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...
When I first wake, I'm startled by my surroundings. It takes a moment or two to compose myself before I remember where I am. The pink walled, thickly carpeted guest bedroom of the Pointer family home. Once I regain proper vision I glance over to see Lindsey's unmade, empty bed.
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The absence of her small form in the lacy sheets sparks a twinge of anxiety within me. Where is she? What if she's run away, or given us up to the Pointers? Suddenly alive with worry, I force myself out of bed and make a dash for the bedroom door.
Once out of the room, I am stopped dead in my tracks by the sight before me. Mr. Pointer, Mrs. Pointer, Matilda, Rose and Edmund are gathered round the unlit fireplace, entertaining themselves with the likes of needlework and reading newspapers. But it's not this I'm bothered by.
Slumped in an unladylike fashion on one armchair is none other than my little sister, feet barely touching the ground, fiddling with a small french knitting doll. They all turn to face me. It takes a second for me to comprehend what an entrance I've made; standing, eyes wide with concern in a bare linen night dress, hair a mess of dreadlocks.
There's a funny sort of silence for a few seconds before Lindsey starts to laugh. This seems to set Matilda and Rose off too, as they burst into fits of giggles. I glance over to see Edmund looking me up and down with a lopsided grin.
"Good heavens child!" Mrs. Pointer cries, clasping her hand to her chest. "Are you not cold? Did you not think to change into some clothes before you came through?" I shake my head slowly, which only seems to intensify the laughter. Mr. Pointer is also now chuckling.
"Matilda! Go help our guest retrieve some decent garment!" Mrs. Pointer exclaims, at which the giggling stops abruptly. Matilda rises, deserting her needlework on her armchair and leads me through a door on the landing. --------------------------- Still rigid with shock and humiliation, I don't give myself time to process Matilda's bedroom. It does register, though, that the walls are painted a pale yellow and the drapes are a thick, lush velvet.
"Quite an entrance you made back there." She says, laughter prickling her voice. Oh god. I've mortified myself. "Yes, and a right fool of myself I've made too." I snap. Well, that came out wrong. Matilda looks deep in thought for a millisecond before nodding her head in agreement.
"Listen, you're the funniest guest we've had in a while. Don't start feeling all sorry for yourself now, we haven't got such a good laugh out of something for a long time!" I don't know how to react to this.
"Who's "we"?" I ask. Why do I have to be so bad at conversations? "Rose and I." Matilda replies. "Rosalie is studying so much these days as she's 16 now, and I'm regularly down at he drapers on Oxford Road." She admits timidly. The previous warmth and tease of her tone has vanished. I know I'm treading on thin ice, so I'm careful with my words.
"And why are you at the drapers to much?" I ask. "Trying to secure a job there. I'm 18 now so it's important. Edmund is so lucky he's still a child. As are you." She says. "It's well-paying and I want to be a draper I suppose. The hours are so long though, and I hardly see that lot anymore." She nods her head in the direction of the door, indicating "that lot" is referring to her siblings and parents.
I don't know what to say. I knew this was going to get personal fast. I should really be more careful with where I lead my discussions. Matilda sighs. We sort through a few of her old dresses and a particular one catches my eye.
"Can I wear this one Matilda?" I ask quietly. I'm done pushing the limits for today. "Please, call me Tilda. And of course you can." She smiles in my direction. She really is very pretty, with long, flowing brown hair and lovely hazel eyes; just like Edmund's. "Alright then, Tilda." I return her smile and she passes me the dress. --------------------------- It's breathtakingly elegant. What a shame it won't have a breathtakingly beautiful girl to fit into it, I think. I'm sure the dress is utterly disappointed to be worn by such an underwhelming specimen.
I gaze in awe at my reflection. The dress is a pale lilac. It is fixed with puffed sleeves and embroidered daisies around the neck. A tuft of lace falls from the front of the skirt. "You used to wear this on normal days?" I ask, jaw gaping, dumbfounded.
Tilda laughs. "Yes, I did. I have many much finer than that one if you'd prefer." I throw my hands up in protest. "I love this." I say in a posh lady voice, executing a twirl. She giggles again. "Come on." She grabs my hand and leads me towards the kitchen.
After I've wolfed down a can of tinned peaches with fresh cream, I sit back and sigh in satisfaction. Just at that moment, Rosalie enters the room. "I daresay Tilda's old dress suits you like a gem!" Her voice is cheery. "Do come through! Edmund had to run an errand in the town and we were wondering if you would be so kind as to accompany him." I nod and follow her out of the room.
Edmund is waiting in the hallway holding a small basket covered with a tea towel. He grants me a grin and unlatches the front door. I follow him out into the bustling street.
"So, what is this errand?" I'm inquisitive to uncover the focus of our mission. "Mother's asked me to deliver these left over profiteroles to Mr. Smith at the church." "Well, which way is the church then?" I ask, impatient. Then, he grabs my hand. "We're not going to the church, Lilith."
And with that, he sprints for the nearest alleyway, tugging me behind him.
