He is stretching when I walk in, but he pauses and turns toward me with a smile, which immediately transforms into a frown as his eyes run down my Levis.
‘You’re not in your leotard.’
I stick my hand into the back pocket of my jeans, taking comfort from the worn page corners of Five and cut to the chase.
‘I can’t stay. I just came to tell you I’m leaving.’
‘Leaving? What, like, going away for the weekend? I know it’s your birthday Shay, but it’s pretty bad timing with the competition coming up.’
‘I won’t be here for the competition, Luke,’ I interrupt, my attempt to brush away my emotions making the words sound harder and more abrupt than I’d intended. ‘I’m leaving the country.’
He gives me a confused look.
‘Leaving the country? For how long? What do you mean you won’t -?’
‘We’re immigrating to the UK,’ I blurt out. ‘I leave on Wednesday and I won’t be coming back. Ever.’
There is a sense of finality to that statement that stings me as much as it seems to stun Luke. I turn to look out of the window so he won’t see the twitch of my jaw or the shimmer of tears that have begun to gather in my eyes. Damn those stupid tears, I thought I’d cried them all out. This is turning out to be harder than I’d expected. My own words are double-edged swords, sinking deep into my own heart even as they pierce Luke’s.
I draw in a calming breath and steal a quick glance back at his face, which reflects an internal battle. I think he is frustrated, sad and maybe a little angry with me and I wonder which emotion will win out. I hope it isn’t anger; I don’t want to leave on bad terms. This friendship is still important to me and I don’t think I could ever forgive my mother if I lose it.
‘I’m sorry; I know the competition is only two weeks -’
He holds up one hand to silence me and shakes his head.
‘I just –’ he exhales and lifts his hand to rub his forehead. ‘Why didn’t you tell me sooner, Shay? This isn’t the kind of decision you make in a day.’
‘I didn’t -’
‘I mean, why did you even bother training with me if you knew -?’
‘I didn’t know, Luke!’ I shout. My hands curl into fists at my sides. I take a step toward him and the words just tumble out. ‘You think this was my choice? You think I want to leave everything, my friends, my life –’
My voice breaks and angry tears spill onto my cheeks. I try to brush them away with a quick gesture but more tears replace them, so I cross my arms in front of my chest and look at my sneakers, still muddy from the most recent Joburg Summer thundershower. I’m furious with myself for breaking down in front of him but it’s like the dam is full and I can’t stop the water from overflowing its banks.
‘I don’t want to leave, but I don’t have a say.’
I lift my face and Luke takes one look at my tear-streaked cheeks and closes the distance between us.
‘Please don’t cry, Shay, I’ll talk to your parents.’
I shake my head and drop my gaze to my feet again but he puts both hands on either side of my face and tips my chin up.
‘You could stay with me?’ There is an ominous desperation in his usually warm voice and when I meet his eyes, I’m unprepared for the stark emotion shining in them.
‘I can’t,’ I whisper, unable to look away, fascinated and horrified at what I see. The train wreck I’ve been carefully avoiding these past months is heading my way and I’m like a deer, caught in the headlights. His next words are going to change everything.
‘Why not? I’ll take care of you, I promise,’ he says. ‘You must know how I feel about you?’
I make a last ditch effort to stop the train but I know it’s too late.
‘Luke, I -’
My sentence is cut short as he collides into me and crashes his lips against mine. At first, I just stand still, too shocked to react but he seems to take my lack of response as acquiescence and with a groan that seems to come from his belly, crushes my body to his. His lips are hard and insistent and when I feel his tongue touch my bottom lip, I am jolted from my paralysis into action. I try to pull away but he just hauls me closer, slipping one hand onto the back of my neck to immobilize my head and shoving his tongue into my mouth.
Shock gives way to fear as I push ineffectually against his chest with both hands. He doesn’t seem to notice my response, and caught up in the power of his own passion, he shoves me against the wall. I feel his hand, fumbling at the button on my jeans and it catapults me into full blown panic mode. I use my entire body weight to push against him and bite down hard on his tongue. Luke pulls his head away quickly and I think he is going to come to his senses and release me but instead, he circles one hand around my throat, forcing my head back against the wall.
