Beyblade Fan Fiction ❯ Evra's Big Mistake ❯ Chapter four ( Chapter 4 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Rei's Neko_gurl: Oh dear lord. I totaly fucked up in my exam today. I mean come on, Physic's is really boering and my teacher's been off for the best part of two years so how am I supposed to know what the paper was talkin bout?!
Jiana: Just ignore her, she's just upset. Looks over to Rei's Neko_gurl, who's stomping around the room. She doesn't own Kai or anything just unrecognised people.

It didn't help that Bruce kept shaking his head and telling her she looked terrible. Every time he said it, Dawn longed to blurt out that maybe if he was pregnant and his wife wanted him to have an abortion, he might look terrible too.

But she couldn't.

She didn't dare.

As long as nobody else was aware of the situation, Dawn felt superstitiously, there was a chance it could somehow sort itself out, be magically resolved.

It didn't seem likely, she had to admit. But you never knew, miricales did happen.

The other reason she was reluctant to tell Bruce was . . . well, her job.

He was her employer, and if Hiro did leave her, she was goin to need, rather badly, to stay employed.

Dawn couldn't help wondering how a man who disapproved of women spending more than thirty seconds in the loo was likely to react to the idea of time off for atternal appointments, visits to the doctor, maybe a whole day off to actually give birth . . .

No, no, safer all round to keep this kind of news from him, Dawn thought with a shudder.

For the time being, at least.


She felt doubly guilty on Friday morning when Bruce came into the shop carrying a box from the patisserie arounf the corner.

'You're not eating properly,' he told her, dumping the box on the counter. 'This dieting busibess doesn't suit you. Here, I picked us up a couple of coffee eclairs.'

Even a fortnight ago, the prospect of a coffee eclair at nine o'clock in the morning would have made her sick. Now, gazing lovingly at them, Dawn realised that she was so ravenous she could not only eat both eclairs, but the box as well.

'That's really kind.'

Does he seriously think I'm looking terrible because I'm on a diet?

'Got something else for you too.' Digging in his inside pocket, Bryce pulled out a gilt-edged invitation. 'My mother sent it to us. Some charity bash in Belgravia. Sounds pretty good, but we've made other arrangements for that night -- it's our wedding anniversary -- so I thought you and Hiro could give it a try. Might perk you up a bit.'

'Lovely.' Dutifully, Dawn studied the invitation. Right now the only thing capable of perking her up would be a husband with a brain transplant.

'Lots of famous people going.' In case she'd forgotten how to read, Bruce leaned over an pointed to the list of names. 'Wayne Peterson, the footballer. Caroline Newman, she's the one who does that holiday programme. And Daisy Schofield . . .' He hesitated. The name was familiar but he couldn't place it.

'Australian model, sings a bit. And she's acted in a couple of films,' said Dawn. Hiro had something of a crush on Daisy Schofield, so she was in a position to know.

'Well, should be fun.' Bruce gave her an encouraging wink. 'No getting yourself chatted up by Wayne Peterson, mind. He's a good-looking chap.'

Oh yes, highly likely, thought Dawn. The moment Wayne Peterson claps eyes on me, that'll be it, no question.

Bowled over.

Literally, she decided with a rueful smile, if I carry on eating like this rate.


Hiro waited untill Dawn had left for work the next morning before hauling the suitcases out from under the stairs.

Doing it this way might seem unkind, but he didn't mean to be. it would be just far more upsetting for Dawn, he knew, to be there watching him pack.

Easier all round to clear his things out while she was out.

Was that so cruel?

It didn't take long to fill four suitcases; he wasn't making off with the household appliences, only clothes and a few CDs.

Forty minutes later, Hiro took a last tour of the livingroom. Not the happiest day of his life, but he'd survive.

None of this is my fault, he told himself, imagining Dawn's reaction when she came home at five thirty and found his note. It really isn't my fault, though. Dawn knew the rules and she broke them. How can I be to blame when she forced me into this?

He looked at the clock on the mantlepiece. It had been a wedding present from his grandmother, but he wouldn't take it with him. He wasn't a bastard, for one thing. This might be the end of the road for himself and Dawn but that didn't mean they had to turn into the kind of couple who fought over the last curtain hook.

