Текст книги "After Forever Ends "

Автор книги: Melodie Ramone

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 39 страниц)

Oliver blinked a few times, “That’s immensely disturbing.”

The one subject that seemed to create a problem for us we talked about only once in those early days. That subject was religion. Catholics had raised Oliver and I was brought up by Protestants, but I had thought the whole subject to be mostly rubbish.

“It’s barking,” I said passionately, “A man builds a boat and gets two of every animal? How’d he travel to every continent and how’d he feed them? Did he really go to Antarctica and make his way through the glaciers in a giant dingy to gather up penguins and polar bears? Why didn’t one eat him? Polar bears eat everything! Plus, do you have any clue how many species of animals there are on the planet, not to mention back then before we conquered the land and killed most of them off? And an olive branch? How did an olive tree survive the flood? They’re native to the Mediterranean coast! Oh, yeah, the bloody coast survived a flood and was the first to produce new, fruit bearing trees! And how did a flipping little dove carry a branch in its beak...”

“I think it was a twig, actually,” He interrupted my tirade, “And I’m glad you know so much about the origin of olive trees, but that’s not the point. God was with him. I agree that the bible stories may be a bit far-fetched, even some of the stories of the divinity of Christ are a little hard to handle in a logical sense. You have to believe in some sort of mysticism to accept any of it. It’s not about what you can see or know. It’s about believing in what you can’t see or know. It’s about faith. That set aside, though, how can you explain creation if there is no God?”

“Science,” I answered simply. “Quantum Physics. It’s all a system of natural events and mathematical equations and we don’t have the answer yet.”

He looked at me as if my response made him sad, “OK,” He said slowly, “But do you believe in God at all?”

“I haven’t gotten proof yet,” I answered, “But I’m waiting. I hope there’s a God, but I don’t think for one second God is what you think it is.”

Oliver sat for a long time just looking at me before he spoke again. When he did, his voice was quite soft, “I think that you have to believe in things at least a little to have them be a genuine experience. You have to open yourself up to magic to have any magic come to you. God is magic, I think, in its oldest and purest sense.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m saying,” He looked extremely serious, “That God is not some ancient bloke sitting on a chair looking down through the clouds, randomly lobbing lightning bolts at bad people. I’m saying that God is more than that. Like you, I’m saying he’s something we can’t understand.”

“And I am saying that one day Science will allow us to understand.”

Oliver leaned back in his chair, “I honestly hope not, Sil. I honestly hope not. If it did, what would happen to faith?”

I was about to answer him when there was a great clatter as Merlyn flipped backwards in his chair and landed flat on his back on the floor.

“Oh, shite!” He lay there stunned. “That wasn’t good!”

Alexander and Lance laughed shamelessly.

“Are you all right?” Oliver showed a mild amount of concern. He leaned forward a bit to have a look at his fallen comrade, but made no move to help him.

“My neck’s not broken,” Merlyn stood up and lifted his chair. “I’m okay, I think.”

“Well, that’s a good thing!”

I never answered Oliver’s question about what would happen to faith. I don’t know how I would have, to be honest. Whatever it would have been that I came up with, it wouldn’t have been nearly as profound as I would have thought at the time.

The next day proved to be sunny and warm. Oliver and I took one of our walks after breakfast, hand and hand down to the lake. We walked around a few times before we decided to sit down in the grass. I had a Snickers bar my father sent from home and I took it out of my jumper pocket, “Would you like to share, Ollie?”

“Silvia Cotton, you have to be the most fabulous person in the world! How did you know?” Oliver was a fan of mostly any kind of chocolate, but Snickers were far and beyond his favourite.

I let him take the first bite. “Great gliding green gophers!” He pointed, “How big are your feet?”

I blushed, “They’re not that big.”

“Not that big? They’re like gun boats! They’re bloody gigantic!”

“No they are not! They’re only a 41!” My face was on fire.

“Yeah, they are!” He teased, “A 41! They’re more like battleships!”

“My feet might be long, but they certainly are not battleships!” I covered them with my hands, “My feet are too narrow for most shoes! And look at yours! Yours are as if…I don’t know! They’re like oil tankers!”

