Seven Days: The Complete Story

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Lindy Dale

A tear wells
and spills over, running down my cheek until it reaches the tip of
my nose. It drips onto my knee, making a tiny splash of liquid on
my skin and I smear it away with my finger.

A year. It’s
been a whole year and I still can’t get past the fact that I’m
alone in this world. An orphan. No family; no one who’ll come when
I call for help in the middle of the night. No one to tell me how
brilliant I am, even when I suck. Which I do. Often. Like right
now, for instance. Sitting here on the beach, howling like a baby.
That’s major suckage.

Sniffing back
the tears. I attempt to rally. I’m an adult, I tell myself. I
shouldn’t need the constant validation of those around me to prove
I am a worthy person. I can do life by myself. I don’t need a
mother.

Yeah,
right.

I sigh and
begin to cry again. While that might be true, it’s simply not the
point. The point is, I feel alone, abandoned, deserted. And even
though it’s been twelve months since Mum died, I’m especially lost
today, on the anniversary of her death.

I reach into
my pocket, pulling out a photo. It was taken the Christmas before
last on my auntie’s instant camera, one of those cool vintage ones
that are hip again. Mum and I standing in front of the old maple
tree in our garden. She has her arm around my shoulder like she’s
never going to let me go. I think about how Mum always loved that
tree. Every autumn when the leaves decorated the street and annoyed
the crap out of the neighbours, she loved it even more. It used to
make her laugh that Mr Jenson got so riled up he felt compelled to
rant while using his leaf blower. Nobody could hear a word he
said.

I run my
finger over the spot marking Mum’s face, studying it. I’ve looked
at this photo a hundred times, more even, yet I never saw until now
how alike Mum and I look. We have the same eyes, round and blue.
Our smile is identical, wide and friendly and sort of like Julia
Roberts in
Pretty Woman
. And our noses, well they most
definitely match, right down to the tiny bump on the bridge I hate
so much. Mum’s hair was darker than mine but that’s probably
because she used to dye it. Mine’s auburn if we’re being polite,
carroty red if we’re not.

It was the
middle of the night when I got the news that Mum was gone. I was in
the university bar celebrating the end of another year. The ting of
my phone interrupted me at the very moment I was about to make a
complete tit of myself — ironically — by taking off my t-shirt and
running around the bar with it over my head for a dare. I loathe
dares. I don’t like being out of control, not knowing what will
happen but, hey, we had one year to go. Two semesters of study.
Three practical placements. It was a big night. I’d also been the
recipient of just about every award for my year group. It didn’t
dawn on me until after the funeral that I had nobody to share my
achievements with anymore. Well, nobody to say how proud they were,
at any rate. Slamming back a few celebratory tequilas isn’t quite
the same thing.

As the news
was imparted, I remember dropping my phone and everything going
numb. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t make sense of what the voice had
said and it wasn’t because I’d had fifteen Dark and Stormy’s. My
ears simply lost their ability to hear and my brain to comprehend.
There’d been an accident. A body, believed to be my mother’s, had
been found washed up on the beach right near where I sat now.

That was the
night my life changed and not for the better.

I cross my
legs, watching grains of sand sift through my fingers. My tears
plop into the sand making a tiny well of water before they soak
beneath the surface. Mum’s gone. It’s been hard and today is
bringing it back all over again. The horror is as alive and well as
if it was happening right this minute.

“Excuse me? Is
this yours?”

I roll my eyes
inwardly, not wanting to lift my head. I don’t want to converse,
what I want is for whoever it is to leave me alone. Now. Talking is
too difficult today.

“Excuse
me?—”

The voice is
rather persistent.

“—It’s only
that it was almost in the water.” A shadow moves in front of me,
darkening the area around my legs. I look up into the sun squinting
to see its owner. Mum’s sunhat is in a stranger’s hand. It’s
covered in sand and the ribbon is dangling limply where it’s gotten
wet. I feel myself frowning. How did this man get my mother’s hat?
I’m positive I left it on the sand beside me. I glance down,
knowing of course, that it won’t be there and it’s not. Seriously,
I’m losing my mind. I am.

I nod.
“Yes.”

The man hands
the hat to me, his fingers touching mine as he does. His head tilts
slightly, like he’s waiting for something. Why doesn’t he leave?
Can’t he see I’m relishing in my own misery?

“Are you
okay?”

No. Go.
Away.

“Yes. Thank
you.”

“You’re
crying.”

Well, that’s
fairly obvious. I’m also feeling quite antisocial and if he doesn’t
leave I might have to explain that. Forcefully.

“It’s okay.
Really.”

“Is there
something I can do? Someone I can get to help you?”

Suddenly, my
silent tears turn to sobs. I don’t give a toss that I’m behaving
like this in front of a complete stranger because it’s his fault.
He talked about getting people to help and I have no one. I am
alone. Pulling my knees up to my chest, I put my forehead on them
to hide my face. I sob and sob, my crying making my shoulders heave
and leaving me breathless. My teeth chatter against my knees
because my chin is wobbling in an attempt to quell the tears.
They’re like those wind up joke teeth you buy from the party shop
they’re chattering so much.

I feel the
stranger sit next to me on the sand. A hand tentatively splays over
my forearm. It doesn’t move. It’s just there; its warmth reassuring
me. I know I should pull away, that it should be creepy, some guy
approaching me out of the blue and putting his hand on my arm but
it’s not. The action has made me sag with a rush of final tears. I
feel comforted. Released from my sorrow.

“Have you hurt
yourself?” he asks.

“No,” I
emphasise, lifting my head at last. “And you don’t have to sit
here. I’m fine.”

