Five: A Maor Novel (Maor series) by Caroline Greyling Read Free Book Online

between
the ‘friends forever’ and ‘J’ charms on my bracelet.
    My cell-phone begins to vibrate in the back pocket of my
jeans, providing a much needed distraction from the emotional tension. I know
who it is even before I glance at the caller identity and I reject without answering.
    Luke has been calling non-stop for the past three days
but I’ve rejected every call. He’s left dozens of messages on my voicemail: ‘Shaylee,
please call me. I didn’t mean to. I don’t know what came over me. Please
forgive me.’  
    ‘You can’t avoid him forever,’ Jenne sniffs.
    ‘Well, technically I can.’ I sigh and slide the phone
back into my pocket. ‘I’m just not ready yet, Jen.’
    My best friend nods in understanding. We’ve discussed
the incident with Luke at length already. Jenne thinks there is more to it than
meets the eye - that Luke’s reaction is somehow linked to the appearance of the
butterfly mark, but the horror of what almost happened is still too fresh in my
mind for me to try and analyze it.
    ‘Flight 201 to Heathrow, now boarding through gate two’.
The announcement blares over the intercom.
    Jenne throws her arms around me and I hug her back
tight, like we’ll never see one another again. When she steps back, my mother
moves forward, puts her arms around me and kisses my forehead.   I keep my arms folded across my chest in silent
defiance.
    I sling my back-pack across one shoulder and make my way
toward the boarding gates. At the passenger’s only point, I turn and see Jenne,
standing with her arm around my mother’s shoulders. I give a little wave of my
fingers and slip through the gate.
      As I join the end
of the queue at gate two, I am painfully aware that each step draws me further
away from the comfort and familiarity of my life, toward the unknown. My throat
still burns with the threat of tears but I refuse to cry.
    The flight attendant checks my boarding pass and waves
me through. On board, I go through the motions, stow my luggage and squeeze
past another passenger into my economy class window seat. With the voice of the
air hostess droning in the background about safety exits, I turn to stare at
the tarmac below, feeling lonelier than ever.
    The airbus moves toward the runway, and with a sudden
burst of speed that forces me back into my chair, the wheels leave the black
tar and we are circling above the city that is my home.
    Far below, I can see rooftops and swimming pools and I
feel my eyes grow moist again. There are so many things I will miss about this
city: the softness of the solar-heated water of our swimming pool; the woodsy
smell of burning charcoal on my dad’s braai; the spicy taste of biltong and
marmite and Mrs. Balls Chutney. Most of all, I will miss the rich culture and
diversity of this country that I have called home, that I will always call home.
    The houses far below diminish in size until they disappear
completely from view as we soar through the puffy Highveld clouds. When I
cannot see the farms below, I turn away from the window and flick through my phone’s
music collection until I find something bluesy to match my current mood. I
recline my seat and close my eyes, trying to remember what I can about the
place I am returning to.
    I still have a few vague memories of Aylburton; they are
good ones: me, curled in Nan’s lap before the flickering fire to listen to one
of her fairytales; the smell of the damp forest; the roughness of the bark of
my favorite oak tree; the lush forest floor beneath my bare feet…  
    This last memory is vivid. I can almost feel the texture
of the bluebell carpet against the soles of my feet. Not even the velvet petals
of my African violets could match it.    
    Aylburton and more particularly, the Forest of Dean is
probably one of the most beautiful places on earth and it is filled with happy
memories for me, but I cannot bring myself to feel anything positive about
going back. There are too many unanswered questions and I