The Maccabees: Who’D They Talk To?

By NASEEBA OMAR

A family of three, is cooped in the shell of desperation, dying to be out of the miseries like how a chick can't wait to be out of the heat of its shell. Charlotte loses her husband at an early stage after seeing her parents get buried with her brother, nowhere to be found. The deadly rhythms keep on because most of all, her first child is the devil herself.
Kayla MacCabee, the charming devil loves machines, does anything to get loved and thinks her mother is heartless. She hates that her dearest friends (her father and her grandmother) are off board her ship, hates she's in love with her only surviving friend, Andrew Patterson who rather keeps to the memories of his dead girlfriend. But comes Ralph Carter, a wealthy young business man who pours out roses. But . . .
Ingrid MacCabee is a sweet blond, a successful play maker. Only she falls well madly in an obsession. She damns herself for the special eyes she has for a no-nice guy, an artist. She would not look at Ray Adams, a handsome, half-American half-Spanish talent who would die for her. Her scalding attraction- the guy in person, Jason Sands, the beastliest Casanova in her college. Then jumps in is Maureen de Crapeau, another malicious character, an awesome play maker who would do anything to put Ingrid in the darkest dark.
Out of the family's mansion comes their friends. But they are unfortunately no better than the MacCabees.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Dec 3, 2013
• ISBN: 9781490711867

NASEEBA OMAR

My name is Naseeba Omar, Ghanaian, studies Political Science at Kwame Nkrumah University of Science and Technology(KNUST). I'm the second child in my family, had my high school education in T.I Ahmadiyya Senior High in Kumasi, Ghana.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

In the early eighties

K ayla was lounged comfortably in the taupe-striped deck chair at the porch one beautiful evening, the boundless sky showing romance with twilight, four or so stars to twinkle and overtones of her mother’s dismal voice began to crawl up to her.

She sat there like an Egyptian mummy, the only difference being in the way she lounged lazily in the chair and she hardly got her eyes a blink to neglect the honey feeling filling her inside. A relaxing breath had temporarily done the trick and instantly, it was as if she never heard her mother call. Her grotesque imaginations had cocked up as usual, and she was seeing things. She could feel the whole of her being playing a part in a seamless wonderland. That had not ended there. Through the window of her young mind had come the universe itself, wondrously swinging through the rich air. The sweet, sweet smell of the magnolia with the bold, brawny brown branches in her father’s garden seemed to have transformed her life magically, from the very air she inhaled to the very touch of the thick material of the deck chair in which she sat, the invisible pores of the bright green leaves of the same plant with refreshing fragrance always adding to the magnificence of her cosy moments.

Sensing not the slightest muscle move of tiredness, young Kayla enjoyed inhaling the nice air every time she came to sit at the porch, when she was either displeased with her mother for her petty naggings because she’d not done this and that in the kitchen or she was waiting for her father to return from work: a man of her father who always returned home in the evenings, lost his appetite, and played with his dinner. Now, Kayla wondered what the heck had kept him so late to miss dinner. It was past eight, which was rare and she felt a little uneasy. Her grandma had equally not been with them. The old woman had been battling a serious cancer for years and had been hospitalized for several weeks since the cancer had surged badly that time around. Although Granny was not as old and wrinkled as some old women she and her little sister saw in the comfort of their own gardens, barely able to make a step forward without succour in a form of a walking stick, Kayla preferred calling her an old woman as she hated it. And dredging up her sallow skin the last time they went visiting her ward, the young girl was afraid because that picture looked just like death in every angle. She was terrified she might die and leave her. But she had another bright side, convincing she would join them once she was well to tell her the riveting story she’d promised.

For the meantime, she would wait for her father to turn up and then they would pay her grandma a visit together. She really missed the old woman and she just could not get over her absence. Or could it have been possible that her dad had gone paying the woman a visit? Could that have been the reason for him not turning up for dinner that evening? Kayla couldn’t bear her restlessness, knowing that would have been very unfair on her father’s part. But she shelved off her thought; surely her father wouldn’t do such a thing. To her, she and her father were like the flip sides of a coin. Not even her mother was as close the way she happened to be with him! Quite a funny way to think, but she was damn sure about that. ‘Hmm!’ Now, she gave herself a long stretch, already up from the deck chair. Then she approached the door, suddenly recalling the spine chillers of her mother’s voice. She’d had to run at once. For all that she knew, she had more than a fine mood to have squabbles with her mother again this evening, she decided thoughtfully.

Kayla had a mother who was extremely pretty, and even though she’d parked herself on the heavy carpet shedding tears, she was still so beautiful, the miserable impression in her face colouring her entirely with murk appeal. She could not fruitfully gather some control over her strong emotions, and her pale fingers continued to fidget the carpet. She allowed herself to weep, knowing very well she’d broken her promise of keeping calm so as not to let Kayla lose herself as well; at least for the girl to believe tears would still not change anything. The young girl was about to ask her why her father had still not come back to the house but the gloom around her mother dumbfounded her. When Charlotte finally, lifted her head, it seemed she’d lifted a ton of iron. The young girl continued to look confusedly at her mother’s face, not excepting that perfect nose of hers in a hot flush, feeling the apparent air of bitter news though. In an attempt to break the news, Charlotte felt giddy. ‘Granny’s gone,’ she managed the words out. Kayla had her neck stretched and she kept fluttering her eyes for seconds, more like doing her best to interpret what she had just been told. Where had Granny gone? She thought and she vowed to be at loggerheads with her when she returned from wherever she’d gone since she often accompanied her to many places without even asking. With such an evident gesture of ignorance to her mother’s idiom, Charlotte shook her head quietly. Why had she not been straight with her daughter at first? Charlotte had thought again, hating the moment as she must have to repeat the dreadful news. The dangerous words finally rang in Kayla’s ears one more time. This time, it was clear. Her granny was dead and was gone, indeed.

