Shared Skies

Shared Skies

by

Josephine O'Brien

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or
are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any
resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons,
living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright© 2014 Josephine O'Brien

Published at Smashwords

All rights reserved. No part
of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print
without written permission.

Dedication

This book would never have seen the light of
day if it weren’t for the support and encouragement of my wonderful
daughters.

Rachel, Heather, and Hazel.

Three of the best things in my life.

Chapter One

The faces just didn't match.

The folder lay open on the head’s desk; her
eyes flicked from the photo of the beaming child with blonde curls
to the sullen, shuttered face of the teenager opposite her, and
back again. Gaiah watched her trying to reconcile them. The
policewoman sitting across from her, watched too.

Sunlight forced its way off the London
streets through the Venetian blinds, painting the room with dull,
yellow bands of dancing dust. While she waited for someone to say
something, Gaiah stared at the tiny motes; she tracked the
particles as they floated down onto the large, battered desk
towered with files, forms, report books and copies. Mrs. Thompson,
the headmistress, sat behind this desk. She pushed her lank, grey
hair out of her eyes, ignored the other people in the room, and
focused on the opened file.

Gaiah sighed; it wasn't the first time she'd
been called to this office, but it was the first time there had
been so many other people involved. She could almost see the
questions writing their way across the principal's tired face. How
had all this happened? When did Gaiah's 'punk' haircut and attitude
appear? The file was thick with complaints of truancy, lack of
respect and intimidation. Yet it didn't contain one record of a
home visit or one interview with her father, the only relative
listed. Gaiah knew the file contained recommendations for home
visits, made by numerous teachers. She also knew they were never
going to happen. This time though, things had gotten out of
hand.

Jane Stack had a lump the size of an egg on
her head, and her friends’ nose bleeds had been so severe the
school nurse had sent them home. Their parents had made a complaint
to the police, and they had sent Officer Bryant, a representative
from their 'Police Safe School Co-ordination Scheme' to
investigate. Bryant made the first move. Her voice, clear, precise
and authoritative, broke the silence in the dimly lit room.

“
I have interviewed the
alleged victims. There's a lot of confusion surrounding this
incident. The girls can't agree on the sequence of events, not even
who was attacked first. The complaints are vague. Jane said the
attack was completely unprovoked, and that her friends, rushing to
her rescue, had been viciously beaten by Gaiah.”

The head opened her mouth, but Bryant held
up her hand and continued, “However, I also interviewed the
caretaker, who was emptying bins in the corridor at the time. He
said Jane and her friends elbowed past Gaiah, knocked her sandwich
from her hands and walked on it. He thought that there was some
malfunction with the lights then, because he couldn't see clearly,
but next thing, those girls were on the floor shouting and bleeding
while Gaiah still appeared to be scraping up her lunch.” She
paused.

Gaiah looked up at her from her position on
one of the mis-matched chairs around the desk, but she couldn't
make eye contact. The policewoman wasn't looking at her. She was
pushing her dark hair back behind her ears while reading her notes.
Her hair, coming loose from a French plait, fell around a face
which seemed naturally inclined to smiling, but it definitely
wasn't smiling now.

Bryant continued, “But clearly, some violent
outburst occurred in this school on Monday morning. Looking through
these files, the pattern developing over the last few years
suggests Gaiah Hansfort could indeed be capable of this loss of
control. I am amazed at the inaction of the school with regard to
Gaiah, and I am personally taking charge of the situation.”As she
spoke, she turned to Gaiah, and studied her.

Gaiah really needed to
make some significant eye contact. Although she had no guarantee
that her plan would work, it was worth a try.
Okay, now she’s going to look for some reaction from me, I’ll
have her attention.
Gaiah raised her eyes
from the study of her finger nails and looked up at Bryant, but was
distracted by the close scrutiny she was receiving.

She suddenly saw herself through Bryant's
eyes. Her savagely shorn hair and bitten nails, her deliberately
blank and distant blue eyes, and her wide mouth tightened into a
thin line. Gaiah didn't like the view and she had lost her
opportunity to try and fix things.

Bryant returned to her notes, and while she
initialed the pages, she said,“Look, Gaiah, I would very much like
to speak to your father. I'm sure he'd want to help, wouldn't
he?”

Gaiah's shrug was miniscule.

“
I'm sorry, but this has
to be dealt with. You seem determined to say nothing, not even to
give your side of things. Please realize I'm here to help in any
way I can. You’re over eighteen, this could potentially be an
assault case, let’s try and keep it within the Safe School’s remit,
shall we?”

Gaiah stared at the
floor.
Damn, this isn’t going
right.
She started biting the thumbnail of
her tightly clenched fist.

Bryant turned another page. “The school has
agreed to my request that you stay at home for a day or two. So
please, tell your father I'll be around at ten o’ clock tomorrow
morning to discuss this with both of you. I have to warn you
though, if you don't help us sort this situation out, this report,”
and she waved the Manila file in her hand, “could go a lot further
than my desk.”

Gaiah lifted her head to look at the
policewoman, but the pager on Bryant’s belt emitted three insistent
beeps. She glanced down at it and got to her feet. “Excuse me, I
have to deal with this,” she said and strode out of the room.

Mrs. Thompson, sighed
deeply, “Gaiah, dear, are you sure there's nothing you want to say,
to help yourself, to help us?” Gaiah just stared silently at the
floor.
I can’t believe it, I can’t believe
I haven’t even tried yet.

