As much as he wanted to concede the contrary and, indeed, he would have been well within rights to do so, Paul was forced to agree that he did not know the boy as well as he’d thought. He had not thought, given what he’d read and given what he’d dug up about everyone involved in his family just as he’d done with the wayward werewolf, that there had been much more to the boy than what was written down on paper. The weakness had only sufficed as to prove it to him yet what he found and what he found he was proud of was the fact that Oliver didn’t appear to want to lay down and take it. He was more of a man than he was a boy.
“I’m setting you up for failure?” Paul exclaimed with a wild laugh. “Me? This is my fault? You’re the one who doesn’t want to try. I am going to trivialise the way you feel because you’re already doing it. You go, you leave this house and you take her with you. Do as you will. Romance her however way you like but you break her and I’ll kill you. Are we square, then? You need to learn to value what you have in this life, boy. You don’t start with my daughter, either. You start with your family. Give it a go, by all means, but don’t you dare touch her until you are whole and ready for it. And I don’t mean via your loins – I mean in yourself. Only start if you’re ready for her.”
Once the boy was gone, Paul took a breath and braced his hands back down on the counter. He stretched himself out and huffed against the granite before standing back up and tossing his fingers through the wispy bits of auburn hair that had fallen form the band he’d put it all in. Sighing, he moved Ollie’s cup to the sink and washed it up quickly in warm, soapy water before setting it down on the draining board. As he looked up, peering out into the leafy grounds that encompassed the house through the sash window framed by yellow curtains, he spotted a familiar figure, barefoot and marching about in search of the stray cats that, since they’d moved there, she’d fed. Once she’d left for school, it was something Paul and Marie had bizarrely found themselves keeping up, as much as they both loathed cats.
Lifting his wand from the counter, Paul flicked a wave of magic at the breakfast and set it going of its own accord. He then dropped the wand into his jeans pocket and endeavoured to stride through into the dining room, opening up the concertina doors before slipping out onto the patio through the glass, conservatory doors. The tiles were cool underfoot and the man instantly regretted forgoing his own shoes. He wondered to himself just how much the little witch had heard but the withering look she fixed him with upon looking up from the cat – Mr. Whiskers, aptly named by Édouard – she had been smoothing. Paul bit the inside of his cheek and he sighed, coming to sit in the wicker chair that, one of a set, had been left out the night before with a protection spell on them.
Alice didn’t move to greet her father. She was in no rush. Instead, after feeding the cats, she opened up the rabbit hutch, a substantial structure which her brothers had put up on a sunny weekend a few months before and which her sisters-in-law had not waited to fill up with fluffy creatures. It was larger on the inside thanks to a few extension charms and they were constantly kept warm and dry. The trays for their business removed themselves and their water bottles refilled automatically once empty. It was only food which the family had to provide which often resulted in them having a run in the mornings while whoever had gotten up first drank their way through a few cups of coffee and got to rights.
This morning was no different. Rabbits streamed out onto the grass just as the cats sloped away again into the trees to roost, get up to no good, or pursue whatever it was they wanted to do that morning. With a flick of her wand, Alice moved the bowls to the patio where the cats would know to come if they were hungry or thirsty and then the rabbits began, allowed to lord over, and crucially trim, the wide expanse of lawn that thanks to a few rainy evenings was blooming with dandelions. Feet were kicked together excitedly and Alice raised a smile to her lips as she got up from the hutch with her rabbit, Apple, in her arms.
Smoothing the creature seemed to ease her temper somewhat and the rabbit was happy enough to have its ears stroked and its belly rubbed. She took a few moments to inspect her nails and then bent back down to fish out from one of the drawers in the hutch, a useful feature that the boys had added, a pair of clippers. Then, Alice kicked the drawer closed and weaved through the rabbits eager to hop around her, towards the patio where she sat opposite Paul and set Apple down on her lap before beginning to trim her nails.
“What do you want?” She hissed, ironically mirroring the first turn of phrase that Paul had levelled at Oliver.
