Izzy Moffit's Road to Wonderland (Road to Wonderland Series Book 1)

by James, Victoria L.

  “Detention again, huh?”

  I smile weakly, lifting one cheek. “I told her that lie wouldn’t work.”

  “She shouldn’t be asking you to lie. I need to have words with this little angel of mine. We need to see some changes around here.” He laughs.

  “Go easy on her, boss. I kinda like her the way she is.”

  “Me, too.” He grins before dropping his arm into his lap and letting out a long, slow, heavy sigh.

  I try really hard not to look at him because I’m pretty sure that whenever I do, I give him the one look he despises more than anything. Pity. It’s so hard for me to see him the way I used to before he got really sick. The chemo is brutal and just seems to be making him worse. I hear the nurses talk to Mrs Hemsworth. I know they say he will get worse before he gets better, but there’s the underlying fear that he won’t get better at all… and I can’t help but feel that terror every time I look at his pale face.

  I despise it.

  “Stop thinking so hard, Izzy. Nobody knows what the future holds,” he whispers, pulling a text book of mine in front of him as he starts to read.

  My mouth falls open in shock, even though it shouldn’t. He’s always been able to guess what I’m thinking, even when I try my very best to hide it, just like his daughter can.

  “I know. I’m sorry, Dandy. I just-”

  “Worry. I know.”

  Shuffling awkwardly in my seat, I rest an elbow on the table and lean my face against my fist as I stare down at my essay. None of it makes sense anymore through the haze of blurry images that are flashing through my mind and the deafening sound of silence that is ringing in my ears.

  “I actually have something I would like to discuss with you, if you have time… while she isn’t around.”

  His voice holds a hint of worry, which instantly makes me nervous as I peer up through my eyelashes to look at him.

  “I have time,” I breathe out hesitantly.

  Dandy’s eyes meet mine with a look of sadness I’m not used to seeing. I can tell he’s trying hard to hide it, but I know him well enough to see through his mask. Lifting his bottom off the seat ever so slightly, he reaches around into his back pocket and pulls out a small, white envelope and slides it across the table, face down, before returning to his seat.

  I don't question what it is. I don't do anything other than stare at it blankly, my mind racing over what it could be.

  “You know what I'm like. I'm a planner. I like to make sure everything is in order and all possible scenarios are covered.”

  His tone has dropped. He's in serious mode now. All bullshit and pretence has gone out of the window, so I just nod in false understanding as his hand pushes the envelope even closer before flipping it over for me to read. My stomach drops as my eyes flicker repeatedly over his neat script.

  A note to my Izzy.

  I can feel his gaze on me. I know he's weighing up my reaction, but I'm not quite sure I understand.

  “I'm not saying I won't beat this. The doctors are hopeful, my beautiful wife is hopeful, Paris doesn't know how to be anything other than hopeful.” He smiles flatly before tilting his head to catch my eye. It works. “But you and I are realists, aren't we?”

  I try to swallow as quietly as I can. “Yes.”

  “And we both like the truth. We don't like to sugar coat bad things or brush them under the carpet, do we?”

  “No,” I whisper as his hand reaches out for one of mine.

  “A will has been made in case this chemo doesn't work. My solicitors have it, my wife has it. You and Paris will be looked after.”

  “Me?” I choke out softly as my eyes instantly fill with tears. “I… I don't want anything, Dan. Take care of Paris.”

  His fingers wrap around mine tighter. “You may not be my blood, but you are my daughter. Do you understand?”

  I look down briefly, unsure I can find the strength to continue with this conversation, my head nodding in slow acknowledgement of his question.

  “The will is in place, but it's not enough for me. I can leave you all the material things I have in this world, but what I want more than anything is to leave you with my voice.”

  A single tear drops down my cheek as I look back at him.

  “That in there is my letter to you and nobody else. Whenever you are feeling lost, or at a cross-roads, I want you to close your eyes, read the words I wrote to you, and I want you to hear me.”

  Another tear falls hard and fast, the thought of him not being around crippling me and causing my throat to tighten as though someone has their hands around my neck.

  “Okay...” I mouth.

  “You're the strong one here. I know you will take care of my baby girl for me. As long as you have each other, I know I will never have to worry about either of you.” His voice wavers slightly before he clears his throat to regain his composure. “If I'm not around, I want you to be the one to hold her hand through all the big occasions in life. I want you at her graduation, I want you to be there to warn off all the wrong men and point her in the direction of the right. I'm not going to lie; you'll have your work cut out. She's a damn strong head on her shoulders and there's not much she thinks she doesn't know.”

  We both laugh softly in perfect synchronicity - me through my silent tears, him through the ones he's trying to hold back.

  “But my god is she worth it!”

  “She is.” I smile as I pick up my envelope and hold it in my free hand, gripping it like it's the most important thing in my world, which it now is.

  “Don't let her marry an arsehole, Izzy. I can handle her going off the rails a bit, getting the rebel tattoos, wild nights out and all that. Just don’t let her end up with someone who will crush her spirit.”

  “I won’t. I promise you.”