The man
removes his hand and slings his arms over his bent up knees. He
gazes out to the ocean. “You don’t look fine. I’d offer a hug and a
shoulder to cry on but it sounds a bit serial killer considering
we’ve just met. Are you sure there’s nothing less stalker-ish I can
do?”

“Not that I
can think of, but thanks.” I press the heels of my hands against my
stinging eyes, give a loud and unladylike sniff and wipe my nose on
my arm leaving a trail of blubbery snot up my wrist. I slide my arm
away quickly, hoping he didn’t see it.

“I’m Nicholas,
by the way.”

“Sadie. Thanks
for taking the time to stop. I must look so stupid sitting here on
the beach bawling my eyes out.”

“You look
beautiful. Sad but beautiful.”

“Oh
sure
.” I cast him a disbelieving look and try not to blush
at the compliment. Physical impossibility.

“Hey, I was
trying to be diplomatic. I don’t want you to start crying again.
I’m not good with girls and tears. I never know what to say.”

His admission
cheers me up. I rally. “So what do I actually look like, then? Go
on. Hit me with the worst.”

He considers
me for a moment. His fingers caress his chin in a comical way and
he purses his lips as if deep in thought. He has very nice lips.
The bottom one is full and almost pouty, the kind you want to suck
into your mouth. And they’re very pink. Rather kissable.

Shit. I’m
perving on the guy’s mouth and I don’t even know him. Fancy being
so easily distracted when I’m meant to be thinking about Mum. I’m
such a tart.

He does have
nice lips, though.

“Well?” I
question.

“You have a
snot trail.” His index finger indicates my cheek.

“
Noooo
!” I pull my hem of my t-shirt over my fist, swiftly
wiping my cheek. Talk about embarrassing. “How about now?”

“It’s an
improvement,” he says. “Not that you looked that bad in the first
place. You’re a bit soggy round the eyes, though. Like your mum
died.”

Which is
absolutely
not
what I needed to hear. My face collapses and
with it my restored mood. I suck in air, trying to breath, trying
not to cry again. It’s not working. The sadness is building. It’s
like a ball rising in my throat, choking me.

Nicholas
frowns; the recognition of what he’s said dawning. “Jesus, sorry.
Tell me your mum didn’t actually die.”

“My mum
actually died.”

“Fuck, I’m
such a dickhead.”

“You… Didn’t…
Know.” My words are punctuated by tearful, choked snuffles. I see
the concerned look on his face. I think I’m scaring him so I try to
pull myself together. I mean, it’s been a year. I was only coming
here to remember Mum on the anniversary of her death, not fall into
the depths of misery again. I need to get a grip and stop
blubbering at every tiny thing like a sooky girl. Mum wouldn’t have
wanted that and I’ve never been a fan of the blubbering girl
either.

Nicholas
stares at the horizon for a while, letting me cry.

“Better?” he
asks, at last.

“
Mmm
.
Thanks, again.” Somehow it is. His being here is nice. I feel less
lost. His presence seems natural, like we’ve known each other for
the longest time.

About half an
hour goes by as we sit watching the waves lapping at the shore and
the sun going down beyond the horizon. Neither of us says a word
but there’s no need to. Nicholas’ brand of comfort lies in the fact
that he was prepared to stop and sit with me, a girl he doesn’t
know. That says volumes. As the sun finally disappears, he speaks,
“I was heading for a beer and a burger. Do you want to come?”

I remember the
last time I ate was at breakfast. Suddenly, I’m ravenous.

“I look like
crap,” I say. “Not like someone you’d want to be seen with in a
public place.” My face goes blotchy and red when I’ve been crying.
My eyes swell up like balloons so I look like one of those
puffy-eyed fish. Not the ones with spikes that are poisonous, those
ones you find in a fish tank. Goggle-eyed. That’s my usual
I’ve-had-a-cry appearance.

“I don’t
care.”

“The
politically correct answer in this instance would be ‘you look
great’,” I say.

“Yeah, but we
clarified that you don’t and I can’t lie. Not even to make you
happy. Especially not when you know I’d be lying. Anyway, the
swelling will go down soon, won’t it? You won’t look like
that
forever.” He makes a face.

“Are you
attempting to flirt with me, Nicholas? ‘Cause you’re not doing a
very good job.” I smile, but only a little.

“Damn.”

“Do you always
pick up stray girls on the beach?”

“Not unless
they want me to.”

“I’m guessing
a lot of them would want you to.” The man’s an Adonis. His eyes are
nothing short of orgasmic. And the smile.
Swooooon
.
Chastising myself for being so easily led, yet again, I concentrate
on the conversation.

“It probably
makes me sound like a wanker but most chicks aren’t interested in
the
real
me. They only want one thing.” The smile grows, and
suddenly I feel insanely attracted to him. It’s like a magnet
making my insides flutter and flip flop. I straighten
involuntarily. I press my lips together, supressing the giggle that
wants to escape from heaven knows where because I’m not a giggler.
Honestly, I’m not.

“Your three
bazillion dollars?” I tease.

He frowns.
“No. My body.”

“God knows why
any girl would want that. You’re not that bae.”

He gives me a
blank look and I realise I’ve just made myself sound like the
student I am. “Bae, you know, like ‘hot’.”

I don’t know
why I even said it. It’s a word Emily likes to use; it’s never been
my thing. Maybe I’m trying to impress him.

“At least I
don’t have snot up my arm,” he retorts. He pauses. “So, will you
join me for a bite?”

Nicholas
stands, holding out his hand. I take it and he tugs me a little too
swiftly. I end up so close to his chest we’re almost touching. We
stand that way for a second or two and I can practically see the
electricity shooting between our bodies as I gaze up into his eyes.
He’s staring at me and they’re bottomless, limitless. Like the
furthest you could see into the inky blackness of space but never
see the end. They’re hypnotising.