Young Writers Society

The Boy Who Broke Mirrors

(Chapter Eight)

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I stare blankly ahead of me, and I’m silent. I don’t know what to say. I couldn’t even conjure up any words if I tried. He can’t be serious. He cannot be serious. I lift my gaze to Dad, who’s sitting on the sofa opposite the TV, and his lips are pursed as he awaits my response. His hands nervously rub against each other and he’s tapping his foot on the carpet. I run my fingers along the fabric of the sofa I’m sitting on. That scuff is still there.

“What?” I finally ask. I heard what Dad said perfectly, but I need him to say it again so that I know my mind isn’t just playing some horrible trick on me.

“The last thing I want to do is upset you, Effie, and you know I’d hate to make you uncomfortable in your own home. Gwen has nowhere else to go though, darling, and her husband’s been awful to her late--”

“No.” I grit my teeth. “I’m sorry, but no way is that woman living here.”

“We don’t have a choice.” The softness of Dad’s voice makes me want to puke.

“Um, yes we do, Dad. She doesn’t have to live here.”

What does he expect? He just told me his girlfriend---the reason Mum’s life has been distorted out of shape--is moving into this house. My house. He can’t honestly expect me to be okay with that. I scan Dad’s face in hope of finding something that implies he’s kidding, but I know all too well that he’s dead serious. His lips are pressed into a thin line, just like every other time he’s been serious about something.

Dad sighs. He drops his head into his hands and his heavy breath is the only sound to be heard. When he looks up again his eyes are bloodshot, and for the first time in my life I think I might see my Dad cry. He clears his throat, stands up, and moves across the living room to sit next to me. I shuffle away from him. He sighs again.

“Effie, I know all of this is my fault. I know I never should have cheated on your mum, and I know I should have just told her I wanted to separate before anything happened with Gwen.” I try to interrupt him, but he hushes me. “But even parents make mistakes. Even parents can be careless, and stupid, and immature. We're the most careless, stupid, and immature people out there. I loved your mum. I really, really did. Something just went wrong along the way, and I was too scared to try and fix it. I just let everything build up until it came crashing back down, and I cannot tell you how much I hate myself for that. I want to make everything okay again so desperately, and I’m trying, Effie. I’m really trying.”

“What part of Gwen moving in is trying, Dad?” I snap.

“She and I are in a relationship, and in the long run you have to get used to that.”

I clamp my mouth shut, partly because I know what he’s saying is true. I don’t want to have to get used to anything though. I just want everything the way it was before. Gwen has visited the house occasionally, but I’ve made myself scarce every time. I’ve never spoken to the woman before, and now she’s going to be living in my house.

“Look, we’ll stay out of your way as much as we can, and Gwen will be here as little as possible. I don’t expect you to play happy families with her, and I don’t expect you to even acknowledge her when she’s here. I know that’ll come in your own time.” Dad looks up at me, and there’s a hint of desperation in his eyes. “Gwen doesn’t have enough money to get her own place and her friends and family have no space in their houses for her. Please just try and understand why she needs to stay here for a while.”

I understand. Understanding isn’t the problem. Accepting the fact that the woman Dad cheated on Mum with is going to be living in the same house as me is the problem. Accepting the fact she’ll be cooking food in Mum’s oven, watching the TV Mum used to watch, showering in the same shower Mum used to use, and sleeping where Mum once slept. That’s the problem. My teeth are still gritted, and I can feel something starting to bubble inside the pit of my stomach.

I need to get out of this house.

“I’m going for a walk,” I mutter as I stand up.

I hadn’t noticed until now but I’m warm. I’m really bloody warm. I’m even sweating a little. I leave the living room, and Dad follows. There are blank spaces on the walls where photos of Mum and Dad once were, and it’s impossible to ignore the space right next to the front door where their wedding photo was. The whole hallway looks empty, not just the walls.

“Effie, please just talk to me. Look, I’ll--I’ll call Gwen and ask if she can stay at a hotel for a few days or something until you get used to the idea, please just don’t--”

“Dad, it’s fine!” I don’t mean to, but I shout. “It’s fine… I just… I just need to walk for a bit, okay?”

