The Influence

The Family

Chapter 1: The Family

I creaked open the door into Rosie’s room, and the many scents of her lavender and rose water perfumes filled my lungs. She makes all of these “potions” because she thinks that she’s going to be a scientist and create a cure for cancer by the age of 10. She find all of her ‘magical ingredients’ in our small garden; my mother loved gardening. And she’d grow the freshest of roses, and the most pungent lavender in the universe.

                I walked over to her window, and drew open her pale pink curtains, to see the morning sun blinking into the room, with that; Rosie winced. I perched on the edge of her bed and sat looking at her. I stroked the side of her face and her rosy red cheeks budged as she smiled.

                “What’re we doing today sissy?” she said, barely awake yet.

                Oh my gosh! It’s a Saturday! Finally! Weeks drag so much recently, I can’t even keep up with the days of the week, or the time of the day.  Since we’re on our own, I usually take her to the pond to feed the ducks, or we go out shopping, to try and entertain her. I suggested the idea of going to the ducks, and she hesitated. 

                “But we do that every week!” she sounded quite stern. 

                “I know, I’m sorry, how about we go for a nice walk, and I can buy you an ice cream?” I responded with a smile.

                Before I knew it, she was out of bed getting out some fresh clothes.

                “Get out! I’m trying to get changed! I don’t want you seeing my boobies!” she giggled. She’s gotten to the age now where she’s conscious of the way she looks. Personally, I don’t think she should, she looks just like any ordinary nine year old, and she hasn’t even hit puberty yet. Oh well, each to her own…

                I walked out of her room, and let her know I’d be waiting downstairs. I trekked down the stairs, and turned right into our kitchen. It was freezing.

                We can’t afford to heat the house, nor run fire. So, I’m working my socks off in local hairdressers, sweeping up hair everyday afterschool, on £10 an hour. Not bad for part time.

                After all, there’s only me and my sister to look after…

                My dad left us when I was 4. I can’t even remember him. He didn’t leave out of his own free will. He left because he was forced to leave. He’s in prison now. He got jailed for identity fraud, and we didn’t even know we were struggling with money issues - Just the photographs that are left and the constant notifications of child benefit allow me to know that he’s still breathing, and knowing that the house was under his name, gave me something to relax; he’d already payed off the mortgage, so the house was legally mine.

                I looked at one of our family pictures which were leaning on the hearth of our fireplace (which didn’t work) whilst I was waiting for Rosie. He had his long, strong arms wrapped around my mum, and they were both smiling. I miss those days. I was holding hands with mother and we were both smiling the same smile. However, I take after my dad in many other ways, skill-wise. He was a mechanic at a garage about an hour away, back when we had a car. I’m really good with machines and hands-on work. But it’s not fair, I’ve always strived to be a journalist, capturing everyone else’s’ happy lives, so that I don’t have to focus on mine. But you have to go to university to become a journalist, I didn’t. I left school at 16, with pass levels in English, maths, science, woodwork and fabrics. Everything else; was ridiculous. I want better for Rosie, but she’s really talented. I’m just… not.

                You’re probably thinking ‘what happened to your mother?’… Well if you are, I have a very simple answer. A simple answer with a complicated outcome, 3 years of waiting for her to depart, a huge medical bill and a hell of a lot of patience. All of this can be summed up in one, two-syllabled word.

                Cancer.

                She died almost three years ago now, when I was 16. It was a bad time for all of us, Rosie was going into ‘big school’, and I was doing my big exams, whilst juggling looking after a single mother who was dying. We found out she had cancer three years prior to her death, and everyone did all they could to help us. We’d fundraised for cancer research and support, specialist nurses came over every day to feed her, clean her, and to keep her company when I wasn’t around. And when I was around, I had to keep up with the occasional vomiting, bed-wetting and the nagging. I hated all of the responsibility it caused me back then. But now, I’d give up anything to have one day with her again. I love the way she wa-… is. I bet she still is perfect. As a Christian, I believe that life is a cycle. She’s watching down over me and Rosie and she’s in a special place where there is no illness, no worrying, and no struggle. She went happily, as she lived.

                All of a sudden, Rosie came in to the kitchen, where I was. She was holding a bright pink handbag, with her saved up penny coins in. She had makeup up to her eyebrows and was wearing her favourite neon pink wellies… Typical.

                “Let’s goooooooo!” she sang excitedly.

                Looking at her, I gagged a little. “Uhh… okay then sweetheart. Are you sure?”

                She looked at me with her persistent large green eyes. My mum’s eyes. She skipped out of the door, with her little pink wellies bouncing beneath her feet and padding along the stone floor. Her blonde curls bounded along her shoulders as her hair swished from side to side. My mum’s hair. I followed her through the door and allowed her to grab my hand. Her little fingers intertwined with mine perfectly. Like a puzzle piece just like my mum’s and dad’s hands would. I held her hands close into my palm, and stepped outside the house.

                The summer breeze blew by, and the 10:00am birds were singing. I could see the warm summer’s sun breathing down to kiss Rosie’s face. Her eyes twinkled with delight. She doesn’t see anything bad in anything, very optimistic. Just like my mum.

                We walked down our pathway, and the grass tickled at my ankles. Hand-in-hand, we began walking.