Cold Comfort

Cold Comfort

By

Isobel Hart

Text copyright © 2016 Isobel Hart

All rights reserved

I slung my handbag over my shoulder, picked
up my guitar and collapsed the handle on my suitcase, struggling when I tried to
lift its dead weight up the step and onto the train. People eddied past me impatiently
without a single offer of help, only an occasional frustrated huff because I
was blocking their path. I ignored them all. I didn’t need their help – I
didn’t need anyone’s help. I would manage on my own.

Finally inside the carriage I wheeled my suitcase
towards the luggage rack and inserted it between a misshapen rucksack (that
looked like it had circumnavigated the world at least a couple of times) and a
cricket kit bag, bat handles poking out of their special pockets on the side. I
stared down at my own case. It contained everything I owned in the world right
now, everything I had been able to grab in the short hours I’d had to pack and
get away. It wasn’t much, but it would have to be enough. At least I had my
guitar.

I took a deep breath, straightened my
shoulders and pushed them back as I looked down the carriage for a seat, heaving
my tired body towards an unoccupied space and placing my guitar on the shelf
above before I sat down. I clasped my handbag to my chest, grateful to have the
small row to myself as I allowed my body to relax for the first time in what
felt like days. I was exhausted, and I still needed to get to where I was meant
to be staying tonight.

I rummaged around in my bag for the piece
of paper Mama had handed me just before I left. I’d checked it every time I’d
had a chance to, the address now burned into my memory. This was the final leg
of my journey, and that piece of paper was my only hope that I’d have somewhere
to sleep later on. As I felt my eyes fill with self-pity tears I scolded myself
to stay strong.

Only this morning I’d said goodbye to Mama;
the only person who really loved me, the only friend I had, the only one in my
entire life who had always stuck by me. She had sacrificed herself, unbeknownst
to me, at great personal cost. Now I had no idea when I would even be able to see
her again. I couldn’t risk it because of
them
. I’d begged her to come
with me, but she’d refused. I’d never understand why… how she could choose that
life… it beggared belief. The thought of her with that man brought more tears
to my eyes and bile to my stomach. I forced myself to swallow to stop myself
from vomiting and pushed the image away from my mind, choosing instead to fill
it with the view out the window – the rolling hills of the South Downs.

Emotions buttoned down once more, I pondered
my predicament. I was alone and penniless. Every last drop of Mama’s savings
had gone to pay for the first year of a BA in Music course for me at Sussex
University. She’d helped my dream come true, but at what cost to her? I could
only hope this upheaval would be worth it, that it would mean the start of a
new life. A better life, one that would mean I could pay her back one day. God
knew things couldn’t really get much worse. Life hadn’t exactly panned out as I’d
hoped it might. Not that I could blame anyone but myself – I’d believed in
the fairy tale and trusted the wrong person. Over and over again he’d spun me
lies, and I’d believed him. I wouldn’t make that mistake again.

I thought of him then; his chocolate brown
eyes and his dark, unruly hair, with a fringe that fell over one eye that he’d
been forever running his hands through. I remembered the soft feel of it when I
pushed it away for him. I thought about when he’d smiled, the dimples that had
appeared, and then when he’d brushed his lips against mine so sweetly…
Stop!
I warned myself.
I can’t go there.
Not today.
I just needed to
get to where I was staying. That would use all the strength I had. As Mama had
said; ‘It’s not the beginning of the end, just the end of the beginning’. I
needed to remember that and get on with my life. Most of all I needed to forget
all about him.

So far I liked living here. Mama had said I
could play in the garden as long as I wasn’t too noisy. I wasn’t; I’d been as quiet
as the mice I sometimes saw creeping around the edges of the hay barn when I sat
still on top of the bales they kept in there. Anyway, this garden was massive. Bigger
than the park Mama used to take me to when we fed the ducks near our old house.
I think even if I had been majorly noisy no one would have heard me. It wasn’t
as if there was anyone around here to hear anything anyway. Just me and the
mice. Exactly how I liked it.

Mama had told me she looked after the big
house for the man who lived there. He’d met us at his enormous front door when
we’d first arrived. She was good at looking after people. She’d looked after me
all by herself ever since Daddy had left us to go and live with his other
family. He’d made her cry, so I was cross with him for that. Mama didn’t know I
knew about the other family, but I had heard her talking to our old neighbour
one day. She’d been crying and angry because he hadn’t come to see me on my
birthday. I didn’t really care that he hadn’t. I didn’t need him or his
presents. Those other kids could have him. If he couldn’t see she was the best
Mama in the world, he didn’t deserve her. Or me for that matter. None of my
friends at school had Mamas nearly as nice as mine. Not even Emily. I was
lucky, and we were just fine on our own, especially now she had her new job.

