Title: Rite of Spring
Author: foreverchanges
Rating: 15 for language and drug references
Disclaimer: Willow and Tara belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Fox etc. The story is mine.
Spoilers: None, AU
Feedback: That would be loverley
Thanks to: Those that tend this board with such care and love, all those who write and inspire, and all those that take the time to read. It is much appreciated.

Blurb: This is the first thing I've ever posted and it is short and un-beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Updates will be sporadic at best. It was written very quickly but I decided to post just to get a feel for the whole fanfic thing.

The story does include drug references. I apologise in advance to anyone that that may offend. Without wishing to sound patronising, please remember that this is a work of fiction and in no way condones or condemns the character's actions. Both are in their late twenties and it is simply one (very occasional) facet of their lives. The setting is London and there will be angst. Thanks.



Prologue

It was life, it was love, it was not thinking and just being, it was living in the moment and not caring what else the world might throw in our faces. Underneath the euphoria I knew the feeling would fade along with the heavenly oblivion the drugs provided but I wanted so badly to capture this moment and never let it go that I fought that nagging doubt and gave myself up completely to the joy that was her. I stared, enraptured, with the goofiest smile on my face, as she laughed and danced and grabbed at me to dance with her. The Stars offered up their blissful melody and I latched on to her and submerged myself. The music drummed into our senses and we were like innocents, as we twisted and jived, moshed and pirouetted.

The drugs coursed through every sinew and as our jaws ached and our thought processes disappeared into so many vapour trails we laughed until our heads spun and drank each other in. I had been here before, just not with her.


Chapter 1

“Hey… what you doing?”

“Nothing” I said. I quickly put the pen down and gave her a nervous smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes.

“Come on show me, I won’t bite… honest.” I sighed, it wasn’t the first time she had tried to be nice to me only to be met with an awkward response.

“Honestly, it’s nothing. I was gonna make a coffee?” I said.

“Oh, I never saw anyone make coffee with a pen and paper before. You English certainly are eccentric.” She didn’t even try keeping the smile out of her voice.

“And I suppose that’s a weird American way of saying ‘yes please, it’s very nice of you to ask‘?” I said.

“Ooh, way to deflect, but in the spirit of international friendship, yes, I would love a coffee please.” She smiled playfully. I melted just a little inside.

As I made my way over to the open plan kitchen she wandered over to a stool on the opposite side of the work bench and leaned into it.

“So how’s the unpacking going? You getting there?” she asked.

“Yeah, pretty much, just got a few things to arrange and I’ll be set. It’s a really nice room actually.”

“Cool, I’m glad you like it. The whole moving thing’s such a hassle though huh?”

“God yeah, I thought I’d never get it done. Especially with the whole being a sick thing for the fortnight before I moved out. I nearly died trying to pack, and who knew you weren‘t supposed to put books in those cardboard packing boxes? I mean Jesus, what else are they supposed to be for, fresh air?” I quickly clamped my mouth shut and began to blush. I set about making coffee with renewed vigour.

Her head, with it’s long dark blonde mane, rested easily in her hand as she looked over at me. I wished she wouldn’t. She let out a soft good-natured laugh “I think the issue is more that they’re not meant to be overloaded to the point of one not being able to actually close the box? And judging by the amount of books you own,” she pinched her forefinger and thumb together, “I’m guessing they were a tad overloaded.”

I grinned and turned towards her, mimicking her gesture “Well, maybe just a tad.”

As we chatted over coffee I began to relax more. It was the first time I had ever shared a place with a stranger and my natural shyness had been getting the better of me thus far. I really wanted to make a good impression, but that was kinda difficult when you could barely string a coherent sentence together because of all the over-thinking going on. Luckily, exhaustion seemed to be taking over and my natural defences were taking to the hills.

“And don’t be shy about using any of the kitchen stuff or the condiments and spices,” I tuned back in to the conversation, “but don’t worry about shouting up if you don’t want me using any of your stuff.” There was a glint in her eye as she said it and I had the distinct impression that she was sussing me out.

“Well as long as you don’t touch my KY we’ll get along just fine.” Oh God, kill me now please. Yep, exhaustion had definitely settled in nicely and whilst my face was deciding which colour it liked best - fire-engine or lobster red? Hmm, decisions, decisions - she mastered the goldfish look and rallied to save us both by promptly changing the subject.

“What kind of coffee did you say this was again? It’s really good.” I marvelled at her recovery skills.

“Oh, er, it’s a Sumatran blend, just a supermarket variety.” I shuffled out of the kitchen as I answered and went to rescue my to-do list. Her eyes followed me and I hovered for a second before telling her I better go finish my room.


It really was a lovely room, on the small side but perfectly formed, and the patio doors leading out to the back garden lifted it out of the ordinary. The hazy spring day we had been blessed with bathed the room in sunbeams and whispered of possibilities. I stood dead still, tuning everything out and gazed outside, imagining barbecues and garden parties, drunken antics and lazy afternoons. My reverie was broken by the sounds of my new flatmate clearing up the coffee pot and I tilted my head to listen to her domesticity. Calm entered the fray and I set about my task.


Thanks for reading
foreverchanges

I like the beginning. If it's any comfort, it doesn't look like it hasn't been beta'd, but then again, I'm not the expert.

I really liked this line:



Keep it up!

_________________
Less killy, more frilly

Dear Mrs Pineapple, thanks ever so for the feedback, it's much appreciated. I'm glad you liked it.

Here's the next bit - very short again I'm afraid.

Most of the big stuff was unpacked, clothes were hung and my PC and stereo were set up. That just left my records and books, all to be arranged in their customary alphabetical order. I was dog-tired after what felt like days of moving house but I knew I wouldn’t be able to rest until it was done.

As I lifted each book out of it’s mobile home I gently cleaned it and felt the weight in my hand. before placing it in the bookcase or on a shelf. The time swept by even with the occasional rereading of a favourite passage, and once the job was done I admired my handiwork. No way Kindles will ever replace the real thing, I thought.

With the books all safely housed it was time to tackle my records. It was getting kind of late but I decided to plough on regardless. I picked up Bjork’s Post from the top of one of the boxes and decided to christen my new room with the lush swells of Hyperballad. I delicately removed the vinyl from it’s pristine pink sleeve and slowly lowered it to the turntable. When the needle hit the groove, I finally felt like I had landed. As the tune rang out, I began emptying the first box. I felt like my whole life was mapped out by my collection, each memory appearing as plain as day with just the first bar of it’s chosen soundtrack.

Space wasn’t on my side when it came to storing my vinyl and I briefly considered asking my flatmate if there was anywhere in the lounge I could keep some of the lesser used volumes. The idea fled as quickly as it came though and I decided on storing them on the floor, under the bottom shelf, until a better solution could be found.

When the last of the vinyl had found it’s way to it’s temporary resting place, and the CDs were all proudly standing to attention, I slowly looked around at the fruits of my labour and felt a quiet satisfaction. It was a new feeling for me and one I hoped would last.

Before lights out, I slipped back into the living room for a quick glass of water and was greeted by the low hum of the tele and one very asleep flatmate. I giggled to myself at the sight and quietly made my way over to where she was reclining on the sofa.
I paused for a second, just as I was about to squeeze her shoulder, but quickly batted the reticence away. On contact, her blue eyes sluggishly opened and she looked at me questioningly. “I’m off to bed, it’s late, you should maybe think of going too?”

She stretched and yawned as she said “Hmm, maybe you‘re right.”

I smiled down at her and headed back to my room, forgetting the water. Before opening the door I glanced over my shoulder and said “Goodnight Tara.”

“Goodnight Willow,” she replied, “sweet dreams.”


Chapter 2

The next morning I lazed in bed a while after waking. I burrowed into my duvet and enjoyed the exquisite moments the morning affords us when anything feels possible and our troubles seem far away. I could barely remember a time when my head felt so empty and I was eager for the day. While I lazed the birds spun their chorus and blue eyes filled my mind.

I mentally went over my aborted to-do list from the night before and was pleased with what the day had in store. After allowing myself a few more minutes to acclimatise to the morning I leisurely perused my CDs and picked out a suitably tuneful anthem to start the day and popped it in the player. The music swept me along and I felt a little giddy without really knowing why.

“Hey there,” she said as I entered the living room. She had been reading the Sunday papers and drinking coffee. The smell of the newly crushed beans filled the room and the normalcy of the situation was not lost on me.

“Morning,” I said.

“How did you sleep?”

“Good thanks, er… the bed’s really comfy.” I felt a bit shy just standing there, unsure of what to say.

“That's good to hear. I made a fresh pot of coffee, help yourself.”

“Great, thanks, I will.”

“So what’s on the agenda for today?” she asked as I busied myself with the coffee and poured a bowl of cereal.

“Well first I’m gonna pop to the shops to see if I can get some picture frames and then I’m gonna go for a bike ride to check out the area.”

“Oh, there’s a really nice little antique shop in town, it’s on the left handside, next to the deli. You should definitely try there first. They have some pretty stuff you might like and I‘ve seen picture frames in there before.” She smiled brightly and went back to reading her paper. The smile didn’t last long, another cargo ship had spilled it’s oily load.

Muswell Hill was basking in early Spring sunshine and I couldn’t help but feel optimistic as I went in search of the antique shop.

Here's the next bit. Again, it was written very quickly and is unbeta'd.


Muswell Hill was basking in early Spring sunshine and I couldn’t help but feel optimistic as I went in search of the antique shop. The little high street was busy with plagued parents, window shoppers and a couple of lovesick teens. I took in the scene and felt light, a germ of conviction beginning to work at my subconscious, that, maybe yes, this was somewhere I might be happy.

The feeling fled before it could take root and was eagerly replaced with the olfactory assault of fresh baked goods and the lure of yet more coffee. I smiled and promised myself I would indulge once my mission was complete. Maybe Tara would like a muffin, I thought.

Whilst debating the relative merits of blueberry versus chocolate muffins I came across the antique shop and had to admit that Tara was right, it was a delight, a veritable Aladdin’s cave of precious looking trinkets and garishly eccentric oddities. After browsing for a couple of minutes the owner piped up.

“Hello there,” he greeted.

Somewhat surprised by the pleasant salutation I gave a hesitant “Oh hi,” and silently prayed I wouldn’t knock anything over and break it into a million tiny pieces.

“Looking for anything in particular?” He asked.

“Er, I was just hoping to get a couple of picture frames.”

“Oh right, well we’ve quite a few scattered about, was it something ornate or something simple you were after?” I could feel myself begin to freeze and the ‘rabbit in headlights’ reaction take over. I so didn’t want that to happen, this was a new start, a nice place and a helpful guy. Just relax, this is normal, I told myself.

