Page 5

Alexandra

Farewell

M y finger drums restlessly against the café table, each tap echoing my mounting desperation.

How do I get out of this mess? I’ll call Mother .

She’ll fix this, she has to. I’m her only child, and I know beneath her harsh words, she still loves me.

.. right? The dial tone echoes, each iteration a knife in my heart.

It goes to voicemail. I tut , knowing Mother is there; she’s never without her cell.

I repeat the process for the umpteenth time, tapping my mocha cup with impatience.

Pick up, Mother!

“For God’s sake, Alexandra! James and I are at the matinee. What on Earth is so urgent?” Mother’s angry voice startles me, almost knocking me out of my chair with surprise that she actually answered.

“Mother dearest, something terrible has happened!” I exclaim, mimicking the voice I used as a child—part desperate, part pleading, on the verge of tears. Playing this just right will solve all my problems.

“What is it this time?” Mother replies, clearly unmoved, filling me with ominous dread, but I press on, undeterred.

“I didn’t get the stupid job!” I wail into the cell, my heart pounding with the hope that finally, after weeks of being ignored, Mother has picked up. It’s my opportunity to fix things.

A deafening silence stretches on, and I’m tempted to check if Mother is still there.

“So?” she says, devoid of care.

Typical. She never loved me, sending me off to that horrible boarding school as soon as I became the slightest inconvenience for her!

“So? Is that the only word you have for your only child, Elizabeth? ” I spit her name like venom, knowing it stings her, wanting to hurt her for the pain she’s causing me.

Mother sighs, “Don’t call me that. You know I hate when you use my first name.”

“I’ll call you ‘Mother’ when you start acting like one!” Shouting at my cell, I draw disapproving stares from the other patrons. I glare bloody murder at them. They can mind their own business. Bunch of nosey wannabes.

“What age are you now? Twenty-two? And you still act like a petulant child, Alexandra,” Mother retorts, her anger rising. “It’s clear that school of yours—which I paid a fortune for, I might add—has failed to instill any discipline or respect in you.”

“I’m twenty-four, Elizabeth . But I applaud you for getting the first number right, at least,” I scoff, unable and unwilling to hide my disdain.

“Twenty-four? Even worse!” Mother exclaims, as if she’s just won some huge victory. “Listen, you’re a big girl now, and it’s time you started acting like it.”

Blood roars in my ears, and I clutch my cell with a white-knuckle grip, desperate to lash out and make her understand the pain she’s causing me. But I take a deep, steadying breath. My situation is dire and this might be my last chance.

“Mother, I’m in big trouble. I’ve no money left. The landlord will kick me out, and I’ll be a dirty street hobo!” I plead with genuine concern.

Silence.

“Alexandra...” Mother tuts , and I dare to hope she’s coming around, waiting with bated breath, my fate hanging in the balance.

I hear a man’s voice in the background. “Hang up, Liz, don’t let her take advantage of you.” James’s voice, my mother’s latest lover.

Rage seethes within me that this outsider—this nobody—is turning my mother against me.

“You tell, that bore James to go fuck himself!” I spit, any sense of reason now carried away in a mist of the reddest fury. “He doesn’t love you, Mother. He’s trying to steal your money and isolate you!”

“No... no, Alexandra, that’s what you’re doing,” Mother says. Her tone starts uncertain but then gathers with worrying clarity. “I hope one day you grow up, Alexandra. I really do,” she intones with a finality that heightens my pulse further. “Don’t call again.”

“Mother? Mother? Don’t abandon me!” I cry out in desperation, my last chance ruined by that hateful bore, James. Why does everyone hate me? What have I done to deserve this unfair treatment? Only the dead tone greets me, like my chances of survival—an empty dead thing.

My hands shake and I almost knock over my cup of cold mocha as I set it on the table. There must be a way out of this. There has to be! I rack my brain as I search my contacts list. Michael Stewart —the name halts my scrolling, filling me with a repulsive sensation deep in my stomach.

Michael—my latest ex—comes from a fabulously wealthy family.

Unlike me, he convinced his parents he was an upstanding member of society—but I know better.

Our relationship, if you could call it that, was a toxic mess.

We both cheated, and I can’t even recall who started it or who was the last to betray the other.

Holding my nose and my pride, I dial his number. It rings, and I hesitate, questioning if this is too much, even for me to pull off. But I press on, not one to give up without a fight.

“Lexie?” Michael’s voice, laden with surprise, brings back stomach-churning memories, and I cringe at the cafe table.

