It was a little house, right in the middle of the street. That meant that the neighbours on either side could hear when the Fairfield family fought, yelled and played their music too loud. As if that didn't make the house stand out enough, the sloping walls were also painted bright pink- a brainwave of Sophie Fairfield's; who that year had taken up painting as her new hobby. That was done the same summer that they planted the salmon geraniums on the front lawn, and built the fortress beside the front door.
"Now this," Sophie declared, "is a real family project. We'll use this old wood to build some walls, and then you can paint them. Do you think you lot can manage?"
"Easily," Luke replied eagerly. He was the only one of them who really wanted to build the fortress. Being the youngest boy in the family, he had recently developed a longing for his own space. You didn't get much of that when you had four demanding siblings fighting behind the thin walls of your bedroom.
"I'll help," Abby shrugged. A fortress sounded like a mission, and Abby liked missions. She was a journalist. Well, not professionally, but almost. A fortress could just as easily be a study; or a publishing studio.
The others hadn't shown any interest whatsoever. Being only six, Layla was decidedly too little to use a fortress. She preferred to stay inside and under the feet of her older siblings instead.
Nathan flicked his little brother on the back of the head; lazily swinging a flat panel of wood from side to side.
"Who'd want a wooden hut on their front lawn? If you want to make something good, like a car, then let me know."
To which Luke had retorted that it was impossible to make a car out of old timber; and Sophie, as the mother, had been forced to intervene.
Nobody had bothered to ask Victoria if she wanted to help, because Victoria never helped with anything.
So the fortress was built after much hard labouring, and a year on, it still stood there amongst the tall, lanky weeds and pale climbing blossoms. The amber sunrise caught on its dusty windows and illuminated the hut from inside, like a Chinese lantern.
A year on, the Fairfield family was also unchanged.
They still fought, yelled and played their music too loud. They still went their own ways; each the centre of their own lone galaxies. It was a bit like having six total strangers living in one small house, except with more tantrums and plans for revenge.
And so the result was that six total strangers ended up with their own stories and their own problems, unable or just unwilling to listen to each other.
Because what was the point of confiding in your family if they didn't even acknowledge that you existed?
It was every man- and woman- for himself, and that was the way the Fairfields liked it.
Or so they thought, until now.
This introduction is dedicated to @ShwetaChp for designing the stunning front cover of this book. Thank you for your time and effort. Please take a moment to admire her work!