❝ PICKET FENCE! ❞ → GRAY ✓

→ iii.iv

Act Three, Scene Four

→ ❝ together! ❞

             Not quite asleep but not quite awake, Carol could just about make out the hushed voices talking around her as she was lifted gently from the car and carried somewhere. There was a man and a woman, she was sure. Her head rested on a solid chest, bobbing against it as they ascended what she assumed were stairs, and she felt cold as she was lay down onto a soft surface that sank beneath her.

             "Fucking hell, Tommy," a familiar voice swore, sniffing. It was female, and clearly cared about her, but her hazy mind wouldn't put a face to the sound, "What happened? Is she alright?"

             "She'll be alright, Pol," Tommy replied, "She just needs to sleep."

             Soft female hands began to undress her as a door somewhere closed, and pulled a thick blanket over her. The weight of the fabric pulled her back into her deep sleep, and neither the creaking of floorboards nor the whistling of the wind outside could pull her back to consciousness.

             When Carol woke (what seemed like) hours later, the curtains were already opened and a tray of tea was on the bedside table with a little jar of honey accompanying it. She breathed in deeply as she became fully awake, enjoying the scent that filled the room; it was familiar and made her feel safe again, but she couldn't quite place where she knew it from. Rolling over, she sighed into the pillow before dragging herself from the comfy bed and poured herself a cup of tea, stirring in a healthy amount of honey, and finding it the perfect drinking temperature. Perched on the edge of the bed, Carol finally realised where she was, and remembered how much she preferred it to her own home that was full of fake affection. Polly's. She smiled into her teacup before getting up and walking around the bed to look out of the window, missing the view that the house gave her. Sutton Coldfield may not have been as physically beautiful as Sheffield, but something about the warmth that ran through the streets made it much more desirable.

             "Nobody knows where Suzie goes," Carol hummed an Eddie Cantor song that she had heard too many times on the radio at Mrs Ainsley's while she peered through the window, moving the netting to the side with her elbow while she sipped her tea, "Nobody knows but me."

              The sun was shining over Polly's street, and a smile settled onto her lips while she watched the flowers in the garden opposite sway slightly in the breeze. Carol could feel how cold it was through the thin glass of the window, but she wanted nothing more than to lay on the lawn and bask in the sun's rays.

              Carol's humming faded away, like a radio being turned down, as a figure rounded the corner with a small, brown paper bag in one hand while the other was stuffed deep into their trouser pocket. Dropping her half-full teacup on the floor, Carol sucked in a breath as her face paled and she struggled to comprehend what was happening. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

             Adrenaline took control, and she was suddenly running down the wooden stairs and out of the house in nothing but her slip, ignoring the frigid air that was biting at her exposed skin, and her bare feet that were beginning to ache from the freezing, damp ground.

             "Michael!" she screamed as she ran down the street, her legs not carrying her as fast as she wanted to go. Tears streamed down her cheeks and blurred her vision as she approached him, his name tearing through her throat, "Michael!"

             She could make out a grin settling onto his features as he picked up his own pace, pulling his hand from his pocket and running towards her faster than she ever thought he could run, his dress shoes thudding on the pavement and splashing through puddles left from the night before. They collided, wrapping their arms around each other as Michael lifted Carol off the floor effortlessly, spinning around with her in his embrace.