Page 1 of The Wonder of You
Chapter 1
Mortal Land
Bath, England
2023
Waking up in my grandparent’s house as a child felt like there was a warm blanket of love covering me. I can remember how the sun beams would shine through the window. The sound of the birds tweeting. The good morning greeting from my grandfather who looked so pleased to see me. They partly raised me. I saw them nearly every day, but I was still such a wonder to behold in their eyes. The smell of breakfast from the kitchen. My grandmother handing me an orange juice and asking me what I’d like to eat and what I’d like to do that day. Even after everything they went through in life, they were such a happy couple. They took so much pleasure from just being alive, being there in the moment, simply breathing.
Now that they’re both gone, waking up in my grandparent’s house as an adult is like a cold blanket of loneliness covering my body and finding its way into my bones.
Who knew silence could be so loud?
I haven’t found it in me to sleep in any other room than the one I occupied as a child.
But the sun beams no longer find me.
The birds no longer tweet.
No loving eyes meet mine each morning.
It’s just me.
The display of CDs in the living room reminds me of how I used to sing as a child. My grandfather would be dancing around the living room or watching his cowboy movies. The kitchen table looks so lonely without my colouring pens scattered across it. My grandparents never even minded that it took so much of their space. They would work their breakfast, their coffee and cereal, around it. Their shoes stay by the door. They also stay unoccupied. No longer used for going out dancing at the local community hall. I no longer have one shoe by the door and one shoe kicked across the kitchen in my excitement to be back here after a long day of school. There was nothing I loved more as a teenager than coming home and having tea and cake as my grandmother listened to all my tales. We would share a look as soon as I walked into the kitchen. It was a small smile, but it spoke so many words. I was pleased to see her; she was pleased to see me. The tea was already made in anticipation to hear whatever I had to tell her that day.
The house was a representation of happiness.
Now it just represents how alone I am.
The ghosts in the corner greet me with a reminder that the past is just that, the past. My grandparents belong there now. They are not in my present and certainly not in my future. I sit at the top of the stairs with tears pouring from my eyes, wondering what on earth I will do next.
***
“Renée?” a voice from downstairs calls loudly, but softly. I rub my hand quickly over my eyes to push away the tears and run downstairs into the kitchen where I find my father. If he can see that I’ve been crying, he chooses not to acknowledge it. A feeling of conflict rushes through me. I don’t want the affection, but god, I do.
Hug me, dad, please. I am dying to be touched, to be loved.
“Just checking in, really,” he smiles and turns to put the kettle on. My grandfather died two years ago, my grandmother just a little over a month ago. My dad has always had a key to get into the house, and has never hesitated to let himself in. This has been a place of security for all of us over the years. My grandparents welcomed us in as if it was our home and we always took them up on that offer. I hadn’t expected to inherit their house. Perhaps that was silly of me to believe. Their daughter, my mother, died when I was a toddler. Their son is in prison.A good thing that is. I am their oldest grandchild. I guess I should have expected to be left something. Up until the inheritance, I was living with my father and my younger sister, and I do admit, the company was nice, but having a place of my own is quite nice too. Dad walking in like he used to do when my grandparents were alive brings me a flicker of life. It reminds me that something is happening outside that door.
Why does the world still spin when I feel like I am doing nothing but standing still though?
Sometimes I think this place is haunted. But maybe it’s just me, a ghost of a woman wandering these lonely halls.
“You’ve done a good job cleaning up, let me know if you need some help with the rest,” Dad says softly. He’s not the most affectionate man. He chooses to show his love through actions rather than the most desiredI love youor a nice hug. I have got used to this over the years. I know it’s hard for him with all we’ve been through. I wonder if he wants to hug me in the same way I want to hug him? Are we really so similar that we might let our chance of a father and daughter relationship slip away from us? My insecurity is too high though and the way my dad’s eyes flicker around the room as he compliments me makes me believe his own insecurities are the same.
“Thanks, it’s been hard, you know… but Nan cleaned up most stuff before, before… you know.” I sit down and link my fingers together. Dad puts a cup of tea in front of me and sits opposite.
“Yeah, I know. With the house and the money they left, you could redecorate.” He looks up at the ceiling. “Some things could do with work.”
If only it was that simple. Chucking away out-dated food and old paperwork felt easy. Donating clothes and small household items to the charity shop was not good for my heart, but was much needed. Redecorating though, pulling off wallpaper that my grandfather once put up and tearing away pieces of their home doesn’t feel right. I imagine the young man who decorated once upon a lifetime ago. A new house, a new wife, a baby onthe way. A whole future ahead of him. I know he has decorated since then, but taking down his hard work feels like an acknowledgment that everything he had and did, everything he ever loved, is dead and gone.
I drink my tea and take a deep breath.
“I’ll think about it. How’s Lydia?” I ask. Speaking about my younger sister is easier than speaking about the future. Or the past.
“Yeah, she’s alright, she’s been bringing that new fella around, seems nice enough,” he shrugs. He sips from his tea and his eyes scan the house, probably attempting to find something to consider working on. Something that might make for a better conversation. He doesn’t hassle me too much about life. Doesn’t hassle me about being twenty-nine without a job. Mostly because he knows grief and a sudden income of money means I have time to reconsider my future options. He doesn’t question the fact I’ve never been in a relationship. He just doesn’t question.
He visits the haunted house, checks the ghost that looks like his perfectly alive daughter is still there and then leaves.
