One Hour Fic
When Janet left her husband, she took three things with her. The clothes on her back, the two children whose parents he'd murdered, and two dozen apple trees.
She stood at the school gate, and tried not to look at the other mothers and the odd father. They let their kids play with hers, but only ever at their own houses. Tom and Lynn were always oddly popular, not just because they made up the best stories for their classmates, with all fairies and dragons and old tree-gods lumbering across the lawn. The only problem came at tea time, where Tom would complain that his palms itched if he had to hold steel cutlery, rather than a knife and fork with plastic or wooden handles. Janet was fairly sure it was psychosomatic, but then again he'd been a year old when Hob had brought him home, and it was possible some stray memory remained.
Distantly, a bell rang.
The youngest children were let out first, under the form teacher's eye, so that the main gates didn't turn to chaos- of if it did, then at least the youngest children might not be too badly buffeted. Accordingly, Lynn was in the second batch of classes released, and scampered brightly over to her supposed mother with a smile that still hit Janet with a shocking wave of love.
“Hello, love,” Janet took her square bag with one hand and brushed a stray hair from her face with the other. “How are you?”
“The crows were outside again, and they laughed when I got my one-two-threes wrong. So I made the sign and they went away.” Lynn pouted. “Can I have a sweet?”
“Not before dinner,” said Janet automatically. “But if you and Tom are really good on the way home, we'll stop for an ice cream, all right?”
Lynn bounced on her toes. “How good will we have to be?”
“Very, very good,” smiled Janet. “And here's Tom now.”
Tom kept his bag slung over his shoulder, in the way of all the boys in his form. Janet was sure that when she was eight, she'd still been allowed to be a child. But being eight in Tom's time seem to involve posing as a teenager already.
Then again, there'd been a lot of changes since she'd been away.
“Hello, love,” said Janet brightly. “How are you?”
“Good,” he said, not so much sulking but certainly not volunteering any information. Janet didn't press it- organising everyone into the car was the important part just then. It was, admittedly, a damn sight easier now that everyone could do up their own seatbelts.
There were less than a mile into the journey when Tom dropped the conversational bomb. “Mum?”
“Yeah?” Janet changed lanes.
“Why are we different?”
A crow skimmed by the car, shockingly close. Hand still on the steering wheel, Janet made the sign against seeing, and noticed Tom and Lynn do the same. “Different how?”
“You know.” Tom shrugged. “You don't know about things. Mobile phones and Facebook. And other kids don't know how to see things out the corner of their eyes, or how to make the signs.”
“Have other kids said something?” Janet wondered if she should pull over for this conversation.
“No.” Tom sighed. “Not alive ones.”
Janet thought a very rude word. “Go on.”
“We went to the church. We did brass rubbings and learned about bells. It was boring. So I looked my special way and saw the little girl outside. She looked all sad.”
“She's nice,” added Lynn brightly. “She's in all old-fashioned clothes. I gave her my Christingle orange.”
This was some way beyond a quick ice cream stop. “I think we need burgers. Do we need burgers?”
“Mum!” Tom nearly wailed. “You didn't say why we're different!”
“That's because I want to sit down and explain properly,” sighed Janet. “It's a good question, and it deserves a good answer.”
“We can still have ice cream, right?” Lynn frowned, suddenly worried.
* * * * *
There were burgers, followed by ice cream.
“It's all to do with your Dad,” Janet explained, trying frantically to keep the explanation child friendly. “Your Dad, well, he wasn't human, you see.”
Lynn gave this some thought. “Was he a good fairy or a bad fairy?”
Tom opened his mouth, powerful playground pressure trying to make him say that there was no such things as fairies really. But instead he took the wrapper his had straw had come in, and twisted it carefully.
Janet realised she was suddenly close to tears. “He was...I thought he was a good fairy. But good, to fairies, doesn't mean the same thing as it does to humans. He did something very bad indeed, and never understood why I was so horrified.”
The trouble was, the logic was so damn simple, from Hob's point of view. Little human wife wanted children? Go and get her some! Previous parents of the children might be distraught and angry? Kill them so they don't suffer!
“So Lynn and me are like fairies?” Tom's eyes were wide.
“You can still be hurt and killed just like a human,” Janet snapped, dodging the issue, “so don't go thinking you can fly or anything. Heck, most fairies can't fly either.”
“Okay, okay!” Tom blew on the thin wrapper, then tied a certain knot in it.
“Did he give you the magic apple trees to make you happy again?” Lynn roughly pulled apart her meal to get at the toy.
“Sort of.” Janet took the wrapping from Lynn's hand, and fetched out the toy for her. “He loved us all very much, and when I told him we were leaving he gave me an apple tree for every day I stayed with him. But time where your Dad lives isn't the same as time here. So I thought I'd stayed with him for about a year in all. And came back to find twenty three years had passed.”
“So Nana and Grampy must be really, really old,” though Tom.
“Try not to say that in front of them, love,” Janet grinned. “They were so glad to see me they bought me a big field to plant the orchard in.”
“Toffee apples,” chanted Tom, “Apple butter, apple crisps, apple juice, cider, apple brandy-”
“And apple blossom honey!” Completed Lynn brightly.
Janet laughed. “I'm letting you two in charge of the stall at the next farmers' market. You know the stock better than I do.”
Please gods, thought Janet, please let me keep my children. I can't find their parents' murder reported anywhere, but you'd think with a baby and toddler missing as well it would appear in news archives somewhere? And the relatives would be looking for adults by now, not a five year old and a seven year old. Even so, I know it's horrible, but please don't let someone else claim my children.
“Mummy?” Lynn looked up at Janet. “It's all right. I'll tell the crows not to be naughty.”
“Me too.” Tom nodded. “But only if you promise I can stay up tonight.”
