It Never Rains in Colombia
Read It Never Rains in Colombia Online
Authors: W.H. Benjamin
It Never Rains in Colombia
By W .H. Benjamin
It Never Rains in Colombia
ISBN-10:
1941227007
ISBN-13: 978-1-941227-00-8
Printed and Published in Great Britain by
BrightSpark Books 2013
Published: January 2014
Visit our author's blog: notecandy.wordpress.com
Copyright © January 2014 by W .H. Benjamin
Bright Spark Books Ltd
86-90 Paul Street
London
EC2A 4NE
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or
transmitted in any form or by other means without permission in
writing from the author, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review written for insertion in a magazine, newspaper or broadcast.
Copyright permission was sought by the author for the use of the images used in this book, but where this was not possible and amendments are required, arrangements will be made at the earliest opportunity.
It Never Rains in Colombia
When Sixteen year old Harlow falls for the most popular boy at her prestigious new school she discovers a secret that will change both of their lives forever.
Harlow embarks on a life-altering journey into the dangerous heart of the other students’ shady pasts.
It Never Rains in Colombia
is a thrilling tale of friendship, love and heartbreak.
Contents Page
Chapter 1 – The Last Heir
Chapter 2 - A Warm Welcome
Chapter 3 - The Beginning of a Beautiful Friendship
Chapter 4 –
Before I Met You
Chapter 5 –
Never Say Die/The Truth About Bees
Chapter 6 –
The Girl That Fell in Love With Love
Chapter 7 - The Party's Over...We Had a Ball
Chapter 8 - The Legend
Chapter 9 - The Thing About Christian
Chapter 10 – Thursday Night
Chapter 11 – Lost Girl
Chapter 12 – Friday's Girl
Chapter 13 – The Shoemaker's Son
Chapter 14 - Good Girls and Ghosts
Chapter 15 - V Is For?
Chapter 16 - Things I Should Have Said
Chapter 17 - Things I Should Have Said
Chapter 18 - Hyde Park
Chapter 19 - CNN
Chapter 20 - The Whole Truth
Dedication
I dedicate this book to my parents who always encouraged me and my brother and sister who mean the world to me. You all inspire me everyday.
Chapter 1 – The Last Heir
Medellin, Colombia
Photographers and journalists gathered around the entrance of Bolivar Hospital, waiting for more news about a dying star. Rarely in the cosmos has such an event received so much attention, but such is the fickle nature of celebrity.
Inside, in a well-guarded hospital room with the curtains drawn, there was a table full of flowers and get-well cards. The skeletal Maria grasped her eleven year old son's hand with an intensity and strength that she'd rarely been able to muster in the last few days. Her failing health magnified the memories of her vivacious youth, which came to her in periods of sleep, hours of unconsciousness in which she considered her mistakes, triumphs, and unconscionable conduct. These hours increased as her body fought against the fierce spread of cancer. Roberto remained clutching his mother's hand long after he felt it become limp. His grief was so intense that he forgot the letter she'd entrusted to him and remained there with his forehead pressing against her lifeless arm, his quiet tears soaking her pyjama sleeve. It was some time before he became aware of where he was. The priest, doctors, bodyguards, and then the nurse returned to the hospital room one by one. Annette the nurse, who'd become so close with his mother since the onset of the sickness, sat on the chair next to him, wrapping him in a comforting hug.
“You came back,” he said hoarsely. Tears slid slowly down his face.
“I told her you can't fire a friend. It's for life. I knew she didn't mean it,” Annette replied.
Roberto nodded in a daze.
Weeks later, the effect of his mother's death was still being felt. It created ripples, changes, in the lives of others that were yet to be seen. Many miles away from Medellín, across an ocean, a seemingly unrelated event took place.
London, U.K.
In West London, Notting Hill, in a house on a quiet inner-city street, there was a loud knock on the front door. Harlow's bedroom was on the second floor of the modest two-storey house. It was about nine a.m., on Saturday, when Alice, her eight year old sister, heard the loud banging on the door. She pulled the curtain aside at the corner to get a better look outside. Her eyes almost popped out of her head. Outside of her driveway, four black cars, a series of motorcycles, and a large black limousine lined the road. Alice jumped up and down on Harlow's bed, excitedly shouting.
“The police are here! The police are here!”
“What are you talking about?” Harlow asked, running into her room.
Alice often got excited about the smallest things. Her little sister had such a good nature that her excitement rapidly became infectious rather than irritating.
“Harlow,” her stepfather called.
She ran downstairs, leaving the curtain fluttering freely. Alice raced past her. Harlow had seen two burly men standing on either side of the house's doorway, as if they were guarding the entrance to a palace.
“What's going on?” Alice cried skipping down the steps.
The whole house was silent for a moment.
Alice heard muffled talking coming from behind the sitting-room door, as she descended the stairs in her fluffy elephant slippers. Suddenly, she slipped, tripping over the cushioned trunk of one of the elephants. Harlow grabbed onto the back of her sister's pyjama's before she fell. Luckily, Alice held onto the banister just in time.
“Whoa,” she gasped, finding her head dangerously close to the floor.
“Don't run,” Harlow chastised. She stepped carefully down the last few steps. Her hand closed around the handle of the sitting-room door. She heard the muffled sound of crying. She paused, unsure of what to do, and heard her stepfather talking.
“There you are,” her mother exclaimed as the girls came in.
“What’s going on?” Alice demanded.
Their mother fell back onto the seat, as if she'd been hit by a bullet. She covered her eyes as unwanted tears began to well up.
