Out of Reach

This is a story of a teenage romance which blossoms into something beyond beautiful. It has twists and turns, where a young couple fall in and out of love with each other and other people. How do their lives pan out in the end though?


2. Just another day


I always used to say after my mother left, this is the end. My dad said that it was no such thing. He said it was the beginning. That was when I was 12, and even though I still really miss her, now 3 years on I have stopped grieving. Now this is the end of the beginning.      

   This morning when I wake up, I look around my room. The sun shines through my pink curtains that were put in my room as a baby, and as I draw them open I see the sun is just climbing over the hills, hanging low in the pale blue sky. I walk over to my bed and pull the quilt up neatly, making my box room instantly seem presentable, and then I check the time, seeing it’s half six.      

   It’s Saturday, the day that I work, and will do until I leave school, where I shall work full time. I pull my dungarees on over the top of a pink shirt and throw my hair into a scruffy topknot. Running down the stairs, I scramble my way into the kitchen, and rummage through the cupboards to find a cereal bar.     

   Karen is doing the ironing. She doesn’t do any of the heavy work anymore because she is quite heavily pregnant. My mama and gramps still work though, and will continue to until they are sixty five (another ten years). I work and so do my dad and my uncle Jack.     

   Altogether, we have six chickens, two cows, three sheep, four horses and a pig. The pig, Julie, is pregnant as well as Karen, but she’s only a month along. We found out last Monday.       

   I run outside, trying to open my cereal bar at the same time and bump straight into my dad. It is a big mistake to make when he’s in a bad mood like this morning.      

   “What do you think you’re doing?” He yells.                                                              

   “Sorry dad, I didn’t mean to!” I panic.      

   “Go and collect the eggs.” He says angrily.       

   Running round the outside of our house, I reach the chicken run and collect the eggs from the nests. It doesn’t take a minute for me to run them inside.      

   “Here you go.” I put them on the kitchen worktop and run outside. My mama shouts something behind me but I don’t hear.     

   I make my way up to the vegetable patch and get a basket, harvesting the ripest veg. Then I put the basket on the side for a minute as I find the fertiliser and put in the soil. I spray bug spray on the other cabbages and go back into the house, carrying the cabbages.    

   Whilst working, my mind is side-tracked and I wonder if I should pop next door, but I go against the idea, for I’ve too much to do.     The sun is hot today, and although it’s early I can feel it’s rays reaching me, and heating me up. I know that later, if I don’t wear sun block, I’ll get burnt.       

   I run back to the horses and groom them. By this time its half past twelve so I go inside to grab some lunch. I scrub my hands thoroughly first and then my mama makes me a sandwich with some homemade bread and salad out the yard. She gives me a glass of milk and then calls my dad and gramps inside to have their lunch.     

   Jack is already in the kitchen as this morning he washed all the windows, swept the yard and then made the beds. We all sit around the large kitchen table, everyone with the same identical food. We eat, enjoying every mouthful, and I am the first one to finish as I was so hungry. I sit and wait for everyone else to finish and then we all get back to work. Karen starts ironing, Jack goes on the laptop and starts to check what deliveries need to be made, dad starts loading the truck full of veg for the deliveries, mama washes the pots, gramps tends the crops and I ride the horses. That is my afternoon job. I had to ride each horse for half an hour, put their rugs on and take them out to the field.     

   My horse is white with a grey sock, she used to be my mums, and she got her when she was twenty four. Her name’s Peace. Karen got hers at the same time. Her’s is a white appaloosa with black spots. She was named Damask. My dad’s horse is Black with a white stocking and a star under his forelock, and was called Pringles. The last horse is only a year old and is the offspring of Peace and Pringles, an unlikely pair.  His name is Aura. He’s very sweet and my job is to break him in. We got his tack only three months ago and he is taking to the canter quite well. I think he has potential. Gramps said that if I bring him up completely on my own then he could be mine.       

   I turn out the horses and then find my dad. “Dad, I need to ask you something.” I say, choosing my words carefully.       

