Sunday, April 28, 2013

ANNE EYRE (modern Jane Eyre) Chapter Three: Thornton




Chapter Three
Thornton
    An ancient, stooped-over man opened the heavy door and peered out at me through the space between the safety chain and the wall.
   ‘Are you Mr Rochester?’
    He laughed.
    ‘No, Miss. I’m Hector, the butler. I’m old enough to be his grandfather. The owner of Thornton is who you’ll be wanting. He’s away in Europe, not sure if he’ll be back here all summer. Sometimes he goes away and we wonder if he’ll ever return. Place will go to rack and ruin. No, it’s the younger Rochester you’ll be wanting, but I knew Rochester senior back when he was still a boy - giving away my age again,’ he chuckled. I could have assured him I would not have guessed it to be less than one hundred.
   ‘No, that younger Rochester has wild parties,’ he tutted and shook his head. ‘His father would not have approved, no he would not.’
    With those words, the elderly man shut the door in my face. Already I was thinking he was pretty weird.  
    I sat on the doorstep wondering what to do next.
    How was I supposed to interpret the letter, the paid for room in Devon, the helpfulness of Mrs Fairfax and the old-fashioned interview method – the telephone? I sat on the door step and put my head in my hands.
   Moments later, an older but very well-dressed woman came out.
  ‘Anne? Anne Eyre?’
   ‘Yes, that’s me,’ I said with a mixture of eagerness and exasperation.
   ‘Oh, Anne, I am so glad you’ve arrived. I’m Edwina Fairfax, the housekeeper here at Thornton Hall. Sophie, the child you are to tutor, is having her afternoon nap but we’ve been expecting you all day…’ she leant in, ‘take no notice of Hector; he’s been here for decades, Nathanial would never ask him to leave, it’s his home too but he really doesn’t work as the butler anymore; though he’s very good at judging the young man who owns the place,’ Mrs Fairfax said.
    She continued to speak as she led me through the vast entrance hallway of the house with grand, high ceilings and hall lights lit up like crystal. ‘Never mind Hector,’ she continued. ‘He’s over a hundred,’ she whispered. ‘He’s been working here for sixty years, he’s going a bit… well, he’s a bit confused. I can’t really talk to him and there are so few staff left here, just a cook and a cleaner and the grooms who come to work during the day. We have a lodger upstairs, Emma Poole, but she doesn’t speak much, does her own thing and writes all day from her room in the attic, or so I’m told. I’m not allowed to go in there as she doesn’t like being disturbed.’ Mrs Fairfax shrugged and raised an eyebrow. ‘Artistic types,’ she said disdainfully.
     ‘I mostly just run the house, organise the pay, the salaries. I read – a lot! Do you read novels Anne? Of course we have television and the local cinema but no internet connection while the renovations to the far wing are being done, not unless you go into the village -  there are too many builders around here digging up phone lines and what not - so, they’re working on that.’
     No internet, I thought. Good. I don’t want the distraction while I’m busy hiding from the world and its coldness.
    ‘The staff are… let’s just say they are not readers. They spend their evenings in the village pub mostly, when they are not wanted around here. Nathanial Rochester, he’s the owner now; he doesn’t visit much, either, but he’s supposedly bringing his friends to stay for the summer; some of them are in a band he manages and Nathanial agreed to let them rehearse here. Apart from that, his business interests are varied. He is coming home to organise the horses and buy some more, or sell them; I’m not really sure. I think he just wants someone to improve Sophie’s English over the summer. She’s no trouble, Anne, but she mostly speaks French. Do you speak French fluently?’
    ‘Yes, yes, of course.’
    ‘Good. Don’t speak it around Sophie, unless you have to! We want her to speak English as well as her French, if possible. Anyway, I’ll be interested to hear what you think of her.’
     Mrs Fairfax talked on.  
    It was quite refreshing to hear her speak in this relaxed manner. I wasn’t expecting her to be like this - someone who lived in such a grand house and wore a twin set and pleated skirt. She looked like what I imagined a lady-in-waiting to a princess might look. She spoke to me as a grown up, an equal, something I was not entirely used to.
    I was not used to making friends. My history, as you may have gathered, is not an easy story to share with strangers. Together, we walked into the grand ballroom. There were high chandeliers and paintings on the walls and rows of mirrors and windows. It reminded me of one of those lavish palaces I’d only seen on the internet or in movies.
     ‘Nathanial doesn’t need a job. His family have inherited money over many generations, so his business is really about keeping the family finances in order. Mrs Fairfax raised her eyebrow and continued, ‘I often wonder at the logic of such a young man inheriting everything, but I suppose we can’t predict such excesses, now, can we? I am sure there must be a reason for it and so far he has acted with great thoughtfulness. I can’t say I approve of his producing movies in America or managing the band but those are his hobbies and not for me to judge,’ she trailed off. Though she instantly told me to call her by her name, Edwina, I mostly referred to her as Mrs Fairfax.
    ‘For some reason, Mrs Fairfax, I assumed Sophie was your child.’
    ‘Oh, no dear, she is simply in my care.’
     Mrs Fairfax offered no further explanation as to Sophie’s existence and I was left to wonder.
     ‘Now, let’s show you to your room, and then we’ll make a nice cup of tea.’
      I hadn’t been expecting a particularly warm welcome and I’d rarely experienced such kindness from a stranger. In little under an hour, I almost felt like I had inherited a grandmother because Mrs Fairfax was so unexpectedly friendly.
      As it turned out, she was a distant cousin of the Rochesters (but, as she’d told me laughingly, not one of the rich ones). She’d originally been Nathanial’s nanny and had raised him and his brother from infancy.  Nate’s older brother had died, leaving Nathanial Rochester to inherit the vast family estate and the wealth of family owned companies.  
   ‘There are a few workers on the property. They are quite disinterested in activities like reading and movies so it will be wonderful to have someone to talk to in the evenings.’ Mrs Fairfax said.
   Her chatter continued and I admit I found it refreshing to have an older woman, effectively my employer, take so much interest in me.
   ‘I’ve put you in one of the warmer rooms; there are twelve bedrooms to choose from, and it’s not the biggest, but I think you will like it.’
     She led the way up the stairs and along a wide hallway.
     My bedroom had high ceilings and a distant view of the ocean. There was a large desk beneath the window sill and a double bed with a thick duvet covered by an embroidered bedspread. I noticed the maid had left a glass of water covered in a lace doily atop a pile of fashion magazines.
    ‘This is perfect,’ I said. Almost too perfect, more than I’d ever dreamt, I thought.
    ‘There’s an ensuite to your right and a swimming pool that is heated in winter, downstairs. Mr Rochester, Nathanial’s father, had it installed when the boys were young but it doesn’t get used as much now.  Perhaps, if you swim, you could teach Sophie. I noticed on your CV…,’ she trailed off again.
    ‘Yes, of course. I have my First Aid Certificate; I took the test during my final term at school.’
    ‘Was it an all-encompassing education? I noticed you attended Lockwood – one of the most prestigious ladies’ colleges in London.’
    ‘Oh yes,’ I replied, ‘very all-encompassing.’
     I had learnt not to share past hurts. I pulled my sleeve down to cover the scar on my hand, courtesy of one of my sixth form classmates and her sculpture implement which tore accidentally into my skin during a pottery class.  The mauling happened just after Irma left. I’d barely screamed let alone reported the incident - that would have led to further problems.
     My education had included bitterly cold winter dormitories, corporal punishment dealt out in private by prefects (before the younger girls became prefects themselves) and gossiping, neglected, fiercely snobbish teenage girls.
   ‘Have a good sleep, Anne. You can meet Sophie tomorrow.’
    I washed my face and could hardly believe my luck. The bedroom enveloped me but I’d never seen such splendour, much less lived in it. In the middle of the night, I had an unsettling dream. I was a child again and I was trapped in the locker room of my school and no one would let me out. When I opened my eyes, I stared above me at the high, intricately designed ceiling and felt a security under my blankets that had previously eluded me. 


