Chapter 1
Kana
14 days before
The smell of bacon, I felt surprisingly hungry. That was my initial feeling
that morning as I opened my eyes to the sight of my bedroom, softly lit by the
sunlight glowing in through a gap in the curtains. The smell of a Traditional
English Breakfast lingering in the air seemed to waft generously towards my
nose, teasingly. The sound of chatter reached my bedroom as its owner’s distinct
voices travelled up the stairs, through the hallway and under my bedroom door,
which is presumably the cause of my sudden awakening. To put a downer on my
content and greedy mood, my second feeling was; great, they’re home. Why did
they book the same days off as me? I always hated having the same holidays
as them. I enjoyed being alone at home instead of being interrogated the minute
I woke up. When referring to ‘them’ I mean Aunty Camilla, Uncle Jack and their
granddaughter Ella, who were all downstairs, conversing loudly and eating
breakfast. I was only in my first week of the Summer Holidays and already I had
had too many early mornings, too alike to those of a school day. But this was
the fifth day of my five weeks off, Wednesday, and I was definitely
disappointed to find out that I would not be having a peaceful and family free
morning. My family is very complicated and to describe my circumstances would
take forever and a day, instead, for now I shall say that Aunty Camilla is
Dad’s cousin.
For my weeks off of school, I look forward to my lazy mornings but on
this day I promised the girls I would meet them for shopping at half ten, so I
was forced to wake at eight am to tidy and clean out my room as well as take
the dog for an exciting half hour walk. I lay in bed for a while dwelling on
the thought of rushing around with the company of my family. And after side
tracking to the image of Hanna and Penny’s faces if I was late that morning, I decided to get up and get ready to walk
the dog. I knew that from the moment I would set foot downstairs there would be
comments from Jack; him moaning about something or other. He is always
complaining about something, thinking he can be the boss of me. And not to my
surprise at all, Jack was sat on his (yes, only his) special chair holding this
morning’s newspaper and peering at the articles through his thin, narrow
spectacles before asking me the most ridiculous question that I was bracing
myself for.
“And where do you think you’re going?” Jack said confidently, without taking his eyes away from the newspaper. I always hated it when he thought he had control over me.
“To walk Taz” I replied bluntly, “or do I need your written permission to walk to the dog now?” I knew that this reply would risk sparking something but with Ella sitting a few metres away building a tower with Lego bricks, Jack kept silent. Although if looks could kill…
“Now, now, if you can’t say anything nice then please, Kana, don’t say anything at all”. Aunty Camilla was always the one in the middle of it all; she was brilliant at solving our problems and drew us both away when we were at each other’s throats. She must get so fed up with it all. I know I should not come out with the things I do but I just cannot stand Jack. I am convinced that I get it from Hulon. Even at the age of 20 he is Aunty Camilla and Jack’s youngest son of their three. Hulon and I share one thing; we both hate Jack with a passion and we are not afraid to express it. But Aunty Camilla had hardly finished her sentence when I slammed the door shut behind me, all of my rage and frustration was stunned as I was hit by the heat of twenty seven degrees, in my black jacket, shirt and denim shorts. It was a bright sunny day, perfect for a day out shopping, but especially good for camping if the weather holds up for another week, I thought. So when I got back from walking Taz I figured I should ask Aunty Camilla if I could go.
I walked in the back door exactly 40 minutes later feeling clammy and worn out to find Jack standing in the kitchen checking the calendar. As I walked further into the room, he shifted his gaze from the calendar to my angry eyes. He stared at me challengingly. After what seemed like at least a minute I spat, “What?!” My voice was bold and strong with rage and Jack knew that he had successfully wound me up; he loved it so much it had become a hobby for him. You seriously wouldn’t believe he’s 50 years old; he acts more like his bloody shoe size. I shrouded my insulting thoughts with a blank face.
“No, no, nothing”, he replied smugly. I had to bite my tongue in order to keep myself from lashing out at him. He grabbed his sports bag and yelled into the garden, “I’ll see you later, I’m off for a workout!” and in a flash he was out of the kitchen, through the dining room and out the front door.
This was my chance to approach Aunty Camilla, and I thought it best as she was reading her weekly magazine whilst sitting next to the curly blonde haired 3 year old sitting in warm water up to her tummy in the blow up swimming pool; gleefully splashing water at the small Jack Russell who was equally amused at being showered after his long walk. Aunty Camilla always had a sort of unnatural soft tone when in the company of Ella.
