by Isobel Hart
Cold Comfort
By
Isobel Hart
Text copyright © 2016 Isobel Hart
All rights reserved
Chapter 1
I slung my handbag over my shoulder, picked up my guitar and collapsed the handle on my suitcase, struggling when I tried to lift its dead weight up the step and onto the train. People eddied past me impatiently without a single offer of help, only an occasional frustrated huff because I was blocking their path. I ignored them all. I didn’t need their help – I didn’t need anyone’s help. I would manage on my own.
Finally inside the carriage I wheeled my suitcase towards the luggage rack and inserted it between a misshapen rucksack (that looked like it had circumnavigated the world at least a couple of times) and a cricket kit bag, bat handles poking out of their special pockets on the side. I stared down at my own case. It contained everything I owned in the world right now, everything I had been able to grab in the short hours I’d had to pack and get away. It wasn’t much, but it would have to be enough. At least I had my guitar.
I took a deep breath, straightened my shoulders and pushed them back as I looked down the carriage for a seat, heaving my tired body towards an unoccupied space and placing my guitar on the shelf above before I sat down. I clasped my handbag to my chest, grateful to have the small row to myself as I allowed my body to relax for the first time in what felt like days. I was exhausted, and I still needed to get to where I was meant to be staying tonight.
I rummaged around in my bag for the piece of paper Mama had handed me just before I left. I’d checked it every time I’d had a chance to, the address now burned into my memory. This was the final leg of my journey, and that piece of paper was my only hope that I’d have somewhere to sleep later on. As I felt my eyes fill with self-pity tears I scolded myself to stay strong.
Only this morning I’d said goodbye to Mama; the only person who really loved me, the only friend I had, the only one in my entire life who had always stuck by me. She had sacrificed herself, unbeknownst to me, at great personal cost. Now I had no idea when I would even be able to see her again. I couldn’t risk it because of them. I’d begged her to come with me, but she’d refused. I’d never understand why… how she could choose that life… it beggared belief. The thought of her with that man brought more tears to my eyes and bile to my stomach. I forced myself to swallow to stop myself from vomiting and pushed the image away from my mind, choosing instead to fill it with the view out the window – the rolling hills of the South Downs.
Emotions buttoned down once more, I pondered my predicament. I was alone and penniless. Every last drop of Mama’s savings had gone to pay for the first year of a BA in Music course for me at Sussex University. She’d helped my dream come true, but at what cost to her? I could only hope this upheaval would be worth it, that it would mean the start of a new life. A better life, one that would mean I could pay her back one day. God knew things couldn’t really get much worse. Life hadn’t exactly panned out as I’d hoped it might. Not that I could blame anyone but myself – I’d believed in the fairy tale and trusted the wrong person. Over and over again he’d spun me lies, and I’d believed him. I wouldn’t make that mistake again.
I thought of him then; his chocolate brown eyes and his dark, unruly hair, with a fringe that fell over one eye that he’d been forever running his hands through. I remembered the soft feel of it when I pushed it away for him. I thought about when he’d smiled, the dimples that had appeared, and then when he’d brushed his lips against mine so sweetly… Stop! I warned myself. I can’t go there. Not today. I just needed to get to where I was staying. That would use all the strength I had. As Mama had said; ‘It’s not the beginning of the end, just the end of the beginning’. I needed to remember that and get on with my life. Most of all I needed to forget all about him.
Ten years earlier…
So far I liked living here. Mama had said I could play in the garden as long as I wasn’t too noisy. I wasn’t; I’d been as quiet as the mice I sometimes saw creeping around the edges of the hay barn when I sat still on top of the bales they kept in there. Anyway, this garden was massive. Bigger than the park Mama used to take me to when we fed the ducks near our old house. I think even if I had been majorly noisy no one would have heard me. It wasn’t as if there was anyone around here to hear anything anyway. Just me and the mice. Exactly how I liked it.
