As Much as You {completed}

Ezra: 12.

                Ezra opened his eyes, watching the sunlight pour into his plain bedroom. Sighing, he got up, got dressed and headed downstairs. No one was in the kitchen.

                Since the Sparks’ moved back to Cornwall, everyone became early risers. Guilia went to work for a Law firm in Truro – which was thirty miles away – and she had to be up early to drive the hour and a half to get there; Peter, who was now fifty three and getting on, was up early to tend to the fields surrounding their house as he had gone back to being a farmer; and Vincent was up and – judging by the time on the microwave – was already out on his daily run. Vincent was now thirteen and on the rugby team. He liked to run a lot. Then, Ezra already knew, Vincent would make his way to Jessica’s house to pick her up.  

                Sighing for the second time that morning, Ezra grabbed some money off the table and closed the large oak doors behind him. The smell of freshly cut grass filled his nostrils and Ezra closed his eyes. This was great – this was familiar to him. Cornwall was the only place he knew.

                Not London.

                He couldn’t even tell anyone that the Big Ben was next to the Houses of Parliament. Well, nearly.

                Although, there was nothing in his life that he had really accomplished. He didn’t have qualifications, really. He’d transferred to Bodmin College, but he didn’t like it there. His old friends from Primary school weren’t there, he didn’t know anyone, and he’d started too late in the year to avoid being the new guy. So he hardly went and failed half of his exam. Still, he had a job. He was a fisherman now.

                Walking down the stone path of his house, Ezra opened the large gates at the bottom, letting them bang behind him. Ezra lived at a large house, up a hill, at the top of Polperro. Polperro village is in a Valley, and the sun shines down at lunch time, first thing in the morning, and last thing at night. Outside Ezra’s house, on a level terrain, is a car park with a storage building and space to hold seven cars. Instead of going to the car park, Ezra turned left, down a slope and onto the hill leading to the village. Down that slope was another car park, a large one, which was property of the Sparks’ also. 

                The village only had five car parks – a large one for holiday makers, locals and day time visitors; a smaller one by an ice cream shop half way through the village for locals; one half way up the hill that Ezra was walking down which belonged to an old couple; and the two that the Sparks’ owned which was for private use and reservations.

                The road Ezra was walking down was Landividdy Lane, which had very few cars and many houses.

                At the bottom, dogging some locals walking their dogs and some shop workers on their way to work, Ezra turned left and walked along that street until he came to a set of steps. Walking up them, the smell of fresh bread filled his nostrils. Ezra smiled to himself for a moment before entering the Bakery.

                “Morning, Ezra,” Valerie, the woman behind the counter said. “How’re you this morning?”

                Ezra knew Valerie. She’d been his nursery teacher. It was a vague connection, but a connection anyway. He didn’t have many friends here in Cornwall. He often wondered, though, did he have many friends in London? His parents’ had tried talking about it, had tried telling him all of these stories about London, but he didn’t want to know about a life he couldn’t remember.