Hey everyone, sorry about the delay in getting this chapter up! It's a bit longer to make up for it though. Thanks to my first reviewer, really made my day, and thanks to all of you who have decided to keep reading. Please continue to read and please, PLEASE review as it makes me incredibly happy and inspires me to write! Hope you enjoy this chapter x
The winter passed in much the same fashion and my obsession soon developed into a much scarier desperation. As the nights grew warmer, I began to camp out in my tent to ensure that I didn't miss the return of the house, only returning home when my supplies were dwindling and when I needed to work. Before long, it had been 2 years since my first journey back to that field and it began taking its toll. I couldn't concentrate when I was with clients and I wasn't performing as well as I could be – I lost a couple of regulars, but I was still more than good enough for most.
I didn't give up. Although I was getting older and I was constantly exhausted from my travels, I always made sure that I looked my best. Okay, so the concealer under my eyes had to be thicker now to hide the bags, but I looked beautiful every day because I knew that any day could be the one that I found my way back to him.
The day started as any other: I awoke in darkness and packed my overnight bag, heading out into the humid morning haze. About a mile into my journey, the dawn was upon me, the sunshine bearing down, making the clips on my suspenders glint just below my skirt hemline. I was glad that the warner nights meant less blankets needed to be packed, but I still sweltered under the weight of the physical representation of my alcoholism, ever growing as my time alone did.
I arrived and set up camp as per usual and searched the grounds for a sign that they had returned and I had missed them, finding nothing. I lay on the blanket and took out my compact mirror and makeup to see what the heat had done to me. I touched up my eye makeup and checked my lipstick. The woman in the mirror smiled back at me, knowing that Frank would be proud of what I had become. And that was the reason why I could cope with being ostracised by my community, why I could take the glares: because I was making Frank proud.
As the sun went down and the light faded, I felt my eyes grow heavy and my body weak. I climbed inside my tent, shielding me from the wind but not from the cold, and gave in to sleep. I had the same dream as I had every night…
A flash of his eyes, his painted lips, his hands… his voice in my ear… his taste…
I was awoken slowly from my slumber by a rumbling from outside the tent. It grew louder as I came to my senses. My eyes began to sting from the dusty smoke seeping through the thin material of my cove. I felt around the blanket frantically to find my flashlight and cigarettes and, when my fingertips found what I was looking for, I scrambled from the tent like a hound chasing meat. I lit a cigarette and stumbled through the smog, transfixed on what had appeared on the field before me. My eyes wide in disbelief, watering from the dust still, I felt my heart pounding through my aching chest and the goose bumps grew as I drew closer, crawling over my entire body.
Fear was soon overtaken by elation as I realised that my dream had come true, and an excited, snide grin crept across my face. The smoke cleared, and I felt as if I was flying. I pulled out my compact mirror and wiped the black smudges under my eyes. I inhaled deeply and closed my eyes, mainly to see if the house was still there when I opened them again. It towered over me, exactly how I remembered it and a sensation overwhelmed my body, not dissimilar to the sensation of falling for Frank. I set towards the door and reached for the bell, but my arm raised and froze in mid-air.
What was my plan now? All of this time spent to get here and now I had no idea what to do. Frank was killed. I saw it happen. I saw his body, limp and lifeless, floating in the pool we had frolicked in only moments before, where Frank had been so alive and vibrant… and then he was gone. After spending his last seconds running scared, childlike and so alone, he suffered his indignity.
And now, who did I expect to see? Riff Raff was the most likely pilot and the man who killed Frank. If I wasn't so tired of feeling, I would have wanted my revenge but grief had drained my body of everything. My body shook violently as tears cascaded down my cheeks, so angry with myself for being so foolish. I ran back to my tent.
Again, I cleaned the smudged makeup from my face and composed myself once more in the safety of my tent. Was I really going to give up now? Standing at that door had made me feel like the old Janet; scared, helpless and naïve, but I was not that person anymore, because of what had occurred on that fateful night now so long ago.
I clambered out of the tent once more, straightened my clothes and strode towards the house again, allowing my heels to bend my legs to move my hips. I held my head high and vowed that this time, I would do it. I faltered as I drew nearer, but Frank's voice echoing around in my head pushed me onward. Before I reached the door – about 15 metres away, standing on the gravelled walkway – I stood and looked up at the building in awe. I noticed that the flag was still intact which made me smile and gave me an indiscriminate sense of hope.
As I began to walk forward again, the sound of the door creaking open stopped me in my tracks. I hid my apprehension with a smile and it only grew as I saw a pale-faced, thin-haired blonde man scowling and squinting in the darkness. He moved just enough so that the moonlight shone over his face, highlighting the shadows in the creases of disbelief in his expression. And then, realisation and recognition flashed in his eyes, weary from, I expect, from the long journey.
He, like me, tried to suppress his emotions from view. He turned away from me, the moonlight then falling harshly on the slouch in his back, and headed back into the house, leaving the door ajar. A silent invitation for me to enter, I assumed correctly, which I accepted. The door closed, and I was home.