It Never Rains in Colombia (6 page)

             
“Eugh,” she dropped them on the bed. “You can have them, Sophia,” she said taking the T-shirt instead.

             
When he was leaving, he said, “Worked like a charm. I prefer you in a T-shirt anyway.” Harlow threw the pyjamas at the door in the direction of his retreating head. He ducked back round the white door frame, calling, “missed me,” then ran away.

             
She felt the throbbing in her ankle and felt a bit queasy that night, replaying the events of the party in her head. She tried to work out how she had gotten it so wrong. Once those sad thoughts floated away she drifted into sleep, but from time to time she was awoken by Sophia's tossing and turning.

             
That night, Harlow's dreams were settled and comforting, leaving her with a feeling that she hadn't experienced in months—peacefulness.

             
In the morning, she woke up feeling the dull ache in her ankle and was reminded of her antics the night before. Unable to remember what she had dreamed, she found herself alone in the large, well-decorated room. Throwing the ivory-coloured, gold-lined, duvet covers off of her. The memory of Christian came rushing back to her like the sea meeting the shore, and with it came a sense of relief. She left the room, and when she returned from her shower she donned an oversize shirt and some jeans she found neatly folded on the mahogany desk next to the door. She put on the slippers and hobbled down the bright sunlit hallway with the aid of her crutches, expecting to hear the sounds of lively chatter downstairs. She descended the staircase and through trial and error found an empty study, living room, and a locked door until finally she discovered Christian and Sophia in the kitchen with an older woman she didn't recognize.

             
“Morning,” Harlow said politely as the crutches clicked into the room. Seeing Christian's face, she felt emboldened.

             
“Hey,” Sophia greeted her, “I didn't want to wake you. I honestly didn't think I could,” she continued with a sly smile.

             
“Harlow, this is my mum,” Christian explained as she took a seat at the dinner table.

             
“Hello,” the woman said, smiling politely at her from the other end of the table. Harlow got the impression from the stern look in her eyes that she had not been expecting visitors.

             
“Have something to eat,” he said, getting up from his chair and heading over to the fridge, “Toast?”

             
“Sure,” she said, immediately feeling the impropriety of her situation. She cringed when she thought of the impression she had created on the woman and got up to join him at the fridge, clicking as she went.

             
“What would you like?” he asked.

             
His mother left the room.

             
Sophia crunched quietly on the crisps, watching Harlow eat her breakfast. From time to time, she would glance at Christian and then look away quickly.

             
“What's wrong?” Harlow asked.

             
Christian looked up from his sandwich.

             
Under his gaze, Sophia shut down, feeling the anger she had felt that morning rise up and threaten to erupt. She gave Harlow a tight smile, “It's nothing. I just have some stuff to do.” She paused. “When are we going?” 

             
“I can drop you guys off, if you want?” Christian offered.

             
“No, it’s fine,” Sophia said coldly.

             
“That sounds like a good idea,” once she'd said it, Sophia gave her the strangest look.

             
“Let me know when you're ready,” Christian said uncertainly. He seemed subdued by the odd atmosphere that had settled over the table.

             
Harlow began to feel uncomfortable. She realised that it had been there all along. “What about my bike?”

             
“It's a write-off,” he said, “you totalled that thing with your BMX stunts.”

             
“Oh no,” she cringed, “I can't just leave it there, my granddad got it for me.”

             
“No, it's fine. Mei said she'd take care of it,” Sophia reassured her.

             
Silence descended upon them. When Harlow had first come into the kitchen she had confronted a silent tension that had increased under the strain of their forced chatter. She was so preoccupied with her own problems that she hadn't noticed. All the time she had been eating, she had sensed that he was restraining himself and felt that he was colder to her than before. Her mind was so consumed with trying to work out what had happened to her bike and why Roberto had been so awful to her that she had forgotten she had a home to go to. Sophia excused herself from the table and Christian followed to show her to the bathroom. She could hear them arguing in Spanish; raised voices and harsh tones that carried downstairs.

             
When he returned, he avoided her eyes.

             
“Do you want some dessert?” he asked, clearing away the plates before she even had a chance to answer.

             
“Let me help?” she insisted, springing up from her seat, using the crutches, as he leaned past her to reach for a plate. He gathered the four plates up, putting three of the glasses, some still partly filled with orange juice, on top of each other. As he stacked them, Harlow noticed the food on Sophia's plate was untouched.

             
He lifted the plates, “It's okay. Relax.”

             
She watched his back as he walked to the large sink across the room on the wall to her left. He began clearing the food off the plates. She started making her way over to him when a loud beeping sound emanated from the table. Turning back, she saw her phone light up: 1 message, Sophia. “Can't stand him let’s take the train please! I'll tell you later xx.”

             
She was simultaneously crestfallen and curious watching the back of his curly brown hair, wondering what was going on. He seemed really nice. In fact, he'd gone out of his way to help her.

             
“Hey,” Sophia appeared in the doorway. “Ready to go?” She asked brightly.

