The Old Tuck Shop

TWO

Once I was finally settled in the next car, I immediately tucked my head inside my jacket, trying to cover my depression like tonight never happened. If I hadn't looked up, I wouldn't have realised that there were two completely different women in the front seats. I thought about the differences between them, even though I could barely see the backs of their heads with my foggy vision. Nevertheless, I still compared them as it took my mind off the fact that I was on my way to a care home. One of them had long, straight, auburn hair, whereas the other had her dark hair scruffed up into a (very) messy bun.

The pair were talking quietly throughout the whole car journey. They were probably talking about me and my Mother and wanted to spare my feelings, which I don't blame them for. Not wanting to hear anything about her, I cupped my hands over my ears and stared out the window. I rubbed my fingers across the fogged-up window, creating ripples in the condensation. Whilst we drove from my past, I couldn't help but feel relieved. Sure, the quaint town that I grew up in was beautiful, but I needed a change. I just never thought that the circumstances of leaving would be this way.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, the car stopped at a gravel road. In front of me, I saw a very dull, lifeless building. Surely, this was not where I was going to live? As I took a step out of the car, I realised that the building before me looked more like a prison than an orphanage. It was painted in a dull, grey colour, the fence surrounding it was all torn and tattered and some of the windows were covered with bars. How welcoming. As I got closer, I could see that the set of swings could use some oiling, and the front door needed a paint job. I also heard the sound of children laughing, which came as a shock to me, considering the state of the outside.

As I stood outside, quivering, I was suddenly flooded by the fact that my Mother could be anywhere by now, doing anything by now. Had I crossed her mind at all? I suddenly flung my foot up against the door to keep my brain occupied. But I couldn't.

Calm down. Breath slowly.

Before I knew it, a small sob escaped from my mouth and my eyes began swelling up with tears. As my cheeks turned red and started sweating, I began to fear that the door might swing open and catch me in this state.

Calm down, Finn! You do not want anyone to see you like this, I thought to myself. I quickly wiped away my tears with the back of my sleeve and squeezed my eyes together as tight as possible. As soon as I heard the squeak of the door opening, I instantly took a few steps back in fear.

I was greeted by a very cheerful elderly lady with grey hair that was plopped messily on top of her head.

"Well come here darling! You must be Flynley!" she exclaimed, forcing me into her embrace.

"Finley," I muttered under my breath but I didn't want to seem rude.

"Well don't stand outside my dear, you must be daft standing outside in the cold," she chuckled, gesturing me to come inside. The social workers handed me my old backpack filled with whatever they could scrape from the remnants of my home. The one with auburn hair kissed me on the forehead before they both headed back to their car.

It came to my surprise that the inside was a complete opposite to the outside. We entered a grand hall with luxurious long staircases and bookcases that stretched out for miles. On the sturdy floors, lay ruby carpets decorated with green and blue detailing. We sat on beautiful ruddy settees and chatted.

"So, shall I put the kettle on? Oh my goodness I'm so sorry, I haven't even introduced myself! I'm Agatha..." she rambled, but I stared mournfully at the floor, unsure what to do. Overwhelmed over the fact that I had just lost my mother and had now been placed in this strange woman's care.

"But people call me Aggie sometimes...you can...if you want..."

I lifted my head, made eye contact, nodded, and stared back at the floor. She was trying to make me feel better, and I thought it was better to please her than to ignore her.

"Would you like a cuppa?" she persisted to ask.

I shrugged and lifted my knees to my chest. This was all too much.

"Okay then." She began, cushioning herself deeper into the couch. I continued to face my head down to the floor, scared to make eye contact with her.

"Look, Flynley..."

Finley.

"I hope I can make your stay here as pleasant as possible. I'm sorry about everything that happened...I am...and I do hope we can be some sort of a family to you..." She smiled, and I felt it was sincere.

Instead of talking, I walked cautiously towards her and collapsed into her arms. I hadn't given myself time to fully process what had happened and all the emotions I had kept inside finally poured out. She wrapped her arms around me and squeezed me tightly, causing my tears to come faster and my cries to be louder. She rubbed my hair and I felt at peace.

"No one deserves this much pain at such a young age, Flynley..." I ignored her mispronunciation of my name. I finally escaped from her embrace, and she rubbed the tears from my eyes.

"Now, no more tears, eh?" she said, trying to make me feel better. "If you're ready, I can lead you up to your room?"

I nodded and grabbed my backpack. She held hold of my hand and led me to the staircase. I stopped anyone from holding my hand when I was seven but considering the circumstances, I think it was justified. As we walked up the sturdy, oak staircase, I began to feel my heartbeat steadily calm down. I began to feel my goosebumps disappear and my cheeks started to glow, instead of exposing puddles of red. My eyes darted at the walls around me. They were full of pictures of hands, toes and other paintings that the kids had made. This was a real family. A smile grew on my face.

Agatha walked towards a door and I followed. It was at the end of a long and narrow corridor. She told me to open it after the count of three and I did. There were two wooden beds on either side of the room. One had a red quilt and the other was blue. A bright green rug slept on the carpet in the centre of the room and there were a few posters scattered on the walls of the right side of the room, which fascinated me. There was a small, rectangular window in the middle of the wall with a small wicker bench sat underneath it.

I sat on the blue bed. I assumed that the bed surrounded by posters was my roommate's side, so I didn't want to mess it up. But a roommate was the last thing on my mind.

"I see you've noticed the posters," she said, walking towards me.

I nodded, "Is he nice?"

"Oh, yes. I wouldn't pair you with anyone else," she chuckled, "and I thought you might like the window...many kids wanted this room for the window..."

I didn't know what to say. Or even what she expected me to say. The last day felt like it had gone a mile a minute and I hadn't caught up with everything going on yet.

"I'll let you get settled in. I'll send him up in a minute, okay?" She rubbed my back before leaving the room.

I stayed frozen on my bed for the full sixty seconds, allowing the anxiety to consume me. In the last twelve hours, I had lost my mother, my best friend, my home, and was now placed in a new place filled with strangers. I felt sick to my stomach. But I couldn't do anything about it. I was now completely alone. I grabbed my blanket from my backpack and placed it on my lap to feel somewhat at home again. It still smells of home, and I felt relaxed.

It was a present for my 1st birthday from my father. Probably the best thing I had ever gotten, even though at this point the fabric had bobbled, and most of the stitching had come apart. Nevertheless, I still kept it over the years and it's always helped me fall asleep at night, so I figured it would help me here. I'm grateful whoever picked it up saw it as a necessity rather than junk.

I had only met my father a few times. He was an alcoholic, who'd spend most of his time in pubs rather than with his family. He left shortly after my 5th birthday, but I can't remember him that well. I don't even have a photograph of him. But my mother would tell me that I look like him so I guess that gave me an idea. We never spoke about him often though, and only if I asked about him, and she would be apprehensive about it anyway, so there was no point in trying.

I heard footsteps approaching the door. I stuffed the blanket back into my backpack and waited to greet my new roommate.