The Guardian

A very short story inspired by a picture by Vancy.
It's a bit grim! :(

~o0o~

A mother and her son are moving across the country, From Catterick to Cornwall. Their estate car is packed to the brim with boxes and cases, the roof rack too. As the mother is strapping the last few things to the roof rack, the new tenants of their home arrive and they chat. Mum introduces herself as Maggie and amongst the small talk, tells them that she lost the boy's father in Helmand six months ago, hence the move.

The boy appears at the open front door, holding a vacuum cleaner. “Maggie!” he hollers. “I've finished the hoovering, does this need to go in the car?” he asked.

“No that belongs to the house Peter.” his mother replied.

“He uses your first name... how modern.” the woman says.

“I'm his step-mother.” Maggie replied. “Peter's mother left when he was five and I met his father when he was six.”

“Oh I see.” the woman says. “And how old is he now?”

“Eleven.”

“So for all intents and purposes, you are his mother.”

“I like to think so.” Maggie smiled. “He doesn't remember his real mum and I'm all he has now.”

“Oh bless him... it can be easy losing his father at his age.”

“No but he's tough. Like his Dad, a real trouper.” Maggie smiled.

“Here he comes.” the woman said as Peter exited the house.

Karen's Café: part two

You might want to read part one if you haven't done so already

~o0o~

I'd agreed to work in my sister's café for a few weeks to provide cover over the Easter holidays. This comes as a great relief to my sister as she's been struggling to find cover, and my mother's happy that I've found myself a part time job, even though it is only temporary. It means Mum won't have to give me any pocket money for a while and I’ll get seven pounds an hour which will add up to around one-hundred pounds a week... that's a whole lot more than the ten pounds pocket money I currently get. I've no idea what I'm going to spend it on; video games, movies, music, apps or maybe save up and buy a PS4 or a swanky e-bike, or a maybe a huge TV for my bedroom. I'm getting giddy just thinking about the money... but the prospect of working in my sister's café is beginning to fill me with dread.

I was feeling reluctantly confident when my sister talked me into it, but that was yesterday and today, all I feel is reluctant. My confidence ebbed away over night and in the cold light of day, the idea of working as a waitress when I’m a fifteen year old boy doesn't seem like such a good idea after all. I express my concerns over breakfast and Mum tells me I've nothing to worry about; no one will bat an eyelid. My sister reminds me of not only how great I looked when I tried the uniform on, but also the fact that I admittedly liked wearing it. I wash my face and brush my teeth and despite having removed all my make-up before bed, I can still see a trace of the eye-liner and foundation I wore. Not only that... my sister tidied my eyebrows a little and I'm worried that they now look a little too feminine. At least my long floppy fringe covers them most of the time, but I'm still worried about them.