Don't Trust Them

One

Mabel

Disappointment won't quite do it. No word could describe how I feel. A mix of anger, sadness, reluctance, resentment. Just about every horrid feeling in the world.
My grandfather has died and, to top it off, I only get a portion of his money.
Oh God, that sounds horrid. It's not really...it's just...okay it is. Not that I meant it that way.

All of it goes to my dad. My dad who left when I was two. My dad who really doesn't deserve it. Oh, how terribly he treated my grandparents. When my mum died, he left, and I never saw him again. Can barely remember him, really.

He never came home when grandma died, and now he's missed his dad's funeral. He's supposed to arrive soon to claim what's his from the will; I'm frightened he'll kick me out and throw away everything he's inherited.

I look about the living room where I stand. Small and brown. Hideous patterned carpet, textured cream walls, old cabinets and sideboards covered in clutter. Photos and books and lavish china. I can tell he would probably chuck it all out...or sell it.
Breathing deep I move out of the room and up the narrow stairs whose continuous creaking I'd miss if I ever had to go.

 I get into my grandparents' bedroom, tears stinging in my eyes threatening to spill. It's like the living room, set in the past, but more cluttered. Sketches are stuck all over the walls. Three sketches of fairies hang from the ceiling. My grandparents were very spiritual and great believers in the mythical, my grandmother especially loved fairies. My grandfather enjoyed the more dark side. They used to tell me so many stories about magical creatures when I was young, take me to magical spots, put out special little things for the fairies visiting the garden. When I got older they told me more about the darker things.
My belief has waned over the years, but they taught me to have an open mind, there is belief deep down somewhere, though. I wish life was as easy now as it was back then.

I take a seat on the edge of my grandfathers bed. I had wanted to leave things untouched, as they were, but it doesn't matter anymore. I get out the box from inside his wardrobe. The box filled with things we all made, and my grandparents' stories and photographs. Everything. The special box I'd get so excited to see when they'd bring it out.
I start to blub now, picking up an old photograph of my grandparents standing arm in arm in the garden by the trees. That was where most things had lived; the fairies and the little people. I pick up another, one with me as a child holding up an awful bead bracelet that I left as a gift for the fairies, in the morning it was still there, but a little charm of a fairy had been attached to it. My grandma had explained it was much too big for the fairies to wear and they wanted me to have it. It was also sat in the box. Small with bright beads, all unmatching, and the little charm a bit tarnished and scratched now. I discovered the charm was from a necklace that was grandma's a while ago, she had obviously not wanted to hurt my feelings when the fairies did not accept my gift.

I slide the bracelet on amongst my others and take a minute to dry my tears before going through to my own room. Honestly, I'm so pathetic, but what can I do? It's been a few weeks now, I should be a little less touchy now.

I spend the rest of the night by doing the homework for tomorrow I really should have done last week, but hey, I've been grieving. Or has the excuse dried up now? I finish half-heartedly, dreading the day to follow...
                                                                                     ***
 "Lindsey?" I laugh out, leaning forward. In my hands a small plastic card attached to a lanyard. "And I thought the funny part of your name was Peacock."

Mr Peacock is not impressed with my antics, however. He sits back in his chair, glaring at me with his shiny blue eyes, leaning on his hand, occasionally feeling the light stubble that covers his face.
"How is that even a name? Lindsey Peacock, are you sure you're real?" I continue, smiling all the while.

I put the card back on his desk, waiting for him to scold me, or at least laugh along. He knows I'm avoiding the subject, and he also knows that he'll get through to me in the end. He's only the second counsellor I've had, and he's only been at the school for a while. I didn't have much need to visit them in the first place but since my grandfather I needed someone to talk to, someone to get me back on track, not only to help my mopiness but also my behaviour.

 "Oh, come on --"
 "Stop it." He says, his tone hard. He sits up and takes his ID badge away, shoving it in a desk drawer.

 "But Lindsey!"

 "Stop, Mabel," his voice is softer now, his Scottish accent coming through. "Now, how do you feel?"

 "Great," I lean back in the hard chair and cross my legs over.

 "No, really. Are you doing okay? No problems? Will you participate in your lessons today?"

 "Yeah," I shrug with indifference.

 "Truly?"

 "Yeah, I mean I feel better, I'm just...I don't want my dad to come. He was left the house you know," I explain, feeling no need to act up anymore.

 "And are you frightened he'll treat you bad, or not want to look after you?"

I nod, "Do you think he'll kick me out?"

 "If he's a decent man and respects that your his daughter, his responsibility, he won't. But if he does, or any other problems occur you've got my number. I'm here to look out for you and give you advise, so don't be afraid to. Which reminds me, you've been coping on your own okay, have you?"

 "Of course," I sit up a bit and smile.

My smugness makes him smile, the look of concern washed from his face.

 "Good. I'll let you get on with whatever remains of your break, I've got someone else to see. We'll talk more tomorrow."

 "Thank the Lord!" I exclaim, carelessly getting up and swinging my black leather bag onto my arm.

I start toward the door when he speaks again, causing me to roll my eyes and look back.

 "You've brought nothing incriminating with you I hope? Don't want you getting into any more trouble."

 "Oh, of course not, Mr Peacock," I reply before stepping out. Hopefully not sounding as sarcastic as I'd intended.

The corridor begins to empty out just before the shrill bell rings causing me groan and curse under my breath. Blind in annoyance, I start to pace quickly down the corridor and end up smacking right into someone.

 "Watch where you're going for Christ's sake!"