Chapter 13 - Self Pity

“I’m sorry.” Marcus said.

“It’s okay; I’ve got to be professional about this.” I said, trying not to cry. I’ve never cried once in my life, and I wasn’t going to start now.

We climbed down from the ambulance, and I turned to Dave and Derek “you might want to get the zip-bags. They didn’t make it.”

 

I walked away, feeling numb, and didn’t even bother calling for a taxi – all I wanted to do was walk. It helped, knowing that I wasn’t alone, but it didn’t ease the feeling of self-pity and grief.

They died, fighting for their country; I would do the same. I would give my entire life to my job, and anything that stopped me, would either have to step aside or take me right there and then.

If I didn’t have Marcus, I don’t know what I’d do; cry, most probably.

 

It only took half an hour to walk back, and it made me realise that there was never any need to take a taxi and that it was probably just out of habit, because that’s how we’d travelled to and from town since I was born.

 

I didn’t arrange a funeral for them – I’d always had a phobia of funerals, and besides, there wouldn’t be many people there. Probably about five at the maximum, so I really didn’t see the point.

 

Two months flew by, and Marcus was really improving on his running and stamina, and I was really impressed with his progress. My culinary skills were improving as well; Mum had loads of recipe books, so I tried a new one every day, and most of the time they worked out okay… apart from the time when I accidentally added gone-off mustard to the Golden Pork and Apricot Casserole!

 

Today was the day that I was to be knitted, and I decided that I would wear a dress after all, a little tribute to my Mum, who wore a dress at every opportunity.

It was 8:00am, and we were boarding the train to London. I was wearing a flowery dress, and some of Mum’s high heels, with my hair in spiral curls, and Marcus looked handsome in one of my Dad’s best suits (they were almost the same size, which was lucky).

We looked a little out of place, sitting quietly in clothes that don’t look our age (though I really liked the way Marcus looked in a suit) on a train to London with no guardians there…

It certainly amused the ticket-collector. Oh well, it was his amusement…

“You will smile, won’t you?” Marcus looked concerned.

“Yes, of course I will. You can’t meet the queen and have a frowny face you know!” I grinned at him, for the first time in two months.

“I’ve missed that.” Marcus admitted.

“So have I; I should be making the most of my life, not moping all the time.” I sighed.

 

I fell asleep on Marcus’s shoulder, and I woke up as he was carrying me off the train…

“Oh my goodness! Marcus! Oh my gosh, I’m so heavy!” I exclaimed when I realised what was going on.

“Not really.” He shrugged.

“Please, put me down.” I insisted.

“Not going to happen.” He grinned mischievously.

The End

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