“It kept her busy and took her mind off things. Just be polite,” Moffy whispers into my ear behind me.
I know she has a point. I have spent all my time thinking about how today will affect me, but I haven’t once spared a thought to how my mum must be feeling. It's a day she probably thought they would share together. After all, it’s not every day your only daughter turns eighteen.
Eighteen and I don’t know where the time has gone. Wow. I’ve done nothing but spend my time consumed by thoughts of my dad since finding out about his illness, almost two years ago. I’m finding it impossible to stop. I know I need to start focusing on my life, especially considering my exams start in a week. The head teacher has mentioned something about “special consideration.” I think that’s where they take into account the emotional difficulties I have had to face over recent months or something like that. If I’m honest, I haven’t paid much attention. As long as I pass my Art and Design, I should get into the university of my choice. As long as I can follow Moffy wherever she goes, that's all I'm bothered about.
Thankfully, Mrs Wood, my tutor in that subject, has been a godsend, a pillar of strength for me when she's seen me unable to cope with making decisions by myself. Decisions I should be able to make on my own but can't. I can't do anything anymore. She suggested it might help to portray the feelings and emotions from my father’s death in my work. So I have. The sequence of oil paintings I produced of models on a runway seemed rather dull and gloomy to me, but she said, “You’ve hit the nail on the head with these. I can see the struggle Paris is facing. The drawing is filled with pain and anguish, expressed through the colours used in the outfits. The scrapes of paint used to create the texture of the dresses suggest a mysterious composition.”
She’s an expert in that department. She would know.
I’m not aware I have a talent. All I can say is that for a period, it helps me when I need help. It saves me when I need saving. The art room is quiet and peaceful after school; it is a nice place to hang out by myself. It keeps me busy and out of Mum’s way. It also keeps me out of trouble. If I am in there, I am not tempted to succumb to my defiant nature. I haven’t been able to ride the bike either. That thing is my downfall. The moment my arse hits the leather, a shock wave shoots up my spine, causing my nerve endings to buzz to life. I know it will only land me in hot water, and I can’t have that. I have to secure my place at university, to make my dad proud and to ensure Moffy, and I are not separated for the next three years.
“Just smile and nod, okay?”
That’s all I hear as her hand practically pushes my defeated body all the way to the kitchen.
“Surprise!” Mum shouts as her hopeful face beams, gesturing her arm towards the table full of breakfast and lavish gifts.
“Hey, Mum.” Faking my best smile, I give her a loose hug, turning my attention to the table. “This looks… Ummm…” I force my grimace a little wider. “Great.”
I catch a glimpse out of the corner of my eye. Moffy is mouthing the words again, “Just nod and smile.”
Nod and smile. Right. I can do that.
I slip onto a seat at the table while my mum continues to fuss around me, asking questions about how I want my eggs, whether the toast is done just how I like it, do I want coffee? She’s trying. She is, but she just isn’t him. He never had to ask. He just knew. He also adored my mum. I at least owe it to him to reciprocate her efforts.
Nod and smile. Nod and smile.
I take a deep breath, slapping on the Hemsworth charm, and I point to the rather large pile of presents.
“So, are all these for me?”
*******
My cheekbones ache from all my forced displays of happiness. I’ve done nothing but grin and speak through clenched teeth all morning. Now Moffy and I are alone, I can be myself. I’m glad she pulled me away when she did. I’m not sure how much longer I could have been polite for. I think Moffy noticed it, too, and that’s why she suggested we take a break and go to our tree house for an hour. Eighteen years old and we’ve still not outgrown our childhood hangout. I’m not sure we ever will. This place holds so many great memories for me. Apart from the art room, it is my only other place of escape – one I will definitely miss if we move away to university.
“The heels your mum bought you were nice, right?”
She’s making small talk. She knows exactly what I think of the shoes.
