'Just the paper thanks,' A stout man handed change over to a young girl who was staring absent-mindedly into something beyond his vision. Not that that was saying much, he thought pushing up his glasses. He didn't think she would respond but she smiled, still looking a little vague and took the change.
'Have a good day sir,' she smiled and watched him leave the small shop. She couldn't help but get distracted sometimes, in Ottery St. Catchpole you had to make your own entertainment.
'You can leave now you know Heather?' Simon, her manager walked to the register where she was situated. Simon had a little office at the back of the shop; he spent most of his time there so she never noticed him.
'Yeah sure Simon,' she grinned, she always lost track of the time. She untied the apron which was tied loosely around her petite waist and lifted it over her head, sending her wave of ruddy, brown hair toppling down her back. She grabbed her bag from under the counter and started to stroll home. Walking got a little boring to her; she preferred to stroll, arms swinging wildly like a small child.
She continued down the footpath, past the irregular shops and the trees that always flowered. She could never work that out, why the plants were always flourishing in one way or another but decided to not question it, why dispute such a simple pleasure?
Her home sat atop a small hill just above the tiny town. She was the third and second youngest child in her family. All the children were female.
The door wasn't locked when she got home; she just pushed it open and let herself into a small entrance way which was the only room in the house that was constantly kept clean. It was only a small square or so and had a table on the right side, always adorned with a fresh bunch of flowers and a generous mirror above it. Heather had never liked the room, feeling it was cold and sparse and quickly took a door to the right.
The kitchen was the heart of the home, Heather's mother, Jenny, did everything in there, whether it was cooking, writing for the local newspaper or sitting down with friends to a game of scrabble and a pot of tea. Only when it was in the wee hours of the night was it vacated, however Heather still had innocent memories of visiting the kitchen at midnight for a biscuit and a glass of milk, only to meet another member of her family there.
Heather sat down on a chair at a table; it was the middle chair on the left side. A spot that had never been named hers but which she sat at religiously, just as everybody sat in their respective seats like an unspoken law.
'Good day at work?' Her mother asked, not bothering to look up from the pot of whatever she was cooking.
'Mhmm' Heather smiled and kicked her shoes off. She observed her mother for a moment, she had the same skinny waist but generous hips that Heather did but it was just about the only thing that had in common. Jenny had short, blunt black hair which now had flecks of grey. She was tall and her shrewd blue eyes never missed a thing.
'Shoes in the attic,' her mother looked up now. Heather sighed and rolled her eyes; she picked up her shoes and went back into the cold room. This time she took the door to the front of the room which led her into a hallway. The hallway was always dark because the house had come with an elaborate chandelier in the middle of it. When her father had built the extra two stories, the chandelier had stopped working; nobody had bothered to fix it.
She took the stairs which were to her right and ascended them with a quick and sure step. The next landing had three bedrooms and a bathroom but Heather didn't pause here, she instead went up the next set of somewhat shabby stairs to the place her family fondly called the attic.
She shared her room with her little sister, Melody, who was two years younger than her. Heather skipped across the room to a large, dark wooden wardrobe which contained her and Melody's clothes; she swung the door open and placed her shoes carefully in the bottom of where their hanging clothes were kept. Heather, while somewhat quirky, had an odd sense of order.
'Good day at work?' Melody was sitting on her bed, reading a book. She didn't look up, Melody, just like Daphne and Ophelia, Heather's older sisters, looked strikingly like their mother. Jet black hair and electric blue eyes. Daphne and Ophelia kept their hair fairly short like their mother but Melody's hair was long and flowing, Heather envied her.
'Pretty boring,' Heather shrugged and walked across the room to her own bed which would have only been a few feet distance from Melody's. Heather lay on her bed and put her arms behind her head. The roof here was higher than expected, the whole room was actually unexpected if you had the image of an attic in mind. It was spacious and bright. The large windows seemed like a massive doorway which you could walk out of and onto a large oak tree.
Her Melody stayed in silence for awhile, they preferred it that way. Heather heard Melody shut her book and put it down.
'Come on Heather Weather, dinner should be just about ready,' Melody walked over to her and offered her an outstretched hand.
Heather rolled her eyes but took her sister's hand. Walking down to the kitchen she thought, not for the first time, nor for the last, why her parents had thought it particularly funny to name their daughter 'Heather' when their last name was 'Weatherby'.