Anyway, what use would he have for a clock like that? He was moving in with his old mate Adrian, whose own wife had run off last year with a stockbroker. The last thing he needed was the chiming brass monstrosity his grandmother had ordered from her catalogue.

Much as he loved her, there was no getting away from the fact, Hiro decided; it was one seriously naff clock.

The gilt-edged invitation was propped up next to it on the mantelpiece. With time on his hands, Hiro picked it up and idly read through it again. Last night, Dawn had produced the invitation from her bag and said : 'Why don't we go to this? Look, Daisy Schofield's going to be there. You'd like to meet her, wouldn't you?'

It had been, he guessed, her way of trying to pretend nothing had happened.

'Dawn, what's the piont?' He had been gentle with her, but firm. 'I've already told you, I'm moving out. If you want to go to the party, you go.'

'I couldn't .' Dawn's eyes had filled with tears. 'Not on my own.'

That had been it. Hiro had shrugged, indicating that this was hardly his fault, and Dawn had flung the invitation to the floor before rushing from the room. Hiro had been the one to bend down, retrieve it from beneath the coffee table and put it safely on the mantelpiece.

Daisy Schofield.

God, she was gorgeous.

That body . . .

Oh, what the hell, Hiro thought as he slid the invitation into his back pocket. It wasn't as if Dawn was going to use it, was she?

Let's face it, some oppertunities are simply too good to miss.


It was a cold, bright Sunday. For what seemed like the first time in months, the sky was blue and the sun was out.

Florence was sitting gazing out of her window when she heard Evra clatter down the stairs.

'It's me, I'm going shopping.' She poked her head around Florence's door. 'Anything I can get you?'

'Absolutely. A bottle of Montrachet, please.'

Evra's expressive eyebrows slanted at right angles.

'Sounds like a sneeze. What is it, some kind of cough madicine?'

'Wine. Bette than medicine.' Florence wheeled herself across to where her handbag lay. 'Here, let me get you the money.'

'It's alright, I'll pick it up in Tesco. Pay me later.'

Florence waggled a fifty-pound note at her.

'We aren't talking plonk here, this should just about cover it. And you'll have to go to the wine merchants in Kendal Street.'

'Blimey. Special occasion?' Privately Evra thought Florence must be mad. Tesco did some special offers. If she was in the mood to pish the boat out she could get a really nice Australian Chardonnay for £3.99.

'It's April the tenth. Ray's birthday. We always drank Montrachet on his birthday.' Florence snapped her purse shut, determined not to sound like a sentimental old fool. 'I've kind of kept up the ritual. Well, we always said we would. It was Ray's favourite wine. Flashy bugger,' she said fondly at his photograph, on the table next to her, 'he reconed he was worth it.'


When Evra arrived back with the wine an hour later, she found Florence waiting for her by the door.

'Why are you wearing a hat?'

'It's cold outside.' Florence adjusted the tilt of her jaunty red fedora. 'You've been ages. The cab will be here any minute.' She took the tissue-wrapped bottle as carefully as if it were a newborn baby. 'Was the fifty enough?'

'Three pounds change. Where are you going?'

'Hampstead Heath. Parliament Hill.' Florence grinned at the at the expression on Evra's face. 'The sun's shining. I could do with the fresh air. Anyway, it's where Ray and I first met.'

'People will stare at you.'

'Oh well, I'm used to that.'

'You're going to sit on Parliament Hill drinking a forty-seven-pound bottle of wine?' Evra said in disbelief. 'Have you got a corkscrew?'

'I'm in a wheelchair.' Comfortably, Florence patted her bag. 'I'm not senile.'

The bag, when she'd patted it, had made a clinking noise. As a minicab pulled up outside, Evra said cautiously, 'Two glasses. One for you and one for . . . ?'

If Florence said, 'Ray,' she would have to stop her. There was such a thing as too wierd.

'You, of course.' Florence opened the door and began to wheel herself through it. 'Who else do you think is going to push me up that bloody hill?'

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Rei's Neko_gurl: Hope you enjoyed.