Young Writers Society

BASED ON TRUE EVENTS

1

Moving your life is always going to be problematic. Especially when you are leaving behind everything you know.

"This is going to be great I promise you," those were dad's exact words. But what did he know? He wasn't the one leaving his friends and other family members behind. He wasn't the one who had no say in making all the major decisions. In fact, dad didn't even seem to know where he was going.

"Bloody hell," a stream of profanity followed as he assaulted the sat nav.

"Calm down dear, we'll use the map," mum insisted, as she grappled with the sheet of paper covered in lines.

"Are we nearly there yet?" That was my brother, Frankie, whining, as per usual. You would think by the age of thirteen he would be mature enough to stop repeating that childish question. Apparently not.

"Should be there soon." Dad had said the same thing an hour ago, when the sat nav had started to repeatedly tell him to: "Turn left at the next exit" which lead to a restaurant called: "Dirty Joe's."

What was funnier than the name however, was the blatant fact that dad was lost, which everyone had realised, and he still refused to admit.

"Are you quite sure this is the way George?" mum asked as we passed the same statue of a soldier for the third time. Dad had been frantically checking the road signs. "Yes, yes of course," he replied dismissively.

Famous. Last. Words.

~

Three hours later we found ourselves, tired and grumpy, standing outside our new home. A giant, white brick affair located in the middle of what was essentially a field. There were others houses around the adjacent "streets." In a way it was ironic, because mum had joked about being situated in the back of beyond and "loving it." I wasn't so sure about the latter.

"Is this it?" Frankie asked bluntly.

"Yes it is." Dad sounds rather defensive about it. Maybe it was the journey? Or maybe it was the fact that our new home was situated next to a field full of cows?

"Welcome to Rose Lodge!" The announcement was not appreciated by anyone, particulary Frankie, as Dad ruffled his hair whilst making his way up the driveway to the front door. It seemed he still thought Frankie was about seven years old. I mean, it wasn't difficult given the tantrum he'd showcased upon the announcement we were moving.

Half an hour of yelling, swearing, repetition of the word "no" and door slamming later he had come to terms with the fact we were leaving London behind. Mum had insisted it would be a great start for all of us. She was saying the same thing now: "Do you want to come and explore your new home?" her smile seemed genuine, but it was difficult to tell through the months of false effort she had put into it. Mum hadn't wanted to move. She was a city girl, not a country bumpkin. Trading up concrete for cow pat was never going to work.

"This is a new start..." here we go again. I switched off as she began yet another recital about the rural opportunities awaiting us. I didn't care about any of that. The upshot was, I didn't want to be there, the upshot was I wanted to go home. And this wasn't home.

Eventually, mum got bored of talking to no one and lead Frankie inside. That left me alone, by the car, wondering whether we were going to be any better off in this new house.

~

And the answer to that question came quickly in the form of a very vehement: NO!

"It doesn't work," mum said for about the eighth time.

"Yes I know that Marie, I'm trying to fix it." Dad was growling now, as he stood face to face with a stubborn boiler that he had been tampering with. It didn't work. It hadn't worked since we had arrived. Which meant we didn't have any heating; which was most unhelpful given the temperature couldn't have been much above ten degrees.

"I wish you would just leave it alone Harry, before the thing blows up in your face and we're not insured."

"Wouldn't you be more concerned that we'd all be blown to bits? As opposed to the insurance," I chipped in.

My moment of comedy was ignored in favour or mum and dad bickering about how would call the gas company and when. In the meantime, Frankie had skulked off to examine his new room. Upon arrival, he had called dibs on the warmer room of the two, a decision he had quickly come to regret when he realised it was also the smallest room.

On the contrary, my bedroom was a grim experience indeed. From the walls, to the carpet to the ceilings to the skirting board, the whole lot was painted grey. With grey accessories and extra grey. It was like being in a slab of concrete. Fortunately, since the delivery people had failed to deliver the furniture, we were sleeping on the floor with the emergency sleeping bags mum had insisted we pack. She always knew best. I just hoped she was right about her inclinations of the better live that awaited us in our igloo. I mean, "house."

~

Wooden floors are not made for sleeping on. My back started complaining about ten minutes after I heard the slow puncture of my "bed" deflating. The wooden boards were now my mattress. Deciding to sleep downstairs in the same room to "share body heat" seemed like one of dad's better ideas at the time. He was wrong. So, so wrong.

"Fancy bringing us to a house with no heating, no hot water and no beds, if this were a hotel we would leave." Frankie had not stopped complaining.

I felt like telling him to shut up and go to sleep; but it wasn't worth the argument of me telling him what to do. Once I had adjusted to the lumpy pain in my spine, staring at the ceiling and shivering in my thin t - shirt the situation didn't look as bad. No, I was starting to think positively.

The next day, our belongings would arrive, the boiler would be fixed and this new place would start to feel like some sort of home. Yes, that would be it, I thought as I drifted to sleep. This wasn't looking so bad after all.

As for what happened next, I have no idea how much time passed between the time of my last ever positive thinking moment, and the event of me opening my eyes and screaming as a giant, black, hairy spider crawled towards my face. I leaped to my feet, creating a wave of protest from mum, dad and Frankie who had surrounded me; as I ran dramatically from the room shaking my shoulders and brushing myself down. I hated spiders. I hated the cold. And I hated the countryside.

Upon reflection, I hated a lot. Most of all, I hated the fact that I was starting to turn into a whiny git like my brother. Ah well, countryside one, Emily nil. It was only the first day. Things would get better.