Lemonade for Lindsey

The Colour Of Knife Blades

"Father." I whisper.
The man steps forward out of the shadowed bedroom. He removes a top-hat from his head to reveal a tuft of ginger hair. It's the exact same colour as Lindsey's, but his face does not resemble hers at all. Compared to my sister's face, or any face really, this man's appearance is striking. A sharp, chiselled jaw. Jutting cheek and brow bones. His skin is shockingly bare of any facial hair. Perhaps most striking of all, his piercing grey eyes. Maybe it is not a coincidence they are the colour of knife blades.
I feel Lindsey squirm next to me.
"Greet Papa, girls." My Mother's voice is strained. I want nothing more than to scream at her that this evil man is not my Father, and a real Papa wouldn't leave his family. But I don't. We just stand there.
"Welcome home, Father." Lindsey says under her breath. She sounds like she's choking on her words and I hate it. Knowing I cannot bare another moment of eye-contact with this man, I make a break for my bedroom, towing my sister behind me.
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I adjust the metal clasp on the door into the locked position and instantly feel better. Safer, even. The bedroom and nursery are mine and my sister's  places, and no so called Papas will be wandering into here uninvited.
Lindsey perches herself on her bed, allowing her body to flop backwards onto the embroidered pink bedspread. I join her in the same fashion and we stare at the ceiling.
"Lola?" Her small voice is unsteady.
Lolling my head round to face hers, I give her look and signal for her to continue.
"Why is Papa here? Mama said he was a bad man and he left us." She squeaks.
"Yes Lindsey. I believe that unfortunately, that was our biological Father."
"He looks so evil!" Her soft breathing erupts into a series of small sobs. I feel my heart breaking, like it does every time she cries.
"There there Lindsey-Pops!" I can feel the heat prickling the back of my own eyes.
"Oh Lola! Why is he here Lola?!" She's wailing now, and I can see a steady flow of tears streaming from her innocent eyes and a little string of snot forming under her nose.
I'm awful with emotions, so I just cradle her in my arms like I used to when she was just a baby, and hold her tight until we both fall into a silent slumber.
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I awake to the unpleasant feeling of dried tears on my cheeks. I waggle my face around as much as possible to loosen up the sense of tightness the tears have caused to my skin.
It takes a fair few minutes for me to realise I'm in my own bed, with a sheet over me.
I glance over to see Lindsey soundly asleep in her own crib, all tucked up. This was not how we fell asleep, I think.
The grandfather clock indicates the time is a quarter past one. Judging by the inky blackness behind the thin drapes, I'm guessing that it's the early of hours of the morning, not afternoon.
I feel like going back to bed but as I recall yesterday's events I feel an urge to explore. It takes me a while to decide, though, and I sit in bed pondering all the things I have to worry about.
I create a list.
Why is Father here? Will he hurt us? Lindsey is so confused and upset! Mother looks hurt... what if he's here to kill us!
Manoeuvring myself out of bed (which proves a challenge), I reflect on the state I'm in. I try to suppress the inward feeling of paranoia with little avail.
Finally, I pick myself up and trudge towards the bedroom door, unlocking it.
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I squat next to the banister at the top of the stairs and listen for any sounds below.
Hearing nothing but the hum of the radio, a silently slip downstairs.
I regret not removing my boots when I came in earlier the previous day, for I am now in discomfort due to the dirt accumulating on the bare soles of my feet.
Somebody must be using oil lamps because there is a hazy glow in the sitting room below. I tiptoe towards the open doorway and dare to peek, my heart racing. As soon as the sitting room comes into view, I am met with a gaze.
I shiver.
"Hello, Lola." Says my Father, smirking.