Chapter 4

Rude Awakenings

3 August 2015

Day 8: Rude awakenings.

I came here to escape, subject to no one's will but my own, yet found myself being woken this morning by way of a stern scolding from Mrs. Wilcox's heavy Gaelic brogue...an accent that only seems to appear when she's fired up about something or angry. She's normally kind, loving and patient, so much so she came to be my 'Nana.' But, not this morning - she was a demon hound from hell in need of exorcism. I haven't seen this side of her since I was fourteen when she caught my best friend and I smoking behind the stables. And not cigarettes.

I couldn't even make out half of what she shouted, but phrases like:

"That's enough self-wallowing, missy. I've got no idea what happened to you in that devil town, and not sure I want to, either. I have too many things to do than keep my eye on the likes of you...laying in bed for a week sleeping, not eating,...in my day, this would never pass. No one had time! Now get yer wee self up, before I send Taid up here to do it for ya. Lingering all these days like that will change anything..."

Her words shattered the only real peace I've had in months. I couldn't move...it felt like all my muscles had atrophied in the shape of a curved, protected shell and the best I was able to do was sob.

Nana sat along side me and offered some words of comfort. But, mostly, she told me to take a bath because I 'stunk up the room' and she couldn't properly listen while holding her breath. She then added she'd have to wash my sheets in boiling water and leave them hanging in the sun for several day just to get rid of the stench from a broken heart. She exaggerates...one day in the sun should be fine.

She always makes it sound so simple: 'It's just as easy to cry while doing something, as it is to do nothing. Nothing takes you nowhere and nowhere is a place where the dark fairies don't easily let go.'

Nana loves her fairy lore...

I soaked in the warm, lavender scented bath, letting memories drain from me as tear drops into the water. When I finally made it down to the kitchen I was met with happy and relieved smiles; I had no idea how worried Nana and Taid were.

There were fresh berry scones sitting on the table, along with a fat, juicy honey cone Taid had collected earlier from the hive. There was no denying I was hungry...even the jeans that hung loosely around my hips were evident of this.

We sat the garden, drinking tea, where the sun's rays felt like healing balm, and Nana mended Taid's jumper. I was torn between lifting my face to the sky and basking, or eating - until I remembered I could do both. Once she was done mending, Nana took it upon herself to start combing out the long, heavily matted tangles in my hair. Ouch! Note to self: sleeping for a week with un-braided hair does not end well.

So, I cut it. Not all of it, but some.

'In my day,' Nana began, 'We'd cut off an inch of hair, so we'd always remember stories never end, but take a winding road. This is your part of the road, Margaret, and if it was important, it leaves a mark worth remembering.' No one's called me Margaret in forever.

I went into the house, not understanding what hair has to do with roads and memory, but brought back the kitchen sheers nonetheless. I asked Nana to take six inches...there was a lot to remember. She reached into the flower vase and pulled off the stem from a tall daisy to wrap around my hair. Then I heard the scissors - another piece of this story tended to. 'We'll find a nice box for it later,' she said, as she placed the white flower head on top of the gathered strand.

I stayed there for hours, in the garden, and didn't even notice the sun beginning to set until Taid brought me my phone.

Phone.

I tossed it on the table, with the charger, when I arrived and then forgot all about it. There was no one I wanted to speak with anyway.

The blue light flashed like a strobe, reminding me of my negligence. Truthfully, I wanted to leave it alone, or better yet, power it off. But, habits can be endemic, and not easily remedied in one week - best not to try changing things all at once.

One text from Meena: 'How's country life? Had enough yet?'

Meena loved London, all of it, but most especially the clubs. Once in a while she'd lower her standards and meet us at a pub...special occasions like the time we met Tom's brothers so they could celebrate our engagement. She found it quaint.

Five missed calls from John and one voice message from four days ago: 'Molly, it's John. Haven't heard from you...give a ring, okay?'

One message from Mrs. Hudson from this morning: 'Molly, I have no idea what's going on with these boys. I came to the flat because of all the construction, and clean up, it's just atrocious! John was shouting at Sherlock because he's worried about you and Sherlock's being his usual daft self and not talking. Did something happen? Give John a call, won't you, dear? Oh, and this place is such a mess. Can you believe it, a grenade going off in Baker street, just when I was done vacuuming. I'm so glad everyone's okay.'

What!? A grenade?

I will not get sucked back in. I will not get sucked back in. I will not get sucked back in. Repeat as needed.

Everyone's okay. That's good. Oh my god, I hope to hell Rosie wasn't there!

Reminder: Everyone's okay and I will not get sucked back in.

One text from John: 'Look, it's okay if you don't feel like talking. Just send a text, let me know you're okay.'

Of course he'd worry. Sherlock said he and Mycroft were there, watched and heard the whole thing. God, I still shudder knowing this. They watched me - exposed and raw...Sherlock pushing me to say something I didn't want to say, while I had no idea my life was in danger. My house had cameras in every room, all privacy thoroughly eviscerated. Nothing feels sacred anymore and, for now, I don't know if I can ever go back.

Then there's Mary.

We've spent a bit of time together, John and I. He would talk and I'd listen. He cried and I cried along with him. Mostly, he thanks me for looking after Rosie. I have fallen in love with her - shopping for her, playing and taking walks in the park..noticing mother's and father's with their children. I've been so preoccupied with my career, I never really thought about having children - just one of the many sticky points that caused Tom and I to break things off. Sherlock was the worst of it. But, there I was, thrusted into a world somewhere between godmother and surrogate mother, and thoroughly unprepared. I'm doing slightly better these days.

I composed a brief text: "I'm fine" and continue to debate whether or not to send. I don't want to leave John worried, and yet I feel selfish and righteous in my refusal to cooperate with polite convention. They saw me exposed and at my most vulnerable...isn't that enough?

Then again, I saw John at his most vulnerable too. Quid pro quo.

I add to my text: "Gone on holiday, will text when I return. Give my love to Rosie" and hit send. That's enough for now.

Nana has made up my bed and placed a flower arrangement on the side table. Pink roses, sweet pea, lavender and one pale yellow sunflower. It's pretty. She and Taid are off celebrating Lughnasadh, which explains all the earlier bread baking. Even the Goddess has to say good-bye.

There's a gentle rain beginning to tap against the window and Toby is curled up in his favorite sleeping spot...the down pillow on the window seat opposite of me. I knew he'd love it here. So do I.

Author's Notes:

The literal translation for 'Nana' and 'Taid' are grandmother and grandfather. Molly uses these words as terms of endearments for the Wilcox's, whom she's known her whole life.