Elemental: The First

by Alexandra May

  All my shoes were now resting on the racks at the bottom and there was even a shelf for my jewellery and a hanger for bags.

  Luckily I had seen fit to throw on a pair of jeans and my favourite purple top, complete with ballet pumps, by the time I heard Daisy. I rushed downstairs with my khaki jacket in hand ready for my first outing into Warminster.

  Daisy drove the simplest route into town, showing me the short cuts through the fields and back alleys for when I needed to walk that way. If Daisy could walk it in seven minutes like she said, I would be able to do it quicker. Truthfully, I couldn’t wait to meet up with Mira and Hannah and take full advantage of my new freedom.

  We parked in the central car parking area, adjacent to the town supermarket and strolled past the old working men’s club and the brewery on the corner. Here I had my first proper view of the high street where all the vital shops were located. The buildings were a mishmash, some two storey and others three storey, some painted white revealing dark old English beams while others showed off the grey brickwork most popular during the Edwardian or Victorian era. The town had remained very traditional and olde worlde, in a quaint English sense.

  Daisy reminded me where I would find the stationers, and the theatre, the coffee shops and the post office. Further along, out of our view were the banks with the ironmongers and printers opposite. The three clothes shops were down the far end of the high street along with a dressmakers and shoe shop. It was good to know that very little had changed since my last visit and getting my bearings was crucial.

  From the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of a small crowd of boys, younger than me, sitting on an old brick wall. One of them had a laptop computer and they were all peering at the screen and laughing at something that was clearly entertaining. What took my surprise was when they called over a ‘Hello’ at Daisy and she greeted them in return, calling them by name, like friends. In most other towns I had lived in, kids my age wouldn’t have even given a glance at an old person, let alone greet them with such politeness.

  Daisy looked at me with a smile and winked. “That’s Kelvin Carter and his friends. They’re good boys, just bored, there’s not much to do around here for boys their age,” she merely said and I laughed at her and hooked my arm through hers as we walked together along the street to where a few people were beginning to assemble outside an old Victorian building to our right.

  A small shower of rain gloomed the mood as we approached a blue tape cordoning off the pathway, which led out into the road as a crowd began to emerge. Daisy and I were let through the cordon and I stood at the far side out the way, as she walked forward and shook hands with some official looking men and women in smart dress.

  All greeted her like old friends except for the tall, silver haired man who kissed her on both cheeks and clasped her hands in his, talking to her like a much closer companion.

  It made me wonder whether, in all the time that Daisy had lived alone, she had been lonely. For a soul mate, or a companion - at her age anyway - or a lover even. Certainly on the photographs in the living room back at the house there was no evidence of a close acquaintance with any male friend of significance.

  The silver haired man finally let her hand go and they both looked at me and waved, and I returned the same greeting but making sure to store a mental note to ask Daisy later about him.

  A microphone was brought forward and a small area cleared at the front of the magnificent looking building. The silver haired man moved forward to address the crowd, who quietened on his advance. He was Ben Deverill, the Governor of the Town Council.

  While half heartedly listening to him, I gazed over to take in the atmosphere of this happy occasion. The shower of rain had passed and there were sporadic cheers and a grand applause when the man officially introduced Daisy Frost and handed her an enormous pair of decorative scissors. She duly cut the red tape that was draped across the doors to the building and announced it now open as more cheers broke out from the fervent gathering.

  Daisy looked at me and cheekily winked; telling me instantly that she had done this a few times already, in and around the town. She shook hands again with other dignitaries stood on ceremony including someone who looked like the Mayor, with a large sash across his chest and numerous badges, other Council members and a few local politicians, proudly showing off their coloured party rosettes.

