Blue Words - Part I Read online

  Part I

  A New Beginning

  “Even the most jagged of pasts can be atoned for if given a second chance.”

  George raised her head and glared suspiciously at the alarm clock. It had to be playing games with her. For what felt like hours she had lain awake anxiously rehearsing the coming day and time had barely moved. Now after resting her heavy eyelids for what felt like seconds it had surged forward hours. Five A.M. already. Tabitha would be up soon.

  She had recently developed a need to watch the sunrise with mummy every morning. George had found it cute at first, but the early starts had quickly bludgeoned that cuteness from existence. She had driven herself to the brink of madness trying to put a stop to the early morning intrusions, but still the two year old woke like clockwork at a quarter past five every morning. Mummy was eventually forced to accept it as part of her morning routine, although it would be lying to say that a slide bolt on the outside of Tabitha’s door had never crossed George’s mind.

  Begrudgingly she switched the alarm off, forgoing her last fifteen minutes of precious sleep, and dragged herself out of bed. George slipped her gown on and tied back her long, black hair. She stared at her face in the mirror, poking and stretching at the darkened bags under her eyes. She grumbled something under her breath, gave the reflection a disapproving glare and set about preparing breakfast for Tabitha and herself. In the background the television mumbled and gossiped of events which had occured as she slept.

  “Mining magnate Razeik Grovern was found dead in his home overnight. Police have ruled out foul play citing natural causes as the probable cause of death.”

  Right on time the munchkin emerged from her room. “Morning sweetie,” said George as she filled two tall glasses with orange juice. Tabitha smiled and ran straight over to the large front window of their apartment where she excitedly threw the curtains open and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. George carried the tray of breakfast to the couch and took a seat. The two year old ran over and leapt up onto the couch beside her mother, bouncing a splash of orange juice over the lip of the glass and into George’s lap.

  Their apartment was nothing special to look at; dinted walls, flaking paint, stained carpet and a faint but persistent wet dog smell (despite never actually owning a dog). However, it did have an amazing eastward facing view of Brisbane. As much as George dreaded the early rises, there was no denying that she loved snuggling with Tabitha. She was also painfully aware that these experiences wouldn’t last forever and were something to be treasured while they were an option. So she smiled and patiently endured her sticky lap. Mother and daughter watched as the golden, pink rays of fledgling sun light crept their warming fingers through the high rises of the city and across the river.

  George was not a woman who glowed with maternal instincts. In fact George herself never believed she would ever be a mother. Very much a tomboy in her youth, she had never really been a baby lover; despite working with small children for a living. Before Tabitha had come along George had revelled in her reputation as a party girl with a very fiery temper. Her uni days had been a haze of wild, drunken nights dancing and drinking, followed by long, painful days sleeping and purging.

  A relentlessly competitive spark within meant that she enjoyed staying fit, but an equally relentless desire to reject mainstream culture meant she preferred self defence classes at the local community hall to the city gym which most of her friends attended. The clientele there were far more accepting, with a wider range of ages, backgrounds and personalities to mix with rather than the name brand Barbies at the gym. She felt that her diverse training partners were far less judgmental and, well....bitchy; important to someone like George who so frequently rubbed others the wrong way.

  George could have happily sat and soaked in the morning sun for hours with her daughter, but unfortunately there was no time to linger this morning. Today was the first day of her new job. George had been forced to desert her career as a primary school teacher after Tabitha was born. She loved teaching, but the wages alone simply weren’t enough to support her and Tabitha. So, like many other teachers in recent years, she left education and sought out a position in the state’s highly lucrative mining industry. Today George started her new role as the training co-ordinator of Drake Mineral Resources. The hours were longer, but the income was nearly double that of her former salary.

  The change had not a been a simple one, but after hours of soul searching George had concluded that there was not much point in having a few extra hours a week to spend with Tabitha if she couldn’t afford a home to spend them in.

