Page 20 of Serenity Falls

Yawning, Sadie walks across the shiny wooden floor to the large window and pulls open the blind. For a moment, the sunlight dazzles her. She blinks, used to pulling curtains on to rain and grey skies. The view is a little different too. Their old house looked straight across the narrow street into the windows of the house opposite. A St George’s flag was usually hung outside, and the occupants didn’t always pull their blinds, so on one memorable occasion she had been treated to the sight of their pot-bellied, hairy-backed neighbour pleasuring himself while leaning casually against the window frame and smoking a cigarette. Gross.

No treats like that here. Opposite, Home and Spry glows in the morning sunshine. The sprinklers are active again, keeping the lawn verdant. No movement behind the curtains, though. Maybe Dale and Nancy are having a lie-in, or perhaps they’re already out walking Ruffles.

The street is a little busier this morning. She spots a fit-looking woman in micro shorts and a cropped top jogging down the opposite side with a small white dog on a leash. In the other direction, a trad mom in white jeans and a strappy top leads a small, blonde-haired girl and boy by the hands. The little girl clutches a bright pink balloon. Sadie stares at her, the nightmare suddenly surging back into her head. Grandma smiling a cadaverous grin, holding that damn armadillo head and a bunch of balloons. Like some hideous Donnie Darko and Pennywise mash-up.

She turns quickly from the window, a shiver rippling through her. She rubs her arms. She’s only wearing a vest and knickers. She should get dressed.

She surveys her suitcase, hastily flung open last night to grab her toiletries. Her clothes are still rolled up inside. She’s not quite sure why she brought so many warm clothes. Jeans and sweatshirts, hoodies. She kneels and rummages through, throwing stuff to one side and finally dragging out a pair of denim shorts and a T-shirt. She slips them on.

The box with Zelda inside is tucked beneath the bed. Sadie slides it out and opens it. Zelda’s tiny white bones gleam (Sadie cleaned her thoroughly before their journey). Her skull is smooth and elegant, mouth open in a snarl, revealing those sharp feline teeth.

In life, Zelda wasn’t a pretty cat. A rescue, her auburn fur always looked a little patchy. Her tail had been broken, so it was amputated halfway down and the stub never grew fur. One eye was blind and cloudy.

Her mum had chosen Zelda. Dad said that Mum always picked the broken ones, and Mum would always tell him: ‘They’re the ones that need rescuing most. Why d’you think I picked you?’

Of course, as it turned out, maybe her mum was the broken one, after all. She was right about Zelda though. The imperfections were the things that Sadie loved about Zelda. She had character and a purr that rumbled right through you. Zelda wasn’t standoffish or cold like a lot of cats. She liked to be cuddled and fussed, and Sadie never once saw her try to chase or trap a bird or small animal.

Death has turned her back into a hunter, Sadie thinks. Fierce and beautiful. She swallows down a lump in her throat, then kisses Zelda’s skull, which still smells faintly of the earth, closes the lid on the box and pads downstairs.

She finds Dad in the kitchen, cooking. She stares at him in shock.

Dad is a terrible cook. He manages dinner as long as it’s pasta, stir fry, chicken or anything else that can be heated with minimal effort. He often jokes that Pot Noodles are his speciality. Dad never cooks breakfast. Dad’s idea of breakfast is a black coffee and the occasional sneaky cigarette outside the back door which they both pretend she doesn’t know about.

‘What are you doing?’ she asks.

Dad turns from the grill, where he is placing the waffles. Actual waffles. What the fuck? Bacon is cooling on another grill, and in a bowl is what looks suspiciously like fruit.

He grins, looking slightly embarrassed. ‘Well, I thought I’d start the day with a traditional American breakfast.’

‘Ah.’ She nods and folds her arms. ‘I see.’

‘You do?’

‘Yeah. You’re overcompensating.’

‘No, I’m …’ His shoulders sag. ‘Okay. Yeah. I’m overcompensating. I don’t even like fucking waffles.’

Sadie pulls out a stool at the breakfast bar. ‘Me neither. But I’ll take some bacon.’

Dad serves some bacon on to a plate and puts it in front of her.

‘Ketchup?’

He shakes his head. ‘Syrup.’

‘Yuck.’

‘Yeah.’

He plonks a glass of orange juice next to the bacon and then takes the seat opposite. He has a cup of black coffee in front of him, and from the faint smell of smoke, he’s already had breakfast.

‘So?’ She pops a piece of bacon into her mouth. It’s actually pretty good. ‘What are our plans for today?’

‘Ah.’

She stares at him. ‘I know that “Ah”. That’s a bad “Ah”.’

‘Okay. I meant to tell you last night but, you know—’