How To Be Brave - Volume I

Chapter I - Sunday

The bay was quiet, and the dew on the cobwebs and on the grass glistened a soft golden colour in the sun's weak morning glow. The wind picked up a little bit and played with my hair so it tickled my face. Down on the beach, which I could see clearly, despite it being nearly half a mile along from where I stood on the pier, there was a crowd of gulls wading in the surf. The waves tumbled uneasily towards the sand, like a toddler taking its first steps; unsure at first and then suddenly rushing, like the waves were falling over themselves. The air smelt of salt and as I glanced up, eyes squinted against the rising sun, I took in the reflection of the ridges in the sand banks in the clouds, which were long ones that stretched like rope over the sky. They curved as they hit the horizon, their soft grey trendrils tainted orange and mauve.

Getting up from where I'd been sitting with my forehead leaning on the railing, looking over the end of the pier, I padded along the wooden slats until I could see how the sea had changed from its foamy white and blue hue to an almost black colour. The sea further out from the bay seemed to writhe with annoyance. The air was crisp and bit slightly at my uncovered forearms, my breath creating tiny clouds that soon disappeared barely after they left my lips. I pulled my jumper further down my arms, clenching the sleeve ends with my fists so they didn't ride up again.

Realising how far up the sun had climbed in the sky, although it was still dim and the sky more grey than blue, I turned back, walking slowly over the wooden slats, looking down through the gaps between the planks to see the sea below, twisting and churning moodily.

The walk back to the house took around half an hour, and by the time I reached it I could hear the buzz of people getting ready and of kids already up and playing in the park or out in the street.

Our house was a thin terraced house with reddy bricks and white window frames, with a white front door and a little front garden just big enough to have a patch of tulips and an old wicker chair, which had a hole where the seat part was supposed to be. The wooden frame was grimy with lichen that also covered the low garden wall that seperated our property from our next door neighbour's.

Fumbling under the empty flower pot next to the door to get the key, I unlocked the door and slipped inside. Immediately in front of the door was the stairs, on the left of that was the bathroom and to the right was the door leading to the living room, which connected onto the kitchen. There was no other noise in the house apart from my steady intake and exhale of breath and the quiet tick of the grandfather clock that stood, watching, from the top of the stairs.

Curious, and slightly nervous, I checked the whole of the downstairs for my father before venturing upstairs. The living room was neat, since it is never really used. A stack of newspapers lay on the shelf next to a line of dusty novels, spines still smooth as if they'd never seen opened. A small couch was pressed against the wall, and there was a bay window at the front of room with the curtains drawn, but apart from that and a few small framed watercolours hanging on the wall, the room was pretty much bare. The kitchen was larger, since it served as both a kitchen and a dining room. There was a table big enough for four people pushed against the wall so that only two of the chairs were accessible and a window in the centre of the back wall that had a view of a small patch of woodland, which was part of the local park. The only noticeable thing about this room right now was that the larder was standing open, and there was a mug of cold coffee standing on the counter.

Quickly pouring the coffee away and putting the empty mug in the sink, I made my way upstairs. My room was first at the top of the stairs, and then the study on the left and the bathroom on the right. Right at the end of the corridor was my father's room.

I dumped my things in my room before peering into every room on the landing. After checking both the bathroom and study were empty, I knocked softly on my dad's door. Knowing I wouldn't get a response, I pushed the door open just a crack.