Daddy's Little Girl

I flopped down pathetically on my bed staring blankly at the white ceiling, which was dotted with plastic glow-in-the-dark stars.

Life was over. At least it seemed like it was over for me.

Mum was dead.

At fifteen years old I, Louise Gold, had no mother and a father who was expressing his grief by spending increasing amounts of time at his office in the city working.

Mum's death was so unexpected that I don't think the shock has worn off yet. Mum had had an aneurysm; a blood vessel in her brain had swelled and caused a clot. She'd just collapsed and been rushed to hospital.

By the time I arrived to see her, she had died.

I fell into Jake's arms sobbing uncontrollably and the next thing I knew Jake's Mum, Annette, who had driven us to the hospital, was steering me to a hard plastic chair to sit down.

That had been the beginning of February; it was now early May. Three whole months had passed and it still seemed unreal. I kept thinking that Mum was going to come and wake me up in the morning or come and say good night at bedtime, and joke about how one day I'll marry Jake!

My school had been nice about it. They said that I should only come in when I felt like it; I spent a week just staying in the house, doing nothing. Then when I did go back to school people whispered about me behind my back and I got hauled into the Guidance Office to talk to one of the counsellors about my feelings. I wanted to scream at them all for pulling me out of class on my first day back; instead I mumbled one word answers to their questions until they finally let me go.

Thinking about it all was making me feel depressed.

I stood up, pulled back my bed covers and crawled into bed, despite the facts that I was still wearing my clothes, that it wasn't even 8pm and that faint glimmers of the setting sun were forcing their ways through the gaps in my pale blue curtains.

I closed my eyes tightly, wishing for the world to go away - it didn't.

I hear the doorbell ring and then the sound of my name being called drifted into my room, but I didn't answer. Seconds later I heard feet shuffling up the stairs and Dad appeared in my doorway. I looked up questioningly, a little bit annoyed that I'd had to open my eyes.

"Jake's at the door," he stated in a soft, echoing voice. He looked tired.

"So?" I asked sullenly.

"So he wants to see you," Dad said in barely more than a whisper.

"I'm busy," I replied resolutely.

"Louise, he's come to see you," Dad answered.

"And I'm sure it took him such an effort to walk across the street," I said sarcastically.

Dad gave up trying to persuade me to go and see Jake. He left my room and then walked slowly down the stairs. I heard him telling Jake that I didn't feel well and I could imagine the look of disappointment on Jake's face; he'd been attempting to make me have some fun for the past week.

The front door slammed loudly, Dad's footsteps echoed across the wooden floor, which meant that he was going out to the garden shed, which he'd converted into his office a few years ago, and I rushed over to my bedroom window. Jake was walking back across the road to his house – opposite and one along from mine.

I felt so alone and isolated. Tears welled in my hazel eyes as I thought I've only got Dad left. I'm just Daddy's little girl.