Chapter one first draft advice
The blank white walls of Claira’s reception area reminded her of her time in the hospital, though her office was well maintained and looked after the walls they still had that murky grey tint to them that all hospitals seem to have. Similarly the walls were completely bear with only healthcare posters as an exception and even then they were not used for decoration but instead used to incite people to feel fear so they would pay more money to try and have the unachievable dazzling smile that the obviously photo shopped woman in the picture has. She knew the posters were not complete lies but she still hated them, she would have much rather had a beautiful vase full of colorful blooming flowers sit opposite her desk then the bright pink bordered poster advertising dental care.
Claira’s job mirrored her office; it was mostly boring and bland with the odd situation or scenario that felt like it either did not belong there or out of place. She spent most of her days answering phone calls, asking the same repetitive questions, booking appointments and telling people “the dentist is ready to see you now”, or “you’ll be fine”. That phrase felt etched onto her brain. She once tried to count how many times she had said it in one day but after roughly the 55th one she lost count.
As she sat in her office chair which seemed to engulf her tiny frame, she sighed and rested her chin on her interlaced fingers and starred curiously out the window. People were rushing past too busy to notice her keeping watch. They were running around the high street, dragging their reluctant children behind them. Desperately trying to finish their shopping before rush hour started.
“Claira?” The question was posed by Claira’s boss Harrison Evans; he was a tall man who had a fresh face, with eyes so light green they almost looked grey. He glared at her and his expression was mostly blank except that one of his dark, bold eyebrows was slightly raised.
“Do you not have some work to be getting on with?” he asked in a raspy deep voice which created a small echo in the tiny reception.
“Sorry” she smiled, Claira liked Harrison, and he was a fair but firm boss and had always treated her well. He was aware of Claira’s history but it did not bother him at all, she had proven herself to him and he did not judge he only cared about her performance.
He smiled gently at her and two small dimples appeared one on each side of his slightly pink full lips. She tried not to blush, she did not have a crush on her boss but it was obvious that he was a good looking man. She grabs a pile of papers and continued to work until the end of her shift.
After a long day at work and what felt like a longer journey home in the rush hour traffic Claira finally walked through the front door of her home. It was a small house, painted all bright and light colours. Her kitchen was beige; her hallways were white, her bedroom coral, the dining room violet, the living room green and her daughter’s room pink.
She had been living in the suburbs for about 6 years now and it had really helped to calm her nerves. The village she lived in was quiet and clean and all of her neighbours were friendly and accommodating. When Claira had first moved in Mrs. Cottesmore who lived next door had turned up within the hour with a freshly baked cherry pie to welcome her. It seemed like a dream at the time and Claira did question it the next morning when she awoke. It was such a stereotypical scene, a sweet elderly woman with a large, white, casserole dish decorated with bright red roses stood at her door, with a gloriously big grin; but upon further investigation Claira found the half eaten pie in the fridge and had a small slice for her lunch.
When Claira finally reached home she saw the autumn leaves still lay in mounds on people’s yarn as the Taylor’s young son raked the yards that were yet to be groomed. Claira had seen him raking every day on her return from work, he had knocked at her door one day asking if she needed help, and stated he was only charging £3. Claira’s front garden was not particularly messy but the young man was at the age where he was too young to get a job but older enough to want one so she gave him a crisp five pound note and told him to keep the change. He smiled sweetly and she prayed internally that when Zophia was his age she would be just as sweet as he was.
Zophia was only four and she was Claira’s only child. She was a beautiful little girl with long ginger curls; she could have been mistaken for a porcelain doll. She was pale and had light orange freckles across the bridge of her nose that followed onto the edge of her cheeks. Claira was proud of her and was always glad to get home and hold her in her arms.
On this day Lola, Zophia’s nanny was sat on the living room couch reading a thick hardback book, on the floor in front of her lay Zophia covering in duvets and pillows, her eyes were closed and the sound of her breathing filled the room.
“She’s only been asleep for about 45 minutes, we made a pillow fort but I guess it was too comfortable for her” she laughed and Claira joint her laughter.
“Thank you for looking after her”. Claira whispered as she slowly lowered herself onto the floor and shimmied her way into the pillow fort and cuddled her daughter, moving the long curls off of her face. Zophia woke slightly, beamed at her mother, threw her arms around her neck and fell swiftly back to sleep. Lola pushed her hands through the front of her hair.
“I will see you both tomorrow” Lola whispered before quietly leaving, allowing Claira to also fall under the sandman’s spell.
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