My nose scrunches up in disgust. "They were hideous, and you know it," I snipe as I saunter along the pathway towards the field. I honestly don’t know what she thought when she bought them. Yellow sodding heels. I’ve never worn anything yellow in my life. I always held my mum in quite high regard for her fashion taste, but not anymore.
“At least she tried, Goose. Give her some credit. Please.” She nudges my shoulder in encouragement. I guess she may have a point. The heels may be off, but the bag isn't so bad and the necklace is rather pretty. I suppose the breakfast wasn’t too shabby either.
“I’m still in shock that she allowed us to have a Bucks Fizz. What was that about?”
“Goose, you’re of legal age to drink today.” She chuckles. “She couldn’t stop you.”
“S'pose.”
Weirdly, the mood I’m in, I could quite easily nail five bottles of the stuff. The saying goes you can’t find the answer to your problems in the bottom of a bottle, but I wouldn’t know. Up until now, I’ve never got smashed enough to find out whether there is any truth in it or not. Nonetheless, the urge is there today. It’s there, and it’s strong. I want to forget about my crappy gifts, my upcoming exams and the loss of my dad, just for one day. For one day, I want to flood my mind with insignificant rubbish, sink my consciousness and finally relax with no limits – to just be at peace with my inner thoughts. That would be the perfect present.
"Stop here," she demands, holding her arm out across the front of my chest.
"Ummm… Why?"
"Just don't ask questions. Trust me, okay?" she says as she pulls out one of those masks you wear when trying to sleep at night. Even though I'm confused, I don’t have the energy to argue. I trust her so I'll go with it. Shrugging, I lean my head forward for her to slip it into place over my head. Everything goes dark, leaving me with no clue as to where I am supposed to step.
"You're going to guide me, right? This isn't one of your little games where you spin me around and leave me stranded, is it?"
"Paris! What did I just say about the questions? Hush, will you?"
Her dainty arm links with mine. It fills me with confidence that I won't be ditched. As she leads the way, my feet sink into the spongy grass of the field. The aromatic fragrance surrounding me causes my nose to itch. I suffer from hay fever, and I can instantly tell the local council have been out cutting the sodding grass, which only serves to piss me off even more.
Don't they know it's my birthday? Can't they give me one day away from the suffering? Can't everyone?
For a moment, a little spark of excitement flutters in my tummy. It's not like Mav to do something like this unless she has a big surprise. All day I have protested I do not want a fuss. I want this day to disappear, yet here I am, growing anxious. Then I realise, it's because it's Moffy. Anything she does to surprise me makes me happy. I know if she's gone to such lengths to hide something, it's likely to be good. Maybe there's a tiny ray of hope for this day yet.
But my dad is still not here…
"Just lift your foot slightly and place it on the first step of the ladder. I'll guide you up."
Doing as instructed, I lift my right foot, fumbling around, attempting to locate the solid wood. Steadying myself, I slowly creep my arms out in front, blindly searching for the other planks to help pull me up. Her hand lightly touches my butt, making me chuckle.
"You'll do anything for a quick squeeze," I joke, swiftly followed by an "ouch" as her hand slaps my cheek, causing a stinging sensation.
"Don't you know it, Goosey. Now get up the steps before I s
pank the other."
Muttering under my breath, I attempt to crawl up the ladder as best I can, losing my footing a couple of times, before falling through the door at the top with a thump.
"Jeez, Mav, was all this necessary? I've got a sore bum and now two bruised forearms. Hardly appropriate for my birthday."
"For God’s sake, woman, will you stop whining and just let me get on?" she snaps, catching her breath. I'm about to argue back when the blindfold is roughly ragged from my head, sending my eyes into a frenzy as they seek to adjust to the rapid change in light.
I hear the words "Ta daaaaaa" before I manage to focus fully on Moffy. She's stood with her arms out wide, wearing a grin that’s just as big. Darting my eyes around her, I begin to appreciate what she's pointing at. My mouth slowly falls open the more I absorb. There are pink and white fairy-lights intricately hanging from the ceiling, all around the tree house, the odd banner and balloon scattered about, but it's the pictures plastered on the walls that grab my attention. Posters printed of Dad and I. Old pictures from over the years. There's some of Mum, too and Moffy.
