Leaving London

Chapter Twenty Five

Chapter Twenty Five

I awaken with a feeling of dread wedged in the pit of my stomach; a lodged, cold rock buried under my skin. I peel my duvet off silently, as not to wake Kayla, and as I slide onto the floor I feel icy tickles of cold air bloom behind me and scuttle up my spine. That's a bad sign. It means I've woken up in the middle of the night. Again.
I lightly tiptoe my way to the window, shuffling the curtains back until I'm faced with glossy darkness. I place my hands on the cold glass, my breath forming icy clouds of condensation on the panes. Staring at the pool of inky blackness swarming from the outside, I leave fingerprint indents on the window, a feel of coolness settling inside me. Ten minutes pass, and I finally draw close the thread-lined blinds and creep back to bed. My eyes have grown accustomed to the shadows, so in theory, knowing that it's exactly seven steps to the side of my bed, I should be able to slip back under the covers without a trace. However knowing me, I stumble over the leg of my desk and consequently what sounds like a few of my paperbacks topple to the floor. Crap. I hope that didn't wake anyone up.
I yank the duvet back over my shivering body and clamp my eyes firmly shut.
"Fearne? Was that you?" Dammit.
"Sorry Kayla. Go back to sleep." I whisper hoarsely. She grunts and I hear the covers shift around before she falls still again. I let out a supressed breath. It's their last day today. I unlock my phone. 4:29 am. They leave in exactly eleven hours and twenty one minutes. I should be getting some rest. I've got a long day ahead, my conscience weighs up as I turn back to my phone and continue scrolling through my Instagram feed. I then swap over to Facebook, looking through everyone's Christmas photos from my friends back in England; of rumbling, stormy skies overshadowing snowy hills, candy canes decorating rich, green-needled trees, ice skating whilst wrapped up in thick, woollen mittens. I feel a sense of nostalgia, as I lie cemented under my duvet. It turns out loads of people from back home are online at this time of their day back home. My chest pangs to see Alfie is also online. He kept to his word; he messaged me soon after he must have arrived back to London, informing me about how his Mother was getting along in hospital. Apparently she's taken a turn for the worse, but none of the doctors can be certain about how things are going to pan out. Him and his Dad have been holed up in her room apparently. I recall him describing it vividly as 'Empty hours filled with instant coffee, worrying and that disgusting hospital stench of cleaning fluids.' I totally agree.

∞

I wake up in bed with a jolt, running a hand over my forehead and realising it's beaded with sweat. I wonder how long I managed to fall asleep for. It's certainly a lot lighter outside - the curtains seem to be glowing with a sunny halo. Rolling over, I check the time on my phone again: it's twenty past seven. I decided with the girls that we should wake up at half seven so they could all pack their things before a mid-morning breakfast down at the beach, so we could have a little amble and go out for a fancy lunch as well. Mum and Dad will probably be leaving the house any minute soon so they can both drive into the city for work. Mum's taken half a day off so she can come to the airport with us at ten to four, the time of their departure.

My alarm blares through my tiredness and it takes all of my mental strength to not hurl the irritating mobile device at the nearest wall and watch it smash into silence. It's the most irritating alarm sound I've ever picked - but I tapped on the first one on the list late last night, and I didn't quite notice that I'd be waking up to the tinkling, mocking sounds of maracas and chimes dancing out some lively tropical music. I switch it off, scowling. If this is supposed to be an attempt to wake me up in a bright, jolly mood, then it's evidently not working.

I leave Kayla waking up sleepily to wander through to my en-suite, groaning at my reflection in one of the jewel-edged mirrors. Charcoal smudges frame the underneath of my eyes, like I attempted to apply smoky eye-shadow to the wrong side of my eyelid. My lips are cracked and dry, and my hair is one tousled mess. I lather my face up with creamy wash and let the limegrass facial cleanser sooth my skin, but when I rinse it off I see that it hasn't made it look any better. Ugh. I throw on some cosmetics and fix up my hair, but I've pretty much given up on the idea of looking good today. I let Kayla use the bathroom after me once I've dressed in a crimson halter neck and black denim shorts, and so I go to have a quick check to see if the other two are up yet. I knock and the door is flung open to show Eve and Amy sat on the carpet - well, it's not really a carpet anymore. A sea of crumpled t-shirts and makeup products and odd socks surrounds them.
"Just wanted to check if you two needed any help?" I offer, wondering how on earth they're going to get all of this packed within the hour.
"Nah, we're good thanks," Eve gives a toothy grin, "I think Kayla will need more help with the ton of hair and makeup stuff she brought." I laugh.
"Well give me a shout if you need anything."
"Sure." Amy smiles, jamming a pair of sandals into the corner of her suitcase.