This particular Sunday started with a visit to the church. Nora's grandma sat on her right side, quiet, reminiscing about her husband, who had died on this very day thirteen years before.
Nora wasn't a religious person and never really prayed, so as the church choir sang her mind drifted to the memories of her school back in London. She'd skip chapel for cigarettes and hide in the washroom with her posse of popular girls. The nicotine was her breakfast and killed the hunger for a couple of hours. She'd read somewhere that's how the models stayed so skinny. In between their fashion castings, they'd go for their only meals - black coffee and cigarettes. It all sounded so chic and glamorous back then.
Shaking her head at her stupid former self, she listened to the church choir. Ever since coming to Berk, accompanying her grandmother to church had become a form of meditation for Nora. It was spirituality, not the religion itself, that attracted her to it. Hearing whispered hopes and prayers, understanding that everyone was fighting their own battles or counting their blessings, was comforting. As much as she hated religion for its bloody history, it created a sense of community. Understanding church and religion helped her get her first 100% mark on her essay on Paradise Lost, an epic poem she could lose herself in for hours.
She used to think that her father losing all their money, the family falling apart, her battle with weight, and the forced move to Berk were her way of losing her paradise. But as time went on, she questioned whether it was actually hell she left behind and found paradise in the form of her grandma's cosy knitted sweaters, the purr of Luna at her side in late evenings and the seclusion of village life away from the materialism of a high flying city. To this day, she didn't know whether she wanted to go back to London at all. Her grandma had said it was way too early for her to retire in a small village and urged Nora to go back. She would go back, because she wanted to earn money and have the ability to treat and take care of her grandma. It was the least she could do.
As they returned home, the sky began to darken and the sound of thunder reverberated throughout the whole house. With relish, Nora threw open the windows, enjoying the sounds of the thunderstorm and the smell of rain on freshly cut grass. Whilst heavy rain was not unusual in this part of England, thunderstorms were.
While her grandmother was busy getting the fancy wine that they had saved for a special occasion, Nora began setting the table for guests. Today, Benny was going to bring his new boyfriend to meet them.
"Should I check on the chicken?" Nora asked, rolling up her sleeves. They always made a lot of food together on Sunday, with plenty of leftovers for Monday.
Her grandmother looked at her watch. "I just did... It should be ready in about twenty minutes. You look a bit restless. Weren't you supposed to tutor Rafe this morning? Usually, your Sundays are the longest sessions," she said with a wink, opening the bottle of wine with a pop. It was hard to convince her grandma that really all they did was study who said it was not possible for two good-looking teenagers to spend so much time together and only study.
Once, she even put condoms in Nora's school bag.
The last-minute cancellation had taken Nora by surprise, too. She scrolled through their earlier conversation on her phone. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He just said, 'Today's not a good day for me.'
Was he sick? Hungover? With a girl? The last thought she pushed out of her mind. It was none of her business. She trusted him enough by now to know that he wouldn't cancel the lesson if he didn't have a legitimate reason. She no longer hunted him down. But his message was too cryptic even for a spontaneous guy like him. Maybe, he had had another argument with his father again?
She shouldn't pry.
She put the phone down.
"Maybe he just needed a break," she said to herself with a shrug.
"You should've invited Rafe over too. He still hasn't been over to visit. And I'd like to meet him."
"He's busy today. Maybe next time. Anyway, to Grandpa," she said, clinking her glass with her grandmother.
"To George," she said softly and took a small sip.
Nora began washing the vegetables for the salad. The organisation of the fridge was entirely her work, and she beamed with joy as the herbs were in their water-filled jars covered with plastic. The cucumbers were rolled up in tissues, and all the greens were washed, peeled and folded away in the ziplock bags. Eat your heart out, Mari Kondo.
She glanced at her grandmother, who sat deep in thought in her armchair, the blustery breeze from outside catching her short, platinum-blond dyed hair.
