The Last Train Home

Chapter Forty-Three

The next day, the reality of falling from Jigsaw hit me.

Everything ached. I struggled to even get out of bed because it hurt to move and I spent a good fifteen minutes just lying there before I plucked up the courage to roll to a standing position. Not wanting to aggravate anything else, I didn't bother getting dressed and simply slipped on my dressing gown and made my way downstairs. Every step hurt my hip and even my knees had decided to join in the fun, but I gritted my teeth and hobbled down the stairs.

"How are you feeling?" Jonathan asked when he saw me heading down the stairs.

"Sore."

"I'm not surprised." He chuckled. "Come on, come and get some breakfast."

"I won't say no to a bit of food."

I limped the rest of the way downstairs before hobbling across the room like an old lady. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Jonathan trying to hide his face and no doubt his laughter at the sight of me walking like a grandmother. Barbara, upon seeing Jonathan's poor attempt to suppress his laughter, gave him a clip round the ear and he abruptly stopped although I could still see a slight smile tugging on the corner of his lips.

We settled down to breakfast with Barbara handing out plates of toast and eggs gathered that morning and then boiled. I tore strips off my toast and dunked it into the yoke of the egg with Jonathan and Barbara both eating the eggs with spoons. Dad ate his eggs the same way I did. The early morning sunlight streamed in through the kitchen window as we ate and I could hear the chickens clucking nearby along with the occasional sheep. Jonathan turned the page in his newspaper and scoured the pages for any new information on the war front.

Our mornings were always somewhat similar, although usually, I would do my own chores before we ate. The night before, Jonathan had said he would do it since we all knew the likelihood of my bruises once the sun came up. Still, there was a routine in place on the farm and I grew to like it since I knew what to expect. Back home, life could sometimes be chaotic since we never really knew what time Dad would be returning from the docks or whether I would be late for school or not. Mum always tried to keep order, but she wasn't all that successful.

"I take it you have no intention of getting dressed today," Barbara said, nodding to my nightdress.

"If that's alright. I struggled to get out of bed so putting on other clothes just feels out of the question."

"Well, since you're not going anywhere, I don't see why not."

"Any plans for your week away from the treehouse?" Jonathan asked, tearing off a chunk of his toast in one quick bite.

"None. I'm not very good at sitting still for very long so this will be a fun week."

He chuckled. "You proved that when you had a cold. I'm sure we can find you something to do, within reason, of course."

"Such as?"

"I'll get back to you on that one."

Jonathan winked and peeled a piece of shell off his egg. I shook my head, suppressing a laugh and finishing the last of my yoke with a piece of toast. Across the table, Jonathan turned the page of his paper and I craned my neck a little to see if I could see anything, but I struggled to read the small print and, to be honest, I didn't really know what I was looking for. Even with my non-existent reading skills, I still tried to read parts of the paper just to see how the war was progressing. Not much had happened since Italy had joined in.

The war felt like it had been moving at a snail's pace, even with the fall of France and the evacuation at Dunkirk. There were large gaps of unknowns, things that were happening that weren't being reported in the paper or discussed on the radio. I had no idea what was happening in the English Channel since the evacuation or whether or not Dad was still out there. His current location remained a mystery, although I assumed he would be stationed in the channel to hold off any potential German invasion.