‘Luke, stop. You’re hurting me,’ I choke, unable to breathe with his tight grip at my throat. He frowns at me strangely, like for a moment, he can’t remember where he is but then his gaze fastens on my mouth, dips to the pulse at my neck, fluttering wildly against my skin.
‘God, you smell good,’ he says burying his face into the soft flesh at my throat. His voice is deep and husky, unrecognizable and his eyes – it’s like there’s a dark beast in there, staring out at me.
‘Stop…’ I intend it as a scream, but his hold on my neck is so tight that it comes out as a hoarse whisper. Silver dust particles dance before my eyes and I realize with a sick feeling that I’m about to pass out. I claw at his hand, uncaring of the deep grooves I am scoring with my fingernails into his skin because I have to get away, if I pass out now…
And then suddenly, the pressure against my neck is gone and there is nothing holding me up anymore. I collapse onto the floor, back against the wall, gulping in huge breaths of air. The silver takes a moment to recede from my vision, but then I see Luke, lying sprawled across the floor on the opposite side of the hall – beneath my mother’s booted foot.
He looks bewildered as he stares up at her but he turns his head in my direction and his confusion dissolves into horror.
‘Oh, God, Shaylee. I’m so sorry,’ he says. He tries to sit up but my mother grinds her boot-heel into his stomach. He whimpers, stops moving and looks across the floor at me, paling visibly as I put one hand tentatively to the angry red marks at my neck.
‘I don’t know what came over me, I didn’t mean to -’
‘Stop,’ I say, in a voice that rasps like sandpaper.
I don’t understand what has just happened and I don’t think there are any words in the world that could justify it. I do not know this man who looks like my friend and I don’t want to be anywhere near him. I use the wall behind me as a support to shimmy up onto wobbly legs, surprised at the amount of energy it costs me. The burst of adrenaline that has carried me through the last few minutes is gone, leaving in its wake a mind-numbing exhaustion. I need to get home, curl up and fall asleep before my brain starts computing the what ifs.
What if I’d never come here today.
What if I hadn’t fallen apart?
What if my mother hadn’t been there to stop him…?
‘Good-bye, Luke,’ I say, without looking at him, and limp toward the door.
Chapter 6
Alone
Tastes like: Salt without pepper.
Smells like: A microwave dinner for one.
Sounds like: Footsteps on the parquet floor of an empty house.
Feels like: The absence of arms around you.
Looks like: A single cactus dotting the desert landscape.
The glass of the airport window is cool against my forehead as I stand in OR Tambo international airport, trying to figure out how my life has gone from ordinary contentment to supernatural chaos in the space of a few days.
Through the tinted glass, I can see the plane that will carry me to my new life taxiing toward the terminal. I watch as it comes toward me through the haze of heat-waves simmering up from the tar. The sun glints off the massive white
body of the airbus as it comes to a standstill outside the windows and I turn my face away from the glare that is so bright at this angle, I can almost feel the heat through the UV-protected panes.
In less than an hour I will be saying farewell to the hot, dusty Johannesburg that I love. In just over nine more, I will be stepping into the damp greenery of my new home; the tiny village of Aylburton, nestled in the heart of the Forest of Dean, halfway across the world, where the only familiar face amongst the seven hundred odd residents will be the grandmother, whom I haven’t seen in ten years.
I sigh dejectedly and place one hand against the cotton tank covering my flat stomach. Even now, I can picture the grayish, tattoo-like marking and I curse it for the monumental life change being forced onto me.
‘Mom, I still don’t understand why I need to go live with Nan,’ I say for the hundredth time, turning from the window toward where she sits on one of the metal benches dotting the airport.
‘I wish I could explain more.’ She stands and reaches for my hand but I deliberately step back. The anger I feel toward her has only grown over the past few days and I want her to know – I want her to feel what she’s done to me. Hurt fills her expression for an unguarded moment but the satisfaction I thought I’d feel is curiously absent.
