Prologue - The accident

Ten minutes, just ten more minutes, I thought.  That was all I would give my mother before ringing home again.  I sat perched on the edge of the wall, hands on my lap, the strap of my bag held tightly within my hands, as I watched the passing traffic. A single droplet of water made its way down my face, stopping at my chin, before dripping down onto my hands. I stare briefly at the droplet before turning my attention back to the road as I scan it again for my mother’s green hatchback.  It’s not the best car in the world, but as my mother always said, as longs as it gets me from A to B, then she is happy. 

I let out a long sigh, wishing my mother would hurry up.  I regretted not drying my hair, like my best friend Wendy suggested half an hour ago. How I wished to be sat buckled up in the car, and deep in conversation about mindless chatter with my mother.  We could talk about anything and everything.  It was one thing I loved about my mother, she understood me.  However today I wanted to talk to her about something private, and not something I wanted to discuss at home where we were rarely alone. 

Today would give me the opportunity to ask about the changes to my body. A smile crept on my face, changes, more like lack of changes.  I want to know why I am so behind the other girls, who are sprouting those enormous breasts.  Where are mine?  I screamed.  I let out another sigh, and turned my attention back to the road and the cars whizzing down the one-way carriage.

I inhaled deeply as the scent of chlorine hit me.  I would have to shower when I got home.  Wendy, my best friend suggested I wash it, but I disagreed.  After all, I wanted to wave her off when her parents collected her.  Usually we would have caught the bus home, but Wendy and her family where off to see visit her grandparents. She tried hard to get out of it, but her parents were having none of it.  I rolled my eyes.  My parents were the same.  We would all have to go and visit, unless of course one of us was ill.  Then it was acceptable to remain at home.

How I wished to be sat inside the warmth of the car. Chatting with the one person who understood me, instead I remained on the wall as the wind whipped at my face, causing me to shudder. 

Sighing again, I wrapped my arms around her body to keep myself warm.  Come on mum, where are you?  I stood, releasing the bag from my hand, allowing it to fall freely to the floor.  I stood hovering from one foot to the other.  As if the weather knew my hair remained damp, the wind increased, toying with me. 

Still no sign of my mother, I sat back down, shuffling on the cold brick wall, wishing Wendy had not had to go and leave me.  

Five more minutes passed.

“Come on Mum,” I muttered to myself, craning my neck to check down the road for her again.  I rolled my emerald-green eyes.  It was not like her mother to be this late. 

I watched the cars pass by, weaving from lane to lane, one caught my eye, a blue van weaving across each lane, causing cars to honk their horns.  I was shocked at the vans behaviour, watching it as it turned left at the end of the road and disappeared from my view.  I scanned the road once again, still no sign. This was not happening.  So unlike my mother, I debated ringing home, but that meant leaving the meeting point and going back into the swimming pools entrance where the phone sat on the wall. I decided to wait.

I began counting red cars, a game we often played on long journeys. After counting fifteen in a row, I sighed once again.  This was beyond the joke, where was she? I stood once again, frowning, as I noted another blue van, no, it was the same blue van.  It switched lanes, again and then again.  I shook my head; the driver of the car was all over the place.  If the driver was not careful he would cause an accident.  It was then I noted my mother’s car approaching me.  I saw her wave, and smiled as our eyes locked.  Then as if in slow motion, the most horrific scene played out before my eyes.  The van switched lanes once again, right into my mother’s path.  She had not time to react, the look on her face as she stepped on the brakes, but it was too late, the car ploughed into the van at such speed she had no time to react.  I watched my mother fly forward.  I closed my eyes, not wanting to see the scene continue to play out.  I swallowed hard hearing metal on metal, as screams filled the air.  It was then I realised it was me who was screaming. I opened my eyes, as the scene came into focus, the two mangled vehicles, and one my mothers.  I did not want to believe what I saw.  It could not be real.  I was daydreaming, wasn’t I?