Mama had told me she looked after the big house for the man who lived there. He’d met us at his enormous front door when we’d first arrived. She was good at looking after people. She’d looked after me all by herself ever since Daddy had left us to go and live with his other family. He’d made her cry, so I was cross with him for that. Mama didn’t know I knew about the other family, but I had heard her talking to our old neighbour one day. She’d been crying and angry because he hadn’t come to see me on my birthday. I didn’t really care that he hadn’t. I didn’t need him or his presents. Those other kids could have him. If he couldn’t see she was the best Mama in the world, he didn’t deserve her. Or me for that matter. None of my friends at school had Mamas nearly as nice as mine. Not even Emily. I was lucky, and we were just fine on our own, especially now she had her new job.
I didn’t like the man in the house, though. He had a beard and small, mean eyes that had stared at me and Mama when we arrived – I didn’t like them. Mama had told me to make sure I kept out of his way, but since that first day I hadn’t even seen him once. He never seemed to come into his garden, despite how lovely it was, and I never went near the big house let alone inside it. I didn’t need to, nor did I want to. Our little cottage was much nicer.
The only downside was how busy Mama was. I barely saw her until suppertime most days, and even then she often had to go out again later. I guessed it was a big house, so it took a lot of looking after, but sometimes she seemed really sad when she got in. Sad and tired. When I asked her what the matter was, she would just tell me she was tired from all the hard work he made her do. I had a feeling there was more she didn’t want to tell me, but I didn’t want to make her feel even worse, so I never pushed it.
Some days she worked such long hours I missed her badly. But on the plus side, it meant that once I got home from school I could pretty much do what I wanted. Today I wanted to go on the trapeze again.
I had found it about two weeks ago while exploring the garden. Now I liked to come here every day after school. Emily’s mum normally picked Emily and me up from the playground and dropped me off at our gate. I would walk down the driveway on my own, back to the cottage where there was always a snack waiting for me. Once I had eaten whatever Mama had left and drunk some milk, I would come here to the trapeze. It was in the part of the garden furthest from the house, hidden away in a little clearing – as if someone had wanted to keep it a secret. But I had found it. I’d already explored everywhere else; this was definitely the best bit in the whole place.
The swing looked like someone had made it themselves because the wood was rough – I’d already had one splinter from it – but I didn’t care. The ropes that held it together, as well as the ones tied onto the branch, had knots that looked a little disorganised – like maybe the person didn’t really know how to tie them properly. It was okay, though. I’d been on it, and it was strong enough to hold me.
Today it was warm and sunny. I liked the long summer days that meant I could play outside until Mama called me in for supper. Even better, it was almost the summer holidays. Just a couple more weeks to go. For once I wasn’t bothered that I was the only person not having a holiday abroad somewhere. I knew we couldn’t afford it. Mama had said that maybe next year we might be able to go overseas if we were careful with our money now, but I didn’t care. This place was better than t
he places most people went to for holidays, I reckoned. Or at least as good, anyway. There was a farm down the road I planned to ask if I could visit, and the rest of the time I intended to spend swinging on the trapeze.
I’d decided I wanted to join a circus when I was old enough. I had seen a T.V. show about them once. They had been really high up, higher than the trapeze here, and had jumped from one trapeze to another. It had been amazing and made me want to try it myself. Today I planned to swing upside down by my knees for the first time. Maybe I would put a second trapeze up when I got better at it. Then I could practice swinging from one to another.
I pushed through the branches of the bushes that guarded the swing, ignoring scratches from the brambles and stings from nettles that were hidden beneath them as I forced my way through until I emerged into the small clearing. It was good to be back. I’d told Emily about the place – I couldn’t help myself because I was so excited after the first day I’d found it – but I was glad she hadn’t come here yet. I didn’t want her to. I wanted it to be mine.
