CHAPTER FOUR At the funeral, everyone wears black. My mum wears black, as does my dad. My grandparents, My Aunt Barb, my Uncle John, My Uncle Mark. My English teacher, Maddy’s old maths teacher, the kind lady from the local corner store, all my friends from school. They all wear black. My family is mortified when I refuse to wear the black lace attire they had set out for me. Instead, I opt for the light blue one I bought just a month ago. “It’s like a piece of autumn sky,” Maddy had said, when I’d shown her. It was meant for a party the next week, which I didn’t end up attending, choosing to instead sit with Maddy, who had had a pretty awful day filled with nose bleeds and headaches, and read her books. “Promise me you’ll wear it? At my funeral?” she asked. I had rolled my eyes, dismissing the subject, but she grabbed my hands, holding them tight and not letting go. “Please, Immy?” “Don’t,” I had begged, trying to pull away. I wanted more than anything to be strong for her, but it was so hard when she talked so openly of her fate. I fought off the tears, avoiding her eyes. “Oh, please, Imm, please. Everyone will be wearing black. Please, be that little piece of sky in the horrible cloud of black. For me.” “Okay,” I had said. “Promise?” “Promise.” I stand in front of the crowd who have come to say goodbye to my sister. She was right. Everyone is dressed in black. Even young children. I am blindingly bright next to the rest of them and I find everyone staring at me. It’s the same expression on everyone’s face; pity, sadness, secret relief that it isn’t them. My face hurts already from trying to smile. My arms already feel like they’re going to drop off. If one more person tells me to “chin up” I think I may scream and scream and never stop until the very last person has gone home. I don’t listen to anything the priest says and when he calls me to make my speech, I don’t move. I am grounded on the spot. Eventually the ceremony moves on. I don’t take my eyes off the coffin until it starts lowering into the ground. This is when I have to look away. Only now do I notice just how many people have shown up. There has to be hundreds of them, crammed into the tiny cemetery and even lined up down the street. I didn’t realise she even knew this many people. As I walk down to the cars people make an aisle. I lift my head, examining the faces in the sea around me. Some people are crying, some are just standing, staring at me. Some people reach out and touch my arm, my back; some even reach out and stroke my face. I don’t have the heart to swat them away, which is what I want to do. My skin feels like its crawling and I want to run as fast as I can and never stop. I want to run and run and run until I reach the ocean. But I don’t. Mum and Dad walk just ahead of me. Two of my cousins, Alexis and Taylah, flank my sides. I think they’re holding me together. I wonder if they think I’m a flight risk. Probably. Back at the house come more hugs and more ‘Stay Strong’s. I’ve always read about the way people bring food to a wake, but I think everything I’ve read is a gross understatement. The fridge is literally overflowing with ham and chicken and mystery casseroles. Glass dishes are stacked on top of other glass dishes and every time someone opens the door, they all threaten to spill out. All the benches are lined with brownies and cookies and cakes, all homemade. I can’t see the wood of the table, past all the plates wrapped in alfoil. The funny thing is no one in this house has an appetite. This food will go to waste quicker than I can blink. I try countless times to escape to my bedroom before coming to the conclusion that I will not reach my bed until late. “Imogen, Darling!” Mrs Halaway, the Priest’s wife and Maddy’s old piano teacher, flags me down. Her deep purple hair is cropped short, like a pixie. “Mrs Halaway,” I say, “Thank you for coming.” I bend down to kiss her on the cheek and she envelopes me into one of her famous bear-hugs. She’s a small lady, petite and slender, but she knocks the wind out of me. “Don’t be silly, darling,” she says with a flick of her hand, “Now. How are you holding up?” She asks. “Fine,” I say automatically. Her eyes narrow, though, and she sees right through my lies. “No one expects you to be ok, right now, you know? It’s alright to not be ok.” She looks sad, but not in the same way the others do. She looks understanding. Its dawns on me that she lost her brother to cancer six years ago. When I was twelve. “Thank you,” I