White Petals

by Maria Grace

  ‘Who’s Fluffy?’ Mel asked.

  ‘My hamster!’ Freya squealed.‘Sheput my hamster in my lunchbox! There wasn’t even any sandwiches or anything – just little old Fluffy!’ Freya laughed. ‘But it was OK, because my friend shared her sandwiches with me so I wasn’t hungry. And we gave Fluffy a bit of her cheese for his lunch. He loved it.’

  Panic spread across Mum’s face.

  Grandma Coalman got up from her chair and smoothed the invisible creases in her trousers. ‘Your mum’s getting forgetful in her old age, isn’t she?’ She smiled awkwardly.

  ‘Maybe she’s getting old-timer’s disease, like you!’ Freya pointed at Grandma Coalman.

  Grandma Coalman winked at Freya. ‘You mean Alzheimer’s disease.’

  ‘Same thing,’ replied Freya.

  Grandma Coalman laughed. ‘Come on, Missy. Shall we go for a hot chocolate in the canteen?’

  ‘YES!’ Freya jumped off my mother’s lap. ‘Can I have a packet of crisps, too?’

  ‘We’ll see.’ Grandma Coalman took Freya’s hand and nodded gently to Mum as they left the room.

  Mel sat in her chair, looking uncomfortable. ‘Do you want a hot chocolate, Em?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m alright, thanks.’ I poured some squash from the bottle on my mother’s bedside cabinet. Part of me wanted to go with Freya and Grandma Coalman, but another part of me wanted to stay, to make sure Mum was OK, because I could feel her energy changing.

  ‘Tess, do you want me to get Seth for you?’ Mel could see the distress on my mother’s face.

  ‘Herhamster?’ Mum had tears in her eyes. ‘What kind of a mother am I?’

  Mel looked sympathetic, but was clearly starting to panic at the change of atmosphere in the room. Mum started talking out loud to herself about Fluffy the hamster.

  ‘I’ll just go and get Seth,’ said Mel as she rushed out of the room to get help.

  I stood still, unsure of what to do.

  Mum put her hands over her face, bowed her head and started sobbing.

  TWENTY-ONE

  I was studying in my room. I had a test in a couple of days, and I had to revise some grammar exercises. Karra was sitting on the floor, looking through all my notes.

  ‘So a gerund is the ‘ing’ bit of a verb that’s used as a noun…’ Karra focused on the grammar worksheet.

  ‘Yes, I think so.’ I looked at the paper with her.

  ‘I don’t get it,’ she said.

  ‘Neither do I.’

  ‘How can a verb be a noun at the same time?’

  ‘I have absolutely no idea.’ I shook my head.

  ‘That’s really confusing, Em.’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ I said. ‘I can’t even think of an example.’

  She thought for a moment and then said, ‘Running is boring.’

  ‘I think that’s right.’ I flicked through the pages of my book to check. ‘Can you think of a different example?’ I asked.

  She concentrated again. ‘Swimming is fun!’ She looked hopeful. ‘How about that?’

  ‘Yeah.’ I wrote the answer down. ‘That’s definitely correct!’

  Karra grinned proudly.

  ‘See,’ she said. ‘I’m not thick, am I?’

  ‘Of course you’re not thick, Karra!’ I told her off. ‘Why would you think that?’

  She shrugged. ‘It’s just something my mam used to call me.’

  So, that’s why she was so insecure about it. Poor Karra.

  ‘One day I’m going to The University to do a degree. A proper one.’ Karra raised her eyebrows to show that she was serious. ‘Then I can be a feminist like your friend Megan. I’ll have to resit a couple of my GCSEs before I can think about anything else. I filled out my application form today.’

  ‘That’s awesome news, Karra!’ I was pleased for her.

  ‘Cheers,’ she said. ‘Will you look over my application to see if it’s OK to send off? I don’t want to mess anything up.’ She looked a bit embarrassed.

  ‘Of course I’ll have a look for you,’ I said. ‘But it’s probably fine as it is. I bet you’ve done a great job.’

  She smiled, and we carried on studying.