When I didn’t respond he took it upon himself to gather a couple of frames and bring them over to me. If the mountain won’t come to Mohammed, as they say.

“This one’s nice, if you wanted something special,” it was silver and had a leaf motif running around the edge, “or there’s this one. It’s a bit simpler but it can also be wall-mounted and it’s got a nice finish.” He was right, it was stained wood but managed not to look like it came from everyone’s favourite flatpack emporium.

“Will the sizes do?” He was still talking but I was hardly listening, imagining instead the picture I would place in the ornate frame. After another couple of seconds he began to hesitantly withdraw the frames from in front of me, probably thinking there was something just that bit wrong with me, and I finally switched back on.

“Oh sorry, I was miles away, I’ll take both please.” I gave him a grateful smile for his trouble. “They’re both just right.”

He beamed back at me and after another minute the frames were wrapped and carefully stored in my satchel.
Buoyed by my success I wasted no time in buying the Sunday papers and hitting the coffee shop. I barely looked at the paper the whole time I was there though, instead choosing to soak up the atmosphere and just watch the world go by.

Nicely caffeinated I left the shop and began on my way down the hill, home. That word felt good in my head as it bounced around in there. On the way I passed a tempting florist shop and made myself a housewarming gift of a bunch of beautiful white calla lilies. I had never treated myself to flowers before and I felt very decadent with my purchase, grinning stupidly the rest of the way home.



**

“Mmm, you so made the right choice, blueberry muffins are the Don!” Tara mumbled around a mouthful of the sweet treat. I couldn’t disagree. “Thanks for thinking of me.”

“No worries, you’re welcome.” With that I disappeared into my room to arrange my new picture frames. The picture for the silver edged frame was old and I handled it with the reverence it deserved. I had stared at that enigmatic portrait for hours on end over the years, musing on the cards life had dealt me and trying to guess at the future. I could never bring myself to wonder how it would have been if she had survived though, never wishing her to feel any blame in her non-existent afterlife. I gave that picture of my mother in her youth pride of place on the book case, above the Austen’s, her favourite books. I blessed it with a kiss.

The clatter that resounded outside my open door broke she spell.

“Shit,” I jumped as I said it and sharply turned around to witness my flatmate grappling with what looked to have been a rather gaudy vase in it’s previous life.

My heart rate was still racing when she started apologising. “God, I’m so sorry,” she looked up guiltily, “I didn’t mean to intrude.” Her face seemed to be doing the mortified marathon and I fought the impulse to laugh at her predicament. I failed miserably and proceeded to crack up at her inept ‘juggling with finger-killing pieces of glass’ impression.

She looked stricken for about the time it takes a toddler to realise it hates brussel sprouts before she admitted defeat and started laughing too.

“I don’t know why I’m laughing, I really loved that vase.”

“Well someone had to.” My own eyes nearly took up residence in a foreign country as I realised I had just made fun of what seemed to be one of Tara’s prized possessions. I would have questioned why I felt comfortable enough to make such a joke to a relative stranger if she hadn’t given me a look that could kill. She waited a heartbeat before putting me out of my misery and breaking down again.

As the relief washed over me I nervously joined her in laughing and inwardly promised that I would never ever make another joke in my life.

“Well are you gonna help me with this or are you just gonna stand there making fun of the dumb blonde?” The quip I was about to come back with instantly died on my tongue as I reminded myself to calm down; I could get into trouble with all this familiarity.

“Er, yeah, I mean no, I mean… here let me help.” She looked at me quizzically as I stumbled around my words, probably cofused by the change in my mood. I grabbed a bag from the kitchen and held it open while Tara carefully lay the broken pieces of glass inside.

“I’m sorry about your vase,” I said.

“It’s okay, not your fault. I missed school the day the spatial awareness fairy visited. Believe me, this vase is not the first casualty of my delinquency.” With that she gently took the bag from my hand. “I’ll leave you to it,” she said. “Oh, and if you do need a vase, one of the unbroken variety that is, there’s one in the cupboard, under the kitchen sink.” With that, she went to discard the bag of broken bits. I watched her go, a wistful smile on my face, before heading back into my room.


Thanks for reading
foreverchanges

I've been a bad bad kitten for not leaving feedback...
Anyway I really loved this part. So Willow has a history huh? (well, of course she has, just one of the non-pleasant variety). I'm curious to see how that will end.

This really made me laugh:


And this, is soooo me:



Looking forward to more!

_________________
Less killy, more frilly

I read the first line and I was like 'uh oh.. angst..' but something drew me in and I have to say that I'm actually REALLY enjoying this!! I'm very intrigued to see where this takes our two girls and just how rocky their path will be excellent stuff! Especially since it's unbeta'd aswell! Just awesome

-bell

_________________

let me live forever.. in the space between our lips...

Yay for great update-y goodness... I'm really curious about Willow's dark past... I guess she had somekind of drug-related past that at somepoint comes to haunt her and Tara...

_________________
We few, we happy few. We band of buggered.

Posting While Nude Improves Your Mood.

Hello

I rarely ever leave feedback these days as I mostly lurk and read as much as possible anonymously. Anyway, your writing is refreshing and mature, and the grammar is wonderful. I love the vocabulary and comfortable feel of how you weave your story. It's like a warm cozy blanket on a cold day. I hope you will keep up the posts. I'm looking forward to reading more.

cheers

_________________
VmpIrslAr

"She's my everything"
"When I think of [Willow and Tara] doing a spell, I sort of do a spell by myself." - Xander in Restless

Yowsers, thanks for all the very generous feedback guys, it is very much appreciated.

Hi Mrs Pineapple I am so pleased you're enjoying the story. You are in now way a bad kitten for not leaving feedback. If you never do again, I will always be grateful for the kind words you have left already. Thanks so much.

Hello Belli Bear, what a really lovely name and avatar thingy by the way. Thanks a lot for the feedback, I'm very glad you're enjoying it - I know angst can take it out of a kitten but don't worry too much, it's more backstory stuff where we come across that. Hope you continue to enjoy it.

Hey Zampsa1975, I was chuffed to see that you left feedback so thanks very much. Hmm, Willow's past, it's a complicated affair and we'll have to wait and see what lurks. I'm glad you're enjoying it.

Hello to you vmplrslAR and thanks for the quite wonderful feedback. I love language and always attempt to use words wisely so it's great to get this kind of feedback. I'm so glad you're enjoying it and I'm kinda getting into it so updates will hopefully be more regular than I at first thought.

Thanks again everyone. The next update should creep out from under it's rock around the end of next week - I'm gonna be out of town until then.

Peace
foreverchanges

Here's the next bit. Still unbeta'd. Enjoy.


Chapter 3

The next few days went on in happy mundanity. I went to work, I came home, I cooked tea, I pottered in the garden or watched a bit of tele and then I went to bed. I even slept occasionally. It was a soothing time, wonderfully bereft of incident or anything to jar the nerves.

To make matters even better, spring really took hold that week and I felt as renewed as the angelic snowdrops and proud bluebells that littered the lawn. I loved sitting in the garden when I got home, the early evening sunshine threatening my pale cheeks and the hum of newly risen bumblebees puncturing the silence. Lounging there, watching the haphazard pollen specks searching for a mate and sipping gin and tonic, complete with ice and a slice, life actually began to feel good.

The garden really wasn’t much more than a square patch of grass that was filled with spring flowers. Whoever lived here before must have shared my passion for the season, I thought. Along the sides a couple of neglected borders spoke of past glories and former abundance. Now they were not much more than a couple of faded shrubs and wilting bushes. I remember it was on Thursday that I began to imagine different plants gracing those borders and decided to ask Tara if she would mind me brightening them up. It wasn’t exactly something I had done before but I liked the idea of planting something new, nurturing it to adulthood and watching it bloom. Maybe Tara would like to help. I allowed myself a moment to indulge that fantasy.

Eventually, the sun, mixed with the gin and tonic, made me so relaxed that I had no choice but to shut my eyes. Needless to say, dozing soon followed and my head must have fallen forward and jerked me to a grumbling consciousness on at least a half dozen occasions. Each time, I helplessly allowed myself to drift off again. The final time I startled myself awake I was met with an amused laugh and the sight of Tara standing in front of me, arms folded and eyes dancing. I thought I was dreaming.

“Hmm, so this is how you spend your evenings when I’m not around to keep an eye on you is it?” she said.

“Eh, what?” The dream was shattered.

Tara made her way over to the chair across from me and sank into it. I was still struggling to comprehend her question when I noticed her staring at something in the distance. A butterfly maybe? I followed her eyes but was left in the dark. She looked very casual and at ease in her skin; she closed her eyes and tilted her face toward the sun.

After a few seconds she mumbled, “I’m still waiting,” Waiting? Realisation dawned as she turned her head a fraction and snuck a quick look at me out of the corner of her eye.

“Oh, er, yeah, I sometimes sit out here in the evening,” I answered. “I like the peace and quiet. I mean, you wouldn’t really know you’re in London would you?”

A faint smile formed on Tara’s lips and she shook her head from side to side, eyes still closed, “No, I guess you wouldn’t.”

“Em,” I hesitated, “Is that okay?” I had no idea why I had asked that question. Maybe years of getting things wrong were taking their inevitable toll.

“Is what okay?” she asked.

While I wasn’t exactly sure what I meant, I did know that I wasn’t used to feeling so unrestricted, so ‘at home’ anywhere. I was more likely to be found hiding away, firmly attached to my earphones and wishing the world away.

Still struggling to find an answer that didn’t make me sound like an imbecile, I began to feel anxious and internally cursed myself for still being out here when she returned home, not to mention the embarrassment at being found practically unconscious. The chastisements continued as I said “Being out here, using the garden, is it okay?” I cringed inside and desperately hoped it was.

Tara looked genuinely surprised at that and she looked at me quizzically. Not for the first time, I felt uncomfortable under her gaze.

“Of course it’s okay, why wouldn’t it be?”

Great, now she’s looking at me like I’m some kind of ‘special’ person. Moron, I ranted at myself.

“Well, I just thought maybe you….er….maybe you…” I gave up, not knowing what I thought, and looked back out over the garden hoping for some kind of divine intervention, or maybe just a meteorite to land squarely on my head.

“That I’m anally retentive about the poor, uncared for garden?”

She must have seen me tense at her words and she quickly added “No, no, it’s fine, you live here, of course you can use it.” She looked me dead in the eye and added, “Whenever you want.”

