Prologue 2
Elizabeth
Can silence echo? There’s no sound but I swear the house echoes.
The table I usually drop my keys on is gone; sold at auction to the highest bidder along with the rest of the furniture.
It’s amazing how big a space looks when it’s empty, especially after you’re used to seeing it full.
I’ve kept some photographs in an album, and my personal belongings: laptop, phone, clothes, and my most prized possessions, my books.
But that’s all I have left to show for myself.
I’ve gone from being part of a wealthy family, living in Radbury Heights—the most exclusive district in Tynerston—to being eighteen years old with nowhere to live; all of my belongings fitting into a backpack, a suitcase, and a couple of boxes.
I don’t even have mugs or glassware to offer the lawyer a hot drink or water.
The sound of tires on gravel alerts me to a car pulling onto the drive, a door opens and closes, followed by the thud of what are likely designer shoes on the path. He rings the doorbell to be polite, but technically this isn’t my house anymore, he probably has more right to be here than I do .
“Beth.” He greets me with a bright smile, but quickly softens it, probably realizing how inappropriate it is to be grinning at me at a time like this.
I open the door wider so he can step in. “Mr. Moore.”
He pauses to look at my backpack and boxes on the floor.
“Have you found somewhere to live?”
“Yup,” I lie, it’s not like he can help me if I tell him the truth.
“That’s great, really great.”
“I would offer you a seat, but as you can see, everything got picked up after the auction.”
“Right,” he says, acknowledging the empty space with a nod. “We do need to sign some papers though.”
“The kitchen?” I gesture down the hall, figuring we can use one of the surfaces there.
We make our way through, and I have to blink a couple of times to stop tears from forming.
They say the kitchen is the heart of the home, and in this house that was true.
Memories of days spent baking with Mom flood my mind.
Standing on a chair when I was too small to reach the countertop; her pretending not to see me licking the spoon clean of cake batter even after she’d told me not to; the time I dropped a bag of flour and it exploded all over me, turning me pure white and making me sneeze until my nose hurt, but we still couldn’t stop laughing.
The delicious scents from our creations used to fill this space. Now the room is empty and cold, the only smell is one of disinfectant from the cleaners who wiped away all traces of our happy life here.
“So today is the final paperwork for the sale of the house,” Mr. Moore says, laying sheets of paper across one of the units.
“Fine,” I say, “do you have a pen?”
“Of course,” he says, taking one from his inner jacket pocket and handing it to me.
Shit, my dad used to have one just like this.
When I was a child we called it his magic pen, he always said it was lucky and took it to all his business meetings, saying this pen was behind all the big deals he won.
He told me once that the pen is mightier than the sword, so I used to imagine him using it like one, going into battle and winning. I scoff. Not so lucky after all…
“Is everything okay?” Mr. Moore asks.
Oops, I must have scoffed out loud.
“Yes, just clearing my throat.”
I smile, before turning my attention to the paperwork. I give everything a cursory glance but honestly don’t care what it says, it’s not as though they can fuck me over more than I already have been. I hand the papers back to him once they’re signed.
“Great,” he says, “once I’ve filed these with the relevant departments the sale will be final, and I’ll make sure the estate is all settled.”
“Thank you,” I say, grateful for his help, but deeply wishing I’d never needed it.
“There is still the matter of the outstanding bills—”
“I’m dealing with it,” I interrupt, I know it’s rude, but I don’t have the energy to discuss this with him.
“It’s a lot of money, Beth,” he says, “how are you going to—”
“I said I’m dealing with it.”
My raised voice clearly shocks him, and he focuses on closing his briefcase.
“I’m sorry,” I say, “I just… I have it under control.”
“You don’t need to apologize, with everything you’ve been through, you’re allowed to lose it a bit. ”
Honestly, I’d love to fucking lose it. Half of me wants to break down and cry, cry for the loss of my parents, or cry from pure exhaustion. The other half of me is pissed off and wants to scream and break stuff. But there’s nothing left here to break, everything is gone.
“I’ll be fine.”
The lie is getting easier every time I say it. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve had to tell people recently that ‘I’ll be fine’.
“Are you sure?” he asks, “You don’t have to do this all by yourself, there are people who can help you.”
People who can help me… I almost want to gesture to the empty house and ask him where the fuck all the people are who can supposedly help me. Shouldn’t they have come around by now? Shouldn’t they have been here already? No, our fall from grace made us social pariahs, outcasts. Nobody is coming.
“Really, I’ll be okay,” I reassure him.
“Well you have my number if you need anything at all.”
“Thank you,” I say, as if I could afford him.
We make our way back to the front door and he looks at the boxes again.
“Can I give you a lift anywhere?”
“No thanks, I’ve got a taxi coming.” Another lie. “But, um, please can you help me get my boxes to the end of the drive?”
It doesn’t take us long to empty the house, then I lock it for the final time before handing him the keys.
I’ve never not had keys before, it’s weird, I feel almost naked without them.
Phone, purse—no keys. I wonder what happened to my parents’ keys, were they given to me with their belongings?
Sorting through everything is a blur, but surely I’d have remembered seeing their keys .
Both of them had matching key chains that I made them in school, I remember drawing a picture of the three of us and it getting printed, before the teacher helped us fit them in a plastic case we’d decorated—my parents bought two.
“Beth?” Mr. Moore places a hand on my shoulder, bringing my attention back to him. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
I nod. There’s no point worrying about where their keys are now, none of us need them anymore.
He holds out his hand and we shake awkwardly, saying goodbye before he leaves. Standing at the end of the drive, I ponder my next move. Where to go and what to do…
I have no ideas, but I do know that I need to keep moving forward.
I don’t have time to mourn the loss of my parents; and even if I did, the feeling of betrayal consumes me more than grief.
No, I need to make a plan and move forward.
And so what if I don’t have anyone to help me, fuck it.
If the universe is going to make it so that I’m completely alone, then that’s what I’ll be.
I don’t need anyone else; I can do this by myself.