Right here we go, next chapter and back to good old 1st person.
A thank you to Simaril for giving me my first review, I've decided that you are very nice. And also a thank you to people who have story alerted. Also a thank you to people who have favourited!
Normally there wont be as big gaps between chapters - but I've had a week off and couldn't be bothered to do anything
Disclaimer: If you recognise it, it isn't mine.
Chapter 1
Flying West
Somewhere over US air space
September, 2011
I hate the cold. A fact that is very hard to stomach when I can't feel it. I could be in the North Pole dancing with the polar bears and wearing a bikini and I wouldn't be cold. Thinking about it I couldn't dance with a polar bear, it would run away. So perhaps I should say that I use to hate to cold, but not now.
I often wonder what would have happened to me if all this hadn't. Would I have had children, been a socialite and have nice cups of tea? Would I have had spent my days sitting on the porch, drinking lemonade, talking about the good old days. But then if none of this had ever happened, I would be rotting in a coffin somewhere with only a tombstone to tell anyone that I ever existed.
But the thing is, it all did happen. I'm not dead and buried and I can't remember what lemonade tastes like. So instead I'm sitting on a plane that is 6 minutes from landing in Chicago's O'Hare International Airport. That means in 6 minutes I'll officially be in the United States of America - again. Oddly it feels like coming home, though it's not. It's my first time on US soil for 81 years. I left in 1930 and that's been that, haven't been back. But in 6 minutes I will be and I can't walk down the street and say hello to people. But Chicago isn't home. Chicago is just a city in Illinois with 2,853,114 people. But I couldn't go home-well home in a very lose way-now. I've never been to Chicago. Before I left I kept to small towns with 10 people, hidden away from society like a medieval hermit. Sure before I left I did a stint in New York, but doesn't everyone?
I like being in first class. Firstly it is very nice, especially on a transatlantic flight. It also means that I don't have to be in a confined space full of people with beating hearts. Don't get me wrong after 165 of not tasting human blood, I'm pretty good but I'm not going to tempt fate. But being in first class also means I get to leave the plane first.
They check my passport the woman at the desk hardly giving it a glance. Then all so suddenly I'm standing in departures. There are people hugging and kissing around me and it's dense and the smells just merge into one big pile of airport smell. I stand there, my handbag on my shoulder, glancing around.
'Umm, Miss?' I turn to find a short, bald man standing behind me. I study him quickly. Luckily my sunglasses shield most of my face so he can't really see me.
'Yes.' I reply sharply. Straight away I feel guilty as I see him flinch slightly.
'Umm are you Miss Whitlock?' He asks, automatically I go to correct him but I catch myself before I do. I haven't used that name in so long, the Miss sounds wrong – one of the reasons I don't use it. But coming back, it felt right to use it again. I finger the chain around my neck.
'Bob then I presume.'
Mr Bob nods in reply and asks me if I have any bags. Informing him that I had them all sent on, he asks me to follow him. He weaves me though the sea of people and outside of the terminal. And that's it, proper United States of America air again. He asks if I had a pleasant flight but I'm not in the mood for talking. He has left the car close to the exit only a minute walk from the building, I'm guessing the firm pulled some strings to get that spot.
'Here we go Miss.' He stops by a black car. Opening it with the keys. I look it over carefully. It's smooth and sleek like I asked
I nod at him in thanks. He opens the left hand door for me and as I slide in I pass him a tip. As soon as he shuts the door, I see him walk off back towards the terminal, I wonder how he is getting home, but then he has done this plenty of times before, I'm sure he has a way.
Running my hands over the dashboard, I take my sunglasses off placing them on the passenger seat along with my handbag. Turning the music system on, I smile, glad that it has been preloaded as I instructed. Turning the engine on, I clutch down and slip the car out of the spot. As I slip the car into 2nd Pictures of You fills the car.
The car moves effortlessly though the streets of Chicago as I make my way to my new home. It takes me 40 minutes to get to my new home in Bridgeport, Chicago. When I pull the car up I get some looks from my new neighbours. Locking the car securely I glance up at my new home. It's an old tenement building. Placing my sunglasses on the top of my head, I walk in. It looks like any old hall and landing. My new flat is on the third floor and as I go to approach it, taking out my key. The door to my right opens slightly and an old woman peaks though
'Who are you then?' She asks.
I have to physically bite my tongue to stop being sarcastic, she's just a little old lady who want to know who this strange woman is with a key to next door is. I smile, 'I'm just moving in, ma'am.' I tell her, walking towards her door, 'Isabella Whitlock, it's lovely to meet you.'
As soon as I finished introducing myself, she closes the door and a few seconds later flings it open.
'Well lass, you should of said.' She scalds me, smiling. She smells of Royal Jelly, pastry and grass. Her white hair is permed so it sits in short, tight curls on her hair. Her apron is something out of the 70's with pink, blue and purple flowers and is covered in flour. Her face is plumb and wrinkly, her lips almost slivers but not harshly. Her eyes are almost grey in colour. She reminds me of my Nana. 'I'm Bridget.' She tells me. Pulling me into a hug.
I reciprocate quickly, not use to humans being so friendly. I'm meant to scare them away, not give the vibe that I want to be hugged.
'You're freezing lass.' She declares, 'now you come in and have a nice cup of tea and I'm sure I have some cake left over.'
I shake my head, smiling 'Some other time Bridget. I have to unpack and I've just got off a really long flight.' I lie. Well not a lie really, she'll just interpretate it differently.
'Well, yes, you must be very tired. Now don't you worry your pretty little head about it.' She tells me, patting my arm. Why isn't this lady scared of me! Don't get me wrong I'm glad she's not, but it's just interesting. She walks out of the doorway to her flat and walks me back to my door.
'Now, girly you didn't say where you came from?' she asks, as we cross the landing
'England.' I tell her.
'Via Texas, aye?' She smiles at me, elbowing me good naturedly
'Yes ma'am.' Glad that you can still pick up where I'm from.
As I pull the key out of my pocket, she studies me more closely, 'You must be no more than 18, Lass.'
Actually I'm 183, which makes me about 110 years old than Bridget here, but I just tell her that I'm 18.
Opening the door, I slide in, looking at her standing in the hallway.
'Now Girly, this here is a big city, so if you want anything you just knock okay. And once you're settled we'll have a nice cuppa and I'll here all about England and Texas and all you young people things.' She smiles fully at me and I can't help but smile back.
She walks back to her little flat, and waves before she shuts the door. I follow suit straight away and look around my new home.
I've only ever seen it in photos and it looks exactly the same. It's white and all plain. My new furniture is just sat in the middle of the large open plan living space. The boxes of my belongings are piled in the middle of the room. Flinging my coat and bag on the floor and slipping out of my black boots I pad of to explore more of my new flat. The bathroom is small but perfectly formed and the bedroom next to it, is thankfully not that big. Walking back into the main room I get to properly study the room. Rifling though the boxes I find my docking station and a socket converter.
Plugging it in and selecting 'Sticking Fingers' I roll up my sleeves and get to work.
A/N
'Pictures of You' if you don't know is by The Cure. 'Sticky Fingers' is an album by the Rolling Stones
Really a bit of an introduction chapter: but hopefully you enjoyed it
Yes I am Welsh so sorry British English. If I use a word that is really British/Welsh (I'll try not to, but I will undoubtedly at some points) and you haven't got a clue, just ask. That also means I don't have any knowledge of Chicago, just go with it.
Yes she drives a manual.
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Till next time
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