I nodded, grateful the tension had passed and somehow not feeling like a prize pillock. Despite not having had much contact with Tara since moving in, her ability to put people at ease was not lost on me. It was only ever my own inadequacies that caused any misunderstandings. Tara never seemed to judge me though and I remembered that her seeming lack of guile was what had led me to take up her offer of moving in to the spare room in the first place.

My mind drifted back to that afternoon, over a month ago. I was so nervous, standing there in front of the green door, afraid to knock, convinced that nothing could ever come of the reply I had sent to her ad.

‘Sweet double room available in pretty garden flat in leafy Muswell Hill.
All mod cons, including a power shower that may well take your head off (use at your own risk)
2 minutes from town and Muswell Hill overground.
One other (relatively) house trained occupant.
You must be okay with random tipsiness, and the respecting of each other’s space.
If patio doors and a DVD collection the size of a small principality are for you, please contact me here to arrange a viewing'

[center]***[/center]

I took a couple of seconds to take some calming breaths, then took the leap and knocked on the door. I felt slightly nauseous as I waited for an answer and tried reminding myself of why I was doing this. It did not take long for the door to open.

“Hey, you must be Willow?” I hardly noticed what she looked like, so caught up was I in my internal struggle.

“I am, yes. Tara, right?” I hoped she wouldn’t offer to shake my hand, my palms felt clammy.

“Yes, hi.” She held out her hand. Bugger! “It’s nice to meet you, thanks for making it.”

I tentatively took the offered hand, surreptitiously wiping my own hand on my jeans before raising it.

“Hi, no problem.” I squeezed slightly before shaking her hand more confidently. I never could bare limp handshakes.

“Come through.” She added, “Did you find it okay?” as we made our way into the living room.

“Yes, thanks. I used to have a friend that lived nearby so I know the area quite well.” Tara smiled warmly and it served to settle my nerves somewhat.

“Cool. So where do you wanna start? I can either show you the room first, which let’s face it, could save us the bother of looking at the rest of the place if you decide you hate it. Or, we could go through the motions, look at the rest of the place first only to then risk the awkwardness of you hating the room but feeling obliged to compliment it because I’ve taken the time to show you around.” A smile danced in her eyes as she gave this little speech and I couldn’t help but smile back in return, my anxiety dissipating to nothing more than a steady trickle.

“How about we start with the other rooms first? I would, um, so hate to pass up the chance of a good awkward moment,” I smiled shyly back.

“A wise choice.” She nodded sagely. “Well believe it or not, your eyes do not deceive you, you are actually standing in the living room.” She raised her eyebrows, searching for a response.

I didn’t disappoint, “Oh, well yes, I thought as much, what with the sofa, the open fire and the sign on the door saying ‘living room.’” I looked at her intently and breathed a sigh of relief as she laughed good naturedly at my answer. I told myself to calm down or risk looking a fool. I wasn’t exactly good at small-talk and prayed my luck would hold out.

We continued on, first to the bathroom with its wonderful art-deco design. “Wow,” I said, “that’s amazing.”

“It is good isn’t it? It’s the original bathroom and I promise you will not find a bigger tub anywhere in London.” I just smiled, realising for the first time that she was American. From the South somewhere, judging by her accent, I surmised. While I was toying with the idea of asking her where she was from she said, “But don’t worry, it’s the only thing left over from the original house. Well, apart from the fireplace that is. All the windows and that kind of thing are newish and there aren’t any problems with the wiring.” Sidetracked, I discarded the notion of asking her where she was from. I suppose it may have appeared rude anyway, and it was certainly none of my business.

Instead, I said, “Oh well, that’s good to know, I mean, I’m not sure I’ve ever lived anywhere where it wasn’t wise to wear rubber souls before turning on a light.” I was warming to the woman in front of me, the meeting not going at all as expected. I willed myself to just go with the flow.

“Good use of alliteration, I’m impressed.” She grinned, I blushed. “Do you like music?”

The question threw me. “Sorry?”

“Do you like music?” I must have still looked confused because she added, “you mentioned rubber souls, I just thought…. Okay, so maybe not the most obvious link in the world.” It felt like an apology and she looked kind of embarrassed. I felt awful for her but remained semi-paralysed. “Sooo, moving swiftly on...” She was moving towards the door when I finally woke up.

“Yes, yes I do like music, and um, I think the Beatles were genius.” I added as an afterthought, “Though I’ve never had a Beatles stage as such, I just know their famous stuff.”

We looked at each other and I think that was the moment we both knew this would work out okay. There wasn’t much else to see in the flat and I decided before even looking at the bedroom that if Tara was crazy enough to offer it to me, I would take it.

In less than five minutes we were en route to the front door and wishing each other a pleasant evening. “I’ve got another couple of people to see tonight but I’ll definitely let you know by tomorrow morning. Is that okay?”

“Yes, of course, whatever’s best for you,” I said.

“Well it was nice meeting you, thanks again for making it,” she said to my retreating back.

I stepped out on to the front porch and turned to face her, my mood a million miles from what it had been just fifteen short minutes before, when I had stood in that exact same position.

I raised my hand and gave a clipped wave as I said, “No, thank you Tara.” She laughed. “Have a good evening.”

“You too, enjoy your journey home.” Maybe now I will, I thought.

[center]***[/center]

My mind returned to the present, and I vaguely remembered I had something I wanted to ask Tara. My head felt fuzzy though and I was content to let my mind wander where it would.

We sat there, the two of us, not saying anything, just lost in our own thoughts. It felt to me like time had stopped and there was nothing and nowhere other than us, the maternal sun and the distant flap of damselfly wings.


Thanks for reading
foreverchanges

Onwards and upwards (hopefully). Here's the next bit. All previous disclaimers apply. Still unbeta'd so hopefully no glaring errors. Enjoy.

Chapter 4

The charity I was working for was based in a less salubrious part of town to that in which I now found myself living. But while it was a rough area, it made the work we were doing seem more useful somehow. I was on the bottom rung of the ladder, but I always liked the idea of contributing just that little bit to the lives of the kids we tried to help. A lot of them were from broken homes or were often left to care for their siblings while their parents spent their dole on getting drunk or shooting up. It was not uncommon for them to arrive sporting black eyes or split lips. So many of them had chips on their shoulders the size of Scotland when they first walked through the door, and it was always a minor victory when any of them left with a smile on their face instead of a scowl.

There was always a buzz around the place, with kids whizzing through areas they weren’t allowed, volunteers asking, looking slightly bewildered, if the kids “really are allowed to smoke in the grounds?” and tutors trying valiantly to control their charges. I loved it and it helped the ache of not having a family of my own.

As Friday drew to a close my friend Dan made a beeline for me and I knew it was going to be difficult to get out of it this time. He had that look on his face that said he would brook no excuse.

“Five o’clock, you, me, the Jolly Gardener and our first Pimms of the season. Whaddayasay?

“Oh gosh, I wish I could but, well, I’m cycling.” I felt guilty fobbing him off yet again but I just wasn’t prepared to give up an evening in my own little sanctuary just yet.

“You and that bloody bike, I’m gonna sodding puncture it one of these days.” He pouted for all he was worth.

“Hey, hey, hey mister, don’t diss Daisy, she’s very sensitive you know.” He looked at me incredulously, his foppish blonde locks falling in front of his eyes. He quickly brushed his fringe back and was about to speak again when I cut him off. “And you know I’ve got a date with the new Lucky Soul album.”

He looked pained and fought to admit defeat, “A compelling argument I grant you, but Friday night babe, come on, live a little.” I contemplated the offer for a few seconds, knowing what the outcome would be, but not wanting to hurt his feelings. Dan was one of the good guys after all.

“Tell you what, how about coming over on Sunday for a bite of lunch? We can drink Pimms in the garden if you like. I’ll cook and we can geek off about the album and complain that not enough people love it whilst secretly loving the idea of being in our own exclusive little club.” I surprised myself with the offer but as I warmed to the theme I noticed Dan brighten considerably.

“It’s a date, what time do you want me?” he asked.

“Come at about midday and we can go for a walk first?” It’s official, I have been possessed. There was nothing else to explain my strange behaviour. Oddly enough though, I found I was already looking forward to our ‘date.'

“Coolio, I’ll bring the Pimms.”

“Okey dokes. Oh, and just give me a text…. you know, if anything changes,” I said.

“Will do. I’m out of here babe, there’s a pint of the black stuff with my name on it somewhere.” He dipped and brushed his lips against my cheek. I smiled at the gesture and gave him a quick hug.

“Have a good night then, I’ll see you on Sunday, and hey, don’t be late.” My mock glare fooled no one. Dan laughed and was on his way.

I finished off a few last minute tasks and completed my schedule for the week ahead, before leaving. All the while I wore a faint smile on my face, which apparently did not go unnoticed by my colleagues.

“You look happy, off out with lover boy I suppose.” It wasn’t a question. I had given up trying to explain to Pauline that I was gay on about day 107 of working for the charity, and quite who my mystery ‘lover boy’ was, I shuddered to think.

I looked at her dumbly while she continued her monologue, “Can’t remember the last time I had something to look forward to of a weekend. Enjoy your youth while you can I say, it’ll be over before you know it.” I inhaled quickly and mumbled a quick “oh well, at least the weather’s supposed to be nice…er…bye.” While shutting down my PC in record time and quickly shoving any paperwork still strewn on my desk into the nearest drawer, I vaguely thought how I would have to get into work ten minutes early on Monday to sort through the ensuing mess.

I made a panicky exit, leaving a still talking Pauline behind and considered myself fortunate to have gotten away so easily. I wasn’t proud of myself for feeling that way, but it was Friday night, I had a whole weekend ahead of me, and just for once I wanted to put myself first. You’re so going to hell, I thought, my good mood temporarily on hold.

The ride home passed in a daze, London’s rush hour traffic being kind for once, and before I knew it I was storing Daisy in the shed at the bottom of the garden. I never could work out how I made it anywhere in one piece when my mind saw fit to vacation without me.

I had shopped during my lunch break for a feast of deli food and fine wine, well as fine as £6.99 can buy anyway, and as I heaved my luxurious loot through the garden and up to the patio doors to my room, I felt a worryingly familiar wave of anticipation. It was quickly followed by an equally familiar wave of resignation as I inwardly scoffed at the very idea that Tara would somehow be as excited about seeing me. Fighting the dueling emotions, I shook my head and attempted to regain my composure. “Christ, get a grip,” I told myself and let out a laugh. By the time I made it inside, I was calm again and returned my focus to the evening ahead.

“Hi, it’s just me,” I awkwardly called out. I was met with a silent response. I made my way to the kitchen area and saw that the flat was otherwise empty. Oh well, probably for the best, I thought.

