw my backpack on the floor and collapsed into an armchair. Dad was on the couch, a beer in his hand. His tie was loose around his neck.
“Hey, Dad. How was your day?”
“It was a tough day. Two people lost their jobs.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“But you’re fine, right?”
Dad nodded. “I’d be the last person to lose my job. How would the newspaper make any money without me?”
I gave a small sigh of relief. “You scared me there.”
“Don’t you worry about me.” Dad chuckled. “I got you something.”
“What is it?”
; He got up and pressed a smooth, rectangular object into my hand. A new cell phone!
“I had it set up so it has your old number.”
I turned the phone in my hand, its shiny screen beneath my fingertips. “Thanks, Dad! I love it.”
Mum had told me not to expect a new phone after I broke the last one.
“I don’t like not being able to contact you when you’re out.”
I gave him a big hug.
“There’s something else to tell you too,” he said when I broke away.
“Oh?”
Mum’s footsteps came down the hallway. She peered into the room.
“Dinner’s ready.”
“Coming,” Dad said, about to leave the room.
“Wait. What were you going to tell me?”
“Never mind. I think your Mum has something planned.”
Before I could question him any further, he was off down the hallway.
3
I had tried to make a start on my creative writing assignment several times over the past few days. Every time I started, something blocked me from getting past the first few sentences.
I sat at my computer, determined to get something down this time. Anything. The cursor blinked tauntingly on the blank Word document.
Okay, Ivy. Just write.
I poised my fingers on the keyboard. With a deep breath and a clear head, I let a torrent of words flow out.
It was the dead of night. A chill wind picked up. I stood facing the other side of the road. He was there, waiting for me as he said he would be. I was so happy. I walked out onto the road. His arms beckoned to me. I saw the headlights first. Two bright beams. They blinded me. The car screeched and swerved, but my legs were concrete.
“Ivy?”
The car hit me, ripping a gurgling scream from my insides.
“Ivy?”
Everything went black after that.
“Ivy? Can I come in?” Mum opened the door a crack.
I sighed and closed the document. My flow had been destroyed. “Yes?”
Mum wore a dress and heels and was fully made up.
“You look nice. Going somewhere?”
“Yes, and so are you. We’re going out to dinner. You should get ready soon.”
“Oh?” I was a little perplexed. We rarely went out for dinner, especially not on a school night. “What’s the occasion?”
“You’ll have to wait and see.” Mum had a glimmer in her eye. “We’re booked for seven o’clock, so we’ll leave just before then. Get changed out of your uniform. Wear something nice.” She left before I could ask her to elaborate.
I racked my brain, trying to think about what was so special about tonight, but nothing surfaced. By all appearances, it was just a regular Wednesday night. I wondered if this had anything to do with what Dad had mentioned the other day. He hadn’t brought it up again since then. I supposed I would find out soon enough.
After a quick browse through my wardrobe, I chose a long skirt paired with a silk tank top. I put on a dab of lipstick and some mascara. A spritz of Marc Jacobs’s Daisy was the final touch.
“We’re leaving!” Mum yelled.
I grabbed my wallet and my phone from the outer pocket of my school bag and transferred them into a clutch. Before heading out the door, I gave myself a quick once-over in the floor-length mirror. Upon determining I looked fine, I left and met my parents at the car. Dad wore the tie with turtles on it that I had given him when I was a kid.
Fifteen minutes later, we arrived at my favourite restaurant—La Bella Rossa—an upmarket Italian place on the waterfront. I wondered if they chose this restaurant because the special occasion had something to do with me. I was overflowing with curiosity now.
A waiter greeted us when we entered and took us to our table. It was busy for a Wednesday night. Couples out on dates and groups of friends chatted and laughed over their meals while jazz music played.
Dad ordered wine for the table. The waiter poured us each a glass. I was bursting to ask my parents what this was all about.
“So, what is it, then? Can you tell me now? Pretty please?”
Dad glanced sideways at Mum, and she gave a small nod. He took a sip of his wine and then began. “We’ve been keeping a secret from you.”
“A secret? What secret?” I would have been concerned if it weren’t for the proud looks on my parents’ faces.
“Ever since you were born, we’ve been putting money aside for you. A little bit each week.”
My mouth gaped in surprise. I had no idea my parents had been doing that for me.
“Really? So, what’s the money for?”
Mum looked at me as if it were obvious. “It’s for your education, honey.”