“May I have another bite of chocolate?” He asked and I indulged him. He looked at his shoes as if to inspect them, “Yeah, I suppose they are large, if a 48 and a half is large. They’re a full size larger than my brother’s.”

“My goodness! You have feet like great, giant sea faring vessels!”

“Yeah, well, I guess if we had children they’d be doomed to sport massive footwear. We could teach them to float sitting on one of those inflatables and send them here to Bennington and they could paddle about the lake like bizarre little ducklings.”

I laughed and took another bite of my candy bar. “You’re very funny,” I told him sincerely.

Oliver’s face came close to mine.

He kissed me. It was quick, smooth, and square on the lips. I felt my face go redder. I dropped my eyes and continued to chew my chocolate.

Oliver looked away casually and then turned back, “That was nice. I think you got more chocolate than I did. May I have another?”

I nodded and held out the candy bar.

That wasn’t what he was talking about. He kissed me again, only this time it was longer and more skilfully done with his palm against my cheek. His mouth was so warm. I had no idea a boy’s lips could feel as soft and lovely as his did. I closed my eyes and I let him kiss me and I kissed him back.

Merlyn Pierce catcalled us from across the lake, “Snogging!”

“Right in public!” Lance added, “That’s a thirty minute detention, Dickinson! I’ll tell Pennyweather straight away!”

“Brilliant, Oliver!” Yelled Alexander, “Can I have a go next?”

More people who were walking or studying turned and looked. I could feel my face beating and burning. Oliver leaned in and kissed me again then shouted to our hecklers, “There! Now it’s an hour in detentions and worth every second! Light off flair to alert the staff if you like, Lance Crosby! Piss off, you, Alexander Dickinson! She’s my Sil!”

“I’ll stop the world and melt with you, Oliver Dickinson!” Merlyn replied. It was about two seconds later that the three across the lake began to serenade us with the Modern English song that those lyrics came from before they returned to their golf game.

After that day I was “Oliver Dickinson’s girlfriend”.

“What’s with the new girl?” A girl named Peggy McGhee whispered in library. She was good friends with that Jennifer Eisenberg, the prefect who had been so rotten to me the day I arrived. I could see her between a row of books and the top of the shelf as I roamed the reference section. She tossed her dark hair off her shoulder as she leaned toward another friend, Molly Weathersby, “Which Dickinson is she involved with? I see her with them both all the time.”

“She’s Oliver’s girlfriend.” Molly Weathersby replied, taking a half step forward. “He was kissing her by the lake!”

“Kissing her?” Peggy stiffened.

“Oh, yeah,” Molly seemed to be enjoying her friend's disappointment. She smiled evilly, “It looked rather sweet.”

“Really?” Peggy's shoulders slumped. She took a quick breath, however, and seemed to have a change of attitude, “Oh, well. That won’t last. Oliver never has girlfriends at Bennington. Are you sure it was him and not Alexander?”

“It was definitely Oliver.”

“Oh, crap.” She sounded sincerely disappointed as they walked away.

Later that day, I entered a classroom. It's a horrible feeling when you know people are staring at you and the prof, an older man with a charcoal coloured hair and a thick black moustache, did not see me enter. He continued to scribble course instructions on the blackboard while I shifted my books from arm to arm and rubbed the tip of my maryjane into the back of my other. When he finally noticed me, he yanked his belt up to his chest and smiled kindly, “Oh! Hello! How can I help you, Dear?”

“Hello. Professor Nickels? I’m Silvia Cotton. My schedule has changed. Is this Advanced Chemistry?”

“Ah, yes, you must be Oliver Dickinson’s girlfriend!” He set down his chalk, “I was told you were coming by! Please, yes, find a seat! What was your name again?”

Oliver was, as I had guessed when I’d first seen him, quite popular, and that made me less welcome by most of the girls. Sandra Ashby, who had quickly become my best girlfriend ever, always knew everything about everyone at Bennington. It wasn’t that Sandra was the gossipy type, quite the opposite, but she was involved in everything from being President of the Student Body to being a long standing member of the Photography Group. Sandra had a hand in everything you can imagine at Bennington. She was always darting from class to this meeting or that meeting and at those gatherings, people talked and Sandy listened. Therefore, she heard all the codswallop imaginable. After gathering it up, she usually set about finding out the truth from fiction. She was an excellent source of both tittle-tattle and genuine scandal. She never spread it about, but she was always more than happy to sit and give me the full report after curfew when her meetings were over and it was just her and me in our room.