***

By about eight o’clock I had eaten my fill and was readying myself to settle down with the Lucky Soul album. I had resisted the urge to play it as I prepared and then ate my meal, determined to give it the concentration and time it deserved. Anticipation breathed within me as I set the sumptuous black vinyl on the turntable. Needle poised, goosebumps raised. Next, I uncorked the wine, the first bar would be accompanied by a first slurp of Montana Sauvignon. Glass in hand, the needle made it’s steady descent and the welcoming crackle of the first groove saw me lift the wine to my lips. In less than a second the glorious opening strains of Whoa Billy filled every corner of the room, the volume so loud I almost felt physically winded. I smiled widely and took that first glug of wine, the music shooting like amphetamine through every nerve of my being. My spirit soared and in those joyous chords I allowed myself a brief moment to dream of a girl with blonde hair and blue eyes sharing the moment with me.

Lying on my bed, glass precariously balanced in my outstretched hand, I gave myself up to the music and knew that this was what I lived for, that this was the only thing guaranteed to keep me safe and never let me down. Some people may think of that as sad but for me it was just how it was, it was my lifeboat on a stormy sea.

I couldn’t honestly say how much time had passed when I heard a knock on my door. All I knew was that I was nearing the end of my second listen to the album and my second glass of wine. My heart jumped into my mouth and the remainder of my wine jumped out of the glass as it registered, so lost in my own little world was I.

“Just a sec,” I shouted out, while scrabbling to turn down the volume and wipe my wine-soaked sleeve before answering the door.

“Having a party in here or just trying to wake the dead?”

My blush was furious and words deserted me. I stared relentlessly at Tara, my heart hammering as if I had just been caught masturbating or something equally humiliating.

“I…er…no?” I finally ground out.

“Oh, that’s a pity, I was gonna ask if anyone was invited.” There is a God, I rejoiced. Tara’s smile was a mile wide and I heaved a massive sigh of relief before laughing shakily.

“Fuck, sorry, I didn’t know you were here.”

“I wasn’t, I just got back, and..um…I thought I’d see what you were up to.” She leaned against the door frame with her arms crossed over her chest, and I was once again floored by how easily she handled herself.

“Well I was just listening to a bit of music and dousing myself in wine. Just your average Friday night shenanigans, you know.”

“Oh right, I didn’t realise it was ‘the thing’ to douse oneself in wine whilst listening to music but I’ll definitely have to give it a go sometime.”

“I can recommend it, though I find it works better with red. White just washes out too easily.” I smiled, despite the lame joke, and opened the door widely in invitation.

“Can I get you a glass? Of wine that is, to drink, not to douse.”

“Sure, why not? I think I deserve it after the day I’ve had.” I hesitated for a second, debating whether or not to ask her about her day but decided to put it off until she had a glass of vino in her hand.

When I think of it now, I am amazed at how relaxed I was, as I went to get another glass, with the thought of Tara being in my room and about to share a bottle of wine with me. I suppose it must be true what they say, practice really does make perfect.

Thanks for reading
foreverchanges

Okay that last one was a bit strange. Not sure where you're going, but I trust you and I'm more than happy to go with the flow

This is still a very interesting story...

_________________
Less killy, more frilly

Hello Mrs P, thanks ever so much for commenting. Your reply really made me smile actually and gave me food for thought. I've just reread that part and I guess it might seem a bit strange without any understanding of where the story's going.

All I'll say is that I'm trying to create a Willow that never met her Buffy (that's probably not readily apparent yet) and throughout her life her one constant has been music, hence all the references.

And for Tara, of whom there will be much more later on, I'm trying to create a life where she did meet her Buffy (if you see what I mean). So I guess I'm kind of turning their life stories on their respective heads.

I'm also trying to set a certain mood that may also seem a bit odd but hopefully I'll get better at creating it as time goes on. I'm naturally more comfortable with a lighter, wittier mood but this is as much a writing exercise for me as well as a chance to make my own little place for some W&T goodness.

Anyway, as always, thanks for taking the time to comment, it's greatly appreciated.

Take care
foreverchanges

Hi foreverchanges,

Thanks for your reply! It really made me understand the story a lot better. And I'm an absolute music-geek, so I guess for once I can identify with Willow (otherwise it's always Tara ). And the mood... Yeah, it's kinda odd, but that's in fact one of the reasons that I keep on reading. It's mysterious... Like on those hot summer days, when nothing really happens, and suddenly a storm breaks out? It kinda leaves me wondering what'll happen next. (And did you get that at all?)

Anyway, keep writing!

_________________
Less killy, more frilly

Hi Mrs P, glad the explanation helped a little and I loved your analogy about storms breaking out. Thanks so much for continuing to read and commenting. Hope you enjoy this next bit.

Here's the latest update, still unbeta'd, previous disclaimers apply. Song lyrics by Evan Dando and the Lemonheads.

Chapter 5

I half sat, half lay, on my bed, clutching the pillow to my face as I squirmed. The pillow was hiding an expression that fell somewhere between a smile and a grimace. I thought for another couple of seconds, all the while aware that Tara was staring at me intently. I could almost taste the twinkle in her eye. Christ, how did I get myself into this? I let out an almost inaudible groan and reluctantly lifted my head from the pillow. “I wanted to be one of the shoemaker’s elves.” I let out a puff of air and looked anywhere but at Tara whilst musing over the demonic properties of white wine. I was never good with personal questions, even those as innocuous as “what did you want to be when you were little?”

“The shoemaker elf?” She pondered for a second, I prayed for divine intervention. “Honestly, that’s not a profession I’ve ever heard of.” She looked at me seriously before adding “Was it the pointy ears that attracted you?”

I squirmed somewhat and stuttered out the basic outline of my favourite fairytale. Tara, incredibly it seemed to me, managed not to piss herself laughing. “I guess I just liked the idea of them all helping each other like that,” I vaguely finished. Please don’t laugh, please don’t laugh, I silently pleaded.

She did not reply immediately, just continued to stare at me. I nervously twisted my hands into the pillow that was clutched tightly to my body and fought the flush that was beginning to rise in my cheeks, all the while wishing I had just lied and given a more traditional answer, like nurse or ballerina.

“Damn, I wish I had thought of that, when I was six I wanted to be a ballerina.”

My whole body relaxed with the answer and I burst out into a full-blown laugh, all the tension in my body leaving in a flood of nervous relief. Tara chuckled briefly but I felt her eyes still on me and I knew she knew I was laughing at something other than her childhood dream.

After a second I calmed down and looked over at her. We were lying top-to-tail on my bed, Tara’s head rested languidly in her palm, her knees bent as she half turned towards me. She was giving me a curious smile and I fought not to hold eye contact for too long. “You certainly dance to the beat of your own drum,” she said.

“Ha, yeah, I guess that’s one way of putting it, but when you’re left to your own devices a lot I guess your imagination takes you into directions it might not otherwise go.” I was surprised I had given up such a lot of information to a virtual stranger and half-wondered why I felt so incapable of completely censoring myself when I was around her.

She nodded as she listened to my little speech. I frowned slightly, briefly lost in my own world when Tara asked “You were left to your own devices a lot?” Her voice was soft, and warm, and just a little bit sad as she said it. I momentarily had the urge to spill my guts and tell of my… let’s say unconventional… childhood, but I knew that could not be allowed to happen.

I swallowed and stifled the thought, giving the answer to a different question instead. “Oh, you know, I’ve always preferred my own company to crowds, and it means I’ve always had time to indulge in the things that interest me.”

She did not reply immediately, just continued to stare at me, seemingly struggling with what she wanted to say. There wasn’t a sound in the room other than our breaths and the low hum of the now redundant speakers. Every muscle in my body tensed as I waited for a reply. Tick tock, tick tock. As the silence drew on I felt the traitorous burn in my cheeks begin to rise. The quiet intimacy of the evening was obliterated and the familiar storm in my head broke and saw me foundering. I racked my brain thinking of something to alleviate the tension that I was sure was building to a crushing inferno when, just like that, Tara quenched the flames.

“Guess throwing a fancy-dress party with me is out then? And I so wanted to see you dressed up as one of those elves.”

[center]***[/center]

“Alison is starting to happen,
Alison is starting to happen,
Alison is starting to happen
… to me.”

As Evan Dando’s dulcet tones rang out I busied myself with cleaning my room and reliving the previous night. I knew it was unwise to dwell on it…on Her… but I was as a new-born, helpless in the face of danger.

[center]*[/center]

“I love this song, the way it builds, you can feel it way down.” Yes, yes I know.

“But Almodovar is the Man right? Anyone who can get my dad to empathise with drag-queens has to be doing something right.” I laughed, unguardedly.

“It’s all about the eyes, ‘the windows of the soul.’” Her words, they haunted me.

[center]*[/center]

My head was awash with snippets of conversation, the confidence of her opinions, the depth of her eyes. With a sigh I sat down on the end of my bed, far from finished with the job at hand, and closed my eyes, breathing heavily. Her scent still lingered; Chanel no. 5, and kindness, and buttercups. I vaguely stroked the duvet where she had sat the night before and brought an image of her presence easily to mind. I felt Her all around me as the butterflies in my stomach gripped me.

I shook my head and took a deep breath, resolving to clear my mind of all thoughts of Tara and the hours we had spent together. Two… two happy hours, go ahead, count 'em. I shook my head again, laughing at my silliness, battling my nervous anxiety, and proceeded with my cleaning.

A half hour later, dusting done and vacuuming completed, I turned my mind to breakfast. “Most important meal of the day,” my mother always used to say, and as with most things she said, I couldn’t disagree. I spared a fond glance at her portrait, her unending serenity calming me, before walking out of the room.

I hit the kitchen and immediately made a move for anything healthy I could lay my hands on. Whilst my head was not protesting as much as it might from the excess of wine it had gamely put up with the night before, it certainly wasn’t doing a tango either. Grapes, blueberries, and ahhhh…. mango. Food thus assembled, I switched on Radio 6, only half listening as I washed the plump berries, sliced the vibrant grapes and massacred the poor mango. My hands were a sticky, sweet mess by the end of it and I enthusiastically sucked every last drop of goodness from them, savouring the taste as it slipped effortlessly down my throat. Yum.

Precisely two minutes and fourteen seconds later, the fruit salad was demolished and the coffee pot was giving up it’s intense aroma. I put out two mugs in anticipation of Tara making an appearance before I left the house for the day but the gesture proved to be in vain. I had mixed feelings about that, my head knowing that keeping my distance was the smart thing to do, my heart longing for even just a glimpse of her.

By the time I left the house it was ten-thirty, and the sun was playing ‘hide and seek’ with the black clouds that threatened it.

