Solo:
I've started posting a Fossil follow-on fic on the Noel Streatfeild board, and it occured to me that maybe people on here might be interested in the first two bits...
Solo
On the first day in the cottage, Petrova woke early and lay listening to the sounds of the house. Nothing. No Pauline sighing in her sleep, no Posy snuffling in the corner, no traffic on the Cromwell Road, and no steps as Nana crossed the landing to check the water was hot before she called them. For a moment a lump formed in her throat, but she swallowed hard and concentrated on what she could hear: birdsong, pipes creaking, wind in trees. Sitting up she hugged her knees. This was what she had wanted. A cottage with Gum, close to an airfield, and no more dancing ever.
The funny feeling grew in her solar plexus. No dancing, but no Pauline and no Posy. No Garnie and no Nana. She blinked hard three times, whispered “we vow” and felt for her slippers. Ten minutes later she was pulling at the latch on the back door and stepping out into the garden.
It was very early; no sound came from Cook or Clara. The grass was wet with dew and she shivered a little as she breathed in the smells of a waking garden. The last time she had been out so early was when the three of them had camped, and memory was so strong that she concentrated hard on the garden until she felt herself again.
It had been almost dark by the time the car dropped them at the cottage, and they had been so busy finding where to put things that there had been no time to look outside. Now Petrova crept along the path and under an apple tree towards the back of the garden. This part was cut off from the house and a large hedge marked the end. A shed stood in one corner, which would be perfect for a workshop. As she stood on tiptoes, trying to peer through the grimy window, her foot slipped and she tumbled to the ground.
Her first though was of mortification. So clumsy as always. Then her attention was caught by the gap under the hedge. From where she sat, Petrova could see that the hedge was more like a dense tree, evergreen branches growing close together, but in some places starting a little way off the ground. The earth underneath was dry and compact, and with a wriggle she was under and crawling out into a wide green field with a road running across in the distance. Suddenly her eyes shone as she realise it wasn’t a road but a runway. She was on the airfield.
In the distance stood a hanger and several small huts, and even at this hour there were small signs of activity. A chimney smoked, and three men came out of a brick building. Fascinated she watched, kneeling on the damp grass, until she was pulled back into the present by a gong booming. Bemused, she scrambled to her feet, and then realised that the gong came from the house. She crawled back under the hedge, dusted off her skirt, and ran towards the house picking leaves from her hair.
It was lucky that the frock she had put on that morning was old and shabby, but still Clara tutted a little as Petrova appeared panting in the doorway after a hasty wash. Gum folded his newspaper
“There Clara, I told you she was just in the garden. Exploring, Petrova? Here, have some porridge. Explore where you like. Clara’ll bang the gong when meals are ready.”
The early start had made Petrova ravenous. She tucked into the steaming bowl, wondering what to say to her uncle about the morning’s adventures, but he had returned to his newspaper. She emptied her bowl and turned her attention to the toast rack. Gum took a sip of his coffee and looked up at her.
“Thought I’d unpack the study today. Might make a corner in there for your aircraft books, if you are serious about studying?” Petrova turned pink with pleasure and nodded. They finished their breakfast and spent the morning struggling with knots around parcels of books. Gum arranged fossils lovingly in a glass fronted cabinet, muttering to himself as he did so. Petrova, dusty and crumpled was in heaven as she arranged volumes on the shelves.
Solo
On the first day in the cottage, Petrova woke early and lay listening to the sounds of the house. Nothing. No Pauline sighing in her sleep, no Posy snuffling in the corner, no traffic on the Cromwell Road, and no steps as Nana crossed the landing to check the water was hot before she called them. For a moment a lump formed in her throat, but she swallowed hard and concentrated on what she could hear: birdsong, pipes creaking, wind in trees. Sitting up she hugged her knees. This was what she had wanted. A cottage with Gum, close to an airfield, and no more dancing ever.
The funny feeling grew in her solar plexus. No dancing, but no Pauline and no Posy. No Garnie and no Nana. She blinked hard three times, whispered “we vow” and felt for her slippers. Ten minutes later she was pulling at the latch on the back door and stepping out into the garden.
It was very early; no sound came from Cook or Clara. The grass was wet with dew and she shivered a little as she breathed in the smells of a waking garden. The last time she had been out so early was when the three of them had camped, and memory was so strong that she concentrated hard on the garden until she felt herself again.
It had been almost dark by the time the car dropped them at the cottage, and they had been so busy finding where to put things that there had been no time to look outside. Now Petrova crept along the path and under an apple tree towards the back of the garden. This part was cut off from the house and a large hedge marked the end. A shed stood in one corner, which would be perfect for a workshop. As she stood on tiptoes, trying to peer through the grimy window, her foot slipped and she tumbled to the ground.
Her first though was of mortification. So clumsy as always. Then her attention was caught by the gap under the hedge. From where she sat, Petrova could see that the hedge was more like a dense tree, evergreen branches growing close together, but in some places starting a little way off the ground. The earth underneath was dry and compact, and with a wriggle she was under and crawling out into a wide green field with a road running across in the distance. Suddenly her eyes shone as she realise it wasn’t a road but a runway. She was on the airfield.
In the distance stood a hanger and several small huts, and even at this hour there were small signs of activity. A chimney smoked, and three men came out of a brick building. Fascinated she watched, kneeling on the damp grass, until she was pulled back into the present by a gong booming. Bemused, she scrambled to her feet, and then realised that the gong came from the house. She crawled back under the hedge, dusted off her skirt, and ran towards the house picking leaves from her hair.
It was lucky that the frock she had put on that morning was old and shabby, but still Clara tutted a little as Petrova appeared panting in the doorway after a hasty wash. Gum folded his newspaper
“There Clara, I told you she was just in the garden. Exploring, Petrova? Here, have some porridge. Explore where you like. Clara’ll bang the gong when meals are ready.”
The early start had made Petrova ravenous. She tucked into the steaming bowl, wondering what to say to her uncle about the morning’s adventures, but he had returned to his newspaper. She emptied her bowl and turned her attention to the toast rack. Gum took a sip of his coffee and looked up at her.
“Thought I’d unpack the study today. Might make a corner in there for your aircraft books, if you are serious about studying?” Petrova turned pink with pleasure and nodded. They finished their breakfast and spent the morning struggling with knots around parcels of books. Gum arranged fossils lovingly in a glass fronted cabinet, muttering to himself as he did so. Petrova, dusty and crumpled was in heaven as she arranged volumes on the shelves.