Chapter 3

"I don't think we'll be permitted in 'er library again," Sheila said, as they were on a walk to the main street.

"Then I'll be in search of another library, or we can try the library at the campus."

"Ye want to get me into trouble, I see."

Louisa laughed.

As they strolled down the busied sideways, billboards and city screens were standing over six stories tall, attracting the attention of the pedestrians approaching. Sheila was smitten by a good-looking man displayed on one of the billboards. The man on the display was dressed in a black tuxedo, his dark coffee hair styled in a pompadour fade, and his kissable lips curled up into a rich smile.

"Who's that?" Sheila asked, pointing her index towards the screen. "Is he one of the elite models?"

Louisa followed Sheila sight. "That's Charles Spielberg, the Prime minister's son."

Sheila looked at the screen in amazement. "The son of the Prime minister? Donne Spielberg is his father?"

"Yes. Every girl wishes to be wedded to him. Though he tried his best to keep his relationships secretive, Paparrazies didn't give him a chance. It was later known that he is in a relationship with some girl. You should have seen what had happened when his relationship status was made public. All girls went insane and they grouped up to kill the girl dating Charles. Lucky for her, she's still alive and she's still dating Charles."

"Who could be so lucky to 'ave him?"  Sheila's said, her eyes delighting.

Louisa narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "You are attracted to him." She smiled, wiggling her brows mischievously. "Sheila, you are attracted him, just like the other girls."

"No, I'm not, don't be silly." She giggled. Of course she was attracted to him.

"You better not like him, don't even try having feelings for him. He is one of  those rich men you'll fall in love with,  but will not love you back. I sometimes think he uses charm to have every  city girl bow before his feet. He is like a god of Wicklow, full of pride and hoping to be worshiped. Thank grace I am never at his feet begging him to notice me for he does not flatter me. Come on now, I have to get home."

Sheila took a last glance back at the city screen.

Arriving at Hurkst street, Louisa's home was exhibited as one of the richest  looking house. While Proletarians lived on the top of apartments that were made from wood, and they had no running water, toilets, or kitchens, and most apartments either caught on fire and burned down, or got crashed, however, the Elites were surrounded by uplifting, refined architecture and design, in which comfort was combined with a fabulous sense of style. The houses were three storeys high, side by side, back to back, and their open spaces were surrounded with calla lilies, bush morning glories, and blue-eyed grasses.

"Thanks for walking me home, Sheila."

They pulled each other into a warm  hug.

"I want ye not to worry 'bout the book," said Sheila as she pulled away from the hug.

"I'll try to forget about it."

After few minutes, Louisa opened the  door to her home. She met her mother sitting on a rosy chaise like a sovereign queen on a throne, but her face had a stony and steely expression, and her aunt Caroline sat at the corner of the room on a chair drinking tea, and paging through a magazine.

"Where did you go?" Mrs. Consly Lyndon stood up, with a severe look on her face.

Caroline Mayhem looked up from her magazine, her spectacles resting on her flat nose. She adjusted it up to her temple, gawking at both her sister and  niece.

Consly Lyndon was a beautiful forty-five-year old woman, strong face, and tense. She was married to a influential Indian/English man, Kalman Lyndon, who was a senator in Iceland. Consly had pride in her beauty, and Louisa looked nothing like her. She resembled her father in everything, she only had her mother's hair colour, black.

Louisa swallowed a lump on her throat, and threw a look at her aunt, her eyes pleading for help. But aunt Caroline fixed her eyes back into her magazine.  "I went to, uh, Nadia's place to let her know about the netball practice," Louisa answered.

Mrs Lyndon arched her brow and her red lips curled up into a smile slyly, "I'd choose to speak the truth if I were you."

Louisa bit her lips nervously, and  uttered no word. "Pardon me."

"I saw you with Sheila standing outside on my field." Her face turned sour as she cited Sheila's name. "How many times did I tell you to stay away from that instinctive dreg?"

Aunt Caroline looked up from her magazine, with interest dawning her face.

"She was only escortin..."

"--escort? What will the city people say when they see my daughter walking with a scum? That girl will deploy your mentality without your sentience!" She spat out in bitterness, gritting her teeth. "I will not allow my own daughter to disrespect my dignity in this city."

"You know not much about her, mother," Louisa replied, avoiding to look into her mother's penetrating dark eyes.

"I will not let my reputation be  tarnished and spoilt because of your so-called friend!"

"That's enough, mother!" Louisa snapped. Aunt Caroline took a sip from her tea, watching the scene in amusement. "I will not have you insult my friend that way."

Mrs Lyndon looked at her daughter with a hard-edged face. Louisa fixed  her eyes on the floor feeling mortified  for raising her voice.

"You proceed from here directly into  your room before I misuse my temper!"  Sheretorted warningly.

"Pardon my behaviour----"

"I mean, now!"

Louisa turned around and went up to her room.

"Oh, dear Consly," came the audible and honeyed voice of aunt Caroline. "Have you not realised that all you do is quarrel with Louisa about the same old things, but that girl just never listens. Don't you think you quit it?"

