I have reviewers! Thank you! I hope you guys like this new chapter ;)
Farewells & New Faces
Amy looked wistfully towards the hoard of weeping, blubbering mothers, aunties and grandmas, brave-faced fathers and gloomy grandfathers. Around them huddled a group of half excited, half blubbering children, but Amy was not amongst them. She stared towards the children and their parents, but there was no one there for Amy. I like it that way, Amy thought, seating herself on the floor in the assembly hall. Her mouth turned dry as she watched a friend's mother kiss the girl roughly on the cheek and rushed from the school. Amy tried not to think of her own mother, and turned her head down so that she could study the laces of her trainers.
"Are you here on your own today, Amy?" asked her headmaster, appearing beside her through the clusters of children. "Where's your stepfather?"
"Andrew's working," the girl answered quietly, tucking a strand of her fine blonde hair out of her eyes. "But he gave me a letter about my evacuation but I don't know who to give it to."
"Let me see." Amy watched in silence as her headmaster opened the envelope, watching the man's mouth tighten as he read the letter in his hands. "Your stepfather wants you to stay with "God-fearing people", or else he wants you to...return home immediately?"
"Says I'm not allowed to go if his wishes aren't complied with." Amy looked towards her lonely suitcase and silently prayed that she wouldn't have to return home. The headmaster saw the worry on her face and sighed inwardly, knowing all too well the rumours of the abuse in Amy's home. He'd seen the bruises on the girl's arms and legs, and he did not wish to send the child back to such a place.
"I'll see what I can do, Amy," he said gently. "I'll do my best. Now, can I get you a cup of tea?"
The station had been a see of faces, both old and new; smiling and weeping. Shouting, waving children piled up at the windows, calling out farewells to the watchers on the platforms. Amy watched a group of young boys screaming out the top of the train window in her compartment as the train glided out of the station, balancing uneasily on the chairs and side tables. There was no one for Amy to shout to, no one for her to wave at. She sat in her chair and pulled out her iPod, hoping to lose herself in her music. Her favourite song lulled her into a calm, relaxed mood.
Soon, London was far behind them. With every station they passed, Amy felt as though a bud of hope was growing in her chest, growing faster than the moving train. Fields skipped by, the cars on the roads merely blurs of moving colour as the train flashed past. No more London. No more old Mrs Brown next door, always snooping around like everyone else's business was her business, too. Best of all, no more Andrew!
A smile twitched the corners of Amy's mouth. Freedom! No more abuse! But what price would she pay for that luxury, that most basic of rights that most children her age took granted?
"Hurry up!" called the Billeting Officer for the area, as the children scrambled from the carriages and onto the small, rural station platform. Amy had never seen anything so quaint in all her life, at least not first hand. "Right, I am going to call a register, and then-- Will you quieten down back there! Thank you! Now, Mary Abbots? Good. Jack Appleton?"
"Wilson" would not be called for at least another forty-seven children, and Amy took advantage of this time to look around. It was a quiet little station she had alighted onto, and she would have forgiven herself for thinking that she had just stepped out of Doctor Who's Tardis into the 1940s, if it hadn't been for the electric lighting and the modern train that was only just pulling out of the station once more. It was only then that Amy caught sight of the sign on the wall opposite her. She blinked, then rubbed her eyes once more. But she had seen quite clearly: the sign quite clearly read...
"Little Weirwold." Amy let out a low whistle under her breath. Her thoughts strayed immediately to the book that she had been studying in English 'Good Night Mr Tom'. "It can't be. Can it?"
A great shout from the road made the evacuees turn. The Billeting Officer scowled as a group of local boys swerved into the car park, the breaks of their bikes screaming in protest as they stopped suddenly. Some were about Amy's age or a little young, but a couple seemed older, and this clearly terrified the younger evacuees. They shuffled back away, as though hopping to get out of the way of the fearsome glares the local boys were shooting at them. A little girl who could only have been about six grabbed Amy's hand and hung on grimly, clutching the teddy in her arms closer to her.
The local boys all sneered and laughed. "Look what the cat dragged in!" someone shouted cruelly, glaring at the children on the platform. "The townies come crawlin' back to us for safety like!"
The boys began to laugh loudly, save for one. He looked out at the crowd before him with unemotional grey eyes, then pulled his cap down further over his limp sandy hair. The Billeting Officer cursed under her breath and returned to the register.
"Carly Tanns? Amy Wilson?" She glanced up and saw Amy and Carly nod. "Good. Now, we've got a minibus waitin' to take you up to the village proper. Don' mind the boys like – they'll move off when they get bored."
"I want my mama!" the little girl clutching Amy's hand whimpered as the crowd began to move off after the woman. "I don't wanna go near them big boys!"
"Come on, I'll take you," Amy reassured, though she felt fear stir in her gut once more. These boys weren't bigger or stronger than Andrew, but it looked like they could cause some serious physical damage if they wanted. "Here, I'll take your bag as well."
Wheeling her suitcase and the little girl's at the same time, Amy followed the other evacuees out into the car park towards the local ruffians, the little one still hanging off her arm. Being the only teenage girl amongst the crowd, Amy felt her cheeks redden with embarrassment as some of the older boys wolf whistled as she passed. She hung her head, hiding her face amidst a tangle of blonde hair, feeling nervous and frightened. Most of all, Amy felt sick. A memory stirred at the back of Amy's memory, sickening and terrifying. Amy bit her tongue and forced the memory out of her mind.
"Aw, lookie 'ere!" someone shouted. "The little 'un's got a teddy!"
