A Pocket Full of Posies (Book 2)

Chapter Fifteen

I'm still in the house. I'm in the hallway. Is this a vision? Or do I just not remember leaving my old bedroom? I realise how stupid my uncertainty is when I notice my eyeline is a good two feet lower than it was moments ago. There's hushed talking coming from the room at the other end of the hallway, so little me totters over to it.

"Double check, please? We can't get on the plane without them, and we can in no way resort to our real ones." My dad's voice seeps out of the room as I approach it, and I peek around the open door to see him shoving a pile of clothes into a suitcase.

"I have double checked, Daniel. Everything's packed, I can't unpack it all now."

"Are you sure? Pheebs, we need to be sure."

"I am sure!" my mother snaps, then sighs. "Sorry, I--"

"No, don't apologise. I'm sorry, I'm just stressed, I shouldn't take it out on you." My dad stops shoving things into his suitcase, and stands straight. He reaches his arms out, and my mum falls into them. My father kisses her hair. "I'm sorry. You've packed them."

My dad has his back to me, and while my mother is facing me, she doesn't see me because her eyes are closed. She looks different. I guess this is the first time really seeing her in the flesh outside the accident. Her hair doesn't look as dark, and I'm not sure if it's because it's dry, or because it's not bloodstained, and I don't want to think about which one it is. After today, I can only guess my parents are talking about the forged identity documents.

"It's going to be fine. We'll be fine. I'll die before I let anything happen to Fe--" My mum pauses as she opens her eyes and sees me, then pulls away from my dad. "How come you're so quiet this morning, eh?" she asks, all fear suddenly switching off her face as her frown is replaced with a huge grin.

She steps towards me and reaches down to pick me up. What is it about kid me being picked up all the time? Did people like doing it, or was I just super needy? Probably the latter.

"Are you poorly? You don't feel ill, do you, baby?" The concern returns to my mother's face as she places her palm on my forehead, and it feels real. It feels so damn real.

I'm slightly thrown that the concept of me being quiet is so out of character that my mum believes I'm physically unwell, but I'm also fully aware it's hardly a crazy assumption if my present day personality is anything to go by.

"Are you and Daddy fighting?" my younger self asks.

God, I was dumb.

"No, silly, we're just packing!" she says cheerfully.

My dad straightens my hair out as he says, "are you finished packing, that's the real question?"

"Yep!" I beam. "Annie helped me, remember?" My parents glance at each other, but say nothing. That was weird. Kiddie me clearly doesn't notice because I keep on talking. "She said I couldn't take Simon when we go to England because he might get wet in my bag, but it's summer now and it's not raining or gonna rain, so can I take him?"

"Of course you can," my mum replies as she carries me into the hallway. "And it's bring. You take something away, and you bring something with you. Remember?"

I don't think now is the time to be correcting my grammar, but I don't say anything. Mainly because I physically can't, but partly because I don't want to backchat my mum considering this is my first time properly meeting her.

Turns out Simon is a sculpture made from the cardboard skeletons of toilet roll cut and sellotaped together into what's supposed to be a pterodactyl. I don't know why this surprises me. This is exactly the kind of shit I expect from myself, eight-years-old or twenty-years-old. It looks more like a chubby swan with a pointy face than a dinosaur, and the pencil lines I've drawn on it only make the differentiation even more difficult.