  A commotion drew my attention away to an area just behind me where a disturbance was breaking out. Four young men in dark suits were leading away a middle aged man, who was scuffling his limbs in protest and shouting obscenities as he went. One of the men had retrieved a hand gun and was now holding it down barrel down and out of anyone’s way. I heard a few cries of shock and surprise, but in no time the incident was over and forgotten. All that was left in its wake was the murmuring of gossipers guessing what had taken place. A surge of Chinese whispers proceeded next and as the ceremony came to an end, the crowd finally began to disperse back along the high street or to take a closer look at the beautifully decorated theatre.

  Daisy was quickly at my side again and she whispered “Shall we go?” in my ear. I grinned and nodded, not keen to meet such high society in only my first day in the new town.

  I asked Daisy if she had seen the man being led off, who had conspicuously disappeared into the back of a black jeep-like vehicle and been driven away. She said she hadn’t seen the occurrence, the Mayor had wanted her opinion on a local matter, but at events like these, there were always a few people who wanted to rock the boat. Ben Deverill wasn’t generally liked as the Council Leader but, Daisy added, he got results where it mattered, and for that he was acceptable, until someone better came along.

  We headed back along the high street which continued along a smaller road. A hair salon was on the corner displaying the latest cuts and colours available in its window dressing and behind the shop, like a great colossus, was the square church tower, with its four pinnacles pointing skyward and a lone cockerel weather vane at its centre.

  The next building along was the restaurant, and I had smelled newly cooked potatoes and grilled meat from the high street earlier. My acute sense of smell suddenly provoked my stomach to grumble in protest.

  We were greeted by a middle aged man sporting a thick black moustache and shock of jet black hair, combed down neatly to the sides. I glanced around the pretty room at the red and green empty clothed tables, with matching window curtains. The room was empty, except for us and the lone chef I could see at the back, manning the ovens and whisking something in a large white bowl. We were the only customers in this evening. The walls showed off an array of fine art watercolours, and oil paintings. Towns and rural scenes depicted were bathed in sunshine, and cascading down to sandy yellow beaches or fields filled with orange trees. A large old fashioned clock was the centre point, with a faint ticking that was right on time with my heart beat.

  “Miss Daisy, it’s so nice you could join us tonight,” the man said with great courtesy.

  “Marco, I’d like you to meet my favourite granddaughter, Rose,” Daisy said proudly to him.

  “Ah, Miss Rose, we’re so glad you’ve arrived!” he said with a broken English accent.

  I held out my hand and he shook it with friendly gusto.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” I said.

  “Rose, this is Marco Vilhena, owner of the finest Portuguese Restaurant in Wiltshire,” Daisy said. “The chicken and chips here are fabulous.”

  Mr Vilhena ushered us to the only window table and was soon putting small dishes in front of us and filling our glasses with water.

  “We have here some fresh bread, garlicky carrots, the best green olives from Portugal, and some special piri-piri sauce. I hope you like it, Miss Rose.”

  “Thank you, I’m sure I will,” I smiled back.

  Daisy and I chatted lightly about the town and her many societies and groups that she was a member of, while we tucked into our starters. The food was delicious, and when the main course
arrived, the famous chicken and chips, I was almost surprised by Daisy’s choice of restaurant.

  “Marco is a gem. I often get a takeaway from here during the week, or if I’m running late,” Daisy remarked.

  “I’ve never had Portuguese food before, but this chicken is something else,” I managed to say in between mouthfuls, enjoying the spicy sensation of the piri-piri sauce on my taste buds.

  “It’s nice to see you have a good appetite,” Daisy said. “So many young girls nowadays either over eat or under eat.”

  “I think I burn up more energy than other girls. I get hungry, so I need to eat,” I remarked. “So, can you tell me about our lodger?”

  The question had been burning inside for a while, but everything had it’s time and I guessed that Daisy would tell me soon enough.

  Marco cleared away our plates and we both declined a dessert but opted for a cappuccino each to finish.

  Once Mr Vilhena had served our coffees and was out of earshot Daisy began.

  “Morgan McCaw lives in the cottage at the bottom of the garden. He’s been living there for nearly two years now. Actually it’s turned out well. You can go to school together although he’s a year older than you. At least you’ll know someone else before you start.”

