Laura by Caz
	Laura sat at her desk with her chin cupped in her hands, and stared out the window. The world slipped slowly past, and she let it go. Time ran through her fingers as easily as the sand on the golden beaches of her childhood. Time was something Laura was running out of. She straightened her cheap polyester skirt and ineffectually brushed at the creases on her crumpled white shirt. She felt middle-aged. She felt old. The office was full of eighteen year-olds, fresh from school, with a fist full of A-levels; and twenty-one year-olds straight out of university with letters after their names, and framed pictures of their graduations smiling at them from the corner of their desks. Laura had none of these things. With a sigh of resignation she slipped in to her cardigan, heaved her bag onto her shoulder and headed for the Tube. Three blocks later, Laura took a deep breath and descended into the fiery pit that was the London Underground at five fifteen on a warm spring afternoon. She went into automatic. She'd been making this journey almost every day for the past twelve years. Twelve years, she thought, aghast. Laura was sure it hadn't been that long since... She forced herself not to think about it, and just carry on. The stations slid past in a gleam of tiles and a coloured blur of adverts. Laura just sat, staring straight ahead as she always did, paying attention only to the things that crossed her narrow field of view; a newspaper, the straps of a rucksack, a gaggle of school-girls in maroon uniforms talking nineteen to the dozen. Laura remembered when she had been able to be that carefree. It seemed centuries ago. Twelve years, she thought again. Nearly half my life. What a waste. The maroon-clad school-girls shared a whispered comment, and erupted into giggles. Laura blushed, convinced it had been a comment about her. The irrational fear that everyone was talking about her behind her back had never left her. Irrational fear was almost excusable however, given Laura's circumstances. She had a lot of fears that seemed irrational and even laughable to everyone else. As the train lurched to a halt, she stood up and stepped out on to the platform. Laura contorted her face in to some semblance of a smile, and headed for home. Before, it wouldn't have been like this. Not like this at all. Laura would have continued wearing her school uniform with pride, held her head up high and sailed through the education system like so many of her then-friends had. She would have come out of school and landed straight into university, then out of university into a good job. A job with prospects. But Laura's world had crumbled around her. One day they'd come for her father. She'd been in bed at the time, and hadn't dared to leave her room. Instead, she'd listened at the door, but hadn't been able to make out any words of the argument that was taking place below her. She'd got dressed as usual the next day, and gone downstairs for breakfast before school. Laura had found her mother crying at the kitchen table. She didn't go to school that day. She never went to school again. Later, the men had come back. They'd taken all of Laura's beloved school books outside the house and burnt them. Tears had prickled at the back of her eyes, but Laura hadn't cried. Laura hadn't cried at all. Even when the men kept coming back again and again. Even when they'd taken everything. Even when they'd hurled abuse at her and her mother. Laura hadn't cried at all. Not even when they'd done unspeakable things to her, not even when they'd made her watch what they did to her mother. No, she'd cried once. But not in front of anyone. She'd cried after the men had come for the last time. The time they killed her mother. They'd left her mother, beaten, tortured, in a pool of blood on the terracotta floor. Laura had crawled out of the cupboard where she'd been hiding and gone straight to her. At first, Laura had thought her mother was dead already, but then she noticed the almost imperceptible rise and fall of her mother's chest, and heard her speak her last words. "Go. Go now and never come back." Laura had spent the night crouched over her mother, crying, and eventually fallen asleep right where she was on the floor. She'd woken the next morning feeling strangely detached from everything. As if in a trance, she'd stumbled round the house collecting together what few possessions were left. In her parent's room, Laura had found several pieces of expensive-looking jewellery hidden at the back of the cupboard. And a photo album. The photo album was the one thing Laura still had to remind her of home. Carrying as much as she could, Laura had sneaked out of the house under the cover of darkness. Just before she walked out of the gate, she had stolen one last look back, at the milky moonlight reflected off the white walls of the house, images of the stars rippling on the surface of the pool. Turning, Laura had run, knowing she would never see this place again. Knowing that she would never walk along her favourite beach again, knowing she could never come back. She hadn't, and still didn't, know why, but she knew, and that was enough. She'd