𝙖 𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙡𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙚𝙨 [𝙋𝙚𝙩𝙪𝙣𝙞𝙖 𝘿𝙪𝙧𝙨𝙡𝙚𝙮]

CHAPTER VI

A WEEK IN, I RECEIVED MY FIRST LETTER FROM DUDLEY. It was written on flimsy paper and was profound with spelling mistakes.

'Dear Mum,

I always knew bording school would be boring, but I didnt think THIS MUCH. All the teechers want us to walk in streit lines and always wear a hat and a bow-tie. At leest Piers is here - I drew a picture of us.

(Here was a drawing of two plump boys in matching uniforms. The lines were dark and shaky, and Piers' nose was very squished. I still smiled.)

'Mr. Brite told me I shud make some new friends. I told him I was fine with Piers. So far I havent gotten into any fights with any teechers, but eustace williams tried to frame me for eating his rat. I did no such thing.

'I miss you very very much and I also miss daddy very very much. Please please please come over during half term and every visiting day because this is very hard and boring

Luv,
Dudley.

PS: bring some chocolate fuj when you do visit!'

I sighed and closed the letter. It reminded me of my first week in boarding school. I was so scared, but I can't really remember about what. Maybe it was the thought of going out and meeting so many people, or maybe it was because I'd miss my sister.

No. It definitely wasn't that.

Lily was supposed to join me in school, I remembered. We were supposed to be siblings going to the same school, like they normally do, especially when the school is an all girls boarding school. But no, Lily was special.

Fragmented memories of Lily began to flash through my mind, not letting me fully savour them. I gave up and stood, folded Dudley's letter and placed in the brass letter holder I had owned since childhood.

* * *

I opened the front door to cool the house slightly. At the step, a small bunch of flowers -- three or four -- lay peacefully, as if waiting for me to pick them.

They were the lilies from the shop.

I bent down slowly and held the stalks in my hand. They felt alive, seemed to hum with pure, floral energy. A piece of thick paper was attached:

"I just couldn't resist, so enjoy!

A. "

I stood there for what felt like an hour, gazing down at the lilies. I read the note again. A silent warmth began to spread its way into my chest. I could feel the muscles of my face stretching slightly as I smiled harder than I had in months, maybe even years.

I chose the tallest, thinnest glass I owned and half filled it with water. I placed the bright green stalks inside the glass and placed the piece on the mantelpiece. Then I resumed my seat and went on with my knitting.

* * *

Vernon didn't notice the flowers.

He trundled in and made a face when he saw me stirring carrot soup.

"Petunia, dear," he said dryly, "when are we going to have a bit of chicken? Or perhaps pork... Maybe a nice roast steak?"

"I'd just need to drop by the shops." My voice didn't sound like mine.

"But you do that every day, don't you?"

I didn't reply.

He stomped up the stairs. When he came down, I raised my voice so it would carry into the sitting room where he had reclined into his chair:

"Dudley sent a letter."

Vernon merely grunted.

I let the silence wash over me for a few minutes... Minutes drawing out to five minutes, ten minutes.

Vernon stood from his chair with a loud shuffle. He walked into to dining area, Dudley's letter in hand. He chuckled as his eyes skimmed the paper.

"Such charisma," he muttered to himself as he sat at the table.

I bit the inside of my mouth to refrain from speaking as I set the warm dish of orange soup before him. He immediately pulled out his napkin and began ladling it onto his plate.

I took a little longer than necessary doing some light cleaning in the kitchen before I sat down; the soup was already cool and Vernon was going onto his second round.

The only sound was the chiming of cutlery against plates. Normally the television would be on, filling the emptiness, but today I relished the silence.

We finished supper. As I rubbed a soapy sponge in circles along the plates, Vernon turned on the telly. My mind had somehow learned to filter out the words, and now all I heard was the white noise, the words not making any sense.

I only realized how long I had been holding a glass under the water when I pulled my hand away and found the air colder than the water. I wiped my hands and proceeded to the living room.

Vernon was transfixed on a late night telenovela. He had a bag of jellybeans open at his side. I retracted into my chair and pulled out my knitting.

"But, Esmerelda, if you go you will never know love."

"Oh, Jorge, I've already found love. Here, with you."

The orchestral music swelled as I assumed the two lovers were now locked in a passionate embrace. I paused mid-stitch and looked up at the mantelpiece, where my gift from Athena stood, tall and graceful and bright against the murky brick and wallpaper.

"She should've ended up with that Gomez bloke," was all Vernon commented before allowing us some peace and turning off the noise machine.

I sat as still as I could as he waddled upstairs. My knee bobbed up and down as I battled with myself; my stitches were sliding off.

I pushed myself out of the chair and started taking step after step towards the stairs. Just when I had reached the first step, though, I turned around and took the vase, holding it gently in my hand, and carried it upstairs with me.

I placed it on my bedside table and lay into bed, its perfume slowly diffusing into the air. Vernon undressed for bed then slipped in. He turned off his light without a word, his back to me.

I sat with mine on a little while longer, then finally turned it off. The darkness swallowed me but when I turned so that my back was to Vernon and I was facing the lilies, they seemed to glow as a strip of moonlight shone on their velvety petals.