Distraction: The Distraction Trilogy #1 (19 page)

It’s not my business; I should just go home.

Instead I find myself pulling up outside the same café I left not long ago, directly in front of the ambulance and police car.

I wait for a moment, just to see what’s going on as people leave their homes and stores and begin to gather around on the other side of the road. Many of them hold their hands to their lips, clearly as scared as I feel inside.

It’s not until a body is brought out on a stretcher minutes later, covered by blankets from head to toe, that I finally climb from the car and push past the paramedics and police officers. I ignore their orders and search for the poor girl. It’s wrong, I know it is, but I’m praying it’s not her under those blankets.

My entire body perspires with panic as I burst into the back room, desperate to see her fiery red hair and blazing eyes.

When I do, the relief that floods me is unbearable and before I can stop myself, I’m gathering the sobbing girl in my arms and holding her close.

I press my lips to her hair and whisper soft words to her as she clings to me, as if I’m her anchor.

“She’s dead… she just… died…” She hiccups into my chest, her entire body shaking. “I… we… I made coffee but…” Her fingers twist in my shirt as she holds me tighter still. Her entire body sinks into mine as if she wants me to absorb her, to shelter her from the pain and shock. I don’t know what to do or what to say, so I only hold her and hope it helps in some small way.

“I’m so sorry, Elle,” I say hopelessly. I feel useless. I feel so fucking useless. “I am so sorry.”

She sobs again and nuzzles her forehead into my neck. I don’t let her go. I know it’s not appropriate, but at this point I don’t give a fuck.

“I’m taking her home,” I say to the officer by the door.

“No need, I’m here.” It’s a man I recognise as the one in the group of parents I scared, the one who screamed and stumbled into the other man. He looks at me curiously and I can see he wants to ask who the hell I am, but he doesn’t. Instead he pulls a reluctant Eloise away from me and guides her from the café, with his arm around her shoulders. “Thank you…” He says to me over his shoulder, before leading her to his car.

I follow them onto the sidewalk, my heart breaking with every sob I hear leave that poor girl’s mouth.

I don’t hang around; there’s no point. The police can handle it from here.

I can’t believe Crystal is dead. She’s been a solid member in this town since way before I was born. That woman was alive during the Second World War.

This is a tragedy that is going to affect everyone. It tears at my heart.

*****

There’s a strange quiet through the school come Monday when everyone returns. Everybody, as expected, seems to be shocked by the death of such a beloved member of the community.

Eloise doesn’t show up for class and I’m not surprised. The poor girl needs time to mourn and grieve.

Hayley, the forever happy go lucky girl, looks depressed. She stares blankly at her paper throughout the entire lesson, only moving when the bell rings.

I pull her to the side as the class filters out through the door, as silent as they were when they came in. “How is she?” I ask again, not caring if she finds it inappropriate.

“She’s…” She lets out a breath and shakes her head. “She’s not good. She’s heartbroken.”

I nod because I don’t know what to say. “Will you…” Will she what? Send her my love? My condolences?

“I’ll tell her you asked after her,” Hayley mutters, shifting her bag up her shoulder.

“Is she coping?”

“She’s coping better than most, considering…” She shifts on the spot and looks up at me with teary eyes. “She wanted to come in today, but her parents wouldn’t let her. They said she needs time to heal.”

I frown. That doesn’t sound like something Eloise needs. “She’s tenacious and determined. I doubt sitting around an empty house will help her heal.”

Hayley blinks in surprise. “That’s exactly what I said. Her parents don’t know her as well as they’d like to.”

“Whose parents do?”

Her lips tilt up in a smile. “Yeah… at least somebody gets it. Thanks, Mr Price. I’ll pass your condolences on.”

“Please do, and my mother’s and father’s.”

She smiles a sad smile again and leaves the room, dragging her feet as she goes.

Eloise

I look at my room, which I’ve moved around for the third time since this morning. It doesn’t seem right, no matter the layout.

My mum comes and goes, bringing me drink after drink that never get drunk, yet she still comes up half an hour later with a fresh one and takes my old one away. I know she’s trying to help, but keeping me cooped up isn’t helping. Not at all.

