Belonging

by J. S. Wilder

  CHAPTER THREE

  Mum felt distressed as she watched me pack. She was beside herself with loss as the realisation that not only was her husband of fifteen years not ever coming back, but her daughter was going, too. I had avoided her the last few weeks because it was obvious I was angry. I had never been so angry with my mother until now. She jumped whenever I came into the room as though she feared I would attack her or something silly like that.

  My mum knew the error of her ways, but I guess she felt that they were in my best interest. “If Kwame was not so stubborn, then we could all be in this together. We could be happy once again.” Mum kept repeating this until I was sick of hearing it. She was the only one that believed this was the perfect future for her. She did not realize the man she loved completely cheated and used women for his own benefits.

  “So, how long will you stay there?” she asked as she looked around my room and watched me pack with such excitement. I whistled a dance song as I grasped a wad of socks and tossed them in the suitcase. Then I grabbed my trainers and couldn’t keep the grin off my face as I squeezed them in with the other clothes.

  “The car will be here at two. I will stay there until Monday when school starts.” I stopped and looked at my schedule which had been hand delivered by one of the Sparks’ staff the previous night. “Six in the morning to Oxford, register at nine, then we will take a few photos, and then I would be on my own. I have to register and everything then. Also, number one, I need to get a job.” I looked at the ceiling, which was peeling, but at this precise moment in time, it looked like heaven. Everything I saw that was flawed looked perfect to me. I was going to Oxford—all those nights of studying, all the stress of not being able to do the one thing my heart had desired for the last four years had been swept away by a perfect stranger.

  A stranger that had hardly spoken to me, or even knew me, had been my guardian angel and I would never forget that. Not in a million years. I had already planned the next twenty years. However, trying for a promotion as a supervisor had seemed pointless. I used to beg mum to apply, but she would always have the same response. “Men don’t like women in power. Your father wouldn’t like it if I were a manager. He would feel inferior and never come back.”

  True, I had heard it so many times that men did not like a woman who was wealthier than them or in a better position, but the problem that mum failed to see time and time again was that Dad was never coming back. She had been used for his immigration rights and even worse for his financial benefit. He was not a man worth even considering as a partner.

  I had seen over the years as Mum had subjected herself to everlasting pain, and I refused to be one of those women. I had worked hard to get into Oxford, so I didn’t have to do a double shift during the winter when the gas bill was high or that I wouldn’t have to worry about making ends meet when the rent was raised year after year.

  I wanted to be nothing like Mum, and to make matters worse, I didn’t want to have to ask for handouts when times were rough. I saw my auntie be promoted in their local supermarket. A couple of them were supervisors, yet they were happily married and every summer would take their kids on holiday abroad.

  I had never been abroad, and I would listen to stories from my cousins every time they returned from the sea, sunshine, and exotic locations. I had never even been to the beach. My grandma had tried to take me a couple of times much to my mum’s disapproval. Mum never had those fancy things when she was a child and frowned at the idea of giving those things to her only daughter.

  Mum blamed me for dad leaving. A few times, I heard her mumbling that if I hadn’t been a difficult, tantrum-throwing baby and toddler, then maybe dad wouldn’t have left her. Mum blamed everyone and everything for Dad leaving, apart from dad himself.

  Now, that she was going to be in the two-bedroom council flat (a flat for people on welfare), the realization of it all made her cry hysterically. This day was approaching, and she envisaged when it did, dad would be by her side. I guess the idea that she would have to live alone made her feel sad. She started to cry hysterically as I made my way out of the front door.

  ***

  Mum refused to see me off. I had my hand on the door to leave, when she ran down the stairs with tears streaming down her eyes. When she saw me, she jerked to a stop. “Please, call me… write me h-how you are doing.”

  “I will.” However, I knew this would be the last time we would see each other for weeks.

  “You will keep in touch?” Grandma questioned as the chauffeur loaded my bags into the back of the limousine.

  My cousin Josh was fascinated with the vehicle and asked his mates to take some photos of it while standing and posing next to the limousine. When he had heard that I was being picked up in a limousine, he knew it was a way to impress the ladies. Therefore, he came along to bid me farewell and get photos for Facebook and bragging rights.

  Rachel, my first cousin, was so proud of me for achieving my lifetime goal. She embraced the journey that I was taking and vowed to call me every week. “Maybe you can help me achieve my goals that I have swept under the carpet for too long,” she said. She was twenty-one, and she thought that packing shelves were the way of life for the Wrights. Now she had seen that there was a different avenue and wanted to embrace it with open arms. She gave me a big hug goodbye.

  I hugged Rachel while keeping my eyes on Grandma. She had the same beautiful light eyes like mine and pulled every heartstring possible.

  I watched as the short, beautiful, grey-haired woman tried to keep hold of her tears and each time she sniffed, they came pouring out. She constantly rummaged in her handbag for new tissue, so she could start the process all over again.

  “Grandma, stop it.” I just couldn’t bear to see her like this.

