The Dark Knight [Part One] Read online

  As soon as we pull up, I grab my satchel and head straight upstairs to my bedroom. It's pretty average in size, but I'm going to miss it when I don't get to wake up in it every morning after tomorrow night.

  “Please can you start packing now, Em? There are some boxes in the hallway and newspaper and bubble wrap on our bed.” Well it didn't take her long to crack the whip, I think to myself. I haven't even taken my school uniform off yet.

  “Sure thing, Ma’am,” I mutter under my breath. I quickly drop all my clothes to the floor and step over to my drawers. Pulling out some yoga bottoms, that have never actually been used for yoga, and a crop top, I get changed and pin my long black hair into a high ponytail. I take one last look around at all my belongings in their rightful places. “Nothing will ever be the same again,” I grumble and leave to collect the Devil’s equipment from my parents’ bedroom.

  Oh yeah, did I mention I take after my mum in the drama department?

  ***

  Before I know it, I'm packing the last box and my room is looking foreign. This has been my bedroom forever; I grew up in this house. It's just a standard house on a standard street, but it's my home. It has three bedrooms, a bathroom upstairs and a toilet downstairs. It has a living room, dining room, average sized kitchen and an awesome garden that me and Dylan used to play in all the time.

  My bedroom is currently painted pink, but it hasn't been updated in years. All the accessories are variations of pink; the curtains, bedspread, rug. My mum agreed that I could decorate my new bedroom however I want in the new house. I'm old enough to not have a bedroom that looks as though a fairy has puked up years of glitter dust and shit My Little Pony all over the walls. I'm sixteen now, not twelve and it's time to reinvent myself. What’s that saying? New country, new me... Yeah, right. Mum made it clear I can do what I want, as long as I’m not rebelling to the extreme. She really doesn’t want the walls painted black, which I would never do.

  Don't get me wrong, I still dress and act like a girl, but I'm nearly an adult now. Shit, is everything twenty-one in the US? Man, it's eighteen here! Things are getting better and better.

  ***

  There's a knock on my door and dad walks in. My dad is literally my hero. We have a really close relationship compared to mum and me. Dad says it's because me and mum are too alike, so we butt heads. Whatever, I think that’s just a polite way of saying my mum is a complete bitch sometimes. She's moody, sarcastic and has a flair for the dramatics. Plus, she says whatever the hell she wants, whether she thinks you'll like it or not. I went to a friend’s party once and wore some heels that were pretty damn high. She told me I looked like a stripper. Her own daughter! So, I flipped her the bird and strutted off.

  I know I’m a lucky one. My parents are very lenient with me, not quite as lenient as Phoebe’s folks, mind. I’m allowed go to parties, dress up, spend the monthly pocket money – okay, it’s more like a standing order – my dad puts into my bank account however I want. I swear, smoke and sometimes drink. As long as I don't act like a total idiot, they are pretty fucking cool. From the things I already do, I'm guessing all they want for me is not to be a drug dependant teen mum.

  “Hey, kid. Wow, you're practically done in here.” I stand up to hug my dad and take a look around my bedroom. I've finished, apart from a pile of unwanted pink fabric strewn in the corner.

  “I am done, dad. Mum said I can leave all the pink stuff behind.” He smiles and nods. I think he understands why I'm really ditching it all. Deep down, I don't want my new bedroom to look like this one and when I pull the curtains back every day, not seeing the park across the street or the main road just beyond it. I don't want to be reminded that I'm not at home anymore, when it feels like I am.

  Also, fuck the fairies.

  “I get it, kid. Come on, it's already eight and you haven't eaten yet. The pizza should be here in..” he trails off as he looks at the watch on his left wrist. Before he has time to pick up where he left off, the doorbell rings. We both laugh and walk out of my room.

  ***

  We're all stuffing our faces with pizza and side orders that have been spread out over the living room coffee table. Mum and dad are sat on one sofa discussing final things about the move on Saturday and Dylan is sat in the armchair watching cartoons. I'm on the floor using my mobile to scroll through Facebook, reading all the goodbye messages from friends and acquaintances. It makes me feel sad all over again.

