Renegade Hearts (Rebels of Sandland 1)

“Emily, stop slouching. Remember your posture and smile, for Christ’s sake. A Winters is always on show. The last thing we need is a picture of you scowling splashed all over the internet. You know what vultures they are out there.”

My mother breezed past me and glided down the steps, leading to the garden. Her floral perfume swirled in the air around us, making my already heavy chest feel like it was drowning. I glared at the back of her head but stopped myself from rolling my eyes. Instead, I gave a sigh.

“Thanks for the party. It’s lovely to see so many of my friends here. Oh, wait. You didn’t invite any of them. Was this party meant for me at all?”

She stopped in her tracks and gracefully spun around to face me, painting on that well-rehearsed smile of hers.

“Your father went to a lot of trouble to organise this for you. There are some very influential people here today. You could show some gratitude, young lady.” Her face re

mained calm and serene, but her tone was as sharp as a knife. If we didn’t have guests, she’d be a completely different version of my mother. This was the 2.0 version. I think I preferred the other one. At least that one was real.

“Grateful? Why should I be grateful about spending my birthday with people I don’t know? I’m the only one here under thirty. This party is shit.”

“Watch your language, Emily.” She marched back up the steps and grabbed my arm, leading me down onto the lawn and towards the marquee, like a child.

“It is though. It’s a chance for you and Dad to put on another show. Fool the press into thinking we’re the poster family for modern Britain. Too bad we’re so fucked up behind closed doors, Mother.” I tried to free myself from her grasp, but she wasn’t having any of it.

“Enough with the language. Not everything is about you, Emily.”

And there it was in a nutshell. No, nothing ever was about me.

Was I a spoilt brat, seeking out her parents’ attention? Maybe. But then, I’d never had it. Not even as a young child. I was a loner in my own family. I preferred to think of myself as a closet rebel. Doing the right thing in public, but secretly I fantasised about doing something to break free from these stifling chains of duty. I hadn’t chosen this life. Why should I conform to the restraints put upon me because of it?

“You weren’t complaining this morning when you saw the Tiffany necklace, were you?” my mother spat out. “Now, you need to earn that gift by toeing the line. Don’t let your father down.”

She plastered on her award-winning smile, dazzling the men and making the women clench their jaws and hold their partners a little tighter. That was my mother. The quintessential English rose. A beauty who knew her worth and wasn’t afraid to flaunt it.

We made our way into the marquee, where my father was holding court with a group of men, smoking cigars and laughing. I played my role of the perfect daughter and followed my mother, then when Dad saw us, he stopped and introduced us to the group, putting an arm around each of us and smiling. He kissed Mum and then kissed me on the top of my head. I smiled up at him, because despite everything, I did love him. They had their faults, but I loved them both. They were my mum and dad, after all, but deep down, I wished they’d realise that I needed them too.

“I can’t believe our little Em is eighteen today,” Dad said with pride in his eyes.

“Alec, Anthea, you don’t look old enough to have a grown-up daughter,” one of the men replied, holding up his glass in a toast to my parents. Not me. Oh, no. A toast to them for having me and continuing to look so youthful.

Welcome to my perfect life.

“It’s wonderful what a good plastic surgeon can do these days, isn’t it?” another suit guffawed, but my mother didn’t join in. Her face froze. Humour wasn’t her strong point.

Me? I couldn’t help but stifle a laugh. I doubt he’d be invited to one of their parties again.

“She’s a natural beauty, my Anthea.” Dad beamed down at her and she smiled back. I just stood there feeling numb, like an accessory in their perfect world.

“Isn’t it time for your speech, Alec?” Mum nodded over to the stage and guided Dad and me away from the red-faced truth-teller. I think he was glad of the reprieve too.

We made our way onto the stage as the crowds began to gather and a gentle hush ascended over the marquee. My father stood centre-stage, with my mother to his right and me to the left.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you so much for coming here today to help us celebrate something so wonderful and so important to our little family.” He looked down at me and smiled. “Not only is my daughter turning eighteen, but today we made a landmark victory in our campaign. Our war on the drug culture that’s plagued our younger generation for far too long is finally reaping its rewards. The gang mentality that’s desperately trying to infiltrate its way into our little town is dying. That’s all thanks to the support you’ve given me during my current term in office. But we aren’t finished yet.”

I felt the lump in my throat harden and I dug my nails into my palms to stop myself from tearing up.

“As you all know, my son, Daniel, was tragically killed in a car accident this past December. We still have many unanswered questions about the events leading up to his death. What happened that night still remains a mystery to us. Don’t get me wrong, the police have gone above and beyond, but there are people out there; young men and women, who know more than they are letting on. So, to them I say this… We will get justice for Daniel. We will find out the truth. And when we do, know that we are coming after those with blood on their hands.

“Not a day goes by when he isn’t at the forefront of our minds. We wish that life could be different and we never want another family to go through what we have. That’s why my wife and I have campaigned tirelessly to bring the issues of drugs and alcohol in the youth of today to the forefront. There’s a virus in our society; an evil that needs to be cut out. The statistics on the flyers being handed out explain a little more about…”

I zoned out. I couldn’t hear this speech again. I knew the statistics off by heart. I knew the message he was sending through his work, because I’d lived and breathed it for months. I loved my brother with every inch of my soul, but I couldn’t stand here and listen to another minute of his death being picked apart. I applauded my father, but on my birthday, the last thing I wanted was to remember why my brother wasn’t here to celebrate it with me.

“You need to ditch this lame-ass excuse for a party,” he’d probably say if he was here. “Get out there and have some real fun, Ems.”

I smiled, imagining him throwing some rude gesture Dad’s way, like he always used to, and while I drowned my father out, I got lost in thoughts of the Danny I remembered. Cheeky, insolent as mum called him, and a lover of life.