ANNE EYRE (modern Jane Eyre) Chapter Two: An Education



Chapter Two
An Education
     I pulled out my folder, packed with documents relating to the first year school syllabus that I would need to be familiar with. I continued reading over standards and child development for the first part of my journey. Eventually, I let the endlessly lush scenery take over as I lolled against the window with music blaring in my ears. This time it was soft and classical, like the songs I’d taught myself on the keyboard in music class.
      Because it was summer, Mrs Fairfax said she was not too strict about schooling but the small, French child was the ward of a Mr Nathanial Rochester and he did not wish her to be behind when the new school year started. It was clear Sophie did not belong to Mrs Fairfax as I’d originally thought. Prior to her attendance in school she was used to being cared for at home when she had lived mysteriously with her mother - in Paris, the city of light.
    ‘Anne, you will not be expected to do any cooking or cleaning; there is staff for that. Your responsibility is improving Sophie’s English.’  Mrs Fairfax’s words had resonated in my ear over the telephone. Hardly anyone speaks on the telephone these days; it’s all texts and social networking. Those telephone calls really did make me feel special. I hoped my inexperience and youth would not be considered a disadvantage. As it turned out it was for exactly those qualities that I was hired.
    I was proficient in French, although I had been instructed to speak to Sophie mostly in English. I hoped she wasn’t as unruly as some of the previous children I’d babysat.
     There were also younger children in my foster families - all eight of them - until I finally hit the jackpot and was sent to Lockwood to board. My benefactor had decided he didn’t want anything to do with me but to appease his conscience I was sent to this select boarding school. I assume my benefactor was a he but the actual person could have just as easily been a woman, I suppose. The lawyer who signed my school cheques was male. I knew nothing more about my benefactor (who insisted on a confidentiality clause), other than who his lawyer was.
     Lockwood School was not the friendliest place, as you may have guessed. It was there that we froze away the winters and, after Irma left, I tried to make friends with girls who’d invite me to vacation with them over endless summers. It almost worked but usually they tossed me to the curb after a few weeks when they found out I could never return the favour. Inevitably, I spent the last weeks of summer tucked up at school, learning the syllabus for the following year. That’s really how I became academically gifted; I had nothing better to do. And of course, I liked to read and draw; qualities which helped me inhabit my own little world.  
     I was surprised in some ways, that when I turned eighteen, I had nowhere to go and my benefactor didn’t want to meet me. It would have been upsetting but I was so ready to embrace my freedom I put this unnecessary slight out of my mind and resolved to get on with my life, now that I could finally, legally, make some decisions for myself.
    I arrived in the village near Thornton Hall at night. I was to stay at an inn. Next morning I would get a lift to Hay Lane which led to the vast estate of Thornton. Mrs Fairfax had arranged for some neighbours to meet me.
     The inn was small, friendly and comforting. I ate my dinner (sausages, mashed potato and beans) and drank a glass of lemonade. I pushed my food around on my plate. It reminded me of some of the worst excesses of boarding school – food fights and eating competitions. When the teachers were absent, the older girls and prefects made the rules. (Some of the older girls locked us in a room in one of the sports houses…) The prefects were the worst in that school. You were nothing when you first arrived. There were all sorts of standards and anti-bullying messages but the younger students were still bullied to within an inch of their lives by the older ones. If you were bullied and spoke up, it only made things worse. I was twelve when I arrived at the school and I had to prove myself until I was older and became a prefect myself. Our group tried to install a different set of rules and I’d like to think the younger students that followed us were a little less feral than the older ones who’d been the original bullies at Lockwood. However, boarding school was ultimately better than some of the foster care I’d been allocated. I shuddered at the memory of strange people and unfamiliar beds.
    My room at the inn that night was warm. I heard the crash of the sea in the distance. I was getting closer to the cliffs of Cornwall and I couldn’t wait to see them, especially now that I could hear the ocean. Is there any sleep deeper or more luxurious than one where you listen to the folding waves nearby? I doubted it.  
    The next morning, the sky shone brilliant with sun. I heard a voice from downstairs.
    ‘Anne? Anne Eyre?’
    I walked down to the foyer, sleepy eyed.
     A youngish man with blonde hair spoke from the first floor.
     ‘My name is Connor Rivers. I’m a friend of Mrs Fairfax; we are from the same church. My sisters and I are visiting Devon and we’ve offered to drive you to Thornton since we wanted to see that part of the coastline anyway.’
     I looked perplexed.
     Connor smiled, welcomingly.
     ‘Mrs Fairfax said she’d left you a message.’
     I checked my phone; sure enough, there it was.
     ‘Oh yes,’ I said, remembering. ‘Just a minute.’ I wasn’t used to such hospitality in London.    
     ‘My sisters and I live in Devon but we’ve come to visit friends on a neighbouring property, not far from Thornton.’
     Connor introduced his sisters who were young and pretty and suited their names, Rainbow and Daisy.   
     I did a double take. The girls wore flowing skirts, bare feet and flowers in their hair. All of the siblings looked alike and the girls waved to me as if we already knew each other. They seemed friendly and safe.
      ‘I’m with my sisters, we’re about to leave. We have a church christening to go to….’  And he spoke on.
      Connor seemed nice enough. He could not have been more than twenty-one and I’d say his sisters were younger than me. As we drove, the siblings talked about how they were raising money for a local country fair to be held in a few months. They were also building a school in India and talked animatedly about this.
      I stared out the window as I listened. I admired their enthusiasm for helping others. As I’d just escaped from school, the idea of helping to build another one, didn’t capture my imagination. Tutoring one pupil in a spacious country home, however, would be different.  Rainbow and Daisy chatted away about their new home in Devon and the church youth group they enjoyed as Connor loaded my meagre belongings into the car.
     The girls conversed with me warmly during the long drive.
     ‘And you finished school in London?’ Daisy asked, ‘Oh, it’s such a big city. My sister and I prefer the country, but we’ve been shopping in Oxford Street a few times and it was so much fun.’
    ‘Oh, yes,’ Rainbow said, ‘I adore department stores.’
    ‘My sisters sound far more materialistic than they are,’ Connor assured me.
    ‘That’s alright,’ I said, ‘I also love shopping in London. Where do you think I bought my new coat?’
     Rainbow and Daisy both admired the fabric.
     ‘Even so,’ Connor said, ‘we were in town for a church picnic in Hyde Park. It was a  lovely day and I’m sure we all remember it more for the new friends we made than the items we bought.’
     Connor’s sisters giggled and Rainbow raised her eyebrow at her brother’s seriousness.
    ‘Of course,’ Daisy said, smiling at me.
   ‘I like Hyde Park and St James’ Park. They are beautiful in summer or winter,’ I added.  
    The sisters nodded in agreement.
     I fell asleep during the second half of the journey. When I woke up, the girls were singing and I could see Thornton Hall in the distance.
    ‘Here we are,’ Connor announced.
    Thornton was a large, majestic building that towered over the lush farming fields surrounding it.
     ‘Anne?’ Daisy’s voice rang out.
     ‘Wake up, Anne,’ Rainbow sang prettily.
     ‘Miles away,’ Daisy said, tugging my shoulder.
      Apart from being tired, I slept because I slept got motion sickness and this had always been my body’s way of preventing it. The movement of the car helped make me drowsy but the singing woke me. I listened to the distant sound of the water lapping the shore. We were driving along the highest cliff, not far from where Thornton Hall was situated. To reach the driveway that led to the main house, we rambled along Hay Lane in the brilliant morning light. It had been a long journey from my London bedsit to here.
     The car stopped and so did the tuneful but high pitched singing of the sisters.
     I rolled out of the car to see an imposing mansion up close. Because it was warm for this time of year, there was no mist but a light film of salty air greeted my lips as I stepped out from the car.
    ‘Can I take your bag, Anne?’ Connor asked me. ‘Normally we’d come in for tea with Mrs Fairfax but we’re running a bit behind schedule.’  
   The boy smiled. There is no way I should have referred to him as the boy in my mind, since he was actually three years older than me. For some reason, his trusting glance made him seem sheltered, unlike me.
   ‘It’s okay,’ I said, embarrassed I had so few belongings.
   ‘Suit yourself,’ he said. I hoped somehow I hadn’t offended him. ‘This place used to have tons of racehorses when Lord Rochester was alive. The money this family had - still has, would buy a small country. I only hope they use some of it for good purposes. I’ve heard tons of stories about the new owner, Nate Rochester.’
    ‘You mean Nathanial Fairfax Rochester?’
    ‘Yes, he sometimes uses a shortened version of his first name. He’s very modern, for an aristocrat.’ Connor looked into my eyes and smiled.  He seemed to want to tell me something.
    ‘You really have never travelled anywhere, have you Anne?’
    ‘Not unless you count all over London.’
     He smiled.
    ‘Well, out here in the country, things may seem kinder, but we have our fair share of secrets.’
     I wondered what he meant.
     ‘Anyway, we’re heading back to the village now for the christening. At the end of the year, my sisters and I are going to India.’
     I realized Connor intended to travel the world. He seemed to want to delay my departure, glancing at me as he jumped into the car.
    ‘Just a tip - the owner of Thornton has a bit of trouble keeping his staff now that the old man’s gone. I’ve heard strange stories about this place. Just remember, Anne, in the modern world, no one has slaves anymore. Tell Mrs Fairfax I’m leaving the car to be collected from the station.’
    I nodded.
    Is that what I was to become?  A paid slave?
    A soft chill air wafted across the threshold as the Rivers siblings drove off. I walked towards Thornton Hall and knocked on the heavy door, apprehensively.  

