Hello World

by Joanna Sellick

  A door opens and an old man with greying hair in loose dungarees appears behind the counter, regarding us curiously.

  ‘Can I help you?’ He asks politely.

  ‘Oh, we’re just passing through,’ Jay replies but I ignore them both, my gaze travelling to the back wall of the store where a large painting takes up most of the wall.

  Drawn to it, I tilt my head to the side in concentration and float towards the painting, something feeling familiar and comforting about it but when I look at the signature its not one I recognise and is faded from age.

  The painting is alive with colour, dramatic swirls and waves filling the space. With an artist’s eye, I follow every line and curl. It’s the sort of painting that most people would look at and criticise for being just a canvas someone has thrown paint at, but I can see the fine detail and the time that has gone into it.

  ‘How much is this?’ I ask spontaneously, surprising myself with my question.

  The gallery owner smiles and shakes his head.

  ‘I’m afraid that’s not for sale, it was done by one of the residents a while ago,’ he replies fondly.

  Feeling a twinge of disappointment, I let it go and we continue on our way. We find the street and with eager anticipation I count down the house numbers until my eyes finally settle on it.

  21 Roselyn Avenue.

  For a moment, all I can do is stare.

  This is where my life began.

  Silently, I step out of the car and push through the little front gate, walking halfway up the stone path before stopping again.

  Desperately, I try to dig out some sort of memory of this place but I find nothing, I was too young to remember this house when I left it. Yet, staring up at my past, something comforting and warming washes over me.

  The house is Edwardian in style, with huge bay windows poking out of the front of the house. Orange bricks blink down at me and the beams have been painted black, fitting in with other houses down the road. The house looks the perfect size for a three-person family, not too small, yet not too big either.

  It looks deserted though after years of abandonment and heavy curtains have been pulled over the windows. Weeds and grass cover the front garden, making the stone path barely visible.

  ‘This is it,’ I whisper. Beside me, Jay squeezes my hand.

  ‘Hey! That’s private land! We don’t want any trouble around here, kids. Now, scram,’ an angry voice suddenly shouts. It takes me a moment to realise the voice is talking to us.

  I spin around to find a middle-aged man with a white beard and a bit of a belly wobbling over to us across the street. I quickly pull the key from around my neck and hold it up.

  ‘I used to live here,’ I say quickly. The man stops in his tracks and eyes me curiously.

  ‘You’re Dr Willows’ kid?’ he asks dubiously.

  My face brightens. ‘You knew my dad?’

  The man studies me for a moment before deciding I’m telling the truth and breaking into a grin.

  ‘My, my, Neve Willows. I knew you when you just two years old, look how you’ve grown!’ he chuckles, holding out a hand for me to shake. ‘The name’s Hugo, I was your old neighbour.’ Then Hugo’s face sobers and he looks back at the house. ‘When I heard about your parents, I could hardly believe it. He was a good man, your dad. He helped me out a lot when he first moved here.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I say, smiling. Hugo bids us goodbye and I turn to face the house again, taking a deep breath. I turn to Jay. ‘Ready?’

  ‘Ready,’ he grins and I slot the key into the lock, giving the door a firm shove with my shoulder in order to let us in.

  We are immediately greeted with an onslaught of dust and I wave frantically at the air, waiting for it to settle before moving further into the house.

  The electrics had been disconnected years ago so we pull out the torches Jay has thought to take with us to survey the place. The first room I enter is the lounge and I march straight over to the bay windows, ripping the curtains open to let some natural light into the room before looking around.

  The place has a cosy feel to it, with blue pale sofas swamped in brightly coloured cushions, some looking like they have been hand-made, and a traditional fire-place. The mantle is home to several photos, several of Mum and Dad and others with me in. I walk over and pick up one in a small dark frame.

  It’s of the three of us in a park. Mum and Dad have their heads pressed together, me sitting on my Mum’s lap with Dad’s arm around me, all of us grinning madly at the camera. I must be about two, and I have a pink bunny-rabbit toy clutched tightly in my tiny hands.

