"But you're quite, quite sure you want me to go? I really, really don't think there's a point to me travelling there. It's going to be very bothersome for you, me and the Professor. It will be an unnecessary stress upon all of our lives," I spoke very quickly and urgently, taking my mother's hands and staring as innocently as I could into her eyes. Surely nobody in their right mind could resist me? But her extremely sharp blue eyes bore into my dark ones. I had to look away.
"Now listen to me, Catherine, you're to go if you want to be safe. London is no place for a child anymore. The Professor offered to take you, so mind you don't purposely annoy the poor man, for I shan't take you back until this bloody war is over," she replied in a stern voice tinged with her Irish roots. Quickly releasing her hands for fear of seeming tender, I glared fiercely at the station floor.
"Father would never have sent me away. He'd have laughed at the thought of it! It's preposterous, that's what it is! Who do you think you are, sending me away to live with an old man and four spoilt brats?" I asked viciously. It was callous to mention my father, but since when did I care about being mean?
"Your dear old father isn't here, is he? It's no fault of mine so you can stop bringing it up as though it is. As for who I am, I'm your mother, and it's high time you realise it. Someday you'll need my guidance in life," she retorted. I could feel her cool gaze burning into me.
"You speak to me as though I'm a child! I'm sixteen, in case you've forgoteen," I sighed, in a long suffering sort of way, glancing around at the sniffling children around me. "They're pathetic, they are. Be thankful I'm not acting like them."
"Here are your things, Catherine. Remember to be good and polite, and don't scare the other evacuees too much," she said wearily, handing me my train ticket and suitcase. "I shall write to you weekly."
"Yes, well, don't expect anything in reply but death threats and pleading. And for goodness sake, woma, what have you packed in here, a piano?" I groaned, gingerly testing the weight of my belongings.
"Goodbye, Catherine," my mother said curtly, inclining her head. She wasn't a woman for sentiments. I smiled half-heartedly.
"Goodbye, cruel, cold hearted witch."
And with that she promptly turned me around and pushed me in the direction of the train. I grumbled under my breath, something about being old enough to walk on my own. As I handed the woman my ticket, quite glumly, a long line of soldiers were walking past, all looking rather defeated. A couple glanced at me, for I was desperately trying to see my father among them.
Of course, I didn't.
With renewed sadness, I allowed myself to be helped onto the train by one of the station staff, and quickly sought out a compartment. There wouldn't be much point in waving to my mother from the window. After all, knowing her, she'd probably be in the car already.
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
The train journey was so uneventful, there's no point in describing it. I spent it reading a book and avoiding the eyes of those sharing my compartment – two twin sisters who never ceased in their banal chatter.
So I was beyond pleased to step off the train when my time came, before realising I wasn't alone. I turned, with a heavy heart, to scrutinise the four things I would have to spend the next few months – at least – with. There were two girls and two boys.
The youngest looked about eight, and she was an excitable looking girl with short blonde hair and a large smile. Next was a boy of ten or eleven, with short blonde hair and freckles, who looked gloomy and distant. Then came a girl who seemed about thirteen with thick black hair and a pleasant expression. Lastly was a boy of about fifteen with light brown hair and an arm protectively around his youngest sister. I sighed. They all looked so good.
The train steamed off, leaving us in an awkward silence. We heard the familiar sounds of a car and leapt from the tiny raised platform. But the car merely beeped it's horn and drove on. I sighed again, more heavily this time.
"The Professor knew we were coming," the eldest girl commented. I rolled my eyes. Not only did they seem too good, they also seemed the type to state the obvious.
"Of course he knows we're coming. He's probably just a lazy git who'll pick us up when he feels like it," I explained. The youngest two gasped with uncontrollable delight at this, but the eldest two just frowned and shared a worried look.
"I think he's just late," the black haired girl smiled reassuringly.
To my relief, she was actually right. The telltale sounds of a horse's hooves sounded across the country lane. We all turned to see the source of the noise. A woman was sat in a horsecart, holding the reigns of a large and glossy white horse, as it trotted over and came to halt in front of us. I felt a little nervous then – for, I'm quite ashamed to admit it, my one fear was horses.
Dear old sarcastic Uncle Horace had kept two of them in the stables in his back garden. Once, when I was five or six years old, I thought it funny to tickle the horses on their chests. For some reason, they were in a little bit of a bad mood and jumped over the stable door, chasing me round the garden as I screamed.
To be blunt, I wasn't very good with animals, and since then the mere sound of horse hooves made me feel petrified. So to be face to face with this beast really didn't make me feel any kinder to the things.
Half an hour later – after an embarrassing incident involving me tripping into the horse, it rearing and the woman (Mrs MacReady) falling off on to the youngest boy – we were walking into an almost frighteningly large house to begin what seemed fated to be a disastrous evacuation.
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
"So, who are you lot?" I asked the children later that night, as the boys crept into us girls' room for a chat (against the rules, I might add). I hadn't spoken to any of them since the falling-on-the-horse accident, as I'd had to reason to, but I thought I might as well ask their names.
"Well, we're the Pevensies. I'm Peter, and this is Edmund, Susan and Lucy," the eldest spoke, motioning to each of his siblings in turn. The prudish Pevensies, eh? "How about you?"
"Catherine O. Spencer," I said proudly. I included my middle initial because I'd heard my father do so once and anything he did was brilliant in my eyes. Peter raised his eyebrows slightly at my name, but said nothing. There was silence, until it was interrupted by a small sob from the youngest – Lucy. Peter and Susan shared another worried look and went to the end of their sister's bed.
"Wars don't last forever, Lucy. We'll be home soon," Susan smiled, in a motherly kind of way. I glumly lay back on my bed. Did she have any idea? Wars could last for years and years. We had hardly any hope of 'soon'.
"Yeah, if home's still there," Edmund muttered. I propped myself up on one elbow to study him. I hadn't given the boy much thought before, but he was making sense to me, above the other's, at least. He caught my eye and I gave him a small smile and a wink. Susan, however, sighed.
"Isn't it about time you were in bed?" she asked her brother, putting one hand on her hip.
"Yes, mum," he replied sarcastically. I grinned.
"Ed!" Peter said, surprisingly sharply. I found disliking him more and more by the second. I even treated him to one of my frequent glares, despite the fact his eyes were fixed on a whimpering Lucy. "You saw outside. It's huge! We can do whatever we want here. Tomorrow will be great, really."
"What's that noise?" asked the youngest suddenly. It had been a sort of animal noise from outside, and normally it wouldn't have scared any of us. But I suppose being in such a large and empty house, a simple noise like that was quite daunting for her.
"It's only a bird, silly," snapped Edmund.
"It's an owl," stated Peter. "This is going to be a wonderful place for birds. I say, let's go and explore tomorrow. You might find anything in a place like this. It really will be wonderful here!"
"Oh yeah," I said, sitting up again and brushing the hair from my eyes. "It's going to be just wonderful. Not only is there a tremendous, foul war raging, with bombs threatening to kill our parents daily, but I'm stuck here with the prudish Pevensies!"
"Please don't scare Lucy like that," Susan chided, green eyes wide. I raised my eyebrows.
"Oh, sorry Lucy, your parents will be fine – they'll be safer dead! Now, I want some sleep, so you boys get out before I call MacReady!" I snapped, sinking back down and turning my back to them all. I heard the boys' quick goodbyes and Susan's comforting of her crying sister. Reflecting Peter's words, I smirked bitterly. Tomorrow would be great, my arse.
A/N: Oh dear, Catherine has quite the temper, doesn't she? Please review! Next chapter: Lucy finds something. We all know what.