reply, and for the first time today, I mean it. “I’m always here if you need me. Anything at all.” she says, giving my hand a gentle squeeze, before walking over to my Aunt Barb. After the conversation with Mrs Halaway, the rest of the day goes by in a blur. I hover in a weird state of awake and asleep. Only bits and pieces of the afternoon register and very few things stir me from my daze. I only become fully aware of everything when I find myself sitting down, or slumping really, at the kitchen table. The house is empty. Even though it’s only seven, Mum has dragged herself to bed. Dad is in the lounge room staring at the television screen, the sound on mute. I am just about to crawl under my own covers when there is a knock on the door. I stare at it for a long time, hoping I had just imagined it. When the three short raps come again, I get up silently and move toward the door. “Liam?” I ask, blinking. “Louis?” I cannot believe my eyes. “Sorry, is this a bad time?” Louis asks and Liam gives his ankle a not-so-subtle kick. He looks embarrassed. “Sorry, bad choice of words… um, we can leave, if, you know, you’ve had enough of people…” he looks at his hands. I just stare at them for a second, not entirely sure what’s happening, before snapping back to attention. “No, no. Of course not. Come in.” I say, “Tea? Coffee?” “Tea would be lovely,” Louis says. “Here, do you want me to make it?” Liam offers. “No, it’s ok, I’ve got it. Thanks.” I point to the table, “Take a seat.” They sit down quietly and the only sound in the room is the whooshing noise of the heating kettle. I muster all the energy I have left to make words form and leave my mouth. “So,” I start, “Where have you guys travelled from? You must be tired.” I keep my voice down, hoping I don’t wake mum in the room next door. The kettle clicks and I start to move about the small kitchen. If there is one thing in the whole world I could do with my eyes closed, it’s make tea. Often I will walk into the kitchen to get a pair of scissors or panadole or nail-polish remover and just automatically start making tea. “We’re staying in a hotel a half hour away,” Louis explains, “We’re just there til Monday. To get our strength back and what not. The lads were still asleep when we left. It’s Quite a nice place, really” He says. “How do you have your tea?” I ask them “White with two,” they both answer. I place their steaming mugs in front of them, clutch my own against my chest. I pull up a chair next to Louis and across from Liam. I allow myself to let out the breath I’ve been holding all day. “How are you?” Louis asks, wrapping his arm around my shoulder. “Fine,” I say automatically. “How are you really?” Liam says, speaking softly, but intently. I look up at him; find him staring right at me, like he did the night Maddy died. I think about lying, smiling and emphasizing that I’m fine. Changing the subject. Asking them to leave. I don’t know whether it’s because I trust them, or because I’m sick of not telling the truth or because I’m just too emotionally drained to care, but Instead, I bury my face into my hands, shake my head. “Not so great,” I admit. Louis hugs me tighter. Liam gently touches my knee and it sends currents through me. We sit like this for a while and it’s nice. “I think I’m falling apart, on the inside,” I say quietly into my hands, “But the outside is still numb and still can’t believe what’s happened. What’s happening.” I say this and immediately regret it. It doesn’t really make sense, when I say it out loud. Not the way it does in my head. “How do you mean?” Liam asks. “I don’t know how to explain it,” I say, “It’s like inside my head, I’m out of control. I’m ripping things, smashing things. Crying. Yelling, screaming. I’m just this whirlwind of emotion. But on the outside, it’s like I’m on auto pilot. I’m in a trance most days and every now and then the storm will rise to the surface and I’ll do something stupid or really weird.” I bite the inside of my cheek, wondering if the boys have caught onto anything I just said, but not daring to look up. “Like what?” Louis asks, clearing the mugs and re-filling the kettle. “I don’t know,” I say, “Like two nights after she died I found myself in her room, putting on all her clothes. And the day after that, I was in the kitchen, throwing plates at the wall. Or like the other day, I was just watching telly when I dropped to the ground. I lay there for hours, just staring. Then I just got up and kept going. Or today, at her funeral, I