Chapter One of Tears For The Wicked

Chapter one to follow on from the prologue i have previously uploaded.

Chapter One

Present Day

The tall, end-terrace house was quiet and welcoming. It was nothing special; just an ordinary two-story building, an identical brother to those surrounding it. It stood stark and still next to its siblings; red brick soldiers on the frontline standing to attention.

I sighed quietly to myself and pulled a face as I looked up at my new home. It was nothing at all like the house I had grown up in. There was no front garden for a start and I would miss that. At our old home we would sit outside on the grass on a warm summer’s day in the big front garden and watch the world go by. The neighbours would come over to visit and have a chat, bringing homemade lemonade and tasty treats for us all to share and we would all just sit there, well into the early hours of the morning, enjoying each other’s company. It was a beautiful house situated in a quaint little cul-de-sac. It was quiet, traffic-free and it was lovely.

This house however, was very different. The green front door opened straight onto a thin pavement next to the busy road.

 How am I going to sleep with all this noise? I thought to myself. I had enough trouble sleeping as it was.

The building wasn’t especially pretty and I longed to be back in my beautiful old home with the pebble dashed walls that had gleamed a pinkish colour in the afternoon sunlight. I stood there for a moment, the edges of my pale blue dress swinging lazily in the whispering breeze. I held a large cardboard box in my hands, the words ‘Ella’s Room’ scrawled on all four sides in blue permanent marker. From behind me, I could hear my mother scrabbling about in the car. I turned around as she took a box, similar in size to the one I was holding, from the back seat of the small, red Fiat that was parked next to the crumbling curb. She walked up to me with the box, nudging my arm playfully and smiled sweetly at me.

“Come on Ella, it will be fine, don’t worry.” She soothed.

I didn’t agree with her at all but I smiled back anyway.

Mum was a very pretty woman; she had aged well so far, crow’s feet were only just starting to appear at the corners of her eyes. The only other wrinkles she had were faint lines around her mouth. Laughter lines I think they’re called. She still looked youthful; her blue eyes still looked as if they belong to an eighteen year old and not a woman in her late fifties. They had kept the same bright blue colour through the years and had never faded to grey like some do. Her bright red hair was the same. It was still full of natural colour and had never been dyed. She had not even gotten her first grey hair yet. Well, that’s what she told me anyway. I smiled to myself, I bet she pulled them out really and just never told anyone.

I followed my mother into the house; she turned and smiled at me for some reason. Maybe it was because she was still excited about the new house or something. Whatever the reason, it was good to see her smile for a change.

 After losing my dear, beloved father two years ago, we were both still grieving. It was a little easier to breathe now but I still had the anxiety attacks and the painful heartache from time to time  and wow was it painful, I never realised that losing someone you loved could hurt just as much physically as it did mentally. I had managed to stop myself from going crazy with the thought that my father was at peace now and that he was free from pain.

It had happened so quickly, the angels decided that he was needed more urgently somewhere else and carried him away at the tender age of forty two. I had found it weird because he had always said that he would die in his forties. Maybe he was psychic. His Romany grandmother had apparently been gifted so maybe he had inherited that gift from her. I don’t like to think about the fact that he may have known when he would die. It wasn’t a nice thought.

 Anyway, neither mum nor I had expected to get that awful phone call from dad’s workplace on that cold October evening.

A fluke accident his boss had called it and our family was paid off quickly and quietly with a large lump sum.

With the money, my mother Jan and I tried to get on with our lives but the extra cash didn’t make a difference and it was still just as hard to cope with the loss as it was when we had less money.

Eventually, I met Jack. He was, by all accounts, my dream man, my soul mate and my very own rock god; I had told my friends that he was a blessing sent down from my father.

 I could finally start to feel positive again, my only regret being that my father would never meet this wonderful man. We were married last winter amidst a beautiful snow storm in a small but meaningful ceremony. Life started to get better again. I still struggled with anxiety and depression though so my over caring and rather nosey mother and husband decided that it would be best to sell our home, the one that I had lived in from birth, and move. Not just to a new house but to a new town as well. The hope was that a fresh start would help us with our grief.  To be honest I would have preferred to stay put.

I had been very annoyed with the both of them but I knew that I was out voted on that one so there was no point in causing a fuss. I had kept my thoughts to myself and quietly packed up my memories into cardboard boxes. I chuckled to myself as I thought about it now, both my mother and my husband were such busy-bodies but they did mean well.

