Some Comfort Here Ch. 01

There was no sky today, only a rough woollen blanket of mottled grey that covered everything and blocked out the sun. The usual virescent hues of the countryside were muted to the point of dullness, with the wind slowly growing stronger.

Brandon zipped up the waterproof jacket he had slipped on when leaving home since it looked like rain. He wasn't going far, though. His mother had handed him a few packets of homemade potato chips and asked if he could deliver them to his best friend Ben's house only a few lanes away. He had only been too willing to do that, which was why his mother had assigned him the errand in the first place. He'd asked his sister to take over the counter at their family café and set out for Ben's house, even though he knew his friend wasn't home.

The wind was blowing leaves and all sorts of other things by the time he rang the doorbell of the single storey Craftsman-style house. It was a small house, with ivy covered walls and box windows. Ben's parents were educated and established, unlike his parents who had been running the café since forever. But despite that, not only were the two families close like a tightly knit sweater, but Thomas and Emily were also one of the most humble and hospitable couples around, choosing to live in a simple house even though they could afford something bigger and better. They also had a place in London, where Ben was doing college, but that was equally small and simple.

The door scraped open to the sight of a stocky female figure with hair wrapped in a shower cap and a hideous face. Oh wait. It wasn't her face. It was a face mask. The kind he had seen his sisters put on their faces. White with bits of orange and...

"Brandy." The face curled into a broad smile, the mask crinkling and dripping off her face. Brandon wanted to pull a face, but instead he smiled.

"Hi Elsa." It was their housekeeper, in charge of the household whenever Thomas and Emily travelled for work. She was a large woman with freckled white skin. If not for her sweet smile, she would've resembled Miss Trunchbull. "Here to deliver these," he gestured at the packet of chips he had in his hands.

"Oh, come in, lad." She moved aside, letting him enter. Brandon stepped inside the small, narrow foyer, illuminated with a filament bulbs chandelier. "You want some tea?"

"Umm... No, thanks." He followed Elsa into the living room, taking off his jacket. "I have to be back soon."

"Still managing the chip counter, huh?" Elsa laughed, looking at the state of her face in the mirror, dabbing the crinkled parts of the mask with her fingers. "I'd thought the five of you would be walking in the air in these six months."

Brandon only laughed in response. All they had to show for the last six months was a single. A hit single that had gone to No.1 the very day it released. The song was everywhere, the video was on every TV channel, and they were apparently the next big pop act of the UK. Yes, they had made a little bit of money, earned quite a bit of fame, seen their faces and names on every channel and every tabloid, and eventually got tired of hearing their own voices on radio. But they were still young lads of 18 or 19, trying to keep their lives as normal as possible amid the sudden flurry of unexpected success.

"When's the album coming out?" Elsa asked as he handed her the crisps. His parents were famous for their chips. People from distant parts of Ireland and the UK would drop in to eat and take home the delicious chips. If anything, then his success and fame had only helped the business even more.

"It's in post-production," he said, putting his jacket down on the back of the sofa. "Should be out in two or three months."

His eyes darted down the hallway on the left, where he knew the bedrooms were located. The one with the pink door was the reason why he was there.

"Izzi's in." Brandon jumped at Elsa's voice, blushed when he realized he'd been caught. "Go on. She'll be happy to see you," she smiled.

Brandon nodded shyly, turning to walk down the hallway. The door didn't look locked. He knocked, waiting for an answer. No answer came.

"Izzi?" He pushed open the door a little, found no one in. Frowning, he looked around in confusion. Elsa said she was in. Then...

He sighted the study with the door unlocked. Elsa had gone back to her own thing so he decided to take a look. The hallway was also illuminated with small chandeliers, cloaking the house in a soft yellow glow. He tried to peek inside the study through the gap in the door, but could see nothing in the low light.

And then he heard sounds inside.

"Izzi?" He gently pushed the door, putting his head in. There was a crash, like something toppling over, and then a wince. He stepped inside, found two slender denim-clad legs poking from beneath a pile of books.

"You okay?" He tried to not laugh, but couldn't help it. Isabel almost buried under a heap of thick books that had toppled from the table next to where she had been sitting on the floor. She nodded, moved her straight black hair out of her eyes, and dragged herself into a sitting position.