Janet felt something release in her chest. “It's a deal.”
She stood at the school gate, and tried not to look at the other mothers and the odd father. They let their kids play with hers, but only ever at their own houses. Tom and Lynn were always oddly popular, not just because they made up the best stories for their classmates, with all fairies and dragons and old tree-gods lumbering across the lawn. The only problem came at tea time, where Tom would complain that his palms itched if he had to hold steel cutlery, rather than a knife and fork with plastic or wooden handles. Janet was fairly sure it was psychosomatic, but then again he'd been a year old when Hob had brought him home, and it was possible some stray memory remained.
Distantly, a bell rang.
The youngest children were let out first, under the form teacher's eye, so that the main gates didn't turn to chaos- of if it did, then at least the youngest children might not be too badly buffeted. Accordingly, Lynn was in the second batch of classes released, and scampered brightly over to her supposed mother with a smile that still hit Janet with a shocking wave of love.
“Hello, love,” Janet took her square bag with one hand and brushed a stray hair from her face with the other. “How are you?”
“The crows were outside again, and they laughed when I got my one-two-threes wrong. So I made the sign and they went away.” Lynn pouted. “Can I have a sweet?”
“Not before dinner,” said Janet automatically. “But if you and Tom are really good on the way home, we'll stop for an ice cream, all right?”
Lynn bounced on her toes. “How good will we have to be?”
“Very, very good,” smiled Janet. “And here's Tom now.”
Tom kept his bag slung over his shoulder, in the way of all the boys in his form. Janet was sure that when she was eight, she'd still been allowed to be a child. But being eight in Tom's time seem to involve posing as a teenager already.
Then again, there'd been a lot of changes since she'd been away.
“Hello, love,” said Janet brightly. “How are you?”
“Good,” he said, not so much sulking but certainly not volunteering any information. Janet didn't press it- organising everyone into the car was the important part just then. It was, admittedly, a damn sight easier now that everyone could do up their own seatbelts.
There were less than a mile into the journey when Tom dropped the conversational bomb. “Mum?”
“Yeah?” Janet changed lanes.
“Why are we different?”
A crow skimmed by the car, shockingly close. Hand still on the steering wheel, Janet made the sign against seeing, and noticed Tom and Lynn do the same. “Different how?”
“You know.” Tom shrugged. “You don't know about things. Mobile phones and Facebook. And other kids don't know how to see things out the corner of their eyes, or how to make the signs.”
“Have other kids said something?” Janet wondered if she should pull over for this conversation.
“No.” Tom sighed. “Not alive ones.”
Janet thought a very rude word. “Go on.”
“We went to the church. We did brass rubbings and learned about bells. It was boring. So I looked my special way and saw the little girl outside. She looked all sad.”
“She's nice,” added Lynn brightly. “She's in all old-fashioned clothes. I gave her my Christingle orange.”
This was some way beyond a quick ice cream stop. “I think we need burgers. Do we need burgers?”
“Mum!” Tom nearly wailed. “You didn't say why we're different!”
“That's because I want to sit down and explain properly,” sighed Janet. “It's a good question, and it deserves a good answer.”
“We can still have ice cream, right?” Lynn frowned, suddenly worried.
* * * * *
There were burgers, followed by ice cream.
“It's all to do with your Dad,” Janet explained, trying frantically to keep the explanation child friendly. “Your Dad, well, he wasn't human, you see.”
Lynn gave this some thought. “Was he a good fairy or a bad fairy?”
Tom opened his mouth, powerful playground pressure trying to make him say that there was no such things as fairies really. But instead he took the wrapper his had straw had come in, and twisted it carefully.
Janet realised she was suddenly close to tears. “He was...I thought he was a good fairy. But good, to fairies, doesn't mean the same thing as it does to humans. He did something very bad indeed, and never understood why I was so horrified.”
The trouble was, the logic was so damn simple, from Hob's point of view. Little human wife wanted children? Go and get her some! Previous parents of the children might be distraught and angry? Kill them so they don't suffer!
“So Lynn and me are like fairies?” Tom's eyes were wide.
“You can still be hurt and killed just like a human,” Janet snapped, dodging the issue, “so don't go thinking you can fly or anything. Heck, most fairies can't fly either.”
“Okay, okay!” Tom blew on the thin wrapper, then tied a certain knot in it.
“Did he give you the magic apple trees to make you happy again?” Lynn roughly pulled apart her meal to get at the toy.
“Sort of.” Janet took the wrapping from Lynn's hand, and fetched out the toy for her. “He loved us all very much, and when I told him we were leaving he gave me an apple tree for every day I stayed with him. But time where your Dad lives isn't the same as time here. So I thought I'd stayed with him for about a year in all. And came back to find twenty three years had passed.”
“So Nana and Grampy must be really, really old,” though Tom.
“Try not to say that in front of them, love,” Janet grinned. “They were so glad to see me they bought me a big field to plant the orchard in.”
“Toffee apples,” chanted Tom, “Apple butter, apple crisps, apple juice, cider, apple brandy-”
“And apple blossom honey!” Completed Lynn brightly.
Janet laughed. “I'm letting you two in charge of the stall at the next farmers' market. You know the stock better than I do.”
Please gods, thought Janet, please let me keep my children. I can't find their parents' murder reported anywhere, but you'd think with a baby and toddler missing as well it would appear in news archives somewhere? And the relatives would be looking for adults by now, not a five year old and a seven year old. Even so, I know it's horrible, but please don't let someone else claim my children.
“Mummy?” Lynn looked up at Janet. “It's all right. I'll tell the crows not to be naughty.”
“Me too.” Tom nodded. “But only if you promise I can stay up tonight.”
Janet felt something release in her chest. “It's a deal.”