The Author

Chapter 2

With a final goodnight to his staff, he throws his dressing gown onto the floor and reveals red and white striped pyjamas. Climbing into bed, he pulls his covers up around his neck, not forgetting to plump up the cushions just the way his late wife liked them. Head immersed into the pillow, he began to snore.

***

Unusually, he found himself in his past self, while dreaming. Looking around him, he recognised the home of his family when he was a young boy. Raising his hands, he noticed that they were no longer covered in wrinkles, but instead smooth and a healthy colour, different to their usual pale shade. He felt thin and healthy, and he didn't feel a constant urge to cough. His jumper was traditional 1930s attire for a boy of fourteen, which he guessed was his age based on the current decoration in his bedroom - where he found himself now.

His shorts were a light brown, with a small pocket on each side. A white shirt was closed in by his beige jumper, which had red stitching around the v-shaped collar.

As for his room, there was a bunk bed in the corner, made with rickety wood, and the sheets were plain and boring; the pillows were exactly the same. He remembered that he shared a room with his eleven year old brother, while his older sister had a room to herself on the other side of the cramped hallway. The rest of the room was bare but for a small desk for homework, with nothing but some fading paper, a pen, and an ink pot.

Running downstairs, he grabbed his shoes, and raced outside, into the bright April morning. His road was just as he had remembered. Turning around and looking back at the house, he was reminded of just how small it was, especially when compared to his large abode back in conscious reality. Catching his eye, to the right of the house rested his bike, placed against the side of the house. Mounting it, he began to spin the pedals, and rode into the empty street before him.

As he was gliding around the roads of his tiny village in the south of England, wind throwing his beautifully brown hair around like a rag doll, he became aware of someone whistling along beside him. A quick glance showed him the grinning face of Dan, the sun glinting in his sparkling blue eyes, and reflecting itself in his wild blonde hair.

"Harry! Pull over!" Dan yelled, struggling to be heard due to the wind attacking our ears.

Harry did as such, and parked his bike on the side of the lane.

Pulling out a set of conkers, Dan taunted him affectionately. "Want a go at winning them back?"

"Great. I know I'll beat you this time, Dan!" Harry replied, confident.

A few minutes later, with many a conker lying battered on the roadside, he emerged victorious, and Dan reluctantly handed the largest conker both of them had ever seen - a conker Dan had won from him just a few days before.

"Damn!" Cursed Dan, just as bike bell rang from down the lane. The sound of girls laughing emanated from around the corner, and Dan attempted to show his manners by covering his mouth, before any more slips of the tongue can escape it.

Slowly swerving around the lane ride two girls in the boys' class: Annabel and Stacy. Both wearing handmade hats, sewn and stitched together, they also wore light pink cardigans, also knitted at home. Dan stared infatuated at Annabel, and Harry had to shake him before Ann saw. The girls soared past, giggling as they glimpsed at Dan's peculiar stance; he resembled a scout stood to attention.

"You need to stop acting so strange around them, Dan," Harry advised, "It makes you look odd, not to mention me, standing next to a plonker like you!"

Dan punched him playfully, and they picked up their bikes.

A loud shout echoed along the country roads, and it called for Dan to head home.

"We'll see you at school tomorrow, Harry!"

"See you then, Dan."

Back at the house, Harry's father had returned from working at a steel factory, but he rarely merged his work and home life, so Harry wasn't certain of his exact role. His mother was cooking a chicken the local farmer Mr Richards had given them, as a token for Harry's help around the farm.

Upstairs, Harry's sister Eliza was scribbling down some homework in her bedroom, while his brother Alfie was listening to the football on the radio. Harry joined him, and waited for dinner.

When Harry's mother called the children down for the Sunday roast they were rarely treated too, they rushed down, and became restless when forced to say grace. Finally, they were permitted to eat, and chicken legs were cut vigorously. When the meal was finished, the table was cleared and the family went about their evening activities: Harry helped his father chopping wood in the garden, his mother say inside sewing holes in school uniforms, Eliza listened to music on the radio, and Alfie threw a small ball against his bedroom wall.

***

The next morning, the children were dragged out of bed for school, and Eliza and Harry were sent out for secondary school, while Alfie was lucky enough to be able to stay home for ten more minutes until he needed to be at his school.

As Harry ran into the playground, the sun was glinting on the shining slate roof of the school, which stood tall, made of brick and stone. The building was long, and large windows were jotted symmetrically along the front of the school, and the door was large and wooden. A teacher monitored the concrete area in front of the school, and called everyone in when the bell sounded.

Harry's form tutor was Miss Jacobson, and she was a spinster of at least sixty years of age. She had a long protruding nose, on which tiny spectacles perched themselves on, and her hollow green eyes glared through them like a hawk. Her grey jacket covered a white blouse, and a long matching skirt reached her wrinkling knees.

Suddenly, Harry was plunged out of his daydream by the familiar smacking of Miss Jacobson's cane on her desk, as she screeched at Dan for talking. Finally, she carefully lowered herself into her chair, and peered down at the register.

Dan - who sat behind Harry - tapped his shoulder, and Harry glanced around quickly to let him know he acknowledged him, but turned back so as not to be detected. Dan placed a note in his hand, and grinned as Harry spun round to receive it. Opening the scrunched-up paper, Harry could see a picture of Dan and Annabel - from what he could see - getting married. Shocked, he turned to ask why this couldn't wait, but Dan had a face as white as a sheet, and a dark shadow of certain death covered Harry. Slowly, he turned to face forwards, only to see Miss Jacobson looming over him like Satan.

"Passing notes in class, eh?" She enquired, as she snatched it from Harry's hand. "It would seem, young Harry Greening has a rather strange idea about his future with Miss Annabel Turner. Marriage! Hah!"

The class laughed at Harry, and Dan partially his his face in the top of his collar.

"Detention, Greening. This lunchtime, in here."

Come break time, Harry was embarrassed enough, and then, to make matters worse, Annabel approached him.

Her blue eyes were even more dazzling up close, and her flowing brown hair glided gracefully to her elbows, as she twiddled a strand nervously.

"Do you mean what you meant by that note?" She asked.

Harry explained how it was actually Dan's note, but Annabel still looked somewhat sceptical.

"Well father says I can't see boys yet, so tell Dan no, but thanks!"Annabel replied, as she rejoined her friends near a bench by the corner of the playground.