My dad came and lay with me last night; it was nice. He hasn’t done that since I was small and I appreciated it until he fell asleep and kicked me out of my own bed.

I know they mean well and that’s the only thing stopping me from screaming at them both to leave me alone.

I need to get out. I need to go for a walk. I don’t need to be left to grieve with nothing but my thoughts. I need to go to Crystal’s and fire up the ancient coffee machine. I need to… I need to breathe.

My eyes sting as they try to produce tears, but it’s impossible. I’ve cried so much I’m not sure I can anymore.

It’s all such a blur. I can barely recall the night in question, yet at the same time flashbacks haunt my thoughts and dreams. My mind can’t piece it all together, so it bombards me with images and feelings.

I shake myself off and rub my swollen eyes. I need to get out of this house.

Sitting at the top of the stairs, I listen to my parents talk about Crystal’s funeral, which is on Saturday. Her family have come home and arranged everything. Even though they didn’t visit often, they loved the old woman and knew her well, so I imagine her funeral is going to be exactly as she wanted it. At least I hope it is.

“Elle?” My mum calls up the stairs, startled when she sees me sat on the top step. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Not really.”

“Will you please try to eat something?”

I relent and stand slowly before descending the stairs. “What are we having?”

“I made lamb chops and minted potatoes.”

My stomach rumbles in protest, not relishing the thought of being filled with something so heavy. I don’t tell her this though. Instead I follow her into the kitchen, happy for a job to do.

Isaac

I’m shocked at how many people have turned up to Crystal’s funeral. There are so many people the church couldn’t fit them all in, so close friends and family are brought to the front as the rest of us stand at the back and some even outside.

The ceremony is beautiful, but I don’t pay much attention. I’m here to support my mum, Dad and students. I don’t do well in situations like this. I never know what to say or do. All I can do is offer my silent support and hope it’s enough.

Like a movie cliché, the sky cries large tears as the coffin is lowered into the ground. Many people speak their eulogies, all of them with different stories of the old lady they all loved dearly, but it’s Eloise’s I hold out for and pay attention to.

Hers is beautiful, well written and from the heart. Her tears are of joy and mixed with sad laughter as she shares tales of the woman who was closer than a grandmother to her. I watch her beautiful eyes close whenever she breathes at the end of a sentence and I know she’s picturing the old lady in her mind.

Everybody throws dirt and roses onto the coffin when it sinks to the bottom, but Eloise throws coffee beans and places a bottle of Baileys onto the closed lid. It makes people smile. No matter how sad the occasion, they know Crystal would definitely appreciate the parting gift.

It surprises me that only a young girl would have been so brave as to add those to the burial.

I take my side beside my mum and dad. My mum weeps silently as Eloise says her final words and looks for her friends in the crowds. My mum holds out her hand to her and she doesn’t hesitate to move in between us.

I lean towards her, sheltering her with my umbrella as Crystal’s daughter says her piece and drops a few pictures onto the casket.

I’m not sure why Eloise decided to stand with my family. I can see her parents looking over this way with confused looks on their faces before her father’s eyes come to me and narrow. He’s curious, but I’ve done nothing wrong so I won’t feel threatened by his looks of accusation.

My father hands Eloise a handkerchief and she takes it with a small smile, using it to stop the tears under her eyes before they can travel down her rosy cheeks.

The crowd gets tighter as the vicar speaks the final words and Eloise places the handkerchief into the pocket of her black tunic dress. I feel her fingers bump my leg when I move closer still, trying to avoid being pressed against from behind.

I hear her breath come out in a staggered gasp. I know she’s trying not to cry and the need to comfort her fills me.

I’m not sure what comes over me, or why I do what I do. All I know is that when I bump my pinkie finger with hers, there’s no other choice. She turns her hand discreetly, the backs of her fingers caressing the backs of mine.

Such a simple move creates such a dark feeling within and my heart pounds in my throat as I make the only move I can think of making. I slide my fingers across the palm of her hand, looking at her profile through the corner of my eye. I see her eyes flutter closed and barely fight the urge to allow my own eyes to do the same.

