The bathroom was too bright. I wished I hadn't looked in the mirror. I appeared sallow and ragged. Huddling in my over-sized dressing gown, I sank down next to one clawed foot of the old fashioned bath tub as it filled. Even the faint red rust stain couldn't put me off having a bath; I was still shivering, as if all the warmth in my body had been drained by the visitor at the window. The scent of jasmine from my favourite bubble bath filled the steamy air. The thick, metallic taste on my tongue loosened. I wasn't alright exactly. But I was calmer. And fairly sure that I wasn't mad, however strange things were getting.
There was something else. A feeling I was almost too ashamed to pull out and examine. It curdled in my gut and made me shift uneasily. Shame. She didn't try to hurt me after all. I could see that now I wasn't loopy with fear. She asked for my help and I shoved her away. So what if she made my skin crawl? I knew what it was like to scream, for hours and hours, and have nobody come.
If she came back…I didn't think I could just ignore this. Who was that little, cold girl? I sank into the hot water and let my mind drift.
The bath water was almost cold before I dragged myself out. I was slightly warmer at least. I dragged a comb through my wet hair. It hung damp and dark, twisting like seaweed, so I twirled it into a bun. I pulled on jeans and a jumper, checking my reflection in the mirror. It wasn't my reflection. I jumped back, heart thudding. Breathing in the steam laden air, I forced myself to look again. Nothing. Just me. Pale and thin-faced. Wide, frightened green eyes. I thought… it was silly… But for a moment a different face looked back at me. Broad and plain, with small hazel eyes and coarse brown hair. An older face. I hesitated, then swiped the condensation away with my sleeve.
Just me. I really was losing it. Maybe some breakfast would help. I'd check the orchard afterwards. See if my night time visitor left any clues.
The smell of bacon frying wafted up the stairwell, as I went down, skirting the cold spot. It had to be Amy. Grace never cooked breakfast - unless you counted toast. Dad never cooked at all as far as I knew. My stomach growled. I bounded down the last few steps and into the kitchen.
Amy was almost up on tiptoe to reach the pan of bacon and eggs. Her shiny blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Music squalled from a tinny old radio. Amy bopped from side to side as she brandished a spatula and sang along.
"Where is my mind? Where is my mind? Waaaaaay out in the water…Eeee!" She jumped about a foot when she finally spotted me. The spatula made a graceful arc through the air before coming down in a spatter of grease droplets on the worktop. Oops.
"Muh morning, Amy." I sniggered.
"I swear you just shortened my life expectancy by about a decade!" Amy leaned her hands on her knees and breathed out slowly, blonde ponytail flopping over one shoulder. She narrowed her eyes at me but a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
"S-sorry. Finding it cr-creepy here too, huh?"
"A bit. Couldn't sleep last night. Weird not being in a town. I kept thinking about what Grace said in the garden last night - about someone being out there, watching - then I got all paranoid about someone creeping across the moor to the house. You know like ' Long Lankin' in that song?" She returned her attention to the bacon and eggs.
I pulled a face. Amy's disturbing astuteness was not helping me repress last night. I did not want to be thinking about a tall, dark figure going from room to room, committing silent and bloody murder. Especially after the incident with the window. I dithered over whether to tell Amy about it. I didn't want to scare her. But I was dying for her to come up with a rational explanation that proved I'd imagined the whole thing. Or even that I was actually insane. Maybe later. I was so tangled up right now that really short sentences were the best I could manage.
When in doubt about the supernatural try something mundane. My stomach gave a sharp tug.
"E-enough f-for me?" I cast what I hoped was a pathetic, soulful look at the food.
"Yep. Knew you'd be down." Amy grinned and divided up the contents of the pan.
Sometimes I thought Amy must also have a touch of the same weird extra sense I had. Maybe it worked differently with her. More subtly. Which meant she didn't come across as socially inept as me.
We sat down at the scrubbed-pine kitchen table with bacon, sausage, egg and toast piled on our plates. I watched with queasy fascination as Amy squeezed tomato ketchup over everything. Even the bread. And that's how you ruin a cooked breakfast.
Amy's ketchup murder scene didn't put me off for long. I was starving. It was good to think about nothing except eating for a few moments. Grace thought I should be a right heifer with what I ate. She probably thought the same about Amy too but didn't dislike her enough to say it. I didn't care. I'd take sausage and bacon over the way Grace winced through half a grapefruit every morning, any day. Her loss. Why Grace bothered to diet was a mystery. There wasn't an ounce of excess fat on her. She was so pretty, I doubted anyone would notice if she did put on a few pounds. I glowered so darkly at the thought of Grace's shining hair and neat figure, that Amy asked if my breakfast was okay. I smoothed my expression out and nodded.
I am jealous of Grace. I'd be an idiot not to realise it. She's always been pretty and popular, and able to get through an entire sentence without straining something. Aside from the stammer, I was angular and gawky, and too tall and thin. It might all have been bearable if she didn't regard me like I was an adopted howler monkey that she was forced to live with.
She was supposed be going off to university in October. I wondered what it would be like without her. After the accident, Grace's year out hadn't gone to plan. Mum's funeral, and both Amy and me in and out of hospital. Especially me. She'd been so cold to me since the accident…
Does Grace think it was my fault?
I chewed mechanically but my appetite had vanished.
After breakfast Amy and I flicked soap-suds at each other as we did the dishes. Amy was squealing like she was nine years old again and I was chuckling because it was good to see Amy let go. She'd had to grow up far too fast.
A heavy tread on the stairs stopped us in our tracks. Dad. It was like spraying a couple of drunks with cold water. Aside from a few suds, nothing was out of place. Dad went straight into his study and shut the door without coming into the kitchen. We both sagged with relief. A small, hot kernel of resentment flickered to life in my chest. He could have said 'good morning' at least. Wasn't that what dads were meant to do? Why was he always so distant anyway? What the hell had I ever done? I had balled my hands into fists at my side.
Amy jerked her chin in the direction of the back door. She was right. Any noise just now would not go over well with Dad. My anger dissolved and I let it go. It was too tiring to hold onto it. Numb was better. Numb meant not caring that he ignored me. Numb didn't hurt.
And I had promised myself a search of the orchard.
I was so distracted, that when Amy thrust my coat at me and grabbed a door key I just stared at her stupidly.
"We've used all the milk, Emlynn." She said with exaggerated patience.
"Oh." I dug in my coat pocket for my wallet. "Guh guess we sh-should get some more then."
"There's a little shop in the village. C'mon. Before Grace gets up and pitches a shit fit -"
"Luh language!" I half-frowned and flipped Amy's ponytail into her face.
"Em! You know what she's like…"
Shaking my head, I followed her out and locked the door. "D-don't let Dad c-catch you."
"As if!" Amy bounced on the spot, unable to keep still. She gave me a smug look. "Race ya!" She pelted off down the drive, enjoying her stolen head start.
I rolled my eyes but tore after her, my longer legs making up the distance. So what if Grace said I ran like a camel? Sometimes life was about fun, not what everyone thought. Or it should be.
It used to be.
I put my head down, pelted forward, leaving Amy puffing behind me.
I Belong to the Earth (Unveiled Book 1) Page 6
