Another four years came and went. Olive's father was deteriorating rapidly, and had become an angry mess. Occasionally, he would completely forget that Olive was even alive for weeks at a time. And when he did remember, it felt like all hell had been unleashed. Fortunately, Olive was allowed to take walks around the garden- but this didn't happen very often, only when her father was in the lightest of spirits, when he had consumed a fair amount of alcohol and was unable to remember who Olive was; sometimes he even forgot who he was.
Over the course of the last six years, Olive's father had changed so much, from a kind, sensitive and loving father, to a hateful, abusive wreck who had turned to alcohol, thinking that it would solve all of his problems in a flash.
Just as much as her father tried to keep her locked away, her grandmother tried to free, like a bird from a cage. On one occasion, she came to the door, just as her grandfather did several years before, demanding to see Olive. Luckily then, there was no physical violence used, just strong words. And even though her grandmother said she would stop trying, she lied. She was a very good liar.
Today, Olive was outside, under the beady and watchful eye of her father, who didn't seem to have a bottle of gin in sight. The rose bush that her mother once kept beautiful was completely wilted, and there was barely any memory of it at all, just as there was no memory left of her mother (or so it seemed to her father).
Olive had her pale hands wrapped up into that horrible, itchy fire-proof fabric, but additionally, she had her hands tied up with rope that burned as strongly as the fire that was being concealed. There was a loud banging at the door.
"Olive." Her father said, for once sounding like he was sober.
"Yes, daddy?"
"Stop calling me that. Surely you're not a toddler anymore?" There was the digging insult she had been waiting for. Her father couldn't have a proper conversation with Olive without bullying her in some way.
"Sorry," she whispered, looking down at her feet.
"I need to go and answer the door. You will not leave this garden, otherwise the punishment will be unthinkable." He said this with force, even though Olive suspected that he hadn't even thought of any punishment.
As he strolled back inside, Olive looked wistfully around the garden, with the newly added iron fence. She wished she could cry for help, or do something to alert the police, or somebody passing by- if somebody ever actually came through the bumpy path.
Out like a flash, somebody ran at Olive, nearly knocking her over. Gasping in shock, she tried to get a look at her assailant, who had seemingly left the garden.
"Olive." At first she thought it was her father, coming back. But then she realised that the voice came from someone much younger than her father. Turning behind her, she came face-to-face with William Oakes, who, she suspected had probably turned fifteen recently. He looked far, far more different than from when she last saw him at the funeral. His voice had broken, he had gotten much taller, and he seemed to have shed a lot of weight. One thing that had not changed though, was that he was dressed in all black. But Olive suspected that it wasn't a funeral this time. Was it an escape mission?
"Hello William. It's been a very long time," she said as clearly as she could, but her voice was still hoarse from all the horrible treatment she had received from her father.
"Come on Olive, let's go!" He hissed, reaching out for Olive's arm. She pulled away, abruptly shaking her head.
"No. I can't. If I do, he'll kill us both," she replied.
"No, your grandmother's at the door, diverting your father. This is your chance to go! He's been keeping you here as prisoner for ages!"
Olive considered for a moment. Would she be able to leave home? Or should she even call it that? But what if her father-
"Right, I take that as a yes," he said, once again attempting to grab her arm, but Olive was too quick.
"I need to get my things," she declared, with as much courage as she could. Over the years, Olive had kept hold of the big box that she had received from her grandmother, her father's diaries and a ragdoll that her father had attempted to make her many years ago. It had failed, but she loved it just the same. Even now.
"Well, be quick then!" He said impatiently, and Olive promptly went into the house, as swift as she could, but trying not to make any noise. Both feats seemed incredibly hard when put together, especially since the old house now creaked more than ever.
Olive prised the door open silently, and retrieved her possessions, which were all in a small pillowcase, that Olive could easily fit into and sleep in when she was about five. Immediately, she took off, and made her way back outside so quickly that she could barely feel her petite feet touch the ground.
William looked startled, "You made me jump, Olive." He beckoned her to come towards him. "We're going to get out of this prison right now."
Olive looked confused. "How exactly did you get in? I never saw-"
William placed a finger on her lips and stood up to his full height. He was almost taller than he father, which scared her slightly. "Follow me..."
