The Search

Casmin had only just turned eighteen the previous week and already her parents were hassling her to get a job and move out. There were daily arguments about everything and anything- this morning they had argued about the window being left open on the latch, which of course ended with Casmin crying again, a frequent result. She only wanted to listen to the thunderstorm that had begun in the early hours of the morning.

Her parents had been lovely in most of her childhood memories, but for the past four years they had both been relentless, nasty and horrible to her, growing in hatred everyday. It was only her against them both, although her mother was always particularly bitter towards her. Casmin had always wondered what she had done to make them hate her so much. She regularly wished for another family, or even a sibling so that she didn’t feel so alone anymore. Her parents didn’t seem to even want to be around each other anymore, let alone have another child together. Regardless of her difficult home life, she managed to keep her head high, get good grades at school and have a nice group of friends. She managed to hide her true feelings each day, so well that no one would suspect anything. She was doing well and always wanted to make her parents proud but it seemed there was nothing she could do to make them proud of her.

Casmin had been given the task of hunting down a red purse in the loft, which was bursting with junk. Casmin hated going in the loft, it didn’t feel safe at all, there was no air up there and she was afraid of breaking things. She had been in the loft for almost an hour now and couldn’t find the purse. She let out an exasperated sigh, and her dad came stomping upstairs almost instantly. “Have you found the purse yet? You can’t come downstairs until you do. I suggest you hurry up!”, said her dad, grumpily. Casmin didn’t respond, not that it mattered anyway, as her dad had already stormed off. She half heartedly lifted up a lid to a container, looking for the purse but simultaneously not caring anymore. Within minutes, she had given up and decided to go downstairs and admit defeat, so she slowly walked towards the exit hatch, ambling slowly over all of the abandoned junk that had been collecting dust for years.

There was a loud bang, the hatch had closed and it could only be opened from the outside. She waited patiently, hoping that one of her parents had heard the slam, relying on their short tempers to encourage them to storm upstairs and shout at her again. There wasn’t much air upstairs, and she willed that one of them would come and help her. Nothing. She banged on the hatch, calling out for her parents but nothing. Casmin was thankful for the lamp, as it would’ve been so creepy otherwise. She decided to just wait it out, looking for the purse in the meantime.

Casmin stumbled upon a little box, it looked old and like a victim of a fire, all cracked and burnt. She carefully examined it, and argued with herself about opening it. There was a loud thunder crack and she jumped, nearly dropping the box. She opened it, slowly, steadily and stealthily. No one could see her but she felt constantly observed.

Within the box was a faded ultrasound photo, a little black book, some faded photos and a singular lock of blonde hair. She looked at the photos closely, holding them under the lamp. It looked like her as a baby, but she didn’t recognise the others in the photo. She heard a loud grunt from downstairs and hastily grabbed the little black book and shoved it in her hoodie pocket.

She climbed down the steps towards her dad, who had let her out. She went straight to her room to get some water, as she told her dad. She immediately placed the little black book under her mattress, somewhat hiding it. Then she ran downstairs quickly, as her mum was calling her name angrily. She sat down on the leather couch, and her dad asked her if she found the red purse. Casmin admitted quietly that she hadn’t found it, and choked down tears as she saw her parents faces twist into the angry faces that she was so familiar with now. Her dad noticed, and with a glint in his eye, asked Casmin if she had found anything else. She replied nervously, unsure of the correct response, “Nothing, just a load of old stuff, no purse though”. Her mother turned, face twisted, ready to attack. “Go pack your things, now”. Casmin jumped up, ran upstairs and got her backpack out. She quickly grabbed the little black book, shoved it in the backpack, squashed some clothes on top, her hairbrush, her toothbrush and toothpaste and also her phone charger. As she was leaving her room, she quickly picked up her full large water bottle and her purse, which she squeezed into the bottom of the bag too.

She went downstairs, and sneakily took some snacks too, which she shoved into her bag too. Just in case. Her mum told her to get out and never come back, and Casmin was taken aback and gasped, “Where am I meant to go?”. Her mum pushed her to the door, not looking her in the eye. “Just leave”, she said, steely faced with no emotion.

Now that Casmin was outside, she was unsure of what to do, she had no other family that she knew of and her friends didn’t live nearby. She crumbled to the damp ground, and started crying. Her face mimicked the sky perfectly. She walked to a nearby cafe, charged her phone and quickly rinsed her face. She attempted to drag a brush through her hair, but it was so wet from the storm that she decided to just put it into a ponytail. She took out the black book, caked in dust. She wiped it down and opened it.

On the first page, there was a single phone number for someone. Next to it, a single word.

07757788658 - Mum.

She called the number, and it was engaged. Casmin sent a text message, asking for a call back. Within seconds, her phone was ringing.

It was a lady on the phone, crying, telling her that she was her real mum and that she had been adopted. This was something Casmin had thought about many times over the past few years. Her real mum asked her where she was, and said that she would come to meet her. Thirty minutes later, a woman who resembled Casmin enough to be her older sister walked into the cafe. They hugged each other, and Casmin caught a glimpse of a mole on her mothers neck, the exact same as hers. It was her real mum.

Casmins’ mum revealed that she had a savings account that was set up for Casmin and is now accessible to her since she turned eighteen. There was over £20,000 in the account, enough for Casmin to leave and start over somewhere. Her mum gave her the details for it, and asked her if she wanted to come home or if she wanted to start fresh alone. Casmin considered this for half a second before making a decision.

“Of course I want to come home!” Casmin exclaimed. She had a home now, a real one.