The Nocturne

The Varsouviana

      I was still sitting at the kitchen table about half an hour later, reluctant to move and go back to my room. I could hear the rain again, that tell-tale pitter-patter, and despite the earlier respite in the dreary weather,  I knew the downpour had begun again in earnest. I could see the droplets spatter against the outside of the tiny kitchen window battering against the glass and I could see the bulbous droplets deposited there. These globules then burst and cascaded down the pane, leaving distorted streaks. As it was just beginning to get light outside now, the early morning light seemed to highlight these watery tracks  making them more prominent, like the veins of a river spreading from the main estuary. And for the time being  there seemed to be no reprieve, and no abating of this persistent  gloom. 

    There  was a slight chill in the air this morning, and the green tiles in the kitchen seemed to conduct all of the heat from the room, making it feel stark and almost clinical in its' coldness. I pulled my red, hooded sweatshirt around my shoulders for warmth and listened to the rain tap-tap-tap, out a type of Morse code on the window pane. But despite the sombre  atmosphere created by the  dull morning light, in actuality, I was feeling in a slightly more positive place. My brain had begun racing over new thoughts and ideas. Instead of making me sleepy the sugar in the hot chocolate seemed to have energised me, or perhaps I was just feeling a little more fortified after my conversation with Allegra. Anyhow, whichever it was, I was not feeling particularly tired and I knew I would just sit in my room and brood, alone, if I went back there.  I knew that once there and on my own,  my sugar levels would quickly drop and I would go back to feeling despondent again. I realised that I definitely did not like the idea of being wide awake and staring at those same four walls all morning on my own. I still had no phone and no television to entertain me and the prospect of staring into space for hours on end sent shivers down my spine. I had already decided to go into the restaurant to speak to the manager this afternoon, and this would get me out of the house later on.  But the afternoon was many hours away. 

   I had decided that I wanted to talk to my manager about getting some extra shifts at the restaurant because in my new galvanised state, I was determined to take some decisive steps to significantly improve my prospects. Although the rent at Bloomfield house was fairly reasonable, I needed to save a little money as I desperately needed another phone. Even though I was loath to admit it, I could not cope with being so cut off from the world outside of Bloomfield House, disconnected from my old friends and my old life and being so isolated was not helping my mental state, at least not in the way I thought it would. I felt I was I  missing out on cultural events, news and happenings? Especially from people my own age, although I enjoyed talking to Allegra she was a fair bit older than me. I wondered exactly what Paige and Will were up to now? And after Allegra had  scared the life out of me Dio Mio! About being stuck at La fetta di Verità!  forever, and ever. Oh, diavolo, no. Non vorrai entrare in quel buco!  I also thought I might see if I could enrol in some online courses, maybe this way I could finish my education, without having to pay the extortionate university fees. As my father had now cut me off completely and I no longer had his financial assistance, any courses I choose, I would have to pay for myself, with my meagre earnings. I quite liked this idea of having my own independence though. 

    I realised these things probably sounded trivial but they were a big step for me, and a positive move toward, I thought. I pondered this for a moment and I supposed I could go back to my room and get to work on reading the books that I had found, but at this particular moment I really did not feel I had the level of concentration required to do that. So, instead I sat watching Allegra as she washed up the mugs we had drank from and meticulously placed all of the knives back in the cutlery draw, making sure that they were exactly as they had been before she had taken them away and hidden them. I thought she looked like a burglar in reverse. She was not the criminal of course, but her putting everything back where she found it so that no one would be the wiser, seemed forensic, like a backwards type of crime scene. I wondered why she cared if the others knew she took the knives and kept them out of harms way at night? Did she fear Duke's reaction more than she was letting on? I wondered what he might actually do if he found out. I supposed then he would know that she was onto him. The game might be up. Game was the wrong word I realised it made everything seem simplified and  with the air of faux pleasantry. As Mr Sherlock Holmes might say 'The game is afoot.'