Young Writers Society

Chapter 2

My first instinct was to panic. My heart started thumping about in my chest, like a one-man army, and I felt lightheaded and sick. I sat down shakily on the sofa, and put my head between my legs. Gran had told me that was the recovery position. Thoughts of my grandmother came flowing into my head immediately. I loved her nearly as much as my Dad; she was the only person in my family that I’d seemed to inherit genes from. She was slender and a red-head, whereas I was a plump brunette, but she had grey-green eyes the exact same colour as mine.

Gran was the only person who took the time to read my stories. My stories – the long, rambling novels I wrote so I could escape into exotic, thrilling lands and become brave and beautiful characters. An escape from my dreary, black-and-white world into a life of brilliant Technicolor.

Gran didn't exactly comment on them, but when I brought one round she would say, "Put the kettle on, love, and get out the biscuit tin," and then we would munch shortbread, sip tea and I would read the stories to her. Sometimes, she would close her eyes half-way through, and I'd think she'd gone to sleep, so I would stop reading, but then she'd shoot her eyes wide open and pretend to be angry. After that, I always knew she was awake, from the little twitches that her mouth made and the way her eyes flickered under their wrinkled lids. One day though, she closed her eyes for good.

Reality grasped my throat with an icy hand, viciously pulling me back from my sidetrack. I had sidetracks so often; it wasn’t an attention deficit or anything like that. I just hated my normal, dreary life, with all its mishaps and sorrows. Sometimes, things happening would cause a flow of thinking inside of me, giving me a ticket straight into my mind, which, given the choice, I would never leave. Of course, every single time, I was jolted back .

Sighing, I re-read the note. Sellyoak Hospital. How would I get there? I was never allowed to take the bus. I wasn't even allowed to walk to Tesco's, for Pete's sake. I’d obviously have to break the rules for once. Normally I would have jumped at the chance of independence but at that point I felt worried and anxious. I went out the door with shaky legs, swinging my school-bag over my shoulder.

I ran to the bus stop and waited, panting, feeling so self-conscious because there was a bunch of school-girls aged about fifteen hanging around. From the corner of my eye I could see them raising their eyebrows at the sweaty, red-faced, chubby little Year Seven who looked like she was just about dying of asphyxia. I heard one or two of them stifle a giggle, but I didn't hate them for it. If I were them, I'd laugh at me too.

Eventually the bus arrived, letting out smelly fumes, leaking petrol on the road. There was an old man loaded down with heavy bags of shopping in front of me, and I tapped my foot irritably, but then remembered my manners and tried to look calm.

When it finally came my turn, I suddenly realised I hadn't brought enough money with me. I started to panic all over again. I took my heavy bag off, and it clunked around the stairs, threatened to fall right down them.

The bus driver looked impatient, and I could hear some teenage boys behind me swearing under their breath. I fished desperately in the bag and retrieved the little black purse where I kept my lunch money; surely there must be some spare? I always kept extra for emergency. I saw with despair, however, that there were just a few pence rolling around sadly inside. I began sweating even more, and wiped my forehead, getting more frustrated by the second.

"Don't you have enough money, miss?" the driver said, sounding even more impatient than he looked.

I turned bright red. It would be so humiliating to get thrown off in front of all these people. "Um....yes. Just wait please, just let me find it,” I stuttered.

He gave a deep sigh. "Come on, miss. We don't have all day. Yes, er, you, young men, come on while the girl..."

Incidentally, the teenage boys I'd heard cussing came up alongside me and inserted change into the slot. The clinking sound of metal against metal unnerved me.

"Hurry up! If you don't have enough for your fare, you get off.”

My eyes must have become quite red and wet because an old, silver-haired lady put a hand on my shoulder and said, "Stop hassling the girl, young people get so easily flustered! How much is it for a child's fare then, driver?"

So the kindly old lady paid for me, huffing and puffing a bit. I never dared to look her in the eye. I was embarrassed for causing her trouble.

I got a seat opposite the lady, after helping her up the stairs, and as the bus started off, she said, "Well then, where you off to in such a rush?"

I smiled sweetly and finally raised my eyes tentatively. I was amazed at what I saw. The old lady was Mrs Brown, the grumpy ground-floor resident! I gasped, and then collected myself, remembering that she probably thought I'd known from the start who she was. "Uh, to visit my friend. My best friend. From school."

"Oh?" said Mrs Brown."And this friend must mind very much about how early you arrive. You were quite in a hurry, I gathered. Honestly! Young people. Pushing and shoving their whole childhood."

"Oh, that!" I turned red once again - I blush so easily. Giggling nervously, I replied. "Um, yeah. My friend hates people being late. She, uh, appreciates punctuality." Oh sheesh. I wasn't getting myself out of this one very well.

"Pull the other one," Mrs Brown said disapprovingly, but I saw the corners of her mouth twitch.

I smiled back, a bit sheepishly, and looked at the floor. "Oh, I...I'm not really going to see my friend, you know."

"Yes, said Mrs Brown, "I know."

"Um, I got a note, um, from my dad. It said to go to Sellyoak. Sellyoak Hospital. About half and hour to get there, right?"

Mrs Brown looked derisively at me. "Oh no, no! Honestly, don't you teenagers know anything about your surroundings?" She tutted. "Sellyoak is at the next stop.That's where I'm going."

"Oh," I said, choosing my words carefully. "Do you have an appointment there?"

Her face darkened and her brow furrowed; something within her seemed to blaze up defiantly."None of your business," she snapped, and we sat in uncomfortable silence. She stared out the window sulkily, which gave me a chance to observe her without being accused of staring.

She had a wrinkled little heart-shaped face, covered in moles, it looked quite worn and leathery, and seemed to tell a story. Every minute or so, she would run a hand through her white hair. It was surprisingly thick and long for such an elderly lady and was pinned up carefully in two knots, on top of her shrunken, fragile-looking skull.

She noticed that I was watching her and reprimanded me for it, raising her eyebrows. They were drawn over in black eyeliner, and peachy-pink lipstick was fading into the cracks of her chapped lips. Her eyes were like dark slits, partially hidden by the folds of wrinkles hanging round their corners.

When she talked, sometimes her hands would flutter tautly, like awkward birds. One hand was on her silver-tipped walking cane, and the other on the handle of her oversized canvas trolley-bag. Her hands were stiff, calloused, and arthritic, laid delicately upon the trolley and cane as if they weren’t part of her body, but gloves she was carrying.

Despite the way time had chipped away at her, it was obvious that she had once been stunning, in her own way. She had beautiful cheekbones; when she was not frowning they looked like tiny almonds.

I was interrupted from my little contemplations as the bus ground to a halt, spraying gravel over nearby bollards.

“There, that's our stop,” Mrs Brown said. “You'd better get off with me, eh? Half an hour away indeed!"