POST!
This is what I wake up to every day. My flatmate Claire shouting "POST" at the top of her voice, for the whole bloody street to here. What's the point? I never get any, anyway. So, seeing as I'm up, I continue my usual routine. Get up, brush teeth, get dressed and pick up the post for everyone else. Seriously, I think I'm the house's personal postman. I mean inside the house anyway. I think I should get paid by royal mail for delivering everyone's post. I'd get a hell of a lot more then I'm on now.
Sorry, rambling again. It's one of my habits. You must be wondering who I am. Isabel Grace Temple but if you call me Isabel I will have to kill you. Izzy will do fine. I'm 23 and a student, if you hadn't guessed. Anyway getting back to my morning. I'm fulfilling my postwoman duties when I come across a letter addressed to me, which was strange. In my 3 years at uni, I've never received any post; still it was a letter for me. So I look at it and I stare at it, see that there's some form of official stamp on the top left hand corner. Then throw it in the heap of books and papers on my desk in my room. Ok, so it's my 'to do' pile. I'll get round to reading it eventually.
Anyhow, the rest of the day continues and it's not until 3 weeks later when I'm finishing off an assignment that was due to be handed in, in an hour, that I came across my letter. (Again, I told you I'd get round to it) What the hell, I decided to open it. That's when my life as I know it started. What was in this letter I hear you say? Well, settle down and I'll tell you. The letter was off somebody who I now know. However at the time, I didn't even know he existed. The letter was off someone called Connor Temple. He apparently knew my mum. The fact that I'd never met my mum was totally irrelevant, but still he knew her. He knew about me to. I looked at the letter and was a bit confused, but still I carried on reading. This Connor Temple had been putting money in a savings account for me for the last 4 years. I was apparently his sister. I mean come on, I've been living on my own for the last 3 years and before my dad died he never mentioned any brothers or sisters. Who the hell did this Connor bloke think he was? Although it was the next part of the letter that made me think. He said that the letter was only sent if he was missing or dead. Meaning that I could either never meet this bloke or I may have a long time waiting. WAIT! When did I start thinking that I was going to meet this stranger? My head was killing me. Let me get this straight. I had a bloke claiming to be my brother called Connor Temple. He had been putting money into a savings account for me for the last 3 years and he knew my mum. What a load of crap! Little did I know that this letter was going to haunt for the next few years to come.
Over the next couple of weeks I forgot about the letter, shoved to the bottom of my desk in a vague attempt to forget about it. However it wasn't until I'd finished my degree and was tidying out my room that I finally remembered my letter. It originally asked me to go to the ARC, or the Anomaly Research Centre in London but I was too busy with a final year 8,000 word dissertation on task effects and problem solving to write, so that plan had gone out of the window, but now that I'd graduated I had some free time on my hands. Meaning that if I wanted to, I could go and see if I could find out some more information about my so called brother Connor Temple. I could find out what the ARC did and who James Lester was (according to the letter, he was a snob with a good heart) and finally get my hands on the savings account that Connor had been putting money into for the last 3 years. The other option was to become a technological genius, helping business apply psychology to their computer systems in order to improve productivity. (I forgot to mention I'm a bit of a computer geek. I have a highly successful computing website.) Hmmm… decisions, decisions. I went with the first and got on the next train to London. Next stop the ARC.
So after 3 hours on the train, I finally arrive in London. It's not like I've not been here before. I actually came on a school trip with school to the globe, although that was a long time ago. I walk out of the train station into the typical British weather. Rain and guess what's in the bottom of my suitcase? Yes you've guessed it, my loyal and faithful umbrella. Great frizzy hair here I come!
I leg it to the nearest taxi and climb in. Obviously stating that I'd like to go to the ARC, I mean this is the place where all my money is right? The cab sets off and I try to calm myself down. I shouldn't be nervous right? This place must pay well if there's an official stamp on the envelopes of the letters they send out right? I remember my crumbled letter and fish it out of my pocket. It's a bit soggy but it's still readable. I re-read it confirming in my mind that I must ask for a James Lester. Apparently he's the boss and should know that I'm coming.
The taxi driver snaps me out of the daydream I'm in 10 minutes later, asking for £13.70 for the fare. I hand him the money and get out, to find myself looking at a huge building that could have the same resemblance as MI5. The amount of security guarding this place and not one of them good looking. I walk over to the gate and state that I'm looking for James Lester. They look at me and smile, then laugh as if I'm a two year old asking for her mummy. It's only when I show them my letter that they finally let me in. I think this letter might get me places, it has authority! From the outside the ARC looked like any other building in London but as soon as I walked through the doors, I knew I'd died and gone to heaven. Every piece of technology was in one large room in the middle of the complex. I followed the security guard careful not touch anything. (I saw it in a movie not to touch anything on your first day until told to. You never know what might happen) I follow him up a large ramp to an office with bright orange walls. It's not my particular taste in colour, but each to their own and that's when I met James Lester.