Dad: Any chance you’d be alright with me murdering your ex-boyfriend. The little cunt hasn’t left me alone asking me where you are. Sent: 17:10
Dad: Robyn, as your father I should notify you I’m beginning to get worried at your lack of response. Who will take care of me if you’re dead? Sent: 17:35
I laugh at the three messages as I read through them. My father, ever the worrier.
Robyn: I did land safely, sorry, customs was an absolute nightmare. No you can’t kill Toby. Sent 17:37
Dad: Boring. Sent: 17:38
Robyn: And in the event I do die… the nurses at the lovely care home in Willow Grove I set up for you for your 40thbirthday will take care of you lol. Sent: 17:37
Dad: Oh ha, ha! I’m not that old.
Robyn: Say’s who? I’m jumping in a taxi now, so bear with me and I’ll message you when I get to the Miller’s place. Sent: 17:37
Stuffing my phone back into my pocket because my hands are about to drop off, I look around and spot the taxi rank just off to the right. I drag my suitcase dubiously behind me and stop beside one of the white taxis, tapping on the window. I wave awkwardly at the older man as he looks at me in surprise.
He jumps out of the car quicker than I’ve ever seen a driver do and smiles at me as he zips up his jacket. “Sorry about that, ma’am.” He offers me a tight-lipped smile. He manoeuvres towards the trunk of the car, opening it up and taking my suitcase from me.
“You’re fine.” I mimic his smile, opening the passenger’s side door and sitting in the back seat. The driver slams the trunk closed just as I close my door and buckle myself in. It’s much warmer here, and I appreciate the fact he seems to have thought about keeping the car nice and cozy inside.
When he eventually gets behind the wheel, he starts the car and secures his own seatbelt. Adjusting the rearview mirror, his eyes meet mine in the reflection, the corners of them creasing with a smile I can’t quite see. “Thank you forchoosing me to take you to your destination, my name is Kevin and I’ll be your driver today.”
“Hi, Kevin. I’m Robyn.” I smile. “First day?”
He chuckles. “What gave it away?”
“I don’t think a single taxi driver has ever greeted me that way before.” I smile.
He shrugs, his eyes still gazing at me. “Gotta make an impression, I guess. So, where’re we going today, Robyn?”
“Uh, Oak Hill Crescent? Do you know where that is?”
His eyes widen slightly, but he quickly schools his features to a more reserved expression. “Of course, any particular house?”
“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “East Meadow.”
Kevin releases a long whistle that tells me he knows exactly where I need to go. “Yeah, I know the place. The traffic is a little crazy getting out of the airport, but I should be able to get you there within the hour.”
“Sounds good to me.” I nod, giving him a tight-lipped smile and turning my attention to the window next to me. Unable to get rid of the daunting feeling I’m filled with.
Kill me now.
Needless to say, the journey didn’t take an hour, it took three. Kevin, my driver, was one hundred percent accurate when he said the traffic leading away from the airport was chaotic. By the time I reached my mother and stepfather’s home at twenty to nine at night, I was beat. Not only had I been up early so I could get to London Gatwick Airport on time and not miss my flight, but I’d also spent ten hours on said flight, two hours in customs, as well as a three-hour journey in a taxi to get here.
I tipped Kevin a hefty amount as he made the ride here a lot less unbearable with his choice of music and bubbly conversation, then grabbed my large, overpacked suitcase from the trunk and made my way up the long path towards the house. Not much has changed since the last time I came here, except for the fresh plants, high bushes, and overgrown blue spruce trees that keep the house secluded from outsiders.
As I clear the halfway point, the house finally comes into view. The bold, yet minimalistic aesthetic is something that always attracted me to this place. Black in colour with floor-to-ceiling windows with the lower floor of the house being slightly bigger than the top, giving it clean lines and a beautiful geometric shape to it.
A house that screams sophistication and elegance—just like my mother. Except Jack, my stepfather, apparently owned this place way before they got married. That’s one thing I guess I liked about him, even though we’ve only met a handful of times since they’ve been together. His attention to detail is amazing. I remember him telling me the first time we met on my eighteenth birthday, after my mom sprang their marriage on me, that he designed and built this house from the ground up.
Everything being perfect, and specific to what he wanted.
The base of the house is a dark grey—almost black—brickwork, while the top is a mixture of steel and wooden slats put together, creating beautifully clean lines. In all honesty… it’s stunning.
The curtains are closed when I reach the front door and press my finger against the doorbell. A soft, welcoming chime plays out, bringing back awful memories of my mother.
“Coming.” I hear Jack call from inside.