Despite himself, the man blanched and looked at Alice somewhat fearful of what she had to say to him. He opened his mouth but before he had a chance to defend his position she hurled the clippers at him and the man, albeit beginning to steam with anger at her belligerence, fumbled to catch them. He put the clippers down and looked at her pointedly, really only questioning whether she’d seen to Apple or not. The rabbit jumped off of Alice’s lap onto the grass to join the others and Paul discerned that, as ever, his daughter was as quick as she was methodical and he knew that the Ministry would miss her. He was half-tempted to offer her a better job but he knew that it would be hurled back in his face with vengeance – and perhaps the clippers again to boot.
“You are abhorrent,” she exclaimed. “The pair of you!” One of the rabbits twisted around to fix her with a quizzical look.
“Alice, sweetheart—” he endeavoured.
“—No!” She burst. “Papa, I don’t need this. I want to be more than just proof to you that Ollie is not a coward and a liar. He’s not either. He’s ...” Alice trailed off, flushing pink.
“Alice—” Paul attempted, again.
“—Papa, I do not need protecting. From anyone – least of all from Ollie. Neither,” she added before Paul could interject, “do I need to be coddled because of it.”
“Alice, all I want is for him to prove to you that he’s worthwhile taking a chance on,” Paul insisted, “I don’t want you to be hurt again, sweetheart.”
“That’s life, papa!” Alice insisted, her eyes flashing with poorly concealed irritation. “That is life. That happens. The fact that it does isn’t the point. Dealing with it and surviving is. I am not a baby. I am stronger than this – and just because I cry doesn’t mean I’m not.”
“I know, Alice.” Paul implored, lifting her hands into his. “Believe me, I know.”
“Then stop it,” she demanded, taking her hands out of her grasp. “Let me decide what I want,” she added, getting to her feet.
“What do you want, then?” Paul asked, looking up at her. “What do you want, Alice?”
She paused and turned a little to look at her father as insecurity and hesitance lifted onto her features. She bit her lip and then, somewhat resolutely, shrugged her shoulders.
“I don’t know yet. I want to get out of here, though, I know that much,” she responded, endeavouring to breeze past her father.
“No, Alice. You know I’m not talking about that. Do you want him?” Paula reiterated, getting to his feet.
His daughter stopped on the threshold of the dining room, her hand braced against the frame of the door. She bit the inside of her lip and then looked over her shoulder at the rabbits.
“Don’t forget to feed them,” she murmured before disappearing inside.
Once in the shadow of the house, the warmth of the sunshine abated from Alice’s skin and she suffered a long sigh as the gaping hurt within her began to truly bite. Drawing her hands up her arms, she left the dining room and drew into the pillow room, hovering awkwardly by the doorway.
“I’m going to have a shower,” she informed Ollie brusquely, adding: “You’re well enough to shout at my father, aren’t you?” She held up her hands. “I don’t want to talk about it. Just … there’s another bathroom down the hall, that way,” she pointed to the right, “if you want to freshen up. I’m ...” Alice shook her head. “I’m … yeah, shower.”
In something of a daze, Alice climbed the staircase and once on the landing she opened the door to the room and strode through, abandoning her clothes on the floor as she went. In the bathroom she turned on the jets and fired it up so that the water that hissed onto her skin scalded her with its every touch. She lathered up her hands with thick, sweet smelling soap and scrubbed at her skin before running soap through her hair. Once the suds were swept away she closed off the shower and stepped out onto the rug, drawing a towel off of the rain. After drying herself off, she dried her hair with her wand and with a little bit more magic set it in soft curls down at the ends. Abandoning the towel, she put her clothes in the washing hamper with it and strayed to her underwear drawers.
There was no pleasure in dressing that morning. She took her time, as ever, and paid attention to what she matched together. She donned her stockings, fixed her make-up and pinned back her hair with little pearl-ended grips. She swung the cool chains of her favourite necklaces around her throat and ensured that despite the tempest inside of her she was steeled and respectable on the outside. Her skirt was a soft pink, pleated with a darker pink shining through. Her blouse was a starched white with lace and puffed, floating sleeves that draped across her arms, coming together in a stiff cuff at her wrist. She donned a pair of ballet pumps and after fixing where her necklaces were she stood in the mirror for a moment, trying to see if she could perceive her feelings beneath it.