[center]*[/center]

By the time I arrived back from town, weighed down with enough food to feed an army, I was drenched. My loose red air was pasted to my face and my feet felt like they were wading through a stream. Yep, the heavens had opened and I was but one of their beleaguered victims.

I decided to enter the flat via the front door, rationalising that the living room’s wooden floorboards would cope much better than my Kashmir rug with the deluge that waited to greet them. On meeting the front door and raising my key to the lock though, I stopped dead. Tara might be in the living room. The sudden realisation that Tara could be on the other side of that door froze me with a speed the wind and rain could never hope to achieve. Jesus, look at the state of me. I was frantic as I debated what to do for the best. Just dive through the door and head straight for my room or run round the block to the entrance for the garden and the door to my room?

With the rain battering me and my head swimming with indecision the answer was provided for me.

“My God, what are you doing out there? Come on, get in before you turn into a puddle.”

Tara was taking the bags out of my hands and pulling me through the door before I even had time to register that the door had been opened. I stared blankly at her back as she made her way over to the kitchen to dump the bags of food. Before she reached it she turned back to me, her look of concern quickly turning to one of mild confusion.
“Willow, don’t just stand there honey, you’re dripping everywhere and you need to get out of those wet clothes.”

“Oh, sorry.” I shuffled my feet and gave her a weak smile, “I got caught in the rain.” I barely knew what I was saying.

“You don’t say.” Her look of gentle amusement turned to a frown, “Did you forget your key? You must have been out there for like a couple of minutes before I opened the door.”

She was looking at me expectantly as my face contorted with the effort of finding a suitable response. “No, I just couldn’t find it in my bag. I…um….I was just about to knock.” My voice sounded far away to my own ears, embarrassment taking a chunk out of me. Then a thought crossed my mind, “How did you, er… how did you know I was outside?”

She smiled before she answered, “I saw you come down the steps.” Still smiling she pointed at me and said, “You might wanna go dry off and get changed? I’ll make you a hot drink. Coffee right?”

“Er, yes…please.” My voice wasn’t much more than a whisper. “Thanks Tara.”

“No problem, now scoot before the floorboards start to warp.”

I walked to my room with my head bowed, dimly aware that I had somehow managed to make an even bigger fool of myself than usual. Why can’t I just be normal, was the grim question that reverberated around my head as I peeled off my soaked clothes and prepared to take a shower.


Thanks for reading
foreverchanges

Hey again! Can I say I really loved this chapter. You sketch the intimacy between the girls so beautifully, in a way that doesn't make it too obvious.
A couple of things I absolutely loved:

That was so cute! And while I actually did expect Tara to start laughing, she didn't! You continue to surprise me, really.


A really beautiful analogy. You know I like to write songs and I'm always breaking my head over trying to find the 'right' analogy, so, well done!


Mostly, this could be seen as an unimportant detail, but in fact this is what sets the mood really well. Just your average afternoon... Which again contrasts with the amount of feeling going on in Willow. Nice!



Ah, to be normal, or not to be normal, that is apparently the question, one I have frequently asked myself. And it is a question so recognisably posed by someone in love. Strangely when you're in love you feel like you're making a fool of yourself a lot more often than in 'real life', at least that's how I always felt.

Wow, I think this is one of the longest feedbacks I've ever written...
Keep udating!

_________________
Less killy, more frilly

Hey there foreverchanges!

first of all, let me congratulate you for this.. it's always hard to start, and harder when you don't get the proper appreciation for it at first (which I think you don't).

I've been reading fanfics for years (around six, to be exact) and it's hard for me to find someone who has really good writing style. but I think you do (and take this from an English lit student! )
I find your writing style, your imagery and richness of description inspiring. I wish I could write like that! actually, I'm working very hard to do it, these days.. and I want to reinforce you, because you are really good. The way the music is integrated works very well.. sometimes people try forcing lyrics into a fic, and I love that you didn't do that, but put us inside what Willow is feeling regarding it.

Also, what I found interesting was the fact that until you mentioned Willow's cds, it felt as though the story took place somewhere in the 70's. The records, and the atmosphere.. I'm not sure why, but it doesn't feel really contemporary, and to be honest, I liked it a lot. I think you're doing a great job with the setting, and it's part of what makes it strong.

anyway, I'm sorry I'm not being very specific, but it's hard to do after a few updates at a time. I just had to speak my mind and say I've got your back.

have a lovely weekend.


Melissa

P.S this was written in a hurry. Sorry if it's sort of a mess.

_________________
Melissa

Missing me one place search another,
I stop some where waiting for you

Hello there Mrs P, thank you so much for your wonderful feedback, I can't tell you how grateful I am that you took the time. I got such a kick out of it as usual. I really loved your comments about the 'being normal' thing and have to agree - I think everything is polarised when you're falling.

And wow, I would love to be able to write songs, I wish you all luck with that.

I'm so glad that you continue to enjoy the story and hopefully I'll have the next update ready by the end of the day. Take care, f.

Hi Melissa, gosh I hardly know where to start, your comments blew me away they were so generous so thank you so much for taking the time to post, it's much appreciated. And please don't apologise 'cos you wrote them in a rush, that could never be a problem.

It's really great to hear that you like the writing style, I really love language and I suppose, in a way, I value it above plot, though that's obviously important too. But if I'm doing something right in that department then at least I know I'm achieving something of what I'm aiming for with this.

I was also very interested in what you had to say about the time the piece is set - funnily enough I was born in the 70s and toyed with the idea of setting it in the nineties but I thought that might be a bit tricky 'cos of all the music references. Anyhow, I'm glad it has that type of feel, because in some ways Willow is behind the times because of stuff that's happened in her past.

And thanks for what you said about the feedback thing, I never really expected to get any to be honest so I'm just very grateful for any that does come my way.

Finally, I'm glad the music references are working for you, and don't worry, the possibility of this descending into the murky realms of the 'song-fic' are zero

I hope you continue to enjoy the story, next update due by the end of today (hopefully). Thanks again, f.

Here's the next bit. Previous disclaimers apply. A friendly warning, it's kind of angsty. Enjoy

Chapter 6


“Thanks for coming; I’m glad you like the place. You’re my first guest actually so that makes it doubly so.” I smiled at Dan as we chinked glasses.

I had spent the early part of the morning hiding in my room, shamefully avoiding Tara, so that I was not forced to relive any of the embarrassment of the day before. I knew that she had an early start, something about meeting an old friend for breakfast, so I patiently, agonisingly, waited for the telltale click of the front door. I felt bereft at its appearance. How is it possible to want, and yet not want, the same thing so much that it physically hurts?

For the next couple of minutes, a mild case of catatonia seized me and I perched, statue-like on the end of my bed, unaware of anything but the feedback battering my brain.

Brrrng, brrrng. I was startled out of my reverie by the sound of my mobile. Briefly confused at the shrill vibration, I quickly straightened myself up and put a smile on my face. As my mother always used to say, “The person on the other end will always be able to hear it in your voice.”

Dan’s voice rang out with all its customary cheer and my mood was gratefully lifted.

Following the call, I somehow managed to shake off the effects of the disaster that was the day before and with Dolly Parton for company, I soon found myself feeling rejuvenated and looking forward to what the new day had in store.

“Thanks for having me babe.” Dan raised his glass towards me once more, “Here’s to happy days, debauched nights and frivolous in-betweens.” I laughed slightly, embarrassed at the notion of being in any way “debauched.” God, I hope that isn’t what he thinks of me. Chance would be a fine thing. I had to smile at that thought.

“So what’s the plan for today? Are we just gonna finish these and head out or were you thinking more along the lines of eating first and then walking off our lunch?” Dan patted his invisible paunch and winked before adding, “Either’s fine by me.”

“Well I was thinking we could pack a picnic, and have it on the way back. So if you like, we’ll finish our drinks, decide on where we wanna go, and then I’ll put the food together – it’s ready, just needs packing – and then we can set off. Er, and we’ll have Pimms when we get back. How does all that sound?”

“Good by me babe. This juice is delicious by the way.” Dan settled back into his chair, his legs stretched out in front of him and his feet crossed. He had a very relaxed air as he sat sipping his juice, dressed in an old sky blue Belle and Sebastian T-shirt, worn, blue levis and scruffy black Converse. My own garb was not dissimilar, the Converse being replaced with red Golas, about as colourful as I ever got, and the T-shirt with a tight, black Fred Perry polo shirt.

We were sitting outside, patio doors open, music playing, daring the rain of the day before to intrude on our private party. The dampness of the air gave the morning a fresh feel and spoke of renewal after a week of hot spring days and balmy nights. Perfect for walking, I thought.

I had done all the preparations the evening before, using the activity to fight the depression that had settled over me following the debacle of the previous day. It also served to fend off the anxiety of entertaining. It was not exactly something I was used to.

[center]*[/center]

My father was an austere man and he did not believe in friends. “They’ll always let you down,” was a favourite refrain of his. I sometimes wished that I had believed him. His youth, or what passed for a ‘youth’ in his hard-working, devoutly Catholic family, had mostly been spent helping out on the family farm and assisting in the bringing up of his eight siblings. By the time he was fourteen, with nothing but a rudimentary education behind him, he set out on his own. What happened over the next three years, before meeting my mother, is a mystery as he never saw fit, as far as I know, to share that period of his life with anyone, least of all me.

“Do you wanna come to my house on Friday, after school? My dad’s picking me up in his new car and my mom said you could.” At the age of six, the idea of being picked up from school in my best friend’s dad’s new car was about as exotic an idea that had thus far been presented to me. I was giddy at the thought.

“Yes, if I can, I’ll have to ask my mom first. What kind of car has your dad got? ”

“A red one.” Jamie couldn’t keep the pride out of his voice as he said it.

“Wow, red ones are really nice.” The first bell heralding the end of lunchtime had already gone as we slowly made our way through the expansive school playground, and snaked our way into our class line.

I was like a jumping bean for the rest of the day, our sums lesson passing in a fog of imagining and our drawing hour ending before it had even begun, so full was my head of getting to ride in Jamie’s new red car and the excitement of going to his house on Friday.

When the bell finally went that signaled our escape for the day, I could barely contain myself. I rushed over to Jamie who was still packing up and said, “I’m gonna ask my mom if I can come over on Friday and she’ll be able to tell your mom.”

“Okay. Mom said we can watch tele and play with my new swingball. I’m the best at that though so I’ll have to learn you how to do it.”

My eyes nearly shot out of my by now overloaded head at the mention of swingball. I had craved one ever since seeing an advert for them in the middle of Coronation Street. “Oh gosh, okay Jamie, I’ll try my best, I promise. Can I bring my skipping rope as well, my mom is learning me how to do it, I could show you too.”