CHAPTER ONE

U nfortunately for Ingrid MacCabee, her drowsy blue eyes sprang wildly like the cold morning. How she’d wished the awful morning never came when she jumped into the clean queen-sized bed and filled it with every flesh on her body last night. Catching some sleep had been the only recipe to pour out her fatigue. And now, her eyes were caught up at the aesthetic maple ceiling for a moment. They moved slowly, doubtfully, examining the mildness of the drooping florescent lights. Slowly again, she turned her head towards where her library stood. She didn’t know whether she was actually admiring the perfection of the blurred pictures her eyes saw of this simple room or whether she was imagining things. Or had she been yanked into another dream all of a sudden? She sceptically watched the shuffled set of books, the desktop computer on sleep mode, the desk lamp, the rest of the fat books and dictionaries and encyclopaedias and also crumpled sheets of paper surrounding the plastic bin; even the ballpoint pens plus pencils looked as if their sharp tips were pinching her eyeballs as she squinted at them. Then she finally realised she was at her home for real. She sighed. Indeed, that new feeling of belonging to the MacCabee family did give her some quick delight, and she sighed heavily as if to blow her blushed nose apart. She was as safe as a rat in its hole. She yawned loudly, stretching out her body. And then as she suddenly plastered a smile at the same time, she’d looked like a terrible clown. She gave a soft shut of her eyes, which were still tired. And then again, she discovered it was the chicness of her room that had confounded her. Where could she have been all this while? In a jungle? She’d got to be kidding herself.

Actually, Ingrid had expected to see the green bushes as well as the wild trees and hanging fruits and horrible animal sounds emanating from the unsophisticated jungle she’d strolled in some minutes ago. She had a dream she escorted her animal folks around. She was the queen of that wonderful territory. Ha! She’d actually thought she was the ‘Sheena’ of the era. So as she’d least expected to find herself in this classy room, so damn stylish and with such contrast, examining her room had been quite natural. And no doubt her looks would make anybody think she was indeed some granddaughter of the pretty jungle lady in the fascinating film the family had watched years ago. The young lady gave another yawn. Kayla, her elder sister, had tried to imitate Sheena with one of their neighbours’ horses right after the movie, and she recalled the deadly fall Kayla had had. Only God had not turned his lordly back at her. She would have been dead and forgotten by now. Briskly, Ingrid altered her face to give it a smile once more. But I couldn’t figure out what was so interesting to switch her pretty face all of a sudden. Probably, she’d been so fascinated about her dream. She wondered what had triggered such a lush dream in the first place. Gifted with remembering her dreams unlike her mother who forgot her dreams the moment her eyes opened, Ingrid was recalling most of the things in that tranquil avocado-looking atmosphere, everything seeming bright, peaceful, and lively; and she believed she partly did enjoy the phenomenon of survivor of the fittest when she’d seen that brightly coloured untamed tigress give a pathetic antelope a bullying chase through the dark trees and that multicoloured chameleon stretch out its sticky tongue to catch that beautiful butterfly. But sensing her little dizziness quickly thawed her smile as well as the traces of her beautiful dream. No one had to tell her why her brains were welcoming her so badly this morning. She knew better than anyone that there was no way the previous evening’s fatigue could have let her out of bed at this hour of the day. If anyone had told her she would have such a bad rising, she would have given the fellow a dirty slap. Miraculously for the past weeks, Kayla had suddenly changed from being too insensitive to a little bit considerate. Ingrid and her mother had thought at last that God had finally answered their prayers. At least she could not deny the fact that she’d been pleased to recover her soothing sleep till the daylight came creeping through the tiny lines of her old blinds without a huff of Kayla being heard, let alone her deafening music intruding. Kayla had had a wonderful transformation from being that obstinate scumbag to an angel. But there the horrible rockabilly came again, disturbing her sleep. Ingrid’s attention appeared now attached to the strong music so hard as if she’d not noticed it all this while. But it had actually woken her. Freaked out, she quickly kneaded her temples with her pair of middle fingers, lying flat on the cheery bedspread of her bed. She muttered something long and rough, in fact, making no sense to me. Then she sat up slothfully, her long light blond hair in serious disarray. She stopped massaging and jumped out of bed. But she had a head rush and sat down again. She stood up, this time feeling quite better. As if trying to clear things up from her head, her eyes closed, her nubile body kept swaying from side to side like a pennant in an idle-moving wind or a delicious string of spaghetti wriggling into somebody’s mouth.

She wanted to amble her feet on her mellow carpet because she remembered what Simon Fletcher had told her when he accompanied her to the ‘Gwen Allison campus play’ last semester. According to him, pacing was one of the best ways to help one think properly, and she had processed his advice for a while. ‘I think pacing would rather make you more nervous, and the fact that it worked out for you or anybody else doesn’t mean it would do the same for me,’ she’d sparred quietly, keeping Simon mute. He knew Ingrid MacCabee could be overly profound at times even when he did not mean some of the things he said. But he had meant this one, and as he’d sat staring at her, the orange lights of the auditorium continuously proving how funny he looked when bemused, he’d thought of what to snarl back to win the little challenge. But Ingrid said she would try the pacing now. Regaining extra energy with the thought, she threw her hair backwards and began to tie it up. Indeed, some beauty she was. She was twenty-three, a day she woke up to realise she was quietly drawing closer to old age, and she just did not want to imagine it. She possessed the unerring valiant ‘I-got-the-trick’ kind of face: mind and heart filled with cleverness, love plus blooming sensitivity, naturally blushed cheeks always making a jolly face, contagious smiles, you’ve got no idea. Born blond, Ingrid enjoyed each second of her life, fancying every tiny strand of her glossy hair, grabbing a sheet of paper to write her fairy tales as if she would never stop writing. In love with the colour blue, apparently, possessing those pair of wide blue eyes like the midcoloured part of the ocean did give her a nice feeling of such peerless gift. She was five feet eight inches tall, slim, strong, sharp-willed. Though a powerful movie industry was a hugest dreamland, she was very determined to deal with her quick temper. Naturally, she wasn’t a good dancer, and Calito, the coloured family friend, and her mother always mocked her stiffness whenever she tried. But none of these things bothered her much. It wasn’t her talent after all. She would say uninterestedly, shrugging. Some cool music, R & B and jazz, always compelled her to dance with her head. She had a terrific voice too.