After explaining carefully my request, Aunty Camilla replied with, “well, where would you be camping?” Wow, I thought, she’s not even half as annoyed as I thought she’d be.
“It will be in Doread” I replied in the calmest tone possible, “you know, the village just outside the west of the city? There’s a little field in the village and so loads of people I know have planned to go and camp there next Wednesday. Hopefully we’ll get this good weather for it, too.” This was another good thing about Aunty Camilla; I could tell her anything and everything and she could trust me with it. Instead of having to lie about where I’m going, what I’m doing I always give her the truth because I know she would negotiate with me.
“Oh yeah, I know the place, that’s where that scrawny boy from your school lives, right? Do you still talk to him? Sally tells me he’s been having some trouble at home recently, is he okay?” She said whilst struggling to make eye contact with me since the sun was so bright.
“Now you mention it, I don’t think I’ve seen him in weeks’ I replied, shifting to the left a little to cast my shadow over Aunty’s eyes, “I did hear some rumours at school that he was having problems at home but I didn’t think anything of it. Maybe he’s ill or something?” I replied with deepened brows and biting the inside of my bottom lip in concern.
“Possibly, Well I hope he is okay. But seriously, Sam,” shifting her concentration back on the present matter, “haven’t you got work Wednesday night? I thought you said you’d put yourself down for some overtime? Since it is the holidays and I thought you wanted to save up some money for your trip to California?” Aunty Camilla replied with concern, I think she could tell how much I had wanted to go camping instead.
“Yeah I did but I finish at half eight, I guess it’s just the matter of getting there at such a late time; the buses stop running early and it would cost so much for a taxi, so…” I let my words hang in the air and decided to play it safe and joke with Aunty, fluttering my eyelashes animatedly whilst giving her the cheesiest grin I could manage to try and win her over.
“Oh alright, I’ll take you there.” She said, giving in. I jumped for joy inside. “But you’re not definitely going unless you walk the dog every day for the next week and also wash the car like Jack asked you to.” Camilla replied with stern voice as if she thought I would turn the offer down.
“Okay, that’s fine.” I said with a smile that made Aunty smirk light-heartedly in return. “I can wash the car tomorrow morning and I’ve already walked Taz today so is it alright if I go now? I mean is there anything else you want me to do before I leave?”
“Nope, that’s fine. Have fun shopping and say hi to the girls for me” she replied, of course not oblivious to the fact that I was trying to keep her happy with me so she would not change her mind about letting me go camping.
“Great, I’m off to Holtenry” I said turning away after, consecutively, kissing both Aunty and Ella on the cheek. “I’ll be back for dinner!” I called as I pranced my way to the back gate, excited for a busy day ahead.
He was sprawled out under the sheets when he heard it; the fighting.
His Mom and Dad were always arguing in the middle of the night. He was sick of
the shouting that woke him from his deep sleeps that ensured his escape from
the evil reality he lived in. He was sick of the insults that were incessantly
thrown at each other just like the rubbish strewn along the street outside the
window. He was sick of the tension that filled the house from top to bottom; so
palpable that sometimes Camalle felt like he could simply reach out and touch
it. Perhaps reach out and grab it, then stuff it out of the window, down the
toilet, in the wardrobe. Anywhere but here; with his Mom, his kind and loving
mother, Dad, the bastard of a man and himself. He had dreamed that one time he had actually tried to grab the tension with his bare hands and ran away with it to China to leave it there. It had failed to work. It was more of a nightmare, really. Camalle wanted nothing more than to
be a family again, like it used to be all those years ago. Before all that shit
got in the way and things grew complicated.
He turned his head to the right, 5:08am. The bright light coming in through Camalle’s worn and thin curtains proved that summer was definitely here. It was finally the summer holidays, and unlike to the remainder of pupils who also attend Scornton Secondary School, Camalle had nothing to go out for; no school, no Chemistry club, no groups of friends to meet. Camalle had recently made a habit of skipping lessons in order to get some peace and privacy. He seemed to be growing very recluse lately. But he decided that he may as well get out the house since he was sure he was not going to be able to get back to sleep now anyway. He climbed out of bed looking down at his half naked, bony and slim body, only now realising that he was sweaty and clammy from sleeping under his covers last night. He stood up feeling hungry and headed for the en suite.