I had always assumed the burden of paying for my education would fall entirely upon myself, so I was thrilled by this development.
“We wanted to celebrate because the account is now fully funded,” Dad explained.
“What does that mean?”
“It means everything is sorted. There’s enough in there to cover all your university costs, course fees, accommodation, food, textbooks. You can graduate debt-free.”
It took a while for me to process what this meant, but when it finally sank in, I was over the moon. No obligatory crappy part-time job. No eating two-minute noodles to survive. I could have a worry-free university lifestyle and devote myself entirely to my studies.
“This is incredible! Thank you. I can’t believe it.” My head spun. The wine didn’t help.
“Now, don’t go getting too excited,” Mum said, suddenly sombre. “It’s a lot of money. More than we have in our own savings account. By giving you this money, we expect you to use it responsibly.”
I was a little taken aback. I had always been responsible with money. How could they possibly think otherwise?
“I know that. Of course, I will.”
Mum looked at Dad and then turned back to me. “We just have one condition.”
“Oh, really? What’s that?” I asked with a hint of trepidation.
“We think it’s best you study something practical. Something likely to lead to a job.”
“Oh. I guess that’s fair.” I didn’t consider it an unreasonable demand, but it did somewhat put a damper on things.
“It’s tough out there these days. The financial crisis, unemployment…”
“I know.”
“You need a career in mind. A sensible career.”
I turned to Dad. He had an arts degree himself, perhaps he thought differently on the subject.
“Your mum’s right, Ivy. It’s not like it was back when I was your age. Not just any degree will do.”
It’s not like I had been considering an arts degree, anyway. When I was nine years old, I told my parents I wanted to be a lawyer when I grew up. I could still remember the proud looks on their faces. Ever since then, they have encouraged me on that path—Mum especially.
She worked as a PA to Natalie Turner—an accomplished, successful female lawyer. To Mum, Natalie Turner was the epitome of success, and she seemed to fancy the idea I would become just like her. She was already trying to line me up for work experience at the law firm over the holidays.
“I’m going to study law,” I said, reminding them.
A look of relief swept Mum’s face. “Good. We all agree. You will go to law school.”
I nodded, doing my best to look enthusiastic about the idea.
Next year, I would start the degree that would set me on the path to become a lawyer. It was strange because I just couldn’t seem to picture myself as an attorney. I shrugged the feeling away.
This is what I want, isn’t it?
4
Over the next few days, I found myself on a roll with my creative writing assignment. I finished it several days before it was due. I believed it was the best thing I had ever written. On Wednesday morning, I printed it and popped it in my schoolbag, ready to turn in.
When I arrived at school, I couldn
’t find Lana at any of our usual spots. Is she sick? I brushed the thought aside. Lana would have to be at death’s door before she took a day off from school. Maybe she was just running late. Although, that was also unlike her.
Lana still hadn’t shown up by the time I had to leave for form class. While Miss April read the notices, I held my phone under my desk and discreetly sent Lana a text message.
Didn’t see you this morning. Are you at school today?
I slipped my phone back into the pocket of my plaid skirt.
On my way to first period, I checked my phone. No new messages. Oh, well. I’d find out whether she was there or not in second period English.
I kept my eyes open for her on the way to English. When I arrived, Lana’s desk was still empty and remained so as the rest of the students filtered in. We were supposed to read in silence for the first ten minutes of class, but everyone chatted since Mr. Donaldson hadn’t shown up yet.
The door swung open. Everyone quietened, thinking it was him, but it was Lana. She didn’t look particularly tired or sick, yet there was something off about her. She looked somewhat bedraggled, with strands of her black hair falling out of her ponytail and her blouse half-untucked. Normally, her appearance was no less than immaculate.
She dumped her backpack down and sat beside me.
“You’re here,” I said, relieved.
“I was just a little late. That’s all. Slept over the top of my alarm.”
“I texted you.”
“Sorry. I was in such a hurry this morning, I left my phone at home.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re here.”
Mr. Donaldson arrived to class, and everyone got their books out.
“Late night at the hospital again?” I whispered to Lana from behind my paperback.
She nodded.
After a few minutes of reading, Mr. Donaldson got up and came around, collecting the assignments. Anxious chatter swelled. When he got to me, I happily handed mine over. Lana didn’t look so confident. Mr. Donaldson had to pry the assignment from her hand. As it left her tight grip, she slumped and let out a small sigh of defeat.