had to try so hard to stop myself from running as fast as I could away from everything.” I shrug, accepting the fresh cup of tea in front of me, grateful for something to hold in my hands. Liam and Louis say nothing, but it’s ok. I’m actually grateful for the silence. I feel no pressure to continue talking, so we all just sit in comfortable silence for twenty minutes. A thought occurs to me and I make a funny noise at the back of my throat. The boys look at me curiously and I explain, “Tomorrow,” I begin, smiling sadly to myself, “Tomorrow is the 20th. Maddy and I were going to leave for our trip.” I look at my hands. “Well, before she got sick…” I trail off. “Where were you going to go?” Louis asks. I remember the day we sat down and planned it; “We will go to America and London and Paris and Ireland and Africa and Greece. We’ll go to Hawaii and Fiji and China and Japan.” Maddy had said, staring longingly at the world map she had hanging on her bedroom wall, above her head. The idea of travelling had fascinated her. All the different cultures and religions and accents and foods. She couldn’t wait to get out of Australia. I smile at the memory, stand up and walk down the hallway toward Maddy’s room. I haven’t been in here since the night she died; try not to think about it. I take the map down quickly and re-join Louis and Liam in the kitchen. I lay the map out in front of them; “Everywhere. We were going to go everywhere.” I run my hands over the shiny paper, tracing the circles Maddy had drawn over the places she wanted to go, the towns she had researched and fallen in love with. “Wow,” is all Liam says. He too runs his hands over the map, turning his head to the side to read the names that are circled. “How long were you going to go for?” “A year,” I say absentmindedly, unable to take my eyes off Liam. The way his arm looks tan and warm and strong. “We both deferred university for a year.” “Oh, what are you doing at Uni?” Louis asks. “Medicine,” I answer. It’s unbelievably cute; the way Liam cocks his head to the side. A smile plays on his mouth; he’s staring at one of the circled towns. “Wolverhampton?” His smile widens and when he looks up his eyes are sparkling. “Wolverhampton is my home town.” “I know,” I say it too quickly; bite down on the inside of my cheek. “I think that’s why Maddy marked it,” I explain. “Most of the places she chose were either from books she’d read, movies she’d seen or places she knew people lived.” I shrug, “It was all she talked about. For months and months before she got sick, we planned. We saved up all our money. We got working visas. We were really gonna go.” I sigh, get up and clear the mugs. I stand at the sink washing them, not sure whether I want to laugh or cry or scream. I notice its dark out. “Shame, really. I have all this money sitting in my bank and a year filled with absolutely nothing to do.” I walk back over and sit down; rub my temples. “You should still go,” Liam says. I shake my head. “I couldn’t go alone.” I wave my hand, trying to dismiss the subject. “You know,” Louis says, examining the map, “We’re going to a lot of these places. On tour and stuff.” I don’t know where he is going with this, so I stay quiet, waiting. He looks up at me shyly, almost cheekily. “What?” I ask, confused. “Never mind,” he says, shaking his head and smiling. “What?” I demand, “Tell me!” “It’s nothing. Just a crazy thought…” Liam locks eyes with him, gives the smallest smile. He’s caught on and I’m still lost. “What is it?” I ask, looking back and forth between the two boys. “Well, what if you came on tour with us?” he says it quickly and at first I don’t understand. “What?” I say, sounding foolish. “Well, you wouldn’t have to come to all the concerts and signings… But you could join us. We could be your company.” I don’t say anything, I’m too shocked. I don’t know what he thinks of my silence, but Louis continues; “The lads all love you. You’re so kind; you’d be no trouble at all. Plus, you make amazing tea,” he says and smiles. “Right Liam?” “Yeah, for sure!” he says. “You’re very welcome to come along. We’d have to run it by management and the boys, but Louis is right; they all love you. It would be great.” He doesn’t seem as sure as Louis, though. Not as enthusiastic. I sit still, trying to digest this suggestion. Would it be possible? Of course. Would it be fun? Probably. I could take myself on little day trips while the boys went to interviews. Try and gain some form of independence. I would never be