The alarm went off at 7 am.
I know it doesn't sound that early but considering that these were the days when I could sleep in, it was uncharacteristically early for me.
The light clicked on in the bathroom. How odd it was to have my own en suite. I washed off the grogginess from my eyes and put on make-up. Nothing too fancy but presentable enough in case there should be photos. I tied my black hair in a long messy braid.
The sunlight flooded into my guestroom as I opened the curtains: it was a beautiful morning, atypically warm for the season. Birds were singing in the distance. Was that a swallow? There was no doubt that the spring had come early.
I threw some clothes on and hurried downstairs. In the kitchen I found Anette finishing up the decorations on a fabulous birthday cake. On the light pink glaze, the words "Happy Birthday, Miss Veronica" had been written in a beautiful cursive, the comma included.
"Good morning, Miss Isabella," the sweet cook greeted me.
I smiled back at her sleepily. Anette was fond of honorifics, everyone in this household was. In the beginning I had asked the staff members to just call me Izzy. My request had gone ignored.
"Good morning," I replied with a smile. "The cake looks amazing."
"Only the best for Miss Veronica," she said cheerfully. During my first couple of days I had wondered if her constant optimism was a form of passive-aggressiveness. But it never wore off.
"20 years, huh."
"To the day. How time flies."
I nodded. Me and my cousin were almost the same age, that was as much as we had in common. Still my mother thought it might be a good idea for me to spend Easter at my uncle's estate. Despite my objections I was dispatched to the countryside. I had thought my cousin would have had better things to do but I was informed that it was she, who had insisted on my visit. Hence, I was compelled to kiss goodbye to my plans of taking it easy during the Easter break.
"What's the plan exactly for the day? Is there going to be a party?" I asked Anette, certain that she should be knowledgeable about the procedure.
"Only a small one for the household. Miss Veronica doesn't care much for birthday parties."
"How so?" I inquired, genuinely interested. Veronica always seemed like a socialite to me. Any glorification of her being seemed welcome to her, so I was surprised that there shouldn't be a party.
Anette let out a deep breath.
"Well, it's to do with the date," she told me regretfully.
"April 1st?"
"Yes, Fool's Day. She absolutely loathes the fact that her birthday should coincide with it. Whenever the poor girl had a party, there would always be some cruel prank. After her 17th birthday, she had had enough."
I nodded thoughtfully. I had never imagined I'd hear anyone call Veronica a 'poor girl'. There was nothing poor about her. She had the looks, she was practically loaded. There was no doubt that that alone would make her incredibly popular among her peers. But Anette had been with the family for so long. It would only be natural for her, the mother hen, to care for a girl she had seen grown up in this very mansion.
Anette inquired about my mood for breakfast, but I told her that I would help myself for some toast with jam. She seemed thankful to be allowed to go on with her tasks. There was still much to do. I squeezed myself some orange-mango juice and opened a jar of homemade blackcurrant marmalade from the cupboard. It's weird how fresh and homegrown ingredients could make something as banal as toast taste luxurious.
It felt so quiet in this large house that I rarely ventured to eat in the actual dining area. It was still too cold to eat outdoors in the morning, so I usually just had my breakfast in the kitchen. That way I could also keep Anette company.
I helped Anette to assemble a breakfast tray for Veronica. There was a bowl of granola, some Greek yoghurt, various fresh berries. I peeled beetroot for Veronica's breakfast smoothie while Anette grated in some ginger.
We were interrupted by Uncle Thomas, who rushed into the kitchen. Unexpectedly he was dressed for work, looking very smart in his suit. He was my mother's younger brother, an incredibly handsome man. Yet his eyes missed the spark that was so prevalent in those of my mother. There were fewer lines around the eyes, fewer marks of joy. He seemed like a well-disposed person, but it seemed like his job as a barrister had left a mark on him, manifesting as lack of any visible signs of aging.
"Good morning," he greeted us with a mechanical smile.
"Good morning, Sir," Anette beamed.
"Morning, Uncle."
"Veronica's still in bed?"
"She is, Sir."
"I've received a call from London. I must leave soon to see a client."
"Oh no. Does Miss Veronica know?" Anette worried.
"Not yet. I thought that if I brought her breakfast, it might soften the blow." Uncle Thomas said apologetically. He scratched the back of his head, as if he was unaware how to deal with the sticky situation. He then turned to me.
"It's a good thing you are here, Isabella. I would hate to leave her completely by herself."
"Yeah, no problem." I offered him a sorry smile. In his haste, my uncle didn't notice the sad undertone in my voice. Perhaps it was better that way.
Anette added the finishing touches on Veronica's breakfast tray and handed it over to my uncle. He gave us his thanks before hurrying out of the kitchen.
"Poor Miss Veronica," Anette muttered to herself as she started washing up the dishes.
I shook my head in silent disagreement. I was doubtful that Veronica would mind her father's absence. Poor me, rather.
It was not that I disliked my cousin. Hell, perhaps I did dislike her. She was as pampered as one might expect of a girl of such wealth and, on top of it all, she was impossibly vain. Whatever kindness she showed to me, it always felt like she had some hidden agenda. Why she'd want me to come over for the Easter break was beyond me; we were as different as night and day.