             
“Uh, yeah,” Harlow replied, feeling disorientated by the sudden shift in her friend's mood. “Hey, Christian, where's the nearest train station?”

             
He turned around looking surprised. “I get car sick. So don't worry about dropping us, I would prefer the train anyway,” Harlow explained.

             
He washed the soap off his hands and began wiping them on a dish cloth. “It's not far. Just go all the way down the road, turn right, walk until you see the bus stop. Then you'll see the station across the road.”

             
“Thanks,” she said, getting up and pocketing her phone. “I'll get my stuff.”

             
“Oh, ok,” he nodded.

             
As she left the room with Sophia, she wasn't sure, but it seemed to her that he looked saddened by her words.

             
Sophia rushed up the stairs. When they were in the bedroom, Sophia went to the right side of the bed and snatched her bag up from the floor, she took the pile of her clothes from the table adjacent to the foot of the bed and stuffed them in. Harlow tried to busy herself, moving slowly, waiting, lingering for an explanation.              

             
Sophia handed her a blue plastic bag. “Here. I'll tell you later. I just need to get out of here.” Harlow shook the bag, “Where did you get this from?”

             
“He left them with the new clothes,” Sophia explained hurriedly with a tinge of irritation in her voice.

             
Harlow placed the skirt, wings, and shirt in the bag and laid the shoes on top. Sophia was already waiting at the door.              

             
When he saw them out of the house she felt a cool breeze on her arms. Christian was wearing a navy T-shirt and he seemed impatient to shut the door.

             
“Thank you for last night. I was really out of it.”

             
He nodded, “It's cold out here, you should go. Bye Sophia,” he called to her back as she started down the road.

             
Harlow turned away angrily, startled by his abruptness. His eyes lingered on her as she hurried to catch up with Sophia, who was already a significant way down the road. She never heard the door close. By the time she had gone halfway down the road, her arms were covered in goosebumps and her ankle ached, her eyes were watering from the battering of the cold wind that frequently swept grains of sand and dirt up from the road in to her face. She couldn't wait to go home.

             
“Harlow.”

             
She turned around at the sound of his voice. He was running toward her. For a moment, her heart stopped.

             
He reached her quickly and handed over a black coat, “Here, sorry I couldn't find a girl's one. Are you sure you don't want a lift?”

             
“Yes,” she nodded, putting on the coat gratefully. “Thank you. I thought—”

              “You should go,” he interrupted her, his eyes fixed on something behind her.

             
She turned around, following his gaze, and noticed that the street was empty. When she turned back to him, she found his back already moving away from her.

Chapter 7 – The Party's Over...We Had a Ball

             
On Monday, Harlow returned to school unaware of the commotion she had caused amongst the student body. The fault lines from Saturday were still blindingly clear. The orthodox hierarchy of the student body had been shattered. Divisions had torn friends apart into two opposing groups; old rivalries had been forced to the surface because of the furore caused by her humiliation.

             
She entered a class and people stopped talking. Some came over to speak to her as she hobbled in on her crutches, but most kept a weary distance. The older girls would snigger as she passed. In the crowded corridors and the queue for lunch, students would bump into her almost knocking her to the ground and then laugh unapologetically, melting back into the crowd.  

             
“K.O.” someone shouted, and students in the lunch queue burst into laughter.

             
Her eyes misted with hot tears of anger so that the perpetrator's faces were blurred as she gathered her tray and its contents from the shiny white floor. There were sounds of a scuffle, then a heated argument. Harlow looked up as someone shouted, “You better hope she slaps you before I do!” That was how a previously unknown level of violence reared its head at Rutherfords. Students who had long been enemies settled old scores under the pretext of “Harlow's Justice.”

             
The week she returned, she witnessed six fights, heard of seven more, and stood back as class debates turned into shouting matches. It became unbearable. At home, her mind was on the hundreds of eyes that would follow her the next morning. The stalled conversations, the snide remarks that drifted past her ears. On Tuesday, she didn't return to school. As a result of feeling a sudden overwhelming pain in her ankle, she remained shut up in her room for the rest of the week watching reruns of
Clueless
from the safety of her bed. The pain in her ankle became so overwhelming that her parents derided her for proposing to walk on it, even downstairs, without the aid of crutches.

             
Her sister scrutinized her ankle knowingly.

             
Her phone remained silent, telling her that only T-mobile was interested in her sanity. She was enveloped by a black smoke of melancholy that choked her lungs, pressing down on her chest and against the walls of her room; normally pink, they were darkened by its stain. Only the glaring lights of the television and Alice's irreverent chatter pushed through the dark cloud.

             
On Friday, Alice complained that the room was too hot and made her nostrils feel stuffed up. She opened the windows to get some fresh air and it seemed to Harlow as if the thick black smoke were sucked out, leaving the room airy and bright. The walls gleamed their magnificent pink colour. That day, Alice convinced her that they should go for a walk. She agreed begrudgingly, limping along the road.