Now in an attempt to do what had just appeared a splendid idea, to pace the room, she smashed her shin against one of the gigantic legs of the bed. Believe it or not, she cried her world out of herself. ‘Ooouch, oh ma God, oh ma God!’ And ‘oh ma God’ never stopped busying her lips as if the anguish would suddenly vanquish under her helpless cry. She was struggling to get control of herself. I wonder how her mother would have reacted and given an extraordinary race up the staircase to her daughter’s room if she really heard such a horrifying cry, hitting her eardrums from wherever she was. But there was freaky music playing at the background too strongly, and it flustered Ingrid much more. Absentmindedly, she sat on her bed, gliding her palms against her burning pink flesh. She tossed her neat teddy bear aside to get some space for her hot butt. Gosh, her head was pivoting like a merry-go-round. She dumped herself into the bed once more in the same manner she’d leapt into bed last night. Her temperature had gone up, her body experiencing some feverishness. But she did not want to concentrate on her morning illness. Now the pain at her shin had reduced, and she was listening to the singing birds from her father’s garden before she knew it although Kayla’s music was still on play. Before, she thought again, her ringing clock rang seven. ‘Can’t I ever find some goddamn peace in my own bloody house?’ she hissed furiously, lifting the lace pillow beside her to press her ears as the volume of the music had been increased, and she wanted to yelp louder. She coiled on the large mattress, her slim thighs sketched beautifully inside the walls of the night dress; from her head to toes again too feeble to have another round of good sleep. Anyway, Ingrid still had good reasons to stay in bed all day, and she wished Kayla would leave the house soon. ‘No class today,’ she said, tossing the lace pillow to her side. Now lounging her back towards the headboard, she gave a sigh. Then she thought of Jason Sands.

‘Kayla, enough of your loud music.’ That was the girls’ mother, Mrs. Charlotte MacCabee. But who said that Kayla would touch her speakers that kept producing her bracing music, much less reduce the volume, even if she’d heard the simple order or, better still, been offered huge bucks as a compromise? Well, in case she would be offered huge bucks, she may have to think about it and humbly let down the volume of the music a little. She had the love for money and crazy music, but unfortunately, the sort of fabulous riches she desired was something her little family lacked. Her mother was just an office worker, and all she knew was the food for the house. Nothing more, nothing less in her case; not same for her little sister who had been crowned the princess of the mansion! ‘I’m nuts!’ she screamed from her room upstairs. Kayla’s bed continued to cry and ask for mercy, her dirty bedsheets pleading for a sweet wash. Mrs. MacCabee shook her head, repositioning the TV’s controller from the settee to the modern mahogany-made centre table. ‘Damn you, Kayla. God, what went wrong?’ What had become of her? She hugged herself on the smooth floor, a crippling confusion showing clearly in every part of her face. Who could have imagined Kayla would behave foolishly like this again?

She’d been so cool for weeks now as she had been thinking and feeling to much pity for herself for been in love with her best friend, the editor, who had never asked her for a date since they met each other and she, the older woman thought her daughter had finally changed for good. Mrs. MacCabee sat cracking at her fingers, and soon, her late husband got her more occupied. She’d been having serious hallucinations of her dear husband ever since he died. The beautiful man had left them too soon. She grieved, wondering what sin on earth she’d committed to get the worst always toppling on top of her. ‘Steve!’ she blurted out her husband’s name plaintively, and she couldn’t deny the fact that his formidable presence would have got their elder daughter into becoming a responsible lady at least. Before I could say jack, the twitching muscles surrounding her eyes formed willing tears that already began raining down her cheeks as her long-sleeved white morning coat accepted the wiping job. ‘Beautiful, careless, annoying, and invincible is your favourite daughter that…—’ Her imaginative ability enabled her to see the apparition of her Steve right in front of her crossed-legged, like that sitting posture he’d unconsciously learnt from a Buddhist friend when the man constantly visited years ago at Baxter Springs, where they lived before her late father handed this mansion to her. And that was where the family presently lived. It appeared that Mrs. MacCabee’s hallucinations urged her on greatly, feeling that a priceless opportunity had fallen from the heavens like manna for Steve to hear her out. All Mrs. MacCabee ever wanted was for Kayla to change. But how? That was the billion-dollar question. Suddenly, a warming pat touched her cute shoulders. The simple fingers pressed them softly, and part of her worries scurried away as the pressing continued. Mrs. MacCabee felt she had a wonderful company in the manner the massage came in just at the time she’d needed it. ‘Morning, Mum,’ Ingrid crooned, planting lovely pecks at Mrs. MacCabee’s cheeks. She stopped the massage abruptly as she couldn’t overlook the massive pain at her wrists and at her fingers too after some seconds. Then she glided at her mother’s little shoulders and hands before helping her from the floor into the couch. She pushed her shoulders towards the back of the couch. ‘Relax, Mum,’ the intense look of depression that had smudged in her face persuaded Ingrid to say. Then she saw a broad smile conquer the little woman’s face. Maybe that’s a reply for the greeting said.