  ‘Red, you’ll want to see this,’ Jay calls from upstairs. I’ve almost forgotten the boy is with me.

  I follow his voice and see him standing outside a room, pointing up at my name painted in multiple colours on the wooden door. My old room.

  Curiously, and a little nervously, I push the door open and take baby-steps into the space.

  Although someone has tidied up, toys are bursting from boxes and bags, and a small white bed with drawers decorated with pink flowers is pressed up against one of the pink painted walls. The walls have also been decorated with tiny hand-painted ballerinas dancing across all four sides, some jumping gracefully whilst others spin and some pose delicately as if expecting a round of applause.

  My mother must have painted them.

  A hanging mobile dangles over the bed, little feather butterflies hovering above where I used to sleep. A white shelf is cluttered with various items like jewellery boxes, ornaments and other toys.

  Lying on the bed is the pink bunny toy I had been holding in the photo downstairs.

  ‘Mum liked the colour pink, huh?’ I say quietly, grinning as I look around the room. The whole place has my eyes starting to water.

  Jay wraps his arm around me and I hug his waist, still keeping my gaze fixed on the room.

  ‘No matter what you’ve ever thought, you have proof now,’ Jay says softly, squeezing me tightly. ‘Your parents were good people, and you were very special to them. Just seeing this is evidence enough, so don’t ever doubt that, okay?’

  I let out a small laugh and nod against his chest.

  ‘Now, I want to see what’s in the attic,’ Jay announces, pointing upwards. I frown.

  ‘Why?’ I ask curiously. Jay winks at me.

  ‘Because the interesting stuff is always in the attic, come on.’ He leaves the room and paces back into the hall, instructing me to go and find a ladder or something for him to step on while he tries to get the hatch open.

  I briefly pop into my parent’s room, more photos and clutter in there, and then poke my head around the door to a small room, which is rather bare, as if just used for storage. I stop then and a thought hits me.

  This is a four bedroom house, although only three bedrooms had been in use since one of the rooms has been converted into a study. So what was this room intended for? Were my parents planning to have another baby? If they hadn’t died, could I have had a little brother or sister?

  A pang of longing passes through me and I grip the doorway to keep myself up.

  ‘Nevermind, I’ve got it!’ Jay announces from the hall, bringing me out of my own world. When I reach him again, he already has the ladder into the attic pulled down. ‘Ladies first,’ he winks. I roll my eyes and quickly test the sturdiness of the ladder before pulling myself up and swinging my torch around to peak through the darkness.

  The attic is huge and even dustier than the rest of the house. When I put my hand on the floor I cringe, shaking off the layer of dust imprinted onto me and quickly rise to my feet.

  Yet as I take a closer look, I realise that this isn’t just an attic for storage, this was mum’s own little art studio. Plenty of bare bulbs and other light fittings have been put in place to illuminate the space accordingly and several stools and easels are packed into one corner.

  Boxes of dry paint sets and other materials are stacked by the easels and giant canvases c
overed in brown paper are stacked against the walls. I move over those first, revealing the paintings beneath and staring at them in awe.

  They varied completely, some picturesque scenes and fields, others are still life’s or elegant flowers and some are just movements of colour and patterns. I then notice a pile of sketchbooks on the side and flick through them, stopping dead on one of the pages. A sketch of the painting in the gallery, the one the shop assistant refuses to sell, looks back up at me.

  My mum painted that, I think, remembering the odd familiarity that I had felt radiating off the piece as I had walked towards it.

  ‘Wow Red, you were a fat baby,’ Jay comments. I whip my head up to where he is crouching on the other side of the attic by the hatch, sorting through a box full of what looks like photo albums.

  ‘The camera adds ten pounds,’ I snap, although move to sit beside him. Jay passes me the album he’s holding and gets up to search further. The album I hold is a special baby one, one of those meant to track the baby’s growth and development, like first word and such.

  I flick to that page and grin at the word.