Mrs. Lyndon scrunched up her face "That girl can't be seen with Louisa, and I will make sure that doesn't continue to happen."

Aunt Caroline raised her brows, and took up her magazine without saying another word.

* * *

Sheila happily strolled into the woods, away from the Lowtown. The lines of hazes were greyish and a faint red orange tinged the sky. Truffle oaks and the breeches towered up towards the sky. The chipping of birds and scarlet tanagers singing echoed high above the trees, and a gentle breeze created the sound of crackling leaves. The cold chilly air tinged her skin.

With her arms crossed over her chest, 

the breeze blew her strands of hair in every direction. From afar, her eyes were set upon a silhouette belonging to her brother standing by the doorway of a fairly dark and gloomy wooden cabin.

"Where do ye come from at this time?" asked Michael, as soon as Sheila stood in front of him.

She lowered her head, and scuffed her toe, her hands clasped behind her like a little child. She gazed up at Michael, who was expecting an answer right  away. "Can we go inside? It's cold out 'ere," she muttered.  

Michael nodded silently and opened  the creaky wooden door for her to go  in  first. He followed, closing the door behind him. "Now, tell me where you're from," Michael insisted, crossing his arms over his chest, and his brows elevated waiting for her reply.

Sheila curled her lips into an innocent  smile.

"There's a reason why ye have lips, they are made for speaking."

"Silence can be a healer to the lips, it  wouldn't rage out quarrels," Sheila said nonchalantly. "Why do ye keep askin' the same old questions yearly when ye know where I went."

Michael heaved a sigh in exasperation. "I told ye not to go to Wicklow."

"I don't fear yer vile predictions. The city  gives me an adventure never to detest," Sheila replied, a smile not leaving her face.

"True adventure will never be found in city, Sheila. Even if I live to die, it will remain that way. This is true adventure," said Michael, gesturing his fingers around the cabin, "An adventure that will remain itself an adventure." Michael faced Sheila with a look of worry. "Ye need to know that Wicklow isn't beautiful as ye think it is. The inner heart of it, is loathe and bitterness."

Sheila walked towards a vase filled with frangipani flowers, it was planted by the windowsill.

"All I am asking from ye, Sheila, is for ye to stop being obstinate. I've warned ye not to go to the city but your ears are too far from listening."

She smiled at her brother's remark. "These flowers 'ave withered, 'ave ye noticed?"

"Ye are ignoring me, " he said, sitting on the wooden chair. "And ye know I hate it when ye do that."

"Ye left the flowers wither away. Ye're  inconvenient to give it life. Does that reveal yer dark side?" Sheila wiggled her brows in sarcasm.

"I care not for nature."

 "Nature is a finger of God's work, ye detest it, then ye have detested the work of the Creator. It's best that ye take care of plants."

Michael sighed, and walked towards a tableside, the wooden floor creaking under his feet.

"I brought strawberries." He pulled a drawer open, and took out a pack of strawberries.

Sheila grabbed it from his hand and sat on the edge of the bed. She hastily took a bite of the strawberry, shutting her eyes close as she took in the sweet and sour taste.

Michael sat beside her. "That's all I got for today. I couldn't get proper food."

"Did ye eat?" She asked.

"It doesn't matter to me, they are all  yours," he replied, smiling. He put his  arms behind his head in flexibility, lying down on the bed.

"May I ask a question?"

Michael smiled before answering, "Ye already ask."

"Why do people say water is life when  food can be?"

"Food is life?" Michael asked in 

astonishment, his eyes goggled at her assertion. "Don't ever bring up that phrase, ye will only be a laughingstock to the world."

Sheila pouted and frowned.  "The world finds everything amusin'---even death is humour to them," Sheila said. "And that reminds me, my friend and I were walkin' besides a busy road sometime now. Then came an elite speedin' his car, and he drove into a poor man, causin' his body to leap aisles over the next road. It took him a heartbeat and the man was dead. To my surprise, some men had found it amusin'. They uttered humourous words 'bout the poor man crossin' the road without his turn. I'm not to blame the poor  man; I am to blame the Elite."

"Both men must be at fault," Michael said nonchalantly.

Sheila furrowed her brows in bewilderment. "What do ye say so?"

Michael raised his brow at her. "I have warned ye about how unsafe  Wicklow can be. Everyone in it are cruel."

Sheila took a strawberry and threw it in her mouth, chewing in a quick pace, so she could protest at her brother's statement. "Wicklow is safe," she uttered, after swallowing. "How would ye know if ye 'aven't gone to explore the city?"

Michael stayed silent for a while, searching for the right sentence.  "I have, and all I found is that the city is precarious for the both of us," he said.

"Why do ye think it is unsafe for us?"

Michael paused as if battling with his mind. "I hate Wicklow, I hate Parkfields, I hate everything in it!" He stood up and walked to the window. "And I hope one day, you'll find it in your heart to hate it as much as I do."

Sheila frowned and decided to remain silent, eating her strawberries.