  Morgan. I liked the name. I didn’t know any other Morgan’s. It would be a bonus if he drove to school too. I wanted to know more.

  “So why does he live there, hasn’t he got a home?”

  “Morgan’s in the same situation as you. His parents travel most of the time and he needed a permanent base. I suggested to his parents that I would be only too glad to take him in and he’s settled there well. The cottage was empty and needed to be lived in. He did a bit of decorating before he moved in and then made it his own. He did such a good job that I offered him the house rent free. It’s his house, Rose, so don’t go over and pry. He likes his privacy too much, although he joins me for breakfast and the occasional night cap, I see very little of him. It’s not good for young people to shut themselves away but hopefully you can help change that. He’s welcome in our house any time though, as much as you are,” she said pointedly.

  I shrugged. “Okay, he’s welcome, I get it. Be nice to Morgan, check.”

  Daisy continued. “It’s Morgan you have to thank for painting your room and putting the shelves and your desk up. He did it all on his own. He’s so excited about you coming to stay.”

  “Really,” I said, well aware that my answer came out a bit dismissive. “So why wasn’t he home today?”

  “His parents are passing through for a few days. He’s been staying over at the family house.”

  “So he does have a house elsewhere then.”

  “Yes, but he didn’t want to live there on his own. The McCaw house is much bigger than ours. And legally, at the time he was a minor. His parents signed over guardianship to me until he was old enough to live alone.”

  “So, when is he due back?”

  “Tonight or tomorrow, I think.”

  Something nagged at me and it took a few moments to pin point it.

  “Do my parents know about Morgan living with you?” I asked shyly.

  “Of course they do,” Daisy exhorted. “Though I’m surprised they didn’t tell you. Your mother and Morgan’s mother knew each other well. Before your mother met your father, of course.”

  “So why didn’t they tell me themselves?”

  “Rose, they probably didn’t think it was important, in the grand scheme of things. Does it make a difference?” Daisy’s brow furrowed, and I noticed an anguish I hadn’t seen before.

  “No, Daisy,” I breathed out. “It doesn’t make a difference. Morgan’s welcome if you say he is. But I don’t like secrets.”

  “I know that,” Daisy concurred. “There are many times when I was out of the loop, as it were, and I wished I hadn’t been. It isn’t a pleasant place to be. No more secrets, promise.”

  I laughed. “I suppose Mum and Dad did that to you too.”

  She nodded. “Make friends with Morgan. Get to know him before you judge him. You can trust him with anything. I do.”

  “You trust a seventeen year old?”

  “I’ve known him since he was a boy. Our families have always been very loyal to one another. A loyalty of our magnitude is almost unheard of these days.”

  “But his parents left him. They deserted him, and left him to you.”

  “They needed to pursue their own lives once more. Morgan accepted that.”

  “That’s so sad. Poor Morgan.”

  She chuckled. “Poor Morgan? Your parents have left you in just the same way. The only difference is that we’re blood, and he isn’t. Don’t feel sorry for him, he won’t thank you for it. Tomorrow we’ll talk some more. There are a few secrets of your own that we need to discuss, I believe.”

  Her expression implied that she had no intention of discussing the subject right here and now. But I could tell that she was talking about my gift. So far, today, there had only been the mention of my bracelet. But as she was my grandmother I knew she would want to know more. And I had more questions for her, too. But a wave of fatigue quickly draped over me suddenly like a soft sheet and I yawned, and quickly apologised, drinking the last of my coffee.

  “I think it’s time for bed and you’ve had a long day. Shall we go?” Daisy laughed, getting up from her chair. Mr Vilhena was quickly at her side and with payment made, and Daisy wishing his wife well, we left the restaurant and met the bracing chilly night air.

  I dozed on the way home and woke up to the iron gates closing behind us. I wanted to ask Daisy about the security but I could only just concentrate on getting through the front door and into the house.