‘Here you go, Mrs. G.’ Jenne’s timing is perfect as she hands my mother a styro-foam cup.
‘Thanks.’ Mom makes a half-hearted attempt at a smile, takes the steaming cup of coffee and sits back down on the bench. Jenne links her arm through mine and leads me back toward the window.
‘Give her a break, will you?’ she says, but when I raise my brows at her she shakes her head.
‘What am I going to do with you?’ she complains, and adds: ‘What am I going to do without you?’ I can see the telltale shimmer of tears in her eyes but she offers me a tremulous smile. ‘Who’s going to eat chocolate coconut slices with me?’
I bite the inside of my lip and try to blink back the wetness in my own eyes. Making friends has never been my strong suit, so the friendships I have established are deep and lasting and of them, Jenne is by far, my most precious friend. We’ve been together from grade one and there is no secret we don’t share. I cannot imagine spending even one day without seeing or talking to her.
‘I’ll call you, my friend,’ I promise. ‘Everyday.’
I give her a one-armed hug, and hold out my pot of African violets to her.
‘They won’t let it on the plane,’ I explain. ‘Will you take care of it please?’
I think for sure Jenne is about to burst into tears. She is the only person in the world who understands what that plant means to me and I know she will cherish it just as much as I will treasure the tiny golden pot-plant charm she has given me for my birthday, which is sandwiched between the ‘friends forever’ and ‘J’ charms on my bracelet.
My cell-phone begins to vibrate in the back pocket of my jeans, providing a much needed distraction from the emotional tension. I know who it is even before I glance at the caller identity and I reject without answering.
Luke has been calling non-stop for the past three days but I’ve rejected every call. He’s left dozens of messages on my voicemail: ‘Shaylee, please call me. I didn’t mean to. I don’t know what came over me. Please forgive me.’
‘You can’t avoid him forever,’ Jenne sniffs.
‘Well, technically I can.’ I sigh and slide the phone back into my pocket. ‘I’m just not ready yet, Jen.’
My best friend nods in understanding. We’ve discussed the incident with Luke at length already. Jenne thinks there is more to it than meets the eye - that Luke’s reaction is somehow linked to the appearance of the butterfly mark, but the horror of what almost happened is still too fresh in my mind for me to try and analyze it.
‘Flight 201 to Heathrow, now boarding through gate two’. The announcement blares over the intercom.
Jenne throws her arms around me and I hug her back tight, like we’ll never see one another again. When she steps back, my mother moves forward, puts her arms around me and kisses my forehead. I keep my arms folded across my chest in silent defiance.
I sling my back-pack across one shoulder and make my way toward the boarding gates. At the passenger’s only point, I turn and see Jenne, standing with her arm around my mother’s shoulders. I give a little wave of my fingers and slip through the gate.
As I join the end of the queue at gate two, I am painfully aware that each step draws me further away from the comfort and familiarity of my life, toward the unknown. My throat still burns with the threat of tears but I refuse to cry.
The flight attendant checks my boarding pass and waves me through. On board, I go through the motions, stow my luggage and squeeze past another passenger into my economy class window seat. With the voice of the air hostess droning in the background about safety exits, I turn to stare at the tarmac below, feeling lonelier than ever.
The airbus moves toward the runway, and with a sudden burst of speed that forces me back into my chair, the wheels leave the black tar and we are circling above the city that is my home.
Far below, I can see rooftops and swimming pools and I feel my eyes grow moist again. There are so many things I will miss about this city: the softness of the solar-heated water of our swimming pool; the woodsy smell of burning charcoal on my dad’s braai; the spicy taste of biltong and marmite and Mrs. Balls Chutney. Most of all, I will miss the rich culture and diversity of this country that I have called home, that I will always call home.
The houses far below diminish in size until they disappear completely from view as we soar through the puffy Highveld clouds. When I cannot see the farms below, I turn away from the window and flick through my phone’s music collection until I find something bluesy to match my current mood. I recline my seat and close my eyes, trying to remember what I can about the place I am returning to.