alone; there would always be five beautiful boys to talk to. I could get to know them. I let myself imagine what it would be like; sharing a tour bus with one direction. Imagine how jealous all the girls from the local high school would be, I think. But I’m such an emotional wreck, right now. Every day I surprise myself with my mood swings and my irrational behaviour. My grief is so raw and painful to watch, could I put these wonderful boys through it? Could they handle me, broken bits and all? I’m not sure. And what about Mum and Dad? Do they need me? Mum is so lost. She’s like a ghost. Dad hasn’t really spoken, hasn’t really been sober for the last few days. I don’t think I could leave them. I give the boys a sad smile, “That is the most wonderful offer I have had, ever. You have no idea how much I would like to hop in your tour bus and disappear for a while. But I think I’m needed here.” Louis realises this is a rejection and his face drops. He is genuinely upset and it makes me want to hug him. “Oh,” he says, “No, yeah. That’s ok.” “I’m so sorry.” “No, it’s fine.” He says. He gets up, “We should probably head off,” he says and I can’t help but feel really bad. I want to tell him I’ll come; I really want to, but something holds my tongue and the words don’t come out. Instead I nod and lead them to the door. “Thank you so much,” I sigh, “For everything.” Louis gives me a warm, friendly smile. He hugs me tight and for just a moment all my muscles relax into him. “It’s ok. And listen,” He says, pulling away, “I’m serious. About you touring with us. We would love to have you. Here” he thrusts a piece of paper into my hand. “This is where we’re staying until Monday. You know, if you change your mind.” He gives me another brief hug and starts walking off to the car. Liam walks over and I stiffen. There is just something about him that makes me feel cautious. Something about the way he looks at me that… I don’t know. Scares me. I think he frightens me. Maybe. “I think he put our room phone number on there, as well. So, um, call. You know, whenever.” His voice is slow and careful, his eyes trained on me the whole time. He leans over and gives me an awkward pat on the shoulder which I think was supposed to be a hug. “Thanks,” I say, my arms staying firmly at my sides. They leave and I walk back inside. I watch their tail lights disappear down the street, wish I could rewind and say yes. I turn around and jump so high I almost hit the roof; Mum is just standing there, her face expressionless. Her arms hang limp by her sides, her bare feet just poking out of her long pyjama pants. She reminds me of a small, confused, sleepy child. “How long have you been awake?” I ask wearily. “A while,” she replies. I suspect she was never really asleep. Just in that zoned-out state of vagueness, which we have all grown very familiar to. I make Mum a cup of tea and put socks on her feet. She doesn’t talk, so neither do I. I sit with her silently, unable to leave her. The more I look at her, the more she resembles a small, defenceless child who has just woken from a bad dream. I suddenly feel the need to protect her. Do I look that innocently vulnerable? I hope not; it’s like looking at a drowning kitten. “You should go with them,” she says, shattering the silence. It’s hard to pick any form of emotion connected with her voice, so I study her face. The only thing I gain from that is noticing just how tired she is. She looks like she’s aged overnight; going from a bright, vibrant 43 year old to a sad, broken woman who is beyond saving. I shake my head. “No. I can’t leave you.” She rolls her eyes, irritated. “Don’t be ridiculous, Imogen. You don’t need to take care of me.” Her chin automatically juts out, in pride and defiance. I feel myself rise in response, because this is not what I meant. “I didn’t mean it like that. I don’t want to leave you. Don’t want to be apart.” I say, defensively. With that, Mum withdraws a little, shrinking back into her chair. She stays quiet for a while, and I feel whatever fight I had inside me die. She tips the dregs of her tea into the sink and starts off toward her room. “Maddy would have wanted you to go,” is all she says, before retreating into her bedroom. Again, I find myself alone. CHAPTER five The nights that follow are unforgivingly sleepless. Three nights after Liam and Louis visited me, restless and tossing so much my sheets become a twisted bundle and my feet, I decide to take a walk. It’s just past 6 and the sun is just