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

cannot escape the
growing feeling of dread that has taken root in the pit of my stomach.
    My fingers go, of their own accord to the back pocket of
my jeans, where Five is nestled. The
pages give me comfort somehow as I pull it out and turn to the next blank page.
My pencil hovers above the page for a split second as I consider the many
emotions that are spinning around inside me; anger, fear, resentment. I have
written too much about all these words the past few days, but today, there is a
new emotion roiling around with the others, giving the mix a sweet-and-sour flavor.
I touch the nib against the paper and write: ‘Alone.’

 

 
    Chapter
7
     
    Frustration
    Tastes like: Sour worms.
    Smells like: Burnt banana
bread.    
    Sounds like: A two year old
trying to get a favourite toy that is just out of reach.
    Feels like: A hairbrush
tangling in matted hair.
    Looks like: The last train
of the day chugging out of the station just as you reach the platform.

 
    It comes into view, towering before us
like something from a fairytale. The huge double storey in which I had spent
the first seven years of my life with Nan and my parents is exactly as I
remember it.
      Surrounded by green forest and rolling
countryside, white walls covered with honeysuckle and ivy, the eight bedroom house
is enormous and ancient. Two tall, round structures at either end, inset with
bay windows, give the house the appearance of a castle and remind me of the
hours I’d spent as a child, in the attic windows, as Rapunzel, waiting for my
white knight.
    Jake, Nan’s crinkle-eyed neighbor who
collected me from the airport and tried to entertain me with stories about the
mischief my mother had gotten into as a child, comes around to open the
passenger door, letting in a rush of fresh forest air and memories long
forgotten.
    The wind-chimes on the porch tinkle in
the light breeze, like the sound of children’s laughter. They are the ones I
gave to Nan for Christmas when I was five. ‘Little fairies dancing in the
breeze’, I’d exclaimed, before she’d even had a chance to pull the wrapping
off. I had been so proud because mom had let me choose the gift myself from the
little gift shop in Lydney and the fairies had seemed so fitting for my beloved
tale-telling Nan.
    The ornate front door creaks open as I
step out of the car and Nan’s graceful figure frames the doorway. I’m expecting
our reunion to be awkward, but the pleasure in her expression turns the clock
back until I am five again. I run up the gravel pathway and fling my arms around
her as if I’d never left. She hugs me back, with far more strength than her
fragile frame suggests.
    ‘Bluebell!’ Nan greets me with the old
childhood endearment. No one has called me that in years, and I’ve missed it. I’d
earned the nickname because I’d often gotten into trouble for the hours I’d
spent alone in the forest, playing amongst the bluebells. After each foray, I’d
return with a sprig of my favourite flowers for Nan, who would put them in a
vase on the kitchen counter and exclaim that they were the prettiest flowers
she’d ever seen.  
    She puts her hands on my shoulders and
steps back to study me at arm’s length. Her eyes take in my creased jeans and
tee, the wisps of black hair that have escaped my ponytail and my green eyes,
which reflect the shade of her own. She sighs.
    ‘You look just like your mother.’  
    I hate the comparison, but I say
nothing and just smile back at her. She looks like she hasn’t aged a day since
the last time I saw her. Only the chignon, swept back at the nape of her neck
hints at the passing of time and instead of making her look older, the silver
threads give a kind of ethereal beauty to her finely chiseled features. She
even smells the same: a sweet combination of lavender and roses that reminds me
of fires and fairytales.
    Nan squeezes my hand.
    ‘I’ve prepared your old room for you. Freshen
up, and then we can have tea.’
    I nod, thank