When Kayla decides to move in with her mum, leaving her Dad behind, she thinks it's going to be just like the old days. Determined to have a better life, she sets off, wanting to start over. But once she's met Pierre, her Mum's new boyfriend, she realises it will never be the same again...


7. The Best Cafe Ever

I stay in my room for the rest of the day. I can't risk facing Pierre again, or even my own mother. All they do is question me. Why I do this? Why I do that? Can't they just act like nothing happened, and just be normal?

I lie on my bed, legs crossed, eyes staring up at the ceiling. If just life was as simple as the plain white wallpaper up there. The perfect lampshade just like a perfect figure in the middle of a smooth pathway. Life always has to be bumpy, doesn't it? But my life seems to be like that all the time. Up and down and up and down. Never-ending sadness. Never complete. Never full. Always hard.

I turn onto my side, arm propping me up. I stare into the eyes of the almost unfamiliar figure standing beside her mother and father in the photo that's lying against my lamp. Her golden brown hair; her sparkly blue eyes; her smile beaming like the sun. Now, all those features seem to have darkened. My dull, dry hair; my blunt, grey eyes; my constant frown. We're the same girl, the same 'Kayla', yet we couldn't be more opposite.

I trudge downstairs an hour later, my side bag flung over my shoulder. I've decided it's best to take a walk to clear my mind. It's nearly lunchtime anyway, and I'd much rather sit in a cafe all alone, than have lunch with Mum and Pierre. I slip on my boots, grab a raincoat, and I'm halfway on getting out of the door, when I feel a hand yank on my coat collar. I spin around.

"And where do you think you're going?" Pierre sneers at me. I gulp.

"Just for a walk. Get to know the area, y'know." I laugh awkwardly, and he drags me inside. He stands in front of the door, arms crossed, until I have fully taken off my boots, raincoat, and bag. Then, he steers me in the direction of the kitchen, where he seats me at the dining table.

"Eat this." He shoves a bowl of soup in front of my face. Well, I think it's supposed to be soup, but it looks much worse. Before whining, like a 3-year-old would do for being treated this way, I pick up the spoon he's placed beside it and take a spoonful of 'soup'. I hold it out in front of me, slowly opening my mouth until it's wide enough to fit the whole spoon in. Hesistating, I slide it in, preparing for the worse. I can feel Pierre's eyes on me.

I swallow - just about. "It's much nicer than I thought." I force a smile, and he smiles too.

"You just finish that off, I'm going to get your mother from outside. She's taking pictures of the scenery again. She'll never get bored." With that said, he walks out of the back door. As soon as he's out of sight, I make a run to the loo, vomiting out the vile 'soup'. Ew. What did he put in that?

Then, I grab my bag from the front door, slip on my boots, and pull the raincoat over me. If anyone's going to stop me leaving the house, it definitely won't be Pierre. I push open the door. A sudden rush of cold air hits me in the face, and I duck under my hood, slamming the door behind me. I hobble down the driveway, strong gales pushing against me. Looking left, and then right, I cross the road, heading down the hill towards what I think is a small village. I take a glance back, and thankfully there's no one running after me.

After about 5 minutes, I begin to walk past a few cottages. They look tiny, with minituare windows, rose petals growing around the door.  I notice a sign in the distance, reading 'Cafe' - just what I need - and with that, I carry on, at least having somewhere to head for. As I'm strolling along, a few raindrops seep down into my hair, wettening the top of my head. I look up to see dark rain clouds looming overhead, and as a few more raindrops fall, followed by a few more, I know there's no chance of reaching the Cafe dry. I begin to walk faster, as more drops fall, and in no time at all, the rain is slashing down, bouncing off the pavements in every direction. I begin to run, hood up, my boots making splish-splash noises every step I take. I dash for the Cafe, in order to get dry, and I burst in, my nose instantly inhaling the sweet smell of cupcakes. Mmmm hmmm.

I slip my jacket off, tye my slightly damp hair up into a ponytail, and sink down into a warm, comfy sofa located on the left hand side of the Cafe. I can barely lift up a hand to call the waitress, but when I see them heading over, a slice of victoria sponge on a plate in their hand, my smile suddenly awakens.

I immediately pick up the fork, shoving bits of it in my mouth. The warm spongy cake against the smooth, delicate cream icing is delightful and my tongue buds tingle with excitement. It has to be the best cake ever.

The best cafe ever.

Join MovellasFind out what all the buzz is about. Join now to start sharing your creativity and passion
Loading ...