“Well you can bring it, and if we have time after tele and swingball we can play with it.” I was ecstatic. My skipping rope was my pride and joy and now I would get to show it off to Jamie too.

By the time Jamie’s Thundercats yoyo was secured in his satchel, all the other kids were out the door.

“Come on you two, get a move on, you don’t want to keep your parents waiting.” Mr McCain’s voice boomed out.

I looked away shyly and mumbled, “Sorry Sir.” Jamie did not say a thing, he merely glanced at Mr McCain and waved goodbye.

Once out the door, we both surged forward, battling for victory in our, never spoken of, daily race to the school gate. As usual, Jamie won, and as usual, I didn’t mind. The front of the school was awash with parents and older kids, all waiting for the little ones to eventually hop, skip and trip their way out to them. I spotted my mother and bolted towards her. I barely made it before gasping out, “Mommy, mommy, mommy, Jamie’s new dad wants to take me to his house in his car and we can play swingball and I can take my skipping rope.”

I was jumping up and down and my mother’s face was a picture of confusion and eternal patience. “Wow there bunny, calm down and tell me what’s happened. Jamie has a new dad?” I giggled as she picked me up and gave me a squeeze. She smelled of cut grass and earl grey.

Attempting to get my breath I tried again, “Jamie asked me if I can go to his house on Friday and his dad has a new car and his mom said I could. Can I mommy, can I go? I’ll be good, I promise.”

My mother looked into my eyes so fondly, and so deeply, I stopped wriggling entirely and could focus on nothing else. “Well, let’s see, we’ll have to ask daddy, and if he says “yes” then you can go but if he thinks it’s best for you to come home that day, how about we have a special tea and I’ll teach you some more skipping?”

I hugged her then, my evaluating, six-year old mind knowing not to argue. “Okay mommy… can we have chips and ice cream?” I whispered into her ear, clinging to her tightly.

“We can have whatever you want bunny.” I pretended not to hear the catch in her voice when she spoke. It is amazing what the mind can convince it’s self of.

“What do you mean she’s been invited to her friend’s house on Friday?”

“Just that Jamie, her friend from school, has invited Willow over for tea. His mother said it was okay and they’re a nice family. Her husband will pick them up and then bring Will back here in the evening. He’s left it up to us to say what time she should be home.” I wasn’t sure but I thought I could hear fear in my mother’s voice as she spoke.

“Very big of him. And who exactly is this Jamie?” His voice was low, so controlled. No doubt he was reading his newspaper or something of the sort, while studiously ignoring my mother’s eye contact. It was just one of the many ways he employed to keep her in her place.

“Just Willow’s friend from school. He’s a good little boy, and they always play together.”

I sat at the top of the stairs, the faded flock wallpaper keeping me company. My parents’ voices floated eerily through the flimsy door that connected the living room with the staircase. For some reason, I was already wishing I had never asked my mommy if I could go to Jamie’s on Friday.

“Don’t be bloody ridiculous woman. We can’t have her going round people’s houses and making a nuisance of herself. She’ll come home on Friday, like every other day, and I don’t want to hear another word about her going round stranger’s houses. Do you hear me?”

I was shaking by now and wanted nothing more than to fly into my mother’s arms and tell her it didn’t matter, that I really didn’t want to go to Jamie’s after all.

“Oh but they’re not strangers, I sometimes talk to Jamie’s mother, Maggie, outside the school when we pick up the kids.”

There was a pause and I felt sick to my stomach at the thought at what might happen next. “What did I say? What did I just bloody say?” His voice was calm, too calm, and I prayed my mommy would just leave it, just come find me and we could retreat into our own little world, far away from his harsh words and stifling rules.

The next thing I heard was the sound of the hall door opening and I scrambled up and fled to my bedroom. I dived under the multi-coloured covers of my bed and rolled myself into as small a ball as possible. The door clicked open and I breathed a sigh of relief as I recognised the soft footfalls of my mother. I felt her sit on the edge of the bed as she hummed an Emmylou Harris tune she knew I liked. Minutes passed in that soothing melody.

“Come out bunny, I know you’re in there.” Her delicate hand stroked my back through the blankets; she knew I had been listening. I slowly withdrew my head from underneath the covers and found myself once again caught in the ocean of my mother’s sea-green eyes. I knew she was crying inside, her treasured heart breaking.

My bottom lip trembled and my wide-open eyes ached with the effort of not blinking. Don’t cry, don’t cry, big girls don’t cry, I chanted silently. It was the first real blow my six year old heart had been dealt, but looking at my mother’s carefully controlled expression, I knew I had to be strong, her brave little toaster. I sniffed and fought not to lose control as I gave my angelic mother a pained smile and whispered “It’s okay mommy, now we can have chips and ice cream.”

My mother’s proud smile appeared and was gone in an instant, replaced instead with a world of remorse, and as her tears betrayed her I gave up my fight and succumbed to the hug in which she safely enveloped me.

I never forgot the unwanted lesson my father taught me that day.


Thanks for reading
foreverchanges

such an awesome few updates you've got here, I'm totally loving all the depth thats making itself apparent. Can't wait to see where you take it next!

-Bell

_________________

let me live forever.. in the space between our lips...

I love where you have Willow working and hoping that she opens up more to Tara. Hoping you write more about Tara and her life pre-Willow.
Interesting story so far though.

I love this story. I think it is one of the most intriguing and well-written stories on the board, so thanks! I'm really interested to see whether the drug references in the prologue take place before or after Willow met Tara. I hope you continue writing soon! Thanks again.

Hey Belli Bear, lovely to hear from you. Thanks fo much for the feedback, it's much appreciated. I'm really glad you're still enjoying the story. Hope you like the next update.

Hi love_2003, thanks so much for taking the time to comment, it's really appreciated. I'm so glad you're enjoying the story. Don't worry, we'll be hearing more about Tara soon - not in the next update, but probably in the one after that. Hope you enjoy the next update.

Hola bessa, wow, thanks for the very generous feedback, I mightly appreciate it. I'm so glad you enjoy the writing, it's very important to me that it's written well, so your comment really made my day. Hope you continue to enjoy.


Update is below, same disclaimers apply. Unbeta'd and please accept my apologies for the iffy grammar around speech. I'll read up on it before the next udpate so hopefully it should get better. Enjoy.


Chapter 7

Dan and I wandered lazily through Hampstead Heath’s sun-bleached woods, the merry chirp of tits and wood pigeons announcing our arrival to all the hidden ground-dwellers we passed by; squirrels and voles, rabbits and frogs. The warm spring days had rendered the ground hard and the crackle of bone-dry branches and crisped leaves lay claim to our every stride. The sweet scents of honeysuckle and lavender hung in the air and I inhaled deeply of their gifts, glad to be in the great outdoors on such a day.

As we approached a grassland, the vibrant hues of cornflowers and rhododendrons delighted us as they swayed in the breeze, and I eagerly soaked up all the local flora and fauna, clearing my mind of recent missteps and malfunctions.

It is true to say that I felt slightly awkward being alone with Dan though, all our previous contact having taken place within the confines of the workplace. I was always more comfortable with people in familiar surroundings, the common topics of the work we were doing providing a handy fall-back position for when conversation dried up.

We walked for about an hour, enjoying the scenery, chatting about nothing in particular, and basking in the mid-day sun before we settled on a spot for our picnic. The gentle sloping bank, surrounded by trees and shrubs, was close enough to one of the Heath’s many ponds to throw snacks to the local birdlife.

Once the food was unpacked, and the bottle of wine that Dan had secretly been harbouring was uncorked, we happily eyed our bounty.

“Wow, this all looks great babe. I do love a girl who knows how to picnic.” With that, Dan dove in and savaged a chicken leg a la Henry VIII.

I laughed at his silliness and plumped for a slice of homemade Spanish tortilla. “Mmm, not bad though I do say so myself.” I found, slightly to my surprise, that I was enjoying the day more than I expected, Dan proving to be an entertaining and amiable companion.

It did not take long to eat our fill and before too long we found ourselves at the water’s edge, leisurely lobbing nibbles of bread and leftovers to the lucky graylags and coots, mallards and moorhens that made the Heath their home.

“Do I know how to treat a lady or what? Come on Mrs Moorhen, this tasty titbit is just for you sweetie,” Dan gallantly announced.

“Yep,” I chortled, “you sure know how to spoil a girl, it doesn’t get much better than stale bread and half eaten chicken legs.”

Dan turned to me in mock outrage, “Hey, laugh all you like, but I’ll have you know I am considered quite the charmer with the ladies. Many have fallen at my feet following a slap-up meal at the local Harvester of their choice.”

“Probably due to food poisoning,” I deadpanned.

We both cracked up and continued to slurp our wine and lob food to the ducks, their local rivalries flaring over apple cores and soggy sandwiches.

By the time the assembled throng had polished off the leftovers I was feeling rather merry, the wine, the sunshine and the good company, going to my head a little. Under normal circumstances, I would have worried that I was being too forward, too familiar with someone that I really did not know that well but I stole myself and stamped down on the thought, determining to ignore past hurts. I’m allowed to have fun aren’t I? I asked myself, praying I would not regret it.

“So I was thinking, we could take a turn about the gardens at Kenwood and then head home for Pimms and the latest tunes from the Hit Parade. What say you Mr Ladykiller?” I reeled off in my best posh accent, my reservations thankfully at bay.

“Why I don’t mind if we do Madam, and may I be so bold as to request the first dance?”

“But of course, I would love to watch you make a tit of yourself whilst you take the first dance.” The wine was clearly making me feel quite bold, and we were both in fits again as we eventually made our way up to Kenwood House and attempted to walk off our mild inebriation.

By the time we got back to the flat, we were both in a fine humour, having enjoyed the walk and each other’s company.

“Make yourself at home Dan, I’ll just sort out a jug of Pimms and stick a record on.”

“Okay babe, I’ll be in the garden.” With that Dan disappeared into my room and I started chopping the fruit for our drinks. I have always loved the ceremony involved in making Pimms, the picking of the mint, the chopping of the fruit, and it felt nice to have someone other than myself to make it for, for once. I stopped my preparations for a second, a haze coming unbidden to my eyes, as Tara infiltrated my mind and I thought how I would love to be going through the ritual for her, rather than Dan. I winced at the thought, feeling guilty for almost wishing Dan away. A determined shake of the head saw me return to the job at hand and within a few minutes the honey-coloured drink was ready and a smile had returned to my face.

