Authors: Joanna Sellick
‘Thank
you,’ he whispers into my hair. I pull back and frown at him with confusion. He
smiles softly. ‘Thank you for showing me this, I know it can’t have been easy.’
‘If you
were anyone else, I don’t think I could have,’ I say quietly.
‘Neve,’ he
asks, his throat working. ‘Can you promise me something?’
Not
trusting myself to speak, I just nod.
‘If
anything were to happen… to me… If I had to leave, promise you’ll be okay?
Promise you’ll be strong for me?’
I look at
him quizzically but Jay looks deadly serious. I frown and my heart speeds up
rapidly.
‘Are you
leaving?’ I say, panic rising in my throat.
Jay moves
a piece of hair behind my ear and tips my chin upwards.
‘I will
never leave you, Neve. No matter what happens, I’ll never leave you.’
And it
sounds like a promise.
Jay tried
to get me to go to Kai’s New Years Eve party, he really did. But that’s a line
I’m not ready to cross just yet. So instead, Charlie and I spend the night in,
watching movies like usual and standing up to watch the count down. We even do
the dance to that song we’re supposed to sing even though no one really knows
the words. It’s not a great sight, especially with Charlie being slightly
tipsy.
My week
was slightly productive though. I finished my applications for various college
courses but aside from that I allowed myself to indulge in laziness, only
forcing myself to revise when Jay sent me reminder texts.
Yet, as I
sit in Charlie’s battered car with my new purple headphones blaring loud music
in my ears, staring out of the window longingly on the drive up to my
Grandma’s, I decide I would rather take revising over anything right now.
‘And you
couldn’t find anything more… civil to wear,’ Charlie sighs, shaking his head as
he drives. I smirk.
‘It’s not
my fault all my smart stuff is in the wash. If she really loves me, she won’t
mind what I wear,’ I add innocently.
I have
been very careful this morning to choose an outfit that goes against my Grandma
completely. It consists of my black combat boots, patterned leggings, an old,
baggy band T-shirt and leather jacket. My nails are also painted black and I’ve
given my hair that stylish just-gotten-out-of-bed look.
She’s
going to love it.
‘Just like
your mother,’ Charlie grumbles, shaking his head. Apparently Mum hated Grandma
too; she was just a lot more tolerant of her than I am.
I laugh
and get back to daydreaming out of the window as the rolling countryside passes
us by. My Grandmother lives in a huge house that can even trump the
Ellsworth’s. It’s an old Victorian mansion sort of a house in the middle of
nowhere.
Just the
sight of it makes me want to throw up.
From an
architectural point of view though, the house is amazing. Everything about the
building is old, right down to the original foundations and even the
replacement windows have been designed to fit in with its previous era.
Unfortunately
there is no giant wall or iron gates. That would have been cool.
Strings of
ivy and other plants coat the old bricks, so in autumn the outside is alive
with vivid reds and purples although currently everything is various colours of
brown, except the front garden, which looks as pristine as ever.
But even
though the house is beautiful, something about it still makes my skin crawl,
unless it’s just the knowledge of who lives there.
I never
knew my Grandfather, he died of a heart attack when Charlie was seventeen, so
it’s just my Grandmother living in this mansion, with all this money, while
we’re stuck in a two bedroom terrace house.
Don’t get
me wrong, I’m completely aware she owes me nothing, but Charlie? I can’t see
how she can watch her youngest son struggle with his finances and look after
his dead brother’s teenage daughter and not help at all. But she doesn’t, all
she does do is criticise him.
Charlie
always defends her by saying that his mother is a firm believer in earning what
you get, not wanting her son to turn into a spoilt brat, which I can again
understand, but it isn’t like Charlie doesn’t try.
Begrudgingly,
Charlie pulls up the car, our old Clio looking out of place against the large and
more expensive cars parked outside the house.
‘Okay,’
Charlie murmurs to himself, nervously tugging at his tie. He’s wearing his best
suit with a crisp light-blue shirt and black tie. He runs a hand through his
hair next, double-checking his reflection in the mirror.
