Spades

f o u r t e e n : swallowton

He ambled down the garden, unsure why he felt slightly on edge. This feeling faded on his third visit all those years ago. As he got closer, Isaiah saw children stroking the statue of the weeping angel and whispering to the ear. It probably shouldn't have, but it made him smile.

The bouquet felt heavy with the new addition of a singular tulip. He always got seven. One for everyday in the week. But today, he'd gotten eight because he had to tell her something that was becoming more and more important to him. Someone, anyway.

He saw her the instant he began to search for her. Faith Matthews, in a lilac dress and with her blonde hair plaited to the side. From afar, she didn't look like a mother of three.

From afar, where her bags weren't visible and her skin couldn't be scrutinised, she looked young. But her bags were dark and veiny, and her skin wasn't as bright and fresh as it used to be when she actually took care of herself and the responsibility wasn't on people who were paid to do it.

She was singing a song under her breath, one that Isaiah didn't know. The words died on her lips the second she laid eyes on him. She smiled, dulling the pain in her eyes.

"Hello, my sweet boy." She cooed, gathering him into a hug. She kissed his cheek and held him there for a while, simply content to feeling another human being. Her human being.

"Princess Willow told me you'd be coming." His mother said, a little excitedly. "She knows everything."

"You know I come every week, Mum." Isaiah sighed.

Princess Willow was his mother's...friend. His mother insisted she was a psychic, and Princess Willow pushed that notion, probably. He'd only ever met her once, and even then he'd felt uncomfortable under her stare. He'd felt the strongest urge to cover up his most personal thoughts. She was a silver haired 20 year old girl with dark skin and contrasting white tattoos. He couldn't blame his mother for thinking she was ethereal in at least one sense.

"How are you, sweet boy?" His mother asked, pale blue eyes glinting with affection.

Faith stared at the tulips lovingly, counting their number with her eyes. It was when she landed on the number eight that she looked up at her son, question in her eyes.

"I'm alright. So is Hope, so is Micah." Isaiah omitted Amélie was doing fine as well. His mother had never met her before, and frankly he wasn't sure if she knew she existed. She probably did.

His mother gathered larger his hands into her smaller, softer ones. "What is it? Princess Willow said–" she stopped herself, seeing his face. "What's the matter?"

Isaiah looked into her eyes, mirrors of his own. His mother looked worried. He let out a sigh. The next words he said caused a free, genuine smile to grace his mother's face.

"There's this girl..."

+++

"How's your father?" She asked, eagerly. "Are you watching his blood pressure?"

Raising it, more like. Isaiah thought.

"Yes." He lied. If he said no, he'd worry his mother. She had enough on her plate, being fed enough drugs to weaken a running race horse.