Half My Life by Diana Noonan

Author:Diana Noonan
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: OneTree House Publishers
Published: 2020-05-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

For the rest of the day, I slept off my jetlag, and when I woke, it was evening, and I knew I had to talk to Luke. My father was a lost cause but, maybe, if Luke and I could sort things out between us, there was at least a hope that half of the million and one thoughts crashing through my mind would stop their crazy somersaulting, and the voice, which had decided to set up camp again in my head, would quit making me do all the things it had decided were my punishment for hurting people.

I turned my pillow over so Mum wouldn’t see the blood stains on the cover, shoved a cap on my head, and scrabbled in my day pack for my mobile. The corner of its screen was cracked from where it had hit the airport floor with me, but when I turned it on, it still went. What made my heart sink was that there was zero coverage. Whether that was because there actually wasn’t any, or because something in my phone had died when it had been smashed, I didn’t know. I looked in Mum’s suitcase and handbag for her mobile but couldn’t find it. Perhaps if I could find Metaxia, she might be able to tell me if there was a mobile signal in the village.

The kitchen was empty when I walked in, but there was a note on the table from Mum to say she was downstairs with Yiayia and that I was to let her know when I was awake. I tiptoed through the house, listening for something that might tell me Metaxia was at home but her bedroom door, when I reached it, was open and it was clear she was out.

I went onto the balcony. The rust-red cliffs that towered above the village were turning a deep orange, and roosters were crowing as if the world was waking up all over again. In the house opposite, someone was opening shutters; pushing them back so they lay against white stone walls and latching them in place. There was something about the evening light and the still air that was calming. My still-racing mind began to slow, and I walked down the steps and out to the gate at the end of the yard.

What I had thought, the night before, was the wall of the neighbour’s – the wall against which Uncle Yiannis had stacked the cartons from off the back of the ute – was actually the front of a small shed which was on his and Eleni’s property. Its yellow, flaking-paint door was broken, and hung on its frame by half a hinge. I lifted it open a crack, and stepped inside, but there was nothing in the shed except for a few roof tiles that had fallen in and were lying, broken, on the dry dirt floor. Through the gaps they left light entered, danced against the cobwebbed rafters, and lit up the dusty green door of a small cupboard on the far wall.

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