I deposited the jug with Dan before I ducked my head back into my room and decided what to listen to. I figured the mood called for something upbeat, to shake off any lingering cobwebs caused by the miles we had walked and the heat of the day.

I perused my collection and smiled widely when I hit upon the very thing. “Today,” I thought, “this song coulda been written for me.” It was a wonderful feeling, and when the first few lines of Nina Simone’s ‘Ain’t Got No (I Got Life)’ rang out they were instantly joined by Dan and I murdering those beautiful words with our brutal bellows.

And that was how Tara found us when she entered the garden through the back gate.

The sounds of hands clapping, a foot tapping and a third voice joining our chorus saw my eyes snap open and my words to falter. Tara just looked at me, her eyes truly shining as her musical voice was strong and sure, hitting every note and nuance. I would have been embarrassed if I had not been so busy being spellbound. My mouth was emitting nothing but a hoarse sort of monotone rumble and it took all of my willpower to not just stare and revel in the vision before me. Eventually, I vaguely joined in again at Tara’s silent bidding only for Dan to suddenly jump to his feet and join in the clapping with vigour, his uncoordinated dancing surprising me for the second time in as many minutes.

“Yee haw.” Dan ended with a flourish as we all started laughing and giving ourselves and each other a well-deserved round of applause.

“I take it you two have had a fun day?” Tara was smiling expectantly at me and I just nodded like an idiot. Her eyes seemed to be asking me a question but the sudden shock of seeing her and the adrenaline that was still bouncing around my insides all served to prevent me from making sense of it. Out of the corner of my eye I could see a similar expression on Dan’s face.

Finally, Tara took matters into her own hands and the penny finally dropped. “Hi, I’m Tara, Willow’s flatmate.” She reached out her hand towards Dan who shook it enthusiastically.

“Oh, err..,” was all I managed before Dan put me out of my monosyllabic misery, my head still tingling with confusion.

“Hiya, it’s nice to meet you, I’m Dan, Willow’s singing coach,” Dan answered as seriously as possible.

Tara looked surprised for just the briefest of moments before firing back, “Is that what you call that? I thought the local fox population were holding a love-in.”

“I am a local fox.” Dan raised his eyebrows flirtatiously and I just watched the exchange dumbly, not really sure of what was happening. With a pang, I felt my social inadequacies reasserting themselves and my good mood evaporating. I can not be sure, and I never did ask her, but I had a feeling that Tara saw this and so switched her focus back to me. I like to think that that is what happened anyway.

“How was the walk? You look like you caught the sun a little bit.” Her voice was gentle, dispelling any possibility that she may have been making fun of what I was sure must have been a healthy burn.

“Oh God,” I groaned, “I burn so easily, I probably look like a lobster…. an enraged lobster. I forgot to…,” If I was not the colour of a lobster before, I was fairly certain I was after that little outburst.

“No you don’t,” she cut me off, looking directly at me, “and a little colour suits you.” My heart nearly stopped and my breathing slowed somewhat. In the distance, the whirr of an aeroplane’s engines sounded as if they were moving in slow motion. I mumbled something, looking away, completely at a loss for what I should say when Dan proclaimed, “More drinks.” The welcome interruption saved me and I quickly ran inside to get a glass for Tara, glad of the diversion.

I took a minute to go to the bathroom and compose myself. I threw a little water on to my face and noticed that Tara was right, I did not look like a lobster and maybe a little colour did suit me.

Within another minute I had rejoined our little group and had regained some of my former happy mood. Looking at Tara, dressed casually in her cut-off jeans, plain white vest and sandals, it was impossible not to I guessed.

We whiled away another couple of hours in the garden, alternately choosing suitably summery tunes and making a serious dent in the bottle of Pimms Dan had generously provided. It was a good afternoon, a fun afternoon.

And then Dan innocently asked, “Do you have any plans to go to any festivals this year?”

I was taken by surprise at the sudden change in conversation and fumbled for a response, “Oh, er no, no plans. You?”

“Well I’m hoping to go to Glastonbury, if I can get a ticket that is. And there are a couple of day festivals in the city I was thinking about.”

“Wow, that should be amazing. I mean, I’ve heard Glastonbury’s pretty much the best festival in the world.” I nodded my head in confirmation of my statement, having nothing else to say on the subject as I had never once so much as entertained the idea of going to a festival. Big crowds scared me a little and I was convinced that I would not be able to negotiate the practicalities of attending such an event. And if I was being really honest with myself, the idea of being surrounded by so many ‘cool,’ and no doubt ‘beautiful,’ people intimidated me.

“Why don’t you come with? We can party like it’s 1999 and dance like no one’s looking.”

“What, me come to Glastonbury?” My inner retard raised it’s ugly head as I battled to wrap my mind around the question.

“Sure, why not? It’s such a great weekend, you’ll love it.”

“Er, I don’t think so Dan.” My stomach lurched and I could feel myself becoming flustered at Dan’s question, unsure of how to explain my objections to his offer. A part of me screamed to accept, to just go with the flow and allow myself to have a good time. But the other, much bigger part of me, stamped down the idea like a metal toe-capped boot on an already dying fly, and ordered me to put away such foolish notions.

“Aww, come on, I can’t think of a single person who’d love it more. There’s so much music and other stuff going on. It’s just made for you.”

“Um, I just er, don’t really like the idea of festivals to be honest.” It was a weak excuse and Dan looked deflated by it but he would not be put off that easily.

“Tell you what, why don’t I mail you the link to the website and you can check it out before making a decision?”

I squirmed as I desperately tried to hold it together. Jesus, please just take no for an answer, I inwardly cried. “Dan, honestly, I just don’t fancy it.”

“I’ll send you the link anyway, it can’t hurt can it?” Oh God, "what is it gonna take to get through to him?" I wondered.

“You know Dan, I really don’t think she wants to go. Maybe you should just leave it.” There was no malice in Tara’s words, just a clear instruction to drop the subject. I could have kissed her for it right there and then, even if she had been the blokiest bloke in the world I could have kissed her for it. I smiled gratefully at her and turned to Dan, feeling a new resolve.

“Thanks for the offer Dan, really, it’s just not really my type of thing.”

Dan sensed that resolve and graciously admitted defeat, “Hey no worries babe, I’ll have a sing-song for you when I’m there though.” I felt a wave of affection for him when he said that and was glad the matter ended well.

It wasn’t much longer before our little party broke up and Dan headed home. He gave me a big hug before he went through the door and I returned it warmly. With a wave to Tara he was on his way, whistling ‘I Got Life’ as he went.

Tara was washing up the evidence of our get-together and I went to sit in the kitchen area with her as she washed. She threw me a smile as I sat down on one of the wooden, bench stools.

“You don’t have to do that you know, you should have left it for me,” I said.

“Aww, it’s fine, just a few glasses.” She went back to her washing up and I sat quietly, mulling over the day’s events. When I thought of the slight dispute about Glastonbury I started to frown. Of course, that was when Tara chose to look over again. Sometimes I wondered if she had some kind of sadness-homing-device implanted in the back of her head that she was not letting on about.

“You okay?”

“Oh, er yeah, just thinking.”

“What about?”

I blew out a breath of air and followed it up with a wry smile. “Nothing important.” As an afterthought I added, “Thanks, by the way, for earlier, with Dan. I was worried he’d never get the message about Glastonbury.” There was a definite hint of nervousness in my voice and I let out another breath of air in exasperation.

Tara seemed about to say something but then thought better of it. A second later she turned to me and said “It’s okay you know, not wanting to go?”

I smiled gratefully and quietly replied “Yeah, I know,” though I did not quite believe it.

“Well I think I’m gonna turn in.” I raised myself from the stool, feeling suddenly weary.

“Night, Tara,” I said around a yawn.

Tara turned to me and chuckled. I smiled back. “Sounds like you better had. Night, Willow.”

Before I had rounded the corner on my way to the bathroom Tara spoke again. “Hey, I was thinking of cooking tomorrow night. Um, if you’re not busy, I could cook for you too?”

My tiredness suddenly receded and was overtaken by a burst of happiness. “No, I’m not busy. That would be lovely, thank you.”

We smiled at each other for another second. “That’s settled then. I’ll see you tomorrow Will.”

“Yes you will.”


Thanks for reading
foreverchanges

Yay for great update-y goodness... Good that Tara told Dan very clearly that Willow is definately not interested in going to glastonbury... atleast not with Dan... I hope their next days dinner date leads to some skin-on-skin contact...

_________________
We few, we happy few. We band of buggered.

Posting While Nude Improves Your Mood.

Hey there FC!

How are ya?
I'm so glad you updated. This fic's update came as a ray of sunshine on a rain of finals and exams. Now that, darling, is priceless.

I'm really enjoying your imagery. It's absolutely lovely. Also, let me just say this: Nina Simone is teaming up with two other ladies for the crown as my favorite singer ever (And I got the signature to prove it.. ).
I wish there was a little more Willow and Tara interaction, just a bit. However, I love how Tara kinda, felt Willow's distress and came to her rescue. I indetify with that role, you know? I identify with both, in some ways. I used to have my social fears earlier in life, and now I'm very far from it.. But I still have the instict to protect those who are still uncomfortable, if that makes sense?
Either way, I just wanted to point out that I like how you micromanage every interaction to make the reader understand Willow's inner processe. it's a really well-written story (I know I'm a broken record by now. Nope, I really don't give a damn.) .
So, thank you for the update. Can't wait for more.

Melissa

P.S - I can't wait to see what music love of mine you'll mention next.

_________________
Melissa

Missing me one place search another,
I stop some where waiting for you

Hi Zampsa, thanks so much for commenting, it's much appreciated. Glad you enjoyed the update. Ha, it's gonna be a while before any smoochies, but don't worry, they'll get there. Hope you enjoy the next bit.

Hey there Melissa, how goes it? Wow, thanks so much for your kind words, I'm glad the udpate came at a good time for you. I'm really glad that you liked how Tara behaved in that last post, it's exactly the kind of feeling I was trying to get across, so thanks loads for saying it. Now, I know what you mean about the lack of direct contact between them but there is a point to that. This is essentially Willow's story and its broad aim is to show the impact Tara has on her life. It's a slow burner and there's a lot of background stuff that I want to get out initially. So with that in mind, the next update follows the same pattern though the one after that will definitely see a healthy dose of W&T together.

Update to follow in a few minutes.

Okay, here's the next bit. It's unbeta'd so all errors are my own, and was written speedily so there may well be some. It's sort of angsty and sort of happy. Same disclaimers apply.

