Chapter 9

Yo guys! Sorry, Andy's not in this one. But I hope you'll like it. Also, don't be confused by the name, "Amanda." One is the mother of Harry, the other is his classmate.

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The birds chirped over the window frame, euphoniously. The heatless sun hung delicately in the clear blue sky, while the air smelt nice and cosy.

  Harry gave himself a big stretch on the bed, with a roar-like yawn. Throwing the blanket off his body, he threw one leg before the other to the ground. He blinked, sequentially, trying to adapt his misty sight to the room.

  The room was a total mess. Clothes were piled all over his room; trousers slung here and there. He walked to the standing shelf adjacent to his bed and pulled it open. He squeezed his face to see the horrible mess he'd made it. He couldn't make a word out of it, save for one; mess.

  He dropped his fingers in his head and began scratching hard.

  "I need to get this room in place!" he said, dropping his arms to his waist, skedaddling his gaze across the room. "Where's the best place to start?"

  His eyes fell to his bed. There were two hoodies on the shaggy-looking bedsheet. Just at the base of the bed, there was a white-sheeted pillow with the same material of the bedsheet.

  He dropped to the bed, in frustration. Then he remembered something Andy would always say to him in times like this: A man's got to do what a man's got to do.

  He yawned again, and brushed his misty eyes, jerking himself up. He, quickly, began to dust the bed. Next, he arranged the scattered shoes, meticulously, on the shoe rack. He, then, began to sort out the dirty clothes from the clean. He surprised himself with the resilience he'd put into the work; and in no time, it was all done and dusted.

  He reached for an air freshener and sprayed it in his room, not leaving out any nook and cranny.

  Satisfied, he walked to the exit of his room and grabbed the broomstick by the door. He swept every corner of the room and was shocked by the amount of dirt that came out of it.

  Looking at the room this time, he saw it in a totally different way. He'd always seen his room as cloggy, but now he noticed how spacious it was, and the ventilation effect on his room.

  He sank to an armchair, relaxing his muscles as his mind rolled back to his days as a child — picturing himself in a much smaller body and stature, running around the family house in Dortmund borough, Kent, with a little kite that hung in the sky above his head. Running under the autumn trees, embracing the cold air, his hair waved hither and thither; then climbing up the little treehouse he and his cousins had built.

  In the family of the the Edgetons, there were seven grandsons — starting from the eldest to the youngest: Bobby, Mark, Hillary, Harrison, Rodger, Maxwell and Armstrong — and eight granddaughters — Bloomy, Cassandra, Miriam, Annabelle, Abigail, Eleanor, Bridget and Bella. They were all British.

  Harrison grew up knowing what family meant, understanding love, despite the battle his home seemed to be in. His father was not always that way. He could remember those days when his father worked as a carpenter in Longfield, not too far from the family house. The same village he had his bequeathed house when his father died. Michael Edgeton loved his job and family so much he'd arranged two times every month to spend precious time with them.

  The whole, happy scene changed when his house had been set ablaze from an unknown source. He'd lost his little baby, Carley, in the fire because Harry and Amanda — his wife — had both been in the garden, working on some plants and fruit trees. The little baby was just two years old, and was sleeping soundly in her crib, upstairs. Next thing Amanda knew was that she saw thick smoke emitting from the housetop. She left everything and ran quickly, only to find out it was too late; the flame had already caught up with the bed, and little Carley lay there with her eyes unmoving, hands outspread in a struggle-like gesture, but solid-still. Harry remembered scurrying behind his mother to meet up with her. When he got to the room with the scorching heat, he screamed as he saw his one and only friend, and sibling, lying like a roasted junk of meat. He ran outside as fast as he could with tears rolling down his innocent face. Amanda had almost lost her life on trying to carry her baby out of the burning house, if it were not the neighbours who were quick to respond to the situation, before the ambulances arrived.

  Harry didn't know it, but he was crying; crying bitterly on that spot where he sat. He could remember the effect the news had on his father. The man was a minute away from the lunatic asylum, he refused to listen to what anyone had to say. He went haywire, and housed an incurable pain in his heart.

  Michael never quite looked to them the same, after that day. Every single thing made him explode at Amanda; he claimed it was all her and "her son's" fault (mind you, Harry was just six at that time).

  Harry shaked his head and wiped his tears. He asked himself what had led to the refreshing of the wound in his memory — he didn't like the feeling it was bringing to him.