starting to peek over the mountains. I don’t go far, just around the neighbouring blocks. But it’s nice. There’s something about the world, before everyone rises. It’s peaceful, untouched. Unharmed. The air is shiny with every possibility the day can bring. It’s about 6.30 by the time I head back. The temperature has crept up considerably. It’s going to be a hot day. I’m not a fan of summer. I mean, I love the beach and the sound of the cicadas and the barbeques, but I’ve always been more of a winter girl. I love being able to wrap up in layers and layers of clothes. When I was little, I used to pretend all the jumpers and scarves were my cacoon, and maybe when winter ended and spring began, I would emerge a butterfly. I never did. I’m at the end of my street, working my way up the steep hill when I catch a movement in the corner of my eye. I turn and look. Keely Roe, my next door neighbour stands in her pyjamas, holding the handle of her wheelie bin, staring right at me. She doesn’t even seem to notice her mouth is open, she just openly stares. I turn away, pretend not to see her, but she calls out to me. “Hey! Immy!” I don’t know much about her, only her parents went through a messy divorce a few years back, so she and her brother moved here with their mother. Her mum works full time and she takes care of her brother a lot of the time. Their dad visits once a month, but I don’t think he’s a very nice man. I have never really spoken to her before; she’s 4 years younger than me and our paths have never really crossed. I give a nod of acknowledgement, wanting to get home before anyone notices I’m gone. I continue walking, but she calls out again. “Come here,” she says. I do, because I know no one will notice I’m gone and I don’t want to be rude. “Hey Keely,” I say. “How are you?” I walk over, stopping about a metre from her. “Good thank you. Immy, I’m so sorry about Maddy.” She says and the wind is knocked out of me. It’s not the words she says, but the way she says it. So sad. “Did you know her?” I ask and tears spring to her eyes. She nods, unable to talk. I try to think back to Maddy mentioning Keely. Nothing comes to mind. “How?” I ask, as gently as possible. I don’t know how I would deal, if she burst into tears. The thought terrifies me. Thankfully, she seems to make an effort to pull herself together. “She found me in the music room one time last year. I, um, I was a mess. She was the nicest most caring girl I have ever met.” I am taken aback, thinking of her abusive father. “Yeah, that’s Maddy,” I sigh, fully aware that not many seniors would stop to comfort a 13 year old girl. My throat threatens to catch fire, a hole in my chest threatening to rip open wide. “Did she meet One Direction?” She asks, rocking on her heels in excitement. “Yeah, she did.” I say. Her smile is so big and genuine and bright that I can’t help but to smile back. “Oh, I’m so glad! We’re they nice to her?” She squeaks. “They were lovely. Zayn danced with her. She loved it.” Keely closes her eyes, as if imagining it. A warm grin spreads across her face and she opens her eyes slowly. I decide I like her, can’t stop the next thin from falling out of my mouth. “Liam and Louis came back the other day, the day of her…” I clear my throat; funeral falls into the list of words that I can no longer bring myself to say, along with death, cancer, heaven, hell, die, love. “To pay their respects and what not. They asked me if I would like to go touring with them.” I feel Keely grasp my arm, shock and excitement and genuine happiness flashing past her eyes and I find myself getting excited too. “Oh my god! You’re touring with the five most beautiful boys! I am so jealous!” This is where I come crashing down to reality. It must show on my face, because Keely’s smile falters. “You are going, right?” she says, not loosening her grip on my arm. I look at my feet, unable to answer. When I look up again, the tears have already started spilling. “Oh,” is all she says, before she hugs me. She is about the same height as me, much thinner. I let her hug me, hug her back even. “You have to go, Immy.” She says, pulling back. I brush my tears away, wanting so much to avoid any form of heart to hearts. “I can’t,” I say, collecting myself. “Why?” she says. I can’t answer; I have no answer. Why can’t I? Mum assures me that she will be fine without me. “I just can’t.” I say. She shakes her head, “You’re going to have to work through this, one way or another. Why not be in a beautiful country