And with that he climbed one of the trees bordering the garden, and seemed to disappear. Olive herself attempted to scale the huge tree, but with her arms wrapped up it took her far longer than it did for William. But she still managed to get up.
"You doing all right there?" Asked William, sounding like his younger, more outspoken self.
"I'm fine, but in case you hadn't noticed, I have my arms all wrapped up," she snapped, her voice dripping with saracasm. William almost fell out of the tree; Olive herself was shocked and ashamed of herself.
"I'm sorry, I just... I haven't had a very happy life for the last six or so years."
"We have to keep moving. I think I just heard your front door slam," William said. He climbed up slightly higher in the tree, then beckoned for Olive.
"Quickly, Olive- If we can make across to the other tree, it'll be harder for your father to get to us if he find us." He was pointing in the direction of the forest, the place that Olive had never ventured into, scared that ghosts and monsters were wandering about inside. That, and the tree that they were going to jump to seemed very far away.
"Ummm, how are we going to get across?"
But Olive was too late. William had already leaped to the tree, and just about clung on to the nearest branch.
"Quickly, Olive! Your father's coming!" He was right. She could hear her father shrieking after her, tearing apart bushes, and on his way, he squashed her mother's rose bush. It was as if she was gone to him now.
Quick as a flash, Olive lept with all of her might to the other side. Unfotunately, due to the restricting conditions that her father had kept her in, her legs were fairly weak, and she barely reached the tree. She plummeted to the ground, her leg making a horrible cracking noise. Did she just break her leg? It would be very unsurprising, considering of the horrible conditions that her father had forced her to live in.
William slid down from the tree with ease, and crouched down. He lifted Olive up as easily as a child picking up a small toy. "Olive, we have to move. Your father saw you, and now he's coming! We need to go now!"
Without arguing, Olive tried to run, but the pain in her leg was so intense that she fell back down again. "Olive, I'm going to have to carry you," he said urgently, picking her up and putting her in his arms. He began to run. "Look behind me and see if you can see your father."
Olive tried to look through the thick, dark undergrowth. At first, she couldn't see anything, but a little later, her father came hounding towards them, his face bright red. He was yelling after the pair, but as Olive predicted, he slowed down, probably due to consuming so much alcohol.
"Quickly, William! He's slow, but I think he catching us up!" She exclaimed. William promptly sped up, huffing and occasionally stumbling. Soon Olive could see her father growing smaller and smaller, as they left the forest and became nearer to the village. The quaint, pretty buildings had barely changed since Olive had last seen them six years ago, but many the people certainly had. As William gently eased her onto the ground, Olive could feel that many people were starting to stare, people that probably had no idea who she was anymore. Olive herself could only recognise a few people, the kind baker, her friend from school and some others. Luckily, William knew that this must have been slightly strange and scary for her, so he wrapped his arm around her shoulder.
"Let's go to your grandmother, she should be home by now," he murmured to Olive. He guided her through the gathering crowd of people, Olive beginning to recognise more and more people.
"Olive?" Geraldine, who was seventeen the last time Olive saw her, stepped forward. "Is it really you?"
"Geraldine, Olive doesn't have any time to be answering questions. She's being chased by her father!"
Gasps of shock and fright went through the crowd, both at realising it was Olive, and that her father was hunting her down. Olive and William hurried on, desperate to get to her grandmother's. The pain in Olive's foot was nothing compared to what she had previously suffered, and she was able to grit her teeth and walk.
"Geraldine's married now. To that rich man who owns the bookshop, remember him?"
Olive remembered him very well; Geraldine used to babysit her, and would tell her all about the bookshop owner that she hated with a passion.
"I suppose opposites attract," she remarked, thinking of her father and her mother. How they were like fire and water to one another.
Soon, they were at her grandmother's house. Luckily, the cart was stationed nearby, so her grandmother had to be in.
"Did she take the cart?" Olive asked.
"No, she rode her horse, Ernie."
With a sting, Olive realised that the horse must have been named after her late grandfather, who she had killed. The guilt that Olive felt everyday was rising to the surface again. She could barely breathe.
William reached out and knocked on the door. There was no reply. After a minute, he went to knock again, until from down the lane, a distinct clacking noise could be heard.