Repairing from her room, Alice took herself out on to the landing and encountered her mother who looked as though she’d just woken up. Alice bit her lip and managed to raise a smile for Marie’s benefit who, in her wearied state, thankfully missed any points in her daughter’s countenance which could lead to an intuitive deduction.
“You look pretty today,” Marie murmured, kissing Alice’s cheek. “Are you and Ollie going into town?”
“Back to his house,” she clarified. “He’s well enough to leave.”
Marie looked at Alice curiously. “Are you sure, lovely? You’re welcome to stay as long as you like, sweetheart. You know that, don’t you? You both know that.”
“He wants to go,” Alice explained, feeling foolish all of a sudden. “Are you still friends with that realtor?”
“William?” Marie asked. “Of course – we go out for lunch every month. Why?”
“I think,” Alice considered, glancing down at her shoes. “I might need to have a meeting with him.”
A look of shock registered across Marie’s features but she kept her peace, nodding instead.
“Alright, beautiful. I’ll dig out his number. Do you want me to ring him and give you a when and where?”
“I think maybe … yes, please,” Alice nodded back to her mother. “Do you want a cup of tea?”
Marie looked at her a bit funny, “Alright, love, that sounds perfect. I’ll be done in a bit, okay?”
Alice nodded and the two parted, the younger wandering back downstairs and into the kitchen where Paul-Henri was moving around still, making breakfast. Alice flicked on the kettle and took out a cup for her mother. Then she departed, Paul having offered to do it for her and she went back in search of Ollie. When she found him, she lingered on the threshold of the room, unwilling to step inside, unwilling to submit to whatever it was he had to say. Disappointment was hot within her and she knew that she needed to be stronger.
“Are you going to stay to eat?” She asked softly. “Papa has nearly finished breakfast.”
She was stiff, awkward and looked out of place there in that moment. Alice looked down at the ground, out through the window, at her own hands, anywhere so long as she didn’t have to look at Ollie. Biting on her lower lip, she finally lifted her gaze and looked at the man, wondering when it was that she’d done him so wrong. She’d thought, perhaps naively, that they understood each other enough to be able to talk about the things that mattered. She certainly had invested in him far too much of herself – only now to find she wasn’t going to be treated with the same respect.
“If you’d trusted me,” Alice began gradually, “then I would have tried to make you see that it doesn’t matter – that in truth all I’d really like is to be with you. I would’ve said that I love you too and that none of it matters so long as we have each other. I would have liked to have been able to say it. But I can’t now, can I? I can’t. I can barely look at you. You don’t …” Alice licked her lips. “You don’t know what I want. You’ve assumed things based on what I’ve said to you. You’ve never asked me. What is worse is that you’ve assumed things that … you think that what I want is going to be more important to me than … how do you know what I need?” She snapped, looking up at him with quizzical disbelief. “Do you know how much I care about you? Do you not know how much I need you? Do you really have any idea how we’d end up if we were together? Do you have that foresight? You’ve never even asked me!
“Do you know who is going to ensure I have a good life?” Alice asked coldly. “Me. I am. I am going to ensure I have a good life. I don’t need you or my father to do it for me. You’re whole. You’re … I love you. But you’re wrong. You’re so wrong. Misplaced is it? Misplaced? Do you have any idea how I feel? Oliver, do you know anything about me?” Alice took a shaky breath and brought her hand to her forehead. “Now, I’ll admit, I’m not ready. I don’t feel I am brave enough to do this – to even consider it. But I would’ve … if you’d given me the chance to sort out me ... so I could try to be with you and be what you needed … I wouldn’t have rejected you because we couldn’t have children. If you’d only trusted me – even as a friend. Even to say you were worried and scared … I wouldn’t have neglected you for it. When I was ready, it wouldn’t have any bearing on my choice. I would love to be with you. But how can I when you don’t trust me? And when you don’t respect me enough to allow me to make my choices and decide what I want? What I can’t believe, more than anything, is that you went behind my back and told my father instead and tried to get him to manipulate me. He can do that on his own but I thought you of all people … you wouldn’t encourage it.”
Alice shook her head and turned to go. “I need to pack,” she said softly.
by Naomi Mulciber Sat Nov 22, 2014 9:48 pm
