The Piccadilly Circus of Life

The Piccadilly Circus of Life -- chapterONE

Chapter One

Travellers and holiday-goers were dashing around the airport. From where Camilla was seated, she had an almost panoramic view of what they were doing. One child was wandering around the Christmas decorations that had been put up, playing around with the twigs of the fake, plastic tree. Another woman was pushing a trolley, with a checklist in one hand, a phone balanced between her ear and shoulder and a child at her feet as she was struggling to find her gate. Camilla’s departure gate had quite a big window, offering a view of the aeroplane. She breathed in her last sights of Sydney through her eyes. The centrepoint tower could be seen in the outline of the silhouetted skyline. I wonder how much I’ll miss this? Camilla thought to herself, absent-mindedly.

To most people, what Camilla Hazelhurst was prepared to do seemed outrageous. To leave country that she loved, containing the people that she would die for would definitely have its consequences. As she contemplated over what these consequences could be, a lady hovered over to her, wearing a tightly fitted uniform and a smile that feigned care. As she sat down next to Camilla, her name tag identified her as Bella, and Camilla tried to match the name with the face – Bella certainly was not bella, unless foundation was defined as beautiful.

‘I’m going to be your guide today, I know all about you and the journey you’ll be taking!’ Bella told Camilla.

‘Really, you know all about me?’ Camilla upbraided, and then rolled her eyes. She was surprised at herself. Attitude was not normally one of her personality traits.

‘Yes, as much as I’ve been told,’ Camilla didn’t respond. Bella sighed. ‘Look, I’ll take you to your seat and leave you be. If you need anything just ask me or any of the other airhostesses. Come on, we’re boarding now.’ Bella walked in the direction of the aero brigade.

Camilla looked down at the floor, and then to the window, where she could view the skyline. Right at that moment, it was her city. At that moment, no one could say otherwise. A thin mist was settling over the city. The mist entered Camilla’s mind, she could not think straight. Inhale and exhale. The words Camilla’s mother had repeatedly told her ran through her head and through her lungs as she traipsed off reluctantly towards Bella, now waiting at the entrance of the aero brigade.

Camilla had completely lost track of time, as she had slept for over half the flight, the other half of her time being occupied by reading and by watching movies that were not interesting to her as such.

As she bored her way through another of these movies on her screen, an announcement from the captain was made.

‘We will be landing at Heathrow shortly. Please fasten your seatbelts and make sure that all seats are upright.’

She rubbed her eyelids and carefully moved her seat upright, so as not to disturb the lady sleeping next to her. As she looked around the aisles, she wondered where all the passengers were going, and why. The plane lurched downwards unexpectedly and Camilla, lost in her thoughts, let out a small scream.

‘Certain people are trying to adjust to time zones! Ignorant teenagers!’ the lady next to her loudly whispered. She was now wide-awake and evidently piqued.

 I don’t know why I bother, thought Camilla. 

She inwardly said a prayer as the aeroplane circled over London while watching the houses and towns that almost seemed reachable. She traced her finger over them absently through the window. They continued to descend, and Camilla put her hair in a dignified ponytail, to suit her new, dignified state of mind that came over her as they landed at Heathrow Airport.

~

‘Camilla!’

‘Granddad!’

Warm greetings were exchanged as her grandfather’s chauffer heaved her luggage onto the trolley and the three of them proceeded out of the airport into a cold English afternoon. She felt oddly comfortable at once; England had been where she had spent many summers, and the husky tone of her grandfather’s voice reminded her of them. Camilla vividly remembered one particular holiday in which they drove from her grandparent’s home down to Brighton Beach, when she was much younger. It was a sunny morning, and the pier was crowded. Camilla and her sister Eugenie weaved their way through the stalls filled with sweets, taking in the sights as they approached the helter-skelter, their stomachs twisting with the painted stripes.

‘Are you sure, Eugenie?’

‘Yes Camilla. Why, are you scared?’

‘No, I’m not scared. Yes, that’s right. I am not scared.’ This was a lie. Camilla hated, loathed turning. Any sort of turning – mental, physical; a turning situation or a turning mind was the object of evil in that little nine year old brain of hers, it couldn’t comprehend a change of direction. A change of direction, how ironic… Camilla thought, as they drove through a roundabout and arrived at her grandparents townhouse in Notting Hill.

‘So, was there any trouble with the journey? Everything was fine, I expect?’

‘Yeah, Grandma, it was pretty good,’

‘The family is doing well? Eugenie and your mother?’

Camilla nodded. Mrs. Hazelhurst was very well known in the area of Notting Hill. They were a rich family, and did not negotiate on class. Camilla had been taught by her mother, and her grandmother to properly stand, eat, dress and drink tea as she was doing now, while carefully swallowing éclairs.

‘I see that you’ve renovated the place a bit, Grandma?’ Camilla looked down at the new, checkered floors, the fresh paint on the walls and the new drapery that caved her view of the terrace.

‘Yes I think we needed a bit of change in the house, it being so old and whatnot. It’s nice that you’re here, Camilla. I do hope you like it, and that I don’t influence your time but rather share it as best as I can.’

‘Of course, after all I’m here for you. As long as you need me, too.’

‘Wonderful. Y our granddad registered your name at the school, Ellerby’s, not much of a walk from here. You start next Monday.’

A mere two days to settle in? Camilla wondered.

‘Brilliant! Don’t I need a uniform?’ she asked, with fake enthusiasm.

Mrs. Hazelhurst yawned. ‘Yes, we’ll get that for you this week. Why don’t you go and unpack? The guest room now belongs to you. We did it up a bit, for you.’ Camilla took this as a cue to leave her grandmother to rest.

‘Yeah, I’ll go put my things away and freshen up.’

As she eagerly entered what she remembered as a small room with a double bed, she realised that it had been transformed into a flowery, bright one, with a large bed, cupboard and dressing table and the windows had been made larger so that she could see the city and the park. Camilla spent a good hour or so unpacking, filling up the various drawers and shelves provided for her, neatly arranging all her clothes according to their colour. She then showered and landed on her bed, exhausted yet awake, her thoughts wandering around her mind.

At least it’s something new, something different. It’s London. I’ll fall in love with it eventually.  With that, she wafted into sleep, and dreamt of nothing as her tire got the better of her.