ANNE EYRE (modern Jane Eyre) Chapter One: Journey




Chapter One

Journey
     I have always wanted to live in the South of England.  In my dreams I imagined one day I would live near the sea. Water is transient yet eternal. Sometimes I think my existence at Thornton Hall was just a mirage, an excuse to visit the ocean.
     The day my aunt handed me over to Social Services, I suspected life was not meant to be easy. I was only eight. Afterwards, I endured a series of foster homes and finally an expensive school paid for by my unknown benefactor. I ended up flung out onto a busy street at eighteen, wearing last year’s jeans and carrying every possession I owned on my back. I knew I had to get out of London: the city; the congested streets; the strangers moving past me as if I was air; the sheer bustle, scope and majesty of the place would swamp me if I didn’t.
    I need to go somewhere solitary, I thought, somewhere safe.
    I’d started searching the internet a few weeks before my final exams and just after I’d completed my university interviews. If I got in (and my final marks suggested I would), I’d still have more than three months (and nowhere to live) before classes started. I’d applied to at least six different employment agencies for a job but I had few practical skills. My benefactor had paid for me to have a proper education at an exclusive school in South Kensington. Lockwood was filled with rich, abandoned girls - girls who rated you on looks and pulling power and girls who committed various minor classroom crimes, then pointed at you for the blame. The students in their checked uniforms were rich girls from good families, girls who hated povvies (short for poverty stricken ones). Girls like me. Let’s just say, I did not fit in, but I made the most of the experience. My expensive education and ability to speak French were what led me to Thornton Hall and the job of caring for six-year-old Sophie Varens. 
    Now that I’m eighteen and officially an adult, solid work is hard to find. I see endless advertisements for Girls Wanted and Dance Clubs. It makes my stomach churn when I realize that no matter how hard I study, the only opportunities for me to earn a full salary without a university degree can be found in the final classified pages of a free newspaper. 
     I feel older than my years. You may wonder how that is possible, but let’s face it, after the kind of life I’ve led already, it is. I’m finished with Lockwood School and grateful for my thorough knowledge of English, French, History, Music and Mathematics. I got very high marks in all my subjects but I’ve learnt already that finishing school in the middle of a recession was not the wisest choice – as if I had one. Every advertisement screams experience. Which kind would they like?
   Would they like the experience of being abandoned by my birth mother on my aunt’s doorstep, aged two? Being fostered out six years later because my aunt disliked me? Realizing I’d never be adopted and have a real family because my mother wouldn’t sign the release forms? I was too old by then to be anyone’s first choice. This led me to eight different foster homes in as many years.
     Yes, I’ve had quite an education.  And yet, I have no contact with my birth parents but I’m not bitter. I have raised myself, in many ways, and I do not believe I have done a bad job. It is true, my expectations for happiness are not high but for the first time, I feel free and that is a joy in and of itself.
     A few days after I’d finished school I found work.  The job was with an older couple who worked in the City, in banking. The father, a dour accountant, had taken the morning off to show me his three-year-old’s routine. He was fighting with his wife and she had stormed out. This should have been my warning. During nap time, the father tried to kiss me and when I pulled away, he rang my agency and said I couldn’t cope with the demands of the position. He was a valuable client, so they didn’t want to hear my side of the story.
    As I grabbed my coat and left, I mentally put a line through that agency on my list. The experience made me wary of taking agency jobs again. I thought I might do better seeking work independently.
    A week later, I was very low on funds and my room was only paid up for another night. I was beginning to wonder if sleeping rough in central London would suit me (obviously, it wouldn’t) when I saw an advertisement in a women’s magazine: Governess wanted for remote stately home in Devon. I searched the old-fashioned word and realized a governess was like a nanny but she wasn’t expected to do domestic tasks, just to tutor the child in schoolwork.  The contact details for a Mrs Fairfax at Thornton Hall in Cornwall, a seaside town in the South of England, were displayed. I immediately found enough money to use my pay phone and dialled Thornton Hall. I spoke to the woman on the telephone, Mrs Edwina Fairfax, and I assumed the child who might be in my care, was her daughter.
     Mrs Fairfax was polite and well-spoken on the phone. Just her voice was like a balm to me. Street thugs and wayward teenagers ditching school loitered around my depressing borough. I emailed Mrs Fairfax my school results and references almost immediately. A day later, I had the job.
    It was a huge relief to me. I’d been approaching the summer holidays with little money and no prospects. I took what was left of my savings to go to an enormous department store on Oxford Street to choose a new summer jacket and shoes. I chose a cobalt blue coat and red Mary Jane style flats to go with my black opaque stockings. I would look the part; even if I wasn’t sure I felt it. Cornwall would not be cold this time of year, but Thornton Hall was an ancient property situated alongside the coastline, so it would likely be breezy; English weather was always changeable. I packed my few unwanted belongings into a garbage bag and left them on the street outside my flat, after I’d returned my keys to my dodgy landlord. He looked me up and down and smirked as I announced I would be leaving. I walked out the door with my new bag declaring I would not be coming back.
    I was excited, anticipating the start of a new adventure, a new life. Who wouldn’t be after the one I’d already had? I’d been warned that there was a weak internet signal at Thornton, but this almost pleased me. There was no one I wanted to keep in touch with. My so-called friends had all gone off on summer holidays bankrolled by their parents. I couldn’t join them even if I had been invited. I didn’t mind solitude that much, not really. I’d learnt to create worlds inside my head, the ones of my own learning.
