Sweet Satisfaction (Purple UGC Winner 2014)

Sweet Satisfaction - Five

Five

King’s Lynn, Norfolk, England

I smoothed down my skirts as the carriage started to roll down quiet country lanes. A winter chill tiptoed through the windows, which I peered out. Pasture fields, eerie hamlets and whispering trees overheard flew past us.

This slowly flashed into terrace houses, majestic churches, and endless rows of shops. We took a wrong turn down a ‘Tennyson Avenue’ and heard the rumbling of passing trains.

I fiddled with my hair, which had been twirled into a chignon by Beatrice, who was back at Kingston House looking after Mary. A pit of nervous, wriggling snakes hissed inside me. This was my first ever soirée- what if I made a complete fool out of myself? What if everyone stared at the cut on my cheek?

The carriage turned down a road named Betinick Street, halting in front of a large, grand house at the very end of the street. The lights beckoned me in.

Meredith Bassington, the hostess, greeted us and offered us a drink. Rose eagerly accepted, and I noticed Meredith herself was rather giggly, to celebrate her twenty-first.

“I’m eighteen today,” Emma told us unnecessarily. I could hear the whiny clamour for attention in her voice, as we wandered into the drawing room. I raised my eyebrows, trying to look carefree, when the crowds of people terrified me.

Suddenly, a man appeared in front of me, teeth glinting in the abnormally bright light, moustache curled, hand stretched out to shake mine. He gave the impression of a French waiter.

"Sir Nicholas Bassington. My lady, I am so intrigued to meet you, the Kingston heiress!” I stretched my lips into a fake smile, concealing my growing annoyance. How did they all know who I was?

I glanced over at Emma, who was complimenting Meredith on her unusual combination of black hair and green eyes, like a mermaid. Rose was mingling between conversations, chipping in here and there. I relaxed. Too soon.

After refusing another invite to dance to the Peabody, a fast fox trot brought over from New York that year, I enjoyed tea out in the coolness of the neatly kept gardens. Snippets of ragtime music filtered through the French windows. The mood was cheerful; birds chirruped, guests laughed, the stars twinkled.

A few minutes later, the white slashings of lace ripped off my midnight blue gown, as Emma’s satin slippers stood on them. My hat, with all its elaborate feathers, toppled onto the patio. I fell ungracefully, face burning with shame and fury. Pulling my velvet mantle tighter around me, I hugged myself, reafy to yell at Emma.  I looked up- and saw them. Time slowed down. They were beautifully silent: gliding swans moving towards us.

An explosion of horror burst in my stomach, dread filling my mouth like ink.

“Everyone, run, run!” I screamed, pushing through to the packed drawing room, searching around for Rose.

Rashly, in despair, I flung myself at the pianist, pushing him off his stool, my arm jabbing at keys and letting out a strangled tune. I fell to the floor, wincing.

"Whatever are you doing?” the pianist yelped, as the room fell to a silence. I opened my mouth to answer.

I imagined it dropping, falling. I looked up at the ceiling, gasping for breath, frozen in shock. Then, the bomb went off.

The ear-shattering explosion crashed through the roof. Screeches flew through the room, as earthquake-like tremors made it vibrate. People darted everywhere, reaching out for loved ones. I crawled on my hands and knees as glass and smoke showered over my head. I spun around, as a brick narrowly missed my ankle.

With an almighty thud from my heart, the piano toppled into me.

AN: The 1915 bombings in Kings Lynn actually happened, and Bentinick Street, where Elsie is, was actually hit.