The walk to the house was a long one; all up twisting coastline and unmanned fields of wild flowers. From the air, it looked flat terrain, but you had to deal with no path, brambles, growing grass that knotted around your ankles constantly and loud as shit seagulls that won't shut up, as well as a backpack full of random crap. It took me around 15 minutes of walking to make it a few hundred meters to reach the safe house. I say safe 'house'.
It was more of a bungalow. Built originally from slate, half of the house had been plastered over with brick. Large windows surrounded the house, giving views of not only the private beach, but also of the countryside – a sight rarely seen in Windsor. A small, single road led from the bungalow for at least ten miles, before joining a small B-road, heading towards whatever the nearest town was. The brown-tiled roof and the thin picket fence around the garden made this seem an ideal place for a small family, on a holiday away, if it wasn't for the completely remote location. I mean, I understand people say that when they're looking for a holiday destination. You can just hear it, can't you? "Oh, we're looking for someone remote and quiet, for the kids obviously, and some adult time to relax", but they're on about a little village a few miles from attractions. This was a singular home miles away from the next living thing that wasn't a seagull.
I walked around, readjusting the backpack so it didn't give me a dead shoulder. In the driveway was a dark blue Peugeot 307 with a 2001 number plate, but looked new. Four doors and washed, shining in the bright summers light. The only good thing about the location was it's a lot cooler by the coast than it is in the middle of England. Small rows of plants sat in Cornish slate planters down one side of the driveway, with a seamlessly empty greenhouse next to the garage. Mailbox empty, and with no road or door number, this place was very isolated from everything. I couldn't help but smile at the white 'Home sweet Home' plate on the door, which was left half-opened. I guessed Ella had already reached the house before I did and unlocked it. How kind of her to leave the door open for me, I thought sarcastically. My brain couldn't decide if we liked her, or hated her. I thought it was always the girls in romance books that couldn't decide what their hormones were doing.
The corridor was painted a subtle light cream, with pictures and photos of the local area on canvases, proudly hung by the previous house owner on the wall. Despite the light hallway, the area by the door was quite dark as no sunlight could get to it. A small, thatched stand sat in the corner, with a bowl of sea stones, and a few leaflets on where is good to eat out, and the local tourist attractions and how many miles they were away from here. I could see one labelled 'THE BIG SHEEP' which was a forty five minute drive away at the very minimum. The corridor was more of an L shape, with me entering at the bottom of the L. I could only see two doors – both opened- on to the left and one straight ahead. I walked slowly down the corridor, and found that the first room was a double bedroom, with three birch wardrobes, two side tables with lamps, and a large soft blue chair, net curtains surrounding the windows, with black-out curtains on top of that. The other room was more of a lounge – a large three seater sofa, with three armchairs at various angles, surrounded the TV in one corner. A traditional fireplace sat to one side, with bookcases piled high with books. I threw my bag telekinetically over to the furthest armchair, hearing the dull thud as it hit the chair and examined the content of books. It ranged from the classics to the shitly written Fifty Shades of Grey. I picked up another book, dog-earred and off colour, and read the blurb.
'I didn't know you're into reading,' I heard Ella say, who had appeared around the corner in the far left of the room holding a mug. She smiled slightly, hair brushed back from her face as she took a sip of the warm beverage in her hand.
'Something to do, I guess,'
'I thought you'd, like, kick puppies and flush toddler's fishes down the toilet,' she said and I laughed at her reply knowing it was meant as a joke.
YOU ARE READING
Capturing Ella
FanfictionElla's life has been unorthodox to say the least. At the age of four, a horrendous car crash killed the majority of her immediate family apart from one brother a few years older than her. A year later, she was adopted but for years struggled through...