  I still hadn’t spoken to Karra about Stacey Lock. I did try a couple of times, but she was always so edgy these days. On the rare occasions she was in a good mood, I didn’t want to spoil things. So I just kept quiet.

  Things had escalated with Lucas. He had updated his relationship status on Facebook to: ‘It’s complicated.’ Karra wasn’t amused by this. Adding insult to injury, he had also been tagged in a photo, drinking Sourz with Sticky Vicky on the big swings in the park. It wouldn’t have been so bad if the photo was just on Facebook, but it was also on Instagram. Karra was mortified. He was making a fool of her online. It was the ultimate betrayal.

  Since then, Karra had been more volatile than ever, and you really had to watch what you said around her because if the wrong words came out of your mouth, she was very likely to smack you in it. So when she wanted to spend some time with me, I couldn’t help but feel happy. I had never known her to take an interest in anything educational before now, and I was surprised at how quickly she picked things up. I said that considering she didn’t go to school or anything, I thought she was pretty smart. I think she appreciated the compliment, because she gave me half of her chocolate bar.

  Speaking of school, since the incident in English class with Stacey Lock, something had switched inside me. I had started hearing her thoughts more often. It was weird. I knew I wasn’t hearing her exact thoughts. It was a bit like having a bad signal when you’re talking to someone on your mobile phone. You catch the odd word here and there, and it’s really clear, but then it goes all crackly and you lose the connection again.

  The more it happened, the more I was convinced that I wasn’t imagining things. I couldn’t be.

  I didn’t understand what was happening. And I didn’t understand why it was happening now. I had moved to a children’s home. I was being bullied. My mother was in the nuthouse. I mean, talk about rubbish timing!

  The worst thing was, I didn’t have anyone to talk to about it. When Nana Rose was alive, she was a good clairvoyant, and would often chat about her gift. She thrived on anything extraordinary. She told me that we were very lucky to be part of such a strong psychic line, and that we were all gifted in one way or another. But since she died, there had been no talk of such things.

  Grandma Coalman was open-minded about all this. But her knowledge of psychic ability really only stretched as far as the telly.

  So here I was – hearing voices – and I couldn’t tell anybody because I knew they would think I was going crazy. I couldn’t even tell Megan. What would she say? What would she think? I felt so stupid, so embarrassed. How do you explain something like this?

  When Mum was younger, she had talked about her gift at school. She was ridiculed and made to feel like a freak. What if the same thing happened to me? What if I confided in somebody and then they turned on me and told everyone I was a liar or a lunatic? I didn’t know if I could cope with that!

  I needed to find out what was so different about me and my family. And why did Stacey Lock seem to trigger it? Would it get stronger or weaker as I got older? Would Freya go through the same thing? And why had it started happening now?

  There were so many questions. And now that Nana Rose was gone, I knew that there was really only one person left who could teach me.

  Mum.

  TWENTY-TWO

  ‘SHE WHAT?’ Mum paced back and forth in the hospital room, eyes narrowed, ready to fight. With hindsight, maybe I should have left out the bit about Stacey Lock slamming the locker door in my face.

  ‘Let me see.’ Mum inspected my nose, lifting my nostrils up in the air.

  ‘I’m fine, Mum. The nurse said it was OK – it isn’t broken or anything.’

  ‘THE NURSE?’ she shouted, throwing her hands in the air. ‘You had to go to the HOSPITAL?’

  ‘No,
no!’ I tried to calm her down. ‘It was just the school nurse. It was a bit swollen, but it’s better now.’

  ‘I’ll break her nose!’ Mum was raging. ‘The little cow. I’ve never liked Stacey Lock. She’s exactly like her Auntie Zoe. Always has been … always will be. Three generations this has been going on for! Three poxy generations!’

  What did she mean? What had been going on for three generations?

  ‘First, it was your Nana Rose!’ Mum shouted as she circled the room. ‘Zoe’s mother, Stacey’s grandmother, had a very turbulent relationship with Nana Rose. And then Zoe tried to bully me when we were growing up. Not that she had much luck. I gave her a good run for her money!’ She smiled for a second, before remembering her rant.