Luckily Mama didn’t want me to have people over until I was older anyway. She said that, although she knew I could be sensible to look after myself, she’d worry about having another child here in case they were silly and she wasn’t there to stop them. Emily could be a bit silly sometimes – she was a show-off. And a bit bossy. If she came here she’d want to be on the trapeze all the time. She’d take it over, and I’d have to let her because she was the guest and Mama always said you had to let the guest have whatever they wanted, however annoying they were. Emily always wanted everything I had, even though she had much more stuff than me.
I stood below the trapeze, just looking at it for a moment, admiring it, before I bent my knees and sprang. It was a stretch. My fingers grasped at the rough horizontal wood surface as I shifted my weight again to get a better grip. It had taken me two days of trying before I even managed to get a hold of the bar, but now I’d been doing it for a while it was getting easier. I was getting stronger. I hung there for a few moments, liking the feel of the pull across my shoulders and the stretch down my back, as if the bones were separating slightly. The first time I’d got a hold I’d only hung there for a second or two before my fingers had slipped and I’d dropped back down to the ground. Now I could thread my legs through my arms and slip them over the bar so that I was able to pull myself up into a sitting position.
The bar was narrow and dug into the backs of my legs, but I didn’t care. I spent a good while just swinging. My long hair blew around me whilst the swing carried me back and forth. I could get quite high now. I’d done it before, although the branches did creak a bit sometimes, which worried me. I also found that if I tipped my head back as I swung it made me feel dizzy – gave me a kind of tingly feeling. I liked that a lot.
Once I finished swinging I decided to try hanging by my knees, like I had seen them do on the programme. I held onto the bar, making sure my knees were gripping on tightly, before I let go with my hands and slowly curled my body down, my hands reaching towards the ground. If I fell I figured at least my hands might stop me bashing my head too badly. The weight of my body pulled across the backs of my legs where they met the bar, but it didn’t hurt. It was fine. In fact it felt nice. Another delicious stretch.
I hung there, enjoying the view from upside down, as I watched an ant carrying a dead wasp on its back, when a voice made me nearly jump out of my skin: “Who are you?”
How I didn’t fall on my head I’ll never know. I was already cross that the stranger had frightened me, but the voice was also kind of bossy. I didn’t like it. I twisted myself around to get a look, still upside down. A boy was standing at the edge of the clearing, staring at me. He looked annoyed too, although I couldn’t imagine why. “Who are you?” I asked right back. At school Emily had always told me attack was the best form of defence – right before she was mean to someone. I thought this time she might be right. “What are you doing here? It’s private.” I tried to make my voice sound equally bossy. It was hard to do when I was hanging by my knees.
“What are you doing here? I live here,” he informed me, moving around so that at least he was now standing in front of me and I didn’t have to twist to see him.
“No you don’t,” I insisted, sticking my chin out defiantly. I didn’t want him to know he’d scared me. He looked older than me. I just wanted him to go. “I live here, and I’ve never seen you before.”
“That’s because I’ve been at school.”
“What, all day and all night?” I used the voice Mama didn’t like. She said it was ‘sarcastic’.
“No, stupid. Boarding school. I sleep there and come home here when I have to – for the summer holidays.”
“I’m not stupid,” I immediately defended myself, before thinking about what he’d just told me. “You sleep at school? That’s awful.” I couldn’t imagine being forced to stay at school all day and all night.
“It’s good for me,” he said. It sounded like something a grown-up had told him once, and I told him so. For the first time he smiled at me, and I noticed that when he smiled he had nice eyes and small dimples in his cheeks. From what I could see from my current vantage point his eyes were dark brown, but when he smiled they looked warmer.
“Maybe they did,” he admitted. “Anyway it’s an okay school. I like being with my friends.” He paused and looked at me again, cocking his head to the side. “You’re showing your knickers like a slut.”