 After discussing where about in the kitchen to put the dining table; my mother could never decide on such things, and then where the cockatiel and his cage should go, I took the box that I was still holding up the steep, carpet-less, narrow staircase and into my new room. I placed it onto my bed, there was no linen on it yet, and just a thick mattress lying on top of the wooden skeleton, the planks looked old and haggard but were still as strong as they had always been.

I sat on the bed and looked around the room. Most of my furniture was already in place thanks to Jack and the moving company and mum had painted the walls in a fresh ivory for now until Jack and I had time to decorate it in our own style. The only thing left to do were the finishing touches, most of which were concealed in the box that sat in front of me on the bed. I opened it carefully, one flimsy cardboard flap at a time and reached in with my hand. I brought it out again a moment later, my slender fingers clutching the small silver picture frame that held the cherished photograph of my father. I smiled at the man in the photo and he smiled right back at me. Hip flask in one hand and cigarette in the other, held up between two fingers as he made the peace sign. His wool sweater was a size too big, slightly baggy around his shoulders. I looked at his face; he was such a handsome man.

People would always call him Elvis due to the fact that he looked, dressed and styled his hair like Elvis Presley. He could sing like Elvis too and sounded so much like him. He even died at the same age as him, another strange thing about the age he was when he died.

In the photograph, dad had an enormous Cheshire cat grin on his face that would remain there forever.  Frozen in time.

I placed the frame tenderly on my bedside table next to the navy blue porcelain lamp and the picture of me and Jack together on our first ever date. I stroked my father’s frame gently.

“Love you always Dad.”

I glanced at the other picture, the one of myself and Jack. He was pulling a ridiculous face being a joker as usual. I giggled as the fond memories of that night came flooding back to me. We had gone to an old, run-down circus where everything that could possibly go wrong did. It was absolute chaos, horses broke free, escaping through the streets and those poor clowns; who ever had thought of trying to stick eight clowns in one cannon was a good idea should have done some serious thinking about it before hand.  It had taken the rather amused fire brigade a good three hours to free them all after they had gotten jammed in there. Jack and his sick sense of humour had found it hilarious. I looked at his face in the photograph and smiled.

“And I love you too, you big dope,” I chuckled.

Feeling a little better, I left the box on the bed to walk over to my antique dressing table. It was my favourite wedding present from my newly acquired and very nice mother-in-law. The huge mirror was framed by twisting ivy leaves carved from solid ebony and the drawer handles were ivy leaves too but made from shining brass. I sat down on the little stool and opened the first drawer pulling out my hair brush, tidying my long, midnight hair and tying it back into a loose braid. My hair wasn’t naturally black but I dyed it that colour because in my opinion it suited me better. My father’s side of the family all had natural black hair and with mum’s gorgeous red colour, you would think that my hair would be either of those colours or something in between, but it wasn’t. My natural hair colour was a dull, lifeless brown. Don’t get me wrong, some shades of brown are beautiful but mine was as plain as you could get.  I definitely preferred black. I think it suited my pale face, green eyes and ruby lips. I was going for the whole Snow White look and seeing as I was a little on the gothic side and was obsessed with vampires, it suited me down to a tee.

From down stairs came the sound of my mother moving back and forth frantically, huffing and puffing and cursing as she became stressed over where every item should be placed. I sighed loudly; my mother was such a perfectionist with just a little touch of O.C.D. She could spend hours on a task that would usually take thirty minutes if she forgot take her meds.

“I’d better go help,” I muttered to my reflection in the mirror as I stood up.

I walked out of the room, turning to glance back at the two photographs on the bedside table as I closed the door behind me.

Reviews

[TBremmer]

Again, very nicely written. I would consider adding a little more dialogue in this piece. For instance, where she's commenting on her mom's hair, maybe have them discussing it. That could pick up the pace a bit, and depending on the tone of their conversation, set more of a definite mood. Also, the girl/lady, Ella, was a bit non-descript. She seemed like a little girl, to the point that I was wondering was she maybe the little girl from the prologue, reincarnated. Then I read she was married. You have a nice turn of phrase, and a definite ability with imagery. I look forward to reading more.

[BeeBev]

Thank you again for your review i like your ideas and agree with you. I will be adding a couple more chapters today so feel free to read them if you like and please let me know what you think.