  ‘And now it’s you!’ she fumed. ‘Now Stacey is picking on you. When will that family just back off?’

  ‘But what is it about us?’ I asked. ‘Don’t you think it’s a bit odd that they keep picking on the same family?’

  ‘Not under the circumstances,’ said Mum, and then she stopped.

  ‘What does that mean?’ I looked at Mum.

  ‘Nothing!’ She rummaged angrily through the bedside cabinet.

  ‘What are you looking for?’

  ‘My cigs.’ She pulled out a silver packet.

  ‘But you can’t smoke in here, Mum. What about the smoke alarms?’

  ‘That’s what the windows are for.’ She walked across the room and lit a cigarette. She hung her arm out of the window and blew the smoke sideways so it drifted out into the cold November air.

  I watched her scowl as she stared at the concrete jungle outside. The room was still, except for the opaque clouds of ghost-like smoke that crept back in and lazily danced above the furniture.

  We were quiet for a moment, and I saw a tear ski down my mother’s cheek. It dropped onto her neck and ran down her shoulder until it disappeared into her skin. She turned away so I couldn’t see her upset.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ she asked, not looking at me.

  I shrugged.

  ‘Don’t shrug your shoulders. I asked you a question.’

  ‘How did you know I shrugged my shoulders?’ I asked. ‘You’re facing the opposite direction.’

  ‘Mother’s intuition,’ she replied. ‘Now, why didn’t you tell me what was happening?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I answered. ‘What was the point?’

  ‘I’m your mother!’ She spun around to look at me, her eyes watering fiercely. ‘I have a right to know if my daughter is being bullied.’

  She took a deep drag of her cigarette. She blew the smoke out of the window with a force, and the wind mimicked her and whistled hard, sending the smoke ricocheting back into the room and into my mother’s eyes.

  ‘Damn!’ She rubbed her eyes with the palm of her hand. She flicked the cigarette so it flew outside and was hurled back towards the window, but it was already shut. Not even the wind was quick enough to catch my mother a second time.

  She put her cigarettes away and washed her hands. She reached into the cupboard. ‘Do you want a drink?’ she asked.

  I nodded.

  She walked back over with a can of pop in each hand, and sat next to me. She passed one of the cans to me, and as I took it, she gently brushed my finger with her thumb.

  ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you what was going on,’ I said.

  ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you to tell,’ she said, and I realised that she wasn’t really angry with me, but with herself. ‘Stacey Lock aside, I would have liked to have been there to help you with this. This is an important time in your life, Em.’

  We opened our cans of pop and I felt relief as I enjoyed the first sips of the sweet, fruity drink. We finished drinking at the same time and breathed out loudly, our eyes stinging from the fizz.

  I burped.

  My mother smiled and held my hand. ‘So…’ She took another swig of her drink and looked at me, raising her eyebrows. ‘You’re the Listener in the family, eh?’

  TWENTY-THREE

  The Seer.

  The Sensitive.

  The Listener.

  The Channel.

  These were the names given to the women in our family.

  The Seer had the gift of clairvoyance –seeing things other people couldn’t see.

  The Sensitive had the gift of clairsentience –feeling other people’s feelings.

  The Listener had the gift of clairaudience –hearing other people’s thoughts.

  And the Channel had all these abilities combined.

  Psychic bitches, say whaaaat? This was like something out of a film!

  Mum said that our gifts went back hundreds of years, and each generation got stronger. Nobody ever knew which gift they would inherit, until it kicked in. And there was no telling when it would activate, or why. You just had to be ready to receive it. And apparently, I was ready.

  I was a Listener.

  ‘Explain to me again: what gift does a Listener have?’ I asked.

  ‘Clairaudience,’ said Mum.

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Clear-Hearing,’ she answered. ‘That’s why you can sometimes “hear” what’s going on around you, even though nobody is speaking out loud. It means that somehow, you can tune in and listen with your inner ears, so you’re able to hear on a different level to normal people. Kind of like a dog.’

  ‘Oh, thanks a lot!’ I laughed.

