A Pocket Full of Posies (Book 1)

Chapter Two

"What would she gain from it, y'know? Makes her seem different and unique or whatever, sure, but it's such a random thing to make up. I don't know, Felix, this definitely needs further investigation," Annabel rambles as she paces back and forth in my room.

"All right, Poirot, calm down."

"She didn't make a big deal out of it either. All of the phonies we've met before have been so dramatic and in your face, but she said it like it was the most normal thing ever."

"Uh-huh."

Annabel stops pacing and faces me with her hands on her hips. She raises her eyebrows. "Are you even listening to me?"

"I just think it's horse crap. She had no idea you were there earlier," I reason.

"Just because she didn't make a song and dance about it, doesn't mean she couldn't see me." She rolls her eyes. "And ugh, at least make the effort to learn her name. It's Ava. Ava, Katie, Carmen, Jamie, Tom, and Mason."

"Yeah, yeah. Did she look at you at any point?"

"Well, no, but--"

"There we go then. If she could interact with you then she would've acknowledged you, she couldn't not," I argue. "Whatever, I'm just pissed that half my potatoes are bruised, and don't even get me started on the fact I'm going to have to eat all my bacon on the sly."

Ava's announcement caught me off guard at first, I'll give her that, but it's nothing worth dwelling on. It made the kitchen awkwardness peak because the sentence, I communicate with spirits, is a bit of a conversation killer. It's not like speaking to dead people is exciting, anyway; they generally whine at you until you sort their shit out for them, and that's that. Bit annoying, if anything.

One of the boys, Tom I think, is organising a flat party here tonight, so I'm hoping throwing some alcohol into the mix will have us all acting like best friends in no time. Annabel is still blathering on when I hear a quiet knock on my bedroom door. I tell her to hush, then swing it open to see a pair of dark brown, almost black, eyes gazing into my own.

"Whoa, hey," Ava says as if she didn't expect anyone to open the door she just knocked. "Tom said pre-drinks start in an hour, and the cleaners come every other Friday."

Bit weird. I thank Ava and go to close my door, but she stops me.

"You're the one with the funny name, aren't you?"

"Uh, probably. It's Felix."

"Groovy, like the cat?"

I nod slowly. Ava shoots me one more toothy smile before stepping away and moving on to the next door. Okay then.

Annabel has disappeared by the time I turn back around, and so I take it as my chance to pull open the drawer I've already christened as my alcohol stash. It only has a bottle of bourbon and a few beers in it at the moment, but it'll soon bloom. Before I can take that thought any further, one of the beers flings out of the drawer and lands with a thump onto my bed.

"You can't get drunk on your first night here, that's not fair!"

I spin around to see that Annabel has returned with her infamous scowl. While never knowing my mother can often suck, it's not all bad when her replacement stalks me every second of my life. I miss the days--well, day--when she had no idea who I was. She was a lot less annoying back then.

We didn't recognise each other after the accident, but I quickly figured it out from the family photo that was shoved in my face daily, as the doctors and psychiatrists attempted to spark my memory. It was just the one. My parents must have hated photos or something.