  “Sharon, Emilia is all finished with her bedroom, so I've told her she can meet up with Phoebe tomorrow evening. It'll be the last time she'll get to see her before we leave for the hotel on Friday morning.” I turn my head towards my dad so fast, it cracks. Ouch!

  “That's totally fine, Max, as long as everything is done?” Mum looks at me with a perfectly plucked dark eyebrow raised in question. She is the strict parent; the bad cop, but she never argues with my dad. They're so in love, it makes me feel queasy. I nod and smile at her and she smiles back. “We're visiting Grandma Violet tomorrow afternoon, so you'll have to wait until the evening to see Phoebe.” I want to see my Grandma Violet more than anything, so I'm glad we're fitting in a last-minute visit with her.

  “Sure, mum. I'm just going in the garden and then to bed. Night guys, love you all.” I get a chorus of ‘love you’ in return and head towards the back door so I can have a cigarette before I head upstairs.

  ***

  It’s just before twelve when the whole family get into my dad's silver Audi and head to Grandma Violet’s house. It only takes ten minutes to walk there, but it’s pouring with rain outside so dad decides to drive us.

  Another day in mourning.

  Grandma Violet lives in a little two-bedroom bungalow, two streets over from us. She doesn’t need two bedrooms anymore, but Dylan and I used to have sleepovers most weekends when we were younger. Dad always says he wants to put her in a nursing home, so she isn’t alone, but Grandma Violet keeps refusing. Says she has loads of life left in her and can look after herself. I totally agree with her. I mean, she still goes to the gym every other day. I think dad just worries that she can’t drive, and she won’t have us around to help after today. She has a lot of friends that take her places, though and there are special buses that come around especially for the old people. I think she will be fine without us, but I’m not sure I’ll be fine without her.

  ***

  That night Phoebe comes over. We have Chinese take-out and sit on my bedroom floor just talking, laughing and doing what best friends do.

  Before I know it, it's Friday night and me and my family are sat on the plane that will be taking us to our new home.

  New Jersey, USA.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Emilia

  Some might say I’m a spoilt kid

  Stepping out of the airport after an eight-hour flight, I'm suddenly hit with warm stifling air. It's nothing like home. I'm not even sure what day it is here. Is England a whole day behind us? In front of us? How the fuck am I supposed to keep in contact with Phoebe if I don't have any concept of time anymore?

  Ugh.

  ***

  We're driven to our new home by a fat, sweaty old man with a shiny bald spot dead centre of his head and a full beard with leftover food festering inside it. Fucking animal. His taxi, cab, car thingy – whatever it’s bloody called, absolutely stinks. Surely if my dad's job is that much better out here, they could've sent a company car to pick us up?

  The streets are loud and bustling. People are literally throwing themselves in front of moving cars just to get to the other side of the road. These people are crazy! There are horns tooting, drivers shouting and cars swerving across four lanes to get to an exit. I don't know how I'll ever get used to this. Everyone looks to be in a mad rush.

  ***

  We've been driving for about two hours and I've put my earplugs in to drown out all the noise. It took fucking ages to untangle the stupid cable after stuffing them in my pocket as we disembarked the plane, but I finally managed
. Now I'm watching everything flash by at rapid speed.

  So many suits.

  Buildings upon buildings.

  People running with dogs.

  People walking dogs.

  Dogs walking dogs!

  I think we might need a dog just to attempt to fit in here.

  My mind is like a camera, taking snap shot after snap shot until we finally reach a pleasant, but quiet street. Every house has a huge front garden, small white picket fence with a gate protecting the lush green lawn from footprints. They also have a mailbox, porch and double driveway. I feel like I'm on the set for Desperate Housewives.

  There are plenty of children running around, playing on the pavements and I let out a small sigh of relief that at least Dylan will be alright here. He didn't have many friends at home. I give his small hand a light squeeze with my own and he turns from watching out the window to smile at me. God, I love him so much. He looks so much like dad – blonde hair and blue eyes. He's not that tall yet, but I think it'll happen soon. He's currently not that much smaller than me, but that isn't saying much.

