Saving Brownie

Chapter Eighteen : Diarrhoea Is A Hoe

"Hello, George," Ian greeted through the phone and I sloppily got up from bed.

I asked wearily, "What happened Ian?"

"Clark and I were going to-wait, are you alright?" he said, his voice laced with concern and worry.

"No, I'm sick."

"Why? I mean what happened?"

"It's not that severe---"

"Do you want me to bring you something? Or take you to the doctor?" he bombarded me with a series of questions and I exhaled loudly.

I said a bit forcefully, "No, it's nothing really."

"It must be something George. Is it cold or fever?"

"Neither."

"Then what is wrong?" he asked again and I hesitated. "What is it George? You're such a tough cookie, you---"

"Nothing! I just . . . ate a lot yesterday and my bladder got all weird," I admitted in a low voice, trying my best to not get embarrassed.

"Oh," Ian said and there was a long pause.

"Yeah, so I need to go to the bathroom again, you know," I said awkwardly and sprinted to the bathroom.

"Oh yeah, sure. Take care and if you need anything, you can---"

"DAD, WE RAN OUT OF TOILET PAPER! BRING IT UP QUICKLY!"

"You erm . . . want me to bring a roll of paper or something?"

"Wait . . . what? You're still there? I thought you hung up!" I whined and smacked my head. "God, this is so embarrassing."

"No it's okay--- l"

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry you had to hear that . . . Thanks for your concern though. Bye," I mumbled quickly and cut the call.

* * *

"Are you alright now?" Ian asked and Clark raised his eyebrow. I wildly nodded, trying my best to deflect the topic. All three of were hanging out in this local, trendy café.

"You both are rich kids, don't you guys have no work?" I asked curiously and they both shrugged.

"We work online, but we are actually planning to go back to London for a few days to take care of business and stuff," Ian said and Clark simply took a sip of his black coffee.

"Really? When?"

"In a week or so," Ian replied and the butterflies in my stomach flipped in excitement.

"I'm planning to go to London too! My brother lives there and I'm going to visit him. Which borough of London though?"

"That wouldn't be an issue, we can always drive you around," he offered and Clark pretended not to listen.

"Brownie, are you okay with me tagging along?" I asked not a bit sincerely since I already knew the answer.

"No," he stated clearly and my grin widened.

"Then, I would definitely come along!"

* * *

"Which day's ticket to London do I have to book?" my dad enquired and I coolly sipped my lemonade.

"That's been taken care of."

"How?" He raised his bushy eyebrow which resembled an arched caterpillar. I didn't utter a word, hoping this question could be avoided. But then he placed the Chinese takeaway on the dining table and repeated, "How George?"

"You know Clark and Ian, right? Greta and Clark---"

"Yeah, I know. She gave you that job and Ian is that rich kid who lives up the hill," my dad mumbled as he absently stacked the plates over the table.

"Right, so they are going to London too. I'll be going with them this Tuesday."

"No, you're not going with them," he said staunchly and I knew he was going to object- but I wasn't prepared to hear it.

"What? Why not? You were okay with me going all alone, but you don't want me to go with my friends?" I shot him an incredulous look.

"Listen, I don't think those boys are good---"

"They belong to nice families dad!" I interrupted and realized bitterly that I didn't know a thing about their families. Clark was an orphan, but I didn't know any more than that. I had seen Ian's family around a couple of times, but Ian was so nice so I assumed that his family was nice too.

"These boys . . . they seem shady to me," my dad said gruffly and I scoffed. Of course they would seem weird. I meant that Clark was an undercover billionaire and Ian was the one covering for Clark. "You have to understand---"

"What is there to understand, huh? You think that everybody is the suspect only because you can't find mum's killer. Let me tell you though, I killed mum! I killed her! Only if I had gone with her on time to that awards ceremony and not acted like a brat, the accident wouldn't have taken place!" I yelled impulsively, not bothering that I was only adding to the drama. But it was true though, I had killed my mum. It was all my fault- my childish rage which was now out again.

"You did not do anything," my dad said slowly- almost tiredly as he put emphasis on each word and I snickered.

"Really? Okay, but you did not do anything either! You still did not find the culprit and his vehicle which just whammed into mum's car, leaving her cold and dead. You're a cop for god's sake! When will you find the criminal? When will you stop accusing random innocent people? When will mum get justice, dad?" I snapped, instantly feeling regret crawling on my neck.

"I'm not accusing any . . . " he trailed off and there was a long pause. He sighed and asked, "Did you take your pills for the headache you had?"

I didn't reply. He silently opened the drawer and handed me the pills. I grudgingly popped one in my mouth and seeing no point in arguing with him, I quietly went upstairs to my bedroom. My head was throbbing so much that I was afraid I would burst.

I cursed internally at myself and sunk in the repentance of my harsh words. After my mum's death, the grief of her loss was still there in each one of us. My brother returned to his university in London, so it was just dad and me left here. My dad didn't talk much, but he always made sure that I wasn't deprived of any love or attention. He made sure I was healthy and strong. He didn't even think of drinking or smoking after mum's death. All he cared to was now raise me with love and support and to find my mum's murderer.

I should stop throwing tantrums and my quiet battle with my own issues was no excuse as to how I treated my own father. I was happy always or at least I seemed to be happy, even after my mum's death. It was because of my dad never blamed me for what I did that night.

"Dad?" I called out for him when some time passed by while manoeuvring down the stairs.

"Yeah?" He looked up from the files spread over the table. I noticed how exasperated he looked. His eyes were sunken and there were huge bags beneath them.

"I'm so sorry dad," I apologised softly as I ran and hugged him. "I'm sorry for yelling at you. I'll go to London alone if you don't want me to go with my friends."

"Yeah, about that. I talked to your brother and he thinks it's okay for you to come along with your friends. He thinks it'll be really great since he would initially be busy for a while, so if you have company with you, they'll keep you occupied," my dad said as I pulled away from him.

"Zach thinks that?" I mumbled to myself and smiled wistfully.