Obscure Occurrences |C. BAREBONE|

☛ Seventeen ☚

• December, 1925 •

"You can't expect me to do this! Be involved in this!" Mrs. Glover exclaimed, her voice still hushed however as she looked up at the frail girl.

"Please Penny... You said you were once like me: a young girl trapped in a tragic romance-" this was an exaggeration, "- you understand where I'm coming from. Why I can't stay".

"What's wrong with Mr Shaw Jr? He seemed like a fine man",

"A fine man indeed-" she agreed, "- but not what I want".

"Then what do you want? From this old woman's perspective you only seem like I child" Mrs. Glover hissed against Genevieve's cheek. Unable to emanate her disappointment and worry into the young girl.

"I...-" Genevieve stuttered, her breath caught in her throat, "- I don't know. But I am sure of this... I don't want Henry Shaw, or seven sons with a life of sitting still and looking pretty".

Genevieve took a deep gulp of air before she could muster the courage to look Mrs. Glover in the eye.

"Please Penny... Just check the times for the ferry and I'll sort it out from there".

Mrs. Glover mulled over Genevieve's plan. Of course the girl had told the truth, told her of her plan in full, undiluted confidence. Yet Mrs. Glover remained hesitant as she nervously tapped her foot upon the cold, hard stone beneath her shoes.

"If I do this-" Mrs. Glover coughed, "- you promise to stay safe and remain in England as long as possible".

"Of course!".

"And you can do that? Turn your back on you-know-who?".

At the mention of Credence, Genevieve froze and struggled to compose her thoughts and recollections. In flickers of silent movies, she saw him and witnessed that bright smile to just have it wiped away. Under the rug he was forced. After all, she had betrayed him, she had lied amongst her truth.

"I am certain, I will never even look back".

And once again, did Genevieve lie.

It appeared to be a new-found profession.

☛✹☚

9:00am, December twentieth
12:30pm, December nineteenth
6:00pm, December twenty-fifth

Those three dates were close. Close enough for Genevieve to grow giddy and jump back onto her bed. All Genevieve had left to do was sneak her Aunt Vivienne's address from her Father's little, black book. It was small and kept close. So close in fact, Genevieve knew exactly where it was.

In the second drawer of his polished, oak desk. A black, little book full of yellow paper sat neatly above an old, sepia photo of Hannah Burnett. It was that important.

Of course, Genevieve already knew her Aunt lived in Surrey on Godric's Hollow. But the girl couldn't just knock on every door looking for a woman she had never seen. Genevieve needed the house number. Such a small thing had so much control over the plan's outcome. Without that single number, Genevieve couldn't meet this mysterious woman that haunted her family name. Maybe that's what made her so thirsty for adventure. Her family tree was an journey on its own and she'd already survived that.

When Genevieve returned upstairs, the morning light just filtering through the curtain. The Burnett girl took it upon herself to trail the rays of sun with her toe. With a delicate patience, she balanced on one foot while the other created strange patterns. It was a strange source of entertainment indeed. But what could Genevieve do besides this? There was no more sneaking to Credence. She realised how attached she had gotten then. How Genevieve promised not to feel in this concrete jungle yet she wore her heart on her sleeve. So easily, the small boy plucked the red rose from her cuff and took advantage of what she had given him. However, not in the bad sense. No. Credence cherished every piece of herself she sacrificed. After all, her happiness was his.

It's strange how easy we can get so devoted she thought, her mind wandering in a stream of consciousness.

That's when Genevieve knew how brave she was... But also how fickle.