Dad says nothing. He nods his head, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so defeated. His grey hair has never looked so dull as he gazes at me with exhaustion. Dad’s usually bright blue eyes are the one thing I’m glad I inherited from him, and it unnerves me to think mine probably have the same tired look in them right now. I force a tiny smile as if I’m trying to apologise to him--for what, I don’t know--and head out the door.

I try keeping my mind clear of any thoughts throughout my walk, especially ones related to Dad. Mum texts me asking if I want to visit her at her friend's after college on Monday, but I don't respond. I'm trying hard to just shove anything parent related out of my mind right now. Dad's still refusing to leave the house, so I only ever visit Mum for a few hours every other day at her friend's place. Every time I see her it's like she's waiting for me to break down, and I know I won't. I can't. And it's horrible because the expectant look she has on her face every time I visit her makes me want to visit less and less, just so I don't have to see it.

I’m on the outskirts of Pontcanna when I realise where I am. I stop beside a recognisable bus stop, and stare at a turn in the road ahead of me. Screw it, I think. It’s not like I have anywhere better to go. I pick up my pace and head for the turning that leads to Preston’s house. Anything to keep me away from my own house for a bit longer.

As I turn into his street there’s a curly-haired boy riding a cherry coloured bicycle along the pavement. He has the darkest hair I’ve ever seen, and as I catch his eyes he smiles at me to show a set of teeth like piano keys. I hesitate. I'm sure I recognise him. Before my thoughts can go much further he turns away and carries on cycling. Preston’s neighbour is on the driveway washing his car, and as I approach the middle-aged man, he glares at me as if I’m the sole reason his car is dirty and he has to clean it in the middle of a cold January afternoon. The boy on the bike whizzes past me on the pavement. He laughs. Once he’s passed I pace down the driveway and knock on the front door. It’s closed, and I’m not sure what to make of that.

I wait a few minutes, but there’s no answer. There are two cars on the driveway so I can’t imagine no one’s in. Whenever I’ve been here before, in fact, there hasn’t been a single car on the driveway. I knock the front door again. This time I can see movement through the glass in the door, and I step back slightly as it opens. A middle-aged woman, who I can only assume is Preston’s mother, stands in front of me with a puzzled expression on her face. Her hair looks like it’s meant to be a blonde colour, but it’s more of a bland grey.

“Um, hey, is Preston there?” I ask.

The woman raises her eyebrows and mutters something inaudible under her breath. “Preston Maddox?”

I nod a reply.

“Preston Maddox doesn’t live here, I can assure you of that.” Someone calls from inside the house, and the woman glances behind her. She turns back to me. “Look, if you're friends with that boy I'd suggest you cut ties with him immediately. He doesn’t have a good bone in his body.”

I open my mouth to say something, but the door is slammed in my face before I can even blink. What the hell just happened?

I don’t move for at least five minutes. Instead, I stand perfectly still on the front porch and stare at the white door. Of course Preston lives here. I’ve been inside the house twice, and I’ve collected work books from him here plenty of other times. He’s thrown a house party here, for Pete’s sake. And geez, what has he done to that woman that makes her hate him so much? How does she even know him?

When I finally start making my way back up the driveway, questions are buzzing around my head like insects I can’t swat. At least it’s taken my mind off Dad, but Jesus, I don’t think I’ve ever been more confused in my life. I’m so perplexed in my thoughts that I don’t notice at first when someone calls after me. It’s only when I reach the end of Preston’s street do I take notice of the voice. I turn around at the sound of it.

“Hey, girl!” It’s the boy with the bike. He cycles over and stops beside me. His face is flushed and he catches his breath for a few moments. “What’s your name?”

“Um, it’s Effie.”

The boy tilts his head as if trying to recall something. He scans me with his dark eyes, shakes his head, then perks up again. “I’m Matty. Are you looking for Preston?”

I nod slowly.

Matty flashes me his pristinely white teeth again. “Follow me.”

Partly because I desperately need to make some sense of this craziness, and partly because I’ll do anything to keep away from home, I do just that.

