As she worked she got covered in freezing cold water and polishing liquid, and she could see her breath billowing out in front of her.
However, the money was good, and she had no choice.
The alarm blared again, announcing another five minutes had passed.
6:20 AM.
Nicola could not remember the last time she had a lie in. She rolled back over after whacking the alarm clock for the second time.
She did not have to be at work until 8 AM, but she had things she needed to do before she could leave for work. Jasmine needed breakfast, and even though she was old enough to sort it out herself, it was the one thing in the morning that Nicola liked to do.
Their mother used to have a spread each morning, to prepare them for the day. She missed a big breakfast when she was at college. Mainly, because hangovers and food did not mix well first thing in the morning.
Also, if she did not sit and watch Jasmine eat, she knew she would leave the house hungry. She was worried. Jasmine had lost over a stone since their mother had passed.
Slowly, like a mummy raised from an ancient tomb, Nicola shuffled around her bedroom, getting ready for another fourteen-hour work shift.
As she exited the bathroom, she could hear Colin snoring, recovering from another day of binge drinking. She did not know what time he got up, probably around midday, whereupon he would grab a case of beer and go and sit in front of the TV, with his wedding album on his lap.
Nicola lightly tapped on Jasmine’s door and popped her head in.
“Wakeup sleepyhead! Time for school!”
“It’s Saturday!” a muffled voice stated from under a pile of Justin Bieber bed sheets.
Nicola pulled her phone from her jeans pocket and checked the screen.
“Huh? Oh!” The days were blurring together. A bad sign she decided.
“Okay. I knew that!”
“Yeah right!” The mountain of sheets moved to a new position. A thin pale leg hung from underneath over the side of the bed.
“I will see you tonight, Jasmine. And don’t forget, tomorrow we will put the rest of the Christmas decorations up.” Nicola wanted to go and hug her, ruffle her hair and tell her how much she loved her. However, Jasmine stated that she was becoming too smothering, and touchy feely lately.
So instead, she told Jasmine there was some leftover lasagna in the fridge that she could have for dinner. She then slowly closed the door, not realizing it would be the last time she would ever see her sister alive.
2
Her work days rarely changed. Each day was a carbon copy of the one before. Specsavers main lab for the Devon area was huge – a vast, ugly warehouse. Sixty-two people worked along side her, all a blur of activity.
No one could talk because the machines were so loud. Even so, someone decided they needed the radio on in the background. All it accomplished was adding another irritating sound to mix in with the din.
Nicola was only meant to be on a nine-hour shift, but due to holidays and a busy spell, she was able, most days, to bump her hours up to fourteen. The managers didn’t mind. She could sleep here for all they cared, so long as she poured out the work. No one battered an eyelid when they asked for her overtime each week.
Nicola worked in the surfacing department. The machines in front of her chugged and rattled, as they poured cold water and cream over the lenses. Next to her, others stood in front of identical setups. To the right were the cutting machines, where the blocked, thick lenses were cut down to the individual customer’s specifications. The row of eight machines were very loud. To her left was where the lenses were taken off the wax blocks and washed, ready to be placed back in their trays and taken to another part of the building, somewhere warm. The glazing department didn’t need to be kept so glacially cold. They cut down the large lenses even more to fit into the frames.
Nicola had to walk through their department to get into the cafeteria – it was so hot after her frigid section that sweat beaded across her forehead just walking through. Then, just as she became accustom to the warmth again, she had to return to the chiller.
The whole company stopped at the same time for lunch, 12:15 to 1 PM. She would prefer to work through lunch to get more overtime, but company policy stated that all the machines needed to stop, to give them a rest, to prevent overheating.
The canteen had a selection of meals available, but Nicola preferred to bring sandwiches; they were cheaper.
She sat on a table with three other females, who worked in the same section. One was only seventeen; her name was Loren, a loud, chavy girl who had no internal mechanism for regulating her speech; everything just poured out, regardless of how unimportant or rude. She had twin girls aged eighteen months that, according to her, were the bane of her life. The twins stayed at her mothers while she worked. The father was out of the picture.
In the background, Chris Rea’s Driving Home for Christmas was playing on the radio.
Loren was explaining that she had a problem breastfeeding the twins, and that she’s had an infection for months, which made a dark, blackish yellow pus seep out of her sore nipples.
Nicola lowered the ham and mustard sandwich she was about to take another bite from.
The two others around the table thought it was hilarious, and May, a forty-six-year-old, rake thin woman, who had lank greasy black hair, tossed her head back, giving a long hearty laugh, while showing all her cavity filled teeth.
Doreen, a thirty-eight-year-old, tubby mother of three gave Nicola a what-can-you-do look.
Nicola ate her chocolate bar, leaving the half eaten sandwich to one side.
“Darling, my nipples were so sore after breastfeeding my second that the third went straight on formula.” Doreen nodded to state her words were true, while swiping a finger in the air as she flicked her head to one side. “My doctor said I should continue giving my third the best mother nature could offer. I told the stuck-up bitch, Doc, you wanna get your perky little tit’s out be my guest, but the little bastards aren’t mangling up mine no more!”