The diminishing lyrics of the music finally left the mansion. ‘Thank God,’ Ingrid said in a low voice with a big sigh, rolling her eyes. Her mother shook her head, gazing cursorily at Kayla’s door upstairs as though she expected to find her rushing down with dripping sweat to cause one of her numerous fusses. Soothing quietness covered the room for once that morning. They could now hear their own breaths flowing tiredly, and even the songbirds had stopped singing in the garden. They sat for a long time while each thought of something, Ingrid allowing a little worry to seize her. She took her mother’s hand as she thought about all that she was about to say. It was the appropriate time to tell her mother these ideas before she forgot. She’d included how to deal with her sister’s troubles when she’d pondered over the day’s activities last evening, convinced that Kayla’s sudden transformation into an angel for weeks now might not last although she’d not expected she would return to her devil self this soon. She knew her elder sister just like her little teddy bear friend on her bed. She was a pain in the neck. Very stubborn to listen to anyone! She just hated everyone, everything, even the curious neighbours who came prying at their door wanting to have a clue about what was wrong with her because she was always sneering at them. And Ingrid had had no choice but to build a big heart for all her nonsense these years. Her mother deserved to know her piece of mind. She was thinking finally. She began her sentences warily, looking straight into Mrs. MacCabee’s pale face, already secreting some pimples of itchy sweat. ‘Mum!’ The woman watched her attentively, her eyes gazing straight at Ingrid’s lips. ‘Don’t you think we must do something about Kayla’s situation? She’s still not talking to us.’ They called her over to mealtimes and nothing seemed to have worked. Ingrid and the older woman had endeavoured to have her contributing to their useless chatters. But Kayla would walk out on them without even saying, ‘Nice meal, family. But I’ve got to go’, which would have served just as right. Ingrid paused and shifted her eyeballs. She felt she was good, and decisively, she proceeded. ‘Apparent we’ll well continue to be her enemies. She must be feeling lonely without dad and granny.’ Mrs. MacCabee took offence, as if her daughter was judging her for an irresponsible mother. ‘But, dear, you’re acting like you don’t know what’s happening in this house. She’s so obstinate!’ Ingrid cut in brusquely. ‘But, Mum, we’ve got to try somehow. We can’t just let her go on like this!’ The woman stared quietly at the young lady, giving herself a mature thinking for a while. She knew Ingrid was right. Admit it! she told herself uncomfortably. But who could ever sympathize with her? She’d tried to be the coolest mother to Kayla ever since the family man died years ago. Kayla simply would not open up, and she was so annoying and stupid. The quiet woman continued to reflect, still trusting she couldn’t be blamed so much. Then before she could stare at her daughter’s face again, the young lady with a drop of her beauty gave her a charming smile. She looked so much like her late father. The woman watched her seriously as if she saw Steve MacCabee in Ingrid. You would think she would pass out any moment.

But Mrs. MacCabee took hold of her herself, trying to concentrate. ‘We need to try and shower Kayla some love.’ Ingrid’s eyebrows rose at this sentence, and she displaced her left arm from her thighs to her mother’s. ‘She needs it and I know she’s just desperate because of what she’s been through.’ She embraced her. ‘It’s gonna be fine, Mum.’ The woman nodded, reassured. They combed each other’s hair with identical fingers. The willingness to separate, which was not there at all obsessed the minutes. It was obvious they wished they never stop cuddling for several minutes, and Mrs. MacCabee felt good. But an unexpected interruption hit them like a grenade. ‘What a touching scene!’ A pretty thin brown-haired lady in dirty green pyjamas hissed roughly, leaning against the shiny cream pillar by the staircase. Trust me, you may think it’s actually Mrs. MacCabee who’d been sent back to her twenties: those days when people marvelled at her legs and thought they were exactly like chopsticks in a bowl of nicely-flavoured Japanese rice. It was quite a resemblance even though the lady with brown hair’s were not like chopsticks. And as this lady came up into the living room, chest straight up like a military woman on a parade ground, Ingrid thought once again she might probably not be a fruit of her mother’s womb. But what an outrageous thing to think! she blasted herself anyway. Indeed, her little inferiority as a matter of who between them resembled their mother churned her stomach. ‘Mummy’s daughter showering Mama the usual enchantments, ooh.’ That was Kayla MacCabee, and she acted hammy, covering part of her chest with her slim palm.

She was the worst actress Ingrid had ever seen. Even Samantha Balston, one of her most hated actresses in Hollywood, was much better than her sister, and she always looked nothing little than a jerk. Perhaps she thought she was the best. By the manner Kayla frequently did it, it was clear she thought she actually did deserve some awards for her ugly acting. Ingrid wanted to concentrate on the bombshell at hand, but she couldn’t pause, reflecting over Kayla’s filmy life. Then she fingered her lips to prevent the big laughter that was about to burst out. ‘Is breakfast made?’ The thin desperate-looking lady asked in a hoarse voice. She brought herself to the centre of the room as if she was ready to strike any of them who would finally give her the no reply, a reply she knew for sure would soon come to her at this part of the morning when everyone had woken up and not yet aware of the undetectable hunger. And fortunately for Kayla, the no was intoned by her younger sister, which suddenly filled her with a stupid strength to begin her shouting that had been missing in the house for weeks. The two women looked surprisingly at her. They thought that all the terrible episodes as well as nightmares would never return. Ingrid set her gaze on her mother who had already foreseen the usual honourable disaster. Kayla was going to grease their flesh with loathing again. How on earth could they show this lioness some love? She was something else. She was the most incorrigible person she’d ever encountered all the years of her life. Mrs. MacCabee couldn’t control her emotions now.

