Clive sat across from me, looking at the blueprints. He was amazed. Every now and then he looked up at me, smiled and shook his head, then said "Amazing,".
"There just blueprints," I said, shrugging.
"No, but you don't understand!" Clive jumped up, the blueprints going everywhere, "There perfect!"
He gave me a huge hug, grinning from ear to ear. I nearly melted at his gentle, yet comforting touch. He let go and shook my shoulders.
"That's good Clive, but can you stop shaking me?"
Clive blushed, and sat back down.
"Now will you tell me what you project is?" I stuck out my bottom lip, "Please?"
He laughed, "Soon, soon. It needs to be perfect!" He said.
"I'm sure it's fine." I said, waving my hand about.
"It probably is, but I want it to be perfect!"
I laughed. It was nice to see him get excited. But one thing still bothered me.
"What about money? Don't you need money to build things?" I asked, giving him a sideways look.
"Yes…well, Mrs Dove left behind a rather generous fortune." He said, giving me a half-smile.
"Right…well…that's good I suppose. But what about once you finish it, then what?"
"You'll see," He smiled, putting his hand on mine. I felt a tingly as he held my hand, "Everything will work out. For both of us." He let go, to my disappointment just a Mable was walking in.
"Hello. Sorry to disturb ye'. The mailman has just came." She looked flustered.
"It's no trouble," I assured her. She handed me a single letter.
"Nothing else?" I asked, looking at the letter with a mild disgust.
"Just bills hen, and you don't want to be seeing those. Nah, I thought you might be interested in this one. It's from yar parents." She nodded, and left.
I began to shake a little. My parents never wrote letters. In fact, they despised letters. I looked at it and slowly opened it.
Dear Amy,
It is with great regret that we tell you about the passing of you father. He died on the 19th of May, at 15:42pm.
His funeral is beginning arranged and will be held in Quagmire Church, in Tenerife on the 3rd of June.
Again, we are sorry for your loss.
The Hospital staff
After that came a weird Spanish name for a hospital. I dropped the letter, and felt a scream rise to my throat.
It wasn't with sorrow, or sadness. I felt none of that.
It was the fact he died over a week ago. And mum had made no effort to contact me. Not one simple phone call, or text to tell me.
She left it to somebody else.
Just like she always does.
Just like she made me raise my little brother, Joshua. How, I could never go out with my friends because I was looking after him. How, the one night I leave him with mum, she lets him run right into the lab.
The explosion.
Where he got blew up into so many pieces they could only find his pinkie toe.
I screamed again. Clive jumped forward, and put his arms around me.
I didn't cry my father. A drunk. A beater.
I didn't cry for my mother. A useless person. A waste of a human life.
I cried for Joshua, for Mable, for Clive, for me.
I shook as I sobbed into Clive's top. He didn't say, "It's ok," or "Just let it out," or even, "Sssh".
He just let me cry.
He rubbed his hands down my back, up and down, the same rhythm. Over and over.
I finally raised my head. How could he love me? A girl with snot and drool down her chin.
He gave me a reassuring smile.
"Stay for a while. See my project. Then go. You may not want to but you should. That's what they expect of you,"
"Why should I trust what they expect of me, when I don't know what to expect of myself?" I spluttered, wiping my nose.
"It's the right thing to do." He said.
"Promise?"
"Cross my heart and hope to fly," He said.