Healing - Book One

fifteen

My stomach feels full. Fork in hand, I poke at my food aimlessly, never really meaning to eat it. Clicks and scrapes of metal against crockery send shivers down my spine - needless to say I am not myself. Perhaps Olive's hostility earlier in the evening startled me into silence, for I have never seen her so angry. I feel her watching me from across the table, daring not to rear my head for fear of meeting her raging eyes.

Amongst this, I feel sorry for her. She cannot seem to realise that Enoch does not feel the same emotion as she does for him. Shutting my eyes briefly, I wish that he would nip it in the bud - more like the flower now.

"Now children," Miss Peregrine starts, attracting my attention. I turn my head towards her, making sure not to look straight ahead. "With less than one week until our dear Agatha's marriage and even fewer days until we leave for Oxford, I want us to be prepared so we can catch the earliest train."

Miss Peregrine places her spoon on the edge of her dish and counts each of her points on her clawed fingers.

"Tonight I need all of you to retrieve your suitcases from the attic. Tomorrow, you gather your belongings and prepare them for our departure. The following day we shall set our belongings beside the front door and then it shall be sandwiches for supper and early to bed." The headmistress rises from her seat, eyes bright and a large smile plastered from one chiselled cheek to the other. "Horace, could you please clear up the plates once everybody has finished?"

My suitcase had not been taken upstairs. It was still standing a little sadly beside the wardrobe. I shut my door behind me and proceed to the window, drawing the curtains quite forcefully. I pick up the case next to my wardrobe which has been neglected for a few weeks and open it up, leaning it against the wall so it stays open.

As I flick through my clothes in the armoire, I hear a definite series of wails and whines trickle through the walls. Each screech is accompanied by a subdued murmur. I stop for a moment, listening to the indecipherable conversing somewhere in the house - surely I cannot be the only one to hear.

After a few minutes, the pandemonium is terminated spectacularly with a door slamming and heavy footsteps which get further and further away. A little astonished, I shake my head and continue my task. Eventually I decide on a pastel-blue satin frock which I believe once belonged to Rosanna when she was my age. I hold it against me while I look in the mirror. The sleeves cut off just below the shoulder and the skirt finishes an inch or two before the knee.

Smiling, I hang the dress up on the doorknob of the wardrobe and take one last look from a distance. Stretching my arms up, I head towards my drawers and pull a set of pink silk pyjamas from the top drawer. I remember how I'd seen some in a magazine and begged my mother to buy a set for me. At first she seemed reluctant that I would not have them - "They are too grown up for a girl your age." - but she must have gotten sick of my persuading, as she returned home from work one afternoon with the set in a parcel.

The material is cold against my skin when I put them on, I set about fastening the dainty buttons with such care that I barely touch them. However, sudden knocking at my door startles me and I accidentally pull at the bottom one too hard. Thankfully, the thread only pulls a little, but the tiny pearlescent disk hangs a little lower than it did before.

"Come in." I chirp to whoever is coming knocking. Checking myself in the mirror as I turn, I spin around to face the door and prepare myself to greet a visitor. The knob turns slowly and, with a click, the door opens.

Pale hand still clutching the brass knob, Enoch stands in the doorway, torso slumped ever so slightly.

"Oh, hello. Should you not be with Olive?" I say, sounding more bitter and hostile than I had planned. My tone apparently goes unnoticed by him, as he shrugs his shoulders and invites himself into my room. I shut the door behind him and fold my arms over my chest self-consciously. He gloomily slides across the floorboards over to the windowsill and places himself onto it, his neck goes limp and lets his head bang against the glass.

"What's the matter?" I ask, shuffling in tiny steps towards him. Enoch shakes his head.

"I had to tell Olive. Lashing out at you was the final straw for me." He runs his palms across his face, distorting his features for the slightest of moments. "I expect you heard us."

"Along with anybody in a five-mile radius." I pause, letting my arms drop to my side. My palms slide up and down my thighs. "She is a screamer."

"She is one hell of a screamer." Enoch repeats with a weak smirk. He exhales a long sigh of what could be interpreted as relief. Slowly, I pad across the floor and perch myself on the windowsill beside him. For a moment or two the only sounds we could hear is the rumble of distant chatter and rustling of the leaves outside.

"You know what, Doré?" Enoch starts suddenly, making me jump a little. "You're not that bad."

"I should hope not, O'Connor."