AllFreeNovel
Share Us
It all seemed very unlike her.
‘Father, please don’t wait,’ I say.
He sighs.
‘I’m starving,’ says Ash.
‘Very well,’ says Father, and he clasps his hands in front of him so he can say grace and we can start eating.
‘You know I have to run, right?’ Dan asks me as we help ourselves to breakfast.
I nod. A day of meetings in Exeter.
‘Are you busy today?’ Dan asks.
‘Two private viewings, a festival meeting, someone who wants their entire collection reframed,’ I lie, which I notice is getting easier. I pick at my muesli while Dan layers peanut butter and jam on toast. I wonder if I should go check on my baby before she gets in real trouble for missing breakfast, but I don’t want to nag.
I listen distractedly to my father, teasing my mother for forgetting, again, that he likes his porridge cooked with water, not milk, as he always has, every day of his breakfast-eating life.
It’s mildly irritating how the corners of Mother’s mouth turn down, like he’s being mean, when really, how on earth does she forget every morning?
‘I’m sorry,’ she says. ‘I didn’t think.’
Everyone falls silent. Cutlery stops midway to mouth. Mother’s fingers run through the beads of her necklace like it’s a rosary.
As I turn to see what everyone is gaping at, Jenna walks past me, to the fridge, her back to the family.
I catch my breath.
It’s Tristan who speaks first. ‘Very chic,’ he says.
All of her hair.
All of my daughter’s beautiful, long, chestnut hair – it’s gone.
2
NOW
My heart does a little flutter. Jenna’s given herself a blunt cut, just below her ears, exposing her long, vulnerable neck. I stare at her bare throat and think, She’ll still be pretty, she can’t not be, and if she wants her hair like that, then it’s her choice, isn’t it? Everyone needs a change sometimes.
‘Oh, Jenna, what—’ starts Dan, but I cut him off with a hand on his leg.
‘I think it looks lovely,’ I say.
Ava coughs. ‘Very nice.’
I smile over at Ava and she smiles back. That’ll count for something, won’t it? Ava is older than her, popular.
Jenna takes a bottle from the fridge and walks out of the room. I try to catch her eye, but she doesn’t look over. My heart hurts for her.
‘Little lady,’ calls my father. ‘You say good morning to your family.’ He smiles at the doorway.
‘Sorry Father,’ I say, knowing how much he cares about manners. I excuse myself and hurry after her.
Or pretend to.
Really, I go back to the extension, to our living room. Jenna has probably escaped to the greenhouse as she has done since she was little. She needs space.