“Hey Mikey, long time no speak-y!” I force excitement into my voice, as foreign as the supposed alien flying around Scotland.

“I stumbled upon an old photo of us on social media, and it got me thinking of you...” I can taste bile in my throat but force myself to continue.

“We looked so happy. It reminded me of our fun times together.... We should totally meet up again!”

My heart skips a beat as silence stretches on. Finally, Michael laughs, a scornful sound tinged with bitter satisfaction. “Wait, is this a booty call?”

A booty call? The cheek! I’d rather spend five minutes with one of my toys. The smallest one could do more for me than mister twenty seconds could ever achieve.

“Oh Mikey, you’re hilarious!” I force laughter, suppressing my shame. “A lady like me doesn’t do such things,” I add with exaggerated haughtiness.

“Uh, huh?” The cheeky asshole Michael retorts in questions. “You do know I’m with Sarah now, right?”

As if that’s ever stopped him before!

“Sarah Beckman? The skinny one with the thick, ugly red glasses?” I almost laugh at the thought—it’s quite a downgrade, if I do say so myself. “You can do better... Mikey ,” I draw out his name, infusing the word with a seductive tone.

“Meaning you?” Michael shoots back, full of disdain, and I already regret calling him. All I’ve done is opened myself to more pain, giving him the satisfaction of rejecting me. “Sarah wears contacts now, and she’s actually really nice. Unlike you.”

My blood boils, dredging up old wounds that are surprisingly still raw. “I was nice to you, and you cheated on me! That was the thanks—”

“What are you prattling about, you delusional bitch? You cheated on me first with Henry, remember?” Michael interrupts furiously.

Is that what happened? Vaguely, I recall a drunken night at some party, but wasn’t that after he cheated on me first?

“I... Listen, Michael, that’s in the past. I wanted to talk about our future—” I try to keep my voice calm, attempting to salvage the conversation—and a roof over my head.

“Stop wasting my time, you absolute mess.” Michael’s words echo as he hangs up, leaving me seething with disbelief. I stare at my cell, raging he got the final say. I’m tempted to call back and unleash a torrent of insults, but there’s no point.

I continue scrolling through my contacts list, difficult through my blurred eyes and shaking hands.

‘Howard Turner–Father’ stands out, beckoning like a yawning abyss.

‘Father’ is more a fanciful wish than a reality—a promise of heart-wrenching disappointment with the faintest sliver of a fantastic dream.

Surely now, in my greatest hour of need, he will answer?

A surge of hope drives me as I call the number I shouldn’t have. This feels right, like in the movies. My father will step up when I need him most. All the positive karma I’ve earned, enduring such undeserved hatred and disdain, is about to be vindicated.

“Hello, you’ve reached the office of Howard Turner. Angela speaking, how may I help you?”

“Hello, Angela.” Tears catch in my throat, surprising even myself. “This is Alexandra, Howard’s daughter. I was hoping—”

“I’m sorry Alexandra. As I mentioned last time, Mr. Turner has instructed me to refuse your calls.

” Angela’s words cut deep, familiar, and bitter, like a recurring nightmare.

My heart sinks, the faint glimmer of hope smothered almost instantly.

It’s like a punch to the gut, the air rushing out of my lungs.

“Please, Angela, just a moment of his time,” I plead, my voice breaking despite my efforts to sound composed. “I really need to speak with him. It’s important.”

There’s a brief silence on the other end, and I imagine Angela hesitating, perhaps feeling a pang of sympathy. But then her professional, detached tone returns. “I’m truly sorry, Alexandra. Mr. Turner is very clear about his wishes. Have a good day.”

The line goes dead. I stare at my cell, the emptiness of the dial tone echoing the hollow ache in my chest. The room closes in around me, the weight of rejection pressing down, suffocating. How could I have let myself hope?

This is it. My life’s over.

Uncontrollable sobs wrack my body, the chasm in my heart opens like a festering wound.

A void in my soul that can never be filled, no matter what I do.

It threatens to swallow me, turning me inside out.

I want to surrender to the despair which clings like an old toxic friend, so I don’t have to try anymore. I just want to be left alone.

“Excuse me,” a soft voice interrupts as I bury my head in my arms on the cafe table. “Madam, excuse me?” she insists, louder.

I lift my head, wiping tears away. A staff member offers me a handkerchief with a smile that doesn’t touch her dark eyes. “I’m sorry, but I must ask you to leave. You’re disturbing the other guests.”

I rise, towering over her petite frame, but instead of anger, I feel only despair and embarrassment.