  As we pull up and start piling out of the taxi, cab, car thingy with our hand luggage, a huge removal truck pulls up right behind us. A cute guy, maybe twenty or so, leans out of the rolled down window to shout our family name as a question. My dad jogs over to him to confirm he is at the right house while my mum stands smiling and waving at the neighbours who have come out to see who the newbies at number six, Thistle Gardens are. One woman waves her over, so she trots away to get her fill on who’s who. She is going to fit in perfectly here, she loves a good gossip.

  Dylan tugs on my hand slightly, so I look down at him. Like, ever so slightly down. He’s a quiet kid and finds it hard to fit in sometimes. “Emilia, can I go see what they're playing?” He points over to a group of three boys who are sat on the pavement looking over at us and smiling.

  “Sure thing, buddy. Don't go far, mum and dad will kill me.” I mock pulling a noose around my neck, roll my eyes back and flop my tongue out sideways. He smiles at my morbidity and nods before running away. I don't bother looking around more, I just want to check out my new bedroom and find the best selfie spot. I wonder over to my dad and the guy who was driving the truck to see what's going on. The guy has a name badge on his top – Wesley. What the hell sort of a name is Wesley for a guy that's kind of cute? His eyes lazily roam over my body before he reaches my eyes and smirks at me. I'm wearing black skinny jeans, a tight red camisole and red ballet flats to match. My blazer is resting on top of the bags the taxi driver left in the middle of our new driveway.

  I wink at Wesley and smirk back. I've never gone all the way with a boy before – I am only sixteen! I've had boyfriends, though. We've kissed and put our hands and mouths on each other’s private parts – man, I sound like such a baby. I’ve had a dick in my mouth a time or two, okay? That's as far as I've ever gone before. I haven't saved my virginity or anything, I just haven't found the right person to give it to yet. I don't want my first time to be with some sixteen-year-old that can’t even say vagina without laughing. It's going to hurt me, according to Phoebe, so I at least want to get something out of it that I don't think a sixteen-year-old boy will be able to give me.

  I do, however, like to mess with guys a little – like Wesley here. See, he’s probably thinking he is going to get some from me, but I'm just teasing him. All he would get from me is a quick snog. Plus, dad will jump in any second.

  “You're here to put your hands on my furniture, not my daughter so don’t even think about it. Emilia, go and open the front door.” I grab the keys dangling from my dad's hand and just before I turn to leave, I see Wesley looking down at the floor, his face as red as my top. I silently laugh to myself on my stroll up the drive, a special kind of sway in my hips just for him. I’m so evil.

  When I get to the porch, I can see the house is actually really stunning from the outside on closer inspection. There are hanging flower baskets overflowing with beautiful colours and a swing seat on the wooden porch. The front door is painted a stark white with a golden knocker and doorbell attached.

  I push open the door and look down a rather long hallway. Right at the end of it, I can see the kitchen and right at the beginning, where I’m still standing, are the stairs. Left from the front door is the dining room and right is the sitting room. Under the stairs are two doors; one is a cupboard and the other is a large powder room. I keep going, making my way to the kitchen. Mum loves cooking so she will be happy that it's, well, it’s fucking massive! The built-in cooker and appliances all look stupidly high tech but should be easy enough to use. For the rest of us. Mum doesn’t stand a bloody chance. There's a wash, cleaning, laundry room thingy attached to the kitchen and the door at the end leads out into the back garden. I seriously need to do some research into ‘how to speak fluent American’ before I start school. I'm going to stand out like a bright red, throbbing, sore thumb.

