Lonely ((A Danny Jones Fanfic))

1. Back To Bolton

A sea of cardboard engulfed the cramped box room. I hovered an arched foot precariously over the closest box to my right in an attempt to advance further, only to dutifully drop it back to my side when I realised I was attempting the impossible. The door behind me groaned as I slumped back into it; a sign to the world that I had given up on my unpacking mission before I had even started. Well, a sign to my mum at least, who was no doubt ready to come and hurl some unhelpful spiel at me any second.

Moving hadn't been the easiest of tasks. I was happy in London -more than that, even- so I hadn't exactly welcomed the notion of flatpacking my life and hurling it back to the cold streets of Bolton. Sure, I was born here a mere 17 years earlier, but my life had always been London. My first word was uttered in London when we first moved down south. My first friend was made in an outdated classroom in one of Harrow's finest primary schools. All of my firsts had been shared by those bustling streets. All of my Mum's lasts, however, had walked the same path. A path too painful, it seemed, to stay, so away we were sent to the security of our family's northern roots.

"Staring at the boxes won't magically make them move."

My mother's scolding tone penetrated the door frame, causing me to flinch slightly, even though the door was tightly bound shut. The lack of crackling cardboard sounds must have given my procrastination away. I uttered no words in response. Instead, I fumbled for the handle and, pulling the door at ease, peeped out at the chaos that was beginning to unfold on the landing.

My eyes rested initially on the bustle of removals men hauling a mass of disjointed furniture up the stairs. The new house was far too big for the sleek pine that decorated our small flat in the city. Like me, they now cowered away from their new life as they were placed awkwardly in the room opposite to my own. Unfortunately, unlike the IKEA drawers, my presence wasn't unnoticed. A cold pair of eyes soon locked with my own.

"Tessa! I won't ask again!" Mum implored in a half hearted attempt to coax me out of my retreat. My little room was far from cosy, but I relished the company of the boxes in comparison to the alternative. Reluctantly, I allowed a half of my figure to peek out of the door. Mum's cool gaze didn't improve.

"I'm sorry," I half smiled, fully emerging. "I'll go down and see if they need any help unloading the van."

"Finally!" She cooed, her tone both patronising and relived. "Really Tessa, you're almost eighteen years old and STILL I find myself doing everything around here..." her voice trailed off as she stomped off - to give one of the workers grief, no doubt. If it wasn't me or my brother being barked out, someone else was sure to be on the receiving end.

Not wanting another altercation, I followed my initiative and hopped down the stairs to where the door was wide open, ready to receive the rest of the load. I was about to exit when a glimmer of white snapped my attention from the corner of my eye.

"Wait!" I almost screamed at the unsuspecting worker, his eyes filling with white terror as I took him by surprise. My hand clamped instinctively onto the box he was carrying, almost as if I was expecting him to drop it. "Sorry...," I composed myself slightly, gesturing to take the box from him. He willingly complied, probably eager to get out of the way of a seemingly delusioned teenager. I offered a weak smile before bolting into the nearest downstairs room and setting I box down on the floor. I wasted no time in ripping the little pocket of white from beneath the hefty junk that weighed it down, almost out of sight. A huge wave of relief forced me to the ground as the item in my hand was confirmed to be what I had hoped. Tom's note.

My last night in London had been spent with Tom: my best friend of 17 years and counting. The night before the move, we had giggled ourselves through the inevitable fact that we were about to be torn apart for the first time. This note was Tom's departing gift to me. He had scribbled it in a hurry before saying his final goodbye and left it on my bed, where I was to find it just minutes later. Unfolding it now, as I had done just days before, I traced Tom's spiky handwriting affectionately. I didn't need to read it to know what it said. I had spent hours that night reciting each and every word, pretending like it wasn't real, like it was a game we used to play back when we were kids. Even though I treasured his words, I had clumsily stuffed the note inside one of the boxes for my room so that Mum wouldn't see it. She had always been dubious of my close relationship with Tom, so I didn't want to offer her any more ammunition against me.

"Tessssaaaaaaaa!"

This time I was disturbed by a more shrill rendition of my name. I scrambled to my feet and stuffed Tom's note in my pocket with haste, giving me just enough time to compose myself before the door behind me was swung open with force.

Paul practically danced into the room, taking full advantage of the freedom he was enjoying. Being almost 10 years younger than me, he relished not being trusted with moving boxes, which he took as permission to annoy me relentlessly - to no reprimand, of course. Being the youngest, Paul had always made it his mission to terrorise me without ever getting told off. He had Mum wrapped around his grubby little paws the minute he arrived in this world, and that was something he wasn't going to let me forget.

"Mum said you had to take me to the shops!" he jested, almost wickedly. I knew for a fact Mum had said nothing of the sort. He was enjoying this.

"I don't think so." I retorted matter-of-factly, returning my attention to the box at my feet. Paul's brow furrowed.

"I'll tell Mum about you and Tom!" he jabbed further. Little prick. Paul had been blessed with seeing Tom and I share a peck on the lips during a half-hearted game of spin the bottle after school. He was only a toddler back then, but for some damned reason the memory had always stuck in his thick little skull. Of course, he had adapted the story to imply we were having a full on affair - which we weren't, obviously. Paul just knew that Mum would lap up every word of it though, so had been taunting me with the threat ever since.

I closed my eyes and inhaled sharply. "Fine."

"Yesssss!" Paul squealed triumphantly, tugging on my arm with a new impatience. Either way I was going to be tormented by Mum or by Paul, so it might as well be outside. Maybe the fresh air would enliven my brain so I could stew up some plan to conveniently 'lose' Paul in the back streets of Bolton. That would be the day.

Content with that thought, I followed Paul back into the hallway. Eager to escape, we didnt even grab our coats, or bother shouting to Mum. We just wandered straight into the sunny street of suburban Bolton.