Vanilla

Chapter Three

Dedicated to JuniorJewels, for her lovely comment in the last chapter and her attempt at making up a couple name for Flo and Daniel (I never make it easy for you guys, do I? I should probably work on that).

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            “You sleep okay?”

            This was Gram’s question as I stumbled into the kitchen the next morning, making a beeline for the coffee pot. She asked like the answer couldn’t be found in my appearance: the way my hair was defying the laws of physics and sticking up in every direction; the multitude of creases running through my nightshirt; the dark shadows I knew lurked beneath my eyes. I put it down to the fact she was totally absorbed in her artwork, sweeping wide strokes of paint across the canvas on the easel set up in the corner of the room.

            “Mm,” I mumbled noncommittally.

            To tell the truth, my night’s sleep had been nothing short of awful, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to spill the details to Gram. My mind hadn’t been able to stop whizzing through the events of the day at the speed of light, forcing sleep further and further out of my reach. Packing up the last of my stuff from the flat, the two-hour train journey here, my unexpected party invitation. They’d all been replayed in my head at least a hundred times over the course of the night.

            And that wasn’t even counting how many times I’d gone over the worst part of it all: saying goodbye to Nora.

            I’d braced myself for it, of course, but the real thing had hit home harder than expected. Really, it’d only been when she pulled me in for a hug, and I got a last whiff of the strong floral perfume she was never without, that the reality of the situation began to sink in. It was real, it was here, and it was happening. That was something no amount of preparation could ready me for.

            And when she’d leaned in and whispered “You’ll be okay, Flo,” in my ear, I found myself, through the tears, doubting my sister for the first time.

            It didn’t matter that I wasn’t moving to the other side of the world. The train journey between us was enough of a distance. Nora had been my rock for the last three years: the one thing that remained to always be counted on. While everything else in my life was morphing before my eyes, changing beyond recognition, she was always there. Until now. I couldn’t tell how I’d handle it until she was really gone.

            Three years ago, when I was fourteen and Nora four years my senior, marked the worst day of my life. Our parents had spent the evening at a dinner party across town, enjoying themselves, trusting that Nora and I were sensible enough to stay home alone. Naturally, we’d revelled in the freedom, loving the knowledge that even if just for the evening, we were totally independent.

            We didn’t realise how disturbingly accurate that statement would be until a few hours later. Asleep on the sofa, we were jolted awake by an urgent knocking at the door. The police.

            There’d been an accident. An accident involving two cars, one of them my parents’, as they made their way home. They were almost there; ten minutes longer and they’d have been pulling up on the driveway, unlocking the door, smiling to themselves when they came across Nora and I curled up together. They’d behaved themselves; they were sober. But the other driver wasn’t.

            They were taken to the hospital straightaway, but it made no difference. Their injuries were fatal.

            And on that night, in a split second, Nora and I lost both our mother and father.