Broken- Chap 7
"Let's run!"
"To the top of the hill? But look at the clouds!" exclaimed Will. He raised one eyebrow at me. "Your dress would be ruined"
I smirked, twisting my fingers around his. "Like you care" I said sardonically. He shrugged, glancing warily at the iridescent pearls that glimmered at my collar.
"Must've cost a fortune" he muttered darkly. "What I wouldn't give to have that kind of money to throw away. One of the new French fashions, am I right?"
I twirled happily. "Straight all the way from Paris"
"On special order no doubt" Will laughed lightly, looking up at me from the sofa, his brown eyes glittering. "For the governor's daughter only, of course"
A foreboding roll of thunder trembled across the pewter sky, sending shivers of delight through my body. Will poked his head out of the window, a plump raindrop trailing down his nose. Another followed, and soon white water was slanting rapidly from the sky, tiny estuaries and rivers meandering through the flagstones. Will shut the window abruptly.
"I'm not going out in that" he said firmly. "We'll both drown!"
"What difference does it make to the sea storms?" I teased, pulling him to his feet.
"Lizzy, you can't be serious-" Will yelped, as I wrenched the patio doors open. I darted outwards, splashing into the largest puddle I could see. The creamy satin of my dress merged into a disgruntled brown.
"It can't be ruined much more" I said smugly. Will was staring at me, wide eyed.
"Race you" I challenged, backing further out into the rain. He grinned impishly, having never been one to refuse a challenge. He placed one foot tentatively outwards, the laces of his shoe drooping wimpily as they soaked up the surrounding water. I shot off immediately, running up the hill, laughing all the way.
Rain plastered my face, gelling my eyelashes together so that it became hard to see. The sky turned from steely to a coal colour, nearer to an angry black than grey. Will let out a shout as the rain turned heavier, but he plundered on relentlessly, determined not to lose.
He caught up with me swiftly, catching me round the waist. We reached the top of the hill together.
"That was a draw" he said decisively against my damp hair.
"I bet you wish you'd brought your parasol" I giggled.
He did not answer. We both stared upwards as the heavens upturned themselves on our heads. The palm trees down by the docks rocked to and fro in the humid Caribbean wind, their dark green leaves blending oddly with the blue-grey of the storm tossed ocean behind. I sifted through the scents in the air to my favourite one. Damp soil, rich and earthy tinged with sea salt. I lay further back into Will's arms, looking for something to say. I tasted each word on the tip of my tongue before swallowing it back down again. The moment was fine as it was, with just the sound of torrenting water from above…
I can remember that day with the clarity of crystal. It shines out from all the rest in my mind, hard and glittering. It was two days before the wedding proposal from James.
He let me sleep in the guest bedroom tonight. I could stand the silence a little better than his voice, his breathing.
I lay there in the darkness, my hands taut and clenched at my sides. Nothing mattered anymore.
A tinkling noise emanated from downstairs. I let out a dry sob and forced myself to ignore whatever it was. It continued; similar to that of a wind chime, yet more substantial. My ears, disobedient to the commands of my mind, sought out the sound and tried to interpret it.
It was coming from the drawing room.
James had said never to go in there. I sat up properly, tense and alert. Was there a burglar in the house?
I struck a match, orange light billowing up into a single flame. I placed it hastily onto an old broken candle, the wax crumbling with age.
I held my makeshift lamp aloft. It cast the room in frightening shadows, forcing me to bear witness to a grotesque puppet show.
I inched my door open, a wheezy creak shuddering through the hinges. The tinkling noise grew louder as I padded along the green velvet carpet to the drawing room. As I listened, I realised it was more complex than I had first assumed. I poked the door open a fraction.
It was dark in there, but as my eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, they detected the faint bluish light typical to the Jamaican night, shimmering through the heavy curtains at the back. The bolts of moonshine illuminated a large black shadow. Too large to be a person. The tinkling noise continued to drift up from it, and it was only the sound that finally told me what it was. A piano.
I stole into the room very softly, the door closing behind me with barely the shade of a whisper.
James was sitting there, his hands flowing over the ivories with an intent I had never seen in him before. I shrank into the shadows, watching him. The tune had a melancholy hint to it, hanging in the air like a long lost friend. It sounded like raindrops, dripping sporadically onto the roses of our front garden.
I couldn't help but stare. I'd never seen him play before, and my heart seized up in a way that was alien to me. He had said his father used to teach him…only he had stopped playing when the man died.
As the song flowed, so did my emotions. I felt impossibly lonely, and a cold, dead weight caged my mind into a black abyss of silence. I saw my life bare and frozen; a life without music. A dead life. I wanted to reach out to the notes that claimed the air, draw on some degree of warmth-
The piano lid banged shut. A lump formed in my throat like granite, as the warmth vanished as though it were little more than a flurry of mist.
"That song wasn't for you" he growled quietly. "Get out"