‘Charlie,
you look fine,’ I assure him with a smile, patting his hand supportively.
Charlie sends me a weak smile before groaning at my choice in clothes again. I
smirk.
‘Just
please, be nice?’ he reasons. I roll my eyes.
‘I’m
always nice. Even when she does bitch-’
‘Neve.’
‘Even when
she does say such sweet things,’ I correct myself with the fakest grin I can
muster. This time, Charlie rolls his eyes.
‘Okay,
here’s the game plan. We get in there, avoid the people giving me the
skank-eye, make small talk to a few of the nicer looking old people and then
get out of there,’ he instructs, readying himself.
‘So
basically we talk to no one?’ I laugh. ‘Come on, let’s get this over with.’
I get out
with a reluctant Charlie following me, the mild breeze surprisingly warm as it
whips around us. We stick close, making our way up the deserted pathway, (we’re
running slightly late) and knock on the huge oak door.
So help
me, my Grandmother
does
have a
butler.
At least
for today she does so I nod my head to him as he takes our coats and I step
into the foyer.
The inside
of the house is just as grand as its shell, with its original wooden beams
running along the ceiling and pretty paintings lining the walls, which I
normally use as a distraction whenever I’m here.
The whole
feel of the place makes me wish I was dressed a bit smarter, but then I
remember why I never feel welcome here and divert my eyes from the décor as we
find our way into one of the largest rooms.
Liquor is
the first smell to hit me, followed quickly by the intense fog of perfumes
coming off the various guests, all of whom are dressed in elegant gowns or
suits. The age range differs from those in their late thirties to the elderly,
each with champagne flutes held delicately in their hands, their own outfits
probably costing more than Charlie’s car.
No one
greets us or spares a look in our direction as we push through to find Grandma
sitting gracefully in a leather seat. She’s an imposing woman, despite her
small height. Her silver hair is pulled back in a bun and a pearl necklace
hangs around her neck. Grandma’s green suit jacket and skirt is pristine, not a
crease out of place. A shinning, emerald broach completes the look.
When she
catches sight of us, she detaches herself from the couple she is talking to and
approaches us in an impatient manner, her cold stare enough to send little boys
running into their mother’s arms.
‘Mother,’
Charlie greets, kissing her on both cheeks in greeting. I make no such move.
‘Charles.
Neve,’ Grandma greets, disdain filling her stony expression as she looks me up
and down. I think she almost accepts the outfit until she sees the boots.
‘Better late than never, I suppose. It saddens me to think my lessons of
punctuality didn’t sink in.’
Charlie
grimaces.
‘It’s a
long way to travel, you can never estimate the traffic,’ Charlie says lightly,
playing with the end of his tie nervously.
Grandma
waves a hand dismissively.
‘Anyone
can be anywhere they need to be if they have the right commitment, take my
other guests as an example. And stop fidgeting, it makes you look like a
misbehaving schoolboy. Neve, I see your taste hasn’t improved since I last saw
you.’
‘It’s a
pleasure to see you again, Granny,’ I say through a tight-lipped smile, letting
the comment wash over me. Her expression hardens even more.
‘If you
must address me by such ridiculous titles, you will address me with
Grandmother. I hope you extend better courtesy to my guests, Neve.’
‘Of
course, Grandmother,’ I assure her, resisting the urge to grab one of the fancy
drinks on offer and pour it down her front. Then I slip away from her and her
beady stare, taking a glass of champagne from a passing waiter before disappearing
into the hall. I’m not a big fan of bubbly, but something has to get me through
this.
Normally
I’m content to admire the art on display across the ground floor but today I
decide to be a bit more explorative and find my way up to the first floor.
After a quick dart in and out of various rooms, I make my way up to the second
floor and stroll along the hall, taking sips of my drink every now and then.
I notice
one of the heavy oak doors ajar and slip into the room, closing the door behind
me. This room is an office and follows the same décor as the rest of the house,
except it’s obvious that no one has worked in here for years.