The whole Hemsworth family is here, even though they’re not.
It takes a few minutes for the images to sink in before I will myself to move forward and admire them more closely. We're laughing, smiling or pulling funny faces. I note the odd one where I'm younger and having a major sulk, but I skim those quickly. The only ones I’m interested in are the ones that hold my father’s face. He was a handsome young man. I'm not surprised mum fell in love with him. He held a captivating aura that oozed appeal. I've only ever seen that look once before, on Liam Jenkins, and I was hopelessly spellbound.
I direct my eyes from the walls to a table set up in the corner of the room. It holds a small cake with what I'm guessing is eighteen candles crammed on, a couple of bowls filled with nibbles, a bottle of champagne, two glasses and plenty of cider. It's a mini party for two. It's faultless. I'm overwhelmed by how simply exquisite it is until a thin elastic band snaps around my chin and a cardboard cone takes up residence on my shabby head.
I snort out a laugh as I roll my eyes. "I was just about to compliment you on how perfect this was."
"Hey, don't blame me. I'm working from specific orders here."
I frown in confusion, creating a huge crease across my forehead. "Orders? What do you mean?" I ask, readjusting the band under my chin.
She pauses for a few moments, and I know what's coming before she even says the words. As her chin drops to her chest, I put my hand up on there, softly speaking. "No. Don't say it. It's okay." The lump in my throat quickly grows to the size of a golf ball, as the words fallout. I struggle to steady the tremble in my bottom lip.
She takes a step closer, lifting her head a little higher, her voice sounding as affected as I feel. "There's something else."
All I can do is nod in response, unable to find the words. They appear to trap in the depths of my throat. I want to tell her how great she's done, that it's all okay, that I'm okay, but I've lost the ability. I watch on curiously while she moves to pick a tiny, blue velvet box up from the table. I was that much in awe of the pictures and decor; I completely missed spotting it when I cast an eye over the table. I don't know how.
She places the box in my shaking hand. I gasp instinctively the second it hits my skin and shiver in response. The feel of velvet has always repulsed me to touch. It appears to be so smooth, but the rough texture against my hand creates an intolerable friction, making me cringe. The heat pricks my eyes even though I've not opened it, and the tightening in my chest causes a dull ache.
"Before you open it, I have a few words to say." She takes a deep breath as she continues. "He… Your dad found this in an antique store down town, the day you were born. He wasn't looking for it. He just strolled past the window, and its beauty caught his eye."
I'm listening, but I can't look in her direction. My eyes fixate on the box nestled in my palm. He never once mentioned this story to me, not even when we went through the stage, close to the end, of sharing everything and anything. It’s strangely comforting to be learning something new about him, especially when it involves me.
"The typical birthstone for your month is pearl, but there are two others. In that box is a gem that is rare, beautiful and unique, just like you, Paris Lexi Hemsworth. Your dad used most of their savings to buy you that gift and saved it all these years. I don't think your mum was happy with him at the time, but the thing about your dad is..." She pauses as if it hurts to continue. "He lived from the heart. He was a passionate man who put his family first. He saw it and immediately knew you had to have it."
Overcome with emotion, the tears stream as I stand there sobbing. It's not just the words, but also the way she delivers them. Moffy herself is a spirited young woman. Her tone is exactly the same as I would have imagined him to have if he had been speaking. Weirdly, it's like he's here.
Pulling the lid open, I have no clue what to expect other than a piece of jewellery, but the instant the edges of a diamond catch the light and twinkle brightly, I'm enchanted. It's set into a thick silver band. It appears to be bluish-green, but as my hand lifts the box closer to my face, the light dazzles, changing it to a purplish-red. It truly is as unique as she said. I've never seen a gem like it. I can see exactly why my dad was allured.
"It's alexandrite," she states, standing by my side. Her arm reaches around my torso, giving me a squeeze.