found someone who'd bought her mother's jewellery for just enough to get her a ticket to somewhere else. Anywhere else. Laura had gone up to the desk at the airport and simply asked where she could go for as much as she had, and how soon she could leave. That was how Laura had arrived in London. She'd heard stories about it, and how the streets were meant to be paved with gold. She'd always been a bit skeptical about that, but the harsh reality of London had come as a total shock. A girl from an upper-class family, with both brains and beauty, Laura had never really had to work for anything. That had changed dramatically over the past twelve years, Laura had gone from being the big fish in a small pond, to being a very small fish, all alone, in a strange big sea. She'd stumbled off the plane straight into the hustle and bustle of Heathrow and, for once in her life, Laura had felt totally and utterly lost. She hadn't known where to go, or what to do. There hadn't been anyone to turn to, anyone to help. A strange country, a strange city, strange people, and nowhere to go. The first night had been the worst. Laura had slept rough. She couldn't, didn't want to, remember where. The next day she'd wandered round trying to take in the sheer scale of London, and the hectic pace of city life. She'd been in to the city at home, but it had never been anything like this. It had been sedate, sophisticated. Nothing like the grime, noise and panic of London. Laura's heart had a longing to return home, but she knew she couldn't. Ever. After a succession of shelters, hostels and halfway houses, Laura had finally found a place to live. But she had never described it as a home. A dingy room on the top floor of a shared house in north London was hardly anything to get excited about. A small room, sparsely furnished with bed, table, cupboard and chair wasn't a patch on what Laura had been used to. The avocado bathroom she shared with the other occupants of the house was permanently encrusted with old soap, toothpaste and who knew what else. She didn't like to think about it. At first, Laura had dreamed of her very own spotless white bathroom at home, but eventually abandoned all hope of anything better. That was what she hadn't found in England. Hope. The job had come after about a month. Laura had been in and out of the employment agency almost every day since she'd arrived. At sixteen she had known it was going to be hard to find work and she'd been ready to take whatever she could get. Starting as the tea girl, Laura had worked her way up through the ranks to where she was today. That was why she resented the new girls so much. They jumped straight in at a point it had taken her nearly ten years to reach. It wasn't fair. Laura knew she had as good a brain as any of those upstarts, but she hadn't had the chance to prove it. She'd been robbed of all her chances a long time ago. Those men had stolen all her chances of a decent life. If she sat and thought about the past, thought about what she'd been through, Laura could reduce herself to tears every time. But she never did. Laura wasn't someone who cried often. She just persevered; plodding along through life, focusing on what she had, not on what she was missing. Laura jammed her key into the lock on the chipped blue front door. Lift, turn, jiggle, push and kick. The door creaked open. Grimacing, Laura stepped over the cardboard boxes that obstructed the hall and picked her way to the stairs. She hung on to the rickety banister as she climbed the three twisty flights to her room. The carpet up the middle of the stairs was faded and almost threadbare in places, and the beige paint on the walls was nicotine-stained and peeling badly. As Laura passed the kitchen she was hit by the smell of rotting cabbage. She wrinkled her nose and carried on up. After fumbling for her keys in her bag, Laura finally reached the sanctuary that was her room. Laura had done what she could with the room, but nothing cold totally obscure what it really was. Pictures of faraway places hung on the walls, and a faded rug lay at the foot of the bed, hiding the worst of the stained floorboards. Dumping her bag on the chair, Laura flopped on to the bed. Another day over, another step closer to whatever it was that came after this life. Sometimes Laura thought it would be easier to end it all now. Easier than carrying on without hope. Drifting through life isolated and alone would have been hard to bear for anyone. Laura had always been a fighter, but it was getting to a point where even she was having a hard time getting up to face another monotonous day. Reaching under the edge of the mattress, Laura took out the photo album and opened it at the first page. Tanned faces smiled in the sunshine. Laura as a baby with her parents, glowing with pride; Laura and her school friends in matching navy uniforms; Laura in a colourful costume for a school play... They were all remnants of a world that no longer existed. That world full of happy, smiling faces had ceased to exist the first day the men came. The day her father was taken away was the day that the spark inside Laura had died. Laura snapped