Knowing my
Grandma has an obsession for keeping everything in its place, the room
intrigues me. Photos line the shelves along with a few trophies and the
furniture looks used but stiff, as if no one has sat down for a long time. A
wide, mahogany desk takes up the end of the room, situated in front of a huge
window overlooking the gardens.
Although
bits of stationary have been cleaned away, pen pots and empty filing boxes
still sit on the desk and gently, I lower myself into the leather chair. An
old, faded photo in a thick wooden frame resigns on one side so that whoever
was sat at the desk had a clear view of it and I pick it up to take a closer
look.
With a
start, I realise this must be my Granddad’s old study. Even more surprisingly,
I realise that the two boys in the photo are my Dad and Charlie. My Dad seems
to be about sixteen or so, with a cricket bat in one hand and the other around
a nine year-old Charlie, who beams ridiculously at the camera.
I have
always known Charlie and my Dad had grown up here, but I’ve never really
thought about it whenever I have come before. Gently, I place the photo frame
back and glance around at the rest of the photos, able to pick the two of them
out easily now.
Charlie
and my Dad shared the same soft brown locks that have been passed onto me,
although mine tends to be straighter whereas theirs are heavily curled. Dad
also has pale blue eyes similar to Alex’s, whereas I have inherited my Mum’s
hazel ones.
A lot of
them are old photos from when they were both a lot younger, some of my Dad
graduating from university or holding up various trophies for cricket and other
sports.
My gaze
then drifts to the two seats on the other side of the room, a small table next
to them, still with a silver tray lying on it ready to hold a bottle of scotch.
I wonder if my Dad ever sat there with his Dad?
I leave
the small study and emerge back into the hallway with renewed interest. I try
to find the boy’s bedrooms for some more clues as to what my Dad was like but
they come up bare, unused after so many years. They had both moved out after
all, so they lack any personal items.
Frowning,
I look towards a new direction before a small table pushed up against the wall
in the hallway catches my attention. It’s the type of table used to display
things like candles and vases, made from the same mahogany wood with delicate
vine designs crawling up the legs.
There is
yet another photo frame propped up on this one, this time a wedding photo. My
parents smile up at me, their arms tangled around each other with expressions
of pure joy on their features.
My dad is
in a black suit, a pale pink tie complimenting the flowers that have been
weaved into my mother’s fair coloured hair. Aside from the hair colour, I look
most like my mum, and seeing her looking so young is bewildering.
I don’t
have many photos of my parents, and I certainly haven’t looked at them enough
to know anything but the faint lines of their most prominent features; like
dad’s eyes or mum’s warm smile. I certainly don’t know them.
I have
never wanted to know, never wanted to find out. I have only wanted them with
me, and shied away from them when they never came back. That’s how I’ve lived
my life, but now something starts to unhinge and I smile back at the photo, a
tear rolling down my cheek and splashing onto the glass.
My mum’s
dress is as beautiful as her, floor length with capped sleeves and flowery
patterns sewn into the white fabric. Confetti floats around the two of them,
enclosing my parents in their very own world and I hug the frame to my chest.
Just for a moment, I’m a part of that world too.
Still
clutching the frame, I go in search of Charlie, only to find him still in the
same room, a glass of champagne held tightly in his hand. I imagine that isn’t
his first glass.
‘All I’m
saying Charles is that a man isn’t judged on who he is, he is judged on how he
presents himself. A salesman is hardly a worthy career for one with such a
great upbringing as yourself,’ my Grandmother chastises, now perched on one of
her very uncomfortable looking sofas while Charlie stands awkwardly. ‘Your
brother was a doctor. Now that is a deserving profession and one he used to the
best of his advantage to provide for his family.’
Charlie
just nods along to everything she says, trying to look impassive even though I
know it’s eating him up inside. Although he will never admit it, I know how much
he wants to please his mother. Charlie wouldn’t be here otherwise.
‘It’s that
girl, Neve. She should be making her way in the world, not faffing around with
paints and what have you. A strong woman needs to know what she wants in order
to get what she wants, not to have her head in the clouds. And have you even
paid attention to what she is wearing lately? Heaven forbid if she ever finds a
man, especially with that ghastly dye in her hair.’