Oh, Adara

Her Smile

31st of December 2000

Sheringham

England

It was a chilly December morning in the seaside town of Sheringham and the weather was absolutely ruthless. The air was cold- the type of cold which compelled you to puff ragged breaths into your open palms in futile attempt of warming them, only to have you repeat the process within a matter of seconds. It was the type of cold which made you feel so alone that you wished it would numb your heart instead of your poor toes.

It was in this dreary cold that ten-year-old Oliver Finley was walking to the market all on his own. He weaved in and out of the merry crowd drawing his lanky arms around his body in order to shield himself from the biting wind and he wondered how everyone looked so comfortable being out and about in the winter. Perhaps it was how happy they were... perhaps the smile one wore warmed the other's heart, making their lives easier?

Well, he would never know. There was no one to smile at him though he wished that there was. Oliver thought of his mother Trixie who was far from warm and smiley. She never hugged him or told him that she loved him and Oliver had begun to doubt whether she even cared at all. Trixie only ever turned to him to do chores; she made him run errands, fold clothes or sometimes clean the house and if he disobeyed her, Trixie would punish him.

Oliver, shivering at times but fixed of purpose, continued ahead until his eyes rested on the cheap liquor store that his mother often sent him to, Ernie's. A shop door opened somewhere with a cheerful chime and the mouth-watering scent of baking bread wafted across his nose, urging him to follow the sound. Just two doors down was a cosy-looking bakery with colourful awning and fancy tables decorated in the theme of Christmas. Oliver peered in through the glass and stared at all the rows of baked goods longingly. The jelly doughnuts in the glass case gleamed in their translucent icing and the sugar sprinkled on row upon row of cinnamon buns sparkled like snowflakes. It was like a scene from one of his picture books but even better.

He crept into The Rolling Pin, ignoring the way the guy at the door scrunched up his nose at Oliver's appearance, and stood in line. He had a bit of money with him, fifteen pounds to be exact, and he knew that two bottles of Old Crow whiskey only cost thirteen quid, giving him two pounds to spare.

"I'd like a raspberry jam doughnut, please." He asked smoothly, trying to sound grown-up. The woman at the counter wrapped a plump doughnut in paper and handed it to him.

"That would be £4.50." The baker said and Oliver's eyes widened in alarm. He didn't have that much with him.

"Umm, actually... Can I have something else?"

She frowned in annoyance but took back the parcel, waiting for Oliver to choose. "Do you... do you have anything... cheaper?" he asked hesitantly and saw the baker's eyes soften a little. She offered him a muffin for £3 but he shook his head.

"I can't umm... I don't have that much with me." He whispered in misery.

Someone in the line snickered at him and he quickly left the bakery, cheeks aflame in humiliation. He went to Ernie's, bought the whiskey Trixie had needed and headed back to the rubbish place he called home. Once again, Oliver paused in front of The Rolling Pin. There was a street vendor from the bakery selling baguettes of bread wrapped with crinkly brown paper and his stomach clenched painfully as he neared it. He hadn't eaten in three days. He walked up to the table where an old woman stood holding a girl's hand. In her other hand was a bag with a couple of baguettes sticking out and he inched closer to have a look. The moment the woman turned around, he grabbed a baguette, tucked it under his arm and ran.