Thanefly | Book 1

FLORIEN

Tomorrow I will enter Nexus House.

This is the first thought that teases my mind as the golden rays of the sun filter through the curtains of my room, and I squint, feeling my body waking up.

Tomorrow I will enter Nexus House. The excitement of realizing that, by this time, I’ll be there—in the dormitory of the most prestigious ‘home for gifted youths’ in England—makes me repeat the phrase over and over again.

I stretch my arms like a cat and rub my eyes, opening them gradually to peel away the last veil of drowsiness.

As my body slides off the bed, the pistachio-green blankets—the same shade as the wallpaper—rise as if they were made of clouds.

When I consider myself awake and clear-headed enough for breakfast, I walk down the hallway outside my door and descend the spiral staircase, which creaks under my weight as usual.

Our flat has that kind of classic decor that is becoming progressively obsolete. Times change fast when you live in a world racing toward digitalisation and futurism.

The cities are changing. Skyscrapers are on the rise, along with electronic signs and holograms projected onto the streets where the first models of flying cars speed by—for now, most of them still have wheels. And also for now, our flat can afford to have that normality destined for extinction.

My entrance into the kitchen is greeted by the gentle crackle of the red-brick fireplace and the most abundant, lavishly laid table I have ever seen; at the centre sits a small dark chocolate cake, the undisputed queen, immediately drawing my attention. Behind her stands the rest of the army: slices of white bread ready to be topped with butter and fig jam, pancakes drizzled with maple syrup, and yogurt with crunchy granola.

This time, Mum—who is currently turning her back to me—has outdone herself. She is completely absorbed in preparing her indispensable green tea on the counter, already dressed in a pearl-white shirt and comfortable camel-coloured velvet trousers.

“Am I wrong, or is there an entire pantry on this table?” I begin, a hint of amusement in my voice.

Mum spins around sharply, as if torn away from her little world of intrusive thoughts.

Her lips relax into an affectionate smile. “Today is your last day in this house, where you were born and raised… so I absolutely had to prepare something extraordinary.”

The corners of my own mouth lift into the same familiar smile that has always been ours, and I move closer to take her hands. “The idea is wonderful, but how are we supposed to eat all of this if it’s just the two of us?”

Mum’s nose is red and chapped. If I were to ask about it, she would lie without hesitation, blaming it on seasonal allergies. We both know she has been crying in secret, just as she did yesterday and the day before that.

“Oh, come on! Sit down and don’t think about it,” she dismisses, indicating my chair.

I immediately comply, and so we immerse ourselves in our greasy, indulgent breakfast. I help myself to what she has prepared and add my cup of milk.

What I will miss the most, what tops my list, is Mum. I look at her black hair, gathered into a chignon, her thoughtful blue eyes, her delicate, still-youthful face. I stare at her as if I want to imprint her figure in my mind.

She senses the reason for my gaze, and that affectionate smile from earlier is tinged with a note of sadness. “If only you were still a teacher at Nexus House, it would be so much easier for us to see each other.”

I know how much she misses her profession, just as I know she has never regretted leaving it. Nostalgia is real, yes, but knowing that after marriage she chose to dedicate her time to family rather than career gave her an incredible motivational drive.

“I’ll come visit you during winter break,” I console her, setting down the cup of milk I was drinking. “And I’ll call you every now and then to tell you everything I’m up to.”

Mum’s eyes turn as red as the tip of her nose, and she covers her mouth with one hand. “No, you mustn’t think of me. Your time is precious, and you must use it to have many experiences…” She sniffs. “I told your brother Riven the same thing when he joined the army.”

“Mum, you’re crying…”

As expected, she shakes her head. “Absolutely not, it’s just seasonal allergies.”

“I’ll give you those calls and I’ll come here for the holidays,” I repeat. “You gave all your time to me, and I want to try to give back at least a little of mine.”

I feel a quiet relief in her, visible in the way her shoulders relax slightly. She nods and blows her nose noisily.

After finishing a pot of yogurt and eating two slices of brioche with a thin wedge of cake, I prepare to ask her a question that has been buzzing in my mind for years like a frantic bee. I don’t consider myself a brave person: I’m the type who avoids difficult conversations and prefers to solve everything with a smile. But this question has been pressing for too many years not to come out… and now that I am on the verge of leaving my nest, I have to give it the freedom it deserves.

“Mum… can I ask you something?”

The caution in my tone immediately puts her on alert, though she remains calm and tries to appear at ease. “Of course, darling, you should never be afraid to ask me anything.”

“Have you ever thought about… getting married again?”

I feel my throat tighten, as if the walls inside it are swelling to suffocate me. It’s not an easy question, and I never wanted to ask it… as I said, I usually run from conversations. But this time I’ve waited too long, even for my own comfort.

Mum reacts with that stoic calm that, I have to admit, is admirable. It’s as if she expected to be asked and already planned how to behave when the moment came. A flash of pain, however, crosses her blue irises.

“Are you asking me for any particular reason, Florien?”

I shake my head, blatantly lying as she does. Like mother, like daughter. “No, I was just… curious. You don’t have to answer.”

Mum rests an elbow on the kitchen table and sighs bitterly. “I had already found the right man. Your father was exactly I needed. Everything was perfect before…” She stops, but the rest of the sentence lingers in the air like a ghost: before he died. “I don’t think I could ever find another man like him.”

“You can’t know that.” My voice tries to be as encouraging as possible. “Now that you’ll be free from your duties as a mother, you can surely think more about yourself. Everyone in Cambridge fancies you!”

She chuckles softly and shakes her head, as if I’m talking about something far too fanciful. “A mother never stops being a mother.”

I reach out and squeeze her hand tightly. “I’m serious, Mum. It’s not too late to start over.”

She was very young when she became pregnant with my older brother. The marriage lasted only a short time, due to my father’s untimely death, but her beauty never faded.

Yes, Dad. Thinking of him makes my heart ache. Death took him from us when my brother was ten and I was six.

Mum tries hard not to make me worry too much, saying, “Who knows… something beautiful could always happen.”