Isabel. Isabel Rosalia Georgiana Standish. Ben's younger sister. The prettiest girl probably in the whole town. The love of his life. Of course, he'd never said that out loud. Not to her. Not to anybody. For god's sake, he was not even 20. Wasn't that too soon?

Yet, he could never help the furious beating of his heart, or the flush of joy in his veins every time he saw her.

He helped her up, then proceeded to help her keep the books back in place.

"It's fine. I can do it." She brushed his hand away and began to collect the books from the floor. "I was looking for a book, then the door startled me, and I jerked the table accidentally."

"I'm sorry." Brandon crouched beside her, watching her gloved hands arrange the books and put them back on the table. The study was the library of the house, stuffed with books of all kinds. Ben's dad was a psychiatrist while his mom was an emotional therapist. It wasn't unusual to find books scattered all around the house. "I was looking for you."

"I figured." Isabel rose to her feet, patting dust away from her bottom. Behind her, Brandon rose as well, smiling at the difference in their heights. They both were short; he was 5'8.5" while she was barely five feet. But compared to him, Isabel was still shorter. After his mother, she was the shortest woman he'd met so far. "Why are you here?"

"Mam sent some chips for you," he said, watching her at work. She put a book under her arm, and kept the rest away in their proper places. "You love them."

Isabel turned, her dark, luminous eyes looking into his. They were warm and kind, but of late, they were only sad. And numb. It was like she had stopped feeling all emotions. The dark circles had faded a little but they still gave her panda eyes.

"Come on," she beckoned, walking out of the room. Brandon followed, turning off the light. Her room was right next to that of Ben's. It was decked in pink, had fairy lights around the windows, and potted flowers on the parapet. There were books in the small cabinet next to her bed, and on the study desk. As small as the room was, it was spotless and neat. No shoes on the floor, no clothes on the bed, no mess anywhere.

She put the book down on the night table, kicked off her slippers, and climbed on to bed. Then she looked at him and tapped the space next to her on the bed. Brandon walked over to the bed and sat beside her, looking at her small, sweet face the whole time.

Her pale, dewy skin made a stark contrast with her black hair and dark orbs. Her nose was blunt, but that could do nothing to diminish her beauty. In contrast to the blonde Irish girls around, she was so different. Probably why she stood out everywhere.

"Are you okay?" he decided to begin the conversation somewhere. She nodded in reply. "You weren't at the café today, so I was wondering..."

"I was reading." Her voice was soft, almost whispery. "Didn't feel like going out."

"How's school?"

"Okay."

"Have you made any new friend?"

She shook her head. "I've never had any friend."

Brandon's brow scrunched into a frown. He crossed his arms and looked into her eyes.

"So you mean I'm your enemy? All of us are?"

"Would that be very surprising?" Isabel's voice was flat. "When parents could put their only child through-"

Brandon pressed a finger to her lips, cutting off the rest of the sentence. When she looked at him, he shook his head.

"Please." He sighed. "Don't make yourself relive the horror. Please."

She held his finger, moved it from her lips, and held his hand for a while. The silk felt smooth against his palm, but he wanted to feel the softness of her palm, not some damn piece of cloth.

He held her hand, slowly beginning to peel away the fabric. She tried to pull away, but he held tight.

"You're hiding from me?" He raised his eyebrows. "Me, who has seen it all?"

"You don't have to keep seeing it all the time." She tried to pull away again but he wasn't letting. "Please."

"I want to see." He pulled off the glove on her left hand, revealing a deep, scary scar running down the wrist. He flinched. It still looked raw, after more than four months. If the scar on her skin was still that vivid, he wondered what the scars on her mind were like.

"Does it hurt?" He asked, still holding her hand. She had stopped pulling but was looking down at the printed bedsheet.

"Sometimes. Doesn't matter, though." She looked up, her eyes sadder now. "I did it, remember?"

Brandon sighed again, his grip slackening, allowing Isabel to pull her hand away. She didn't wear the glove again. Instead, she tugged the long sleeve of her top until it covered her wrist. Then she folded her arms in her lap.

On an impulse, he reached out to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. Isabel sighed, staring out of the closed window. It had started to rain.

