Of Freedom

Chapter 2

"Wow," I said, as we pulled up in front of my grandparents' house. "That's just- wow."

So I totally get that I have this distorted idea of how the world is – I'm middle-class, have been all my life and my mum earned enough from her time working as a neurosurgeon that we live in a nice house, and both my parents are successful academics. We're pretty much English suburbia incarnate and I've never, y'know, actually seen properly poor people. I get this is small-minded of me and all, but – wow. Seriously. I think the entire damn house would fit into our living room or something, and it was single-storey.

"Emma," Dad said, chidingly. "Don't be rude."

"I wasn't!" I protested. "It's just – is there actually going to be room for us?"

"There'll only be five of us Emma, including your grandparents," Dad sighed. "There'll be plenty of space. Maybe it'll encourage you to get outside once in a while instead of holing yourself up on your computer."

I thought about asking whether the place actually had electricity or not, but suspected that would be what Dad would call 'rude'. Instead, I cast a dubious eye outside at the ominous looking cloud front. "Seriously?" I asked. "I think the weather may actually be worse here than at home."

Mum grinned at me, and when Dad wasn't looking mouthed, 'shithole'. I nodded fervently in agreement. Small-minded? Sure. Happy to be that way? Yep.

Dad just rolled his eyes, and began to chivvy us out of the rental car. "Emma, go ring the doorbell," he told me. "I'll start getting the bags out of the car."

"It's not too late to back out," Mum said. "There are some motels in Forks. We could sleep there. I bet the accommodation is nicer there, too."

"Sarah," Dad said, and I bit back a grin as I slouched up to the door. We were seriously going to stay here? Seriously? I felt a sudden yearning for the old camping holidays in Wales; at least most of the campsites we stayed on had shower facilities with unending hot water if you had enough twenty pence coins, and no relatives who were specifically looking for flaws. I pressed the doorbell, feeling oddly like I was signing my own doom, and then waited a few seconds.

I don't know entirely what I was expecting from my grandparents – maybe horns, devil tails and pitchforks – but the sweet-looking, absolutely tiny woman that opened the door wasn't really it. She was maybe up to my shoulder, and I'm 5'8'' at best.

"You must be Emma!" she exclaimed cheerfully, a beaming smile on her face as she gestured down at me. I stared in incomprehension, and she gestured again. "Lean down so I can give you a kiss!" she said. "I don't know where you got that height from." I resisted the temptation to say my father, and instead leaned down hesitantly and presented a cheek which was promptly pecked. "Come in, come in," she said enthusiastically as my parents trudged up to the door holding our suitcases.

We all trooped in obediently, finding ourselves directly in the – sitting room? I wasn't sure what Americans called it, and I didn't particularly care either. A small television was balanced on a set of drawers opposite a sofa, and two chairs were crowded into the remaining space. I felt oddly oversized for the place, like it was one of the really old pubs in Oxford that were all low ceilings and packed stools. They at least had the excuse of being five hundred years old, though.

My grandfather came through the door, and I felt the sudden and irresistible temptation to call him 'Granddaddy' – he looked the type of person that would absolutely flip over it. He was probably my height, maybe a little smaller with the beginnings of a stoop and a very sparse head of hair. His wrinkles seemed to be etched into a permanent frown, his mouth turned down as he looked at the three of us.

"Ni-" my grandmother started to say with a rather forced smile as she looked at my mother.

"Sarah," Mum promptly interrupted. "That's been my name for the past thirty years, and I'd thank you to use it."

"Simply because you choose to turn your back on our traditions-" Granddaddy began, his lips turning white in his fury.

"Simply because you can't accept that times have changed since the dinosaurs were roaming the earth-" Mum was saying, talking angrily over him. It was becoming apparent to me that my self-righteous stubbornness was come by honestly – three generations of tactless, argumentative people all under the same roof. This holiday was clearly going to be great fun.

"Sarah!" My dad said, loudly enough to cut the both of them off. Granddaddy looked deeply surprised at this, as if no one had dared to interrupt him in aeons. Grandma, by contrast, may have actually looked a little impressed. "I'm sure that your mother simply misspoke. It must be hard for them to remember that their daughter prefers a different name, but I'm certain they'll respect that." I could empathise with Grandma suddenly – I felt a little impressed at the sheer weight he managed to put in the last few words as he looked at everyone in the room.

Granddaddy didn't look too pleased, but whatever he was about to say was cut off by Grandma, who placed a hand on his arm and then cast her eyes significantly towards me. I could feel my eyes narrow in suspicion at that; there was no way Mum could be right about a great Quileute Breeding Project, was there? I really didn't like how Granddaddy paused to look me over, before sighing in agreement, and looked over to Mum – she, I was happy to note, looked as suspicious as I felt.

"I apologise... Sarah," Grandma said carefully, and using Mum's name sounded like it might actually pain her. "As your husband says, I simply forgot. I'll do my best to remember in future though."

Mum nodded tightly, and Granddaddy glowered indiscriminately at us all. "You might as well unpack," he ground out after a few moments. "I need to go to the store."

Grandma nodded pleasantly at her husband's back and then smiled at the three of us. "I'm afraid that you'll be sleeping on the sofa, Emma," she said. "When our children all moved out, we decided having more than one guest room was just wasteful, and knocked down the walls to expand the bedrooms a little. Sarah, you and your husband are in your brother's old room. There'll be a bonfire tonight, so it's going to be fairly informal as far as eating goes, but it can get a little chilly. Should I leave you to unpack?"

"That would be appreciated," Dad said carefully, seemingly recognising her as an ally in rationality. "What time would this bonfire be?"

"Oh, we'll be heading down a bit early," Grandma said airily. "It will be nice for Emma to see the beaches, I'm sure. We'll want to be there about five so be ready in – two hours, say?"

"Perfect," Dad smiled and Grandma hummed happily as she passed by us, opening the door to what looked like a fairly nice, but still cramped kitchen with a dining table set at the end of the counters. She looked back at us, smiled again, and then opened another door out into the backyard and was gone.

"She's... kind of creepy," I said, after a few moments, and from the lack of scolding I was able to deduce that even my dad agreed.

"Right," he said after a moment. "We should... probably unpack."

I took a look at the sofa, and managed not to grimace – it looked about fifty years old, and the springs would probably feel it. At least it seemed clean though. Mum pushed my sports bag towards me, and then paused.

"Preference on where to leave it?" she asked, and I frowned.

"I'll ditch it at the end of the sofa," I decided after a moment. "I can change in the loo, or something, and I'm well-accomplished at living out of a bag. University has taught me well."

Mum shook her head, but looked more amused than anything as I flopped down on the sofa. And oh – look who was right? A spring seemed especially positioned to twist right into my spine. I resisted the temptation to sigh, as I faced the absolute knowledge that this holiday was going to be a long one in all the worst kind of ways.


Next chapter – meeting the pack!