"Olive, I think it's your grandmother," he whispered.
"Why are you whispering?" Olive asked, confused.
"In case it's someone like your father."
Soon, Olive could see a figure approaching them (or was it the house?) on a horse. After a while, Olive could clearly see the once-beautiful, lined face of her beloved grandmother, who steered the horse into the yard, and dismounted. She untacked the horse, and afterwards led him into the stable.
William walked confidently as possible towards Olive's grandmother, leaving Olive thinking that he was probably going to demand a large sum of money for rescuing her. "I got her out safetly, but on the way she really her leg, Mrs Robertson."
"Call me Maureen," she replied. She turned towards Olive, her arms outstretched. "Olive. It's so wonderful to be with you again after all these years." She enveloped Olive in a warm embrace, the kindest gesture she had received in six years.
"You look so different. You're so beautiful, like your mother." She looked at Olive, from head to toe. "Your grandfather and I tried so hard to reach out to you. At first, your father said you were too sad, then he said you were too busy and then he said you never wanted to see us again. We knew there was something wrong from the moment your father said he'd take you alone by himself. Remember, on the day of the funeral?"
Olive nodded. "Thank you so much for everything."
"What is that on your arms?" Her grandmother asked, pointing at that horrid fire-proof fabric.
"Oh, he put that on me for protection." Olive murmured, shuddering at the thought of her father binding that stuff around her arms.
Her grandmother looked around, her eyes falling on William. "Thank you very much for everything. Would you like me to pay you?"
Olive wondered how William might respond. Would he ask for money? She couldn't be sure.
"No, Mrs R, the only pay I need is knowing that Olive is safe and sound. But I wouldn't mind if I could borrow your telephone. I need to call my father to come and pick me up- I don't really want to bump in to Olive's father on the way home, especially not since it's getting so dark."
Olive's grandmother looked shocked; she had probably expected this boy to ask for truckloads of money. But then she smiled. "Sure. I expect your parents must be worried sick," she replied warmly. Olive herself felt an emptiness inside, she had now lost both of her parents, the two people meant to love and care for her most.
As they went inside, Olive's grandmother put a hand on her shoulder, instantly making her feel protected, something she had not felt for ages. Her grandmother steered her into the living room, while William went off in the direction of the telephone. Olive sunk into the lovely white armchair, while her grandmother lit a fire.
"So then Olive. You needn't worry about your father here. He can't hurt you, and I certainly will not," she said firmly, taking a seat on the armchair. "Are you alright to tell me?"
Olive felt unease- How would her grandmother react? Would she torture her, imprison her?
"I-I...Well...I...Ummm..." she attempted to speak, only to come in stutters and stammers.
"You can tell me anything, and I'll never get angry with you," her grandmother said soothingly, placing a wrinkled hand on Olive's leg, which was going up and down with anxiety. She was so much like Olive's own mother.
"Well, you might not believe me, but everything that I touch gets set on fire." There. It was out. Olive waited for her grandmother's temper to start (she didn't know what to expect- did her grandmother ever get angry?).
"Y-You started the fire?" Her grandmother asked shakily. Olive nodded, a lone tear streamed her porcelain face.
"I'm sorry."
Her grandmother rose slightly. Olive knew what was going to happen next. Sinking even lower into the armchair, she closed her eyes, attempting to swallow all the guilt she was feeling at that moment.
What came next, she was completely shocked about. Olive could feel the warm arms of her grandmother wrapped around her. She was sobbing lightly, and opening her eyes, Olive could see William stood in the doorway, a befuddled look on his face. "Sorry to interrupt, but my father's just coming to pick me up now."
At this, Olive's grandmother jumped, and in the light, Olive could see that her eyes were red. "Thank you very much for bringing my beautiful Olive back home, and have a safe journey home," she said wistfully, probably in remembrance of that fateful fire.
"Bye William," Olive said quietly. He had saved her life, and she had no way to thank him.
William stayed by the door silently; everyone seemed very awkward, not knowing what to say. Around ten or so minutes later, a knock loud enough to burst all the windows in the house sounded out. William opened the door, and for a minute Olive could catch a glimpse of a tall, thin man with wild black hair waiting outside, accompanied by a teenage girl, who would have been most lovely, if it had not been for the horrible glare on her face.
