Egbert

Mark Breadworth

The car ride is quiet and for some reason, my mother got me a kitkat. No precursory conversation, we stop at the petrol station, two minutes later she's back and chucks a chocolate in my lap like I'm five. Of course I ate that sucker up.

The moment we park up, mother leaps out of the car and into the house calling for father.

"I'm here my love." He calls from the kitchen, meeting her in the hallway. She practically jumps on him and kisses him. And for the first time ever I'm not completely grossed out, maybe it's hearing about her first marriage from her and not from Wikipedia, but I feel a semblance of warmth towards her, and then I remember the poor tour guide. That's enough of that then. I head up the stairs to my room, the door is thrown wide open. Blocking the entrance is a giant brown suitcase plastered with some branded logo. After I shove it up against the wall and take stock of my room, my heart nearly falters at how empty it looks. Aside from the bed and wardrobe, there's nothing left.

"Were we ROBBED?!" I shout to no one in particular, but my father answers from behind me.

"The majority of your things have been stored away or sent ahead of your departure on Sunday. I'll be booking your ticket imminently."

"After 10pm please." I burble, looking over the bare patch of carpet where my desk used to be. I half expect another long winded argument or lecture on why I can't go at that time; instead he nods, clasping his hands behind his back. "Of course." And leaves. That doesn't make it better. And neither does mother's tender moment from earlier. They're only being nice to me because I'm finally leaving, they won't have to deal with me. It's like when you suddenly like school after all those years because it's your last week. I'm the proverbial school. I guess there's nothing for me to do apart from go to sleep or die. I could have dinner but what's the point in sustenance anymore? Hopefully I'll just lie down and die and never make it to St. Ambrogio's in the first place, unless it's in a coffin. Although if that happens they'll probably assume that's just how I travel.

School is something I continue to look forward, it'll be the only time I can see her. But if that's all I was going for I'm sorely disappointed. I've been looking for her since the moment the car stopped outside, leaping out to gain the maximum number of minutes with her I can before schools starts, but she's nowhere to be found. The belief that I might see her later is dwindling and by the time we're in the final lesson of the day it's dropped out of the sky. Lunch was spent roaming around the school looking for her, not that I'm desperate. But to no avail. At some point in the scouring I swear I see her, only to be disappointed. It turns out Jack Thompson has been experimenting with his 'natural' blue hair and now it's stark red. I'll see her tomorrow. My texts receive no replies but I wasn't expecting them to. Perhaps she's just ill today, or taking a well deserved break. Between hunting and school, something has got to give.

After school it's straight to Vikram's house for more wedding preparations. Small red bags need to be filled with candied almonds, dried fruit and nuts and little silver packets of traditional Indian snacks. I'm so full by the time we've finished that I don't even have space for dinner.

"Ugh...." I lean back on the kitchen chair, from the other side of the giant pile of now filled bags Preeti cocks an eyebrow at me.

"Maybe you shouldn't have eaten more bags than you filled."

Vikram pops open the few buttons over his swollen stomach and sighs while he sits back relieved to get the pressure off his tummy. "There's no such thing as too much nimko."

The next day isn't any different. Scarlett isn't here and I'm starting to get worried. I'd call or text her but none of the texts have been read. I call once and wait patiently for the ringing to give way to the sound of her voice or voicemail. But when a male voice answers with a gruff "Hello?" I hang up as fast as I can and kick myself mentally and kick myself even more when Mr Westan arrives halfway through English to escort me to his office. A list of things goes through my head of things I could possibly have done wrong. I glance at Vikram miming holding two watermelons, confused, until he flicks his hair callously in a familiar way. Westan has figured out it was us pretending to be my parents that day. I don't see how. A werewolf could jump out and grind on his desk during the full moon and he would still deny the supernatural. The super creepy would be another story. My last Principal had known about vampire's the moment I started school, and kept believing right up until father tore his head off. He regretted not wearing underwear until his last breath. Westan stays silent up until he shuts his office door, and he motions for me to take a seat.