    Perhaps I had an over-active imagination, but it would stand me in good stead where I was going. I assumed there would be few people and little else to do apart from looking after Sophie.
    I’d seen a picture of the child and had spoken a few words to her over the telephone – in French. Sophie had squealed with delight when I described to her some of the places I’d seen on the school trip I’d taken to Paris – one of the most exciting moments of my life so far. The entire senior French class had been packed into a bus and herded across the English Channel via ferry only to arrive in another country, another world, one with fresh bread and cakes and a whole new exotic language.
    At the station, I bought an extra mobile phone card with what remained of my savings. Taking on board the isolation I might be facing at Thornton, it seemed a smart idea to arrive prepared. In the photograph I’d been emailed, Thornton Hall was situated at the end of a long windy road on the edge of a cliff overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. I could almost hear the waves crashing against the rocks.
    I clutched my phone card as I boarded the carriage. I’d need it, I thought; although I wondered if so far out in the country, there would even be a reception. On the train, I read through my formal letter of employment, emailed to me and signed by the housekeeper, Mrs Fairfax. Prior to this, she had been sent references from two of my teachers at school and another from the head mistress. I suppose the school felt it was their duty to say some good things about me. I’d always had remarkable academic results, considering my troublesome attitude, one teacher had told me.
     I stood at the changeover station after a few hours’ journey wearing my new coat and carrying every item I possessed in the world. There wasn’t much. I didn’t want to keep too many things, as I said: just a spare cardigan, some jeans, new underwear, socks (lots of socks), and an extra scarf. I was raised in England and though it was summer, I doubted even a hint of fine weather.  
     I read during the second part of my journey: first, a magazine, then the news on my smart phone; I listened to some music, the latest band that I’d liked; house music; it reminded me of my best friend from school, Irma.
     Irma had taken me under her wing when I’d arrived at Lockwood. She had gone out of her way to befriend me when I was at my loneliest and for that, and so much more, I will never forget her.
     Irma also disliked authority and we crept out one night to go clubbing in Soho. It was the one demerit of our school careers but the ramifications had been far reaching. The noisy club in central London was packed with people when we arrived and we felt safe in the cover of darkness and anonymity. The band was loud, louder than my ears could stand but Irma and I loved it. We rocked out all night, lost in the noise and energy of the place.
     In the early hours of the morning, we took a mini-cab back to school hoping against hope that none of the boarding supervisors would have noticed our absence. Unbeknown to us, someone had slipped an illegal substance into Irma’s drink, too much, and Irma collapsed. Later, she was expelled. I was kept on out of charity because I had nowhere else to go and the school authorities couldn’t prove I’d taken anything of my own volition. Irma’s parents have refused to allow us to speak to each other since the incident.  
     The experience left me friendless in my senior year. It could have happened to anyone but, of course, we never should have been in that club in the first place. Though we hadn’t been drinking alcohol and the whole escape had been Irma’s idea, I felt responsible. I was responsible. It was the one moment, the one lack of clarity in my teenage life; a huge mistake and Irma paid for it. I owed it to her now that I was out of that school, to live the best life possible. I posted a card of apology to her from the post office in Devon, and wished her well. I’d heard she’d finished off her final year elsewhere and was doing fine. Irma’s parents couldn’t stop us from communicating now that we were legally adults but I didn’t expect a response.
    It was near the end of the year when this happened and somehow, the scandal was hushed up. Irma had sisters at the school and the other parents thought getting the press involved would only be detrimental. Perhaps they were right. An air of hostility surrounded me though Irma had texted that she held no grudge and wished me all the best. That was before her mobile was disconnected. The police even caught the guy who spiked her drink on CCTV; the drink could’ve just as easily been mine. If it was mine, apart from Irma, let’s face it, who’d have cared?  Her sister and the other students left at school had told me as much. I couldn’t blame them. In some ways it was unfair that I’d been allowed to stay; nothing was ever the same at Lockwood after that and I was glad when the school year ended.
     Every night, since I was little, after saying the Lord’s Prayer that I was taught, I prayed to turn eighteen, as if that could somehow happen overnight. But it made the time go faster. Our father who art in heaven… please make me turn eighteen.
     Irma knew all about this. She had prayed for our escape too, prayed for our freedom. At eighteen we could do everything legally: vote, drink, and get married (a ridiculous notion to me since I’d barely been allowed to speak to anyone male who wasn’t a teacher in all my teenage years at Lockwood).
     And now, here I was, truly on my own for the first time. I felt the rush of excitement as the train moved out from the station near Devon and the conductor came to check my ticket. I imagined I was on some glamorous train, like the Orient Express, a train I used to watch leave Victoria Station – packed with tourists heading to Europe. That was when I lived near Brixton, and Victoria Station was my nearest changeover. That was Foster Family Six. 
    I had planned to make a stop at a little town called Lyme Regis, but to do that I would need a car and I would need to learn to drive. All things come in time; isn’t that what I was taught? I could hardly wait for my life to begin. My real life had been all too real already.

