“Couldn’t sleep.” He takes a long sip from his mug. I look down at my own, staring into the steaming brown liquid within it: tea.
“Why did you make tea?”
“To drink, genius.”
I roll my eyes. “I meant, why did you make me tea?” I notice that he is only wearing jeans and a plain white shirt. Has he even tried to sleep, or does he always wear jeans to bed?
“Can’t you just accept it and say thank you? It’s my good deed for the day.” The pale light catches on a lopsided grin.
“You have good timing in that case.”
“I thought you might come down here eventually.”
“Were you waiting up for me then?”
“No,” he denies. “Don’t flatter yourself.” I shrug and sip my tea. He follows suit. “You were out nearly all day,” he says eventually.
“I was just thinking things through,” I mutter.
“What sort of things?”
“You should know.”
“Care to explain?”
“Surely she must have discussed it with you first,” I sigh. At his puzzled expression, I elaborate. “Your mother suggested that I stay here, permanently.”
“Oh, that.” Silence. “So, are you going to?”
“Do you want me to?”
“Even if I said yes it wouldn’t make any difference.”
“True.”
“I rest my case.”
“Well what do you think I should do?” I ask for the hell of it, not because I care about his opinion.
“I think,” he replies. “That you should lighten up.” He’s casually sipping his drink, dangerously rocking back on the hind legs of his chair. I want to push him and see him topple to the ground with his damn tea.
“Life isn’t a game,” I grit out with maybe a little more irritation than I had meant for. “There’s a lot more to lose than pride, although I don’t expect someone like you to know that.”
He gracefully arches an eyebrow, still aloof. “Someone like what?” he asks silkily.
I narrow my eyes; screw politeness and feelings and sentiments. “Someone who thinks that life is sunny and perfect all the time and needs a serious reality check.”
He chuckles humourlessly and somewhere in the dying light, his eyes glint. “I think you’re the one who needs a reality check,” he says. “I know life isn’t always sunny, but I also know that it isn’t depressing and rainy all the time either. Personally, I think you’re sadly disillusioned.”
“Personally,” I growl. “I think you live a sadly sheltered life.”
“And why is your life any less sheltered than mine?”
“You don’t know anything about my life.”
“And you don’t know anything about mine.” He gives me that irritating sneer, the one that clearly says ‘I know I’ve won, and I know you know I’ve won, so give up now.’
“From what I’ve seen, your life seems pretty perfect to me,” I say, crossing my arms. He mirrors me and I scowl. Copy cat.
“You shouldn’t judge just by appearances. My life is pretty good, not perfect, but the difference is I appreciate what I have.” I have no answer for that. So I glare instead. The truth is if heaven, God and pearly white gates actually exist, I would probably be sent straight down to the fiery underworld. I don’t appreciate what I do have and I don’t plan on it in the near future. At my silence, he lets out an amused chuckle. “You’re thinking about pushing me off this chair right now, aren’t you?”
“You must be psychic.”
He self-consciously tips forward on the chair, as if worried I’ll actually go through with my threat. “Let’s face it. You’re a pessimist and I’m an optimist, we’re never going to agree.”
“I think that’s the one thing we’ve learnt tonight.”
“And I don’t know about you, but I can live with that.”
Don’t worry,” I mutter dryly. “You won’t have to. I’ll be gone soon enough.”
He gets up, but pauses beside his chair with his back turned towards me. “Pity,” he says softly. “I think I would have had fun trying to convert you.” Then he leaves the kitchen, sauntering out into the hallway and a few moments later I hear quiet footfalls going up the stairs.
I’m not sure how long I sit there after that, simply glaring at the opposite wall and waiting for my irrational anger to fade, but it feels like much too long to be wasted on something as pointless as this. I’m not sure what it is I’m angry about – Ash’s seemingly perfect and fairytale life, his annoying cheerfulness or the fact that he was actually right and I was probably wrong. It’s a combination of all three, I finally conclude once I’ve grown tired of glaring at nothing and realise how childish I’m acting.
Don’t get distracted now, you came down here for a reason, I remind myself. Forcefully banning all thoughts of the conversation from my mind, I grab the phone beside me and shakily dial my home number. This is it: the climax of my pointless and dull existence. Insert dramatic music here.
For some ridiculous reason I feel apprehensive, almost scared. Hopefully they will be half asleep and not thinking straight. I close my eyes and count, listening to the dialling tone with baited breath. 1, 2, 3... Maybe luck has taken a liking to me and they won’t pick up. 4, 5, 6...Maybe they’re out, partying the night away. 7, 8, 9...Maybe they won’t be angry. 10.
