Call Me Rumpel

Chapter Nine

The scream that tears from my throat is as silent as it was in the nightmare I've just had. I sit up in bed, drenched in sweat and tangled in my sheets, as I try to steady my rapidly beating heart. One minute, I'd been in Singapore searching for my mother, and the next, I'd become as still as the mermaid-lion statues I'd been standing in front of. My mother had appeared, but her glorious auburn hair had soon receded into a black, oily mess, and Vincent's bloodied face had leered at me as he wielded a knife.

Even my dreams aren't safe from the menace.

Once my chest is rising and falling at a normal pace, I kick off my sheets and clamber out of bed. I rub the crust from the corners of my eyes and turn to my alarm clock, hoping I have at least a few more hours of sleep.

What I'm not prepared to see is that I've overslept. I race to the bathroom and peer into the mirror, not liking what is staring back at me. My hair is a tangled mess of knots. When I lean closer, I see my roots are already growing back, a line of brown giving away my natural colour.

I'm startled back into reality when I hear the kettle boiling. Regardless of my hair situation, I still have to wash my face, apply makeup, get dressed, and make it to the end of my driveway before the bus pulls away in—I duck back into my bedroom and look at my alarm clock—two minutes. It's not possible to get ready, even if I skip a shower and breakfast. I'll either have to run to school and risk getting sweaty or trudge downstairs and beg Dad for a lift.

Neither of those options is appealing.

Sighing, I grab a clean shirt and skirt and stalk back to the bathroom. As far as my image is concerned, Plan B is the better option.

***

By the time I make my way downstairs, I've come up with a plan. I'll call an Uber without Dad noticing; that way I won't have to walk, nor will I have to beg him for a lift. Thanks to Amanda, I have the fare, too.

Except when I enter the kitchen, Dad is sitting at the table, talking with Nanna.

"Morning Dad, Nanna," I say, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl.

They're too busy with their conversation about Nanna's collection of trinkets and jewellery she'd inherited from her mother. It's nice Dad is actually following the advice of her former nurse by rekindling her memory with old stories, but I needed him to still be in bed.

"Hello, Matilda, it's lovely to see you again," Nanna says as she spies me biting into the apple.

Dad looks up sharply. "Aren't you supposed to be at school?"

I could ask him why he isn't at work. His brown hair's peppered with grey and unbrushed, his jawline's covered in stubble, and his pyjamas have replaced the crisp suit he used to wear. All pointing any of this out will do is create another argument, and again, at least he's making an effort with Nanna.

"Well?"

"Right. I, er, have a free period first thing this morning."

"Free period? Oh, dear, you shouldn't talk about those sorts of things in front of a man. It's not appropriate," Nanna admonishes, making my cheeks burn even though I didn't mean that kind of period.

At least Dad doesn't keep pressing me for answers. When the doorbell rings, he leaps up.

Nanna goes back to sipping her tea as my phone vibrates. I pull it out, glad he's left the room. According to him, phones are for emergencies only, and even then he thinks I should use the pay phone at the end of our road. The booth's covered in graffiti, the phone cord's cut off, and the coin slot's jammed with gum, but in his eyes, it's still cheaper than any data plan.