I didn’t like the man in the house, though.
He had a beard and small, mean eyes that had stared at me and Mama when we
arrived – I didn’t like them. Mama had told me to make sure I kept out of
his way, but since that first day I hadn’t even seen him once. He never seemed
to come into his garden, despite how lovely it was, and I never went near the
big house let alone inside it. I didn’t need to, nor did I want to. Our little
cottage was much nicer.

The only downside was how busy Mama was. I
barely saw her until suppertime most days, and even then she often had to go
out again later. I guessed it was a big house, so it took a lot of looking
after, but sometimes she seemed really sad when she got in. Sad and tired. When
I asked her what the matter was, she would just tell me she was tired from all
the hard work he made her do. I had a feeling there was more she didn’t want to
tell me, but I didn’t want to make her feel even worse, so I never pushed it.

Some days she worked such long hours I missed
her badly. But on the plus side, it meant that once I got home from school I could
pretty much do what I wanted. Today I wanted to go on the trapeze again.

I had found it about two weeks ago while exploring
the garden. Now I liked to come here every day after school. Emily’s mum normally
picked Emily and me up from the playground and dropped me off at our gate. I
would walk down the driveway on my own, back to the cottage where there was
always a snack waiting for me. Once I had eaten whatever Mama had left and
drunk some milk, I would come here to the trapeze. It was in the part of the
garden furthest from the house, hidden away in a little clearing – as if
someone had wanted to keep it a secret. But I had found it. I’d already
explored everywhere else; this was definitely the best bit in the whole place.

The swing looked like someone had made it
themselves because the wood was rough – I’d already had one splinter from
it – but I didn’t care. The ropes that held it together, as well as the
ones tied onto the branch, had knots that looked a little disorganised – like
maybe the person didn’t really know how to tie them properly. It was okay,
though. I’d been on it, and it was strong enough to hold me.

Today it was warm and sunny. I liked the
long summer days that meant I could play outside until Mama called me in for supper.
Even better, it was almost the summer holidays. Just a couple more weeks to go.
For once I wasn’t bothered that I was the only person not having a holiday abroad
somewhere. I knew we couldn’t afford it. Mama had said that maybe next year we
might be able to go overseas if we were careful with our money now, but I didn’t
care. This place was better than the places most people went to for holidays, I
reckoned. Or at least as good, anyway. There was a farm down the road I planned
to ask if I could visit, and the rest of the time I intended to spend swinging
on the trapeze.

I’d decided I wanted to join a circus when
I was old enough. I had seen a T.V. show about them once. They had been really
high up, higher than the trapeze here, and had jumped from one trapeze to
another. It had been amazing and made me want to try it myself. Today I planned
to swing upside down by my knees for the first time. Maybe I would put a second
trapeze up when I got better at it. Then I could practice swinging from one to
another.

I pushed through the branches of the bushes
that guarded the swing, ignoring scratches from the brambles and stings from
nettles that were hidden beneath them as I forced my way through until I emerged
into the small clearing. It was good to be back. I’d told Emily about the place –
I couldn’t help myself because I was so excited after the first day I’d found
it – but I was glad she hadn’t come here yet. I didn’t want her to. I
wanted it to be mine.

Luckily Mama didn’t want me to have people
over until I was older anyway. She said that, although she knew I could be
sensible to look after myself, she’d worry about having another child here in
case they were silly and she wasn’t there to stop them. Emily could be a bit
silly sometimes – she was a show-off. And a bit bossy. If she came here
she’d want to be on the trapeze all the time. She’d take it over, and I’d have
to let her because she was the guest and Mama always said you had to let the
guest have whatever they wanted, however annoying they were. Emily always wanted
everything I had, even though she had much more stuff than me.

I stood below the trapeze, just looking at
it for a moment, admiring it, before I bent my knees and sprang. It was a
stretch. My fingers grasped at the rough horizontal wood surface as I shifted
my weight again to get a better grip. It had taken me two days of trying before
I even managed to get a hold of the bar, but now I’d been doing it for a while it
was getting easier. I was getting stronger. I hung there for a few moments, liking
the feel of the pull across my shoulders and the stretch down my back, as if
the bones were separating slightly. The first time I’d got a hold I’d only hung
there for a second or two before my fingers had slipped and I’d dropped back
down to the ground. Now I could thread my legs through my arms and slip them
over the bar so that I was able to pull myself up into a sitting position.

The bar was narrow and dug into the backs
of my legs, but I didn’t care. I spent a good while just swinging. My long hair
blew around me whilst the swing carried me back and forth. I could get quite
high now. I’d done it before, although the branches did creak a bit sometimes,
which worried me. I also found that if I tipped my head back as I swung it made
me feel dizzy – gave me a kind of tingly feeling. I liked that a lot.

