The Girl With the Blue Eyes

She stood at the top of the stairs and summoned up the courage to go downstairs, afraid of what she might find. One, two, three. She didn’t move.

“Really, this time,” she murmured. “One.” She took a deep breath. “Two.” She took a step down.

The car keys jangled and she dashed to her cupboard.

Car keys meant leaving, meant running away, meant no other way out of the argument. Audrey usually saw her mother running away. Usually she’d go downstairs after the jangling and slamming and driving away and her dad would make hot chocolate and tell her it would be okay. Usually, Audrey believed him. Seeking this solace, she pushed the door of the cupboard open a crack. She saw nobody. Feeling safe, thinking it was her dad downstairs, she swung the door open as wide as it would go, and stood up without much trouble - she was smaller than all her friends and she had been hunching over and shrinking away for a while.

There was no counting this time - she bounded down the stairs and headed straight for the kitchen. She heard the unfamiliar clink of ice against glass and paused.

The door was fully closed, like it'd been slammed, so she couldn't see who was inside. Another clink.

She pushed the door open, and saw her mother sipping at a honey-coloured liquid in a short, wide glass.

"Where's Dad?" She asked, in a voice that clearly sounded her bitter disappointment.

"Gone," was the flat reply.

Audrey would have retreated, but she wanted Greg, not Emma. She wanted comfort and a cuddle, not a mother more interested in the funny smelling honey-coloured drink. She fought against the instincts she had to leave the room and asked why he was gone.

"Because you're a brat," her mother screeched, and Audrey, feeling stung, withdrew from the room. Biting back tears, she climbed the stairs and wrenched open the door to her cupboard. Moving aside the books and food she'd hidden earlier, she pulled a towel over her face and wailed.