Disclaimer: I own nothing. Don't hurt me. I'm only little. Characters belong to Michelle Magorian, blah blah blah. Please note that this little story is not meant to be in the style of fore mentioned author, because her writing is too good to be mimicked. Thank you.
Goodnight Mister Tom - Continuation
Young Phillip Oakley sat on a cold blue metal railway bench, blowing half-heartedly on his fingers in a vague attempt to warm them up. His eyes were glued to the station clock, watching the seconds tick slowly by.
"Everythin' moves slower in the country," he muttered bitterly, causing several concerned (and elderly) heads to turn. "'Cept aging of course," he conceded. "They're all ancient."
He wore only a thin Adidas fleece and baggy combat trousers; his elder sister Zoe had packed his bags for him, and she wasn't the most organised of people even at the best of times. A quick scurry through his battered suitcase had revealed only a few dirty T-Shirts which had been through so many washes, they had shrunk several sizes. However, there appeared to be an abundance of chocolate bars hidden away beneath his diminutive clothes. Ah well- he'd probably need them; his friends had told him, sniggering away, that they still rationed things in the country- that most of the residents there hadn't realised that the war was over, and Hitler was dead. Apparently they plastered "Dig for Victory!" and "Keep Mum!" signs all over the place.
Sighing, he clenched his pallid fingers angrily. It wasn't fair… it just wasn't. His father was in hospital (probably dying, no less), and here he was! Sent away to the stupid countryside. They must have thought he was really stupid; that he hadn't noticed his Dad growing steadily weaker and paler. Well, he had, and he wanted to be there; not parcelled away to the country like some sort of unwanted package. Of course, that was common place when his Grandpa was a child (most likely back in the Stone Age…). Evacuation. While she wasn't being ferried to and from the hospital, his sister had borrowed a book on evacuation from the library, and he had fallen upon it eagerly, ready to devour its information, only to find it to be a small children's book with none of the details he craved. Perhaps his grandfather had seen the evacuees come and go to—where was it? Little Something. Maybe he could answer Phillip's questions… that might give them something to talk about, at least. He wasn't good at conversations at the best of times- and especially with an old chap whom he had never met before. He had his limits, though. As soon as he was invited to see the new, top o' the range outdoor mud toilet, he was on the next train home, whether his family liked it or not. That was for certain.
An old slam door train trundled its way into the station, snaking through a cloud of steam. This was his passage to the past, then. He checked briefly inside the pocket of his fleece for the ticket that he'd shoved carelessly in there some hours before, and, satisfied it was there, hopped aboard the train. To put it pleasantly, it stank. Probably down to the old tramp decomposing on the seat opposite him. Damn- it was too late to change compartments; the train was moving. The old man nodded at Phillip's suitcase.
"Tha' a suitcase, then?"
Phillip resisted the temptation to roll his eyes, and nodded, not trusting his wicked tongue.
"Ah." There was a short pause. "You goin' somewhere then? On the train, like?"
Phillip repeated his cursory nod, wriggling with embarrassment.
"Ah. I see." He outstretched his filthy hand, and Phillip shrank away from it, trying desperately to think of a way to avoid shaking it. "The name's Fletcher. George Fletcher. Nice to meet yer…"
End Chapter
Well, that was that! I'm only posting a little bit to begin with, because I'm not sure whether people will like this idea and things. Read and review, and if I get some positive feedback, I'll continue!