About twenty minutes later Matty has led me over the River Taff, past Cardiff museum and through Cathays train station. I don’t know how the boy has so much energy. He can’t be any older than ten, and I’ve no idea where the kid’s parents are. We’ve just entered Cathays when Matty rests his bike against the crumbled wall of a rather dreary looking house. There’s nothing to see besides rows upon rows of terraced housing, and the overcast sky makes the bland colours they’re painted in hard to ignore. The contrast between these dingy houses and the grand ones in Pontcanna unnerves me slightly, and the terraced one we’re standing beside is boarded up. The front door is wide open, but it doesn’t look like a soul has stepped foot in it for years. Despite that, Matty cheerfully skips up the overgrown pathway and heads straight into the house.

I stare at the doorway in bewilderment without moving an inch. That is until I realise a little boy has just wandered into a boarded up house that is as creepy as shit, and looks like it could eat him alive. I curse under my breath. Why do I always manage to get myself into these stupid situations? I sigh and run into the house after Matty.

Once I’m inside there’s no sign of anyone, or anything for that matter. The narrow hallway is completely empty. There’s a window beside the door letting in some much needed light, but other than that, it’s dark. I scrunch my nose as the bland smell of dust overrides my senses, and I notice a stairway to my left. There seem to be five doors on this floor, all of which are closed. There are no decorations on the wall, no colours, and nothing that even suggests any sign of life. My heart feels like it’s beating in my head, and my breaths are slow and heavy. I swallow.

“Matty?”

Nothing but a slight echo, followed by silence.

“Matty!”

There’s panic in my voice this time. I call again. Still nothing. I call again, and again, and again, but not a single shout gets any kind of response. My forehead’s starting to sweat now. I move my fringe off it, and wipe it with the sleeve of my jacket. Maybe all this is just bad karma. I mean, I did follow a random kid to the other side of town, and I’m sure that can be classed as kidnapping in one way or another. I call Matty’s name again. Nothing. For once in my life, could I not be so bloody impulsive?

My best bet is to try the stairs. I take a deep breath in preparation but just end up inhaling a load of dust. I cough manically until my throat’s so dry that I can’t splutter anymore. Focus, I think to myself as I gain back my composure. As I approach the stairs I notice a small metal lamp tucked away at the bottom of them. It’s hardly an ideal weapon, and if there was anything dangerous in here it surely would have sprung on me by now, but I pick it up anyway. I take the lampshade off to make it easier for me to swing it at anything if need be it. Making sure not to inhale deeply this time, I make my way upstairs. Each step creaks as my feet land on it.

I pause when I reach the top. There’s a muffling sound. Is that a TV? Radio maybe? I listen for a few more seconds. It’s music. There are only two doors on this floor, and I figure the music is too muffled to be coming from the one a few steps to my left. There is as little decoration here as there was downstairs, although the smell of dust has almost vanished. The walls and floor don’t look as murky either.

“Matty!” I call again, but as expected, there’s no response.

I’ve got to risk it. With the lamp tight in my grasp I tip-toe towards the door the music’s coming from. I have to bite my tongue as I approach it because I’m scared that if I don’t, my heart will catapult out of my mouth. I swallow. Just a few more steps. I’m struggling to keep hold of the lamp because my hands are sweating. The music is loud but I can’t concentrate on what’s playing. Once I’m inches away from the door I lift the lamp above my head in preparation, and reach for the handle. I shut my eyes and breathe out slowly.

“Okay, after three,” I mutter to myself. “One… Two… Th--”

The door suddenly swings open. I scream, clamp my eyes shut, and drive the lamp forward. It slams against something hard and it’s not until I hear a thud that I open my eyes.

That’s being less impulsive down the drain them.

I slap my hand over my mouth and drop the lamp onto the wooden floor. It lands with a bang. Lying in the doorway in front of me is Preston. His eyes are shut and there’s a small trail of blood running down his left temple. My hand’s still covering my mouth when I lift my head back up, and standing a few feet behind Preston is a wide-eyed Matty.

I quickly kneel down. “Hey?” I shake Preston’s arm, but get no response. “Preston? Hey? Wake up… C’mon, I really don’t think death by lamp is your preferred way to go.”

I stay down and shake him for a good few minutes until he finally begins stirring. A long breath I hadn’t even realised I’d inhaled escapes my mouth, and I glance back up at Matty. His head is tilted as he stares at Preston on the floor. I’d expected him to freak out--I mean, he did just see a girl he’s only just met knock someone unconscious--but all I see on his face is curiosity. Preston grunts from the floor, and as I turn back to him his eyelids begin fluttering open. Thank God for that.

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