Tuesday, April 23, 2013

MARILYN: THE PASSION AND THE PARADOX by LOIS BANNER



I've started reading Marilyn: The Passion and The Paradox by Lois Banner and I'm loving it so far. A child of the movies - Marilyn's mother worked at the studios - Marilyn Monroe's life reads like one very eventful and memorable film.
   I have so much that I 'intend' to read and it's quite difficult when I write as well to read all the novels and biographies and autobiographies I'd like to, but I'm so glad I started this.
   For ages I've enjoyed biographies and particularly ones about movie stars. I am only a few chapters into Banner's work and so far I'm finding it (initially academic) but also a brilliant, page-turning read. Marilyn: The Passion and the Paradox is the most detailed account of Marilyn Monroe's life that I have ever read.
   I studied Marilyn's life in detail as a teenager for a play I was writing and performing in and I didn't think there was anything much that hadn't already been written about her or anything public that I didn't know. Some people may find the early accounts in this remarkable (and at first, quite literary work) a case of "too much information" - there are details about her most personal issues - but I have found in this (so far) a remarkable portrait of a remarkable woman, star, icon: part love letter, all real and very telling about the studio system that Marilyn had to navigate to survive.
   So many people out there (including me) are Marilyn fans and we are never going to forget one of the most enduring and iconic movie stars ever as long as writers keep writing about her. Marilyn never wanted to be "a joke" and I think this biography relays anything but. Without making her subject sound too serious or too glib, Banner finds a real person in the telling of Marilyn's story.
   When fantastic writers keep writing great accounts of her (admittedly rich life - rich in drama, comedy, tragedy, detail and beauty), we'll keep reading.
    I'm putting up these photos to remind you all how beautiful she was, how much she wanted to "improve herself" (even though she was already and always perfect in the eyes of her fans and those who knew and loved her) and just what a kind and sweet person she seemed to be.
    Marilyn's inner beauty shines through in this biography - that she was kind to others, gave her friends money when they needed it, that she always sought love and to improve her mind, that she was insecure yet unstoppable even when every metaphorical door slammed in her face. Marilyn worked so hard to become a star (she is quoted as saying, "I knew just how third rate I was") - yet she seemed to grasp the happiness she found (when she found it) with both hands.
    These photos remind me how much reading about her life has meant to me and I hope if you haven't read about Marilyn before that you start to now!