Once I finished swinging I decided to try
hanging by my knees, like I had seen them do on the programme. I held onto the
bar, making sure my knees were gripping on tightly, before I let go with my
hands and slowly curled my body down, my hands reaching towards the ground. If
I fell I figured at least my hands might stop me bashing my head too badly. The
weight of my body pulled across the backs of my legs where they met the bar,
but it didn’t hurt. It was fine. In fact it felt nice. Another delicious
stretch.

I hung there, enjoying the view from upside
down, as I watched an ant carrying a dead wasp on its back, when a voice made
me nearly jump out of my skin: “Who are you?”

How I didn’t fall on my head I’ll never
know. I was already cross that the stranger had frightened me, but the voice
was also kind of bossy. I didn’t like it. I twisted myself around to get a
look, still upside down. A boy was standing at the edge of the clearing,
staring at me. He looked annoyed too, although I couldn’t imagine why. “Who are
you?” I asked right back. At school Emily had always told me attack was the
best form of defence – right before she was mean to someone. I thought
this time she might be right. “What are you doing here? It’s private.” I tried
to make my voice sound equally bossy. It was hard to do when I was hanging by my
knees.

“What are
you
doing here? I live
here,” he informed me, moving around so that at least he was now standing in
front of me and I didn’t have to twist to see him.

“No you don’t,” I insisted, sticking my chin
out defiantly. I didn’t want him to know he’d scared me. He looked older than
me. I just wanted him to go. “I live here, and I’ve never seen you before.”

“That’s because I’ve been at school.”

“What, all day and all night?” I used the
voice Mama didn’t like. She said it was ‘sarcastic’.

“No, stupid. Boarding school. I sleep there
and come home here when I have to – for the summer holidays.”

“I’m not stupid,” I immediately defended
myself, before thinking about what he’d just told me. “You sleep at school?
That’s awful.” I couldn’t imagine being forced to stay at school all day and
all night.

“It’s good for me,” he said. It sounded
like something a grown-up had told him once, and I told him so. For the first
time he smiled at me, and I noticed that when he smiled he had nice eyes and
small dimples in his cheeks. From what I could see from my current vantage
point his eyes were dark brown, but when he smiled they looked warmer.

“Maybe they did,” he admitted. “Anyway it’s
an okay school. I like being with my friends.” He paused and looked at me again,
cocking his head to the side. “You’re showing your knickers like a slut.”

I wasn’t entirely sure what a slut was, but
I could tell just by the way he had said it that it wasn’t a nice thing. I felt
embarrassed. I hadn’t really noticed that my school skirt had dropped over my
chest as I hung there; I hadn’t bothered to change out of my uniform before
coming outside to play. I didn’t normally care if the boys at school saw my
knickers when I did cartwheels and handstands, but for some reason having this
boy point it out made me feel awkward. I tried to fold my skirt back up and
tuck it under my knees, but the movement disrupted my balance, and before I knew
what was happening I was falling to the ground. I landed in a heap, my hands
only just moving in time to break my fall slightly.

“God, are you okay?” he asked, rushing to
my side. I swallowed back the tears that threatened to spill. It hurt, but I didn’t
want to look weak in front of this boy.

“I’m fine.”

“No you’re not. You’re bleeding.” He reached
into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. I knew what they were because I’d
read about them in books, but I’d never seen a real one before. We only used
paper tissues in our house. He dabbed it against my forehead, and when he pulled
it away it was covered in blood. He quickly pressed it back against the wound
and secured my own hand over it to keep it in place. “You need to wash the
cut,” he told me. “It’s got a load of dirt in it. It’ll get infected if you don’t.”
I nodded without saying anything, still not quite trusting myself not to cry. “Can
you get up?” he asked. I nodded again and slowly pulled my legs beneath me,
attempting to stand. His hand came under me, supporting my weight until I found
my balance. I felt a little dizzy, unsure if it was from bashing my head, the
blood, or the fact the boy was standing so close.

“I’m fine,” I said again, uncertain whether
I was telling him or myself. “I need to get home.” I took a step backwards.

“Will you be back tomorrow?” he asked.

“Maybe. After school,” I replied, taking a
second step away before I realised I was still holding the hanky to my head. I
held the bloody object out towards him.

“Keep it,” he said, and smiled again. I nodded
and turned, heading back through the bushes until his voice stopped me. “What’s
your name?”

“Delilah,” I replied, looking back at him
over my shoulder.

“I’m Hardy.” I nodded again, to let him
know I had heard, but said nothing. I turned and then just kept walking until I
was back at the cottage, sensing his eyes on me all the while.