Imaginary Lover // Camren Fanfiction

Chapter 37

Outside Lauren's bedroom window on Fuchsia Lane, the rain began to fall, hitting off the bedroom window like pebbles and sounding like coins being jigged about in a collection jar. The wind began warming its vocal cords for the night and Lauren, tucked up in bed, was transported back to that night she had journeyed out in the late winter darkness to find her mother.

She had packed her schoolbag with only a few things—underwear, two jumpers and skirts, the book her mother had given her, and her teddy. Her money box had revealed 4.42 dollars and after wrapping her raincoat around her favorite floral dress and stepping into her red Wellington boots, she set out into the cold night. She climbed the small garden wall to avoid the sound of the gate alerting her father, who these days slept like the farmyard dog with one ear pricked. She walked alongside the bushes so as not to be spotted walking up the straight road; the wind pushed and pulled the branches, causing them to scrape her face and legs and causing wet kisses from soggy leaves to brush against her skin. The wind was vicious that night, it whipped her legs and stung her ears and cheeks, blowing against her face so hard it took her breath away. Within minutes of walking up the road, her fingers, nose, and lips were numb and her body was freezing to the bone, but the thought of seeing her mother that night kept her going. And on she journeyed.

Twenty minutes later she arrived at the bridge to the city. She had never seen the town at eleven o'clock at night; it was like a ghost town, dark, empty, and silent, as if it were about to bear witness to something and never speak a word of it.

She walked toward Flanagan's with butterflies in her tummy, no longer feeling the lash of the cold, just pure excitement at the thrill of be- ing reunited with her mother. She heard Flanagan's before she saw it—it and the Camel's Hump were the only buildings in the village with lights on. From an open window, out floated the sounds of a piano, fiddle, bodhrán, and loud singing and laughter, occasional cheers and whoops. Lauren giggled to herself; it sounded like everyone was having such fun.

Aunt Kathleen's car was parked outside, and Lauren's legs automatically moved faster. The front door was open and inside there was a small hallway; the door to the pub was closed, complete with stained glass. Lauren stood in the porchway and shook the rain from her raincoat, hung it up alongside the umbrellas on the rack on the wall. Her brown hair was soak- ing wet, her nose was red and running, and the rain had found its way into the top of her boots; her legs shook from the cold and her feet squelched in the ice-cold pools of water under her feet.

The piano stopped suddenly, followed by a loud roar from a crowd of men that made Lauren jump.

"Come on, Clara, sing us another one," one man slurred, and they all cheered.

Lauren's heart leaped at the sound of her mother's name; she was inside! She was such a beautiful singer, she sang around the house all the time, composing lullabies and nursery rhymes all by herself. In the mornings, Lauren loved to lie in her bed and listen to her mother as she hummed around the rooms of the bungalow. But the voice that began in the silence, followed by the rowdy cheers of drunken men, was not the sweet voice of her mother that she knew so well.

In Fuchsia Lane, Lauren's eyes darted open and she sat upright in her bed. Outside, the wind howled like a wounded animal. Her heart was hammering in her chest; her mouth was dry and her body clammy. Throwing the covers off her, she grabbed her car keys on the bedside table, ran down the stairs, threw her raincoat around her shoulders, and escaped the house to her car. The cold drops of rain hit against her face and she remembered why she hated to feel the rain against her face; it reminded her of that night. She hurried to her car, shivering as the wind tossed her hair across her eyes and face, and by the time she sat behind the wheel, she was already drenched.