She was groggy, and Ingrid had observed closely. ‘You guys simply wanna get rid of me. You two are goddamn wicked,’ Kayla snarled callously, maintaining her eyeing position on the floor as she walked back and forth, arms folded, in the wonderful room of potted hard-leafed plants at each corner, purple and hazel carpets on the wooden flooring with old but strong-looking couches, as well as cool-coloured tan walls. The two pairs of eyes, one very scared and the other quite relaxed, followed her movements—left from right, right from left—and the eyes stood stably at times when Kayla stopped pacing. The standing lady’s back was kept so bent that it looked as if her shoulders were heading for the floor. She was nodding her head slowly. Then at once, Kayla’s hands were held in boxing fists. Her dry spitting lips moved quickly, addressing her mother first like the confused woman had anticipated already. ‘All you live and care for is Ingrid. You think I’m a complete jerk, worthless—’ There were no words to describe herself now. That was the way her mother called her after Steve died, when she used to lock herself up in her room. But not anymore. Mrs. MacCabee was wan and tautened, her knuckles no different. She was feeling traumatic, and Ingrid MacCabee could not believe this bickering was cocking up once again. Naturally, as veinless as Kayla’s hands had always been from childhood, giving her doctors a bit of hell to locate a single vein for blood tests, it’d been so surprising to the women in the couch currently watching her, totally baffled, to see some bold veins like earth wires pounding on her skin as reddish as her blood of erythrocytes itself. Her panting was unsteady, and her breathing paces were getting very abnormal. ‘And you…’ The hysteria rose even more, and her right index finger pointed directly to Ingrid’s braless bulging breast. ‘Don’t ever think for a second in your so-called perfect life that you are better off, little sis-ter. You are nothing else but a lowlife.’ Ingrid knew her anger was forcing up towards her chest again, and she also knew she’d had her fill now of Kayla’s naiveté, and the heat was simply on. She stood up, watching her elder sister who glared back at her. The tension was immensely felt between the two sisters that soon, it became too deadly for their mother to endure the little hatred act like a movie. As Kayla turned to leave, Ingrid grasped her hand to halt. I thought Ingrid was going to punch her cheeks. But she just wanted to tell her something. Kayla saved her hand from her younger sister’s grip by hardening her expressions and biting her tough jaws as if she used her entire strength to save it. Their heavy hairs were vaulting on their shoulders. The slow-motion panting movement of the long blond and brown hairs of the sisters was magnificent, and you would think both were ferociously waiting for a referee to blow a whistle so an enormous wrestle could commence. If Kayla was acting again, then Ingrid was afraid she’d misjudged her. It was a flawless act. ‘Why are you doing this, huh? You are selfish and uncaring, Kayla. When will you ever put that stupid pride in you aside and think about us who care for you?’ Ingrid blurted out before she could stop herself, but she liked it because it’s high time she told Kayla some sense.

Kayla stood for a while as if containing her powerful resentments and turned brusquely to her. Was she about to hit her or something? Ingrid thought, damned serious this time around, ready to swerve with the tiniest move Kayla would make towards her. And she could even be the one hitting her instead since the last time Kayla had squalled at them and had slapped her face, some naughty patience from nowhere had ordered her to ignore the pain at her cheek and let Kayla walk away freely. But obviously not today too! If Kayla joked this morning, she would make sure she knocked her temple and their mother would not recognize her. ‘Is that what you think?’ Kayla laughed wickedly. ‘Well, if we want the persons who are selfish, then it is you and her,’ she retorted rasply, pointing to Mrs. MacCabee. Kayla should curse her own tongue to mention the woman as her godforsaken mother. Ingrid listened to her rough cackle again. ‘So you’ve got the nerve to tell me you two care? What a shame!’ Ingrid listened to her once more as she stood stiffly and the other lady went up the staircase, not giving her head a turn. Kayla was so hard with rage that the two females sitting beneath her room got scared she would do something nasty as usual. Such indescribable rage, they’d least expected. Did that mean Kayla had gathered all her frustrations throughout the weeks when she neither played her noisy songs nor gave them her fights? Mrs. MacCabee sat there like a statue, her shining eyes immobile as well as the tears in them, which adamantly refused to drop. Her neck was heavy with that powerful urge to cry and cry all morning long. Kayla turned her doorknob and stepped inside her untidy room. She pulled down her pyjamas and covered her pointed breasts with a loose white bra, her long brown hair partly taken over by a bobble hat while a tight jeans shorts clad her tiny waist to her knees. Her pretty long face was bespectacled. Then she used the staircase once more. Finding her mother’s car keys on the centre table, she could tell jingling and dangling them out was the best option to choose and her mother would dare not stop her. Then she was taking herself straight to the door that led the way to a haven, where she knew she would be herself a bit with the help of her trusted friend. Being with him and him only was worth dying for. Ingrid and the older woman were gaping as if that would be the last time they would be seeing her.

CHAPTER TWO

I t was a bit of surprise for Kayla to see for herself the evening that happened very fast. And it seemed a perfect feeling too as she felt herself drift pretty far away from the bloody family picture. Packed drunk into the sedan, driving straight to her friend’s condo seemed all that was on her mind. Where else? Thumping the bartender’s face with the money she owed him for the four bottles of beer she’d swallowed, Kayla had got contented by the manner the poor carrot-haired guy had shaken with the brusqueness of her hand on the bar, and her chuckling had turned out to be the only way to show her amusement as the poor guy frightfully watched her back leave. She knew perfectly well the wisdom in finding her dear sober before the police dragged her to answer never-ending questions at the station, where she would have to write a statement of her awkward behaviour and would then be locked behind those stinking bars the whole night if no saviours pulled up. How could all this knowledge stop belling in her mind after the petrifying encounters two months ago, including the more intimidating one just at the middle part of the following week? Andrew Patterson had abandoned her till late though she knew Ingrid had unquestionably called his phone to plead so he could do something about her situation. Standing a single breath of the junkyard —as she described it had made her want to cry. Then Andrew had bailed her and she’d vowed to him she would not repeat her drinking behaviour. And Kayla had actually expected him to believe her ludicrous promise.

