Desperate times call for unexpected loves (Melisha Tweedy x FemOC)

Chapter 1: Not a nice welcome

"Emily, wake up, we're close..." My mother whispered, nudging me. I looked at her out of the corner of my eye and sat down again, pretending that I haven't been sleeping for at least 2 hours. I sighed morosely. I didn't want to be there, I didn't want to leave London. I suppose they did it for my own sake, I have no doubts.

"Yeah, exciting..." I said listlessly and with a small touch of sarcasm, just enough to not offend my parents, although I may have done it anyway.

My mother looked at me with pity. Dark circles were visible in her eyes. I felt guilty for seeming selfish, but everything I had left behind was too much for me.

"Emily," my father said in a warning tone. I sealed my lips. "Come on, it will only be some time, until things go better."

"And when it's that?" I asked, crossing my arms, exaggerating a sigh.

"Miss..." My mother murmured. I decided not to push the situation any further.

"Ah, I'm sorry, mother, it's just... My life was in the city, I've left everything there," I said with my head down. Mrs Lynch was an understanding woman.

"It will only be for a while, darling. You'll see how good is this splendid fresh air," she said, grabbing my hand.

"I have left all my friends in London... Hugh..." I sighed. Of course the trip was becoming very long for me.

"Are you referring to that silly bellboy?" My father asked. He will never like him.

"William," my mother reprimanded, softening the situation.

My father remained silent and continued driving. There were fewer and fewer streetlights on the roads and all I could see were small groups of lights far apart.

It was like the silent path that took me to my destination. A destination I didn't want to reach.

The war finished yeras ago. They were just a few bad years but they lasted long enough to notice its effects. There were no longer bombings, casualty figures in the newspapers, but there was hunger. I will always hate those idiots who took out their rifles and destroyed so many families, including mine.

The little things I remember before the conflict escalated were the smiles of my parents, the light entering our wonderful London penthouse, the colour of the city, the spirit of the people, the music playing happily on the radio. But I can remember everything. Then interference and air raid sirens became the new music. Then I had grown up, I already realized. We couldn't eat the elegant rugs, nor the silver chandeliers. Wealth does not come with a full stomach. My father tries to make a living however he can and my mother is dedicated to putting a smile on my face.

There came a time when it wasn't enough. The things we had become scarce. I hate to think about it like that, but I ended up becoming a burden to my parents.

No, it will probably never be like that. I can't complain about them. They don't deserve it.

At one point, looking through old family photographs, a revelation emerged. A distant cousin of my father, who had a chicken farm in a Yorkshire village, well, at least his parents did. Judging by his words, they haven't seen each other in more than 30 years.

But that is not the reason for my new adventure, or well, in part it is. In the cities people go hungry, in the countryside not so much. Surely that same logical deduction came to my parents' heads. They didn't mind eating a little less, but I was their only daughter. That made my father phone the old farm. It wasn't the first time a girl like me had moved to the country for a while. In fact, I lost many friends like that.