A Pair Of Pears (Completed)

They say fresh starts are supposed to be good

The bus rattles along the narrow country road, It’s the middle of summer and the humid British weather combined with the body heat of fifty people crammed onto a bus is making everyone grouchy. There’s a screaming toddler at the back of the bus who’s winding everyone up, and an old woman telling the foreign man next to her all about her sensitive bladder. Making a point that she’s ‘holding on’ every time we hit a bump. I don’t even think he understands what she’s saying, which is probably a good thing.
I have the window open as far as it will go, but there’s not enough breeze coming through, I push my tattered paisley Doc Martens against the seat in front and sigh as I turn up my iPod. The sound of Nirvana’s Smells Like Teen Spirit smashing against my ear drums. I find the sound of rock music oddly soothing, my parents have always hated it. Mum nudges my arm and signals for me to put my feet down she’s not in a good mood, I can’t tell if it’s the heat or the fact she started drinking before lunchtime. She emptied out most of a big bottle of Coke and filled it with an entire bottle of vodka, so she could sneak it on the bus. I roll my eyes, remove my feet and go back to looking out the window. 
Whatever I’m doing it’s never good enough, next she’ll be saying she can hear my music through my headphones. 
I don’t want to move to Cornwall, I want to be in Ireland with Dad. My relationship with him has never been great, but it isn’t as bad as the one I have with Mum. He’s never hurt me like she has, sure he’s made his mistakes, but it’s always made up with an apology and some ice cream. Not that I’m saying ice cream is a way to heal the physical and mental pain you have caused a child, but it’s better than nothing. 
He has a new family now though, and suddenly I’ve become yesterday’s news. 
I don’t want Mum and me to have to move into my grandparent’s farmhouse either, but I’m hoping with them around Mum might behave herself a bit more. Maybe she’ll get sober and we will be the family I’ve always dreamed of having. I’m not looking forward to it at all, my grandparents live half an hour away from everything with no internet, I want to be back in Brum with my friends. 
A tear starts to roll down my cheek, I wipe it away quickly so that it’s not noticeable. Crying is a sign of weakness according to both of my parents, I was always told I needed to be strong if I show any kind of emotion I am ridiculed, I’m sure neither of them love me. I’m just here getting in the way, a mistake because neither of them could control themselves.
It’s late afternoon by the time we arrive in Cornwall. The weather is cooler now, but everyone is tired, hot and bothered. Mum is completely wrecked, and our taxi is late. She tries to call the taxi office on her phone, but she can’t pick up a signal. I have one bar, so she uses mine. In an argument with the taxi office, it turns out Mum didn’t even book the taxi. Instead of admitting her mistake, she gets angry, shouts obscenities and throws my phone in the river. I scream at her in the dark, feeling devastated that it’s my only way of contacting my friends back in Brum. She punches me in the arm to shut me up, it works. We end up having to walk to my grandparent’s house, it takes forever, dragging our suitcases on wheels behind us. We eventually arrive it’s late, in fact, both my grandparents are asleep in bed. I can hear their synchronised snoring. Gran has left some sort of meat pie out in the kitchen with cooking instructions. I look at Mum in disgust 
‘I’m not eating that; it’s got meat in.’ 
‘Go hungry then.’ Mum replies, flicking her hair back and turning the dial on the oven with her over-priced manicured fingers, then slamming the door shut. I leave the kitchen and drag my suitcase up to my room, it’s been years six years since I’ve been here, nothing seems to have changed. I still know the layout of it from memory, and the house still smells like old people. I open the door and it’s like stepping back through time, everything is how I had left it back then. The bed still has the same floral bedding, and the rainbow dreamcatcher still hangs on the bedpost where I had left it six summers earlier. I’m too tired to unpack, I drop my suitcase in front of the door and catapult myself onto the bed.
I awake the next morning to the sound of Gran trying to battle her way past the suitcase that I had left in front of the door the night before.
‘Up you get Charlotte!’ she says frustratingly as she’s trying to force her way in. 
She eventually manages and looks down at me.  
‘Did you sleep like that?’ she says, sounding disgusted referring to the fact I’m fully dressed, Docs included. I try to roll over, but she grabs my arm and touches the bruise Mum left the night before, I flinch. 
‘No, you don’t you’re coming into town with me. Your mother left early to try and find herself a job.’ 
I want to sleep. I’m tired, mentally and physically even though all we did was sit on a bus all day. The heat and the argument with Mum probably didn’t help with either. I know that it will be easier to go along with it, though. Arguing the situation will just cause another situation I don’t want. Not necessarily with Gran, but with Mum. She and Mum have their issues, but most of the time they are close.