Prologue
Ten years ago…
“When you’re older, little dove, you will love four men.”
Mum’s smooth, calm voice whispers to me as I try to drift off to sleep in her arms. Her peppermint and tulips perfume comforts me, the familiar smell reminding me I am safe and loved. My pink fluffy blanket is wrapped around us, keeping us warm while a storm rages outside. Rain pounds against the windows while flashes of lightning sporadically light up the shadows in my room.
“Why four?” I ask around a yawn.
“The first is a knight who will be a mistake, but everyone needs those to help their heart blossom.” Mum counted them off on her fingers. “The second is your first true love, but it won’t last because the prince is promised to someone else. The third is a joker who never should have been more than a friend…” Her voice trails off, a look of sadness briefly crossing her face.
I don’t know if I like this story. Mum usually tells me fairy tales about princes and princesses, brave women who save kingdoms from bad men, weaving a world of fantasy for me to escape into. This seems a little too… real.
I play with a strand of mum’s soft, blonde hair, enjoying the feel between my fingers. “And the fourth?”
“That’s the man you’ll do anything for, the man you’d die for if it protected him. He’s the king who’ll steal your soul, wrap it in an ivy called love and never let you go,” she smiles, lightly caressing my cheek with the back of her hand.
In that moment my mind is made up. I don’t want a prince, or a knight, or a joker. I want to love a king.
“Is that why my name is Ivy, mummy?” I ask. “Am I the princess in the story?”
She drops a gentle kiss onto my forehead. “No. You’re the queen in the story and no one will ever take that from you. Queens don’t need kings, but a king always needs his queen.”
It is the last story she ever tells me.
Chapter One
Ivy Archaic
“Take me away,
Make me pay,
‘Cos you chase the grey away,
You’re the one who makes me smile,
Even when I want to run a mile,
I’m always running, always-
I… I… I… Ugh!”
I throw my pen down on the paper, watching it bounce a few times before flying off the desk. I have been working on this song all day and I still can’t figure out how the chorus should go. Music is my usual escape from the world, but for some reason, I can’t get into the zone.
Running my fingers through my long, wavy brown hair, I stare out the window at the nicer houses on the other side of the road. They are those fancy new builds with super eco everything and fake grass in their gardens to boot. I wonder for a single moment if they look at this side of the road at the old cottage I live in. It needs a new roof and the grass outside grows every single day. I bet they look over and think: ‘the grass is definitely not greener on the other side’.
“Ivy!”
I put my guitar to one side, the sound of my foster mum Katy’s voice giving me a welcome excuse to walk away from a song which simply isn’t working and my thoughts on rich people's houses.
“It lives!” Katy deadpans as I walk into the small kitchen. She is chopping onions and the smell instantly makes my eyes water.
“Yeah, yeah.” I roll my eyes.
Katy is all right as foster parents go, and I should know. I have had more than my fair share of them and most I pretend I don’t remember for my own sanity. In the three years I have lived with her, she has treated me like family, which is a refreshing change compared to the ones who are in it for the monthly paycheque. Still, I am counting down the days until I can escape the system and strike out on my own. As soon as I finish school, I’m outta here. I don’t care if I have to work dead-end jobs and study my butt off at college, I won’t force Katy to keep me when she can foster another kid and actually get paid. This place is sweet, and another kid deserves her love.
And her fantastic cooking skills.
“It’s okay,” Katy says. “I enjoy hearing you play your guitar. But I’m going to need you to pop to the shop for me. I’m making cauliflower cheese and I realized I haven’t got enough milk.”
“Oops.”
“Yeah, I know,” Katy laughs. “You’d think I would’ve checked before I started grating the cheese. There’s a ten-pound note in my purse, bring me back the receipt and change. And if you’d like to get yourself a little something while you’re there, feel free. Just don’t go nuts, okay?”
“Sure thing, Katy.”
After taking the money from her purse, I head out and look up at the cloudy skies above. Knowing my luck, it’s going to pour down before I get back from the shop. I can get a coat, but what’s a little rain?
“Love you, Ivy!” I hear my foster mum call as I leave.
“Love you too, Katy!” I yell back.
The sun peeking out of the dark skies shines down on my skin as I walk down the road toward Sketchy’s, the nearest corner shop. We lived in one of those downmarket suburbs where the terraced houses all look the same, with a tiny scrap of land in the front. Every now and then, I have to walk past a house where the owner has made an effort to plant a few flowers in the front garden, but their meagre attempts can’t cover up the fact that this is a rough area where most people are more concerned about clinging to what little they had than keeping up with the Joneses. The new builds opposite our houses are built by a clueless contractor who doesn't know how bad the area is. Yet, they somehow still sold the houses, judging by the signs outside.
Sketchy’s is a ten-minute walk away and the fresh air seems to fire up my creative thoughts. As I walk, I play with different combinations of lyrics in my mind. I’m pretty certain I will come up with something which can fix the problems with the song.
At last, I reach the shop and check my phone, seeing it’s a few minutes from five pm when the shop closes. Heading over to the chiller cabinet, I pick up a couple of pints of milk. Then I crossed to the magazine stand, looking for the latest edition of Kerrung! I can’t see it, so instead I pick up a couple packs of gum before heading over to the counter to pay.
“Morning, Ivy.” Mrs Singh greets me from behind the counter. “And how are you doing this fine day?”
“Not too bad,” I reply. “Katy’s making her infamous cauliflower cheese for dinner…”
“Can you squeeze in another mouth to feed?”
I grin and shake my head. Everyone loves Katy’s cooking and I’ve always wondered why she doesn't try to do anything professional with her skills.
“Just remember that if you get hungry, there’s always a place for you at my table,” Mrs Singh tells me.
“Thanks, Mrs Singh,” I smile, taking the change she gave me. Hating the pity in her eyes which is like a knife to my soul. I’m always the foster kid of the town. The kid who lost her mum, no dad or family and now is getting too old to be considered the cute foster kid. I’m now the lost teenager, I see it in their eyes. When I finally leave, I’m leaving my past and the foster kid title with it. I put the milk in my rucksack, popping a stick of gum into my mouth and head back outside.