I stood rooted to the spot as I watched a fire engine; the police and an ambulance arrive.  They all rushed to my mother’s aid.  My bottom lip trembled, and tears trickled down my cheeks. Taking a deep breath, I shuffled forward, my legs like jelly.  Approaching the scene, I witnessed them remove my mother from the car, and place a white sheet over her.

“Mum,” I whimpered.

A police officer stepped before me. “Keep back,” he instructed. 

“Mum,” I screamed, “that’s my mum.”

 

Three days later, the death of my mother still did not feel real.  I saw constant flashes of the accident. It was all my fault my mother was dead.  I knew it was, no matter what my family told me. I was to blame. If I had not needed a lift home, my mother would still be alive. I swallowed, as the anger inside built up.   I refused to leave my room; I had not eaten since my father brought me home from the hospital. 

Even my best friend, Wendy could not entice me out.  My mother was dead; nothing would be the same again.  I lay on the bed, playing the what-if game, if my mother did not pick me up, or I rode the bus home; she would still be alive.  Sally, my younger sister would not be lost, and my brother would not blame me.  I stood, tears streaming down my face, snot mingled with falling tears as I stormed across the room. I was angry, my anger exploded, as I took it out on every poster on the wall, destroying them in seconds.  

Sitting among the debris of paper, I cried, more tears trickled down my reddened cheeks.  It was not Joshua’s fault.  Scooping the pieces up, I laid them on the bed.  The posters beyond repair, I fell back on the bed with a fist full of Joshua Lawson. He was my favourite character from the show Victor.  I lay looking up at the only poster of him that survived.  The one on her ceiling.  His face staring down at me, smiling, I closed her eyes.

            Joshua takes one-step towards me.  He pulls me into a hug and whispers in my ear.

            “It will be okay; I will be here for you, always.  It’s not your fault, remember that.”

           

 

 

   

Reviews

[Dr. Wood ?]

I am not Caroline...I started to read this and I noticed a few things that could be done to sharpen it up a tad...You mention Hands early on...A few too many times..And how do you talk ABOUT mindless chatter? And you describe Wendy as your best friend twice...Once is enough...I bet your glad you asked me to review it now...I hope you are not offended I will read the rest tomorrow. It is simply a matter of tightening it up...But I am a pupil too...not a tutor

[Sarah Hitchcock]

I am not offended, new eyes see new things. I have read it, edited so many times i no longer can see what needs fixing. I will make a note of the edits you pointed out, and fix asap. Thank you for reading. I look forward to hearing more of your thoughts. I know grammar is not my strong point, but I am getting better. Thanks again.

[Dr. Wood ?]

It is why we are here....

[Sarah Hitchcock]

Indeed it is, I learn new things every day. As I said, I have been working on this story for years now, and now this is the new version, and the 13th edit. I am trying it in first person, to see how I get on with it in this POV.

[Dr. Wood ?]

it needs a little more editing I'm afraid...You are brave to try it in the first person, I always struggle with that. But there is a passage where you slip out of that and say HER mother. It is a headache, I know, reading the same thing over and over but it has to be done. Ken Ward said to me once that it is a good idea to treat each chapter as the finished article. Hone each one before yo go on to the next...It CAN be a big help.

[Sarah Hitchcock]

Problem with that is I would never get to the next one. However I prefer to write the novel in the first draft, edit it once through, fixing typos, and then take each one at a time. This one, has been my learning curve, as I have worked on it for so long that I no longer see the errors, which is another reason why I thought I would try first person. I will re-edit this asap, my mother is over tomorrow, sadly that means I dare not even turn the computer on. She hates it when I am on here, she knows I write and read the piece I read out the other week, and said I have improved, but that is as about as far as my family go in supporting me. If I had someone I knew to edit or help me with the editing that would be great, sadly I don't. I am alone in my journey. Thanks again, David. Will edit and update as soon as I can.

[Dr. Wood ?]

yeah it is a lonely old road...writing....As long as its not the road to nowhere eh? I have been advised to pay for editing my books...But you never know if you are paying out money for a pipe dream.....Confidence...That's what we need