Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 74366 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74366 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
My throat feels tight but I ignore it. “I’ll show you to your room.”
Your room.
She doesn’t let go of my hand, not even when I’ve pulled her to her feet. She keeps it tight, her little fingers so small in mine. I walk her upstairs and intend to take her right to the end of the landing, to the regular guest room where the sheets are white and there is a TV, an ensuite and wardrobe and regular pictures of poppies and a seaside landscape. The boring room. I should take her there.
But I don’t.
I reach Jane’s room and my legs won’t walk any further. I’m rooted to the spot, mouth dry as I press down the door handle.
Laine’s eyes widen as I flick the light switch, and I know I’m doomed when she smiles.
“Oh wow! Wow!” she says, and she’s taking it all in. The princess castle I made myself out of wood and silver paint. The rocking horse in the corner, the patchwork dollies on the shelf. I see her admire the little dressing table, the white wooden bed carved with hearts.
Sugar and spice and all things nice is stencilled on the wall above the bed.
“That’s what little girls are made of,” she says.
I nod. “Make yourself at home.”
She squeezes my hand before she lets go. “Thanks, Nick. For everything. This is… beautiful…”
I squeeze hers back before I let her go.
“Sleep tight.”
She sits herself on the bed and bounces. “Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”
She’s smiling to herself as I close the door behind her.
Laine
This room is a fairytale paradise.
My heart hurts. It actually hurts.
I’m so jealous of the life Jane must have had, but mainly I’m grateful I get to enjoy it, even if it’s just for one little night.
I sit at her dressing table and use her pretty mirror. I pull down her dolls from the shelf one by one and brush their hair with her cute little princess comb. I look in all the rooms of her princess castle.
I wish I’d have had even one of these beautiful toys growing up.
I wish I’d have had a sugar and spice and all things nice message written above my bed.
But most of all I wish I’d had a dad like Nick.
Jane must’ve been so lucky.
I wonder how many times she played with the cute little Alice in Wonderland tea set at the bottom of the bed, whether she rode her rocking horse every single day or just took it for granted and left it sitting untouched. I wonder how long she’s been gone from here. How old she is. What she looks like.
I snoop around a bit, but can’t find any photographs of her.
There’s one drawing, pinned behind the door. Nothing but a scribble really, a scribbled man with a smiley face.
DaDDy.
She must have been young when she drew that. Much too young to fit into the dressing gown I’m wearing.
My heart thumps in gratitude for her daddy. He saved me. Rescued me and gave me a birthday cake, kept me warm and dry and safe.
I hope he knows how grateful I am.
Maybe when I’m home I can offer him dinner, just something small, a little something to say thank you. Maybe I could cook for him. For us. Something nice…
The thought of Nick being in my house is like an ice water bath. Nick wouldn’t belong there, amongst the cracked kitchen tiles and the fridge that doesn’t really shut properly, not unless you kick it. Nick is opulent and stylish and classy. Nick is… Perfect.
My tummy flutters.
Nick is perfect.
I turn on the little white lamp on the bedside table and take off my dressing gown, feeling strangely young myself, naked in this little girl’s room. I hang the dressing gown on the back of the door by the DaDDy picture.
I climb into Jane’s bed and stare up at the ceiling, think about her lying here and knowing her daddy is just along the corridor, ready to keep her safe this day and tomorrow and the next day, and every single day until she’s all grown up.
I wish that could have been me.
I think about Nick’s firm grip on my arm when he rescued me from the road. I hear his voice as he told that horrible man to leave me alone. He was so strong, so powerful…
I think about his hand gripping mine.
I think about his hands…
I don’t usually touch myself. Just every now and again, every so often. Kelly Anne laughs at me, says I’m a stupid prude because I’ve never even used a vibrator.
How can you never have used a vibrator? Christ, Laine, you’re such a little kid!
I remember how she laughed when I told her I’d never used a tampon, only towels. I remember how horrified she’d looked when I told her I’d never put my fingers inside myself.