  Originally, the word Mummy had been scrawled there in swirly writing, although someone had come along and put a line through the word, replacing it with the word Daddy along with a note saying we know which one of us you like the most secretly.

  I flick to the front page and run my hand over the writing on it, a message addressed to me in the same elegant and swirly handwriting.

  To my darling, baby girl. You are everything I have ever wanted, and everything I wished you to be. You are my light, my dreams and my hope. You are beauty and elegance and love and you will forever be in our hearts. Love Mum and Dad.

  I reread the message again, a tear rolling down my cheek and splashing onto the page.

  ‘Huh, turns out your Dad was also a bit of a rocker in the ol’ days,’ Jay announces, flicking through a row of old records. Then Jay looks up and catches my expression. ‘Are you okay?’

  I nod and smile, not needing to force it for once.

  ‘Yeah,’ I say quietly, looking back down at the album.

  In that moment it feels as if I have become whole again, like a piece of me has just slot into place. A piece I didn’t even realise I was missing.

  CHAPTER 22

  Jay Ellsworth wakes up with a violent jerk, flying into a seating position and regretting it immediately. With an audible groan, the boy flings himself back down onto his pillow, gritting his teeth against the pain radiating throughout his body.

  Excruciating is the only way to describe the pain he feels. It’s as if Jay can feel his muscles tearing away from his bones and disintegrating inside him.

  For lack of anything better to hold, Jay grips the edge of his bedding, rubbing the soft material against his finger tips in a relaxing manner whilst trying to bring his heart rate back down to normal. Images of what he has just woken up from flash before his eyes but he pushes those thoughts away.

  Nightmares are what children have, full of make believe monsters and cruel tricks of the imagination. And after all, nightmares are merely dreams. What he is experiencing is very, very real.

  Desperately, the boy tries to distract himself, the image of a girl with bright red hair and a shy smile taking form in his mind. His hope.

  The image soothing him, Jay’s breathing begins to regain regularity again and, after making sure there are no feelings of nausea, he peels one hand away from the sheets and gropes around on the table beside him for painkillers.

  Coming up bare, Jay groans again, realising he must have forgotten to restock his room after the last time he ran out. With a sigh, Jay attempts to pull himself back up into a seating position, although the simple action causes his body to convulse in pain yet again.

  With each movement, Jay muses bitterly, his body rewards him with a new punishment. Tonight is one of the worst.

  Filled with a sudden anger, Jay curls his hand into a fist and brings it across his body to meet the wall beside him, the action causing both pain and relief. Suddenly drained, he flops back onto the bed for a second time and puts a hand over his eyes, willing for all of this to be over.

  A moment later his bedroom door flings open and his older brother, Blake, walks in, his expression a perfected mask of calm and patience.

  ‘Carry on like that and you’ll knock the whole house down,’ Blake smirks, closing the door behind him. A pang of guilt suddenly runs through Jay as he takes in the older brother’s jogging bottoms and old T-shirt. He’s just woken Blake up, yet Blake doesn’t make any motion to support this.

  ‘I ran out,’ Jay groans lamely. Blake rolls his eyes and hands his younger brother a tub of tablets.

  The door opens a second time and the boy’s mother walks in, her face pale and ghostly. Jay quickly hides the tablets under his duvet.

  ‘Is everything okay? I heard a noise?’ Joy asks, her voice catching.

  ‘I knocked my light off the table,’ Jay answers instinctively, plastering a smile on his face. He hates lying to his Mum, but he can’t bring himself to cause her anymore pain. ‘I didn’t mean to wake you.’

  Warily, Joy looks between her two sons.

  ‘I just came to check up, it was just the light,’ Blake assures her with a soft tone. ‘Go back to bed, Mum.’ With one last longing look, Joy finally shuffles out of the room, although not entirely convinced at all.

  With a sigh, Jay reveals the tablets again.

  ‘I promised myself I wouldn’t become dependant on them,’ he says miserably. Blake, who had been watching as his mother left turns back to his brother.