  For a moment, I considered sneaking upstairs to see if Mum would come down. I couldn’t see her bedroom window or the living room window from down here, but I still had a feeling she was waiting for me. The worst part was that I told her I would contact her, but we knew the truth. I did not intend to stay in touch with her.

  “We need to go, Ms Withers,” the driver, Henry said as I held on to Grandma, the one who has acted as my true mother or rather how my mother should have behaved.

  “I never wanted to be like this. I’m so proud of you. Too proud of you,” she cried as she held me in her arms one more time. I kissed her cheek and then jumped into the limo.

  I watched from the back window as my Grandma continued to cry. I would no longer have Sunday lunches with her alongside my nephews and nieces. From this day on, I would be missing her, and I knew I was secretly her favourite. When we turned the corner, I wiped the tears from my eyes and sat back with a sigh.

  “Goodbye past and hello future.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I walked up to the big, thick black door. A maid dressed in a black uniform opened the door. My first thought was to wonder how she knew I was coming to the house. Did they make her stand there to stop someone from ringing the doorbell?

  “I heard the car, my dear. My name’s Betty,” she replied as if she had read my thoughts.

  “Come inside or are you going to stand out there all day. We don’t bite in here...” She ushered me inside. I held my backpack loosely as I crossed the threshold. The driver, who failed to introduce himself or even speak with me except to give me orders in and out of the car, said he would bring the rest of my things up later.

  Mannerisms and wealth don’t seem to mix with working for the wealthy, were the thoughts that were running through my mind until I met Betty. She reminded me of Grandma, and the moment I saw her rosy cheeks and smile, I knew we would get along and I was right.

  “So, you are here for three nights, and then you will be off to Oxford. I must say, I’ve not had a pretty young thing like you in the house, not for a long time. Always those stuck up boys,” she whispered in my ear after she shut the door. “Don’t tell anyone I said that.”

  I nodded in response. After
all, just who would I tell? At the same time, my mobile vibrated in my pocket. I fished it out wondering who would be calling me now. It was my mother. “You gonna answer that?” Betty smiled at me, and I shook my head.

  There was only one person I needed to be speaking to and it certainly was not my mum. I would take a few pictures with my phone and send them to Grandma. She would love seeing this. I’m sure she’s never been to a wealthy person’s house either. She would die just standing in the hallway.

  “As I said, we don’t bite...” Betty said.

  I started to go pale. I caught a glimpse of my face as she continued her grand tour of the house. My hands started to get sweaty and I was breathing rapidly, considering we were walking at a slow pace as I went from room to room. The house was so beautiful. The crystal chandeliers hung in a vaulted ceiling in the entryway. The walls were decorated in a warm cream colour that looked as if they had just been painted for there were no smudges or marks on them. I glanced down at my wrinkled T-shirt and skin-tight jeans. There was the beginning of a hole on my right knee and the bottom was frayed, but these were the most decent clothes I had in my collection besides my work clothes. Now, here in this mansion, I felt dirty and messy compared to everything.

  As I stood there with the maid, I felt conscious about everything that was on me and about me, from my hair, which I managed to swoop up in a loose ponytail, my new trademark look, to my glasses which were slightly broken and slanted to the left of my face because the hinge was broken.

  For the first time in a long time, I just felt cheap.

  As if Betty could sense my nerves, she suddenly grinned. “I love your t-shirt. It’s funny. Life is too short. Turn around, what does the back say.”

  “So stop wasting it! I love it, too.” I said as I quickly spun around. My nerves settled by her friendliness.

  “Let me give you the grand tour,” she said as she wrapped her arm through mine.

  We glided past the stairs, and I listened as she explained the different parts of the house. I could not get over how immaculate the walls were, and I noticed there were more paintings than photos of the family until we reached the stairwell. As we climbed up, I spotted a beautiful painting of Mrs Sparks followed by one of someone who I could only think was her son. Betty said that his name was Simon. Then at the top was one of a man—the most beautiful man I have ever laid my eyes on. I guess it was Mr Sparks. I felt like he was watching me, and I titled my head to the side captivated by his green eyes.

  “Yes, that is the handsome Mr Sparks. You’ll get to meet him tomorrow. He’s travelling back from China at the moment.”

  “China? Wow!”

  “Yes, he has business connections everywhere. You name it he’s been there. Now, this is the second floor.”

  “How many floors are there?”

  “Five,” she edged closer to whisper. She made me think that maybe the walls have ears because she had done it twice in the few minutes since I had met her.

  “The lower ground floor belongs to Mr Sparks.”

  Then she continued to walk forward. Confusion set in. How could it belong to only him? Were they not married?

  “So, what belongs to Mrs Sparks?” I jokingly asked.

  Betty stopped in her tracks and turned to look at me with a frown. “That’s none of your business,” she said tapping her finger on her nose.

  She was right. She had probably told me more than I needed to know, so there was no need for me to ask more questions. After all, it was only for three nights. What could happen?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  After Betty had left me in my room, I had the unpleasant experience of Mrs Sparks coming into the room with a sharp knock at the door. It’s her house, but then there’s no point knocking if you’re not going to wait for a response.