I was telling her about what I’d heard Peggy and Molly saying in the library and about how I felt I was getting the cold shoulder from many of the female students. “It’s been like this from day one. People staring at me and gossiping. I don’t think it’s very friendly here,” I told her, hugging my pillow to my chest, “I don’t know what I’ve done wrong.”

“You haven’t done a thing!” She answered sincerely, pulling her uniform shirt out from her skirt and kicking off her shoes as she sat at the head of my bed, “They’re just brassed because Oliver likes you and not them. Any one of those girls would pull out their eye teeth to have Oliver. Bitches, all of them,” She took off her glasses and held them to the light to check the clarity of the lenses, then tossed them on to the side table, “Peggy’s been throwing herself at him for four years and she can’t get it through her head that he’s not at all interested.”

“She hates me. You should see how she looks at me.”

“She’s a jealous, daft cow. You have to understand something,” Her Irish accent was thick, “Oliver is liked by everyone in the school, even the staff. Well, except Professor Wilkins, but he hates everyone. He especially hates Oliver, though, and I don’t know why. But besides him, there is no one here who Oliver is not at least sort of friends with, including the ones that no one speaks to at all. Like Josh,” She paused and pulled the berets from her mousy brown hair. She set them on the nightstand between our two beds and rubbed her scalp with her fingertips where they had been before she continued, “Every girl here fancies Ollie because he’s good looking, of course, but more because he’s genuinely sweet. He is, too, it’s not at all fake. His family has a lot of money, as well. They’re by far not the richest here at Bennington, but there’s money on his dad’s side that goes back to the family possessing antiquities in Egypt. His mum, I don’t know. Her family’s called McNeil and comes from the North, but I’ve never heard that they’re connected to anyone important or anything. I’d still bet there’s money there somewhere, though. I don’t know all the details on the Dickinson family. I could find out if you want me to.”

“No,” I said honestly, “I don’t care about their money.”

Sandy nodded, “Well, just so you know, Oliver is an excellent catch. So is his brother. Alexander gets loads of girls and he’s popular here, too, but if you ask me, he’s not Oliver,” She pulled off a stocking and tossed it on to the floor. “He’s not nearly as nice.”

“So he’s had loads of girlfriends then?”

“Oliver?” She tossed her other stocking, “I don’t know. I don’t think so. Not here at Bennington anyway. Ollie’s only had one girlfriend at Bennington that I know of. Her name was Gloria and it was third year. All the girls hated her and told her she had pasty skin, even though she was really very cute. She was really a nice girl, if you want the truth. She lives in Welshpool like him. I don’t know why they broke up. They seemed to still be friendly. Her parents decided not to send her back this year. I’ve heard they’re having legal issues and it’s costing them a fortune. But anyway, Oliver hasn’t had a girlfriend here since, not for anyone not trying. And he never snogged Gloria at the lake that I know of, so, you see, if you were caught with Oliver Dickinson’s lips on yours, most of the girls here at Bennington will really hate you, at least for a while.”

After she explained, it was somewhat entertaining being with the boy almost every other girl seemed to want, even if she pretended she didn’t. I sort of flaunted it, if you want the truth, by rushing to his arms and clinging to his side as I returned their nasty looks. Of course, they all had Alexander, who was willing to share himself freely, but Oliver…he was all mine. We thought we’d die when winter break came along and we had to be apart for two whole weeks.

“Can I ring you, Silvia?” Oliver asked me the morning we were scheduled to leave. He was facing me with his hand on my shoulder, caressing the bend in my neck with his thumb. It was fairly obvious he had no idea how seductive it was, “Do you have a phone?”

“We do, but my dad is odd about it,” I had an urge to turn my head and kiss his hand, but I didn't. There were too many people around and I didn't want a scene if somebody saw. Instead I wrapped my fingers around his wrist, “He doesn’t like for it to ring. He gets jumpy and upset. He says it’s for work and emergencies only. He’s really mental about it.”

Oliver looked disappointed, “Well, can I come and see you then?”