with beautiful company?” I know she is talking about my grief. And she is right. I have to work through it; we all do. Would being somewhere other than my house, with people other than my mourning family help? Would it make a difference? I think of my failed attempts to fall asleep, all the memories circling above my head, threatening to swallow me whole. “Please, Immy. If you really don’t want to go, don’t. But don’t stay because you think your parents need you or because you think your friends need you. If you want to go, go. Get out of this town.” She is breathless when she’s done and I just stare at her, shocked. As her words sink in, I wonder if I was this wise at 14. Probably not. “I’m sorry,” she apologises when I don’t reply. “It’s just if you keep waiting on other people, you’ll be waiting forever.” Keely says this, but I hear it in my sister’s voice. It’s something Maddy would have told me, which makes me wonder how much time the two spent together. Then I do an unforgivable thing, which will kill me later. I let myself imagine its Maddy standing in front of me, let myself pretend she’s telling me to go. I let Keely’s face transform into Maddy’s and I feel all my muscles relax, feel a comfortable smile spread over my mouth. “Ok,” I say, “I’ll go.” “Oh, good!” says Keely. Keely. My stomach sinks as I realise that Maddy isn’t standing in front of me. Maddy wasn’t telling me to go, Maddy’s dead. She can’t tell me anything. I swallow hard as I feel bile rising in my throat. Keely looks concerned. I mumble something about being late for an appointment, even though it’s only about 7am and leave her yard. I walk at first, but soon find myself running. I run up the hill, ignoring the pain blooming in my chest. I run to my house, fling the gate open and run inside. The house is still as silent and sleeping as it was when I left. I push into Maddy’s room. I stare around, noticing everything has been packed up. Cleaned. There is no real trace of her left in here, like I hoped to find. The machines and medicines are gone. Her favourite sheets still on her bed, but they’re washed and crisp and un-slept-in. All her belongings are still in here, but not the way she would have left them. I can’t smell her anywhere in the room. The first thing I do is walk to her bookshelf and promptly pull all the books off, sending them into the wall behind me. I throw all the soft toys off her neatly made bed. I throw myself at the wall, start ripping all the photos and posters off. I do all of this while sobbing uncontrollably. I kick a drawer over, sending folded clothes sprawling. I trip over something and catch my reflection in the cupboard mirror. I’m a mess. My hair is all over the place. My face is puffy and red, my eyes darting and shaking, like a wild animal. I spy something sticking out from the bottom of the cupboard door. I snatch it up, scanning the envelope. I recognise Maddy’s writing immediately and frantically rip it open. Immy, My beautiful sister. I love you a lot, you know? I never tell you much, but I hope you know. You’re my best friend, always have been. Remember when you used to say “It’s you and me verse the world”? I loved it when you said that. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I’m leaving you. I wish I could stay. I don’t want you to have to face the world on your own. I know you can, though; you’re the strongest person I know. Don’t ever doubt it. Immy, I want you to do a few things for me, ok? On the back, I have written a bucket list. I want you to do them all for me. Do them all. Okay, Immy? Don’t forget to live. Yours always, Maddy xx I get up running; make it to the toilet just in time. After everything I have eaten has left my stomach, I slump against the wall. Panting and dizzy, I close my eyes. Okay, Immy? Don’t forget to live. “Are you ok?” Mum rounds the corner of the bathroom door. I open my eyes slowly, “I’m fine,” I say. Something clicks over in my brain. I have made a decision and an unexpected wash of relief courses through me. “Mum,” I sigh, standing up. “Can I borrow your big suitcase?” She doesn’t question me, just nods and turns off down the hallway. I use the narrow walls to steady myself as I walk back to Maddy’s room. I stare in horror at the mess I have made. I pick my way through the jungle of clothes debris, trying not to land on my face. It takes me and hour and a half to clean it up, but by 11am it looks as neat and orderly as it did before. When Mum gives me the suitcase I begin to