Reviving Faith

Chapter 4

‘Hey Mum!’ I called to her as I swung the door open.

 

‘Hey sweetie! How’s everything?’

 

She wheeled her suitcase in, took of her shoes and hung up her coat.

 

‘Everything is fine. We missed y-’

 

‘Ok whatever… Would you take this to my room and grab my Gucci slippers.’ She shoved her hand bag towards me, and it thumped against my chest.

 

I clutched it in my hand and just looked at her with utter disrespect. Did she not care about us? Leaving us with our cleaner for two whole weeks? Great Mum. Just Great.

 

‘Oh honey! Don’t hunch your back! Make it straighter. Stick your breasts out, be proud!’ She commented before strutting off, with a perfect posture and her head held high to the kitchen.

 

‘Ahhh... I am so tired.’ She said exasperated with her hand on her forehead, as if she was in a dramatic stance.

*****

 

So there she was. My Mum. You would have thought that being so rich she would have some sort of slave to boss around. But no. Instead she saved the money and bought more Louis Vuitton bags, Gucci shoes and Chanel perfume, and treated me as her slave instead.

 

I am proud of her though, despite the way she treats us. She came from nowhere to become this famous model. She’s tall with beautiful, long, brown hair. Her eyes are a fascinating blue, that are so mesmerising, even in one glance. She has also written an autobiography, which is really cheesy by the way, so I don’t advise reading it.

 

*****

 

Once I had snapped back to reality, I turned around to get her precious slippers, when I  realised she hadn’t even shut the door. I mean, does she live in a cave or something?

 

I whipped round to shut the door, when I heard voices coming from outside. I peeped curiously to see who was making such a racket.

 

There were two huge removal vans, parked outside our house and the one next door. There were about fifteen men altogether, lifting huge pieces of furniture, into the grand house next door.

 

‘OVER HERE LADS!’ Cried one of the men, beckoning a group of men, carrying a flat screen television, into the house.

 

‘HOLD UP!’ One of the removal men commanded. He had risen his hands into an ‘X’ signal, as to aware the people carrying a large leather sofa to stop.

 

I closed the door, against the will of my curiosity. New neighbours…

 

I strode to the kitchen, still holding  Mum’s precious Louis Vuitton bag. She hadn’t told me we were getting new neighbours. It is really rare we get new neighbours in this area, as the houses are so expensive they are hardly ever on the market.

 

‘Mum?’

 

‘Yes sweetie?’ She replied holding a glass of water and her phone in the other hand.

 

‘Have we got new neighbours? I saw a removal truck outside the house next door.’ I asked, curious to who they were.

 

‘Oh yes! I forgot to tell you! A photographer from Vogue is moving in with his family. I haven’t had a chance to meet him yet, but someone at work told me he was extremely important in Vogue, and had assigned all the famous new models. If you ask me, I think he is rather marvelous.’ She slurred the word marvelous, sounding extremely posh. She gave me a wink and formed a pout with her ruby red lips, trying to look as sexy as she could.

 

‘Mum! Stop it! You said he has a family!’

 

‘Oh honey. I’m only teasing.’ She came up to me and curled a strand of hair behind my ears, before stroking my chin and looking at me intently. I turned my gaze from her to the floor, feeling my cheeks getting hotter by the second. I didn’t like much attention, and especially by my looks, as I am really sensitive.

 

‘Look at me.’ She ordered. I hesitantly looked up at her. She was inspecting my features. From my eyes, to my lips, to my cheeks…

 

‘I could try and get you into the business. I think you would make a fine model. Maybe your nose lets you down slightly. Ummm… I’ll speak to Victor, see if he can get you sign you up somewhere.’

 

What? My nose lets me down slightly, thanks Mum. Wait… Victor who?

 

‘Mum. Who is Victor?’

 

‘Oh. Did I forget to mention our new neighbours names? The Bennington’s. Victor Bennington.’