Rose

Chapter 7

I sat there, completely unmoving, trying to soak in everything Blanch had just told me. My mother is Ava Rose. My mother is Ava Rose. ‘Hello everyone, this is my mother Ava.’ No. It just didn’t sound right.

My mother is Amelia Brooks. Yes, that sounds much better. I attempted to ward off the termites eating at my brain, when impatient coughs from Blanch forced me to refrain from making sense of the recent fiasco.

            “Blanch…” now I was the one lost for words, I figured I should begin with the basics, “Thank you very much for telling me this. Erm… tell me more about her, please” I’m not sure why on Earth I wanted to know, it’s just that it was rather interesting to know something about the woman that gave birth to me.

“Her name, like before I said, is Ava. Her father passed not long ago. Now she is the head of Rose Cosmetics. She is currently unmarried and I believe she is living in the city.” She’s living in the city. This one! My heart thumped against my chest so loudly I was sure Blanch could hear it over the phone.

“If you wish, I can give you her contact…”

“YES!” I exclaimed, “I mean yes, Mr Blanch could you please.” I imagined Blanch beaming at my rather overly enthusiastic response.

“Oui, of course, and since we are on more casual terms now, feel free to call me Jean.”

“Well then thank you… Jean!”

I couldn’t believe it at all. I had Ava’s address, phone number and work details, and I was sure to keep them hidden away for the time being. I had to go there, by myself this time, not even Charlie could know.

“12, Pearl Square, Kensall.” I murmured. I had the address learnt off by heart now. I’d heard about Pearl Square, an upper-class residential area, famously home to desirable celebrities and sometimes even manic wild parties.

I had searched the address on the internet numerous times and had an almost perfect picture of the high-tech, modern building almost twice the size of Northvale. I had the perfect plan; I was ‘going into the city with Annika’ and I would be back around evening time, but ‘she was going home before me’.

It was fool proof, and I had covered it with Annika beforehand, who was being looked after by her twenty-five year old brother for the weekend. So, technically, Annika was home alone.

            I honestly felt like I was in a dream. It had all happened so fast. I was about to see my mother. After so long I was going to see her! I didn’t know what to wear, how to react when I see her.

Would she even like me? Then I thought, ‘what if she doesn’t believe it’s me?’ It was a valid point. If a girl showed up on my doorstep one day claiming to be my daughter, I would probably unceremoniously close the door on her face. Would Ava do that? Would she be so rude?

After a great deal of self-debating, I unearthed my Blanch basket from underneath a pile of clothes in my wardrobe, my makeshift hiding space. If I appeared with the basket, it may give her some evidence to support my claims.

            After I bid my mother goodbye, I walked out of my front door in smart jeans and a pink blouse. I picked the basket up from the front porch and began to walk to Oakhill Station.

I acquired a few odd looks as I briskly hurried down the road, wanting to catch the earliest train possible. I suppose, a girl half running, half walking, carrying a large empty basket would look quite strange, and so I shook off any questioning stares. Oakhill Station is quite popular, especially during the morning and evening times, when important looking people march to work and back.