My uncle re-entered briefly afterwards to bid his byes and to announce that Veronica would like me upstairs. Truth is I already knew; I had felt my phone buzz in my jeans pocket. The princess would always send me a message on WhatsApp whenever she requested my presence. However, the messages could always be left unread.
Reluctantly, I made my way upstairs.
Veronica's room was in many ways identical to mine. It was approximately the same size with two large windows looking out into the garden. However, whereas my room, the guest room, was decorated as blandly as a hotel room with its neutral creamy colours and vintage furniture that complimented the building's architecture, Veronica's room had some personality. The furniture was mostly new, high-end Danish design. There were pictures of her and her friends on the walls, a large dressing table fitted for a movie star, a walk-in closet overflowed with clothing. The room was more colourful but not distractingly so: the walls were of a beautiful shade of blue, too light to be marine, too rich to be electric. There were details of silver and dark wood. It was obvious a lot of thought had gone into the décor. And a lot of money.
And in the king-sized bed shrouded in the clouds of grey silk linen sat Veronica, drinking the smoothie with a straw. Her long, bleached hair fell neatly over her shoulders. The white silk top she was wearing revealed much of her immaculate pale skin. But it was her eyes that made her astonishingly beautiful. They were like her mother's: big with light grey irises. The only family resemblance there existed between the two of us was the jawline, which curiously suited her. Perhaps it balanced out her humongous eyes.
I gave her a shy but genuine smile.
"Happy birthday, Vera!" I exclaimed with as much excitement as I could muster. It all felt very hollow and theatrical of me, but I had come to mimic her behaviour, thinking it was expected of me.
"Izzy!" she sang out. "Thank you kindly! Come here!"
With a delighted smile fit for a party hostess, she invited to come sit on her bed. I hugged her awkwardly. Being friendly with her always felt incredibly draining, especially since she always deemed it necessary to show her hospitality in the grandest gestures. It was ingenuine smiles and tight hugs all day long with her.
She was slowly nibbling her breakfast like a bird. I wonder if her slow eating habit was a secret to her form: she would've burned the calories by the time the spoon met her lips, chewing each bite into oblivion.
"Sorry, about your dad," I said to her sympathetically. Even if she might not have been too attached to her parents, it can't have felt nice to have both bail on her on her birthday.
She merely shrugged. "Can't be helped. I'm used to it."
"Still."
"That's why I got you here with me," she grinned charmingly, patting me maternally on the shoulder. "You already eaten?"
"I have."
"Hope it tasted better than this. These berries have literally no flavour."
"Well, they aren't exactly in season," I replied, my mind-wandering back to Anette toiling in the kitchen. What a thankless job to have to cook for this brat.
Veronica simply ignored me. "Oh! Look what Daddy gave me!" she exclaimed suddenly, as if just remembering.
She showed me a fabulous looking diamond bracelet hanging from her delicate wrist.
"He said it cost him 5k. Can you imagine?" she said looking at my expression with a greedy look on her face.
"Yes, I can actually." The diamonds were shining so brightly that it hurt to look at them. Pretty, useless thing. I hoped I would never be trusted with anything like it.
"24 diamonds, all 1.5 carats each."
"That would be 36 carats in total," I said sarcastically.
"Exactly," she sighed, her brilliant eyes admiring the rocks.
I had grown tired of Veronica flaunting her wealth on the very first afternoon that I spent here. She knew the worth of every piece of jewellery, every car in their garage. Her life was a life of numbers, where everything and everyone had a price. I dreaded to wonder, what my worth was.
"So, what do you have for me?" She looked at me expectantly.
In an instant my throat felt incredibly dry. I felt my face turn red. I stared back at her in fear and disbelief. Hadn't she herself said that her birthday was no big deal and I shouldn't bother with a present?
"Uhm..."
Veronica stared back at me blankly.
"Izzy?" she demanded.
In truth, I hadn't been aware of her approaching birthday until a few days ago. The shops had been closed because of Easter, so there wouldn't have been an opportunity to buy her one anyway. But what would I, a plebeian, would have had to offer for this girl? Surely, she had everything she could want in the world.
"I'm so sorry, Vera..." I began, genuinely embarrassed. I could've made her a CD or bought concert tickets or... something. Maybe it had been a little rude of me to assume that she would go without a present. Still I thought it better to come out clean than lie. The words stuck in my throat, as I struggled to arrange them.
Then she burst out in laughter.
"God, you're cute when you're embarrassed," she cried empathetically between her giggles. "I'm just kidding. I know I told you not to worry about a present!"
I sighed in relief. I had not misremembered.
"You really had me there," I laughed awkwardly. Maybe I should give her more credit; at least she had enough understanding not to expect a last-minute present. Still my conscience pricked me. I decided that I should get her something nice later. Something with some actual thought put into it.
She giggled. "Relax, there's a reason why I asked you not to get me one. There's something I'd like to have from you."
"Yeah?" I looked at her intrigued. There was something about her tone that rang false to my ear.
