1: The First Sunny Day
I toss and turn. At first, I'm convinced that I am ill. After all, I'd been playing rugby with my brother in the rain all day yesterday, and it wouldn't be a surprise if I do fall ill today. But then I realise that my head, nose and throat are all fine. In fact, apart from the tiredness resulted from the lack of sleep, I feel rather good - better and happier than I've been feeling for ages. It is as if some important deed is finally completed, and here I am, lying awake in the middle of the night.
Except… Is it the middle of the night?
I opened my eyes. The bright, golden morning sun shines right into them, and I shut my eyelids firmly out of reflex. You see, after years of fog, mist, overcast and smog, I lost the habit of closing my bedroom curtains before I go to sleep, and now, I'm happily paying for it.
Still keeping my eyes shut, I move my eyeballs gently, trying to get rid of the purple, orange and green blurs in my vision. I succeed with minimal effort, and open my eyes again, slowly and carefully, allowing my pupils to adjust as I embrace the first ray of the morning sun.
It's really early. I know that from the big golden spot at the bottom of my door, upon which my window is projected by the sun. I also know that it will likely be sunny throughout the day: the blue sky is so clear that there is no patches of white cloud for what looks like miles. To get a clearer view of the town, I sit up, walk across the room, climb onto my desk and look out of the window. Outside, everything bathed contently under the morning sun, and it seems that the houses, roads, lawns and trees are covered by a magical layer of cheerfully boiling golden yarn. The corners of my lips tug up as I become electrified, and I dash out of my room.
"Ma! Dad! Ge(1)!" I shout as I sprint down the stairs, "Get up! Get up now! It's SUNNY today!"
I jump on the last of the stairs as I screamed the last few words. Unable to control the excitement bouncing inside me, I sprint upstairs again, shake off the lock of the door across my room, and burst into my brother's room. As I expect, he is still in bed, but clearly awake - he's got that 'I know you're here but I don't want you here so I'll just pretend to sleep' look on him. It usually works well for Mum and Dad, but I have long learned to ignore that. I run to his bed, crouch slightly, and jump. As always, I land on his bare torso with my flat belly.
"For heaven's sake, Qian'er(2)!" he groans and reaches for his glasses, "You're 11 and I'm almost 14, can't you just give me one minute of tranquility?"
"Not if you and I are both alive on this world," I say, climbing down to give him a chance to get up, "It's sunny out there."
"As wild as your imagination goes," my brother covers his mouth and yawns, "There's no such thing called sun in Manchester… It's ten after five," he holds up his right hand, checks his watch and informs me tiredly, "I'm going back to bed - and leave me alone!"
My brother sinks into his bed again, this time remembering to pull up his covers. But I am never defeated, so I sneak up to his desk, and yank the curtain open with force. The hooks protest against the steel track, and the whole thing threatens to give in, but they always do when I yank the curtains, so I'm not afraid of getting into trouble. My brother, however, is in deep trouble.
"Bloody hell!" he yelps. I turn my head to see him covering his eyes with his hands, but before I can call him foul for using that language, he continues, "Don't do that, Qian'er! You nearly blinded me!"
"Then admit that I'm right!" I smile triumphantly. My arms are crossed and my back is straight, as if I just came off the field with my team winning the cup.
"Fine, fine, it's sunny today! Now, would you please do me a favour and close my curtains, gently, s'il vous plaît!"
He sounds truly exasperated, and I know I'm approaching a line. So I sigh dramatically, and close the thinner layer not so gently.
"Thats better," my brother breaths, putting his hands off his face, "And please don't jump on me again, Qian'er. You've got no idea how scary it feels."
"Only if you behave," I retort slyly. My smile grows wider as he finally opens his eyes again, pokes his head inbetween the curtains and peaks out to see the day.
"Blimey," I hear him whisper, "It is sunny, Qian'er… It's been… two, three years?"
I shrug silently. I know he can't see me from the back of his head, but I won't be of any use. To be honest, I don't remember when the last sunny day was. All I know is that we went to a picnic in the Sale Water Park with the Portleys, and the adults were talking about secondary schools for my brother and his friend. So that must have been…
"Almost two years," he answers his own question, "since my primary school leaving tea… So that's twenty two months..." he pulls his head back to the room, and turns to study the calendar, "and three days."