I run my fingers along the gaps of hers until she parts them and, when she does, it’s all her. She slides them closed, clasping the back of my hand with her fingertips. My body throbs and heats and suddenly the sad moment we’re part of flutters away when our palms clasp together and our hands are locked in a tight embrace.

Nobody around the open grave can see because of the people sat in front of us and everybody behind us are too close to tell.

For some reason I don’t even care if they do see. In this moment, at this time, I don’t feel fear of judgement. The only thing I feel is her body, her hand, her pulse thrumming with my own. I don’t know why I feel this way and I don’t look into it either, because the only fear I do have is that I’ll have to make it stop.

I don’t ever want it to stop.

Ever.

Eloise

I sit in silence with Hayley at the wake. It’s being held in the café and everybody is drinking Irish coffee made by myself and the rest of the staff. I don’t know how to feel about being back here, in the place she died. The place I found her dead.

I think the only solace that this place now brings is the memory that in her last few moments, I was with her. She wasn’t alone. She may have been alone when she drifted into a world I’ll see myself one day, but she wasn’t alone before she drifted and I was the one with her.

Everybody is a lot happier. I don’t blame them for it. I want them to smile during her final goodbye. I just don’t have the energy right now.

I keep my eyes on my cup, listening to the loud chatter and occasional laughter. Nobody tries to talk to me. I don’t think they know how. I’m not sure how to deal with this. I’ve never lost anybody close to me before and I don’t know how to handle the feelings that it brings.

I can’t stop repeating these words in my mind: ‘I’m never going to see her again.’ They keep spinning around and around and no matter what I do to distract myself, it doesn’t take away the pain or the reality of it.

We weren’t related, but I saw her four days a week. She cared for me. I’ve known her my whole life.

I feel eyes burning into me from the corner of the room. I raise my own to find the source of the stare and falter when I realise its Isaac. He’s looking at me with no small amount of concern and something I don’t quite understand.

I look away. I don’t have the energy to figure out what it is that seems to be passing between the two of us. I’m sick of him trying to save me, holding my hand, looking after me because he thought I was pregnant… it’s too much. He’s messing with my head in ways I don’t need and frankly I think he should know better.

He’s my teacher and nothing more.

“I’m going home,” I say to Hayley and my parents. “I just need this day to be over.”

“I’ll drive you.” Mum stands, but I shake my head.

“Alone. I need to walk.”

“Babe.” She takes my hand, but I pull free and, after saying goodbye to Crystal’s family, I exit the café, ignoring the cold against my bare arms and thinly covered legs.

The fresh air is great and the alone time is even better.

I walk along the street, taking care to cross the road I almost died on the first time I ever met Isaac.

The streets are empty, save for the odd car driving by. I feel isolated, but not in a bad way. I can practically feel Crystal’s hands gripping my shoulders. She’s trying to shake some sense into me, no doubt appalled at my display of self-pity on her behalf.

I detour through the park, running my fingers across the rough surfaces of the trees as I go, before finally sitting on a small bench that overlooks the pitiful pond that doesn’t seem big enough to hold more than a dozen fish.

“You’re following me,” I say, frowning slightly as a suit jacket is draped over my shoulders and Isaac takes the seat beside me.

“I’m worried about you,” he admits, keeping his distance.

Part of me wishes he’d sit closer so I can rest my head on his shoulder and nap. “I’ll be okay tomorrow. It’s from being cooped up all week. My parents mean well, but they…” I look up at the grey sky and shiver at the chill in the air. “Have been so fucking stifling.”

“Hayley said.” He crosses his legs at the ankles and rests an arm along the back of the bench. “Would you like me to leave you alone? If you feel uncomfortable just say.”

I guide my eyes to him, happy to see he’s staring ahead at the pitiful pond and not at me. “I don’t.” His eyes finally come to mine and his fingertips reach out and tangle in the ends of my hair. He delicately slides a thin lock between his forefinger and middle finger. I’m not even sure that he knows he’s doing it. “Are you okay?”

“I didn’t know Crystal like you did.”

“That’s not what I asked.” I shuffle closer, only until I feel the tips of his fingers graze my neck.

“I’m fine. I haven’t really been able to concentrate on much as of late. I’ve just been offering silent support.”

