Fran has a tried-and-tested solution for dealing with her problems: run away.
And despite what the self-help books say, it's worked pretty well up until now. "Now" referring to her hiding in the seaside town of Seacombe until the end of summer, and...
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Darren tried to talk to her, but after she'd ignored him for a couple of minutes he'd retreated back down the stairs. She didn't know what she'd say to him. She curled up on her bed, clutching the pillow against her face to muffle the sound of her crying. She didn't know why she was so upset. She'd never told her mum how she'd felt before. That was her trump card, her last resort. And she'd dismissed it so brutally, those thoughts and feelings she'd bottled up and furthered, too afraid to let them out into the open.
She didn't know how long she stayed in bed for. The rage in her heart had settled into a heavy, dull ache. For the first time in her life she felt hopeless. There had always been that hope at the back of her head that she could still fix the situation. But what could she do? She'd tried, she'd put everything in her heart out into words, and she'd still. Was it wrong of her? Was she asking too much of her mother?
Any chance she had of being close again was lost, surely. There was nothing else she could do after this. Maybe she should just do what her mother had done and forget everything, forget they'd ever been friends and used to talk and laugh together. Maybe it would hurt less if she convinced herself they'd never been close, if she got used to polite greetings and small talk. Forget it all, let her dreams wilt away, turn to rust...
The City of Dreams.
Her eyes flew open. The thought was so clear, so suddenly lucid it must have been a sign. She wasn't a firm believer in fate, but there had always been one or two times in her life when something had just fallen into place so perfectly, so coincidentally, that she couldn't help but feel there was something out there.
Maybe she couldn't solve this problem by herself. She didn't believe that she'd just touch the rock and everything would magically come together, but there had to be something in the stories outside of wishful thinking. People wouldn't travel all the way from Europe if it did nothing. If she could get to Whiteridge...maybe. Maybe she'd have a second chance.
She felt a shiver of hope flicker across her: reckless and cautious at the same time. It had to be worth a try.
How was she going to get there? She groped for her phone in the darkness and opened up the maps tab. The internet struggled along, taking minutes to load. Fran felt her fingers tightening around her phone.
C'mon, internet. Fran pleaded internally. I need this. For once in your life work with me.
After what seemed like an age, the map loaded. Fran squinted at it, the screen harshly bright in the darkness. Most of the route was along winding country roads. It didn't look like there was a bus she could get, not until she got to one of the larger towns. This was definitely one of the times being in a tiny village worked against you. If she was back in her town, she could have just hopped on a bus or two and been there in a matter of hours.
It's not a big deal, she decided. She could still do it. She'd seen Whiteridge Bay from the lighthouse, back with Ash and Joel, so it must be on the coast. She could follow the beaches, walk along the shoreline. It'd be a long trek, but she wasn't in any kind of rush. If anything, it'd be an adventure.
She tipped her backpack out on her bed and stuffed things into it that she might need. A warm jumper, her phone charger, the rest of her rock. There was a weird sense of déjà vu settling around her that she couldn't quite shake. She felt like she'd come full circle, like she was back in her room at the start of the month, pulling clothes into a duffel late in the evening, looking up times for the first train to Seacombe.
No, she told herself. Back then she'd just been angry, frustrated. All she'd wanted to do was escape. Now she was leaving to fix everything. This time, she'd make things better, not worse.
Darren slept like a stone, so she didn't worry about keeping quiet. She still felt a stab of guilt as she hesitated at the top of the stairs, casting a quick glance back to the closed door of his room. Something inside her didn't like the idea of stressing him out; he'd done nothing wrong. She considered telling him where she was going, just so he was aware. But she thought about Josie and her resolve faltered. Better nobody knew where she was. Her mum could be persuasive when the need arose.
She cracked a little bit, and she found her songwriting notebook and pulled a page from it, scribbling something down for him to see the next morning. She kept it vague, yet encouraging, so he wouldn't freak out when he read it, and left it hanging from the fridge in the kitchen, so she'd see it when he assembled the ingredients for his fry-up.
Just going for a walk to clear my head. Don't worry! I'll be back soon.
And hopefully, by that time, everything would be better, she thought to herself. The words gave her a bit of hope. She'd had kind of a shitty day, but the City of Dreams was waiting for her. Everything could still work out alright.
She pushed the door open, letting the mild early morning air brush against her face, and set off into the night.