And I remember. Two years ago on the last day of June, we attended my brother's leaving tea, and went to the Sale Water Park afterwards. I don't remember that day because it was fulfilled with boredom. Dad and Mr Portley each had to leave before long, the boys wouldn't let me join their lakeside adventure, and I wasn't allowed to swim alone. So I sat at the bank and listened to Mrs Portley rumbling about the benefits of Public schools and my mum politely refusing to send us anywhere but Newall Green High.
It is not that my parents can't afford to send us to Public or State schools. In fact, my mum had looked up every famous Public and State school when my brother was only starting day schools. She wanted to start early and know what she was facing, she told us after dad revealed this the other day. My mum was right. It turned out that all those posh schools are prejudiced against diversity and freedom to choose - two things my family values dearly - so after lots of talking, we decided that both of us are going to Newall Green for it is the nearest from home. Mum and Dad say we can always transfer to more suited and specialised schools as we want, whatever that means.
"And you know what that means, Qian'er," my brother's hopeful voice brings me out of my musings, "You can ask for a picnic, preferably with the Portleys!"
"Even when we haven't seen them for months? Terrific idea, Andy," I roll my eyes at him because I don't think I have successfully mustered a sarcastic tone, "But why do I ask them? It's you who wants a picnic!"
"Well, you know," he clears his throat and stands straight, suddenly looking so grown-up, "You don't ask your parents for anything when you're almost fourteen!"
"Your birthday's in four months," I deadpan mercilessly, "It's May 3rd -" I double check the calendar, "- and your birthday won't be another four months and six days. So you're not 'almost fourteen'."
"There's no need to be so sharp, Qian'er." It is his turn to roll his eyes. He opens his mouth to defend himself, but the door opens and we turn around.
"Everything all right?" Dad stood tiredly at the door, a panicked look on his face and his night gowns are dishevelled, "We heard you scream, Kathy -"
"Yes, dad. Sorry for the scare," I say sincerely. Then I look up and smile again, pointing at the window with a nod of my head, "The sun's out."
"Sunny day, eh?" Mum says as we sit down for breakfast, "Got any plans, you lot?"
My brother and I look at each other before smiling with all the silliness in the world, ignoring the Tofu Nao(3) mum had dished out for us. Fortunately, Dad is already talking about all the possible family activities we could do with 14 hours of sunshine.
"We can go to the May Fair," I chime in, earning a kick under the table from my brother. Kicking back mercilessly, I take a bite of my tofu and continue, "It's opening today, and we haven't seen its opening in ages!"
"Wonderful idea, Qian'er," mum says, handing me a hard boiled egg - made from her secret tea recipe. I take it, so she turns to my brother, "What about you, Andy?"
"I dunno, I might go and play football with Peter's lot," he says, though I know he wants the picnic really bad. I poke him to say 'you're helpless and I won't help you,' and I think he understands.
"Can you think of anything that includes the whole family?" Dad asks, "It's Sunday, after all."
"Well," my brother says seriously, "You can all join us - I know you all play."
"I don't!" I protest loudly, "I'm not playing football anymore! Rugby's way more fun!"
"Football has eleven players a side, girls rugby only has seven," my brother says, "The more people on the field, the more fun there is."
"No it isn't," I retort, happy to provoke the age-old football-rugby debate that had once rifted the family, "less players means more running and more scoring. And I get to tackle, and I get to play the ball however I want when you can only use your feet!"
"Settle down, Andy, Kathy," Dad intervenes before this becomes another fight of the week, I sat back and focus on finishing my breakfast, when the doorbell rings.
"Who is it?" I ask, as Dad stands to check. Mum, too hurries out of the kitchen, leaving my brother and I staring at each other again.
"I am not helping you, Andy," I pet his shoulders like Dad always does, and speak in an old man's tone, "Because you are helpless!"
My brother looks as if he's got a witty comeback, but the greetings coming from the threshold stop us both from speaking another word.
"Amy, what a surprise," Dad's voice booms into the kitchen. Andy and I freeze for a second, but before we could hear another word, we both stand up abruptly, bumping the chairs aside and push our way out to the hall. Our small race is set to a halt by the sight that neither of us, nor our parents, seem to comprehend: Mrs Portley stood at the door with her characteristic handbag, looking cheerful but extremely worn out. Her hat, however, is missing, and she is visibly tanned from the last time I saw her.
"M - Mrs Portley," I hear my brother say, "You're back!"
Well done, Andy, stating the obvious.
"Yes, we're back. We took a long travel around the world, a surprise one, I'd say." Mrs Portley smiles at us.