My heart began to pound, “I’d love that if he’ll let us! I’ll ring you and let you know!”

He smiled and my heart beat even faster. “Brilliant!” He grinned, “I do hope you do!”

He and his brother were taking the train home that morning Oliver and I walked hand in hand to the school bus that transported the students to the rail stop. We stood for as long as we could together on the edge of the drive outside the gates of Bennington. He was concerned about leaving me behind. “Your dad's coming to collect you?”

“Yes. He'll be here soon enough.”

“I hate going with you still here.”

Professor Rankin shouted at Oliver to get on the bus. He kissed me quickly, a move which could have bought us both a detention, but our professor chose to ignore it. “See you soon,” He took a step back and stopped. He sort of cocked his head and looked at me as if he were deciding something. “Silvia, I...”

“Come on!” Professor Rankin shouted.

His head jerked toward her, then quickly back at me, “See you soon, Sil,” He said and with a quick smile crossed the road and climbed on to the bus.

I stood there at the edge of the road watching him. Through the glass I saw him walk down the aisle and sit beside his brother. He leaned over him to gain access to the window. Alex shoved him a bit. Both of them waved to me as they pulled away.

It was the first time in almost five months that I’d been in anywhere where Oliver wasn’t within running distance. It was odd how completely unnatural that felt.

I walked back to the school with my hands in my pockets. It was windy and the cold nipped at my cheeks, but I didn’t care. It reflected the way I felt inside. The quad was dotted with only a few students, none of which I knew, all of whom were scurrying to finish their business before they left off for home. I went to my room to make sure I'd packed properly, although I was certain I had. I'd left school more than enough times for holiday to know exactly what I could do without while I was home. I sat on my bed for a while, feeling terribly sad and not being sure of why. It was a familiar feeling, an emptiness that I'd always had. A disappointment, really, because I knew full well there was absolutely nothing to look forward to. I'd go home. I'd sit in my room and read. I might even fall in love with a book or two, but I’d be alone. Maybe I’d spend some time with my sister. Annoying and silly, she was. I loved her to bits, but she was nine, still wanting to play with her toys, and I was fifteen and no longer even slightly interested in childish things.

I was too serious, really. It came from having lived the life I had at schools. Everything was organised and structured. There hadn't a whole load of time for fun or silly games, so when the moment came that I could relax I had no idea of how to do it. Not on my own anyway. The only time I ever felt carefree was when I was with the twins and they were both officially out of my life for two whole weeks.

To add insult to my feeling put out, my father was late. He was often late. Sometimes not just a little late, but hours late. Sometimes he'd forget all about collecting me all together, confusing his days. I'd have to stay an extra night when it happened, so it was a good thing that some of the staff lived on premises or it might have been even more embarrassing. After an hour alone on my bed, I decided to head down to the common room and sit on the sofa. There was the off chance that somebody pleasant might happen by and give me some sense that the whole world hadn't disappeared and left me behind.

I was deeply involved in a novel when Dad came bursting in with Madame Pennyweather at his side, “Sorry I'm late,” He proclaimed. His hair and trench were damp with rain, “I got caught up. Do you have your things? We need to get going, Silvia, and get your sister next so I can get back to work.”

I dutifully closed my book and shoved it into my satchel. Daddy had already grabbed my bag and was giving me his “hurry up” face. I kept my eyes away from his as I moved to the door. I didn't say a word. I didn't see any reason in it. It's funny the way that man could make me feel like I was less than nothing. He was more than a little late and still reserved the right to hurry me along as if his rush were my entire fault. He did that quite often, this indirect abuse, and I am still confused as to if he ever intended it. Still, it was hurtful. I'd tried to tell him once, but he'd gotten terse with me and told me I was over-sensitive and over-reacting. I never said a word to him about it again. I learned quickly that with him, somebody else was always at fault. Nothing was ever his doing, not if it wasn’t perfect. It was obvious that his priority was never me, so I learned to take care of myself and I never spoke to him at all if I didn't have to.

Madame Pennyweather walked beside me out of the school with her hand in the centre of my back, “Have a lovely holiday, Miss Cotton,” She said gently, “Do you have plans with Oliver over break?”