A knock on the door forestalled any more
pleas from Mrs. Thompson. The secretary opened the door enough to
look in and say, “That police officer asked me to apologize for her
and to tell you she'd been called away urgently. She said to
confirm that she’d be seeing you,” she nodded towards Gaiah,
“tomorrow at ten.”

The click of the closing door behind her,
echoed in the silence.

Gaiah raised her head. “Can I go home now?”
Her muttered question was barely audible.

Mrs. Thompson nodded. “Yes, yes. I'll ring
your father now to inform him about tomorrow.”

“
No phone,” countered
Gaiah with another shrug.

Mrs. Thompson nodded again. “Of course, I
remember now, no phone. Well, in that case, yes, go straight home.”
She walked around the desk and stood in front of Gaiah.

Gaiah scraped her chair back as she stood.
She was a full head taller than the principal who patted her
awkwardly on the arm and said, “Don’t worry Gaiah. I'm sure things
will be fine, we'll work something out.”

Gaiah managed a small, thin-lipped smile
before she slouched out of the office without another word. Her
drab, brown jumper fell in loose folds from her hunched shoulders.
Her hands were still fists, deep in her jeans pockets, defending
and hiding herself from the world.

Outside, on the steps of the school, Gaiah
drew a deep breath. The bright September sky was high, and the
trees on Notting Hill still rustled their summer greenery, yet
Gaiah felt it might as well be the dullest, dampest February day.
She scuffed her boots along the grey, gum-circled pavements. She
was in no hurry to get home.

She walked, almost obliviously, through the
gushes of warm, stale air from the underground and past the ribbon
of travel agencies and food shops.

Oh, for God’s sake! Now what am I going to
do?

Automatically slowing to allow a red double
decker bus to turn from Kensington Church Street, she crossed to
the white brick maze of Linden Gardens. She loved this park, with
its sheltering trees and reflected light. Her father had brought
them here, to a huge, old house, eleven years ago. He'd knocked the
top two floors into a massive, airy studio, and left the remainder
of the echoing house, with its endless nooks and crannies, for
Gaiah to explore alone.

Her dark eyebrows furrowed
towards each other. She’d had no chance with that woman, no moment
of eye contact to 'suggest' to her, that calling tomorrow was an
idea to forget.
She’s going to call
tomorrow and I can’t stop her. Once she meets Dad, I won’t be able
to do a thing. She’ll tell him everything.

Gaiah closed her eyes at the horror of that
prospect. Anyone in her father’s vicinity was as impervious to her
suggesting abilities as he was. She tugged the sleeves of her
jumper down and curled her fingers into the cuffs to prevent
herself from chewing her nails, while she tried to think her way
out of this disaster.

The only thing to do was to wait at the door
tomorrow morning and catch that woman before she met Gaiah's
father. She’d suggest to her that there had been a successful
meeting and everything was satisfactorily in hand.

She knew 'suggesting' such
a major change would have been way beyond her a year ago. Ever
since her seventeenth birthday, this ability was becoming stronger.
What scared her was the fact that it was getting beyond her
control.
It’s stupid that I don’t even
know if Dad has this ability too, though I suppose if he had, he’d
be making people flock to buy his sculptures, and imagine if he
didn’t have it and I told him
about
me…
The thought of his panic and confusion
was what always stopped her seeking his help.

“
Godamn it!” Gaiah voiced
her agitation.
Bloody hell, it’s always
bloody Jane Stack. To think all I wanted in junior school was to be
her friend, I can’t believe it. How many times did I suggest at her
that she wanted to sit next to me or pick me for her team? And that
time I made the teacher pick Jane and me to do a project together,
God, Jane was furious. Silly cow did nothing, and got us both into
trouble. And now…the police!

Her furious reaction to the bullies on
Monday and its strength had shocked Gaiah so much she had been
unable to pull things together in time to smooth over the
situation. Even worse, she hadn't consciously planned any of it.
Nearly every day, Jane and her gang used her as the butt of their
infantile jokes. She had watched them giggle and high five and her
stomach clenched with a surge of fury. She’d glared at them, her
eyes hot with anger and those girls slammed themselves into the
walls. Despite the trouble it had caused, the memory of it gave her
a dark satisfaction.

How the hell had all that happened? All
this, and it’s only the start of the year. I’m going to have to get
a grip.

Head down, she walked
through the wavering puddles of sunlight created by the huge trees
lining their street.
God, I’m sick and
tired of all this.
She too, had seen the
photo in the Principal’s office, and could hardly believe that
once, in Scotland, and in what seemed like someone else’s life, she
had been that girl, full of joy and confidence, sure of the world
and of her place in it. And that hair! She remembered the feel of
the silky curls.

Her hands went unbidden to her head. Her
scalp prickled and hairs tickled at her ears. The growth that
always began imperceptibly mid-afternoon had started. It grew to
her waist every night, every single, God damn night. Hacking it
almost to the roots every day before school, and bringing scissors
for the days she had extra classes, seemed to be the only way to
prevent people from noticing what was happening to her.

She could definitely trace this problem back
just over a year ago, to her seventeenth birthday. The terror of
that night had never left her; the night when she was woken by
something soft and dry brushing slowly across her face and neck.
Even walking along here in the safe sunshine, her heart sped up at
that memory. How she had leapt out of bed, frantically groping for
the light switch. How she had stared transfixed at her reflection.
Her hair, which had been barely to her shoulders, now curled down
her back.