{ELEMENTISTS OF WILLOW FOREST BOOK V} The Journey Across Water

Lucinda

23: Lucinda

Lucinda.

I looked at her, for a moment, while the stupid social worker kept blabbing on about something. She'd grown taller, and was now taller than me, which was annoying, but not surprising. It had been five years. Her hair had grown too; returning with a vengeance in thick, bountiful curls. Streaks of it had been dip-dyed pink, and she had a pink skull charm on a chain around her neck. She was wearing a faded brown leather jacket, black jeans, and a grey t-shirt, with pink lettering on I couldn't make out. Her ears were adorned with large hoop earrings, and her wrists surrounded by bracelets. She had more necklaces now, I noticed, draped all round her neck. She was tougher. She'd grown up. I could tell that. But I knew it was her, still, because she had the same, wide, dark eyes, and the same cheekbones, and the same lips and nose and eyes and eyes and eyes looking at me.

"You." I breathed to her, in French. I hadn't spoken French for half a decade. It was amazing I still remembered how to.

"Likewise." She whispered.

The social worker pushed me inside, shoving her out the way, as he started chatting to another one who had appeared on the stairway. I so, so wished I didn't have to be in that stupid wheelchair.

"The social services are really dumb, aren't they?" Lucinda said, as I really hoped none of the social workers had a modern foreign language degree.

"Took you this long to notice?" I asked.

"I thought we were supposed to have been permanently separated, though." We were in the kitchen now, where a small table with four chairs stood proudly in the middle. The social workers sat down at it. Lucinda asked in English if they wanted drinks, then got to it without waiting for a reply.

I snorted. "Well, they've done a great job at that." Then I added, "How's the hair?"

Lucinda hesitated. Then she dropped a spoon, clumsily, and knocked something else over, spilling it over the surface top. "Good, thanks. How's the wheelchair?"

I ignored her. She turned around to find some teabags.

"That's Lucinda." Her social worker told mine, like I hadn't just had a whole conversation with her. "She's an absolute angel. The only one here who is. Honestly, there are times I think she would run this place better than me!..."

They went on to discuss the weather, or something equally dull. Lucinda lay down the tea cups on front of us. I stirred my liquid round and round with a spoon. I didn't like tea. I took a sip, anyway, just because Lucinda had made it.

ACK!

Chilli powder. In my tea.

"Merci beaucoup!" I yelled to her, as she started rummaging in the fridge behind us for something. "I hate tea. I don't have to drink it now!"

I waited with her to reply with some remark about Britain and tea and us speaking French, but she didn't. I couldn't even tell if she'd heard me or not.

"I prefer coffee." I continued, in case that provoked some kind of response. It didn't.

I flicked some brown liquid out of the cup with the teaspoon. It made a miniature puddle on the wooden floor. I looked up. "Do you prefer tea or coffee?"

Still no response. She really couldn't find whatever she was looking for in that cupboard.

"What's your favour-"