"Cry Baby needs her favourite toy!" laughed another, though there was nothing funny about what he said. "Cry Baby! Cry Baby!"
Anger flared in Amy's chest, as she whirled suddenly, rounding on the boy that had shouted. He was a rat-faced kid, plagued with acne and too-long limbs, but his tough boy façade disappeared quickly as Amy rounded on him – he hadn't been expecting that.
"Leave her alone!" Amy snarled, surprised by the venom in her voice. "Pick on someone your own size, jerk!"
"Like you?" The voice came from the sandy haired boy with the grey eyes. Dreamy grey eyes, Amy noted with a start, as she turned and looked at him. He raised an eyebrow, looking down at her. "You're pickin' a bad day to start makin' enemies, love. We're makin' room or you in our houses, not the other way round. We rule the area. We make the rules – not you." The boy leaned over the handles of his bike, looking dead into her eyes. His eyes were hard. "Get it?"
The courage that Amy had mustered from that secret reserve suddenly evaporated. She shrank back, a cold sweat breaking out over her forehead. She couldn't even look the older boy in the eyes as she hurriedly grabbed the suitcases in one hand, the little girl's hand in the other, and then Amy fled towards the minibus, afraid of angering the young man further. He straightened back up, staring after her in alarm. What had he said?
One of his friends whistled, shaking his head. "Smooth, mate – real smooth. That was a cruel thing to say to 'er, Tom."
The rat-faced boy smirked. "I ain't never seen a girl run so fast!"
The older boy, Tom, gave his friend a furious glare. "Leave 'her alone, Darren. Dammit! I ain't never meant to scare her like that – I was jus' tryin' to git 'er to calm down."
"Well, you mucked that one up, Tom!"
Tom cursed fluently and swung his bike in the direction of the car park exit. He peddled up the hill, dodging the minibus with an expert's ease, heading back to the village proper. His mum always said he had a nasty knack for big a big mouth – now it looked like she was right.
Amy smiled and shyly shook the hands of Vicar and Mrs Mayne. Her new foster parents smiled graciously and offered their new evacuee a cup of tea and biscuits. Within minutes, Amy found herself seated in the downstairs living room with the old couple, her suitcase abandoned upstairs in her new bedroom. The vicar read the letter her father had written with great interest, then chuckled happily.
"Your father needn't worry, Amy – I can promise that I shall continue your religious education here, just like he wants. What have you learnt so far, my dear?"
"This and that," Amy replied timidly. She sipped the tea. "Thanks, Mrs Mayne."
"Oh, please, call me Aunt Tilly," the woman replied, smiling up at her husband. "You make me feel like someone out of the last war!"
"I don't suppose you know anyone here yet, do you?" the vicar asked, then smiled as Amy shook her head. "Well, the children round these parts are very nice indeed. We've only been here two year ourselves, but the people of Little Weirwold go out of their way to welcome you."
Yeh, Amy thought bitterly. Those boys were obviously falling over themselves in desperation to welcome us.
"And if you have any problems – anything at all, my dear – then don't hesitate to ask," put in Aunt Tilly. "All right?"
"Thank you...Aunt Tilly. Actually, do you know if there's a plug in my room?"
"Upstairs? What for, dear?"
"My...my laptop. I was wondering if I could possibly get onto the internet to--"
Aunt Tilly clapped her hands and made a funny tsk! sound. "Of course, Amy! I suppose you'll have all your boyfriends back in London to contact, won't you?"
Amy blushed and shook her head. "No. Just my brother – it's our only means of contact apart from texting."
The vicar indicated the phone cable with a wave of his hand. "No longer than an hour a night, all right? And tomorrow, I'll introduce you to some of our neighbours, yes? You look a little too drained at the moment for socialising. Now, how about something to eat?"
There are two members in the chatroom: Liam/Amy
Liam: Hahaha! Yeh, like you wound up in Little Weirwold. Did I tell you that my friend's been evacuated to Never Land?
Amy: I'm being serious!
Liam: I don't think we've been introduced properly... King Tutankhamen at your service!
Amy: LIAM! I'm seriously in Little Weirwold! I can see the church and the graveyard from my window!
Liam: Can you hear that?
Amy: What?
Liam: Oh nope, that's ok... Just the sound of the men in white coats coming to take you away!
Amy: Couldn't it be the sound of the police coming back to arrest you? AGAIN!
Laim: Oh. So you heard. Hangs head in shame Sorry. ...
Amy: I'm not the one with the record, am I? After all we went through, how could you even THINK of punching a policeman? They're on our side!
Liam: Earth to Amy: he was trying to take me back to Hell! The first chance I get, I'm SO getting out of this place!
Amy: Find me?
Liam: If I can be bothered. We'll see.
Amy: I don't like L.W.
Liam: Firstly, if you really ARE in Little Weirwold, just give it 20, 30, 40 years, then you might get used to it! Seriously, give the place a break! Thank your lucky stars you aren't in Barrings Estate.
Amy: I got threatened by a older boy today. Told me all that shiz about L.W being their area, their territory. Or something like that.
Liam: How old?
Amy: 16? 17? Called us 'townies'.
Liam: Sticks and stones, Amsie. At least you aren't a member of the Bloomin' Born-In-A-Barn Parade, like him! And if he don't leave you alone, I'll come sort him out.
Amy: If you can be bothered?
Liam: Exactly. Signing off now. Chin up, yeh?
Amy: Ditto.
Liam: Keeping strong, kiddo. Jolly good show, and all that.
Amy: Thanks. :)
Amy has signed off.
Ta-da! Please, REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW! And then you can eat my shoe! Llamas, Ginger-Bizkit!