Having her close, I'm suddenly aware she's trembling just like me. Her heart is pounding just as hard as mine. I can only imagine that the pressure of being entrusted with such a special task must have been difficult for her to handle. Moffy is very self-conscious. She will have wanted every detail to be right. It's safe to say; she nailed it. I'm proud of her. Dad would be, too.
"I... I... It's..."
"I know."
I pass her the box, slipping the ring on my finger and holding my hand out in front of me. This one piece of jewellery has now become a symbol of hope. Its beauty is bestowed on me by my dad. I have to allow it to shine the way he envisaged it. Whenever I'm feeling sad, depleted or I just want to give up, I will be able to look at this ring as a reminder of what he wished for me and my life. It does go on. I just have to find my way.
Casting a blurry-eyed glance at Moffy, I sniff with a sad smile, saying the one thing that doesn't seem to do the moment nearly enough justice.
"Thank you."
Diamonds are now a girl’s best friend and I have two of the best.
Seven
13th June 2000
Waking up with a stinking hangover is the last thing I expected today, and as much as my head is pounding, it’s a reminder of how special yesterday was. That and the beautiful rock I now carry everywhere – a constant piece of Dad with me at all times. I find so much more comfort in that, rather than the odd memory I find myself scrambling for. I’m still astounded by how much thought he gave to my future after his passing. I doubt I’ll ever fully understand how it is to have a connection to a child, until I have my own. If I’m half the mother he was a father, I can’t go far wrong from being a great parent. He is my idol.
Yesterday was the beginning of the end for me. For the first time since his funeral, I feel like I have a slight spark back, a newfound sense of motivation. The most important thing to me now is passing my exams and securing my place at University with Izzy. I know above all else, he encouraged us to stay side by side. I have to guarantee that happens. She’s the next best thing to him, as sad as that sounds. We have a connection my mum would never come close to. I do love her, but I don’t think she will ever understand who I am or what makes me tick. No matter how hard she tries, we just don’t have that bond. Izzy gets it. Dad got it.
I have dragged my sorry arse from my cosy bed, brewed strong coffee and sat down at the kitchen table to revise.
I can do this. I will do this.
“Maybe in another hour,” I groan to myself, my head dropping with a thud onto the wood
en tabletop.
“It is not going to knock any sense into you. You're long gone.”
“Ugh.” Lifting my head back up, I swipe my long brown hair from my face to get a better look at Izzy, continuing to moan. “You sound as rough as I look." I drag my hand down my cheek and stare into the coffee cup, the aroma lingering below my nose, practically keeping me awake.
“Nope,” she replies as she pops the p. “You’re looking worse.”
“Cheers.”
She sinks into the chair next to me. I can see her mulling over the sight before her on the table with question. She’s been encouraging me for weeks to get into gear, trying all sorts for inspiration. None of her bribing tactics or psychoanalysis has worked, which is funny because, in the end, she is the one that has convinced me to start trying, without even being aware she was doing it. I wonder if Dad considered that all along when he put his list of instructions into play.
She quirks a brow. “What are you doing, Paris?” she asks, reaching out and snatching my cup. I’m too lethargic to fight her. We can share it. In fact, if I argue she drank more than me, I can con her into making the next one. I’m cunning like that. Didn’t get that trait from my dad. He was a pretty straight down the line kind of guy.
“I was going to do some revision, but I’m thinking I woke up still drunk.”
“That makes two of us. I don’t know how I let you convince me that cider and lager cocktails would be a good combo. You took advantage of my happy state.”
I aimlessly shuffle the papers in front of me, hoping by some miracle they will sort themselves into an order I can understand. My organisational skills have always been questionable. I’m used to fluffing my way through things, but I have a suspicion I may fall short this time, and it's too damn important to stumble at this last hurdle. This is one time where I cannot hide my feelings from her.
Paris Hemsworth's Road to Wonderland (Road to Wonderland Series Book 2) Page 5