Even Nicola laughed along with the others at Doreen’s indignant impression.
They were simply work mates; she never associated with them after work, and none of them ever commented on why she never spoke about personal matters – they were all too busy talking about themselves. If it were up to her, she would sit on a table by herself, but she didn’t want to look like a loner.
May, spoke a little about her six dogs, which she talked about as if they were her children. At least once a week she would take out her mobile phone and show everyone some photos of them.
To Nicola, all six Great Danes looked the same. And she often wondered how May could afford to feed dogs the size of small ponies.
The rest of the afternoon labored on.
The machines continued to grind down lens after lens.
Nicola started to get a headache from the cold air, the rattling machines, and the irritating buzzing of the radio, which was not loud enough to pick out the words to the songs, just the bass.
At 4:30 PM the first shift ended.
There was a half hour between shifts where the workers milled around, preparing their work stations. Then by 5 PM everything continued as if nothing had changed.
Nicola didn’t really know the second shift. She normally worked through to 10 PM without another break, so she never got to go and sit in the break room with the second shift.
By the time 10 PM arrived, she was exhausted physically and mentally.
She clocked out her work card and pushed through the door out into the freezing night air. She pulled her coat up tighter around her neck.
Nicola knew they needed more milk at home, and Jasmine didn’t worry about such things, and Colin didn’t even know what day of the week it was.
She walked through town every night; it was the quickest route home. She didn’t like walking past all the pubs this late at night, not with all the drunks around. However, if she wanted to skirt around
the main roads, and circle around, it would take twice as long to walk home.
Drunk people littered the streets, stumbling loudly, from one pub to the next. They walked in groups, crowded together, or arm in arm. People shouted, screamed, and laughed. They skipped from pavement to road, unconcerned by the traffic. Outside the pubs, the smokers gathered, relegated to the cold street if they felt the need to fulfill a habit. A cloud of hazy smoke surrounded every pub entrance.
Nicola kept crossing the road, from one side to the other, always staying clear of the pubs. The last thing she wanted was to be shouted at by a drunk, or rowdily grabbed.
Only last week a woman ran at her, shouting and crying at the same time. She didn’t know what the woman was raving on about, and she was released from the woman’s grip when the boyfriend dragged her away.
A group of about twenty scantly clad men ran across the street, all dressed as Spartans.
A group of eight mid-twenties females, all dressed in skirts the length of a thick belt, and tops with just enough material to make about two hankies, chased after them on wobbly high heels. Squeals of delight, followed by, “THIS IS SPARTA!” echoed up the street.
At one time, not too long ago that would have been me! She thought to herself. A lifetime ago, she reasoned. On so many levels, she wished it still was.
Nicola jumped to one side when a man appeared out of the dark doorway of Millets. He was zipping up his jeans. Nicola stepped over the yellow puddle.
“Al’ight loove? Looking fooor a little fun?” the man asked. He was so drunk he had to lean against the door frame to steady himself while he managed to get his zip sorted out.
Nicola didn’t bother answering, rather she sped up her pace.
A burger van was parked next to the entrance to the market. The area around it was full of drunks trying to eat a hot, dripping meal with their hands. One lad was arguing with the woman behind the counter that she had short changed him.
Nicola crossed over to avoid two older men having a pushing match. She couldn’t tell if they were fighting or playing.
Almost home, she reasoned. All she wanted was to have a bite to eat and have a hot shower then get to bed.
I wonder if Jasmine ate all the lasagna?
There was a small twenty-four-hour shop around the corner. She popped in for some milk, bread, margarine, and flour.
As she headed down Queen Street, she walked by a TV repair store. She glanced at a large plasma TV in the window; it was showing a birds eye view of a tropical rain forest. Across the bottom scrolled the word’s Madagascar. Nicola gave it scant attention. She had enough problems closer to home without worrying about something happening on the other side of the world.
3
After leaving town, Nicola headed down a dark footpath next to Asda, which ran down along side Barham’s Brook – which was, in fact, a fast-flowing river that ran through Baker’s Park then through the town.
She left the overhanging tree-covered path and headed through an industrial estate, past a large kitchen warehouse. The large car park was empty. When she walked through it early in the morning, it was overflowing, with cars double-parked. There was always a Volkswagen Beetle parked next to some steps that looked old and battered and had old-fashioned boxes and luggage tied onto a rusty roof rack, as if the owner was forever about to head off on holiday.
She came out on to Bradley lane.
Large, old buildings crowded in on both sides of the narrow lane.
The wind whistled around the roofs and made the plastic grocery bag rustle.
Grit crunched under her trainers.
It was late, dark and cold.
She pulled her coat closer around her.
A cat screeched in the distance, sounding like a child in pain. It made Nicola jump.
“Shit!” she hissed. Steam billowed out her mouth.
Someone coughed behind her. There were loud footsteps.
The streetlights seemed too far apart.
Nicola sped up. Her right hand clutched a pepper spray in her jacket pocket. She hitched her backpack up higher on her shoulder.
