The Train To Nowhere

chapter 8 - a friend

It felt wonderful to lie in on Saturday morning. There were no unwanted wake-ups from Zara or Mum. Everything about Saturday mornings was relaxed and peaceful, kind of a rule in our house. Zara always used to wake up way before Mum and me at around nine in the past. She'd have the whole house to herself, which was just the way she liked it. I'd hear her tiptoe downstairs, careful not to wake up anyone up so she could watch her favourite Netflix series while eating a croissant from the bread bin, if there were any. Now though, she was thirteen, and I guess that is the age you start to crave sleep more. She still gets up earlier than me. I'm always the last to rise from my cosy duvet, at my usual time of about eleven thirty to twelve. Morning was a stranger to me on weekends, but on school days, something I knew all too well.

"Mum, have you seen my blue and green t-shirt?" I heard her call, stirring me from my slumber. The sun was high in the sky and shining bright into my room even through the cracks in the blinds.

"Which one?" Mum called back. I could tell from the volume of her voice she was in the kitchen at the bottom of the house.

"The tie-dye type one. It's like a cropped top, and it's from Hollister. I wanted to wear it with my grey sweats today." I rubbed my eyes and stretched, reaching my arms and toes out as far as they could go.

"Er- Zara, I'm a little busy at the moment!" she replied, "I think it's on the washing line. You'll have to come downstairs and get it."

Today Rosie and I had planned to have a day out together. Kind of like a nostalgia trip. Penning Town was the centre of our quiet place; the heart of Woodeshire. It was only a fifteen minute bus ride there and it was the done thing for most kids at my school. Half of my friends lived in Penning Town anyway, but Mum had bought a house here because it was cheaper. Well, a good offer for what we got anyway, which was a reasonably-sized, three-floor house with a garden and three bedrooms, two bathrooms. Houses like that in Penning Town were a bit pricier, as most are in the city centre. Anyway, we were going to see a movie, get some food and browse in all the old shops we used to browse in as kids. We'd make it up as we go along. Rosie loved being spontaneous.

I hopped in the shower, gasping as the water came on full blast and icy cold. I jumped out and hurriedly screwed the tap setting all the way to high, as if turning it to the extreme and then turning it back a little would make it warm up any faster. It took around twenty seconds til it was warm enough, but when it did I closed the glass shower doors and sighed as all my muscles relaxed. I adored showers. They were much better than baths. Baths made me feel hot and sweaty after five minutes, whereas I could stand under the shower head on the heavy setting for an hour or more and have time drift by - in my own thoughts. Thousands of drops of water pushed down on to my skin and rolled down my back, over my eyelashes and everywhere. I gulped some and then swigged it round my mouth before spitting it out. I stood under and opened my eyes while it spilled into them and made me blink. It burned a little but it felt good.

To my surprise, when I came downstairs, feeling refreshed and energised from the shower, Mum was standing in front of the mirror in the downstairs bathroom. The door was wide open.

"Mum?" After I said her name there was a short pause where she finished doing something and I heard her put something down, and then she turned round, her smile warm and arms open to wrap me in a hug.

"Morning, Abel!" she beamed, her teeth shining and white. Maybe it was her scarlet lipstick that highlighted their lightness. She was clearly dressed up for some special occasion. Her hair was tied up in a bright gold and green wrapper, one I'd only seen her wear for special occasions, which matched her long, pine green evening dress with the empire waist. Her eye makeup was a chocolatey brown brushed across her eyes and her mascara made her long black eyelashes flutter even more over her dark, glittering eyes. There was no denying she looked strikingly pretty.