“Alice, dear, go to your room. We need to discuss something with your sister.”
“But I want to stay”, she complained.
“Please?” her father asked.
The child left, dejectedly stomping back up the stairs.
The slight was soon forgotten. Seconds later she rapped joyfully on the upstairs window to get the attention of the visitors. She hid when they looked up, laughing to herself.
Harlow found an old woman sitting on the sofa as she stepped into the room.
“Hello,” Harlow greeted her.
The woman jumped up. Harlow froze in surprise.
“Emma, this is Harlow,” her mother said.
They all stared at her and she felt that something very strange was taking place. She sat down in the only seat available next to Emma, who smiled gently at her.
“Harlow.” Her mother cleared her throat uncomfortably. She looked at her husband and he squeezed her hand.
“Harlow, we,” her voice began to falter.
Harlow noticed the photos of her childhood scattered across the coffee table. Closest to Emma was the photo of Harlow, age three, in Hyde Park, mid-run, chasing after a bird that had just taken flight. Next to it, the photo of her before the regional swimming competition, age nine, standing next to the water with a big smile on her face.
“We've talked it over with Emma and it would be best if you went to stay with your grandparents for the summer.”
Harlow's head whipped up.
“Grandparents! I thought they were all dead, the grandparents I mean,” she looked at Emma. “Sorry.”
“It's all right, dear.”
Since Harlow had come, Emma hadn't taken her eyes off of her.
“I'm just happy to see you,” Emma said.
“Why?” Harlow asked.
“It's just for a little while,” her mother explained.
Emma looked away from her, suddenly busy staring at the photographs.
“Your grandparents will be so happy to see you,” Emma said, looking at the photo of five year-old Harlow on the swings in the park.
She felt utterly confused. “Aren't you my grandmother?” she asked Emma.
The old woman laughed softly, “Oh gracious no. No, I'm your Maid.”
“My what?”
“Will you at least wait for her to pack?” Her stepfather asked.
“There's really no need,” Emma said. “I'll send Jonathan back for her things.”
“What's the hurry?” Harlow asked.
Emma smiled. “They are anxious to see you,” she said, patting her hand tenderly. “All this time, they didn't even know you existed.”
“Where are we going?”
“To the country house in Devon,” Emma replied.
“How long for?” She turned to her parents.
Her stepfather looked resolute. Her mother was unable to meet her eyes.
“Just for a little while,” her mother said reassuringly to the carpet.
“Are you ready to go?” Emma asked getting up.
Harlow followed her to the front door, her parents trailing behind. A man in a chauffeur's uniform opened the front gate for her and she turned to ask her mother, “What are their names?” Instead of her mother, she found herself asking the bodyguard's chest. He stopped and looked down at her small face.
“Whose, Miss?” he asked, looking as confused as she felt.
The bodyguards had closed ranks, blocking her parents from view. She saw them in the narrow space between one bodyguard’s arm and body. They looked so lonely standing on the front porch. Her stepfather looked as dazed as she was. Her mother seemed to be struggling to hold back tears. Harlow ran toward them, circumventing the security men. Emma turned quickly toward her as she jogged away from the imposing black limousine back to her house.
“Aren't you coming?” Harlow asked her mother with a flushed face.
“No. This is something you have to do alone,” her mother said.
Curiouser and curiouser
, Harlow thought. She walked back to the car and the whole entourage followed.
“I'll be back soon,” she called to them, waving as she entered the car.
There was a loud knock at the upstairs window. Harlow looked up and saw her sister's brown ponytail disappear beneath the sill. The chauffeur closed the door as soon as Harlow sat down. When he got back into the driver's seat, Emma commanded, “Phillipe, take us home.”
Harlow slept for most of the car ride; it happened unintentionally. She was filled with questions, but as the journey went on, every single one was deflected by Emma's vague reply: “You had better ask your grandfather.”
The ancient green hills rolled by the darkened windows. She sat in silence listening to Emma. Emma, who carefully avoided the issues she was most keen to hear about. She drifted in and out of the conversation, looking past Emma to glance at the horses cantering on the green fields beyond her. The limousine slowed down behind a line of traffic. In a nearby field, an ebony horse took tentative steps forward, then looked around curiously before bending its head, stretching its long shaggy neck down, tugging at a pile of hay. The limousine jerked forwards like some hideous glittering behemoth disturbed in its sleep, making the horse look up in fear. After that, the limousine settled into a quick, smooth pace, but the movement unsettled her.
“Are you okay?” Emma asked as Harlow leaned back into the seat closing her eyes.
“Yes,” she replied without opening them again. “I get a bit car sick sometimes.”
“Oh my, I didn't know.”
“Don't worry, it's not so bad,” Harlow assured her. “It doesn't happen all the time, just on long journeys.”
She could hear the swish of the leather seat as Emma turned toward her.
“It will pass soon,” Harlow reassured her from the darkness behind her lids.
Before long, she was asleep like a cat basking in the sun, still, peaceful. It had been her habit since she was a child to nap on long journeys.
Emma had trouble waking Harlow when they arrived. She opened her eyes blearily. The car was moving swiftly through a lengthy corridor of trees. The noonday sun dappled down through the curtain of green leaves that hung above, making diamond shapes on the road. Shadows lay across the road, and when the car passed through them, it created a shutter effect inside the car. Dark then light then dark again. She blinked uneasily in the changing light, trying to remember where she was. The road was empty except for the trees, and she thought back to Red Riding Hood alone in the forest on her way to grandmother's house.