Thursday, April 18, 2013

THE MAGIC MERMAID #One (Storm) by Summer Day



The Magic Mermaid by Summer Day

As Storm Sunshine opened her locker, hair dripping wet, she noticed Jack Hunter from the corner of her eye. He’d arrived early and was going to the gym to practice shooting hoops. He was talking to his girlfriend Sara Bright. They were hunched in a corner discussing whatever. Everyone talked about them. Not only was Sara good looking and brilliant, but, in a school of unusually mismatched couples, Jack was too. Plus, he was the star of the basketball team and an awesome swimmer.
   Storm was the new girl. She always seemed to be the new girl. Storm wished she’d made more of an effort to make friends but she was always the last person to class, hair soaking, a pool of water staining the small of her back from her shoulder length hair. The tiny gills at the base of her neck were only on display underwater. They left a mark during the day but this was always covered with a thin but fashionable scarf, just in case anyone noticed.
    Queen Bee, Lavinia Snow, once taunted Storm. Lavinia asked her underlings, “Don’t you just love the smell of chlorine?” as if she didn’t.
    Storm could have played her bluff and agreed with her, since she didn’t find the smell of chlorine offensive; but Storm had been swimming in salt water so she knew Lavinia was lying. The school pool, the one she’d soon be forced to submerge herself in, was too heavily chlorinated, it was true. If she wanted to fit in and be ready for class, she’d have to go swimming there instead of the ocean pool nearer home. It was the only time she really became herself - in water. Storm lived for those moments; and to see Jack Hunter’s face again.   
    Storm checked her schedule. Her foster mom had been pretty nice about making sure she had all the right things, even packed her lunch with those tuna sushi rolls Storm craved; but Storm missed her real family more every day. She missed their beautiful home made out of forgotten treasure; its winding mote and secret tunnels, the natural wave pool with its lace like fence, decorated with shells and illuminated at night in fluorescence. The view of the ocean was as incomparable as her true family’s laughter. The night stars and the sound of her sister’s conversation warmed her on chilly evenings.
    It was true, the world she came from had only one season – wet – but still, they felt the changes from above. Storm ached from being kept apart from her siblings, but she’d made her choice and she was determined to stand by it. The great change had all happened only days ago.

THE MAGIC MERMAID #Two (Sail) by Summer Day



    That night, and every night for a week, Storm dreamed of the boy in the sailing boat, the boy she’d rescued from the ocean. It took all of those days for Storm to decide to do something pro-active about her longing. She had to meet him again. Jack. Jack Hunter. It was a lovely name; a name that played on her lips and offered an ocean of possibilities.
   The next morning, Storm decided to find him.
   For years, Cynthia had lived in a sea cave not far from Storm’s ocean home. Cynthia had been cast out. Some said she lured a human to her cave once and he was never seen again. This was against the law. She was no longer a mermaid but Cynthia practiced a powerful magic that no mermaid or human could ever conjure. All said, if you wanted something impossible, Cynthia was the only one to provide it.
   The next morning, the noise of the busy underwater world woke Storm. She was covered in pink lilies on her water bed, listening to the ocean rumble. Storm pulled on her lily shawl after a stretch and swam to Cynthia’s hide out in the rock caves near the cliff.
   Some said, Cynthia was at least a hundred years old, but she did not look a day over twenty.
    “Come in Storm, I have been expecting you. I had a hunch you would be coming today.”
   Cynthia told fortunes using magic shells. Storm’s mermaid friends once told her that Cynthia’s readings helped them decide who to date and who not to date. They were careful never to ask her for anything wicked or mean as those requests could turn against them. Cynthia herself placed no limits on the magic her mermaid clients requested.
    “Ah, the lovely Storm,” Cynthia intoned in her deep and spooky voice. “What is it you want from me today?”
    Storm hesitated. She knew her sisters would be horrified if they knew what she was about to do – and all for the love of a boy she’d never even spoken to. She knew it was crazy but she wanted it so bad… all her life she’d wanted to…
   “… Walk on land, to become human. Is it possible to do this? Some say it is.” The sea sorcerer hesitated, and then spoke.
   “Of course, child.  All things or at least, many things are possible with my help. The only thing I ask in return is…”
    In that moment, the woman’s eyes gleamed. Using her witchy fingers, she picked a particularly beguiling gem off Storm’s tail. The skin of the mermaid’s tail had grown around the gems for sixteen years and it pinched as the gems lifted. Storm’s shells shone brightly fluorescent under Cynthia’s gaze.
   “I ask only for all of your beautiful gems and shells in return.”
   “But my gems were given to me by my grandmother and her grandmother before her…”
   “Ah, well, off you go dear. You must not want what you say you want very badly at all. Perhaps it is for the best. The cost in being human is enormous – more than you could ever imagine.”
    Storm began to swim away. Then, hesitating, she measured the weight of her Jewels against the weight of her love for Jack. She needed to see him, had to see him again. She longed to walk side by side with him. Storm could never do that as a mermaid. She would always be gifted, sure. She knew her ability to swim fast and save people was unsurpassed, but those abilities didn’t make her human.
    “Wait, please.”
     Cynthia knew it, she had her then.
    “Before I do this, make you human, you have to know it comes at a great cost. We never know how bad it is going to be but, at first, when you try to walk you are barely going to be able to stand. To walk even an inch will cause you enormous, burn like pain at best. This should wear off after a few days…”
    “A few days?”
   “Or never.”
   “Never?”
   “It’s your choice. And remember, the only way back to your family under the sea once you’ve made your decision… Oh, there isn’t a way. So, what’s it to be, lovey? I haven’t got all day.”
   Storm hesitated, sea urchins played with her golden curls while she decided what to do. Meanwhile, Cynthia had started to pick at Storm’s perfect, shimmering jewels, as if they were scabs on skin.
   “I’ll take the chance.”
   “Thought you might say that. They all do. Teenage girls and their notion of love! Don’t you ever wonder if the boys would give it all up for you?”
   Storm hadn’t, she had only wondered what her sisters would say but there was nothing to be done. She’d leave them a note; it was the only way to leave without tears.    
    “You’ll need this, and this.” In waterproof marker (of course) the woman handed Jewel a map, instructions and the name of a couple and a school. This is the name of the family you’ll stay with. This is the name of the school you’ll attend: Sloan Select. They’re okay with girls like you.”
    “You mean ex-mermaids?”
    “Not exactly. Listen girlfriend, you need to wise up. This transformation is not easy. It takes some pretty powerful magic to make you over. This school, Sloan Select High, it’s for outcasts and weirdos - the extremely gifted and the very talented; a place kids go once the mainstream has rejected them.”  The woman chuckled as she placed her hands into Storm’s and chanted some words. Already, Storm realized, she would wake human but be labeled a reject. Still, she had no choice. These were the limitations placed on her transformation and there was nothing else to do; Storm wanted to be with Jack again.  

