Fight or Flight by Jenna Smith

PART ONE /CHAPTER ONE 

The bus was hot and the windows steamed over, like being in a dirty sauna with your clothes on.  Freckles of grime clung to the outside of the glass; inside condensation wiped dripped from our fingers, the view still obscured.  Curiosity turning into frustration: were we there yet? 

The interior lights flickered as we slowed and hissed to a standstill and I felt Molly’s eyes on me.  I scanned the other couple of passengers, watching them stand and sway while we remained seated: anxiety.  Anticipation hung in the air and the driver cast his head around to us, his hair stuck to his face with sweat or grease: 

“This is the last stop, everyone gets off.” 

Molly and I leapt up, grabbing our possessions with too much vigour. Tense with anxiety, the sharp corners of our cases jabbing our legs and catching seats as we walked to the front of the bus. This was it: the new beginning, the freedom stop. 

The driver watched us, and in what felt like slow motion, I felt the sharp breath of sea air on my face.  It’s fingers through my hair, lifting my clothes, as if inspecting the new arrivals.  Loading the bags down onto the gritty, sandy pavement, I looked back to Molly’s wide eyes, her white face needing some sun, some relaxation. 

Sadly, the warmth and pleasure of the summer season was over. Winter had come to town. Shop fronts were shuttered and fairground rides covered over with straight jackets of tarpaulin, their bright colours gone. The hiss of the bus doors snapped shut in its business like way and pulled off.  We had arrived. 

Molly looked at me, 13 years old.  Dragged away from everything she knew: good and bad, but mostly bad.  Her eyes shiny, her lip chewed and red. 

“Don’t worry Mol, I know where we going, it’s just along to the end of this road.” 

I smiled, and walked on with mock confidence, searching in my pocket for the slither of paper with the address. 

Our attention was quickly pulled to screams above,  gulls circling high, clustered together like kites gone wrong, screeching their presence. So different from the city we had left. Here a massive sky, a clear dome of a sky, shot with thin white tracks, glowing red with the last sun of the day, stretching far away. 

In front, to our left, solid thickly painted salty railings edged the sands below. A big drop down to stones, seaweed, litter, scattered across the wet sands , nibbled by the tide, claws further back awaiting their turn.  Further our still in this strange world, an thick inky line of  horizon,  underlining a join to the sky. 

 We walked on. To our right, a solid long row of imposing 3-story, Victorian houses as far as we could see. Even and square gardens, differing by their content,  a mixture of benches and bins, cars and flowers.  Everyone’s life lain out for all to see.  The B&B’s having put on a bit of a show for the season, a few creaky signs and hanging baskets, tired and browning in the autumn air, struggling to smile.  

I slowed and counted the house numbers down to our new address while Molly looked the building up and down. 

“Here we go Mol, this is it.” 

Flats: multiple letterboxes and numbered bins.  Half a dozen or more.  Lined up, orderly. 

We didn’t have many belongings really. Just us two and a couple of big suitcases and a black plastic bag, punctured and ripped by unknown assailants during its hundred-mile journey. We made our way into a clean but basic entrance hall, a different smell to the The Refuge we’d left behind.  No toys or staff to meet us here.  

It felt a long way away from our chaotic life back home. Here the air was quiet and still; the final big 'X' on an escape map, were planning and secret conversations of WW1 proportions had preceded this moment.  The enemy? Alex: the Bully with a capital B.  Alex: my ex-husband and his fists, his threats, his risk-taking, his determination to control at any cost.. This was our chance of a new life: safe and anonymous. 

Molly took the key from my hand, golden, smooth and soft, much used over the years, I smiled in anticipation as Molly caught my eye.  As we ascended, magnolia walls marked with lines and strange stains, I wondered what history proceeded us. 

The key turned easily and we pushed hard and peered in.  The smell of cigarettes hit us, but once through the hall and into the large living room, the space felt good, clean though a bit tatty, the cigarette smell dissipated to the high celings.  The view of the sea breath-taking and silent, like a film with the sound turned down. 

Some original features remained of the old house, a lovely tiled surround and real fireplace, some cornice. It had character. The wooden floor had been stripped and polished and a thick green rug lay in the centre, flattened in places by the feet of previous occupants, but still relatively clean and intact. 

We walked around the flat, cautiously opening each door and eager to experience our new home together. Bedroom one was a small double at the back, with no view apart from a metal fire escape snaking past the window. This was my room. Molly was in the tiny single at the front, redeemed by the magnificent view, the sea directly in front and then a big stretch of green hugging around to the right, a golf course, disappearing into the dusk. 

A compact kitchen was in need of some paint, but there was a washing machine that looked fairly new and clean, and cooker that was old but again had been loved by the previous occupier. Everything was on meters though, so we pressed the emergency credit button and crossed our fingers that there would be enough to make a cup of tea.  I made a mental note to start a pot of money to buy some cards of credit from now on to 'keep the home fires burning' metaphorically speaking, or at least the lights on. 

As we unpacked our meagre belongings, the warmth left in the sky slowly faded and the dark took over. There was some wood left in the fire, a lovely old real fire and I found an old newspaper from the pile by the door, and got some hot flames catching in the grate, hoping the the wood could catch the flame and continue with longer lasting heat..  We sat together, watching the tiny embryonic flames, our toes touching the hearth. Molly’s pink socks, thin and stained by her shoes, and mine, old and stiff.   I wrapped my arm around her, both of us willing the flames to succeed. 

And they did, we threw on more paper with quick orange flames for extra measure, and when the wood’s heat grew white and red,  I fetched some bread and found wonky forks for a bit of fun.  The slices dangled limply and we looked at each other.  But with perseverance, the first waft of steam was released and Molly cried out and laughed, it wobbled dangerously, but the warm yeasty smell warmed our soul with its satisfying accomplishment; there would be toast this evening to join our soup.  Like girl guides at camp, with draughts on our backs, we focused on the flames with wistful hearts.  Drifting away, a sudden weariness washed through my bones like a tide, head to toe with the rough edge of toast sweet on my tongue. 

We turned in early, quickly making up our beds in the cool rooms.  Giving each other a warm hug and smile before going to our beds. Before our hugs meant ‘courage’ or ‘I’m here’, but tonight it just meant ‘It’s okay now’ and despite the strange new environment, sleep came quickly. 

Sometime during the night I woke suddenly.  A door slammed shut, the sound hung in the air, minute vibrations touching my skin.  I sat bolt upright and listened, instantly alert.  The new flat was unfamiliar and disorienting, My tongue went dry and felt like a gag in my mouth. I didn’t know what was happening - whether we had burglars or worse, my ex husband Alex had found us. 

I inhaled deeply expecting the smell of aftershave and alcohol preceding Alex but it never came. My heart fluttered rapidly.  I waited 30 seconds or so and then I heard a TV come on through the adjoining wall and realised it was a neighbouring flat. The TV was loud, canned laughter and chat, and for anyone else it would have been annoying, but for me it was reassuring. We were still safe – I started breathing again.