His fingers slide across the hairs at the nape of my neck and draw delicate circles there. I want to slump my head forward at the feeling that’s oh so relaxing. “Why haven’t you been able to concentrate?”

He clears his throat, uncrossing and then crossing his legs. His hand immediately scratches at his neck as the hand at my neck presses harder, massaging deeper. When he doesn’t respond, I turn back to stare at the pond, wondering why something so wrong and taboo feels so nice.

“It’s cold. You should go home. It’ll be dark soon.”

“I can’t go back there, not yet.”

“Then I’ll sit with you until you do.”

“If you’re cold, you can go. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.”

“That doesn’t mean you should always have to.” He shifts closer, removing his hand from my neck. Using his other hand, he places his finger and thumb on my chin and turns my face his way. “Do you want to be alone?”

My heart speeds and races in my chest. Gulp. “No.”

“Do you want to be here with someone else?”

My breath catches and my eyes widen as the sky seems to darken from its light grey to almost darkness. “No.”

“Then I’m staying.” He scans my face with his eyes for any sign of a lie before resting back in his seat, his arm almost touching mine. For a moment there I thought he was going to kiss me. I thought he wanted to.

We sit in comfortable silence for a long time, until the sun finally goes to bed and the moon begins to peek between broken clouds. His hand that was at my neck rests beside mine. He places his pinkie finger over my own in a small gesture of comfort. It’s all I need to feel warm beside him.

“Can I drive you home?” He asks after a long silence.

I shake my head. “No, I’m going to walk. It’s only around the corner.” I stand and hold out his jacket, but he doesn’t take it. Instead he pulls it back around my shoulders and buttons it up at the front.

“If you’re going to be stubborn, then you can at least be warm during the process.” He winks and smiles through the dark, only a streetlight in the distance keeping him illuminated enough for me to see his features. “Goodnight, Elle.”

“Goodnight, Isaac.” I walk away, cutting through the park with my face buried in the collar of his jacket. He smells so good.

Isaac

Monday morning arrives and it seems everybody has cheered up a bit. I’m glad to see Eloise enter the classroom with a small smile on her face. I notice an extra bag in her hand and guess immediately that it’s my jacket.

I command the class’ attention to start and run them through today’s lesson. They listen, but half of them only do some of the work, as expected. It won’t be my fault if they fail at the end of the year.

“Sir?” Hayley raises her hand and motions me over. I move to her desk and help her work through two questions that both she and Elle are having trouble with. That same rhubarb scent makes my mouth water and I barely find the willpower to move away from the table, although I do leave Elle a small gift as I pass: the belt loop she tore a while ago.

She takes it in hand discreetly, silent laughter spilling from her. When she looks at me, I smile back, enjoying the joy that twinkles in her eyes.

“What?” Hayley hisses at her friend. “What’s so funny?”

Eloise shakes her head and leans back over her work, but every so often she looks at me and, when she does, I make a note of the pink that colours her cheeks. It makes me smile a secret smile.

The students must think I’m insane.

At the end of the lesson, Eloise hangs back. As expected, she leaves the bag beside my desk and, without even saying goodbye, she skips out of my classroom.

Inside I find my jacket in a protective plastic sheet with a note that reads,

‘Dry cleaned and ironed, so don’t fold.’

Beneath it sits a tub holding my favourite sandwich, the same one she shared with me on the first day. Inside the tub, left on top of the wrapped sandwich, sits another note, which reads,

‘Do you ever eat lunch? EAT!’

Chuckling to myself, I do as I’ve been told and devour the sandwich with more enthusiasm than I thought myself capable of.

It’s not until I get home and place the jacket in my wardrobe that I find the denim belt loop sitting at the bottom of the bag with another note. This one really gets my attention.

‘I don’t need to be rescued, but I’m grateful for your help all the same.’

I stare at the note, slightly perplexed at its meaning, but then I remember what she said when I confronted her about the pregnancy that never was.
“Is that the reason you’ve been nice to me this entire time? The lunch time study sessions, the rides home, the inviting me to your parents… it’s because you think I’m pregnant?”

She thinks I’m being nice because she’s having a hard time, which I am, obviously. I’m her teacher and I should care. I should be there for a student in need.