  “And make sure you dance the father of the bride dance with her at her wedding. I've been teaching her to be graceful on the dance floor for years for that very occasion. I want it perfect for her. I've chosen the song I want you to play. It's all in the letter.”

  I raise an eyebrow at him to try and lighten the mood. “Is it Luther?”

  His smile grows wider. “You know me so well. This is why it had to be you I had this talk with. You're the only one who could make me smile when talking about my death.”

  The way he says that word makes my face fall. It's so flat.

  So dark.

  So final.

  My throat aches again and I feel the panic set in, a panic I'm clearly not hiding too well as Dandy quickly shuffles his seat closer and pulls me in for a hug. A real hug. One of those where you lean your head against someone's chest and just listen to the beating of their heart whilst you still have chance. Even in this moment, I know this thumping in his chest is going to be my most favourite sound of all time.

  “I won't let you down, Dad.” I say without thinking. I've just called him Dad and it feels so right to do so.

  “You couldn't if you tried,” he breathes against my hair.

  “I love you. But you're not allowed to leave me yet, okay? Not until you're over sixty and have more hair in your nose than you do on your head.”

  He doesn't laugh. He doesn't do anything. But I feel the small tear of his drop on to the side of my cheek as I lay still in his arms.

  “That sounds fair.”

  “Promise?”

  “I'll see what I can do,” he whispers softly.

  And then we stay there for what feels like days - him holding me in his arms and me shedding the silent tears I don't want him or anyone else to ever see. I already know it's my most treasured memory in life so far, one I will never forget and one that I know will float through my mind in the last few seconds of my own life.

  I cling on with such a desperate need to hold him, I almost wonder if deep down, I already know I haven't got long left to do this.

  I guess I should always listen to my instincts.

  Because six weeks later...

  Dandy has gone.
<
br />   Eleven

  2000 - 2003

  All I seem to be doing these days is saying bittersweet goodbyes.

  First it was my parents. I walked away from them and, even though my goodbye was pen to paper, leaving them was harder than I could have ever admitted to my new family. But it was a necessary evil and I knew in having done so, I was allowing myself to start living life the way I should have been living it from the moment I was born. I’m free. Finally.

  Then there was Dandy. His death hurt far worse than I could ever have imagined. I thought I was prepared, but I guess I was just fooling myself. His decline in health was so rapid it almost took us completely by surprise… Almost. Those last three days of seeing him in pain made my mind up for me. As much as I didn’t want to have to let him go, I couldn’t watch him suffer a second longer. The moment he closed his eyes and his heart played its final song, the monsoon of tears fell, yet the unexpected exhale of relief followed, too.

  He is an angel now.

  He can finally do the things he was born to do.

  The strangest goodbye, however, proves to be Matt Cooper. I don't know what to expect, but crying over someone that isn't even mine definitely catches me off guard.

  He's going to Nottingham University to study history and politics. Me… I'm going to Leeds to study English Literature. We'll finally be miles apart. No more sneaking around behind Paris and Katy’s backs. No more midnight meets in the woods, and definitely no more mornings lying naked, hidden away in his bed while his parents cook breakfast downstairs, completely unaware they have a regular visitor in their home.

  The morning before Paris and I are due to leave for university, I meet Matt in the tree house one final time. Both of us remain silent for the most part. There isn't much we can say. We are parting ways and our lives are going in different directions. While we have had fun, we’ve always known that a future together is impossible. Not that that’s what either of us wants. Not that we’ve even discussed it. It just is what it is and it always has been.

  We sleep together one final time. Our hands take their time with each other’s bodies. It feels like neither one of us is in a rush for it to end. There's no pushing and shoving, no need for anything fast or hard. We just want it to last. It’s the closest to making love we’ve ever allowed ourselves to get

  I don't love Matt. I can't love someone I know I can't have. I can't allow that to happen, but I care for him more than I’ve ever cared for anyone outside the Hemsworth family. The moment we tear away from each other’s bodies, part lips for the last time and say our weak goodbyes, I feel my eyes begin to well with even more grief. I watch him intently as he climbs down the stairs of the tree house, and it seems like my eyes are going to pop.

  Then I fall back onto the beanbag and I cry.

  Everything is changing too fast. I no longer have parents, I no longer have Dandy and I no longer have Matt. All that's left to focus on now is Paris. And with this realisation, I find myself making a vow.

  I promise myself that Paris will be the last person I ever love and, as long as we have each other, I will do everything in my power to keep her safe. She has to be my focus now. I swore to Dandy that I would watch out for her as much as I could and that I wouldn't ever let him down.

  When I eventually make my way out from the tree house and my feet finally touch the ground, it feels like the start of the new, more determined me.

  I have two jobs in life to do. The first is to live it.

  The second is to keep Paris away from arseholes forever.

  How difficult can those two things be?

  *******

  University proves to be surreal. One day we are two kids, living at home with Mrs Hemsworth, the next, we’re adults, thrust upon a new city and a whole new life that is completely alien to us. I feel suffocated by a small amount of fear for a while. Every step I take in my new surroundings is taken with caution and every corner I turn, I hold my breath. I'm not sure why exactly. Just that I have a responsibility to keep my best friend safe and I want to take it as seriously as I can.

