Hey guys, sorry for the wait, but my teachers dumped a literal ton of homework on my head, and then I had to stamina build for my cornet exam, and thenI was ill... But I'm fine now, soooooo...
Roll on chapter 2!
Chapter 2
London
"Oh that looks lovely on you!"
Mary sighed, amused. "That's what you've said to every single thing I've tried on."
They were shopping in London, and Mary thought her mother was enjoying this rather too much, cooing and squealing at everything she tried on. She shot her mother a look. "Are you actually trying to embarrass me?"
Her mother smirked. "Yes."
"Well, at least I've got that cleared up now." Mary flicked her fringe out her face.
Right now, she was wearing a knee-length navy Ralph Lauren trench coat with pink skinny jeans and lime green Doc Martens.
"We should so buy them!"
"No."
"But-"
"No!"
"Fine." Her mother pursed her lips. "I still think the outfit suits you."
"Well I don't."
"Okay, get changed again then. Where to next?"
"Jack Wills?"
"Hmmmm..."
"Please?"
"Fine."
###
Mary flopped onto the hotel bed feeling thoroughly exhausted. She wasn't much of a shopper, and the day had taken a lot out of her. She closed her eyes, and just then her phone buzzed.
Hey Boo, done your music practice yet?You packed
your instrument for a reason, you know...
-Tess
Mary sighed. As her music teacher, Tessa could be relentlessly persistent. Ah well, she'd do it later.
###
Two minutes and sixteen texts later, Mary was off the bed and unpacking her piccolo trumpet. Tessa always won, somehow. As she assembled her music stand, her mother came into the room.
"Don't forget to put your practice mute in; we don't want people complaining." she said.
Mary nodded, bunging the mute in the end of her instrument, a silver Yamaha YTR-6810S. She loved her instrument, she really did, she always polished it and took care not to drop it, but she didn't see why she had to practice every day. One thing that Tessa always said was, "Every day you don't practice, your playing goes back two days." but Mary had never found that true. When she practised, sometimes her playing excelled, others it got worse. Same when she didn't: sometimes the break was good. Stupid teachers over-analysing everything!
###
The rest of the week passed in a blur of shopping and sightseeing, until the evening of the last day. Mary and her parents stumbled out of the theatre, yawning. Les Mis had been great, and yet Mary was so tired. The family leisurely made their way to the tube station, taking in the last they would see of this place. They were nearly at the station when Mary realised something was wrong. Someone, no something was following them. She wasn't sure what, but it wasn't human.
Ever since the traumatic kidnapping when she was much younger, Mary had developed a sixth sense about people watching and following her, and she wasn't sure, but this thing seemed familiar somehow. Not good familiar, but the familiar of a long-forgotten nightmare. She felt her heart thud wildly as her pulse sped up. Keep calm, she told herself. You don't know for sure it's anything. But somehow, she did. Something was following her and her parents and it wasn't human and she didn't know what, although she found she did have an inkling. But she didn't want to think about that.
She forced herself to stay calm. It wouldn't attack in public, not with so may people around, unless it was who she thought it was, and then he could attack sneakily, so she would have to stay on her guard. She stuck close to her parents; it wouldn't dare attack if the two humans who cared the most for her safety were watching her.
When they got on the train, the presence got on the train with them, watching from above. By the time they'd got back to the hotel, Mary's nerves were well and truly frazzled. As soon as she got into her room, she dumped her bag on the bed and pulled out her spray bottle. Too bad she'd had to leave her spray paint at home – aerosols weren't allowed on planes – but coloured water spray would have to do.
She spun round and pumped the trigger for all it was worth at the presence, outlining it in pale pink water droplets. Her blood went cold.
Dun dun duuuun! Who do you think it is? Review! I feel lonely... How about the person to type the tenth review gets digital cookies. See? You just made me resort to bribery!;_; But seriously, reviews make me happy.