  ‘OK, like a dog who can read people’s minds!’ Mum grinned.

  ‘O … M … G!’ I put my hands to my face. ‘Is this what’s been happening to me? I’m turning into some kind of prodigy!’

  ‘Calm down, Supergirl.’ Mum rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t get too excited, because I don’t want you blabbing about all this to your friends. Nobody can know. Do you understand me?’

  I sighed and nodded my head.

  Mum said that we had to keep this side of ourselves quiet because people didn’t understand. But just because you didn’t understand or didn’t believe in something, didn’t mean you should dismiss it.

  Mum reached over to tidy the strands of hair that had loosened at the back of my neck. I turned around in my chair and she started plaiting my hair as we talked about Stacey Lock, and how I could hear her thoughts. I explained that when I heard her talking, it was sometimes rushed, jumbled-up speech that seemed to jump from one topic to the next in the space of a second.

  ‘That’s because you’re not always hearing her actual thoughts,’ said Mum. ‘You’re tapping into her subconscious. Her thoughts and feelings are coming through to you, but because they change from one second to the next, the information you get is changing at the same speed.’

  Ahhh, that made sense. I mean, I doubt it was possible to keep count of your thoughts. But if you could, I reckoned we probably had thousands of thoughts per day! And thoughts just kind of come and go, without any real order or routine. If you see something colourful, you start thinking about it. And then it reminds you of another thing. Then you smell something, and the scent reminds you of a place or event, so your brain starts thinking about that. And then that place or event reminds you of a person. And it goes on and on and on. No wonder I couldn’t always really make sense of what I was hearing.

  ‘When it first started for me,’ said Mum, ‘it was difficult to catch a feeling or vibration and hold it for long enough to read it properly. It drove me mad!’ She laughed, oblivious to the irony of what she was saying.

  ‘What do you mean, read it properly?’ I asked.

  ‘When you read someone, you’re sort of tuning into them,’ she said. ‘When you catch a thought or emotion that belongs to them, if you can focus on it properly, you can analyze it – or read it, as we say. It’s a bit like reading a book or watching a film. You have to make the effort to interpret the story properly.’

  I was fascinated.

  She plaited the last section in the back of my hair, and then tied it together with a bobble. I turned back around to face
her.

  ‘But how do you know whether you’ve got it right or not?’ I asked. ‘How do you know if it genuinely is what the other person is thinking or feeling? What if it’s just your imagination?’

  ‘You won’t always get it right, Em,’ she said. ‘There will be times when you get things wrong. But you have to learn to trust your instinct.’

  ‘And what if I don’t want this to happen to me? If I just ignore it, will it go away?’

  She shook her head and patted my hand. ‘When you’re made like this, you can’t just switch it off.’

  Mum said that these things didn’t have a curriculum – you couldn’t get all the answers after one lesson or one year. You never stopped learning. Which was a bit of bummer, I reckoned.

  ‘So, if I’m a Listener, then what are you?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m a Sensitive,’ she replied, rubbing her shoulders because she was getting a chill.

  I looked puzzled, so she gave me an example.

  ‘If someone has a headache, then I can feel their headache,’ she said. ‘If someone has something wrong with them, I feel it in my own body as though it’s happening to me. I experience the same symptoms, the same feelings and emotions, and the same energy as anyone who is near me – near my aura, as I call it.’

  ‘That’s sick!’ I said. ‘So how do you protect yourself?’

  ‘In my mind, I draw a pink circle around my body,’ she answered. ‘It’s like a bubble of protection.’

  ‘I’ll have to learn how to do that,’ I said.

  ‘I’ll teach you, soon.’ She smiled.

  ‘And Nana Rose was a Seer?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes,’ answered Mum. ‘Nana Rose had the gift of clairvoyance – which means clear-vision or clear-seeing. That could mean seeing spirits, it could mean seeing the past and future, or it could mean seeing what goes through people’s minds. Nana Rose could see everything except spirits. She was Seer, but she wasn’t a Channel.’

  ‘What’s a Channel?’ I asked.