  Our apartment is compact but adequate. It holds everything it needs to for two girls who just want to eat, sleep, study and party occasionally. Okay, I study, Paris parties. Since her father’s passing, it’s all she seems to want to do. When she's drunk, the grief subsides for a short period of time and she allows herself to not feel guilty and to live. For those few hours, she's numb, and even though I want to hold her back and tell her not to throw the gift of university away, I can't bring myself to be that particular pain in the arse to her. She needs these few years of freedom and it's the least I can give her. But she’s already lost her dad in her youth; I don't want her to lose herself, too. It is a difficult role to play, one that runs on a daily basis of trial and error.

  We haven't been in Leeds long, I can't remember the amount of days exactly, but it's only a few when we happen to stumble upon a feisty, independent, grungy, loner girl named Miss Lori Alvarez. Born to an English mother and a Spanish father, Lori has looks to rival Penelope Cruz but a wildness in her eyes that relates to nobody but herself.

  The first time I see her across campus, I am petrified and pretty much convinced she is the spawn of Satan just from the look she flashes me alone. She has an edge, a fire, a built in ‘I-am-not-to-be-fucked-with’ chip that rests just upon her right shoulder whenever the wind blows the wrong way and inconveniences her.

  But one day, to our surprise, she introduces herself in a way only she knows how - straight to the point and upfront. A kind of ‘look, I think we should be mates’ approach. Anyone who doesn't take the time to look at her properly wouldn’t see the slight flicker of doubt that flits across her face in a rushed panic, but we do. We see the awkward shuffle of her weight from one foot to the other and the way she tries to look disinterested by staring over our shoulders and narrowing her eyes. She doesn't want to seem desperate or needy, which she isn't. She just wants to feel at home in a foreign place, like we all do. Paris and I take one look at each other and throw our arms around this girl as though we've known her our whole lives. Then just like that, two become three.

  Her room is down the hall from ours, but she doesn't share with anyone. It would have taken a strong head to be able to deal with Lori's way of life. There aren't enough hours in the day to drink all the whiskey she wants to drink. Daytime and sunlight is for the weak. If she can get away without studying, she will. In fact, if it wasn't for me forcing her and Paris into scheduled study sessions, I’m pretty sure all three of us would have failed our courses and been kicked out already.

  Three solid years pass by in a blur of words, music, nights out and alcohol. I try everything I can to keep Paris under control, the way I promised her father I would, but we inevitably end up arguing a hell of a fucking lot. She wants me to back off, just get out of her face and leave her alone, mainly because she knows whatever I say to her is the truth and, rightly or wrongly, in these fragile years, post-Dandy, she simply wants to stay as far the hell away from the truth as she possibly can. That and reality hold way too much pain.

  So she goes out to live her life on the edge and I have no choice but to follow her into whatever trouble she decides to get into. Best friends don’t just ride through the good times side by side. They fall when the other falls, too. If she is going to get herself arrested, well then I'll be right beside her, laughing the whole way through while Lori will sit on the side-lines, shaking her head at us, but no doubt laughing even harder.

  Often people say that groups of three don’t work. Uneven numbers lead to someone at some point feeling left out. Those people obviously don't know the three of us. We work as a team in every single thing. We are one, each of us providing the other with something they don't have, whether it is determination, calm, safety, fight, strength or clarity. As a unit, we have all bases covered. Nothing can beat us and nothing ever will.

  At least that's what we are stupid enough to believe.

  Twelve
/>
  1st May 2003

  “Fuck off, Moffy.”

  I swallow my drink, wincing as the burn slides down my throat before slamming the shot glass on the counter with a bang and creasing my face up in disgust at the god-awful Sambuca I’ve just been forced into drinking.

  “You fuck off, Alvarez,” I retort. “I’m telling you straight up, that guy in room seven-two-three told me he masturbates to thoughts of you every night. He even says he has your yearbook picture above his bed.”

  “The dirty bastard,” Paris slurs beside me, moving her long hair away from her face and scanning the nightclub for potential suitors for the evening. Surprisingly, since Karl, Paris hasn’t slept with many men at all. She’s more private and insecure than she lets on, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t enjoy the chase. For her, it’s all about the tease. The act of sex is something she only gives out to few.

  That doesn’t mean to say I haven’t noticed her slipping out and about in the middle of the night on the odd occasion. She is a woman after all.

  Lori steps forward, her tight animal print jeans stretching against her legs as she jabs a finger in my face. “If you’re lying, and I kill him before I find out you’re lying, I hope you’ll be able to sleep at night,” she snaps, trying as hard as she can to remain serious, but faltering under my sarcastic gaze. Her top lip twitches and fights to stay in control.

  “I swear on my guinea pig’s life.”

  “You don’t have a guinea pig.”

  “I don’t?” I scowl. “Are you sure?”

  “If you have, it must be pretty fucking hungry. I've not seen you feeding anyone or anything other than strawberries to Kian Lewis in the last three years.” She smirks.

  “Ooo, Kian.”

  “Yes. But no guinea pig.”

  “I coulda sworn I had one.”

  “Your guinea pig died when you were seven,” Paris chirps up.