You see, the truth of the whole issue was that he’d intentionally not gone to bail her out covered in sweat and trepidation like the first time her little sister had rung him with the same spluttering worried words, pleading ‘to do something about the situation.’ The family knew he was the only person they could count on with issues pertaining Kayla. Of course, Andrew was the only one they knew could do something about every situation in Kayla’s way because he was a very good friend of hers, quite wealthy, and the only human being who could make her listen to him whether she liked it or not. The dutiful police also knew Kayla quite well. She had become a constant prey of their services; and one of them, a particular one with sparkling jigsaw teeth, had said mockingly the last time Andrew had gone to take her out, ‘Hope to see you again, siren.’ She’d eyed him icily, desiring to do something nasty to him that he would never forget in his entire corps life, like stick her fingers through his mouth and bring out his disgusting intestines. Andrew was definitely going to get freaked out when he saw her in this condition again. Seriously! Kayla thought fuzzily, daring the stairs ahead with a scary long look as if the package of pure ivory-coloured wood were soon to tumble down upon her. Andrew had become her hero overnight, you know. No wonder she found it very difficult to snub him like the others. ‘Andy!’ Her frustrated calling voice trudged the spiral staircase into his wide ears. She sniffed some homey air. She did it each time she was at the condo. The condo had a design of masculine grandeur that she really loved. And she gave an endless chuckle, thinking she was the wisest person on the planet to get safely to the condo without the tiniest detection of the corps for the first time. Home at last! she thought with an aura of bliss completely covering her like a warm cloak. But she found herself wanting as soon as she predicted Andrew’s furious face. His bedroom door soon stood in front of Kayla after managing her tedious way up there, damning and spitting her toil. The door was huge for her eyes that she thought she was already daring the door of a giant, taking the place of poor Jack in Jack and the Beanstalk, a book she’d never been tired of reading during bedtime, the only storybook the lazy girl could ever read. Or was Andrew now a giant? She looked at the opening dark brown door as though expecting to see the gigantic face, unclean teeth, and stinking clothes of a cursed being that would eventually gobble her body for his dinner. Rather, a very handsome young face in fine dark hairs like those covering his heavy head in shiny spiky hairstyle as well as the ones falling gently at the sides of his smooth profile, clad in clean singlet, came to her from the doorway. ‘Hey, girl.’ He was the gentlest human being in her world. Trust me! His right palm nailed to the orange doorframe in a charming pose like that of a superhero on a cover page of a blockbuster, Kayla wished to kiss him with all of her faded strength.

He was six feet tall, soft raven hair lying on almost every part of his tough male flesh, his God-made colouring sanguine lilac. He had a perfect physique and with that genteel personality of his in Kayla’s point of view, she’d fallen more than often into being fooled by them to an extent that, most times, she’d gaped stupidly at him, falling into his brutal spell. My infatuation! God help me! she said this too often, knowing he was the only man who stirred her so. She always took the smallest advantage of their closeness to admire him and grow the passion. She often saw herself cuddle him in a strange beach, caressing his ears and fantasizing about his seductive rosy lips, dying to get to the day she would have a taste of them. How she could not wait further to brush her lips to his! Certainly, the beach had not been the last place her imaginations tossed her and Andrew to. At certain times of her lonely nights, she dreamt being in an English farmland with him, plenty of green growing cereals and weather-tortured scarecrows, shrouding their romantic togetherness. You have no idea how horrible she felt immediately reality faced her again in the terrible mornings when her peace begins to draw far away.

He looked excited, recognizing her presence. But one thing Kayla hated about her friend was his goatee. It did nothing else than prolong his permanent long face. She always complained about it. ‘Hello, sweetheart!’ His rosy lips moved lovely. This young man was the Andrew guy, obviously, I shouldn’t have to say again, but Kayla had rather called him Andy. She simply could not afford straining her darling lips to pronounce ‘drew.’ She’d confessed to him about the splendid new name she preferred just after two days of wonderful friendship when they’d met at the mall a year ago. Even though it had fortified greatly, Kayla knew this friendship fuss wasn’t what she actually wanted, and Andrew had slowly come to accept the ‘Andy’ sobriquet anyway. He was even enjoying the very sound he’d averse at first. ‘Yuck!’ He ceased his breathing abruptly and coughed gently at the harsh alcohol smell madly teasing his nostrils. But right here, in front of him, were Kayla’s brown eyes, getting popeyed and fuller with lust. She continued to ogle at the strong contours of his face, trying to take away her eyes, nonetheless. To her, his expression of revulsion added to his charm. Andy was damn good-looking, not like her late father who with lipstick would make anyone concede he was as beautiful as a premiere in smash hit.

Slowly, Andy had become a thorn in her flesh although she enjoyed it more than anything because he made her feel loved and special. And at this moment, right in front of her, in pure white tank top and navy knickers with his coal hair styled in spikes like her dream guy, he was as irresistible as ever, ever the guy to make her go nuts. The power of his masculinity pulled her like magnet. Before she could stop herself, she hugged him so tightly, pushing him into his room with her weight. God knew that wasn’t what she intended doing. Hugging was the last thing she would do to the man she had such mighty infatuation for. She’d wished to kiss him deeply instead. Oh, my dream guy! she thought almost aloud. Andrew got breathless with the nauseating smell, and he realised he could die, matter-of-factly. Unable to take the smell any longer, he moved away from her. The only thing Kayla could once again imagine was Romeo in the movie Romeo and Juliet as the couple got separated with the blade of death. You’re sending me off my head, boy! ‘Ooh!’ she exclaimed dreamily, an irking grin widening her cheeks as she stared into his grim face. He interrupted her silly imagination as her eyes got stranded at the rising temper in his handsome face. More than once, she begged the hard feeling redecorating his face into a real bad guy to pause for just a second to adore him again. There seemed nothing more important to her than continuing to leer at him all the days of her miserable life. But he darkened her world before she uttered the first syllable of his name. ‘Lady, what’s wrong with you, huh?’ He leaned against the wall of his bedroom, arms folded, watching her with a sort of fury she could hardly describe. Then he was walking towards the other wall behind him, his arms fold maintained but very enraged as she’d envisioned. Then he turned to her abruptly that she shook a bit. ‘You keep giving excuses about your mistakes. My mum’s this, my sister’s that, and that’s why I drink.’ He imitated her complaints, word for word with the same voice she always used, and it was obvious his soaring anger was irrepressible. Trust me, he could never comprehend why he became so upset when it was the turn of Kayla MacCabee. Dealing with any other person was manageable. He’d not even realised how her issues were so vital to him. ‘Let’s face facts, Kayla. You’re digging a deep grave, and when you are done, you will be the only person to fall in it. Not me nor your mother nor your little sister.’ His heart kept banging fast, and seeing the turmoil he did to himself, he cooled down. Although he regretted his outburst somehow after some seconds of victoriously getting himself back, he knew very well that soft words wouldn’t make any impact on this friend of his. Strangely, Andrew felt worse soon, so worse that he thought of doing something immediately to clear his conscience. Kayla had fled the room.

