Chapter VI - Littlewood
I left Ravenshead the next morning, finding the Grateleys in the salon where Beatrice and Lucinda were arguing about one of their designs. Seemingly, Lucinda found it was "too simple" a dress whereas Beatrice was appalled how "frilly" it was. They were talking at each other, not to each other. As always. That was why they would never be able to create something, combining their best qualities. They never listened. Mrs Grateley was simply sitting in an armchair, staring blankly at the wall, seemingly motionless. She had a glazed look in her eyes, as if her thoughts had carried her miles and miles away. So far, indeed, that she was completely oblivious to her daughters' bickering. This scene showed me how much I had grown since my time here at Ravenshead Manor. I was happy that I had left these people behind me at long last. They had not changed one inch; still rotten to the core, spoiled and foul as ever. In this moment, I was glad to have escaped this place for all intents and purposes. By God! How I had ever survived here, I do not know, but I did survive this infernal home - if "home" is the correct term. For me, it was never a home. Instead, it was always a prison and the Grateleys were my wardens. Now I was finally liberated, freed from their clutch and their toxic influence. I smiled inwardly. In some strange way, they would always be at each other's mercy. They were no family. They were each other's distroyers and by staying in each other's company, they poisened and tainted each other more and more until they would have no spark of happiness left in their eyes and no kindness left in their souls. They were demons to me, but maybe they could still be redeemed if they recongnised their sins. I do believe in redemption, but the sinners must be willing to admit that they have wronged.
On the eleven o'clock train back to Blackfield, I pondered what I had gained from my upbringing at Ravenshead and how being sent away to boarding school had enriched my life. While Littlewood Boarding School for Girls was never the most welcoming place I had lived in, it taught me that hard work can get you anywhere if you believe in your dreams. It was a very strict Catholic school with neverending rules and regulations, but we were allowed our fair share of free time amongst all the books we had to plough through and all the vocabulary we had to learn (this was for my French studies). Due to my father's French origins, he had spoken to me in French most of the time, so my knowledge of spoken French was already beyond what was expected in a beginners class. I am still greatful to this day that my father shared his mother tongue with me. It is an amazing gift that he bestowed on me. Born as Bernard Moineau, my father changed his name to Bunting, unconventionally taking on my mother's maiden name, because his name was always mispronounced in England. He became Bernard Bunting, which is poetic in its own way. The running theme of birds has therefore always been a part of our family's names, as moineau means "sparrow". I now see myself as a bird that has taken off and flown towards its fortune, towards sunnier times. My French teachers name at Littlewood was Mme Paillard. She was the strictest teacher I had ever known, but she very much appreciated my French skills, although this did make her especially demanding of me. I learned how to write in day to day French and formal French in her class. Mme Paillard always gave me some extra homework, so I would be equally as challenged as the other pupils. This helped me to improve rather quickly. She never spoke a word of English to me. This was our unspoken agreement. To start with, only speaking French meant we had a secret language during the years the other students could not yet speak French sufficiently, but it also made us strike up a bond. Later on, Mme Paillard spoke French to all her students as they progressed. My love of languages began with my bilingual upbringing. It has shaped me into the person I am today. Sadly though, I have never been to France, which is why I am very tempted to visit my mother in Lyon, but those thoughts are for another time, as I am still not certain how to react to her letter.
I had already taken up French at Ravenshead and become somewhat envied there by other students. I tried very hard to conceal my French skills, but this was challenging, as I did not know how to avoid speaking entirely and I could not simply avoid the teacher's questions. Of course, Beatrice and Lucinda teased me the most, even though their language skills were pitiful. With Mme Paillard, however, skilled students were praised subtly, but not turned into pet pupils. All students were equal. We all had something to learn. Nobody was "better" than the other. I had simply been lucky enough to bring a certain set of skills that others did not have yet in the first years of learning French. Littlewood School was a place of equality. Individuality was cherished, not despised. Hard work was expected. If the given homework had not been at least attempted, pupils were only punished with more work. Therefore, it was in everyone's interest to obey orders, but even amongst all the rules we had to follow, we still found time for ourselves. The fact that we all had to suffer through our studies together, bonded us misfits, us abandoned children of Littlewood School. Most of us were orphans. I would rather consider myself without family in those days, because I did not consider the Grateleys to be my kin. Technically, I was an orphan in those days, as I had only just lost my father at the age of fourteen and thought my mother to be dead. Now I know she neither died nor did she really abandon me.
My time at Littlewood was the best of times and the worst of times. I went through the loss of a parent, but also gained a great friend to whom I have made reference previously. Ava Hamilton scooped me up when I felt alone and unloved like never before. She saved my tattered soul and stitched the fragments back together. When Mrs Grateley sent me off to boarding school as if she were relieved to rid herself of me, I lost all hope of ever finding happiness in life again. With my father gone, the world seemed a harsh and unwelcoming place. It was during this period of grief that I met a true friend, my first true friend, in fact, in the sense that Ava and I clicked from the moment we met. Even though I call Amelia my best friend now, she was never entrirely true to me, as she also sided with Beatrice out of weakness and cowardess when we were younger. Rather than become the bullied party herself, Amelia would rather side with the bully and hide safe and sound in his (or her) shadow. This, I can never forgive her for, even though she may not realise how her disloyalty hurt me.
Ava, on the other hand, was like a soulmate. We understood each other without many words from the moment we set eyes on each other. She was practically a creature sent from heaven, having a knack for understanding me as nobody else in this world could. I shall forever be grateful to Ava for standing by my side when I reached my lowest point and I will cherish the special bond we shared for the rest of my life. It was almost a spiritual connection. Sadly, the idea of Ava Hamilton is now but a distant memory to me. I place her on a pedestal and see her with a beaming halo above her blonde curls, but she is no longer the person she once was. Admittedly, we both have changed, but I feel that she sold out and turned into one of them; one of those girls we used to make fun of: the superficial, empty-headed Barbydolls who would greet each other with several kisses on each cheek, enunciating an audible "mwah" each time. It wasn't the kissing that disturbed me. It was the way they did it, simply over-the-top. Ava began to speak differently, too. It was uncanny. The feelings I now harbour for her are ones of betrayal.
It was sad that we lost touch in the end. You may be wondering how someone could have changed so radically. The truth is that we grew apart halfway through our studies at Highcliffe when we made new friends. Sometimes I regret that I lost touch with the one person who single-handedly helped me through the most difficult time of my life at Littlewood. Although losing sight of people is part of life, it certainly is one of the cruellest. I still miss my old friend to this day. I miss her desperately. In my memory of Ava, she is the same person she used to be eight years ago, when I first met this former friend of mine; but I know that should we meet again, I would be disappointed. Our lives took us in different directions and she is no longer the girl I used to know, the person I bonded with all those years ago. She has changed, as have I; as we all do. People change. It is as simple as that. It is a fact of life. That is why I need to accept that the person I miss does not exist anymore, even though that breaks my heart. Our old friendship can therefore never be rekindled. We have both moved on, and as much as it hurts, I have to learn to accept that, because I am otherwise only torturing myself with this regret. I believe we were always going to grow apart at some point. It is a shame, but that's life. I now find myself searching for a similar bond, without any luck. I have not yet found an equivalent to our similitude of souls. Perhaps I never will, but who knows what the future holds...