assemble items into it. I pack a few essential items of clothing- my skinny jeans, a few shirts, a few jumpers, singlets, underwear, my favourite dress, my loyal navy blue converse- obvious toiletries, my pillow, the letter from Maddy, some make-up. Last minute, I throw in the lunch box that contains all the Polaroids I have taken over the years. I also slip the pills in the back pocket, out of sight. The rest I can buy later. I take a step back to admire the bag; realise that my whole life is in there. A pair of shoes, a letter and a few hundred photos of my childhood. I leave the room and find mum sitting at the table. I walk over, pull her up and hug her tight. “Stay safe, okay?” she whispers in my ear, and I know she is trying not to cry. I nod, also fighting off the tears. “And I want you to call me every night, so I know you’re ok.” She pushes my face back and looks at me. I know if I open my mouth to talk I won’t be able to contain myself, so I nod again. I feel her cram something into my hand, an envelope. I look at it, give her a questioning glance. “Open it later” she says and I fold it in half and place it in my backpack, along with my wallet, phone and passport. I look toward my parents’ room, where dad is passed out. “Tell Dad I said goodbye? And I love him?” “Will do,” “I love you, Mummy,” I say, and this is when I lose it. The tears flow quickly, steadily. My throat clogs up and a loud, ungraceful sob escapes my lips. “I love you too, baby girl.” I plant a kiss on her forehead, then grab my suitcase and walk out the door. I reach my beat-up old Corolla, throw my belongings into the back seat and drive off. I don’t dare look back. *** I sit outside Crowne Plaza for at least 10 minutes after arriving; spending eight minutes of that wondering if I am doing the right thing, then the other two convincing myself not to turn back. Okay Immy? Don’t forget to live. I wander toward the building, dragging my suitcase behind me. I’ve been here once before; my year 10 formal. It’s quite a fancy place, with nice functions rooms, all set up on a huge golf course. Rows and rows of vineyards out the back, all glowing in the afternoon sun. I whip out my phone, dial the room number that’s scrawled across the back of the card Louis handed me. No one answers and I start second guessing myself again. I push the thoughts away, make my way inside. Inside is wonderfully air-conditioned. The floor is made of shiny white marble, as are the walls. The roof is high, a decedent chandelier hanging perfectly in the centre. The young receptionists cool, calm, professional voice calls for my attention. “Can I help you, Ma’am?” She says, and I am thrown by her beauty. She could be no more than 19, could be a model, with her dark, liquid brown eyes, her deep red hair and her high cheek bones. Her nametag reads “Annie”. “Um, my friends are staying in room 115, level 4,” I say, checking the little piece of paper. She nods, “No problem” Her voice is melodic and light. She begins clicking away at her computer. I’m not sure what she is doing, but I wait patiently. The receptionist’s professional face falls, becomes confused, and then amused as she very obviously sizes me up. What would One Direction want with someone as ordinarily looking as me? “I’m sorry, ma’am. The people staying in that room are not seeing anyone at the moment.” It takes a second for this to sink in, but when it does I become defensive and agitated. “Could you call them please, let them know I’m here?” “I’m sorry ma’am, but the people staying in that room are not seeing-” “Call them, please.” This time it is not a question, or a plea. “I’m sure they’ll change their minds when you call them.” I lift my chin defiantly, happy with how efficient and confident my voice sounds. The receptionist looks startled, scared even. She gives a curt nod and picks up the phone beside her, dialling numbers briskly. Sit down I think to myself childishly. “I’m sorry, Ma’am. There was no answer. I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” I ignore the impatient girl in front of me as my eyes catch on something behind her. A smile spreads and relief comes quickly. I ignore Annie, who is still protesting. “Zayn,” I call. He turns, confused at first, but soon recognition flashes across his face and his smile matches mine “Immy,” he calls. I walk straight past Annie, who is openly jaw-on-the-ground gawking at me and the beautiful boy at the other end of the grand foyer, and into the warm arms of Zayn Malik.