   “Bon chance,” Cynthia said. Storm looked surprised.
   “I’ve had years to study here. I speak at least six languages.”  
    The sea sorcerer waved Storm away and told her to swim to the surface. Once there, Storm would fall asleep on the beach from exhaustion and when she woke the next morning, she would be human and helpless, until she could learn to swim using her legs and become strong again.



THE MAGIC MERMAID #three (Swimming) by Summer Day



The next day, Storm was born anew, just as the woman in the cave told her she would be. The ache started in the joints of her legs and to stand was not only difficult but excruciating. Storm whimpered and cried out in agony. Thankfully, the pain subsided after a few hours. The girl studied her feet, toes and limbs; she crawled onto the face of a rock and leaned onto another with the great effort it took to stand. Finally, Storm stood on her own two feet for the first time. She took the package wrapped around her waist and pulled out a folded waterproof coat which she wrapped around her. Inside was a plastic credit card, some money (also sealed in plastic) and the names of her foster family.
   By now, Storm had been standing for a few minutes. As she tried to walk for the first time, she screamed in agony. Falling to the ground she wondered if she’d ever be able to get up again. As she fainted, she could not believe she had made such a stupid mistake. In her mind, she envisaged a place of comfort, warm and dry.
   When she woke, she was in her new home with her foster mom’s face hovering over her. It was a kind face but almost instantly, Storm missed her family.  She thought about her sisters and their disappointed faces as they read her note. They would want to meet, or at least see, the boy - the reason she’d run away from home.
    As Storm lay recovering in bed and her wounded, reddened joints healed themselves with each breath she took, she realized, with her human transformation came an incredible power. The power to journey in moments what would have once taken hours. When she had healed sufficiently to walk without too much agony she merged from her bed to the bench in seconds.
    By her first day of school, she was feeling, almost human. But she craved water. Not just to drink but to swim in. It was very lucky Sloan Select High had the best swim team in the state and that Jack Hunter was the captain of the team. There was only one problem. If Storm stayed in the water too long, like a human in a bath whose skin might turn prune-like, her legs resumed their mermaid status and Storm’s tail returned, although with no ability to breathe underwater, she would never be a real mermaid again.
    But Storm was not worried. Love had changed her, made her even more optimistic, if that was possible. Unfortunately for her, Storm’s love was, so far, very one-sided.
   In the earliest mornings, she crept out of her bed, merged to school in double quick time, pulled on her swimsuit and dived into the pool.
   It wasn’t as nice as the ocean, but Storm was getting used to chlorine. After ten seconds or so, Storm could feel her body tightening and her fish tail growing in all its silky, fluorescent glory. Although she couldn’t breathe underwater through her gills, the scar remained. Storm missed her gems and shells; being human was like being born anew.
   The minute she was out of water, her gills and tail dissolved. She climbed out of the water using her long, delicate but muscular legs. The thrill of walking was different. The pain had subsided but Storm didn’t feel steady, yet. She told herself Jack was worth the transition without ever really asking the important questions.
    How would she feel if he didn’t love her back?
    Storm was enjoying herself, swimming like a fish in the pool in the hours before classes started, that first week, never daring to stay long. Though the school was full of ‘exceptional teens’, Storm knew none as freakish, in reality, as her. There was talk that Jack was a shape shifter and his (rumored girlfriend) Sara, was a merger and weather changer and that mean girl Lavinina Snow was a powerful conjurer. In any case, she hadn’t befriended anyone yet, so how would she know for sure? She knew the school rules prohibited use of these powers outside controlled classroom environments. Extraordinary powers could only be used during lessons like ‘Chemical Romance’, ‘Merging’, and ‘Invisibility’.
   Storm liked to swim underwater. She liked to feel the rhythm and the pressure around her. It reminded her of home. She knew she had to pull herself together, that after her transition – which seemed to be taking more than a few days – she’d feel close to normal.



THE MAGIC MERMAID #four (School)



