The Girl In The Meadow

Chapter 15

15

Alayna

Wednesday 31st January, Year 825

No members of the Guard came knocking at my door in the immediate aftermath of my temper tantrum unless you counted Michael, who stopped by before sundown to explain to my parents what he'd seen. I did not elaborate and I certainly missed out the bit with the sex bet, dying a little inside at even the thought of having that conversation with Dad. Luckily, I convinced Ben not to tell my parents what happened.

The night of my argument with Tiv, an unrecognised number rang the mobile he had given me. Turns out it was Marco accusing me of keying his car. It wasn't a long phone call; we both just shouted over each other until I eventually hung up, worried my temper would get me arrested.

I made a conscious effort to keep my phone off at all times. It was hard to resist the urge to check for a message or some kind of apology from Tiv, but I held strong. It became a nightly routine between wanting to turn the damn phone on just to see if there was a message and never wanting to hear from him again. But whenever the landline rang... fuck—I couldn't help but hope it was Tiv calling. It never was. But even then, part of me needed the silence between us; it was his punishment for being a coward and not telling me how much of an asshole his brother really was. So I stuck to my self-imposed exile from him, even though it tore at me from the inside out.

Breakfast was very damn stagnant on Wednesday morning. It was Sarah and Lucy's memorial day. Now joined by their dead parents... I opted to wear a brightly coloured dress. I hated dresses and I didn't particularly wear colours that weren't black often. But Lucy loved colour. She spoke in colour. When she was angry she'd tell us she felt red. Yellow was happy. Blue was excited. Now, she had no colour. Now she was as ash in an urn ready for us to pay our respects to.

"Eat Aly," Dad ordered, looking at my untouched scrambled eggs. "We're leaving in fifteen."

I nodded solemnly and shovelled a mouthful in. It made me feel sick, like I was eating soil.

"Ben, you're not wearing that," Mum snapped as my brother entered the room, still wearing his sweats.

"I'm not going," he growled. "And I'll not make it worth your while if you force me."

Mum and Dad shot each other exasperated glances before Dad eventually piped up, "You'll never feel better if you don't at least try. I know Hayley's was-"

"I'm not fucking going, Dad," Ben snapped.

Dad had trouble not rising to my brother's cheek, visibly trying hard to give Ben the benefit of the doubt rather than scream at him. I felt myself recoil. Ben had lost about a thousand people he loved and he was only twenty-five. Dad booting off at him wasn't going to make his grief evaporate. But neither was Ben locking himself away again either.

"Ben, please come. Don't make me do this on my own." My voice sounded tiny. I didn't even mean to speak the last part. But I did and Ben's face momentarily crumpled.

"Ah, Aly, don't do that," he moaned. "It's not them. It's jars of ash."

My face pulled down into a frown as I swallowed back tears. The room was too still. Too silent.

"Fine." Ben sighed. "Just don't cry."

I nodded as he left to change, holding the tears at bay.

Ten minutes later I sat at the kitchen table with Ben, who had a face like a smacked ass, while Mum straightened Dad's tattered tie. Ben hadn't made an effort at all, wearing the same ruined jeans and black hoodie he wore every day. Though I supposed it was better than sweatpants and a holey t-shirt. Neither Mum or Dad brought it up.