Sweet Satisfaction (Purple UGC Winner 2014)

Sweet Satisfaction - Nine

Nine

Brighton, Sussex, England

It was another tense five minutes of worry before we actually arrived at my home. A gentle breeze caught my hair as Beatrice helped me down the steps of the carriage. In the murky darkness, my house held a resemblance to a museum, with its white pillars prominently holding up the front.

Suddenly, the porch was illuminated; the front door had banged open and the light from the hallway had rushed through. I faintly smelled strawberries, which was rather peculiar! Perhaps I was hallucinating because I seemed to see the Zeppelins everywhere.

“Elsie, is that you, dear?” came my Mother’s distracted voice as she stumbled down the steps in her mules. My grip tightened on my crutch; Beatrice rushed forward and grabbed me. Even she was horrified.

Never had I seen my mother looking so vulnerable and lost. Her brown locks were straggly and tired-looking, let loose over her shoulders. The outline of her ribcage was protruding through her faded pink dressing gown, which she clutched protectively around her.

Horror had me in its hands, for it had never occurred to me that something was wrong with Mother. Bolts of sympathy for her shot to me. I felt so angry that I hadn’t been there to protect her, when she was this weak. 

Guilt, once again, churned in my stomach like hot spice. Leaves rustled underfoot as I limped forward, something inside me pushing me to the limit of urgency.

The moon hung in the sky, as clear as the wide circles that rimmed my mother’s brown eyes. What had happened to the elegant, commandeering woman who held a room at the edge of their seats with one perfectly seductive smile?

Mother practically flew at me, knocking the wind out of my stomach. I let out a startled gasp as her skeletal form pressed against mine.

“Mother, oh my, are you alright?” I asked.

“Yes, of course she is, she’s just worked herself into a silly state.” A shadow darkened the pavement. My heart jumped. Stop thinking everything black you see is the Zeppelins, Elsie! Looking up, I saw my Father with his arms folded against his chest, dressed in a brown suit and the interesting moustache he had grown over Christmas was shaved away with any happiness I could’ve expected.

“Albert,” Mother pressed, almost pleading. Beatrice, sensing a disagreement, snatched the luggage from the coachman. If she hadn’t been so careless and swung the trunk by just one handle, her dirty little secret wouldn’t have been found out so soon.

I watched, wide-eyed as the trunk’s items flew through the air. Beatrice, Mother and I screamed as the sound of a shattering something beat in our ears. I let go of Mother, running forward.

Confusion hit me as I fingered the chunk of glass that still had the label on it: Dewar’s Scotch whisky.

“Rose’s whisky,” I murmured out loud, looking over at Beatrice, who was hastily throwing her possessions back into her trunk.

I jumped; Father’s warm breath came against my neck as he bent over me, looking at the shard. He cleared his throat.

“That’s it, Beatrice, pack your bags.” Shock filled her face.

“W-w-what?” she stammered.

“‘Rose’s whisky,’” Father quoted me. I clapped my hand to my mouth.