   She was surprised that second early morning when an explosion of human-like proportions went off in the deep end of the pool. Storm was thinking about her sisters and how she’d meet Jack properly during the ‘merging’ class they shared after French Literature. It would be the first time she’d speak to him as a real girl. Storm didn’t anticipate they’d meet even sooner. After Storm had finished her laps, Jack dived into the far end of the school pool, barely making a splash.  
    Instantly, Storm climbed out of the wet. She couldn’t risk letting her love see her swim underwater. She’d been enjoying swimming in circles, she’d even become used to the chlorine and began spreading her glamorous tale out under the fluorescent lights just before Jack had dived in. He too, needed to practice. That was the truth. He needed to be faster and stronger in his human form if he and Sara were ever to beat Lavinia at her own game.
    Lavinia and the powerful Minchin sisters at a neighboring school had grown in stature. They’d already had a close call at homecoming. Lavinia’s conjuring had improved; it was almost as good as Sara’s. Lavinia still hid her banned cell phone and checked it whenever she needed answers to secret questions. Jack and Sara needed to build a small army to challenge Lavinia’s power.  
    Meanwhile, Storm needed to resume human form before Jack noticed her tail. She dripped at the edge of the pool as her legs reformed the instant the lower half of her body was exposed to the air. But the change exhausted her. Her face went pink, then slightly blue – she could feel the coldness running in her veins and exhaustion in her transforming muscles. The undetectable changes made her gasp for breath.
    “Are you okay?”
    Jack looked into her face.
    “Hey, don’t I…?”  Her eyes looked familiar. But it couldn’t be.
     Storm shrugged him off quickly. He couldn’t see her like this – hair wet and breathless, tail whirling underneath. This was how she’d first looked to him and he was sure to remember. She wanted him to see her as a real girl; he’d never be able to love her as a scaly, shiny creature of the sea. 
     Storm pulled herself up through the water, her tail transforming as she emerged into air, never giving Jack even a glimpse of her scales. He smiled at her. Storm hurried to the changing rooms without so much as a “hi.”
     It had been a strange introduction.
     When new students arrived, their talents weren’t announced. It was up to the student to ‘share’ when they were ready, according to the guidance officer, Mrs Styles – a ‘fashion victim’ according to Lavinia. Her mean girl trainees would take notes on their tablets and report back to Lavinia that afternoon, but Lavinia didn’t really need their help. Via her smart phone, which told her everything, she considered herself streets ahead of almost everyone else in school – except perhaps Jack and Sara. She’d pretended she wanted a truce with them – but it had all gone pear shaped in the school gym after homecoming. Now they were openly hostile. After her suspension, Sara just acted like nothing had happened. Around them, she even pretended she’d given up her wicked conjuring on school grounds.
    Sara and Jack didn’t trust Lavinia after she’d tried to kill Sara – or at least keep her in a deep sleep for a hundred years. The plan had backfired but over lunch, Lavinia was not deterred. Her new followers - Rapunzel Jones and Reddie Hood -  were ever eager to listen to all her news.
    Lavinia realized followers were better than friends. Already, she was wary of the new girl, Storm. Lavinia, too, had followed her to the swimming pool. Lavinia had spied on Storm and seen her luscious mermaid tale. Storm was too weird even for Lavinia.  
    Over lunch, she told Reddie and Rapunzel to “be careful of the freak show.”
    “Which one?” Reddie asked, eager to please. Her home life wasn’t too great either.
   “The new one – she’s amphibious.”
   “Wow,” Rapunzel said, trying to hide her awe. They’d never had an amphibious student at Sloan Select. She’d heard about them at Venice Beach High, though. Amphibious humans had been nearly wiped out by all the vampires. Mermaid blood, which was blue, was a sweet elixir to bloodsuckers.    
     
     Arriving part way through the semester put Storm at a disadvantage and Jack was determined to speak with the new girl during lunch. He didn’t want her to sit alone. Besides, Sara had a vision. In this vision, they were all friends.
     Jack had been serious about Sara – or seriously in love with her – since the first time (in Sara’s trailer one night) they’d changed a rock to water and back again. They’d also grown up together in the children’s home where they were discovered in in East LA. They trusted each other implicitly; though Jack wanted to take things further, Sara always held back and kept him at a safe distance. Jack knew Sara wasn’t ready to trust anyone just yet – especially a guy who could shape shift from human to cougar and back again.
     Still, they needed another friend to add to their group since Lavinia had been building an army against them. Lavinia and her new friends, Reddie Hill and Rupunzel Jones sat eating lunch together and plotting the Sloan Select Tournament of Skill – something Lavinia said would, “separate the sheep from the wolves.” Lavinia liked Jack more than a lot. It was a constant source of irritation to her that he and Sara were continuously together.
    The Tournament of Skill was scheduled to begin in one month and all the students attending the ‘gifted and talented schools’ (eight schools in total, including Venice Beach High) – were due to take part. Venice Beach High hosted many covens of vampire teens (including the Minchin sisters) and they were not known for playing fair. Lavinia had been networking for weeks now.
    Meanwhile, Jack and Sara were sure they needed to get a larger team together. Sara had even dreamt they needed a third person. Jack had tried to explain his mermaid vision to Sara but she joked that he was delusional prior to her dream. Now she was sure the third member was coming. Even though he was a shape-shifter and Sara had her own incredible powers to merge and change objects and people, they both knew the existence of mermaids was only speculated about in children’s stories. Still, Sara knew she and Storm would be friends; maybe even besties.
   That night, as Storm lay in bed listening to the ocean in her mind as she tried to sleep, she remembered the stabilizer pills her foster mom had recommended.      “These will prevent you from changing. When you’re in water, you’ll stay human. But remember, you’ll have to teach yourself to swim again. ” Storm got out of her bunk and took a pill. She knew that once she’d started the process of stabilization, it would be impossible to turn back. In order to have the boy she loved, her change had to be complete. Jack Hunter was worth it. Storm knew, deep inside, he was her dream.
   Real life had taken over that first week on land. School, homework, swim practice and a glimpse of him every morning filled her days.
   Storm only had one foster brother – he was nine and slept next door to her. Her foster parents were nice – they were used to dealing with “specific needs” students, as they put it. Storm’s specific need was water and no matter how many pills she took, she knew she’d never stop craving it. That Thursday night, Storm drank an entire glass of H2O with her pill then pulled out the classic novel, Les Miserables, assigned for French homework. 
    Les Miserables was a huge story that her French teacher told her was maybe too huge for a sixteen year old to read. It wasn’t required reading but Storm liked to read about Marius, the young revolutionary. Storm wasn’t a fan of Cosette – the girl who’d won his heart without doing anything to deserve it, except existing. It had occurred to Storm, as she read under the covers, using her torch (her foster mom had warned  her to get more rest) that she was in danger of becoming the Eponine in her own story. Eponine was the girl who loved Marius from afar but who, in the end, always looked on from the sidelines. Eponine was the girl who never knew she was worthy of being loved, the girl who was cast aside.