Dorthy

One

When your parents die, even if you hated them, there's an echo inside of you. A pit which, like an empty stomach, aches to be filled. But it never can be. The meal which you might eat to placate its grumblings loses a sliver of taste. It will never be just like she used to make, never just to her special recipe. The hug of a friend or loved one will never have the same protective blanket his did. No matter who they are or what they say or how they act, there will always be an aftertaste that you don't even notice unless you think about it. Then it's bitter. You swallow. Wash your mouth out with water, but the sour flavour never leaves you.

Dorothy tried not to think about it. Most days, she succeeded. She didn't dream about the accident as much. She no longer, most nights at least, woke from a nightmare where she felt she was drowning. She'd stopped seeing them, her parents, everywhere. It was only somewhere, now. Just the occasional glimpse of them in places they could never be.

Her friends rallied around, as friends do. When she needed space, she had it. When she needed to cry, they offered their shoulders. When she had to get out and forget everything, they supplied the venue, the laughter and the alcohol. And the kebab.

Dorothy's aunt and uncle felt helpless. They had taken her in. She had a room, decorated just how she wanted it, and was well fed and looked after. She had all the love they could give, which was a copious amount. They had never had children of their own and had always been close to both Dorothy and her parents, her mother and aunt being sisters. They gave her everything they could to help bury the pain she'd felt. A shovel in the shape of a hug. A JCB digger in the form of a smile and support. It wasn't that she clung to it, like a treasured teddy she couldn't quite relinquish, it was more the memory held on to her as if her parents refused to let their little girl go even though they were no longer alive.

Dorothy loved her surrogate mother and father. She really did. She told them as often as she felt able to. And, though they were not her real parents, they gave her all they had. But the sorrow, loss and pit of darkness which so often threatened to engulf her was something she could not give up. It linked her to their lingering spirit. It connected her to their memory, and she felt, if she let it go, she would suddenly lose them completely. Their memory would fade. Whilst she still cried or her mood swung down like the Reaper's scythe to tear through her smiles, it was almost like holding her mother's hand.

"Don't be out too late," her aunt Hayley said.

Dorothy wouldn't be. She never was. Hanging around parks or shopping malls was something she'd never seen the attraction of. If she was shopping, it was for a reason. To buy things. Not to loiter or intimidate or sit smoking and blocking the way to other shoppers while listening to music that practically sat up and offered you a razor blade to caress your wrists with. She needed a new pair of jeans. The ones she wore most often, the most comfortable item of clothing she owned, were becoming tired. The knees were starting to tear like a yawn in the material. Dorothy knew this was fashionable. It was unusual to see someone wearing jeans without slashes at the knees. But hers were not by design. Hers were from the fatigue of a material worn out from being worn, washed and reworn so many times. She'd had them since... before and though they were never a reminder of past times, she was reluctant to part with them. Buying new ones meant she could keep them for those times when memories swept through her, like her aunt during the big Spring Clean (or a Monday afternoon, as it was also called) and she needed something to take her back for a moment. Or an hour. Or more.

The temperature was dropping rapidly when she left the house. It had been warm throughout the day and she'd dressed for earlier rather than the cooler later. She contemplated going back inside to change from the jeans, light t-shirt and shoes into a sweater and boots. But no, she wouldn't be long. Besides, she'd be inside for most of the time, once there. She'd just grab a jacket and be on her way. The sooner she was there the faster she'd be back, something her Uncle James would often tell her when he felt she was dawdling or procrastinating.

"You should put something else on," Aunt Hayley told her when she returned inside. "The weather's looking like it's after changing. You don't want to get caught in the rain or catch a chill, do you?"

"I'll be fine," Dorothy said. "I'm going to take a coat and I'll be either on the bus or at the shopping centre."

"Still," Hayley said. "Don't you think you should put something warmer on? It's not summer now."

It wasn't summer. She was right. In fact, summer hadn't been summer. The heat wave promised by the weather men on the television had either forgotten it was meant to be dropping by or it had already happened and she'd blinked and missed it. Perhaps it had been like a team building paintballing game, peppering the landscape with pellets of brief sunshine. Odd days, like this one, did their best to suck some heat from the distant sun, but even they gave up before evening came and admitted defeat.

"Aunt Hayley," she said, hugging the precious woman and taking a deep inhalation - she loved the smell of her aunt's long red hair, all cherry or coconut, depending on what shampoo was on sale that week. "I'm a big girl and I'm not going to be long. Trust me."

"Well, if you're sure."

"I am, honest."

Hayley kissed Dorothy on the cheek and wondered, not for the first time, where this grown up girl came from. She still felt her niece should still be running around with felt tip covering her hands, crying out for a chocolate biscuit and a sugary drink. Those days were long gone and Hayley had to admit she missed them. She'd only been the visiting older sister of Sophia, Dorothy's mother, so didn't have such an active part of the girl's formative years. She had, though, been there as much as she could so had a strong bond, almost in readiness for when, well, when things changed.

"See you soon," Hayley said.

"Love you," called Dorothy as she ran from the hallway.