  Just then, he heard a light knock on the door.

  "Come in," he said, not surprised to see his mother. "Morning, Mum."

  "Morning, Harrison," she said in her ever calm voice. Her eyes moved here and there in total surprise on the transformation of her son's room. While she was yet on it, he ceased the opportunity to wipe the tears off his cheeks.

  She paced about, smiling. She closed her eyes as she drew in some air into her lungs. "Smells good."

  Harry's bitter feeling left him, immediately, on seeing how well-pleased Amanda was. Harry was surprised to see her in a fine, brand-new dress that had flowers imprinted all over.

  "I guess I woke up on the right side of the bed," he said with a smirk.

  She smiled and looked at him. "And it's about time." She walked to the bed across the room, caressed her gown, then sat on it.

  That was when she looked at him and noticed his eyes were red. She raised herself up from her seat and walked to where he sat.

  "Honey, why were you crying?"

  He wasn't expecting the question, and knew better than to deny. "It's nothing."

  "Yes, Honey, it's nothing to your friends, but I must remind you that I'm your mother. Seeing you this way adds grief to my heart, and you know that. Please tell me what's bothering you."

  "You really want to know, Mum?"

  She nodded, slowly.

  "Well," he began. "I was thinking of Carley."

  On mention of the name, Amanda felt some of her joints pull apart. Her head spinned round Memory Lane. Her muscles weakened, and a tear or two slipped off her delicate face. But she had to be strong for Harry, despite her fragile nature. She wiped her face with the back of her hand, replacing it with a big smile. "That was sweet of you." Her voice was shaky.

  He pressed his lips tightly against each other, stood up and gave his mother a big hug. After unlocking from the brace, he led her to sit beside him on the bed.

  "Mum, I've always wanted to ask you this; and I think it's the best time to do so." She nodded her approval. "Who do you think caused the fire? Everyone says it had to be planted by someone."

  She let out a deep breath.

  "The day that thing happened — the umm. . .you know." He nodded. "Your father rushed out to Jordan's house — his former best friend. He was sure he had something to do about it—"

  "Best friend? You mean Dad ever had a best friend?!"

  "Yes — Jordan — that was his name. They had some disputes which led to their enmity. Your father never spoke about it with me. Well, your father marched up to him just when he'd recalled Jordan's threat, I quote: 'I shall take away your happiness, just as you did mine!'"

  "Woah," said Harry. "That's one hell of a threat there, it had to be him."

  "Unfortunately, when your father arrived at his home, Jordan's neighbours informed him that he'd moved out of the country, that moment making it a week. Your father was enraged and frustrated as he couldn't make out any who could fit into the scene. He stopped trying to figure it out, gave up on the police, and left the neighborhood with us to settle down in this house. All his investments in.  your university, since we found out I carried you in the womb, he began to squander. Plus, all the other properties bequeathed to him by his late father, were all sold out."

  Andy's eyes were becoming misty. "And all the money?"

  She shot him her pain-stung eyes. "That's what you see him squander on alcohol, everyday."

  He sighed, his shoulders dropping. His mother had been the one struggling for his feeding, clothing and other basic necessities; meanwhile, she grew thin and older than her mates, putting on worn-out clothes. It was the reason he was surprised seeing her in that new gown.

  "Nice gown you've got there," he said.

  "Oh, thanks. Andy's dad thought I'd need it. He brought so many of them." Her eyes were glittery.

  He smiled. "Wow, I'm happy he did that."

  "Please help me thank him better, the next time you see him."

  Harry nodded.

LATER THAT DAY, Tiana called over Harry's home.

  When he opened the door, Harry was surprised to see her. He looked over her shoulders, expecting to see Tom, but didn't.

  "Howdy, Tiana. Where's Tom?"

  She smiled.

  "Something came up, so he couldn't make it—"

  "Is everything okay?" Harry asked, his brows questioning.

  "Yes." She nodded.

  She was putting on a purple sweater over her purple gown.

  "Can I come in?"

  He stared at her, in contemplation. Then, he sluggishly let go of the doorknob and pushed the door apart, leaving room for her to advance inside. He noticed her feet were covered with a matching pair of high heels. Her pure black hair was spread over her shoulders, as the wind outside caused it to fly hither and thither against her face. As she walked inside, she used her hands to keep it in place.