Mum and Dad turn to look at us, as if they are about to tell us off for running out on our own. Then, suddenly, Mum slaps her head and says, "What was I thinking, Amy, come in, come in. I'll set the kettle on and we can talk all we like - or would you like some breakfast with us?"
"No, no need for that," says Mrs Portley as she steps through the threshold, "We had food at the airport." Andy and I, suddenly remembering our grand escape from the kitchen, rush back to set the chairs right.
"Are you sure you're up for the talk, Amy," Dad asks concernedly as the adults entered the kitchen, "Sounds like you've had quite a trip, you must be tired."
"Indeed, indeed," Mrs Portley helps herself into a chair, "But don't worry, it was a short flight, and we'll get plenty of rest later."
Mum sets the saucers and begins her usual round of 'announcing the menu and taking the order', "I'm afraid we've only got Green and Jasmine, some cake from yesterday, some biscuits and no scones, would that be okay with that?"
"Oh I miss your jasmine tea, Mary, with your special sugar," Mrs Portley taps her finger on the table impatiently, "And biscuits would be great."
"Where did you go?" Andy asks when mum disappears behind the counter looking for tea.
"Everywhere, chap. We took a tour around the globe, and I'll start at the beginning… It was a very last minute decision..."
And on she talks. Again, I am bored by the conversation between that woman and my parents, but Andy seems to be captivated by it. So I have no choice but to listen to the Portley's trip through Europe, Africa, Australia, South and North America. I'm telling you, Mrs Portley has the power of turning the most exciting dragon slaying story into a boring social studies textbook.
"So we spent the next week in Montreal - they speak very odd French and English and it snowed the day we got there, but Tony and Chris both had a wonderful time at the Biodôm! The pubs, too, were amazing on Crescent Street, but of course, we didn't really go in because of the kids. Then there's the Vieux-Port, that's the older, more cultural part of the city with interesting graffitis and buskers. And we took the flight this morning - or last night, depending on where you are, of course - back to Manchester."
"Sounds like an awesome trip," Dad says. We have all finished our breakfast and tea now, with Mrs Portley on her fifth cup, "And you must be tired -"
"No matter, no matter," Mrs Portley waves a hand, "We're all excited to be back in town to share our story. I bet Tony and Chris will tell you loads of fascinating stories later, but they're asleep now, so I decided to say 'hi' to our friends and neighbours."
"Can we go for a picnic?" Andy asks so suddenly that I wouldn't have believed he had just spoken. His face turns to an embarrassing shade of pink, so he tries again, "I mean, after everyone wakes up - It's really nice out there!"
"A picnic?" Mrs Portley smiles through Mum and Dad's reprimanding glares, "I'm sorry, dear, but not today. We've got loads of unpacking to do, I'm sure you understand. We'll go to the lake some other day, and that's a promise. Now, Oscar, Mary, if you'll excuse me, I'll need to check on my boys..."
Mum, Dad, Andy and I all stand up and see her off at the door. Finally coming back after more meaningless chinwag, the house returns to its normal calmness.
"Well, that was nice of her to come and say 'hi'," Mum says as she takes our bowls to the sink, "But I wonder..." she trails off as she turns her back on me. I quickly gather all the teacups and send them to the sink, too, and Mum asks, "Well, Qian'er, would you be up for a family football game before lunch?"
"No," I state my preference firmly and tersely.
Notes:
(1): Ge - a short form of 'brother' in Chinese.
(2): Qian'er - Kathy's nickname in Chinese. Even though Katherine is her legal name, only her dad calls her Kathy in her family because he's the only one who can't pronounce her Chinese nickname.
(3): Tofu Nao - A northern Chinese dish that is often served for breakfast, and is made from topping runny/soft Tofu with sauce.
A/N:
Well I did promise to try and work on other stories, so here we are. Tbh it took me a long time to think of an appropriate start for any of my planned stories, and to say I'm relieved to finally get this out here is an understatement. I hope those of you who enjoyed BFNM will find this an enjoyable start. A reminder, we are back to Rowling's world, and this is May, 1998.
For some of you, the language of this chapter (and many others) may sound forced and the geographical, cultural and historical information of the UK may not be accurate. That is because I am an English-learner-in-Canada attempting to write in British. I'll try to check my places, event references, details, and slang/dialects but I don't think I'll be flawless anytime soon. So please, if you like where this story is going and want to help me with my writing, PM me and I'll let you beta for every new chapter as long as you're up for it!
I'll never say no to more reviews xD
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