the album shut and jammed it back under the mattress where it belonged. Her stomach growled and she turned her mind to dinner. The thought of cooking wasn't appealing, not after what she'd smelt as she walked past the kitchen earlier. Laura reached over and took her purse out her bag and looked in it. Enough money for dinner. She stood up and looked at herself in the mirror. She looked a mess. Her hair was flat on one side where she'd been lying on the bed, and her shirt was creased beyond recognition. Normally, she wouldn't have cared, but tonight she felt like looking nice. Fifteen minutes later, Laura felt vaguely more human. Her hair was tied back neatly, and she'd put on a bit of make-up in what may have been a vain attempt to look a little younger. She'd managed to find some clean jeans and pulled on a freshly ironed blouse as she stepped into her sandals. It may only have been March, but it was warm and she was going to take advantage of it. Taking a final look in the mirror, Laura grabbed her purse and left. Shutting the front door behind her, Laura began to wonder why she'd bothered making an effort at all. She was twenty-eight and had resigned herself to the fact that she was doomed to eternal singledom long ago. She had been beautiful once, but the years had taken their toll, as had the stress. But if you looked carefully, you could still see the perfectly formed features. Beautiful deep brown eyes, full lips and shiny dark hair. Despite over a decade in England, Laura's complexion still had its South African colouring. Sometimes she looked in the mirror and smiled, and sometimes it just served as a painful reminder that she wasn't home. But she couldn't go home, no matter how ardently she wished she could. Heading for the Chinese take-away on the corner, Laura decided to try and make the best of what she'd got. Thinking back, she wasn't entirely sure what had happened in the past twelve years, but she decided she'd try and make it better from here on out, however long that was going to be. Laura leaned on the greasy counter and scanned the menu. Glancing at the contents of her purse for a final time, she looked up ready to order. Then Laura's eyes met his. He wore one of those despicable badges that declared in bright red letters that his name was Jon. He smiled. Laura flinched, disgusted. She could hardly believe that this was the best that England had to offer her. Her resolutions to make the best of things had been short-lived. Somewhere in the realms of five minutes sort of short lived. As she waited for her chicken and cashew nuts, Laura felt herself falling further into the pit of despair. It happened like this every time she resolved things would get better. Things looked up for a few minutes, hours or even days if she was lucky, then something happened that sent all her plans out of the window. It could be anything from a bad day at work, to getting her period a few days early, to one simple look from someone she didn't even know. It felt like the world was closing in on her, suffocating her, squeezing out every drop of life she had left. The dark spiralled around Laura, and she almost succumbed, only to be jolted back to harsh reality by Jon presenting her with a cardboard-lidded foil dish in a plastic bag. Laura accepted it, grudgingly handed over the money, and headed for home. Glumly she picked her way between the cigarette butts, chewing gum and other debris on the pavement, hardly noticing where she was going. Laura sat on the floor, leaning against the foot of the bed. She stared at the sky out of the window as she mechanically forked food into her mouth. She paused to watch a flock of birds cross the stark skyline of chimney pots and television aerials. It wasn't fair. Birds were free, why wasn't she? They could go wherever they wanted on a whim, and never seemed to have any worries at all. Laura longed with all her heart to be as free as the birds. As she stared out the window, tears began to prick at the back of her eyes, but she wouldn't cry. She couldn't. The birds brought back memories, memories Laura didn't want to remember right now. Memories from twelve years ago. Back home, when everything had been how it was meant to be, Laura had been her Daddy's "little bird". She'd been his pride and joy. When she was much younger, he had lifted her by the waist and flown her through the air while she squealed with joy. As she'd grown up, he'd built her a tree house that they'd named "The Nest". He'd helped Laura paint a sign to go above the door, covering her tiny fingers with his own on the handle of the paintbrush. At that moment, Laura would have given anything to go back to the garden of her childhood. To sit in the long grass and watch the world go by. She wanted to go against every instinct that she had telling her it wasn't a good idea. But she couldn't. Could she? It was at times like this that Laura wished she had someone to talk to. Someone who would listen to all her problems, someone who cared. But there was no-one. She'd never made any real friends in England. She knew the names of the people in her office, had even been out on her lunch break with some of