Page 22 of Sad Girl Hours
No one opened the front door when I knocked so I just came right in and up the stairs.
“How’d you get in?” Vivvie’s sitting on the floor of Saffron’s room; she appears to be embroidering flowers coming out of the pockets of Saffron’s jeans.
“You left your door unlocked. You really shouldn’t do that. What if there was an intruder?”
“You mean, like a dashing poet who’s come to kidnap me and take me on a mysterious adventure?” Saffron tosses her words (and a smile) over at me as she slides her phone into her tote bag and checks her reflection in the mirror, gold crescent moons and stars swinging from each ear as she leans forward.
“No, Saffron, like an axe murderer.”
She comes over to me, places her hands on my shoulders and spins me round. “Hmm. It doesn’t look like you’re carrying an axe. Or a sword, or any other miscellaneous weapon. Not unless they’re very small and well concealed.”
“If the laws of this stupid country permitted it, Iwouldbe carrying a sword. Imagine this –” I gesture down at my body – “but with a sword. I’d look so cool, and I’d be able to challenge so many men to duels.”
“Probably why the country doesn’t permit it really. Given that our lawmakers are almost exclusively men who don’t want holes in their livers,” Vivvie notes, while Saffron says,
“You would look very cool with a sword.”
“Thank you. Now, you ready to go?”
I feel like there’s the briefest moment where she hesitates, but I must be mistaken because she then says, “Yep. Ready and excited to engage in all manner of mystery activities.”
“Allmanner, huh?” I say. “I might add a few things to the agenda then.”
I realise how that could be interpreted a millisecond after it’s left my mouth. Vivvie smirks and Saffron’s already blushed cheeks intensify in their pink colour.
“LIKE CRIMES,” I say, a couple of decibels louder than is necessary. “You know, if there’s no restrictions, I might suggest we cause even more chaos than originally planned. Maybe some grand theft alpaca-ing or stealing a loaf of bread and seeing if we can convince a police person to sing Javert’s part ofLes Miswith us… Never mind, let’s go,” I add when neither of them stops me from blustering on further.
Saffron dutifully follows me out.
We catch the bus in town and take our seats at the back (safe to say I was not a cool kid in high school so I’ve got to make up for it now). Saffron insists that I take the window seat, despite me protesting that she should sit there instead.
“So, we’re definitely heading north,” she says as the bus pulls out of the station and heads away from town, in the opposite direction to campus.
“Casper was right: your geography skillsareimproving. And speaking of Casper, he offered to lend us his beloved car, but I respectfully declined given that I’m never sure Sally’s going to make it down the hill to Sainbury’s in one piece, never mind to—”
“To where?” “You’ll see.”
“No other hints?”
“Nope. I already gave you an excellent one.”
She pulls a mock-grumpy face that’s somewhat adorable. “Fine.”
We chat for a while as the bus carries on out of town and on to the motorway, before crossing theWelcome to CUMBRIA, The Lake Districtsign (I point it out just in time for Saffron to film us flying past it for her video) and swapping the parallel expanses of grey for more winding roads. We both stare out of the window as we blur past ancient oak trees, some eager leaves already fading into ambers and mustards, until we reach our stop.
“C’mon,” I say to Saffron, gesturing for her to shuffle out into the aisle as I spy a sign coming up on the road. “This is us.”
We climb off the bus and I point up a road diverting off the main carriageway. “This way.”
Walking steadily up the road, past an old stone pub, over a cattle grid, russet leaves on tree sentinels guiding us round the path and up the slight slope towards our destination, I catch Saffron looking around. When she feels my eyes on her, she smiles.
“It’s pretty here, isn’t it?” I say.
“It is,” she answers, sounding a little surprised.
“I’ve been here with my family lots of times. It’s one of my favourite places.”
“This road?” she asks. “No judgement,” she adds quickly. “It’s a very good road.”
