Look Back at Me (Fleckney Fields Series, Book 1)

Varya and Persimmon

Author's Note:

It's a DOUBLE UPDATE today, my lovelies. I hope you enjoy it!

Love,

K. xx

***

When Viola opened her eyes, pale Winter sunshine was weakly streaming into her window. She realised she must have slept through her alarm, and she sat up sharply. Her head was heavy, and her mouth was unpleasantly dry. She grabbed her phone and stared at the screen. It was half past eight. There were also eleven texts, and she quickly opened the first one. It was from Fenton telling her he would take care of her patients and that she needed to rest. 'Proud of being your colleague,' he added at the end, and Viola felt her heart flutter. The rest of the texts were from various Holyoakes showering her with their gratitude; from Yola, expressing her concern and asking Viola to ring her up; and from Klaus, whose number she didn't have but thankfully he'd sighed his text. He was asking her to text him back, and she frowned in confusion. The last text was from Rhys, who was telling her he was going to the hospital to visit Nana in the morning and asking if she wanted to go with, or alternatively whether she wanted to know when he'd be there to avoid him. He also promised to text her how Nana was, after his visit. Viola lay down again, stretching under her duvet. She wasn't comfortable, though. She never slept naked, and she suspected she had makeup smeared on her face. She sighed and rose to take a shower.

Afterwards, she was making coffee in the kitchen, answering the texts, and sighing. She had a mild headache, perhaps, from the unusual amount of sleep, and some sort of odd apathy made her pause from time to time and just stare at the snow falling behind the window. Perhaps, it would be wise to pull herself together and go to work. On the other hand, in the series of texts they'd just exchanged, Fenton told her in no uncertain terms to take a day off. He was perhaps right, she had to admit. The previous evening had taken a lot out of her.

She got dressed in a cosy soft tunic jumper and jeans, bundled up, and decided to meet up with Yolanda in the Old Station. Fleckney Woulds was noticeably quieter than usual. She assumed the town was recovering after the Festival, nursing hang-overs, and cleaning out rubbish. She was slowly walking along Lilac Street, when she saw a small girl standing in front of Mrs. Wakefield's toy shop, watching the mechanical toys - monkeys and clowns - running on the strings stretched in the window. There wasn't an adult in view, and Viola hesitated for a second, and then approached the girl.

"Hello," she said. "Are you lost?"

The girl was well-dressed, in a thick, weather appropriate jacket, a hat with a giant jolly pom-pom, and colourful stripy mittens. She was exceptionally skinny, and probably too small for her age. She had a sharp, turn-up nose, straight black hair sticking out from under the hat, and freckles peppering her nose.

The girl gave her a polite smile and a shake of her head.

"Who are you here with?" Viola tried again. She looked around just in case the parent of the child she was 'harassing' had just bent down to tie their laces behind a rubbish bin, but there was no one around. "Are you alone?"

"I'm not supposed to talk to strangers," the girl said. She had a thick Northern accent. She was about eight years old, Viola estimated. "And I'm not lost. I'm looking for my cat. She ran away again."

"Right," Viola said. "Well, do you mind if I call the police and tell them you're here?" Viola hadn't had the foggiest how to talk to children, if she was honest. She never had much practice. That's when one needs a Holyoake by their side. "Maybe they can help you find your cat."

"Police don't care about cats," the girl said importantly. "And you don't have to call them. This is the countryside. It's safe here for children."

Viola shared the sentiment - but that was still an unattended child standing in front of her.