He never ceased to wonder how a girl that young could have already lived a life so horrific, it was beyond imagination. In the last few months she'd visited every horrible place conceivable- hospital, police station, court, attorney's office. He didn't know how she did it. She was yet to realize how strong she was. One of the many reasons why he loved her.

"You know," she spoke, still staring out of the window. "I had thought you'd go away from me after this." She glanced at her scarred wrist. "Thought everyone would go away."

She looked at him, eyes searching his. "I thought everyone would think I'm a bad person. I'm not saying I'm a good person, but I'm not so bad either."

"We know you, Izzi," he smiled, "We'll love you no matter what." He held her hand again, kissing the scar, making her flinch. "We know what drove you to this," he tried to keep emotion out of his voice. "We know everything. And we still love you just as much. Maybe even more now."

His blood boiled, his eyes threatened to well up when he remembered the last year or so, when all the dark secrets of her life had tumbled out in the open. They had seen a lot more of the police and of hospitals than anyone got to see in their lifetimes. Then her adoption had happened, followed by her move to Ireland.

And then, less than six months later, Ben had found her in the bathroom, in a pool of blood...

"So." He shook off the memories, forced a smile. "Have you heard about the music concert at Hawks Well?"

She nodded. "Are you participating?" he asked. "They're auditioning."

"I haven't sung in a long time," she said. "Songs don't come easy anymore."

"Audition, at least. You haven't performed since you moved here." He moved closer to her, touched her cheek with two fingers. "It'll take your mind off stuff."

"I'm fine," she nodded. "And there are many good singers in the town to light up the concert. I'm not needed."

"Just one song? Please?" Brandon insisted, hoping she'd agree. But Isabel only shook her head.

"I can't." She sighed. "I can't sing."

Lightning tore through the sky, followed by a deep rumble. Isabel shifted on the bed until their thighs were touching. Brandon checked the time on his watch. It was getting late.

"I better get moving," he said. "Mam will be wondering..."

"It's raining," she said, glancing at the window.

"Don't worry. I've got a raincoat." He hesitantly leaned in, pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. "Are you going to be alone tonight?"

"No. Auntie Emily is probably on her way by now."

"Okay. So I'll...push off." He rose from the bed, adjusting his pants. "You take care, alright?"

She nodded. "Thank your mom from me."

"I will," he smiled, his eyes darting at her lips. He resisted the urge to kiss her and turned around. "Goodnight, Izzi," he said as he opened the door to walk out.

"Brandy." She called just as he stepped outside. He let half of his body back in through the door, an expectant look on his face.

"You really don't hate me?" she asked. Brandon's heart ached at those words. Hate her? She was the first girl he'd actually fallen in love with. He knew where those words were coming from, but then...

He reentered the room, closed the door behind him, and walked up to her. Then he leaned and pressed a chaste kiss to her lips. He felt Isabel's breath hitching for a moment, her hands stiffening. When he pulled away, her mouth was slightly parted, her eyes boring into his.

"I love you." He whispered. He'd only started telling her that since a few months and was yet to hear it back. But it always felt so right to tell her again and again.

She nodded and looked away. Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked out of the room.

*

"Table number six." Mae pushed a tray of burgers and coffee towards her youngest son who had returned from college about fifteen minutes ago. He knew he couldn't carry on with college alongside the band for too long, but he still tried.

Brandon nodded, took the tray his mom was offering, and made his way through the tables and chairs to arrive at his destination. The customer smiled, asked him about the band, congratulated him again on his success. It was a small town and everyone knew everyone. He didn't mind the local people showing interest in his career. It was only when the girls thronged the counter and refused to move that he got really annoyed.

Okay, he liked girls, had always been a bit of a ladies' man, with girls drooling over him because of his voice and cute looks. But ever since their sudden fame, girls of all shapes and sizes had been throwing themselves at him. At first it was a great feeling. But six months on, it had started to get a little annoying. It was a good thing being appreciated and recognized, but...

"Was Emily home when you went to deliver the chips yesterday?" His mother asked when he was back at the counter. His dad, sister Mairead, and brother Liam were waiting tables in the meanwhile. He shook his head.

"Izzi said she'd be back in a while," he replied, pouring himself a coffee.

