The Raven

Chapter Five

Helllooo. Tomorrow I'll be going to Vietnam which I'm stoked about.

It's warm, so I don't see why the boy helping me has so many layers of sweaters on. He doesn't even need them - a total waste of money, if you ask me. I hold a bunch flowers tightly in my hands, looking anxiously at the boy who is shouting for attention. People do turn to look at us, so I have to give him some credit. I don't even know his name; I don't think he knows mine either as I only got it last night. The boy waves the flowers in the air, naming them as he does so. "Lavenders, freshly picked! Petunias, beautiful! Come get your flowers here!" His ash brown hair is matted with sweat and stuck up in different angles.

His eyes are a breathtaking amber, which glint happily, every time he holds up a flower. I suppose this is where he really feels alive - out in the open, shouting and have everyone's attention focused straight on him. I, on the other hand, don't. I'd rather be back in my cardboard box thinking about Latin. And what the words discipulus diaboli mean. Curled up in the blankets with my head deep in Nat's hoodie. But at least this boy is making life easier by saying all my lines: he looks at me cautiously every time he does so, to which I give a small nod, to suggest that it is okay.

A woman tumbles to my open till - her dark hair, the same colour as her skin, but flying in the gentle breeze. "A bunch of lavenders," she swallows, her hand fumbling with her purse. I smile brightly.

"Certainly, madam." The boy grins at me, then goes back to shouting at London. I pass her the bunch, which she hold it tightly in her slim hands.

"Yes. Thank you," she says. "How much is it, please?"

"Three pounds, miss." She looks up at me, alarmed.

"Really, child?"she questions, her brow wrinkled.

"Yes, ma'm," I reply, furrowing my eyebrows.

"You must get more for the amount of work that you do!" I shrug, not really sure what to reply to that.

"It's okay," I reply. "We have a lot of flowers." The woman shakes her head stubbornly.

"No, I insist!" she presses a twenty-pound leaf of money to my hands. "Take it, child," she pauses, looking at me strangely. She stops, her lips parting. "Do-do I know you?" she stammers. And as I look at her, yes. Yes I do. She brushes the back of her hand against my cheek. "Oh, Estella," she mummers. "Is it really you?" I blink, stepping back.

"No," I say. "My name is May. May Clove." The woman blinks back.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry!" she garbles, then turns, disappearing into the sea of people once again.

My knees feel weak, the world spinning. The next thing I know I'm sitting on the cold, dry concrete pavement. Staring at the legs of the table - the twenty-pound note still in my hand. I can hear the boy still advertising how great the flowers that we sold were. I gulp. I recognised that woman. Melcia King. I know her name - but have no idea who she is. I should have stopped and asked her questions. I'm so dumb, why did I tell her to go? She had called me Estella. Maybe that's my real name. Yes, I'll tell Tracy and Mark when we go back. I'd like to be as close to my old life as possible. Melcia King. Melcia King. Who is she?

I faintly recall that the boy has been quiet for some time now, probably looking for me. His head pokes out from behind the table, a look of real relief printed all over his face.

"Oh, jeez, you could have told me when you disappeared off." But then, he seems to see my expression. "Uh, are you okay?" I shake my head - hearing blood thumping in my head. The boy kneels down next to me. I can't help but stare at those beautiful honey-brown eyes laid on his face. He possesses an exotically wolf like appearance."What are you staring at?" he asks, his lips curving upwards.

"I've been staring for a long time - and I'm still not sure what it is," I reply, sarcastically, even though I'm not in for it. The corner of the boy's mouth twitches.

"If I wanted a comeback I would have wiped it off your face." I raise my eyebrows slightly.

"War?" I ask him. He holds out a hand, laughing gently.

"Conner Jackson," I take his hand, it is winter-cold at its fingertips. Rough. Cowboy's hands. I shake it twice.

"Estella Clove," I decide to choose my real name.

"Clove?" he asks, letting go of my hand. "That's not your name." I stare at him, confused.

"What?" I ask, confused.

"You new?" he suddenly blurts out, completely ignoring the question that he had asked before. He slipped into a cross-legged position, sitting on the cold ground with me.

"Yeah," I raise my eyebrows, but decide to go along with it.

"Where do you come from?"

"I'm not sure," I say, looking down. "I don't remember anything about my past life." Conner raises an eyebrow.

"Cliché much?" he smiles. I smile back.

"I guess, yeah. But you can hardly blame me."

"And why were you sitting on the floor like you'd just been hit with a truck?" I pause.

"Cus' I saw someone."

"Wow, we're in London. What do you expect?"

"No!" I snapped. "I saw- someone that I think may have been my aunt. Or mum. Or somebody of great importance!"

"Hey, calm. I know that you're on your period but-" before he could finish his sentence, I slap him hard. "Alright! I take it back," then seeing the pain on my face "Do you want to call it a day and head back?" I nod, my lips are pursed and my head down.

"Yes. Thank you," I say, the name Melica King echoing in my head.

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