  George quickly washed and dressed Tabitha before carefully fitting her favourite pink bows into very precise points amongst her curls. Failure to get that right could signal a disastrous morning for all concerned. Tabitha twisted her head side to side in the mirror before accepting her mother’s work. George exhaled a relieved sigh and plonked her in front of the television, so the morning cartoons could babysit.

  George opened her closet to reveal the outfit she had wasted hours fussing over the night before, all meticulously hung out before her. A conservative, black, knee length dress formed the outfit’s core with a newly purchased pair of shoes, which cost far too much, adding accent. She gave the mirror a wry smile, pleased with her selection, and began unsteadily applying her make-up.

  Make up was not something that George often wore, not since Tabitha had been born anyway. Her deep, blue eyes and jet black hair were a striking combination and her faintly freckled cheeks added individuality. It was a natural, early twenties, girl next door beauty which blessed George, one which really didn’t lend itself to heavy make-up. Normally she wouldn’t have even bothered, but George decided she should make an effort; at least for the first few weeks of the new job. Finally she slipped a gold, delicately inscribed locket over her head. George placed a gentle kiss upon it before letting it fall and dangle gracefully between her breasts.

  The clip-clop of high heels drowned out the television as George frantically gathering essentials into both her and Tabitha’s bags respectively. Then, resembling an over laden pack mule she deftly swooped Tabitha up, flicked the cartoons off and slipped out the door; all in one fluent motion.

  Once in the hall George only had to lug her load a few doors before she stopped and knocked at apartment 402. Muffled sounds were struck up from the other side of the door before a cheerful, white haired old lady appeared, her face alight with excitement. “Good morning princess Tabitha,” she said with genuine enthusiasm. Tabitha giggled, her legs running wildly as George lowered her. The moment those feet touched ground she mumbled some gibberish and shot straight through the open door, not giving her mother a second thought.

  “Use your big girl words honey,” George cried after her. “Thank you so much Edna, I will try not to be late home.” She handed Tabitha’s bag over. Edna was one of her friends from self defense class.

  “Don’t even think twice about it dear, I love having her. Bring a nice bottle of red over this afternoon and fill me in on how things go.” George waved goodbye and trotted down the hall to the elevators.

  Footsteps echoed and danced through the concrete parking basement as George scurried over to her car and fussed with the keys to get in. She briefly paused as if ticking boxes on an imaginary list then turned the ignition.

  Click, click, click, click.

  The theatrics began instantly. “No, no, no, please, not today!” she pleaded.

  Click, click, click, click.

  “Arrrrrgh!” she screamed, slamming her fist into the steering wheel. The horn squealed in response startling her. George looked down to see Tabitha’s portable DVD player on the floor, joyfully looping the Toy Story 3 DVD menu. She traced the cord through the seats to find its end plugged into the car’s outlet. Woody and Buzz smiled mockingly at her and her misfortune.

  Now, George had never reacted well in a panic; a personality flaw she was all too aware of. In fact she usually flipped out an
d started throwing punches at anyone stupid or ignorant enough to be within reach, but today was not an average day. Today was a day to keep her cool. So, George drew in a couple of quick breaths and talked herself down a little. “There is still plenty of time,” she reasoned out loud to herself. “This is not the end of the world.”

  Calmly she climbed out of the car and gathered up her belongings. George took another breath, much deeper this time. She checked her reflection in the window and shot off like a mad woman across the parking basement. Now, there is nothing elegant about running in heels. In fact, as she scuttled along she actually resembled a hyperactive penguin, but at that stage George’s urgency far outweighed her pride.

  After being coughed over during the bus ride, awkwardly rubbed against on the ferry transfer and running more than she had in the past two years combined, George finally arrived at the Drake Mineral Resources building. The brand new, neck craning behemoth sat right on the edge of the winding Brisbane River. It towered above the neighbouring high rises, greedily obstructing their view of the lush waterway. At the peak of the concrete mountain it proudly touted the company logo in full neon splendour ‘D.M.R.’. A dragon’s tail wrapped from behind the R,