It seems life is on the verge of perfection for Lola before a threatening figure from her past shows up. Lola realises danger is near, and flees. But she can't run forever, especially not with her precious and vulnerable little sister Lindsey by her...
"Come on!" Lindsey giggles. My body's tiring from all this roughhousing but I clammer to my feet, all the same. I feel a small, uncomfortably sticky hand clutch mine and I'm yanked forwards. Our ankles give way and we topple down the hill, landing face down in the pasture. All the wind is knocked out of us, but we still manage to laugh hysterically. "How many times have I told you that hill is too steep for tumbling?" I try to sound stern but her gleeful little face and uncontrollable chuckling make it hard for me to contain myself. We gather ourselves and make our way through the meadow. I take a moment for myself and breath in the scent of morning dew and buttercups. It's an early spring morning but the sun is already beaming down, illuminating the world below. Blossoms festoon the trees (cherry mostly), and the green blanket beneath our feet is riddled with daisies. "I love it!" Lindsey screams. "I love it, don't you Lola?" "Almost as much as I love you, Lindsey-Pops!" I beam at her, which causes her to grin. Her stomach growls audibly and I know she's hungry. We settle against the sturdy trunk of a cherry tree next to the pond, and I place down our wicker picnic hamper. "I sure to hope we have lem-nade!" Exclaims Lindsey, rolling around in the grass. The sight of the bottle of fizz forces her to drop her daisy chain and sprint for the glasses.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The next few hours are blissful. We're paralysed by the heat of the sun and joy of the moment, captured in the breathtakingly beautiful surroundings. We talk and laugh and eat ourselves silly, before falling asleep on the picnic blanket. This is one of the only times in my life I have ever been free. By that, I mean free from the grasps of my troublesome conscience. I've always had a way of worrying about everything. I've told Mama but she just tells me everything is going to be okay, but I can't force myself to believe that. I'm not worrying about anything, drinking in the sun rays. --------------------------- We conquer the hill and make our way down the little lane. I listen in content to Lindsey's rambling about dolls and lemonade and what not, swinging her hand backwards and forwards next to me to keep the pace. "Wouldn't it be bliss to ride on a steam train Lola?" She persists. "The twain would go chuff, chuff, CHUFF! And then we would drink lem-nade as we watched the world go by from our seats!" "It does sound like awful fun." I reply. I'm fairly used to the way Lindsey speaks by now. She's only young and she's still developing her pronunciation, at least that's what Mama says. Part of me doesn't want Lindsey to recover from her impediments, because it's a part of her. An adorable trademark, maybe? Her constant chatter continues until we see the house come into view from behind the trees. --------------------------- It's always a small comfort to the see the redbrick of Craddleworth Place, the redbrick of home. I've always took pride in my family's home. Graceful wooden embellishments adorn the window frames, the slate roofing tiles are neat and orderly, and a delightful crop of reddish ivy scales the front. Me and Lindsey stride round the back and fling open the parlour door, making our presence known. Ada, our maid, scuttles in. "Your Mother's been wondering where in the world you are!" She scolds. We don't feel like apologising, not today. Lindsey pokes her small wet tongue put at Ada instead. The silly woman is flabbergasted and yelps in disgust. Lindsey and I exchange an amused look and barge past the maid, who is quivering with fury. Buzzing with mischief, we snort and laugh until our ribs ache as we approach the staircase. If I were another child I might remove my boots, but I don't care for the stair runner and neither does my little sister. Our giggles stop abruptly when we see Mother standing in her bedroom doorway. She doesn't look too pleased and the small girl next to me squeezes my hand in what I assume to be a nervous gesture. I feel Mother's, Lindsey's and my own anxious energy vibrating through the landing. We're on edge. Not because of Mother, but because of the looming figure behind her.