“No, Ma'am. I don't imagine I'll see him until we're back.” I sort of whispered it. Even though he was three steps ahead of us and I knew he wasn't listening, I didn't want my father to hear.

Madame Pennyweather picked up on that immediately. She smiled kindly and patted me. She didn't say another word until she bid me safe voyage. I thanked her with a smile.

Dad tried to make idle chit chat with me on the drive to the school where my younger sister, Lucy, was attending, but I, of course, had very little to say. My father and I had never been close. I think when I was small that my mother had done most of the caring for me and by the time she died my father really had no sense of who I was. Lucy, on the other hand, was just baby and he’d had to give her the most attention. I was older and required less care, so I had to do for myself for the most part. Then he'd sent me off to school while he kept her home with him. Lucy and Dad had the bond. She could laugh with him and curl up on his lap and giggle, whereas his touch made me stiff and his humour didn't always suit me. I knew my father loved me in his way. He told me often enough and he showed it by making sure I always had what I needed, but the bottom line was that I’d been living away from him nine months out of the year for eight years and we didn’t know each other at all. Because I didn’t know him, I didn’t trust him to understand anything happening in my life and I never let him in. I didn’t even mention Oliver or Alexander or any of my other friends to him at all. After a time, he stopped talking and we drove on in silence.

As predicted I spent the majority of time in my bedroom with my books. Lucy came and went, annoying me and entertaining me interchangeably. I sank into a deep funk after a day or two and slept a lot, waking up only for the essential processes of being alive.

“Silvia, are you ill?” Dad asked me one night at supper. “You’ve been acting strangely.”

“I’m fine, Dad,” I mumbled, dragging my fork through my mash.

“What’s that photo in your lap?” He looked over at me and held out his hand. It was a command to pass it over, so I did. It was of Oliver and me playfully waltzing on the quad. Lance had snapped it on Sandy’s photography club camera and Sandy sent it to me in the post. Dad held it up to his eyes and squinted. He'd obviously left his glasses in his office. I expected him to have a negative comment, but he actually smiled, “That’s a lovely shot. You look very happy. Is that your boyfriend?”

“Yes, Sir,” I took the photo back as he extended his hand.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a boyfriend?” Daddy didn’t sound particularly interested, but perhaps a bit curious. He leaned back in his chair and engaged me, “What’s his name?”

“Oliver Dickinson.” I tucked the photo back on to my lap and didn't look at him.

“What does his father do?”

“I’m not sure what he does exactly. He works for the National Museum.”

My father nodded. Having received the message that I wasn't eager to talk about it, he picked up his knife and fork and went back to his dinner. After a few bites he told me, “Well, eat and go and ring Oliver then. I’d hate for you to miss any more meals. Being lovesick can make you truly ill,” and then he returned to his food without another word.

I was amazed. I couldn’t believe he was actually going to let me use the phone! My father had always been very strict about me using the phone. Oliver had given me his number anyway, though, and I took it out of my purse and dialled him with shaking hands.

“Hello?” A woman answered. Her voice was light and airy and I knew it was his mother.

“Hello, Ma’am. Is Oliver available?”

There was a pause, “I’m trying to remember if he went with his father. Just a second,” I heard the phone rumble as if she’d covered it with her hand, “Xander, did Ollie go with your dad?”

“Judging by the fact that I’m Oliver, I’d say no, Mum.”

She laughed, deep from her belly, “Oh! Sorry!”

“It’s all right. I’m wearing a rugby shirt that says Alexander after all.”

“You have a bell. It’s the girl from school, I’ll wager.”

“Wonderful!” I could hear him snatch the receiver, “Oh, please, please, please tell me this is Just Silvia Cotton!”

“It is!”

“I hope you are not hurt or ticked off! I hope you‘re just fine!”

“I’m just miserable! I miss you so much I think I’m going mad!”

“I miss you, too, Sil. I don’t think you’re going mad, though, unless I am, too. We must be going through withdrawals. I’m having odd dreams.”

“Like what?”

“Like I get back to school and you’re snogging Merlyn and laughing about it at me, so I go and kill Merlyn and stuff his body under the sink in the boy’s toilet. Then someone tells me that you’ve been snogging Lance and Professor Wilkins, too, so I set about hunting them down so I can kill them as well. Then Professor Campbell nicks me in his office and takes me into this castle and makes me watch fashion shows and Joanna Brewster was in them all,” He paused, “You’re not snogging Merlyn, are you?”