She now turned the corner after walking up a slight incline. She came out on to Hunterswell Road, which joined onto Barton drive.
The person behind belched. Laughter soon followed.
Just a drunk, she thought. She relaxed a little.
The road widened as it joined onto Barton Drive. It was well lit and houses crowded all around.
Nicola relaxed a little more. She was almost home.
Jasmine would still be up, sat at her laptop, chatting with friends on Facebook – her curfew was 9 PM. She tried to get her to go out more, interact with them, rather than just on the web. She didn’t seem too bothered though, stating why go out, when she could see everything online.
Nicola worried about her little sister. She should have a different kind of relationship, one where they were more like siblings rather than her taking on the motherly role; trying to raise her while, Colin slowly sank deeper into depression.
She had nothing against Colin; he was just coping in his own way, but it was starting to grate on her. She had to buck up. She had to snap out of it and take control. It was her mother who died – she watched the woman she loved more than anything in the world slowly die in front of her eyes. She watched the pain rack her face. The tears, the hurt, the pleading to any god that this wasn’t fair. Colin didn’t have the monopoly on grieving.
Nicola crossed the road. In the distance, a car screeched around a corner.
She wondered where her real father was. What is he doing? Did he ever think about us? Did he even know his ex-wife was dead? These were questions that echoed through her mind on a daily basis.
Her father first met her mother in Africa, on an aid mission. They were both do-good hippies, wanting to change the world, one country at a time. Her father, Zachary Spencer Stone’s latest conquest was digging a well in Cabo Delgade, Mozambique. The town had one small school which her mother; Abby Paige Shelly was teaching English for a six-month stint. They said it was destiny that they met.
He was her knight in shining armor – a man who thought enough about the planet to want to make a difference. The fact that he looked like a rugged Indiana Jones, with his strong jaw, piercing green eyes and muscular body, didn’t help.
They became inseparable and spent another four years in and around Mozambique, Zambia, Angola, Botswana, and even crossing the Mozambique Channel to Madagascar. He went wherever he was needed, and Abby followed like a love drunk teenager.
They ended up in Madagascar, in the Antsalova region of Melaky on the northern coastline to help the Sakalva, whose name means, People of the Long Valleys. Large corporations were ripping apart the hills looking for minerals. Whole valleys full of native forest habitat was being slashed and burned, causing silting of the rivers. The area was turning into a dead zone.
Bizarrely, the Madagascan government in Antananarvio weren’t interested in the indigenous people from the area, and the effect the mining was having on them, but when the destruction to the forest started to affect the breeding areas of the Ringtailed Lemur, the government had no choice but to step in.
That’s when everything changed, while celebrating the news that eight valleys were saved from the corporation’s machines, Abby announced that she was pregnant, and even though she loved Africa and Madagascar, it wasn’t the place to raise a child.
At the end of the Second Trimester, at twenty-six weeks, they flew back to England, to Devon, to find a small flat to rent, to raise their family.
However, Zach wasn’t happy being confined in one place, and having to buckle down and get married, and having to find a job to support them all. He went from living the dream, to suburban normality. Within months of Nicola being born, cracks started to appear in the relationship. By the time the second child, Jasmine came along; the marriage was all but over.
When Jasmine was three months old, Zach announced he was going off to Indonesia
to save the Orangutans; apparently, as far as he was concerned, they were more important than his own children.
Abby did the best she could. She spent three years waiting on a man who never returned.
When Nicola was ten, her mother met Colin.
Colin seemed safe. A man with a steady, boring job as an electrician, and no aspirations in life. He was happy just to watch the world pass by. He didn’t want to change it, or cared what happened outside his small section. He was just an average man, with an average life. He was a perfect candidate to raise someone else’s family.
Nicola tripped on the pavement. She was tired and found it hard to pick up her feet properly.
She wiped a tear from her eye. Thinking about everything in her life made her sad. But thinking about her absent birth father made her mad.
Nicola remembered the time when she was fourteen, and she found a letter from her father in her mother’s jewelry box, when she was rifling through, trying on earrings. It was hidden under the bottom tray.
Her father stated he couldn’t return. He was doing something of the utmost importance – world changing. He stated he couldn’t say more. It was an ambiguous letter that gave nothing away; just a man trying to clear his nagging conscience.
She wanted to rip the letter up. However, for whatever reason, her mother kept the letter safe and hidden. Nicola returned it to its place and never mentioned it.
Almost home, she thought. A quick meal, a shower, and then bed. Then repeat. Working to support a household is so hard and monotonous, she reasoned.
She gave Colin grudging respect for doing it for years, uncomplaining day after day, sometimes seven days a week.
Even though he’s faltered over the last few months, I hope he pulls it together soon, before I have a breakdown!
They had both taken Colin’s last name when he married their mother. Changing it from Stone to Breslan. He had even filled out the paperwork and adopted them as his own.
The Sixth Extinction & The First Three Weeks & The Squads First Three Weeks Omnibus [Books 1-10] Page 30
