Hey people! (I feel cool saying that, please don't ask why) I haven't really got much to say which is odd for me because normally I can't shut up; I just waffle on and on. However, today, I have nothing to say other than please try and enjoy no matter how disappointed I am with this chapter!
Disclaimer: Standard disclaimer applies… it's such a pain having to put this at the beginning of every chapter! I don't own Yvonne or Nick and I don't own the song either- it belongs to John Newton.
It changes person and point of view halfway through but the start of it is narrated by Nick. I may actually update this before next Thursday as I haven't been in school, though my internet is a little erratic (blaming the flooding!) so it could be hard to upload. I'll try and update sometime soon, definitely by next Thursday but maybe before.
By the time I've arrived at the school it becomes clear to me that Isla has calmed down a significant amount since the initial phone call message reached my ear. I enter the class room to find it empty, with just Isla cradled in Yvonne's arms in the middle of the room, alone. I pad softly over to them, wondering what sparked this terrified reaction; what lead to this sudden outlet of emotion. I can hear Yvonne softly speaking to Isla in a soothing voice and, between sobs, it sounds as though Isla is explaining something to her. I can only hear the odd word but, from what I can hear I pick up that there's a 'she' involved and I get the distinct feeling Yvonne and Isla's father has something to do with the whole situation from the occasional murmur of 'dad' reaching my ears. I don't dare interrupt for fear of reigniting the distress that can't have been absent for long so I slip into a small plastic chair as quietly as I can, pulling off and placing down my gloves.
Suddenly Yvonne pushes herself away from Isla, removing her phone from her pocket. She pulls her phone from her pocket and hurries from the room; this phone call obviously being of some importance and I watch as Isla begins to crumple and dissolve into tears all over again, the small figure crouched on the ground suddenly shrinking. I push myself out from by the chair, rushing over to her, determined to be there for the vulnerable child that sits before me. I stroke her forehead, trying to prevent her tears and erase the fear in her mind. I can feel her shaking with tears in her eyes and as I rub her back it strikes me just how thin she is; how you can feel every detail of her spine and how easily she fits into my arms.
I'm not sure why, but I decide to scoop her up into my arms, her head resting on my shoulder and my arm holding up her wiry figure. She immediately begins to play with the short wisps of hair on my head, twirling them round in her fingers, holding the thin grey strands between finger and thumb and gently tugging at them. She has her thumb in her mouth and I turn my head to see her face red and blotchy, tear-stained and a haunted look upon her face, dark grey bags scooping under her eyes and bloodshot lines in the white of her eyeball. Her hair is clinging to the side of her head and the neat ponytail Yvonne did for her this morning is now loose and messy, hanging limply down her back.
I turn the other way to look out of the window, where I can see Yvonne pacing up and down, obviously heatedly discussing a touchy topic with the unlucky person on the other end of the line. 'Sing to me' I hear Isla's voice float from my shoulder and instantly look at her.
'Sing to you?' I ask, as though trying to clarify the statement I just heard slip from her lips. She nods, giving me the confirmation I requested so I ask her 'what shall I sing?' beginning to panic because I know few songs off by heart and even fewer I can actually sing half-decently. She cups her hand round her mouth and leans into my ear, speaking in a whisper as though it's a secret.
'Amazing Grace' she hisses to me and I look her in the eyes, again asking for some sort of validation that backs up her statement. She gives me a faint, weak smile accompanied by a slow yet definite nod. 'Will you sing me Amazing Grace?' she asks this time speaking.
So I do. I open my mouth and, trembling, the words begin to tumble from my mouth 'Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me. I once was lost but now am found, I was blind but now I see.' I sing to her, continuing to rub her back as I do so and slowly beginning to sway in time with the song, jigging her a little in my arms. She joins in with me for the second verse and as singing comes much easier to her and she strains far less on the high notes I soon drifted her and allowed her to sing alone until the final verse, excluding the repetition of the first verse that ends the song, by which point Isla's confidence was invigorated and I felt I was obliged to join in.
'When we've been here ten thousand years bright shining as the sun. We've no less days to sing God's praise than when we first begun.' We sing together and I realise when we begin repeat the first verse the Yvonne has come back into the first verse. Normally, when I'm singing, I'd stop at the point when someone else came in but at this moment in time I don't feel embarrassed in the slightest, I'm comfortable with Yvonne; and with Isla. So comfortable, I feel there's no way I can make a fool of myself with them. As the song draws to a close, Isla slides from my arms and turns to Yvonne expectantly, who I see has tears in her eyes. Yvonne nods.
'They've found Sylvie' she says. This sentence means absolutely nothing to me but I can tell by the reaction that it's something vital to Isla's recovery, a piece of information that can slot perfectly into the jigsaw puzzle that is Isla.