"Poor girl, all alone the whole time." He heard his mother sigh as she went about arranging trays with food. A customer came in for a latte, and Brandon quickly fixed it for him. "Is she okay? She wasn't here yesterday."

"She's fine," he nodded. "As fine as possible. She just wants to be on her own. Maybe the crowd here doesn't suit her anymore."

"Could be." Mae turned, handing a tray to Mairead, who turned around and smiled when her eyes sighted the door of the café.

"Look who's here," she whispered to her brother. Brandon looked, found his heart skipping a beat when he saw Isabel at the door, adorable in her blue school uniform, gloved hand holding a book, eyes searching for an empty corner. "Go. Go." Mairead thumped him on the back. "She'll go away if she doesn't find an empty corner."

"Bring her here, will ye?" Mae asked him. "Haven't hugged her in a while."

"Mam." Brandon rolled his eyes, making his way through tables to the front door. Isabel hadn't seen him, was still looking for a quiet corner.

"Hey," he waved when he was close enough. She raised a hand in a wave.

"My seat's taken," she sounded like a child whose favourite toy had just broken. Brandon looked around, found no empty seat. The café was usually packed all the time, but ever since the band happened, the crowd didn't thin even during the afternoons. Sitting at the café was for many people a chance to see his home.

"Umm...would you mind hanging out at the counter in the meanwhile?" he asked. "The customer occupying your seat should be gone by then."

She looked around again without replying, impatient for a place to sit and read. "I can go home and have lunch, in that case," she said. "I don't want to share a table."

"You haven't had lunch?" Brandon raised his eyebrows. She shook her head.

"School lunch is bland. I thought I'd drop in here and grab a bite. But—"

"Izzi!" Mairead called out from the corner, waving. Isabel looked, waving back. Mairead gestured at her with her hand to come over. She looked at Brandon, then back at Mairead.

"Come on." He smiled, holding her hand. It felt weird holding her gloved hands. Till a few months ago, he got to feel her soft palms against his. It felt like a proper connection. But now, it was only a piece of black silk against his skin.

He took her through the maze of tables and chairs to the counter, where Mae wasted no time in engulfing her in a huge hug. Brandon often felt embarrassed at the way his mom showered his friends with unabashed affection. One wouldn't think she had seven children of her own.

"Oh, my baby," Mae said to her, when she finally let her go. "I missed you yesterday. Are you okay?" She cradled her face between her palms, smiling. "You've lost so much weight. Wait till I fatten you up with chips."

Brandon noticed a hint of a smile tugging at a corner of her lips. She had always been really slender, but of late, she looked pale and sunken. They all knew why, so it didn't matter. His mom, however, was still on her relentless pursuit of trying to fatten her up. Isabel loved chips, and they had an unending supply. But they were yet to see any significant weight on her.

"She hasn't had lunch yet," Brandon mentioned, got a concerned look from his mom.

"Oh, is it so?" She turned, disappearing into the pantry just behind the counter. "Come in here, sweetheart. Choose what you want to have."

"Go," He whispered to her, giving her a slight nudge. She slowly made her way in, disappearing behind the brown Dutch door. When Brandon returned to her after serving a few more orders, she was seated on a high bar stool, her legs neatly tucked at the back, a plate of hamburger and cheese dip in front of her. She was nibbling on the food while reading the book she had carried along.

"Okay?" He asked, going up to her. She nodded, looking up at his face for a fleeting moment. He didn't tell her that Emily had called to ask if she was really there. She was there and she was okay. But her family worried about her always, which wasn't surprising at all. They feared she might do something stupid again. They all did. It didn't seem like she would, but it was hard to push the fear away.

"Your hair's back to brown," she observed suddenly, breaking a piece of bread and nibbling on it. He'd never seen her biting on the whole burger at once. She took out the contents one by one and ate them, beginning with the top bread and ending with the bottom.

"I'm glad," he laughed, pulling a stool to sit next to her. "I only wish the colour had gone before Peter's wedding. I cringe to look at the pictures." He really did. Blonde hair was never a good idea.

"Don't regret. You can always tell people the history behind it." The top bread was gone now, revealing a bright piece of tomato. "It got you into the band," she said, peeling the skin of the tomato with her teeth.