"Did Grandpa like wine?" Nora asked to make conversation. Grandma had never got over his sudden death. She'd been alone for years without trying to find herself a partner and had been going to his grave almost every weekend. But Nora found her grandmother loved talking about him. It didn't hurt her to do so; talking about him made his memory come to life.
"Your grandpa wasn't much of a drinker, but he did indulge in whiskey on special occasions. He could never have more than one glass, though."
"Ah so if you two had a drinking match, you'd beat him."
Her grandma threw her head back and barked out a laugh. "With my eyes closed."
"I really don't get spirits," Nora said, shuddering as she remembered knocking back vodka shots just to impress her friends. She could still remember the dizziness, the vile taste and the loss of control over her own body and mind. She'd had a stomachache for days after that because she'd drunk on a hungry stomach.
"And you don't need to. Wine is the best. Oh I can't live without wine, honey. If I'm ever in the hospital and they ask for my blood type, tell them it's a Shiraz," she said with a wink.
Nora shook her head with a smile and sliced up tomatoes, cucumbers, and olives and reached for some feta in the fridge. "I wish I could've met him," she said and meant it. It would've been even more fun with him around, especially since he was a mean Scrabble player and an excellent historian, according to her gran.
"Oh you two would've had a blast, that's for sure...but I'm not sure if he would've ever gotten over Harry's choices in life. Maybe it's better that he's not around," her grandma murmured with a distant look in her eyes.
Nora's hand stilled at the mention of her father's name. Her disgraced father, who had done illegal deals in trading, known as spoofing, was currently doing time. Her grandmother had slowly glued back the pieces of Nora's heart together, healing her mental health, her self-image and her sense of self-worth. But it occurred to her only now that her grandmother had been hurting just as much - if not more. And no one had picked up pieces of her. This was her son. Her only son. The man Nora used to resent and vilify and preferred to stay away from.
Nora's phone rang on the coffee table, making her jump in surprise. Her grandma snapped out of her reverie as she reached for it.
"It's Benny," she said, handing her the phone. Nora walked around the kitchen island to grab it.
"Hey," she answered. "Lunch is almost ready; please don't tell me you're running late."
"Hey no we're um, we're on our way, but we were on Brook Street just now, and we passed Rafe. He seemed really out of it."
"Isn't he always a bit out of it?"
Benny let out a nervous laugh. "He'sâ I think he was drunk. And angry."
Nora gripped the phone a little tighter, the joking mood gone. "Really?"
Rafe was a soppy, fun drunk.
"Yeah, it was weird, we were passing The Crown, and he came out looking like he'd had a few drinks and was looking for trouble. He almost got into a fight with some guys. Simon and I managed to calm everyone down, and the other guys just left him alone."
"Shit. Where is he now?"
"We wanted to take him back to yours or the dorms, but he was angry about something and told us to leave him alone. He was going in the direction of the park. You guys didn't have a fight or something, did you?"
"No, we didn't," Nora said, racking her brain for any clues of what could've been the matter. And drinking during the day didn't sound good...it wasn't something Rafe would be stupid enough to do...
"Alright, I'll go and find out what's wrong," Nora said and hung up.
After the call ended, she thought about it, but could find no justification for Rafe's behaviour. And that he was alone was even more alarming. Rafe was never alone. He was always with his football buddies if he wasn't with her.
She headed for the door, throwing on her coat and Wellingtons, and grabbing an umbrella.
"Grandma, I'll be back in a sec. I think there's something wrong with Rafe," she said.
"Of course. Find him; bring him over if you need to."
Nora wasn't even sure at which angle to hold the umbrella as the wind seemed to blow the rain from all directions. There was a flash of lightning followed by the rumble of thunder.
"Great," she muttered to herself, looking at the angry sky. She dialled Rafe's number, hoping that he'd pick it up and assure her he was fine. But his phone was switched off. That definitely set off alarm bells because Rafe was never without his phone.
With quick strides, she headed towards the direction of the pub and the park. It would take too long to wait for the bus.