There was a hot flush at the sides of her face. She felt her original light weight sensing the alcohol in her system diluting in large quantities because of her clustering shock. Andrew had never spoken to her like this! Brusquely, the only mad question that downed on her was ‘Where the heck was Andy?’ But she knew she was to blame. How could she have broken her own promise of not drinking again? How was Andrew expected to believe her next time? For the first time since she left the bar, she could think a bit straight about her stupor, and she found it incredible since she felt completely sober. She had gone too far with this behaviour of hers, a drinking behaviour she’d begun few years after her tragedies. She got scared that Andrew would avoid her, and she did not want to think of losing him or, more appropriately, his touching kindness towards her. Probably to another woman! Andrew plodded the stairs. Assuaging Kayla was the least he would do. He would let her think for some time. Kayla was a clever girl notwithstanding her mulishness. He took a comfortable seat beside her in the couch and stared at the wall clock. Then he broke the heavy silence after five minutes. And he cleared his throat. His hairy hands stuffed in his pockets, he got up. ‘I’m sorry, Kayla.’ His voice was hazy and deep, half filled with regret. Her head hung down and hard, her stationary silky brown hair loose on her shoulders and the sides of her face, she was quiet for a long time, and for once in his entire life, he thought he had been able to change one invincible person. For he could not only see a throbbing bold vein showing on her forehead but also her tears that never fell. He’d never seen her cry before. But now, he saw a bead of tear drop from her eye. Had his lovely Kayla changed? He couldn’t be so sure anyway. She was simply unpredictable. He went closer, squatted in front of her, and gave her a brotherly kiss on her forehead. She gazed quietly at him as he did the same and he stared studiously at her beauty and the brownness of her bewitching eyes. Andrew knew he could have fallen into her charm. He was confused again because of her, and she never seemed to stop making his head go round when she was so close, so damn close that Mandy would be far away. He helped her from the sofa. She looked a bit composed. Then she relaxed her head on his left broad shoulder, stretching her long hand to wrap the back of his tough waist as he was forced to hold hers too. Their closeness was so obvious he could not deny it. Andrew enjoyed the romantic grasp. He had a hard time trying to convince himself they were mere friends, and he fell even deeper into a gloomy maze. But she was so sweet inwardly, he thought helplessly again. Gosh, how her company intrigued him entirely! He accompanied her to the bathroom, opened the door, and carried her into the tub. ‘Get a quick shower, right?’ At this instant, Kayla could tell she was really bathed in alcohol. There was no way Andrew could possibly carry her into the tub and instruct her to shower. The lemony bathroom was great. He left pale-looking Kayla standing motionless after nodding at her at the door before taking his gentlemanly leave.

The flow of events went on and on; and Ingrid, fluttering her eyes to the fresh blowing air and taking interest in listening to the rumbling sound from her empty stomach, moved sideways to sit on the bed. The mighty wrestling that persisted between her and memories of Jason Sands had become nothing less than a huge defeat for her trying to get rid of him. She couldn’t have possibly forgotten about him. Hell no! How on bloody earth could she have been able to successfully do that when she couldn’t understand why a part of her hated so much to think about the artist and the other ugly part, so much captivated, unwilling to pause having avid thoughts about him. Hardly did a smooth day pass without the lanky guy, as she always referred to him, consuming her head up. Ingrid was completely deluged in her terror, her panic, as well as the bile sugary sensation whenever she failed to stop thinking about him. Mostly, she thought she was the jolly one as the image of Jason Sands’s face came swinging in second to second. After all, what was more important of these memories than the obsession they put her through every moment of her life lately? Just imagine! She’d thought of him when she’d woken up freshly yester morning to prepare for class. He’d interrupted her studies in the acting class; kissing her frightened, quivering lips in her imaginations during her long drive back home had been great that she’d nearly had her car bump into another vehicle if her jinx had showed up. And now it was clear Ingrid was thinking about Jason Sands. ‘Impossible!’ she scorned the blameless air with tightened teeth. That good-for-nothing guy was not going to take control of her! She promised strongly. Viola had given her good reasons to dare toddle around with some Prince Charming, and for the first time in Ingrid’s life, she’d agreed to the cute lady’s reasons—a nice guy to give her security, to feel proud to walk around the whole place with without entertaining any fears when introducing him to friends and family and some other outrageous illusions Viola had plunged into her head. As far as Ingrid was concerned, she’d made up her mind to wait for Mr. Handsome. And she’d constantly put herself on the watch. Jason was going to be no different. There was no bloody way she would ever allow Jason, this no-cute guy, into her life. He was just not her kind. A handsome, tall, wise guy all the way no matter what! she promised strongly again. For seconds, she was sure she’d dealt with Jason.

Jason was into communications design, doing some art and painting, which he was profoundly great at. She’d been truthful with those eyes of hers that had witnessed his painting of the hot-looking buxom in ankle heels smoking a cigar that very afternoon he spoke sweetly to her. The first time the two spoke! They’d even talked a bit about the recent political uproar before she had left with doubts and several questions on her mind about this guy. She’d felt too proud to vent her cool impression of the prodigy, and she’d just shooed herself out of the site. Ingrid had not been surprised by the content of Jason’s painting. She was sure he wished to tell everyone he was good at the painting and, to top it all, knowledgeable about every single attractive figure of any sort of lassie on campus except perhaps Ingrid herself. His ex-girlfriend Denise Hiker was Ingrid’s course mate—one perky, witless lass! You would think she was sent all the way to the college to flaunt her skinny boyfriend since she gave nobody breathing space. Sure she broadcasted her boyfriend’s so-called good looks when she was seen everywhere blabbering with her friends. She really did love Jason a big deal, you know. She talked about him to her cheer girls, shoulders high. And whenever her friends saw the lovers ambling about together, they gossiped about them especially Jason whom almost every lady on the campus thought hilarious and thought-provoking. Denise had cherished that guy! It was as though he was completely indispensable to her existence on campus. But funny enough, one silly thing led to another, and they broke up after some few months of intense relationship. Denise had preferred keeping silent on their reason for the unexpected separation. She actually did keep silent on it in the sense of not telling any of her friends who asked her of the truth behind the separation. But contrarily, his lovely ex-boyfriend Jason had told his boyfriends he was tired of Denise Hiker. And that she smelled like a skunk from a gutter. Oops!