I still have a few vague memories of Aylburton; they are good ones: me, curled in Nan’s lap before the flickering fire to listen to one of her fairytales; the smell of the damp forest; the roughness of the bark of my favorite oak tree; the lush forest floor beneath my bare feet…
This last memory is vivid. I can almost feel the texture of the bluebell carpet against the soles of my feet. Not even the velvet petals of my African violets could match it.
Aylburton and more particularly, the Forest of Dean is probably one of the most beautiful places on earth and it is filled with happy memories for me, but I cannot bring myself to feel anything positive about going back. There are too many unanswered questions and I cannot escape the growing feeling of dread that has taken root in the pit of my stomach.
My fingers go, of their own accord to the back pocket of my jeans, where Five is nestled. The pages give me comfort somehow as I pull it out and turn to the next blank page. My pencil hovers above the page for a split second as I consider the many emotions that are spinning around inside me; anger, fear, resentment. I have written too much about all these words the past few days, but today, there is a new emotion roiling around with the others, giving the mix a sweet-and-sour flavor. I touch the nib against the paper and write: ‘Alone.’
Chapter 7
Frustration
Tastes like: Sour worms.
Smells like: Burnt banana bread.
Sounds like: A two year old trying to get a favourite toy that is just out of reach.
Feels like: A hairbrush tangling in matted hair.
Looks like: The last train of the day chugging out of the station just as you reach the platform.
It comes into view, towering before us like something from a fairytale. The huge double storey in which I had spent the first seven years of my life with Nan and my parents is exactly as I remember it.
Surrounded by green forest and rolling countryside, white walls covered with honeysuckle and ivy, the eight bedroom house is enormous and ancient. Two tall, round structures at either end, inset with bay windows, give the house the appearance
of a castle and remind me of the hours I’d spent as a child, in the attic windows, as Rapunzel, waiting for my white knight.
Jake, Nan’s crinkle-eyed neighbor who collected me from the airport and tried to entertain me with stories about the mischief my mother had gotten into as a child, comes around to open the passenger door, letting in a rush of fresh forest air and memories long forgotten.
The wind-chimes on the porch tinkle in the light breeze, like the sound of children’s laughter. They are the ones I gave to Nan for Christmas when I was five. ‘Little fairies dancing in the breeze’, I’d exclaimed, before she’d even had a chance to pull the wrapping off. I had been so proud because mom had let me choose the gift myself from the little gift shop in Lydney and the fairies had seemed so fitting for my beloved tale-telling Nan.
The ornate front door creaks open as I step out of the car and Nan’s graceful figure frames the doorway. I’m expecting our reunion to be awkward, but the pleasure in her expression turns the clock back until I am five again. I run up the gravel pathway and fling my arms around her as if I’d never left. She hugs me back, with far more strength than her fragile frame suggests.
‘Bluebell!’ Nan greets me with the old childhood endearment. No one has called me that in years, and I’ve missed it. I’d earned the nickname because I’d often gotten into trouble for the hours I’d spent alone in the forest, playing amongst the bluebells. After each foray, I’d return with a sprig of my favourite flowers for Nan, who would put them in a vase on the kitchen counter and exclaim that they were the prettiest flowers she’d ever seen.
She puts her hands on my shoulders and steps back to study me at arm’s length. Her eyes take in my creased jeans and tee, the wisps of black hair that have escaped my ponytail and my green eyes, which reflect the shade of her own. She sighs.
‘You look just like your mother.’
I hate the comparison, but I say nothing and just smile back at her. She looks like she hasn’t aged a day since the last time I saw her. Only the chignon, swept back at the nape of her neck hints at the passing of time and instead of making her look older, the silver threads give a kind of ethereal beauty to her finely chiseled features. She even smells the same: a sweet combination of lavender and roses that reminds me of fires and fairytales.
Five: A Maor Novel (Maor series) Page 4
