The Mundane Life of Willow Diaz

Chapter One

This is a picture of Willow Diaz (Aka Taylor Hill).

I stared out the window of the plane, watching as droplets of rain raced each other from one side of the window to the other. We flew through furious grey clouds, practically bouncing out of our seats. The turbulence had been dreadful the entire flight and my stomach roiled with every fresh jump.

The pilot's voice sounded, informing us we were beginning our descent to London Gatwick. Mercifully, the plane flew out of the storming clouds and stabilized somewhat, revealing the vast green landscape below.

England, my homeland. A country I hadn't set foot on for the past five years. Even as I looked out at the bleach and rainy day. Was this bleak, rainy country really my home now? The beautiful scorching, sandy beaches of Spain were being replaced by mud and rain. I couldn't help comparing the wet green fields and trees to the dry brown view I'd had taking off. Sure, the green looked prettier, healthier, however, to me it simply signaled the fact that it rains for 106.5 days every year; according to the Met office. I'd take the brown, slightly dusty earth of Spain, over the soaking wet earth of England any day.

I couldn't help but smile at the irony, the last time I'd seen the green field from the sky, I'd cried at the thought of leaving them for the forcible. Now, I wished I was in the country I'd once dreaded living in. My thoughts turned from the melancholy thoughts of home as the plane bumped onto the runway. Old blighty. Now for the hours of waiting before I would get through passport control and we can collect our bags. I was all astonishment when instead of hours, we were there forty-five minutes. Thanks to the electronic passport scanner, instead of queuing for an hour at least, we were through in ten minutes. Expecting the waiting to start at the luggage-carousel, I was surprised to find the carousel number already posted and our four suitcases were in our possession within half an hour. Not as bad as I thought it would be...

We did however, have to wait forty-five minutes for Uncle Harry to grace us with his presents. Meaning that any good mood I'd gained with the short queues had fled. We stood, soaked to our underwear in rain that was falling diagonally, making the shelter provided by the airport was useless. Just as the rain stopped, Uncle Harry arrived. In his defense, he did appear rather harangued and guilty looking as Mum glowered at him.

"I'm so sorry Mary," he said taking the bags from his angry looking sister. "There was a crash on the motorway and I got stuck in a rolling road block." Mum did not seem to take this as an excuse for his tardiness. To my mother, being late was the ultimate sin, she'd sooner leave one of us behind before she'd be late.

"You should have left earlier Harold." Mum grumbled getting into the back of his ancient, disgusting, yellow and brown Morris Marina estate. Which had definitely seen better days... much like Uncle Harry.

Dad patted Uncle Harry on his shoulder before they loaded the car. Uncle Harry was enormous, not in height, he was shorter than me, just brushing five foot eight. He was however, stocky with enormous arms and legs, the body of a weight lifter. His nose had been broken one too many times, which had left him with a nose so crooked it made Stephen Fry's nose look straight.

While Uncle Harry and Dad loaded the car, my younger sister Lily and I got into the back of the hideous contraption Uncle Harry called a car. Lily sat in the middle seat, squashed between Mum and me.

"How far is the house from the airport?" Lily asked with a yawn, leaning to rest her head on Mum's shoulder.

"About an hour or so." Mum said, stroking Lily's head comfortingly.

Resting my head against the window, I closed my eyes. When I opened them again, a familiar neighborhood greeted me. "We're home." Mum called softly touching my shoulder to wake me. I lifted my head off Mum's shoulder where it had fallen. Lily did the same, rubbing her eyes sleepily.

Getting out of the car, I saw the three bedroom semi I'd live in from birth until age 12. It had been built in the 1930s and was practically identical to the rest of the street. The house was the classic British semi with three windows and a door for each house. A black gutter pipe ran down the middle of the red brick house; along with a thick conifer hedge separated the two houses. Our drive was paved with light grey stones with grass spouting out of the cracks. The tiny front garden had a flower bed in front of the downstairs window. The bed had two red rose bushes that where being slowly strangled by the abundance of weeds. Down the side of the house was a small standalone garage. This was a far cry from the spacious five bedroom villa we'd live in in Spain.

Walking up to the pealing blue front door I enter the hall. It was dark, the only light coming from the window beside the door and the door way. To the right of the entrance was the staircase, to my left was a closed door which led to the living room. Down the side of the stairs on the back wall was the door to the kitchen/ dinner. Under the stairs was the miniscule cloakroom with toilet and sink.

Heading up stairs, there was a small family bathroom directly in front of the stairs. Next to it was the door to my bedroom. On the left wall was two doors, one leading to smallest room belonging to my sister, the other leading to my parent's room. Moving to my room, I opened to door. The room was simple, a white mettle framed double bed was pushed against the back wall, below the window. A chipped and scuffed oak desk was on the left wall. A white wardrobe with three rows of draws at the bottom sat against the right wall, beside the door. The room was small as the furniture took up most of the room, but it was cozy and still somewhat familiar.

The walls were the pale pink, chosen when I was seven. The carpet was the light brown that my parents decided wouldn't stain when we moved the renters in. Looking at the floor, they were wrong, there were several stains that I didn't want to think about too much. My mattress was new but the rest of my furniture had been in storage. Kindly moved by Uncle Harry over the month since the tenancy moved out. Walking up to my dest, I saw a thick layer of dust, broken only by finger marks from when Uncle Hardy must have moved it.

Flopping on the unmade bed I stared at the ceiling. I was home. This was my home now. As I contemplated my current situation the door swung open. "I forgot bedding!" Mum said throwing her arms in the air. "And we've got no pillows or duvets! Harry's going to have to take us to the shops. Thank goodness we got an early flight and not a late one." As Mum talked Dad came in with my case.

"Did Mum tell you we forgot bed things?" Dad asked in heavily accented English, before he began to mutter faintly in Spanish about having a crazy wife. Before we'd moved to Spain, Dads accent wasn't very strong, but the five years spent living there, speaking mainly Spanish had meant his accent had once more become thick.

"I was just telling her Berty, can you believe we forgot?" Mum said laughing.

"We'll have to go to the shops."

"That's what I was saying, it's a good thing we got an early flight." They then proceeded to iron out the logistics of how they were going to get bedding; whilst they stood in my door way. Turning back to look at the ceiling I zoned them out. Why they had to have his discussion in my door way, I have no idea.

It was the start of the summer holidays, over a month and a half before school started and I had no friends, nor any opportunities to make friends. What was I going to do until sixth form started? Play cards with my family? Watch telly? Read? All I knew was this was going to be the most boring summer of my life.

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