[Buttons.]

probably god awful but the first thing I've enjoyed writing since Blood Promise so, here it is:


Eloise

“Eloise….Ellie? Are you there? I can feel you. I know you are there. Talk to me, please? I’m so lonely. I’m so very, very lonely…” A fragile, elderly woman tosses in her sleep. Her bones crackle and groan under the weight of age, and her skin, stretched taut over the creaky limbs, is, every inch of it, scarred. ‘My battle scars’ she joked to somebody who dared to ask. An elusive answer. No one asked again. “Ellie…please. Please? Just tell me you miss me, let me know you’re there…I’m so alone.” The old, fatigued eyes flicker open for a moment, the shadow of a figure glances her retinas, then she closes the tired lids, and drifts back to her dreams. “Please, oh please Ellie please…”

“Miss Gregory? Miss Gregory are you in there?” Two sharp wraps on the door below. Eloise Gregory summons all her strength and staggers out of bed towards her cane, and makes her way slowly, painfully, down the stairs. The nurse, new by the looks of things, greets her as one would greet a child at the door, asking where mummy is. Another young, living, breathing, vibrant body, sent to check that Miss Gregory is still alive enough to answer the door. Eloise smiles to herself. Grasping beggars, she thinks. Can’t wait to get their hands on my house and my money.

“I’m Nessa,” the nurse informs her charge, stepping through the doorway without pausing for permission. “Oh what a lovely house Miss Gregory!” They all say that. Eloise would trade it all, every stick of furniture in the place, for one moment of their innocent youth, and sound body. She thinks about informing the intruder, Nessa, Vanessa, whatever her name is, of this fact. She decides instead that she is far too tired. Easing herself into an armchair and indicating the one opposite for Nessa to sit, she closes her eyes, breathing deeply into rattling lungs.

“Shall I make some tea and breakfast for you Miss Gregory? Before our check up? These things are worse on an empty stomach.” Nessa wanders through to the kitchen, neat bob of brown hair bouncing as she walks, without waiting for an answer. “I’m so honoured to finally meet you,” she chatters. “I’ve studying two of your books in university, and your take on the mind and human history are astounding-so cutting edge, even now!” Everybody says that too. It becomes wearisome after a while, but Eloise doesn’t care. She decided, approximately five years ago, that she was far too old to care.

Nessa returns with tea and a round of toast, and they chat as Eloise nibbles delicately at the bread, pausing to swallow with some difficulty, washing the bites down with sips of lukewarm tea. Why was everybody so afraid to make her tea at a decent temperature? She hasn’t had a decent cup of tea in years, that she hasn’t slowly, grudgingly made herself. Then the check up. Glands, blood pressure, chest, bad leg. When it comes to blood pressure, Nessa asks if Eloise could roll her sleeve back for her. Patiently, she does so, and catches a sharp intake of breath, not uncommon in youngsters, at the sight of her mutilated old arm. “May I ask?” says Nessa conversationally, as she wraps the band around Eloise’s fragile arm.

“My battle scars.” The old standby. Subconsciously, the old woman brings her right hand up to stroke the upper arm on her left. Her secret was safe. Always safe. She fingers the hidden indents, tears in the skin, the newly knitted together flesh. Nessa notices. Eloise, could you roll up your sleeve a little further for me please? First name. Alarm bells clang in Eloise’s tired brain. “Why?” It comes out more defensive than she means it too.

“Just to check everything is as it should be.” What a bare faced lie. Nessa reaches over, and begins to, gently, roll Eloise’s sleeve up herself. She considers resisting but…what would that accomplish. Instead, she sits perfectly still, as her secret world unravels. As her shame is unveiled before prying eyes; after all these years…