   “What is it? I’m busy.” He says, loading the last of the crates into the truck.       

   “Please can I go to a party tonight?” I ask, bracing myself. He scratches his head and sighs.      

   “Look Megan, you know how busy we are lately. Everyone needs to pitch in, and you going off gallivanting isn’t going to help anyone.”       

   “But dad!”     

   “No buts Megan, you heard what I said.”    

   “But I promise you I’ll come back before the party ends, and I’ll work all day tomorrow with you, and even on school nights too.”    

   “Your mother didn’t go round partying, she stayed in and looked after you 24:7. I don’t condone it Megan, and I don’t like the fact that you’re arguing with me either.”    

   “I’m sorry, but this party’s so big, and. apparently just about everyone from year 10 upwards are going.”    

   “I’m not convinced.”   

    “I’ll come home before 10 ‘o’ clock. In fact, before 9, I promise.”    

   “And you’ll work tomorrow?” He asks. I know I’ve succeeded.    

   “Yes, I promise.”     

   “Then you can go.” I hug him tightly, and feel so happy that I may finally be able to let loose and live a little.    

   When I reach the top of the stairs, I go into the bathroom, stripping myself down and leaving my filthy clothes in a pile. The water from the shower head rushes down in steamy gallons, and I wash myself hard to try and get the farm smell off of me. I rub myself down with a towel and then walk into my room. Looking through my wardrobe for inspiration, I get changed into one of my favourite dresses. It’s pink, with a colourful flower pattern on it, it has buttons up the sides and little frills on the shoulders. It’s quite short, well; it’s about an inch and a half above my knee. I go to the bottom of my wardrobe and find my silver flip flops. I chuck them onto the floor and slip them on my feet. The strap is a platted with a really thin metal chain running along it, making it look more expensive, and also, it looks quite pretty. They’re my favourite.     In a rush, I smear on a blob of foundation, forgetting to blend it into my neck, and then I dab on some mascara, carelessly getting it on my eyelid, but I’m in so much of an excited rush that I don’t bother wiping it off.     

   I grab my handbag and run down stairs, open the front door, shout bye and then run outside into the cool air, slamming the door behind me. The air feels fresh on my skin. The wind is messing up my hair even though it couldn’t get much worse, but I don’t really give it a second thought.     

   I run from the front door, straight over the yard and out of the gate. I run and run but only get up to the bronze estate until my feet are killing, I swear they now have ten extra blisters than when I set off, because the metal linked chain running along the straps, that I once said looked pretty, have rubbed and rubbed against my feet, so now, instead of looking cool and chilled, I look raw and pained.       

   I live in the steel estate, and then it’s the iron estate, then the bronze estate, then the silver one and then the gold. I’m going to the gold estate, plus I have to pass all the shops and extra community buildings, such as doctors et cetera. It’s about four miles away. This fact brings me down, but I will myself to go on.    

   I’ve gone through the bronze estate and now I can’t run anymore. I’m completely shatted. I can’t be late though, especially not for Alicia’s birthday party. I start walking and with every step my body feels heavier. Dragging my feet, I struggle onwards knowing it will all be worth it.    

   Finally I reach the gold estate, finding myself in a tangle of posh street names and grand houses. It’s half past six.     

   I find house number seventy two and then walk up the drive. It could be a car park, already about ten cars are parked outside and I bet at least six more could fit on. The house is big. Very big. The windows are large and open, with curtains draped roughly behind the glass. The brick work is new and fancy compared to the wood and pebble-dash that’s on my own. It has three floors and as far as I can tell, a loft conversion. There are huge oak trees surrounding it and under every large window is a window box with roses and geraniums in them. On the top floor there are two balconies; one either side of the house. They both have French doors behind them. The bigger one on the left hand side has a table and two chairs made from wicker. On the smaller balcony there is a small plant pot with ivy hanging down the side and daffodils poking out the top. I stand there in awe for what seems like a lifetime, until I hear a car come up behind me. I turn around and I see an old Chevy truck, rusty red with scratched paintwork. A smile spreads across my face unconsciously.

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