Leaving London

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

Have you ever had a bundle of dread crumpled up in your stomach, so bad that you actually fear having to get up and face the real world? Paranoia rippling your skin in pebbled gooseflesh, anxiety seeping through every segment of your body right until your fingertips? Well...yeah. That's me right now. I'm tucked under the covers; with the sheets twisted right over my head, trying to pretend that it's not light outside and that it's still the middle of the night. It's not, of course. I've scrutinized my watch at least three times, as I don't want to check my phone, to see that it's already half past ten. Last night, after I'd seen those messages blaring at me from my phone, I'd powered it off and flung it under my bed...and that kind of destroyed the whole 'Christmas spirit'. I re-joined the rest of my family to watch an old Christmas film, but I avoided the chocolate selection box, saying I felt a bit sick because of lunch. Which was kind of true...after what happened at lunch my stomach was just a writhing pit of nerves. It had completely demolished the light hearted feel of the day...all thanks to Lara. Although who was I to rely on her? She'd been best friends with Mia way before I'd come along, so why would she have held back something from her like that? Something as atrocious as what I did obviously was. Even if they'd been going through a rough patch...I suppose Mia must have wheedled it out of her some way. I should have been expecting it to be honest. So why, now, does it feel like absolutely nothing has changed from England? I'm still here, stressing over friendship issues...which I never really got rid of. This was supposed to be a fresh new start. Not another chance to screw up all my friendships. Ugh.

"Fearne!" Mum's voice slices through my overthinking, and so I dip my legs out from the side of the bed and propel myself towards the door, praying silently that it's not Lara or Mia who have come around to the house or who have called.

"Yes?" I ask, my voice shaking slightly.

"Oh, breakfast is ready." She says, as a breath of relief escapes from my body and I slide into a chair. I pile a few sugar-coated strawberries, a croissant and a small pot of natural yoghurt onto my plate, and dig in. The soft juice in the fruit soothes my parched throat and makes me feel a little more revitalised.

"So what's the plan for today?" I ask after a gulp of water.

"I don't mind," Dad says, "Probably just staying at home. You two can call your friends over if you want." I shudder at the thought of having me, Olli, Lara and Mia in the same room at the same time. No thanks. That's not a good idea. Let's just say that school is going to be hell. Literal hell. Every step I take is going to be like walking over baking hot coals, my soul being consumed in hellish rage directed from presumably both Lara and Mia. And who even knows about Olli.

I avoid going back up to my room, and change into a swimsuit which is drying off on the radiator, and slip out onto the decking by the pool. I stretch over a sun lounger, the sun rays cooking my skin in pleasant warmth which runs into my veins and drags me down into a relaxed state. I push all of the thoughts crammed in my brain to the back of the mind and decide to take a break and swim for a while. From this perspective, the newly-risen sun glints right off the surface of the pool, making a cascading glow spread over the glassy surface with a blinding shine - the water's skin illuminated with beaming light. As I plunge through the pool's coating of sunshine, the depths of the liquid appear to still be dankly cold, and the refreshing coolness sends tiny shivers scuttling up my spine as I kick my legs and start to drift over to the other side, water rifting up around me in whooshes of sparkling bubbles and frothing waves. I don't even care that my hair is streaming through the water behind me and that it's been reduced to sopping wet strands in seconds, nor that my flip flop accidentally fell into the water, because it doesn't really matter.

∞

I keep myself busy. And by busy I practically mean that until noon every second of the day is spent doing something, to keep my mind off things. I reorganise my whole room, scavenge for leaves in the pool with the net, bake a batch of vanilla cookies, paint my nails, re-paint my nails, and flick through in total around five magazines. I then wash my chlorine-scented hair and Mum asks me to run down to the shop to pick up some bread.