“It’s you I’ll snog,” I made sure my father was not in hearing distance, “And only you. Did Joanna look nice?”

“For a troll in a bonnet, I suppose.”

The remainder of the holiday we spent mostly on the phone. As much as I wanted to, I never worked up the nerve to ask Daddy if Oliver could visit. I had this brutal anxiety that he would disapprove somehow and put me back in the school in Scotland. I almost wished he didn’t know about Oliver at all. I wasn’t interested in having anything come between us and my father had the power to do that. So did Oliver’s parents. Oliver was the first person in my life I’d ever become attached to. I honestly felt like I needed him, like I wouldn’t be able to breathe if he wasn’t going to be in my life. I was threatened by anyone who might be able to take him away.

I can’t imagine how I ran up my father’s phone bill that holiday, but he said nothing about it. If there was anything I appreciated about my dad it was his ability to not be passionate about anything, including money. The night before we were supposed to return to Bennington, I rang Oliver to say good night and tell him that I couldn’t wait to see him again. His mother answered, as usual, but what she said made my guts fall to my shoes.

“Yes, Oliver is here, but he is not allowed to speak to you. May I have a word with your mother?”

I began to tremble. I was certain she was going to tell my dad that I was never to call her home again and that she would make sure that Ollie would be forbidden from contact with me at Bennington. A crushing wave of completely illogical unease swept over me. I felt my eyes burn with tears.

“I…I…” I stammered for a moment and then took a breath, “My mother is passed, Ma’am, but I can get my father if you like.”

“Oh,” She sounded incredibly stiff, “I’m terribly sorry. Yes, please, a word with your father?”

“Yes, Ma’am. I’ll go and get him.”

I walked down the hall on shaky legs and knocked lightly on his office door. “Daddy?”

“Open the door,” He replied mildly.

I made a crack and stuck my head in. He was sitting at his desk behind his computer with a pen in his hand. His rusty coloured hair was sticking up in all directions, “Daddy, I rang Oliver and his mother would like to speak with you.”

He looked up with a puzzled expression, “With me? Very well,” He leaned over and lifted the receiver of the telephone that sat on his desk. “Hello, this is Philip Cotton…yes…” He was looking at me the whole time, blankly as always. His thin lips were together in an expressionless line. “Yes…No, I didn’t know that. Oh, I understand…Yes, she’s very fond of your son…Oh, that’s too bad…Yes, we do these things as children and we learn from our mistakes… No, I don’t see that as being any problem…no, I agree completely…no, there’s no problem that I can see…certainly…yes, we’ll talk before then… fine…yes, thank you. All right then and you have a good evening as well.”

He hung up the receiver. I stood in the doorway for a moment after he returned to his work. He finally looked up, “Silvia, why are you just standing there? Go hang up the line in the front room.” I did what he told me and began to walk to my room with tears running down my cheeks. Something about my father always made me nervous. This made no sense at all being as he was about as aggressive as a blade of grass. As I passed by his still open door he called out, “Silvia, come here.”

I stopped and wiped my face before I entered, “Yes, Daddy?”

“Oliver couldn’t come to the phone because he is being punished. It seems that his brother slipped off to London after his mother forbade him and Oliver tried to cover up for him. You never told me he was an identical twin,” My father said this without a hint of humour. “It seems that all of your bells to his house have made his parents a mite curious about you. They’d like to meet you. I told them it would be fine for you to visit his family at Easter. They’re South of here and don’t like the idea of sending you home on a night train, so she said you could stay there a day or two in the extra room,” My heart leapt. I felt the blood rush to my face. Daddy’s expression did not change, “I said it was fine, Darling.” He paused, “You’re growing up, Silvia, and it’s happening faster than I imagined.” I thought that a normal father would have hugged his daughter. Mine simply said, “It’s getting late. You need to get to bed so you can get off to school on time. It’s a long drive and I have to drop you off early.”

“Right,” I answered, “Good night, Daddy.”

“Good night, Dear.”

I closed the door and ran down the hall to my room doing my best not to whoop with joy.