Something that really meant something to Camalle was music. He loved it so much that his mother agreed on buying him an mp3 player and docking station. Not exactly the best one out there but it was pretty alright. Every time his mother would give him money for lunch at school or to buy new clothes, he would keep it to save for albums and singles. His favourites were rock bands such as blink 182, ACDC and Iron Maiden. Music helped Camalle block out the arguments he often overheard, it helped him relax and calmed him down. He would always play Iron Maiden on full volume in the shower as it would boost his energy for school in the mornings. The only problem with this was that he could not hear the terror in his mother’s voice; her cries and shrieks that were desperately calling for her son to come to her rescue.
As Camalle got out the shower and returned to his room in just a towel, he noticed that the house was suddenly extremely quiet. He supposed that his Dad must have left the house in frustration; he was always the coward who ran away. After rummaging through his draws for two minutes, Camalle found some old jeans and a top and threw them on. He grabbed his wallet and phone (not that he had anything to buy nor did he receive any calls or messages) and skipped down the staircase, sliding his hand down the mahogany banister as he flew down the stairs three steps at a time.
Camalle thought it best to let his mother know that he was going for a walk; he considered asking her if she would like to join him for some fresh air. He stood at the bottom of the stairs but he was suddenly far away from home; he was exploring the woods with his mother and father. All of them skipping and running around, his parents trying to entertain Camalle by holding his hand and bestowing hugs that were filled with love and care. Days like those, when he was perhaps 6 or 7, were the best days of his life.
After breaking away from his desirable day-dream, Camalle returned back to his nightmare of reality and strolled into the kitchen ready to approach his mother and persuade her to join him for a peaceful walk. Instead he entered the kitchen to find a puddle of red, sticky liquid on the floor near the washing machine. This puddle of red liquid was not ketchup, smashed from the arguing and frustration, not red paint like what they used in those old films to show blood. But it was real. Real blood, smeared along the kitchen cabinets with red handprints decorating the walls. This shocking image brought back a distant memory to the front of Camalle’s mind; on Camalle’s fifth birthday, his mother and father had brought him some finger paints and gave him a pad of paper. They had agreed to sit still so he could paint them together, sitting beside each other at the kitchen table, holding hands and occasionally looking at one another with love in their eyes and smiles. He had used red paint to draw a big heart in the middle of the page and on either side of this heart; he drew his mother and father in love.
“Mum?”
No answer. He noticed that the hand prints were leading him to the back door, which was slightly open. Camalle rushed out the door, taking care not to touch the blood smeared on the handle, and came across a limp and almost lifeless body slumped on the garden patio straight ahead of him. Shock ran through Camalle as he stared at the small and vulnerable being that was struggling to gasp for air. He stood, glued to the spot, and stared at his mother for a long time. The woman he had always admired. Yes, she did retaliate and shout at Camalle’s father, but he deserved it; he was a bastard to her. Now, she was not so perfect with her mouth open, gasping quick sharp breaths and her once soft blonde hair was now tangled and bloody surrounding her head. There was also blood staining her skin and clothes from the two deep cuts that sliced deep into her abdomen. She was a beautiful woman, even now with her makeup smudged down her face and her cheeks smeared with red from the blood. It was surreal and crazy and unimaginable.
“Mum?” He could hear the desperation and distress in his voice as he approached his dying mother and sat beside her on the damp grass. He knew it was too late.
“Hey, b-baby”, she spoke with difficulty but still gave her son a beautiful smile to comfort him, Camalle supposed.
“Shh, don’t speak ma. I’m gonna call for an ambulance, alright” he said as he fumbled into his pockets and grabbed his phone.
“Baby, you know- you know they w-wont get here in time”. She looked up at Camalle with warmth in her eyes even though she would soon be as cold as ice. Dead. Dead, buried and soon forgotten.
“Don’t talk like –”
“Shh Camalle. You need to tell the police it was h-him. Harry. You c-cant let anyone else get h-hurt. Keep yourself safe baby.” Tears were now falling from Camalle’s green eyes, the exact same colour as his mother’s. As he held his mother’s hand in his own, ignoring the fact that they were covered in her sticky and evil blood. “Don’t cry, son.” She smiled that same warming smile once more, “you’ll be alright. You’re an a-amazing young man. I love you so much.” And at that moment tears ran down the sides of her face and soon enough, silently, but belligerently, she gave one last breath and stared vacantly into the world in which she had gradually, but also so suddenly, abandoned.
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