Enjoy


Chapter 8

The following day passed sluggishly, my head protesting against the abuse it was unwittingly subjected to the day before, and my heart running a mile a minute at the thought of having dinner with Tara later that night. I hoped desperately that she remembered her offer of the night before, not having the stomach to phone her to check that that was indeed still the plan.

I have never been a great one for talking on the telephone; as a teenager I did not have anyone to talk to, and on the very rare occasions that I actually plucked up the courage to request the use of the house phone, my father always hovered nearby muttering and making exaggerated gestures about the length of time I was taking. It was always such a fraught affair that I eventually realised I should wait until father was out of the house before using the deceitful contraption. On my fifteenth birthday, I resolved never to use a telephone again.

***

A few weeks before my birthday, I had been ill and alone in the house while my father was out at work. The flu that went around that year was particularly violent and because of it I ended up spending the best part of a week in bed. Father checked on me twice a day religiously, once in the morning to inform me he was “off to work,” and once in the evening to let me know he was “back from work.” Each time he asked me when I would be getting up because “the house won’t clean itself.”

“You don’t say,” was the retort that guiltily bit through my mind but even in my enfeebled state, I recoiled at such disrespect and through cracked lips, mumbled, “It’ll only be for another day or two; honest, dad.”

The first couple of days passed in a daze of shivering and sweating; my whole body felt like jelly and the slightest disturbance made every inch of my overly sensitive skin tingle as if being brushed in the wrong direction. How I longed for a kind word or a gentle hand, my fevered mind occasionally playing tricks on me and conjuring up images of my adoring mother. The tears that always followed the shattering of the illusion tested my battered heart more than any illness could ever hope to. I have rarely cursed the ‘God’ that took my mother from me more than I did in those torturous hours.

By the fourth day, I could at least rouse myself from my musty blankets for longer than it took to take care of essential bathroom visits. So, with thoughts of hot soup, and Hong Kong Phooey repeats, I cautiously swung my legs over the side of the bed and slowly lowered my feet to the floor. My whole body shook with the effort of it but I knew I had to get up in order to start getting better. Slowly, I rose from the bed, fighting a wave of dizziness at the new position, and tentatively began the journey from my bedroom to the kitchen. The thought of how the room must smell of sickness and stale, dank bed sheets fleetingly swam through my mind, soon to be replaced with thoughts of comfy slippers and invisible log fires.

I am not sure how long it took me to get from the bedroom to the kitchen but I know that every step felt like a mile and reaching each door felt like a victory. Relief flooded my system and gave me a small lift as I reached the kitchen and I managed to fix myself a bowl of Heinz tomato soup and a glass of orange juice without too much trouble; though I trembled all over, the soup sloshing this way and that, as I slowly made my way with it to the living room without spilling a drop.

I thankfully eased down into the room’s one armchair and laboriously ate my fill, taking staggered deep breaths after every swallow. Once I was done, I placed the bowl on the little glass table next to the chair, closed my eyes and sunk back into its welcome embrace, my body slowly uncoiling after what felt like days of exertion. After a couple of minutes rest, I squinted my eyes open against the late-morning sun, and contemplated having to move again; the room was too cold and all thoughts of watching TV evaporated like so many childhood dreams.

I tried so hard not to feel sorry for myself, but as I attempted to lift myself out of that chair, I thought how I would do anything for someone else to be there with me, and before I even realised it, I had succumbed to the bitter gouge of loneliness. Here I was, fourteen years old, sick, alone, and helpless. I knew my father was in no position to help, he had to work, had to keep a roof over our heads. Even as I told myself that he was doing his best and that it was good of him to think of leaving me a packet of crackers, the tears began to fall and my fragile frame reverberated with the anguish of it all.

After a few minutes, I began to calm and without thinking at all about what I was doing, I gingerly made my way to the other side of the room, and the telephone. I flicked through my father’s address book, thoroughly blew my nose in preparation, and dialed my Uncle Nick’s number.

“Hee..lo,” came the jaunty greeting.

“Hi, Uncle Nick, it’s… it’s Willow,” I croaked out.

“Willow? My God, howaya, love? You sound awful. Is everything okay?” I nearly lost it on hearing those words but fought to hold on to what slim composure I had.

Closing my eyes and taking a deep breath, I managed to reply, “I’m okay thanks, Nick, just a touch of flu. How are you, how’s Aunty Hannah?”

“Sure we’re all grand, love, not a bother on us. But tell me, how long have you been sick? Have you been to the doctor?”

“Um, just a couple of days, and I’m getting better now so… you know,” I finished, weakly.

“Does your daddy know you’re sick, he’ll want to be looking after you?”

“Um, yeah, he’s been great. He’s at work now though.” I was so used to making exceptions for my father that I did not even realise my words were a lie.

“That’s good, love. You see you get plenty of rest though okay?” Again, I had to swallow down the tears and steal myself to reply.

“Oh I am, and I’ve just had some hot soup as well.” My voice wasn’t more than a whisper but I felt as though I never wanted this conversation to end.

“That’s good, love. And make sure you drink plenty of orange juice, and no disco dancing for a while okay?” I let out a genuine guffaw at that, which was quickly followed by a coughing fit, but man, it felt good to laugh.

“No disco dancing – check.”

“And how’s your da? Is he getting on okay at work?” My mother’s brother was always so concerned about everyone else, and I loved him for it.

“He’s fine, thanks. He says he has to work a lot of hours but that hard work …”

“… never hurt anyone. Ha, he doesn’t change does he?” Nick said, good naturedly.

We chatted about this and that for another couple of minutes before I reluctantly said, “Well I better let you go,” to my Uncle Nick.

“Okay, love. Now come and see us soon okay, you know you’re always welcome, and tell that dad of yours as well.”

“Thanks, Nick.” I smiled at his easy thoughtfulness.

“Well bye-bye, love. See you take care of that cold.”

“I will, bye Nick,” and with that, I hung up.

***

The telephone phone bill decided to make an appearance on the 2nd November, the day of my fifteenth birthday, and revealed to my always suspicious father that I had made a telephone call on the 28th September, at 11.31am, to a Dublin number, for a paltry eight minutes. He did not bother to check whose number it was; that was not the point after all. As my father lambasted me relentlessly over my shocking disregard for the rules of his house, I choked on the coincidence of my birth. My birthday, which was barely celebrated anyway, was unceremoniously cancelled and I decided to avoid telephones from then on.

As I have gotten older, I find that I am simply not skilled in the art of the ‘telephone conversation,’ though I am master of the ‘text’.

***

On my way home, I made a detour to Oddbins, taking a gamble on Tara not forgetting her offer of cooking dinner. My heart was in my mouth as I made my selection of an Argentinian Red; I had seen an article in the Guardian saying it was a good year for them. As I continued my ride home I went over excuses for buying the wine, should Tara have forgotten her offer. I wasn’t sure which was worse, Tara forgetting entirely, or her remembering only on seeing the wine. As I tortured myself with possible outcomes of the night ahead my mobile rang.

Quickly pulling over, and with a stolen glance at the brilliant blue sky above, I snatched the phone out of my rucksack, clenching it tightly as I checked the number. My heart rate jumped on seeing it was Tara and I nervously answered, “Hello?”

“White or red?”

“Huh? Er, what? Sorry, Tara, is that you?”

“Yep. So what do you say, white or red?” I was only marginally less confused.

“Well that kind of depends on what we’re dealing with here doesn’t it? I mean, if we’re talking hair colour, I’d say go with red, but if we’re talking walls, I’d go with white. But we could be talking about anything at all, so how about we narrow it down?” I had a feeling I was succeeding in making Tara as confused as I was. Or I did, until she burst out laughing. I can not tell you how much I hoped she was laughing with me, and not at me. My mouth quickly grew dry and I clenched my eyes shut as I waited for some kind of response from her that included actual words.

“You have such a unique way about you, you know that?” Her voice was rich; warm hearths and paperbacks.

“Is that your ‘unique’ way of calling me a spaz?” I hoped she could hear the smile in my voice.

“Hey, you said it, and far be it for me to interfere with your self-image.” My face hurt with the effort it took to smile so wide.

“Moving swiftly on; I believe we were narrowing it down?”

“So we were, Batman. I was talking about wine, you know, that stuff that you pour down your throat in copious amounts and makes you sozzled.”

“I think you’ll find that’s bungalowed ‘round these parts but who’s counting?” Her laugh really was music to my ears and I had to take a couple of deep breaths to calm myself. I still had over a mile to cycle home and I had never wanted to get anywhere in one piece as much as I wanted to right then.

“So, what’s the verdict? Please tell me soon, or the dinner will be ruined before I’ve so much as uncorked the bottle.”

“Oh right. Hmm, you decide.” I knew I was pushing it but it was as if all the pent up anxiety of the day was deliriously being released into this one conversation, and I was powerless to stop it.

“I am going to paint you with this food when you get here. You know that, right?”

I took her threat in my stride and gave her a flippant, “In your dreams,” before telling her, “I’ll be home in ten minutes, make sure my dinner’s on the table by the time I get back.” With that I ended the call and got back on my bike, my heart racing like wildfire. That was the single most exciting conversation of my life up to that point, and every single cell in my body seemed attuned to the feeling of exuberance that inadvertently sprung from it.

I sailed the rest of the way home with the heady notes of Madonna’s ‘Holiday’ ringing from my soul.


Thanks for reading
foreverchanges

Yay for great update-y goodness... Willow spazzing about white or red wine made me laugh...

_________________
We few, we happy few. We band of buggered.

Posting While Nude Improves Your Mood.

I really like that you turned the tables on their backgrounds, as well as giving Tara a bit more self confidence than Willow had.

The fluidity of their interactions is great and Tara still has her way of "soothing the savage spaz" in Willow, lol. There already seems to be a bit of Tara being a protector role when gently telling Dan to back off.

Looking forward to the next update and seeing how you delve into the rest of the story.

_________________
Heather aka vampyregurl73 aka Riverwillows73

My stories:
"Dry Heat – In Progress (still)" "Penny Arcade - Completed"

My Fic Challenge entries:
"Fireworks" "Promise" "I Did What Last Night?"

Heya FC!

boy, I love this story. as I told you before, I'm your fan. With restarting school I was kinda swamped, but finally I have the chance to give you a piece of my mind.

So yeah, should I gush again about your writing style? I could actually analyze it for a good 40 minutes. but, I think you even might fall asleep.

I think your characterization is really strong. I just have to say this: the last updated left me melancholic and depressed. There's something just heartbreaking about the fact that it was Willow's most exciting conversation of her life. My heart made this annoying cracking sound.

either way, needless to say I'm eagerly waiting for an update.

Peace mate.

Melissa

_________________
Melissa

Missing me one place search another,
I stop some where waiting for you