  “Go to bed, and I’ll see you in the morning,” she said as she kissed my forehead and lightly pushed me towards the stairway. I didn’t fight it, I was shattered. I shuffled up the stairs half asleep.

  “Thank you for the lovely meal, Daisy, I’ll see you tomorrow,” I mumbled.

  “You’re welcome, Angel. Sleep well,” she said kindly.

  In the bathroom I cleansed my face with half closed eyes and stared hard in the mirror at my reflection. I did look tired, the evidence showing with dark circles under my dull green eyes. That was a sure-fire sign of being exhausted. My eyes were always sparkling bright, except when I had a headache, but not tonight.

  My skin was drawn and blotchy too, probably due to the hot day and chilly evening. Usually my skin shone pale and clear. I had never been able to keep a sun tan but I always thought that pale skin was more interesting, at least the glossy magazines say so. There was nothing needed here except a good nights sleep.

  I drew a glass of water from the tap and drank slowly, then brushed my long copper hair till it was silky again and tied it back.

  Pausing by the bed, I reached over and opened the small top window, immediately the fresh night air filled the room.

  With exhaustion finally taking hold, I got into bed and the draining day finally ended.

  I was running through a forest, above me the wind fiercely crashed branch, twig and leaf. My body moved fluidly as I ran. Jumping over fallen boughs and ducking under low branches.

  My candescent white glow shone under the thin clothes I wore, my urgency was sparking the intense light from within. The white light bounced off the forest floor and guided the way. I was my own illuminated beacon, and I had no use for torches or flashlights.

  I had to hurry, there was no time left. They needed me and I could hear them, frightened and scared.

  As I neared the small row of cottages I slowed my pace, stopping next to the first building, the furthest one from the rendezvous point. I controlled my breathing and quickly calmed my body. The glow dimmed out of sight, and my white skin was pale pink again. Apprehension gripped me but haste at this time would ignite fear. Fear he might hurt them.

  I slowly reached the end cottage and with my back to the wall I peered round trying to get a view of my foes.

/>   In one corner of the featureless yard two men wearing dark suit’s stood. They pointed hand guns directly at the six kneeling youngsters whose hands were bound behind them. Their terrified faces stared into a void at something I couldn’t yet see.

  I swiftly moved along the wall to a better view, my quiet steps did not heed the guard’s attention. But I was wary now; I had one more barrier between my foe and me. Silence was paramount and I couldn’t afford to linger any longer.

  My fear heightened as I glanced around the corner. My foe stood tall, big and menacingly still. His confident air was defiant. He held a small handgun ready, waiting. He already considered the capture of both fugitives a victory. The two boys in question were kneeling in front of him now facing their friends. But their posture was different to the other six captives. They were defiant and calm. Their hands may have been behind their heads in surrender, but they were not afraid to fight and they were waiting for a signal, waiting for me.

  The yard was soundless, eerily quiet. No one moved or spoke. I breathed in, quickly gathering as much oxygen as I could into my lungs. I stepped away from the wall and slowly entered the yard stopping in the dead centre. Every pair of eyes was on me. I heard a whimper from someone in the group I had my back to, while someone else hastened them in a quiet ��Shh’.

  “About time, Halíka Dacomé,” The man said maliciously. “I had a feeling you wouldn’t come.” His loud laugh was filled with emptiness, it was pure evil.

  “What do you want?” I said with my deep, rich primordial voice, much deeper than my light human tone.

  “Well, let’s cut to the chase, shall we?” he continued with impatience. “You can live by saving one of these two.” He gestured to the two boys. “Or you can die and save them both. But whatever you decide someone must die. Will you kill to save a life? Or has the great Halíka Dacomé grown soft in her human form.” As he taunted me he mockingly put his hand to his chin, as if to consider my choice. His demeanour did not fool me and his energy force acted as a mirror, reflecting his own emotions, though he tried to shield them from my sight. He was…..afraid? No, maybe not afraid, maybe uneasy in my presence. He knew this circumstance could go either way.