“Hello?”
Hah. Yeah right.
“Hey, Dawn.” It’s my third sister who answers, only two years older than me and currently studying to be a lawyer. I’m lucky because out of the three of them she’s the most accepting one.
“Hope?” her voice is purely stunned. “It’s almost three in the morning.” She sounds well, at least.
“Sorry,” I apologise half-heartedly, partly to hide how nervous I’m and partly because I don’t care.
She stifles a yawn on the other end. “No, don’t worry about it,” she says. “I’m glad you finally called.”
“It’s only been a few days. You got my message, right?”
“Yes, but you could have called a little sooner.”
“Are the others angry?” I ask bluntly. There’s a guilty silence on the other end for a long moment which gives her away. “Just angry or furious?”
She hesitates again before replying. “They were furious, but at the moment just pissed off.”
“Oh, great,” I mutter sarcastically. “Well that makes everything much better.”
“Well, you shouldn’t have run off like that,” she chastises lightly, but I can hear the uncertainty in her voice. That’s the thing about Dawn. She has even less confidence than me. “It was irresponsible. We were worried.”
“Were they worried, or was it just you?”
“It was all of us!” she cries out almost desperately. “Faith was going to call the police, before we got your message.”
“Lucky she didn’t, then.”
“It would have caused a lot of trouble.” She sighs heavily. “Hope, don’t you ever think of the consequences before you act rashly?”
“Have I ever?”
“No. You…you’re…” she trails off weakly.
“I’m what, Dawn?” I mock, smirking.
“You’re being selfish!” she finally cries out and suddenly we are six and eight years old again, throwing tantrums and accusing each other of stealing the last cookie. It’s nicer to think about it that way, than the truth.
“I’m being selfish?” I repeat in disbelief. “Have you ever thought that maybe I was hurting as well, not just you and Faith and Lily?”
“Hope I-”
“For years, I was only something for the three of you to let out your frustration on,” I murmur and my throat feels oddly constricted, a strange stinging in the back of my eyes. “If that was what you needed, you should have just bought a bloody potted plant!”
I blink away what I realise are tears. I’m too old to cry. When she speaks again her voice is soft, as close to apologetic as I will let mys
elf believe. “You’re right, we were wrong,” she whispers. “But please believe me, I never saw you that way.”
“But you never tried to help. You never tried to make things better.”
“I wanted to, but I just couldn’t. I’m sorry.”
I’m tempted to believe her words. I know they are probably true. In reality, Dawn is not a bad person. In reality, none of them are. They’re just blind. “Dawn,” I sigh tiredly. “I don’t want to talk about this right now…we can discuss it another time.”
She hesitates, but then seems to deflate. “Fine. Where are you staying?”
“I’m not sure it’s a good idea to tell you right now.”
“Why not?” she asks, confused. “We can come and pick you up tomorrow.”
“But what if I don’t want to go back?” There’s that deafening silence again, this time with its partner tension. Subconsciously I’m wringing my hands and fidgeting. It’s only Dawn, I know, but I can’t but feel like a traitor.
“You…you want to stay?” Her voice is barely a murmur, filled with pain.
“I never said that,” I reply carefully, fidgeting. “I only said I don’t want to go back. I’ve only been here for a few days but I’ve met some interesting people and I feel…free.”
“What do you mean?”
A small smile slips slowly onto my face. “I can do what I want, say what I want and there’s no one here to stop me from doing so. I’m happy here.”
Silence again. “Sorry,” is all she says in the end, sounding defeated.
I run clammy fingers through my hair. “There’s one more thing. The woman I’m staying with offered to let me stay for as long as I like.”
“So you’re going to leave us?”
“No.” I stop and think. “I just want to stay a little longer. For the summer holidays maybe. I have money with me. And I can do housework, to pay her back.”
“What’s she like, this woman?”
“Kind, incredibly kind. She’s a lot like mother used to be.”
“Oh.”
“I meant it when I ran away,” I say. “I can’t come back yet, Dawn.”
“But you hardly know her!” Dawn cries. “Do you really trust this woman that much?”
“You just don’t get it, do you? I would be willing to stay anywhere as long as it’s not life-threatening.”
“Are we really that bad?” she asks timidly.
Somehow, I manage to shape my answer to find a way around the question. “I don’t want to sound like a typically bratty teenager, but I want to do something on my own for once,” I say, hoping to appease her.
She stays quiet for a while, and I let her think it through. She’s smart, I’ve always known that, and I can only hope she understands. “Okay,” she whispers eventually. “If this is really what you want, we can’t stop you. You can stay for the Summer Holidays. But after that…”
“We’ll see.”