  “This is your room and where you will be staying for the next few days…” Mrs Sparks continued to bore me with her rules and regulations about my eating times. I wasn’t allowed to bring food into the room. Where I should put my dirty clothes, and I should only bathe in my en-suite, but I could relieve myself in the other toilets in the house. Even the way she said ‘relieve myself’ sounded sophisticated. If she saw me squeezing out my shit as if my life depended on it, she would know it was far from posh!

  A question my mind kept drifting back to—do only three people live in this house?

  “Did you hear what I said?” Mrs Sparks asked as my mind started to wonder.

  When I merely nodded, she continued.

  “Your luggage is there, so I suggest you shower and dress for lunch.” She ran her hand over the bed and I looked at her, wanting to get my luggage and pick out something suitable to wear. Instead, all I could think about was that she was still in the room, and I had nothing decent to wear.

  “Go ahead, don’t be shy...”she encouraged as she gazed at me, like a hungry wolf. What did she want? For me to strip in front of her? Before, when she spoke to me, it was like I disgusted her and now here she was with her legs crossed and staring directly at me with her dark brown eyes and perfectly shaped blond hair.

  I hesitated and shifted towards my bags. I knelt down and opened them to reveal the dress I once wore for my cousin’s wedding and matching high heels.

  “You’re not going to lunch, we’re just having it in the house, and you do not need to be so formal!” she screeched as I put the dress on the armchair and the heels beside it. I was bewildered about how to behave. Was this a test? I had passed all my exams with flying colours my entire life and none of them had made me as nervous as I was right now.

  She must have misread my anxiousness and said, “You can wear something like what you have on now, but with a T-shirt with no slogans. I would give you something of mine, but I doubt they would fit.”

  Of course, they would not fit. There was not a piece of meat on this woman. She was tremendously slim. She made me feel fat being a size twelve and standing next to her. The only meat on her body surprisingly enough was her tits. They were not big, nothing compared to mine, but they were perky. You could never help but notice them, because they stuck right out and seemed to say hello to you every time she spoke. Not that I studied women’s bodies, never had to, but I felt that because she was so overpowering, I was intrigued by everything about her.

  She wore a white summer dress with a green slanting down it. She had the same pattern on her shoes and even her nail polish. She had finished the look with her nails painted green with white cuticles. I saw it as she brushed her hand on the sheets and wondered if she changed her nail colour every day to match her outfit. Everything on her was coordinated to perfection. I had visions of her wearing green panties to finish the look.

  I took out another set of jeans and a plain black T-shirt. I waited for a comment, but avoided looking at her, because she simply intimidated me. As I took out my home slippers, she let out a sigh of relief. The floors in the house are wooden. Betty told me they had them restored to their original wood. There are so many rugs, Betty warned me, very expensive rugs that lay throughout the house. She told me to be careful to wear slippers if I had them, and if I didn’t, then she would give me a pair.

  She sighed with approval and her lips curled together as I stood to take my clothes off. I wanted to change in the bathroom. I just didn’t feel comfortable with this situation. Instead, I gently took my t-shirt off with my eyes focused on the bathroom. Then, I put it on the other side of the armchair. I took my jeans off in the same manner. As I stood there in my underwear, I was too focused on her being in the room that I did not hear her creep up to me.

  “My, my, my. Is that what a fuller figure looks like?” she asked as she came behind me and grabbed hold of my breasts like a hungry child waiting to be breastfed. I went red. I was so embarrassed by her actions and shocked at the same time.

  I turned to face her, hoping she would not grab hold of them again. Instead, she simply looked at them and said, “I had to pay a small fortune just to have a fraction of what you
possess naturally—touch them.”

  I looked into her eyes to see if she was joking or if there was a secret camera and this was all part of the test. Did I have to sleep with her to get my tuition fee paid? That was the thought that raced through my mind.

  She took my hand and positioned them on her breasts. I held up and squeezed them without being prompted, because she had answered the very question that had entered into my mind before—they were not real. This is why they were constantly up, and as I squeezed them, I realised she didn’t have a bra on. I blushed even more at the thought of exploring another woman’s body.

  “That’s enough. Get ready. Lunch will be ready in fifteen minutes,” she scolded me and left me standing there like a neglected bride at the altar. I was confused by her actions and her ability to change from being sexual to authoritative and all business in the space of a heartbeat.

  I went to the bathroom grateful that there were towels in there that I could use. They were fluffy and emerald green just like Mrs Sparks’ dress. I shook my head to rid myself of confusing thoughts. The shower was in a marble bathroom and was bigger than my bedroom. I ran the shower and then took off my underwear. No, the shower was bigger than my old bedroom. I hadn’t seen the new one at Oxford yet.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Showered and dressed, I sat at the huge maple table. Which spoon was the right one, I thought as I counted three different spoons as a bowl of steaming cream soup was placed before me. I had been scolded by Mrs Sparks and continued to sit bewildered at which spoon to pick up. Our starting dish was soup, but I didn’t know which spoon to use. I had been scolded by Mrs Sparks for not eating, now was I going to face even more humiliation, by picking up the wrong spoon.