The Last Train Home

Chapter Eight

Sunday meant a trip into the village for church, a trip that should have been simple but one that Mrs Goodwin made out to be a momentous occasion. She had reasoned that she was introducing me to the entire farming community and wanted me to look respectable and not, as she put it, like 'London riff-raff'.

The night before, she had all but forced me to take a bath in the clawfoot tub in their upstairs bathroom. The room, like all the others in the house, was dark and dingy and even the tub looked like it hadn't seen a scrubbing brush in a few months. Still, I could hardly refuse and took a very quick bath so I didn't have to stay in the tub any longer. I didn't think the bath to be necessary since I had had one the Thursday before we got on the train, but Mrs Goodwin wouldn't hear of it. She said I still had 'London-dirt' on me. Whatever that meant.

Despite the order to have a bath, Mrs Goodwin decided that the outfit I had arrived in on Friday would be good enough for church. It hadn't been washed and had been stuffed into the top of my suitcase since I took it off, but it didn't look all that creased and I wore it to church back home.

When I emerged from my room, Mrs Goodwin took one look at me and tutted. "Is there nothing to be done with your hair?"

"No, Ma'am. It's too short," I said. Mum had been begging me to grow my hair out for the better part of a year, but I didn't want to.

"Maybe we can just clip it up or something, make it a little more presentable."

"It's just church, Barb. She looks fine to me and I don't think a clip in her hair will make the blindest bit of difference in how people see her." He glanced at his pocket watch. "They might see us a little differently if we don't get a wiggle on. We're going to be late."

Mrs Goodwin smoothed her skirt, straightened her hat and grabbed her back from the back of the torn sofa before looking at me. "I expect you to be on your best behaviour today."

I nodded but didn't say anything, I didn't want to get in trouble for doing something as simple as talking. Mrs Goodwin would probably tell me off I breathed too loudly when we were in church; I wouldn't put it past her. Even though I had helped build the fence the day before - I was of more help than Alec- she still didn't like me. Maybe it was because I had been the one to suggest that most of the fence needed to be fixed, I didn't know. She just didn't seem to like me no matter what I did.

Mr Goodwin readjusted his flat cap so it covered his forehead. He tucked his pocket watch back into his pocket and made a gesture to the front door, jingling the keys. I followed Mrs Goodwin out of the farmhouse and outside, screwing my eyes up when I stepped out into the bright sunlight of that Sunday morning. With the house as dark as it was all the time, stepping outside could be a rather jarring experience. I never really knew what to expect when I walked out the door or opened the window. The farmhouse could really do with some real sunlight rather than the strange yellow glow from the electricity.

Once my eyes had adjusted to the light, I watched Mr Goodwin lock the door and then followed him and Mrs Goodwin down the track and towards the chicken coop. I strayed behind the two of them, opting for trying to remember the route rather than engaging in an awkward conversation that I wouldn't really be part of. If Mr Goodwin didn't need me on the farm for anything, I resolved to spend as much time as I could away from the house and away from Mrs Goodiwn. With any luck, the next few days would fly by and I would be back home before I knew it.

We walked down the track, all of us having to take it at a slight run so we didn't fall face-first and end up rolling to the village for church. It was funny watching Mrs Goodwin take the hill at a run, part of me wanted her to slip and fall on her face but perhaps that was a little mean.