  ‘Are you okay?’ is all he says.

  Jay regards his brother for a moment before shrugging. If he can’t be honest with Blake, then who can he be honest with?

  ‘I feel like I’ve been run over by a train twice,’ he replies lightly. Blake just nods and slumps into the beanie bag near Jay’s desk, intent on not leaving until his little brother has drifted off to sleep again.

  It’s hard to keep a neutral expression in a situation like this, but Blake has had plenty of time to practise so keeps his voice steady. ‘Have you done anything to aggravate it?’

  ‘It was probably all of the heavy lifting and moving at Neve’s today. I tried to get a hatch to an attic open today and it killed like a bitch,’ Jay laughs, closing his eyes and lying back on the pillow.

  ‘How is she?’

  Jay opens one eye in amusement and casts a glance at his brother, whose lips twitch upwards as if trying to hide a smile at her name.

  ‘Neve is fine,’ Jay grins. ‘Better I think. Especially after last night,’

  Now Blake does smile. ‘Did she say anything?’

  ‘I tried to bring it up but she just gave me a knowing smile and turned to look back out the window, it was cute really,’ Jay teases. Then a new type of pain washes over him. ‘You’ll look after, right? When-’

  ‘Don’t.’ Blake cuts him off with a sudden fierceness before regaining his composure. ‘Now get some sleep otherwise we’ll be up all night. No school for you tomorrow-’ Blake cuts himself off and checks his watch before correcting himself, ‘today.’

  Jay just chuckles and closes his eyes again before his stomach suddenly flips. Recognising the signs, Blake reaches for the emergency bucket and manages to get it to Jay before he throws up.

  At exactly eight am on Monday morning, I scream, loud enough to wake up the whole town.

  Staring down at my laptop with astonishment, I jump up from my desk chair and start dancing around my room. Charlie bursts in a moment later, worry plastered on his face and, Lord help me, a frying pan held high above his head.

  ‘Who died?’ Charlie shouts in alarm and I just bounce over and wrap my arms around him in a fierce hug.

  ‘I’ve got an interview!’ I chime, jumping up and down again. ‘In February with Cambridge Regional College about my art course, I need to bring along a portfolio of my work and such! What’s with the frying pan?�
�

  Charlie stares at me with confusion before lowering the weapon, his cheeks reddening slightly. ‘I thought there might have been an intruder,’ he admits with embarrassment. ‘But an interview? That’s great,’ he grins. I try to get him to join in with the dancing but he refuses and goes in search of some breakfast so I fall back down onto my bed and stare up at my paper cranes, grinning.

  My room is more scattered than usual since I have taken some of the stuff from my old house and moved it in here, including a few of Mum’s paintings and the pink bunny which now sits on my chest of drawers.

  ‘You hear that, Alex?’ I say softly. ‘I’ve got an interview. I could be going to college next year.’

  I allow myself to revel in the joy of the news for a few moments before calling Jay and trying to balance an early morning phone call with getting myself ready.

  When he picks up I scream down the same information I have given Charlie whilst trying get my jeans on, which is a definite challenge.

  ‘Aside from the burst eardrum, that’s brilliant,’ Jay replies. Distantly, I hear him repeating the news to Blake and then Blake’s own congratulations through the line.

  ‘I know, we’re gunna have to celebrate at school. I’ll even buy you a chocolate muffin,’ I grin, running a brush through my hair.

  ‘As great as that sounds, I can’t,’ Jay says with disappointment. ‘This bloody cold has returned, I’m not going anywhere today.’

  I frown then, suddenly registering the tiredness in Jay’s voice that I hadn’t noticed before. ‘Oh, sorry for waking you up then. Do you want me to come over later?’

  ‘Nah, that’s alright. I wouldn’t want to pass whatever this is onto you and I’ll probably just sleep for the whole day. I have an exam tomorrow as well,’ he sulks and I chuckle. Our biology exams were last week and I have a psychology one next week but Jay still has a whole line up of them.