Spotlight Girl //a Jeremy Jordan Fanfic//

One: The Aftermath

A heart attack.

That's what the doctor said it was.

Sudden. Painful. Fatal.

Evie's Dad drove me. Evie I insisted on coming along to which I didn't object. I couldn't think straight. I couldn't see or hear anything other than the words Intensive Care and Next Of Kin. Those were the kinds of things they said on hospital dramas and soap operas...I never thought I would actually hear them in real life, let alone have them be said to me...
Evie squeezed my hand, trying to reassure me that everything was going to be fine but I couldn't respond, I couldn't muster any words to express what I was feeling. Shell shocked was the best way to put it.

When we got to the hospital we were taken to a separate, private room. Because I was under the age of 18, I couldn't be given all the details without a guardian present to give consent. Evie's Dad was the closest thing I had in that moment, so they explained the situation as best they could.
I don't really remember much, just that my Mum was repairing the barns hayloft when it happened and that she fell from beam she was balanced on and onto the barn floor. Evie filled in the gaps that I had missed from zoning in and out and said that luckily the man who delivers our weekly food shop was there and called an ambulance and she was rushed here and was in Intensive Care.

We were there for hours, I remember going into Mum's room and holding her hand for a while. I then remembered the doctors taking me out and telling me there was nothing else they could do...

~*~
I wore a grey woollen dress to the funeral.

It was my cousin Susie's, seeing as I didn't own that many 'funeral appropriate' clothes. It was way to long and sagged in certain areas as it was too big for me and my light brown hair hung off my shoulder in a long braid. My new black shoes pinches my toes but I didn't care. I barely noticed.

Alice, Mum's only sister, wrapped her black shawl around my shoulders and engulfed me in a tight, warm hug. Until then, I hadn't cried.

I zoned out as soon as I was informed Mum was in critical condition at the hospital, everything turned to white noise when I was told that she wasn't going to make it, the whole way to the church I hadn't said a word, I just felt numb and broken.
The shock of it all didn't send tears cascading down my cheeks until the moment Alice wrapped me up in her arms, her warmth and familiarity bringing me back down to the agonising truth that my mother was no longer here and that, no matter how many of my loved ones and family members and friends surrounded me, I still felt completely and utterly alone.

My heart was in pieces as I sobbed into her shoulder practically howling in pain as I held onto her strong, solid frame for dear life. Everything else seemed to fade away, time seemed to slow and it felt as though I would cry forever...

~*~

That was 6 months ago.

I was now sat on a creaking camper bed in the spare room of my Aunt Alice's house. Boxes piled high around me, the remnants of my short life filling every corner of this tiny room. I still hadn't had the heart to go through them or unpack anything and it overwhelmed me to think of what the next year would look like for me.

My GCSE's were coming up, I was leaving high school and making plans for college and university, making music with my friends, helping my mum on our little farm. My life had been so simple 6 months ago...now I didn't have a clue what I was gonna do next.

Tears sprung to my eyes again, nothing felt secure or stable anymore, the whole world was crumbling down around me and I was powerless to stop it. The only thing I had control over in this moment, were the boxes and the contents inside them.

Pulling one of the boxes towards me, I peel off the packing tape as best I can and open it. This one was full of books, neatly stacked in every corner and crevice of the cardboard box. I took the top one out and turned it over in my hands.

It was a worn copy of Black Beauty.

Despite myself, I smile, remembering how many times I begged Mum to read this book to me. She read so many books to me, told a story so vividly and full of colour I learnt the meanings of words way faster than I ever did at school. And she didn't just read at bedtime, but in the mornings before school too, as we ate jam on toast and bowls of Cheerios, taking turns reading a paragraph to each other.

Flipping through the pages, I see markings made with pencil, from circles around certain words and phrases to sentences being underlined and arrows pointing to paragraphs and Mum's swirly handwriting explaining why that particular word, phrase or paragraph spoke out to her. Tears splash onto the words and I quickly wipe them away to stop them from smudging.

I take out each book one by one, taking in every title and faded cover as I go.

Alice in Wonderland, the Wizard Of Oz, the complete works of T.S. Elliot and Oscar Wilde, Little Women and Anne Of Green Gables, Stig Of The Dump and Carrie's War, Tom's Midnight Garden, the full Beatrix Potter collection, Hans Christian Andersen and Grimm's Fairytales.

I scoop each and every one of them up in my arms and spread them out on the bed. There was a desk in the corner of the room, so I decided they best go there. One by one, I place them all on the desk, rearranging them several times until they looked just right. Realising I was on a roll, I moved onto the next box, which was filled with clothes, all of them mine.

Several of the other boxes were clothes of mine too, so I cleared a space on the floor to sit down in, took two of the empty boxes I had just emptied and found a whiteboard pen in one of the other boxes and wrote in big block letters "KEEP" on one crate and "DONATE" on the other. I then spent the next 20 minutes deciding which clothes to keep and which to donate.

I thought it would take much longer, but it soon became automatic, almost robotic, as I began throwing more into the donate pile than I was into the keep. jumpers, hats, scarves, coats, T-shirt's, dresses, almost every article of clothing I owned was in the get rid of box.

Then I came across something that caught me dead in my tracks. At the bottom of the huge clothes pile, was a box. A small, wooden jewellery box I hadn't seen in god knows how long. I pick it up from the floor and place it gently on my lap.

It was a beautiful ornate jewellery box that my mum got passed down to her after her grandmother passed away. Every eldest daughter in our family got it passed down to them and so it had been for the last 4 generations now.
The wood looked like new, polished and shiny with a lovely butterfly and flower design. You needed a key to open it, which is what my mum gifted to me for my birthday last year. I had it round my neck at all times, which is where it was now and I take it and push it into the keyhole gently and turn a few times. The lid opened with a slight click and the tune of Somewhere Over The Rainbow trickled out.

I can't remember how long I sat there, listening to the melody, but by the time I zoned back in to reality, the music had stopped playing and everything was quiet.

Carved in a familiar hand, the inscription on the inside of the box lid read: "fly over the rainbow and dare to dream, I believe in you Jamie. With love, always, Mum x"

A soft knock came from the door then and and cousin Susie came in. "Hey Jamie, I brought you a sandwich and some crisps, I know you said you weren't hungry but I-" She began but cut herself off when she saw my face when I looked over at her.

Her eyes glossed over with sadness and sympathy, a look I've found myself accustomed to over the last few weeks, and she placed the tray of food down on my bedside table. She sunk down to the floor and wrapped her arms around me.

For the second time since Mum died. I crumbled.

Wrapping my own arms around her, I gripped on to her tightly and let the tears roll down my cheeks.
My sobs echoing around the small room.