: :
You can feel yourself shivering; your teeth are chattering and beneath the thin layer of cotton acting as gloves it feels as though your hands are slowly freezing up, turning to ice. Maybe when they become ice, they'll melt when it's daytime because you'll be warm again. Or maybe they'll just stay ice-cold. Ice-cold like you. Like your heart. You blow your hands and rub them together, stamping your feet. It might already be morning for all you know, it just feels far too cold to be daytime. You look around you at the decomposing bodies that lay to either side of you, infested with bugs and nibbled at by rats. You're lucky you haven't been bitten yet but the rats seem to like you.
I suppose that seems right; the fact that the only creatures who like you are rats. Your tummy feels familiarly empty, the hunger that seems to permanently lie there giving you the stomach pains you find yourself feeling pretty much all the time, even after you've been fed. You kneel forward and begin to crawl along the cellar floor, careful not to fall and avoiding contact with any of the surrounding rotting corpses. You creep across the room to the stairs and begin to climb up them, getting to the door at the top. You place your eye to the small hole in the door and peep through it. This is small snapshot of the world is just about the only thing that keeps you sane; the only thing left to keep you believing that out there somewhere there is real life and that there is a world above the cellar; away from the dead bodies. You can see two bikes and a radiator, and out of the corner of your eye the back of a sofa is just about visible.
You hear footsteps and instantly spring back, almost tumbling down the stairs but just managing to keep your balance. You slide down the steps and curl up on the floor at the bottom, determined to look asleep and as though you've been sleeping all along, trying to avoid the accusations that could fly if you look like you're near the top of the steps. You remember the last time she caught you at the top of the stairs and you'd rather not be reminded or have to re-live such a memory. The door flies open and your eyelids flicker shut again. You try to keep still, try not to breathe.
'Here's your food' she says and you slowly shift into sitting position, looking up the stairs to where her tall, slim figure looms. You can see her silhouette and you watch as she begins to make her way down the steps, the sound of her heels clopping against the stone floor of the steps ringing through the cellar, the sounds bouncing off the cold stone walls and echoing around the room. She wrinkles her nose in disgust of the smell; the smell you have to endure all day, every day. And every night. The places the food down on the floor beside you and picks up the plate of yesterday's food. You scoot across the floor on your knees and, under her watchful eyes, remove the small bowl upon the plate that has about a handful of stale cornflakes in it. 'Enjoy' she says, a smug smile on her face as she turns to walk back up the stairs.
And you will, you know you will. Stale cereal and bread, a bruised apple, a slice of ham and an out-of-date yoghurt pot may not sound great to most people but for you it's a banquet, it's the food you have every day, the only food you have every day and the litre bottle of water that came down with it is the only water you have each day. Just like the bucket in the corner is where you go to the loo, the blanket and pillow in the other corner is where you sleep and the spare t-shirt, socks and pants lying upon the pillow are you spare clothes. Everything's on limits, even light but that's what you're stuck with. I guess you just picked the wrong cards when choosing which hand to have in life.
The sound of heels begins ringing again but before the twelfth and final tap has the chance to ring you hear a bang and a shout, a male voice yelling 'open up, police' you hear her drop the plate and watch as it bounces down the stairs, shattering into pieces on its way down. You leap out of the way, trying at all costs to avoid being hit by a piece of glass, something you manage to do but it isn't the plate you need worry about avoiding, it's the woman at the top of the stairs who's now come hurtling down, grabbing you by a fistful of hair and pulling you up, almost yanking a handful of hair from your scalp.
'What did you tell them?' she asks through gritted teeth and I can hear the police shouting and more bangs. 'How did you tell them?' she shakes me as she asks a second question, putting her head right in front of my face, spitting in my eyes.
'I didn't' I say truthfully, stuttering and stammering my words. 'I promise, I can't get out' she plainly doesn't believe me and isn't afraid to show this belief, flinging me halfway across the cellar, making my land upon one of the corpses and bang my head on the floor.
'You liar' she scream, seizing the pieces of the plate. 'You lying little scum' she yells as a bang much louder than its predecessors occurs and it dawns on you that the police are now in the house. Maybe now you'll be safe; out of this place, away from the bodies and corpses and bugs and rats, away from her and stale bread. You shrink back, simply trying to hold on until the police work out where she is. You suddenly feel a sickening pain in your stomach, followed by another, not the dull ache you have anyway but a feeling like something's been shoved into your gut. You look down and there, in your abdomen, lie two fragments of plate surrounded by splatters and pools of blood; your blue t-shirt now blood red. You can hear the police but before you know it sounds become muffled, as does your vision and you drift into a peaceful sleep.
Disaster strikes! I guess you all know who the second narrator was but I didn't and still don't want to officially tell you, event hough it's obvious :P Adds to the exciting element of mystery! Hope you all enjoyed, please feel free to review, they really do make me smile- big thanks to Amber French Chambers and, of course, Meggi (RacingRosso) for their lovely reviews on every chapter, it really is appreciated.
-Checky x