Dammit! Ingrid hated that guy with all her might. She just couldn’t imagine herself being in that scalding position Denise found herself. Ha! Hell would categorically break loose for Jason if he’d found a wrong girl like her. The news of Jason’s jittery breakup had been all over campus lately. But there were absolutely no questions why somebody like Denise would have the whole college murmuring about her. She was a well-known cheerleader in the college baseball team. Maybe Jason had got a new girl as usual. It’d been rumoured he ditched his lovers and went for another girl every four months. And it was sweeter and hotter romantic moments for him when a more beautiful lady came along so he could brag he had the prettiest lady on campus or a richer lady that he would parade around to his competitive friends. This particular special lady was only lucky to have at most five or six months of tight relationship with Jason, the born artist. It was kind of a game some Don Juans played on the ladies. But why was Ingrid now in Jason’s affairs again? Jason was never her ideal guy. ‘Never, never my kind! Never!’ If so, could somebody ask Ingrid why she was having funny feelings for him? Ha! She actually thought she’d forgotten about him this whole time.

When Andrew finally abandoned his tired back on the back of the sofa, he sighed deeply. His eyes were not blinking; his teeth bit his smooth lips. Then Mandy Williams came speeding from nowhere. She was the very first love of his life. He shut his eyes as if she was the only one he wished to think of. Something came up pointing a couple of questions to him. It prompted his thoughts at once. Did he still love her? Should Mandy rise from the grave and come back to him, which was impossible, would he still love her the way he’d felt for her before? He rubbed his eyes, shutting them harder. His mind was simply made up. No woman could take the place of Mandy. With this speculative decision of Andrew’s, I wish to give him a nice slap, but I simply can’t. Kayla sneezed as she made her steps back to the salon where he sat dozing. Surprisingly, she had not seen Galaxy around. At that hour, she expected to smell the servant from the kitchen, frying and steaming the whole condo in spices. She adjusted the big beige towel covering her then energetically tossed her hair to dry with another towel. Her eyes were all over the sleeping guy as she stood for a few seconds, leering. She moved to his side without thinking. She could see he was asleep. Kayla could judge the guy’s face was cheerless that even though he was sleeping, she saw it.

Throughout the few moments that passed without his presence in the bathroom, Kayla had continued to ponder about the sense Andrew’s outburst carried after vomiting all her fluids from her body, leaving the bathroom in a mixture of lemony fragrance and stinking alcohol that was powerful enough to give her more throw ups. She was glad Andrew had not ascertained the vomiting show, and she realised she had to stop her drinking behaviour once and for all. Ingrid was right. She was selfish, and after all, even though he loathed her drinking galore, she would definitely have a price to pay for this behaviour and she’d seen signs already. The constant headaches and dizziness! Now, she gazed sweetly at him. Did she love him? She thought there was more to her infatuation. She wanted to make love to him. How decisive she was! Then kneeling, her thighs and knees captured his spreading ones in the sofa. She stretched her arms towards his great shoulders while her elbows got comfortably stuck to them. Andrew slowly flared his dark eyes awake, quite aware of the gentle body slipping freshness into his skin through his cotton pair of knickers. Now and the first thing his eyes saw was her clean face out of oils, lemony fragrance lingering all around her, then moist alluring lips, and wet long hair. At once, he felt in love again. The desire for each other at the moment was so handy.

Their eyes rolled around each other flirtatiously, especially Kayla who would take any little chance to steal the young man for herself. ‘Is Galaxy coming this evening?’ she asked him sweetly in a voice Andrew had not heard before. ‘No,’ he answered simply, shaking his head boyishly, Kayla briefly wondering why Galaxy would not show up to cook supper. But that was not as important as this, she thought as Andrew failed himself in disregarding the spectacle of her pretty thin face much as he partly wished to toss her away. But he felt immobile, unwilling and too enchanted by the savage attraction she possessed, so mighty inviting. Their bodies grew inseparably glued up as Andrew hesitated a little before grasping her slim waist. Their lips would crash passionately any second, and she wished she’d already locked her lips to his already. Those nice lips of his! She’d longed to feel the freshness they carried. Unexpectedly, like one of her ugly imaginations, he neglected her in the sofa. Dammit! She could not believe her plan to make love to him was going down the drain in this ideal and tranquil evening without the servant. Gosh, she’d been visualizing this evening for a long time—the oneness. ‘I am very sorry once again. I can’t simply do this. I can’t make love to a woman I have no feelings for. I don’t want to hurt you, girl.’ He gabbled,breathing unpleasantly as if he could not bear imagining a blunder. Andrew was convincing himself Kayla was way out of the question and Mandy was sqeezing his head one more time and he had to touch it painfully.

She felt all the more humiliated as silence crept in the room. She struggled to get up, staring at the back of his head, forcing her confusion out. ‘What do you mean you don’t want to hurt me? I’m ready for this, Andy. I want to be—’ But he faced her in her attempt to let him know how she felt about him, and he replied boldly, ‘I love someone else, Kayla. When I am not sure to be with you, I do not see the sense in capitalising on your feelings for me bysleeping with you.’ He was trying to make her understand. ‘You are for some other wonderful man we are yet to meet, I guess. That aside I… think you’re… kind of having a… crush on me.’ He bit his lower lip, wondering about her reaction. As her face frowned, he felt uneasy. She had a pain he could be right although he knew he had displayed his own feelings. Often, he told himself he had experienced the longest crush on earth with Kayla MacCabee: more than a year till date.’ Now, she wished she could break down into the sofa and cry all her tears to wet its soft material in humiliation or brokenheartedness. Her confusion was enough for her to disregard asking him which woman he claimed had possessed his heart although she too had been available at will. Why had he not informed her earlier than having her sit patiently and put her hopes on him? She felt resentful when this pain began to hurt her deeply. ‘Come now, it’s not that I have something against you. The thing is I want to be your best friend.’ She wanted to hug him, but she felt hesitant, struck dumb about his last utterance. Best friends? She