Help (Part 1)

An ending seems so far away, until it happens. Regret? Remorse? Reflection. Memories of happier times, broken hearts, and tears of laughter. Memories of growing up. Mum and Dad how they should be. How a family should be, and what it was like growing up. You were happy, young, and free. Fond memories of weekends away with your parents in a tiny caravan in the middle of nowhere, dreading getting a shower because of all the creepy crawlies lurking in the corners of the communal bathrooms. Watching the news at 6 o'clock with your mum and dad next to you to keep you secure and warm. Excited for the next day just to see them again.

"Dead?" Cara said as she bent down and sobbed into her hands.

David's eyes leaked tears, but there was no emotion on his face. He was numb and heartbroken. "Mummy," he whispered.

Death isn't something we enjoy thinking about very often because we don't fully understand what happens afterwards. Of course, there are beliefs and opinions and religion to suggest some theories, but there isn't a definite fact of where we go when we go or what happens when it happens. Maybe that's why we're scared of it. The possibility that after we die, there's just nothingness. That our last breath is met with darkness and regret for the things we 'never got around to do.' Death can be sudden or it can be timed, it can even be planned. But what we do know, is that death can bring out the worst in people.

Eyes bloodshot and cheeks puffy-red, Cara sternly redirected her grief into anger.

"So what happens now? What do we do? Isn't there some legal shit that we have to deal with as we cope with the sudden death of our parents?"

On the way to York for a romantic, history-filled weekend, an Audi driver going too fast on a rain-soaked road lost control and smashed into the front of their car. Devastating. The airbags couldn't save them. The driver lived and blamed it on the condition of the road itself, not that it was too wet to be going 30 mph over the speed limit, but that a pot hole came 'all-of-a-sudden' and he wasn't expecting it and that was the cause of the accident. He even suggested suing the council because they hadn't filled it in.

"Well Ms. Finch, there is the matter of your parents' last will and testimony.

"It seems that you both get equal amounts of money and you each have rights to this house and the villa your parents rent out in France. Apparently, your parents thought that you could handle the stress of being landlords enough for you to, and I quote, 'do what you want with them.'" The solicitor said hesitantly in his smart, grey, tweed suit and black tie, his gelled comb-over and devilishly beautiful brown eyes, "it says that you can 'decide between yourself who gets what from the house' and to decide 'between yourselves who gets the caravan.'"

Mr. and Mrs. Finch weren't the most sensitive of people. They only cared about their money and their kids (in that order); everything else was just a filler for a materialistic life. Cara and David, despite the teachings of their parents, didn't grow up to have exactly the same ideologies about life. Cara cared for people; true, she was a defence lawyer, but she had people's feelings at the forefront of every action she took when she wasn't in the courtroom. She donated to charities and volunteered at a homeless shelter every other Sunday. All she wanted to do was help people. David was career-driven, a business man and successful entrepreneur who cared about his business, his mum, Cara, and his dad (in that order). Everyone else was just a body he could make money off.

After the solicitor had done his job, Cara and David tried to discuss what they were going to do. Go home and deal with this individually, or stay at their parents' and be with each other?

_______________________________________________________________________

The removal van arrived the next day to take some boxes to a storage unit they rented out to keep some of their parents' stuff in (basically the things that they didn't want or didn't think were of any real value, sentimental or otherwise). David had been up for hours and wasn't in the house when Cara woke from her three hour sleep, from a night of crying and overthinking. Every single brick the house was built with held a memory that Cara treasured so badly; maybe staying in the house wasn't the best decision, but it was probably the easier option. She couldn't bear the thought of having to drive all the way here after yesterday.

She walked down the cold, marble staircase, into the hallway, and then arrived in the kitchen where she flicked the kettle on. Hopefully some caffeine can keep her awake long enough to carry on another day of packing shit into boxes. She glanced into the garden. It wasn't too big and it wasn't too small, enough to fit around 60 or 70 people, with some garden furniture and a fountain near the tree in the bottom right corner. Her mum and dad had plenty of gatherings, as they liked to call them, in that garden. Champagne and shrimps being offered out like they were going out of fashion. Cara remembered her sleepovers she had with a few of her friends when they used to like camping. Her dad would bring out some hot chocolate for them to have so they could go to sleep better after the ghost stories they used to tell each other—

The atmosphere fell. The air, filled with tension, felt thick and inescapable. Cara felt like she was surrounded by ice as the temperature plummeted. She was abruptly light-headed and felt as though she wasn't the only person breathing in the house. She felt the tip of a finger run quickly down the back of her neck and with a sharp 180 turn she saw that she was alone. Completely alone. She hesitantly turned back to look out the window, when she noticed a slight chip, smack-bang in the middle of the window pane; that she doesn't remember being there just 10 seconds before. She leaned in a little closer with a bewildered look on her face, when the kettle clicked.

"I'm just tired," she muttered to herself as she shook her head in disbelief. She kept looking at the chip while she was making her coffee; something isn't right. She heard the front door open and then close again. There was a slight pause and Cara could feel her skin tingle as she hoped to hear David's voice.

"Cara!" David yelled to the entire street, "are you awake?!"

Cara exhaled in relief."Of course I am," she replied. "Why are you shouting?"

"Sorry, I just wasn't sure if you'd hear me otherwise. How are you? What are you doing today?"

She looked at David and then looked to the floor and then back at him and shrugged. David nodded, he knew the answers. Cardboard boxes overflowed throughout the house. The hallway was like something you'd train for months just to cross; you could barely make out the dark, wood-like, laminate floor. 'Dad's things,' 'Mum's things,' 'Cara's memories,' and 'David's memories' were just a few of the labels they used for each box. You couldn't sit down in the living room. There just wasn't any space. 'Old books' and 'Shit we don't want' were piled near to the top of the high white ceilings. They left the fireplace clear; the house was so big that it would always be freezing, especially when it got to about 4 o'clock. Winter was definitely on its way, and being in a big, modern house certainly had its disadvantages when the temperature dropped, and the temperature seemed to drop quite frequently.

"You look a little flustered. Are you feeling OK?" David said.

"You don't feel it?"

David had a baffled look on his face. "It's a little cold, I suppose," he replied, not really knowing what to say.

Cara looked at David then nervously skimmed across the kitchen and dining area as though she was looking for something in particular. David's impatience, mixed with the fact that Cara hadn't actually done anything all day, got to him. He snapped.

"Are you going to make me a cuppa or are you just going to stand there looking like that?" David said impatiently, "I've got shit to do, Cara, maybe you should actually do something. Then you'd know how I feel."

Cara was taken aback. He'd never spoken to her like that before. She could feel her anger boiling up, but it was met with sadness and compassion as she realised he probably only lashed out at her like that because of everything that's happened. She gave him the benefit of the doubt, cleared her throat and asked "one sugar or two?"...