“Hope.”
“What?”
“You can’t stay there forever. No matter how attached you are to her, she’s not your real family. We are.”
“Then start acting like it,” I snap, before slamming the phone down.
Blinking back tears, I rest my head on the table. A million thoughts buzz through my mind and I close my eyes, breathing out slowly. Which is thicker, blood or water? In theory it is blood: family ties. In practice, it is a completely different matter.
Chapter 6: Only when it’s dark
It’s no surprise really, but I stay awake for the rest of the night, replaying and dissecting that phone call in my head silently, searching for hidden meanings that I can’t seem to find. I finally come to terms with the fact that her intentions seem to be genuine, that things are starting to look up and that this mess of tangled webs labelled my life is finally starting to unravel itself. When a whole hour has passed by in the dark, me mutely staring up at the ceiling and shadows prancing across the walls from the fluttering curtain, the eerie silence finally starts to creep me out. It’s hot too; summer is vile.
In the end I read until the sun rises, having found a few classics in my room. I chose ‘The Bell Jar’ by Sylvia Platt, because I’ve heard that the author killed herself by sticking her head in an oven and I can’t help my morbid admiration for her inventiveness. Only someone who is exceptionally brave and creative would chose an oven instead of pills, the easiest way out.
When morning comes I explain to Jenny the phone conversation with Dawn the night before, my hair impersonating a bush and owl-like circles around my eyes. I tell her my decision. She says it’s fine and that I can keep the guest bedroom for the time being. She also says that if by the end of the holidays I want to stay permanently, I can.
After breakfast I make a mad dash for my room, but Ash catches me before I can reach safety. His eyes are blazing, with annoyance or anger I’m not sure, but they’re almost intimidating. “Liar,” he accuses, cornering me against the wall.
“What are you talking about?”
“You said last night you were going to go home.”
I shrug, mostly just to irk him. “Yeah, well, I changed my mind. Dawn agreed to it.” It still doesn’t sound real, even when I say it out loud.
“Who’s Dawn?”
“One of my sisters.”
“I see.”
“It’s not a problem for you, is it?” I question.
He shakes his head. “No, just unexpected.”
“I know,” I say. “It is for me too. It still hasn’t quite sunken in to be honest.”
“Hm.” He pauses for a moment, then chuckles. “You know this means we’re housemates now,” he says. The full impact of that statement causes a chain reaction of emotions that don’t exist. Why can’t I feel something? Anything?
I try to side-step him in vain in an attempt to get to the spare bedroom. “Will you let me pass?” He towers over me, blocking my way, and I suddenly find his height advantage extremely irritating. On second thoughts, it’s not just the height advantage.
“Why did you decide to stay?”
“Jenny’s secret store of fancy hot chocolate in the cupboard beside the fridge of course,” I mutter sarcastically. This comment manages to elicit a snorted chuckle from him, and the tension slowly begins to evaporate.
“I’d stay for that any day,” he concurs. It’s obvious that Jenny’s attempts to hide her hot chocolate had been in vain. Then, I meet his gaze. In that moment, some sort of silent understanding passes between us. I’m not quite sure what it is, but I decide it’s easier to just accept and not question. “You know,” he says.“You’re kind of odd.”
“Does that mean you’re not too angry at me for ruining your summer holiday?”
“Who says it’s ruined? In fact, I think this summer could be rather interesting,” he laughs, probably at his own ‘hilarity’.
“What’s so funny?” I ask suspiciously.
“Nothing, I just have some plans, that’s all,” he grins devilishly. “By the end of this summer, I’m going to break you out of your goody goody ways and teach you how to have some fun.”
“Ash?” I deadpan.
“Yeah?”
“You’re a complete knucklehead.”
“Much appreciated, housemate.”
I decide then and there that waking up this morning was a bad idea.
*****
I’m lying on my bed, in the middle of a staring contest with the ceiling and trying to force myself to feel something, when Ash comes to bother me again.
I scowl in response to him sitting down on my bed, messy coffee hair framing bright eyes and an optimistic grin. “Yes? Is there anything you want?”
“Not really.” I wait for him to say more, but he doesn’t.
“Well?”
“Let’s go for a walk,” he suggests. I frown as I count the many different things he could possibly put me through on this proposed ‘walk’. None of them are pleasant.
“No thanks,” I mutter. “I’m ti
red.”
“Aww, but I thought we could bond and stuff.”
“You’re taking this whole housemate thing way too seriously.”
“Will you come if I say please?”
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