them from time to time, but there was no-one who knew her. Laura had always thought it would be safer that way. But she didn't feel safe. She felt small, insignificant, and very, very lonely. Just one person. That was all she wanted. Someone who could know her, who she could trust, who could love her. There hadn't been any love in Laura's life for a very long time. Not since her mother died. There hadn't really been anything in Laura's life since then. Her insides felt like a void, ready to swallow her up at a moment's notice, consume her from the inside out, leaving an empty husk of a person. No-one would notice. No-one ever noticed Laura. Laura lay huddled in bed, the sodium glow of the street lights seeping through the thin curtains. She writhed in her sleep, troubled by her dreams. Dreams of home. Of her family, her friends, her other life. She wanted it all back so badly. Laura didn't think anyone could ever feel the way she did, no-one could possibly know the intensity of her want, the desperation. As the grey dawn crept across the sky, Laura sat up in bed. It was early, and the alarm clock wasn't going to go for another couple of hours. Ordinarily, Laura would have snuggled back down under the duvet, and escaped the harsh reality of her life until the harsh buzzer of the alarm clock forced her to accept it. But today didn't feel ordinary. Laura had wanted to go back ever since she got to England. Her mother had said she couldn't ever go back, but that was twelve years ago. Laura had never understood what was really going on then, and she'd never even tried to find out, but whatever it was, it must have gone after so long. She was going to go. Go home. Opening the curtains to let in the hazy morning light, Laura got dressed quickly and began to pack. It didn't take long, she didn't have very much. A backpack and two holdalls. That was all she'd managed to get in the past twelve years. That, and a bank account that although it was hardly overflowing, had enough to get her home. Home. She smiled at the thought. Even the thought of the torturous journey to Heathrow on the Tube didn't dampen Laura's spirit that morning. The spark inside her was coming back. It hadn't gone out after all, just hidden itself very well. Laura didn't care that she was just walking out on her job, didn't care that she hadn't given her landlady notice. She was fairly sure they wouldn't care either. But what was it to her anyway? By the time they had to deal with the fact she'd gone, she'd be well and truly on her way. On her way home. Laura clutched her boarding pass as if her life depended on it and, in some way, it did. She had no life in England any more. All her hope, her entire future, was in that slip of paper. Laura just hoped she'd made the right decision. Her purse was stuffed with money, she'd taken everything out of her account. The clerk at the airport bank had looked rather baffled, but had obviously been trained in the "the customer is always right" school of thought, and Laura walked off with everything she had. Sipping coffee from a cardboard cup in the departure lounge, Laura gazed out the floor to ceiling windows. People coming and going, service trucks scurrying about, dwarfed by the massive airplanes. It had always seemed strange to Laura that a lump of metal like that could fly, but right now she didn't care. One of those lumps of metal was carrying her home. Back to where she belonged. She perked up as she heard the gate announced for her flight, but didn't hurry. Something inside her was urging her to run through to the departure lounge as fast as she could, but she knew she shouldn't. She didn't want to draw attention, just in case. There was still a little voice in the back of her head asking if this was all such a good idea, but Laura just ignored it. She didn't have a clue what she was going to do when she got off the plane at the other end, but that was a problem she could deal with when she got there. The plane soared, and Laura's heart soared with it. There was really no looking back now. She'd come too far for that, and had no wish to look back anyway. What was there to look back on? Laura leaned back into her seat and gazed out the window as England disappeared beneath the clouds. The day passed in a blur of bad films, airplane food and the inside of airports. But then everything suddenly came into focus again. Laura stood in the blazing sunshine and smiled. She was home. Well, almost. There was only one place to go from here. She knew it would be difficult, but she had to do it. That was why she'd come back, wasn't it? Laura paid the taxi driver, and thanked him as he placed her bags on the pavement. She stood and watched him drive off, disappearing into the distance in a cloud of dust. Finally, Laura took a deep breath and turned round to see what she'd come all this way to see. Nothing had changed. The white walls glowed in the sunlight, and the surface of the pool rippled like silk. The tree house was still there too, a little mossy, but there none the less. It looked like nothing had been touched in the past twelve years. For the first time since she'd left this place, Laura cried.