I wasn’t entirely sure what a slut was, but I could tell just by the way he had said it that it wasn’t a nice thing. I felt embarrassed. I hadn’t really noticed that my school skirt had dropped over my chest as I hung there; I hadn’t bothered to change out of my uniform before coming outside to play. I didn’t normally care if the boys at school saw my knickers when I did cartwheels and handstands, but for some reason having this boy point it out made me feel awkward. I tried to fold my skirt back up and tuck it under my knees, but the movement disrupted my balance, and before I knew what was happening I was falling to the ground. I landed in a heap, my hands only just moving in time to break my fall slightly.
“God, are you okay?” he asked, rushing to my side. I swallowed back the tears that threatened to spill. It hurt, but I didn’t want to look weak in front of this boy.
“I’m fine.”
“No you’re not. You’re bleeding.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. I knew what they were because I’d read about them in books, but I’d never seen a real one before. We only used paper tissues in our house. He dabbed it against my forehead, and when he pulled it away it was covered in blood. He quickly pressed it back against the wound and secured my own hand over it to keep it in place. “You need to wash the cut,” he told me. “It’s got a load of dirt in it. It’ll get infected if you don’t.” I nodded without saying anything, still not quite trusting myself not to cry. “Can you get up?” he asked. I nodded again and slowly pulled my legs beneath me, attempting to stand. His hand came under me, supporting my weight until I found my balance. I felt a little dizzy, unsure if it was from bashing my head, the blood, or the fact the boy was standing so close.
“I’m fine,” I said again, uncertain whether I was telling him or myself. “I need to get home.” I took a step backwards.
“Will you be back tomorrow?” he asked.
“Maybe. After school,” I replied, taking a second step away before I realised I was still holding the hanky to my head. I held the bloody object out towards him.
“Keep it,” he said, and smiled again. I nodded and turned, heading back through the bushes until his voice stopped me. “What’s your name?”
“Delilah,” I replied, looking back at him over my shoulder.
“I’m Hardy.” I nodded again, to let him know I had heard, but said nothing. I turned and then just kept walking until I was back at the cottage, sensing his eyes on me all the while.
Chapter 2
By the time Mama got h
ome to make supper I’d done quite a good job of cleaning out the dirt from the cut, but it was still bleeding.
“What have you done, Lila?” she exclaimed as soon as she saw all the blood, rushing to my side.
“I’ve cleaned it out,” I reassured her. “I fell. I just can’t get it to stop bleeding.” For some reason I didn’t want to tell her about the trapeze. I think I was worried she’d tell me not to go there again. I didn’t want that. It hadn’t been the trapeze’s fault, it was that boy’s – Hardy.
“Head wounds are tricky,” she informed me. “They always bleed a lot. You have to keep something pressed against it. Here, let me have a look,” she said, peeling away the tissue I had been using once the hankie got too full of blood. “You need to use fabric on a cut, not tissue. Tissue will leave bits behind in it.” She moved to get a clean cloth from the drawer and returned to my side. “It’s nasty but not too deep,” she said as she dabbed at it. “You shouldn’t need stitches, but you may be left with a little scar. Your fringe will hide it, though, and god knows you’re more than beautiful enough to cope with a tiny scar.” I smiled at that. She always told me I was beautiful. I couldn’t see it myself – my eyes were a weird violet blue colour, while my hair was so dark it looked black. I thought I looked strange and wished I had blonde hair and normal blue eyes like Emily.
“How did you fall?” she asked, disturbing my thoughts. “It must have been quite a bash. I think you caught your nose too. You look like you’ve got a black eye coming. You weren’t unconscious at all, were you?”
“I was running, and I fell and hit my head on a log. It’s fine,” I reassured her, waving my hand. “I was awake the whole time.”
“You shouldn’t be on your own so much.”
“It was my own fault.” I crossed my fingers at the fib. I knew she didn’t like me being on my own after school, but it was worth it if it meant she didn’t have to worry about money so much. The job had provided us with a home, and for the first time since Daddy left Mama had been laughing again, when she wasn’t too tired. “I’ll take better care next time.” She nodded, but I could still see the worry in her eyes. “How was your day?” I asked, hoping to distract her.