Without a word, William stepped out, carefully shutting the door behind him. He had gone. Finally. Which wasn't a bad thing, except for how embarrassed Olive felt, since he had stared at her the entire time.
"Olive?" Her grandmother asked in an unusually low voice. "I don't blame you for what happened."
This was a bolt from the blue, and Olive just found herself staring, dumbstruck.
"If I put out that fire, would you be able to light it again?"
Olive nodded, yearning to be free to that itchy, awful cloth that encased her hands.
"He only made me wear this all up my arms because he was afraid that I might kill him as well," she said.
Her grandmother narrowed her eyes, "It would probably be all for the best if he had died, the miserable old crone. It would have rid the world of one less evil person." This completely took Olive by surprise. She had never met anyone who had talked about her father in this way- In the last few years no one had been brave enough, and before that, there was nothing wrong with him.
"Before the fire, he was such a nice man. Always kind and selfless to others, so alike to your mother. He told us- me, your mother and your grandfather- everything. About his horrible cat, his loving parents. Everything. We knew he didn't have much money. He even told us about his half-brother, who was like you."
This was the second time she had heard of this mysterious half-brother. She wanted to question her grandmother further, but she knew that later would be a better time. She had to show her grandmother about the one burden that had caused so much horror, so much misery, and all of that guilt.
"Grandmother, could you possibly get this horrible stuff off of me please?" Olive asked hesitantly.
Her grandmother went into the kitchen. Presently, she came with a knife. As she sat down and got to work, she said, "Olive, I know that you'll need something to stop you from setting fire to things. Do you think that there is anything that I could do?"
What was there? Olive might be able to try facing her palms away from everything...No, that would be hard, and probably cause her terrible aches.
"Do have any oven gloves? Maybe you could layer them inside with tinfoil? I don't think that would hurt me very much- or itch me!"
"Yes, that's a great idea," her grandmother replied, taking the remains of that evil fabric. "That'll be the last time you see that stupid cloth," she declared, dumping it into the bin. "Now, would you like to show me what you can do with fire?" She went back into the kitchen, and when she returned she had a metal bucket filled with water, which she used to put out the crackling fire.
Hesitantly, Olive made her way over to the fireplace. She knelt down, breathing in the ashy, smoky remains of the fire. Out of the basket next to the fireplace, she quickly took out a large log. Instantly it began to roar with flame, and luckily Olive had just missed creating an inferno from the basket and the rest of the logs. The flames were just as entrancing and beautiful as before; such a thing of beauty and power that even her father was unable to quench.
"Careful, Olive!" Her grandmother yelped. The flames had just reached her fingers, but instead of burning her, they just lightly tickled her skin.
"Don't worry, they can't hurt me," she said, laughing for the first time in years. Her grandmother breathed a sigh of relief and watched intently as the log went onto the fireplace, igniting the rest.
The two sat by the fireplace for while, enjoying the warmth, and each other's company. After around half an hour, Olive's grandmother spoke, her voice layered with concern. "Olive, did you know that there's a war going on in the world right now?"
Olive shook her head, confused about this sad piece of news. She had always thought that the world should be a happy place, with everybody living in harmony. Of course that was until her father had shown her differently.
"Well, unfortunately, there is. And there are planes from Germany coming around once in a while, trying to bomb us," she added. So that was the loud droning noise she had heard at night, unable to rest. It had been going on for about a year now. But her father had not once told her about any war.
"Olive, they haven't really tried yet, but I have a feeling that the Germans might try to bomb us at some point, so I might have to evacuate you to somewhere that is safer. It will be for the best, and we will see each other again. I promise that," she said softly, keeping Olive close. Olive treasured this moment, for who knew, something might happen tomorrow that would tear the two of them apart.
The next morning, Olive woke up to raised voices. Last night she had spent hours with her grandmother trying to create and perfect a pair of fire-proof gloves. The gloves were basically oven mitts lined with tin foil, but they had tried their best to make them very comfortable, and the only negative thing about them was that they would become very hot.
Making her way downstairs, Olive could see her grandmother stood in the doorway, arguing with somebody she couldn't see. She knew only too well who she was arguing with. Her father.
