The Last Train Home

Chapter Seventeen

"I still don't see what's so wrong with your room here being the same as your old one," Mark said. He grabbed a wooden spoon from the side and started to stir whatever it was he had in the pan.

"She's just being difficult." Eva glared at me.

"I'm not being difficult! I just don't want to grow too comfortable here if we're going back to London."

"Except we don't know when that will be," Enid pointed out. "The Great War lasted four years, this one might last longer. You might as well get comfortable, Sybil. Especially if your mum is so set on you staying here.

I huffed and rolled my eyes, snatching the tea towel off my shoulder and grabbing one of the many dishes that Eva had washed. Even though I knew they were right, I didn't want to admit that we were most likely going to be stuck in the country for potentially years to come. Not much had happened on the war front since Warsaw had fallen in September and now that we were inching our way towards November, it felt like the war might go on forever.

After almost two months of living out in the middle of nowhere with not that much to do, Enid had the bright idea for us to do something for our hosts. We had managed to get them all under one roof at the Wentworth house - Enid's host family - for a grand evening meal prepared for by us. When I say us, I mean Mark who had taken control of everything and appeared more in his element in the kitchen than he had on the farm. At least he hadn't almost burnt this one down. Yet.

Just a few days before, Mr Goodwin and I had spent the day painting the walls of my bedroom a pale blue that he had picked up from the village. The colour was almost identical to that of my room back home and although I was glad to no longer be sleeping in a dingy room, I didn't like how similar it all looked. I would have been fine if the walls had been painted white, it would make more sense for any future guests after I had left, but I guessed Mr Goodwin didn't see it that way.

"I thought you would have taken to being here more than any of us," Eva said. She took the towel from me to dry her hands.

"Why?"

She shrugged. "The amount of work you get to do here, the fact you can wear slacks which you were begging your mum about for months until she bought you one pair. You're more in your element here than we are but even Mark has taken to it quicker than you."

"It's not that I haven't taken to it, I enjoy the work and everything. I just don't want to get too comfortable. This isn't home, London is."

"That doesn't mean this can't be a home. Maybe you need to stop resisting everything and just accept it. Your mum and your house will still be there when the war ends, but that doesn't mean you can't embrace being here, especially since the Goodwin's are going out of their way to make you happy. They didn't have to ask what colour you wanted your room to be, but they did." She hit me lightly with the towel. "Just embrace it for what it is, Syb."

I snatched the towel off her and returned to the stack of dishes that seemed to be never-ending, Mark never did any simple cooking. Eva walked across the kitchen to peer over Mark's shoulder and left me to dry the dishes on my own. Although I hated to admit it, Eva was right. We had no idea how long this war would go on for and I wasn't helping anyone by resisting or refusing to accept my place with the Goodwin's. They, especially Mr Goodwin, were trying and my resisting wasn't helping.

Maybe I just needed to do whatever everyone else was doing and embrace my time with them, consider my room and my life with the Goodwin's a second home until I could return to my real one. Mum, my house, my life, would still be in London by the war's end and I doubt even Mum could begrudge me for enjoying my time with them. She was the one who wrote to me telling me that I needed to get used to staying with the Goodwins, perhaps it was time to accept that.