  I don't know which key on the chain dad gave me unlocks the back door, so I have a quick look through the window. It looks twice the size of ours back home. I'm going to need to stop referring to our 'old' house as 'home'. This is home now. I sigh and move back through the house, ending up in the living room. The whole place is like a massive circle. Each room leads straight onto the other, no doors to stop you, just doorways to pass through. The living room is really light and spacious. It faces the front garden and from where I'm stood I can see Dylan. He looks really happy with his new friends which, in spite of everything, makes me feel better about being here. God only knows where my mother has disappeared to. I leave the living room and go upstairs. There are four bedrooms, but my dad is using the smallest one right at the top of the stairs as his home office. The landing is huge, and all of the doors are spread apart from each other, giving me the idea that I might actually get some privacy from my nosy mum.

  The first room I go in automatically confirms it’s going to be Dylan's. It's already painted blue with a plush blue carpet to match. I already figured from the downstairs, dad must have arranged the interior with his company. They’ve been busy cleaning the house and setting things up for us, ready for our arrival.

  The next room is a double bedroom with built in wardrobes, cream walls and carpet. Totally my parents’ room because it’s boring as fuck. Also, a few weeks ago, dad joked that they would need to be close to Dylan’s bedroom to make sure he doesn’t stay up on his PlayStation all night.

  The next door I open is to the bathroom and my God, I've never seen anything like it. One side is a full-size bathtub, the other a floor to ceiling walk-in shower; the toilet and sink in between the both. The old house only had a shower, so I can’t wait to have a nice, long soak with tonnes of fruity scented bubbles in this tub. It's painted in neutral, calming colours and thankfully faces the back garden, so no one will hear my awful shower voice. Yes, I’m a shower singer.

  The final room I look in is completely bare. It's the biggest bedroom, with a walk-in wardrobe and an en-suite bathroom. No bath, but the shower looks fabulous. Just as I'm stood there, taking it all in with the biggest smile on my face, my dad walks in behind me and wraps his arm around my shoulders. “Your mum and I thought you might like this room. It can be your own space, where you and your new friends can hang out. It's big enough for sleepovers and a desk in the corner for your homework. I know we asked a lot of you bringing you here, so we want you to be comfortable. We told the decorators to leave this room alone, that we would do it ourselves. What do you think, kid?”

  I turn and throw my arms around him. “It's perfect, dad. Thank you so much. You really didn't need to do this though, the room next door to Dylan would've been plenty big enough.” I pull away and look up at him. This man would do absolutely anything for his family and I love him so much for it.

  “No, sweetheart. All the other rooms are ready to put our furniture in. This one is yours to do what you want with. Plus, we need to keep an eye on Dylan otherwise he will be up all bloody nigh
t on that console.” He shakes his head and I realise he was being serious when I thought he’d said it as a joke.

  “Thank you, dad. Love you,” I say as I reach up to kiss his cheek and then we walk hand in hand back downstairs.

  Some might say I'm a spoilt kid and yeah, I would totally agree with them.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Emilia

  I think I’ll call him my Dark Knight

  A week and a half of living in New Jersey, our new house is looking damn fine. Dad pretty much started work straight away so I helped mum fix up most of it. I have no idea what he even does all day, but to get us a house in a different country, that was already fully furnished, well, it must be good.

  Dad took me shopping over the weekend for paints, wallpaper and carpet. I obviously couldn't fit the carpet or hang the wallpaper, but I painted three walls duck egg blue. After shopping for bedroom accessories, we went to buy some new clothes and equipment for school. I actually got quite a lot of stuff and add that to all of the clothes I already have; my walk-in wardrobe is nearly full. It's now Wednesday and I start at my new school tomorrow. Apparently, they like new students to only have a short first week so they have the weekend to get any extra equipment they might need and memorise their timetables. I'm cool with that.

  My carpet was fitted on Monday morning, my wallpaper hung that same afternoon, so at least I won't wake up tomorrow with a headache from all the fumes. Mum made me leave my bedroom window open every day and night since. If I don't have a migraine, I'm pretty sure I'll have a cold. The nights here aren't like the days. I also found out, with the help of Google and confirmation from dad, we're only five hours ahead of the UK so me and Phoebe were able to FaceTime quite easily over the weekend. During the week it'll be slightly harder. We've agreed weekends are for all the important stuff, texting throughout the week all the other stuff. What? We are teenage girls. This shit needed a solid timetable.