  "What can I offer you?" Harry asked, after beckoning her to seat.

  "Don't bother, please. My brother made me eat two rounds of pizza."

  Harry laughed, heartily. "Pizza? Does one ever get satisfied by that?"

  "Definitely," she said with a smirk. "My appetite, you see, is restricted."

  Harry held himself from grinning. He did a quick survey of the figure before him. She was slim, but not thin. She had this pride and confidence in her eyes that told a lot about her upbringing. Harry had seen this in Thomas' eyes the day he dealt with James the Bully.

  He sat across her, totally without a line of discussion with her. He was happy when he saw her mouth part.

  "Umm. . .the reason why I'm actually here is because I was curious."

  "Curious? About what?"

  "How did you make Tommy like you? I mean, you both practically joked together."

  Harry squeezed his face. "What's new about that?"

  "Thomas never hanged out with anyone — save for me, that is."

  He released the tension on his face, and asked. "Why is that?"

  She looked at the door, then back at Harry. "After his best friend was killed by a group of bullies in his first year of Junior High, Thomas totally lost his temper with literally everyone. People called him a geek at school, but he didn't give a damn. When he walked through the cover doors, everyone went mute.

  "But when we left Oxford to live in this suburban town, I made him promise to be different. In fact, he saw a therapist every Saturday. We were on our way here, together, when he realised it was about time he'd gone for his therapy. I told him I'd be bored out to death if I didn't come here, so he said I could go without him."

  "Wow. That's one hell of a kid," said Harry. "What about your parents?"

  She sighed, fishing out a chewing gum she always seemed to have in her purse. "They're dead."

  Her words didn't seem to carry any emotions, and Harrison was amazed by this.

  "What happened?"

  She smiled as she watched his face. "Can we go for a little walk?"

  He nodded. "One second," he said, running to his room to grab a cardigan.

  Meanwhile, Tiana observed her surrounding. He noticed the sitting room was not so large, just a miniature in comparison to hers. It was tiled, and had curtains hanging over every room within sight; the dining, and the other adjoining rooms.

  He watched as Harry hopped out of his room with an ash-coloured cardigan on. It also had a hood. He stretched his hand to help her up. Together, they walked out of the house. The weather was much colder than he'd thought it was. He saw the rooftops of some large houses had smoke spiralling into the blue sky from chimneys. They strolled in the walkway of the street, hands in pockets.

  "Mum and Dad never had time for us, all our lives. They both had white-collared jobs that took, practically, all of their time. They died in an aircraft on their way to a business trip in Paris—"

  He looked at her in pity, "Don't you miss them?"

  She shaked her head in the negative.

  "Not at all."

  "Why?" he asked, concerned.

  "'Cause they wouldn't have cared any different if it were reversed."

  Harry sighed, understanding what she meant.

  "I've always wished my dad was much better than the way he is, at the moment. He's a drunk, and squanders everything he has on drinks. He owes the bank a large sum, and. . ." he looked the other way and exhaled, his breath floating away from his mouth in their faces. Snow had started descending on them, and the weather was growing colder.

  Tiana grabbed her arms, and looked at him.

  "And?"

  "I know I really hate him, but I still feel grieved at his state."

  She nodded. "Is there a reason he behaves that way? I mean, did he loose your mum?"

  "No, my mum's fine. And yes, it's a long story."

  She nodded again, not wanting to press further.

  "So how d'you guys feed? You live with an uncle or what?"

  "For the latter, no. None of our family relatives accepted us. They were angry that our parents never had any of their time when they were in need. My family, you see, are financially constrict; that is, except my parents. My Dad was the lucky head in the family, so he was able to build an empire of his own world.

  "However, now that we're left to ourselves, the government had us agree to stay in an orphanage home, but my brother decide against it. He said we could live on our own. They refused, of course, but asked us to decide where we'd want to live. My brother searched for a place far away from Oxford, and all its memories. Mcbornie was the best choice. We were taken here and registered in the town's school, but the officials are still searching for suitable foster parents for us."

  Harry shaked his head, speechlessly. "I'm really sorry about your predicament."

  She smiled, throwing some gums in her mouth.

  He was surprised at how unbothered she looked.

  "At least, we have all the world to ourselves now. I wish we'd never get new parents."

  Harry gape-mouthed, and thought it better to reserve his comments at the joyful, little girl.