"Let me in Maureen! Let me in right now." He shrieked, giving Olive goosebumps.
As Olive fell into his line of vision, he went a horrible shade of crimson. He pointed his hand at Olive.
"You. The child from hell. You should be killed, or you will kill everything you touch. Those stupid oven gloves won't stop your evil. Maureen, I think that you should-"
"I should what? Cut her hands off? Tie her to a bed?" Olive's grandmother said, folding her arms defiantly. "I would never harm her. Only a monster would do such a thing."
"Which is exactly what she is! She killed her own mother! My wife. Your daughter."
"It was an accident!" Her grandmother yelled, her voice at least a thousand decibels louder than his. "It wasn't her fault, and it NEVER will be! Get you big foot off of my doorstep, and never come back into this town EVER AGAIN!"
With that, her father went away, with a look that could kill. Her grandmother had triumphed, the only person who had ever been able to do that to Henry Elephanta. She had vanquished him once and for all.
"Well done granny!" Olive exclaimed, happier than ever. Her grandmother took her hand.
"Oh, Olive, it took a long time to get him out of here, but I think we did it together." They went to the kitchen. "Would you like a cup of tea? I'm afraid I can't offer you any toast, it broke when I threw at your father," she said, laughing. Olive joined in, but then realised how humiliated he must have felt, and that it might have hit him.
"It didn't hit him though, did it?"
"No, no. When he came up the drive, I was ready for him. I think I was a bit too angry."
She boiled the kettle. "Young William came back earlier this morning, he said you forgot your belongings." Olive's eyes fell to the pillowcase, which had her most prized possessions inside.
Her grandmother went on. "I noticed that your father gave you his diaries. If you want, you could look at them now."
Olive was eager to find out about the mystery of her father's past. "Yes please," she said. Her grandmother handed her six books, all of which were marked with the name 'Henry Elephanta' in varying types of handwriting. She opened the first book (which was quite hard for her, considering the big gloves she was wearing), and out fell a blurry photograph of her father as a ten year old, beaming, with another boy, who, she presumed was his half-brother. They did look quite alike.
"Ah, yes, that's David, your father's half-brother. You know your father would not stop rambling on about him just now. Saying how he froze people to death. He was like you: Both kind, intelligent children, who have an amazing power. But unfortunately, he went missing some time ago."
Olive had really wanted to meet him, and had been taken aback that he wasn't alive. Did her father kill him? His own brother?
"Do you know if somebody k-killed him?" She asked nervously.
"Oh no," her grandmother reassured her. "He just vanished. There's no trace of him now." She set two cups of tea down on the table. "Enjoy."
"Thank you," Olive replied, sipping her warm tea, which she thought she could feel heating up slowly, even through her gloves."It's lovely."
Her grandmother reached out, placing her weathered hand on Olive's covered one. "Olive, if you want I'll start your lessons again. I can get you some new clothing as well. And if you would like, I'll go through your father's diaries with you."
Olive liked this idea a lot; having things explained would be better.
"I hope you don't mind me asking Olive, but do you have the box I gave to your father to give to you six years ago. You may not have opened it." Her grandmother said quietly, staring at the floor.
At first, Olive was unsure as to what exactly her grandmother was talking about, until she remember the beautiful box she had been given on that fateful Christmas day.
"Yes, it's I brought that as well," and she reached in, bringing the slightly heavy box out.
"He should have let you open this years ago," her grandmother said in an annoyed tone. "Well, you can open this now then Olive, unless you would like to save it for later?"
And with that, Olive quickly undid the clasp with slight difficulty and slowly lifted up the lid. Inside was a beautiful necklace. It was an octagonal locket, with pretty engravings on it, attached to a thin chain. It was gold, and Olive completely loved it.
"This was your mother's, which she wore all the time, until your father made her take it off for some reason. She gave it to me to keep safe, and, when we found out that she died, I replaced the photos of me and your grandfather with ones of her and your father. There's also space for one other photo, if someone special ever turns up. And now you're able to have your mother with you forever."
Olive was overjoyed and excited. She knew that she would have a brilliant time with her grandmother, even if it might be just a little while. But if she did have to be evacuated, she knew she would have a happy time there, and be reunited with her afterwards. After the last six years, things could only get better, right?
