After packing away my minimal amount of possessions I sit on the small bed. I look out the window and sigh to myself. And then I think. See, last year, my dad was still at home. He, how do I put this nicely, wasn't a nice man. Between 1915 up until 1916 he was very, um, abusive towards me. Physically and mentally. His brother had joined the war in 1914 when it first began and died a year later. My dad got really angry and sad. He took up drinking. We couldn't really afford it but he found a way to get a hold of the stuff. At first, he would come home and yell and break things. One night, I got in his way and he hit me. From there, it escalated. Almost every night he would hurt me to the point of passing out. I went into a coma for a week in October 1915 and it was this that appeared to be the wake up call for my dad. He went off to the army to get away from the alcohol and to stop himself from hurting me anymore. When I woke up from the coma, he was gone and I couldn't do the things I used to be able to do.
My dad, well, he's no longer with us. He only lasted a month in the army. His colleagues said that he did it on purpose. Put himself out on the frontline so that his death would come to him quicker. I don't know how I feel about it. I should be sad that he's dead because he's my dad but I should be happy that I'm not being hurt anymore. I guess I just feel kind of numb. It's frustrating. And I hate it. My mum hates it too. She hates seeing me struggle. I can see it every time I read to her and it comes out stuttering with loads of mistakes. I see it when I'm doing my homework and I just can't remember what the answer is. It's hard for her. And it's frustrating for me.
"Dan, can you come in here?" I hear a soft shout from down the hallway. I am immediately drawn back into the present and as I stand up, I notice that my cheeks are damp. I walk over to the small mirror on the inside of the mirror to see tear tracks running down my face from my bloodshot eyes. My face around my eyes is puffy and my hair is messy where I must have subconsciously gripped as thoughts about my past filled my mind. I sigh as I attempt to wipe the tear tracks away from my face and flatten my hair but it's no use. I still look a mess. I am a mess. I walk slowly into the living room to see Phil sitting on the sofa.
"Yes, Phil." I say from the doorway causing him to look up at me. He is smiling at first but it turns into a frown as a look of worry crosses his face.
"Come sit over here." He says gently and I sit down beside him. "What's the matter, Dan?" He asks, looking into my sad eyes.
"It's nothing, I was just thinking." I say and look down at my hands in my lap. "What did you want?" I ask nicely.
"Just to talk about what's going to happen from now on." He says and I nod, glad that he changed the topic. "Firstly, you start school on Monday. Your uniform is already in your wardrobe and it's very basic. Just a grey shirt and trousers with a jumper. I'll take you to school on Monday but it's only five minutes up the road and you should be fine after that. School rules will be explained in your first day but they're not too hard. Don't be late. Do as you're told. Don't talk back to teachers. Don't fight. Do your work. Simple. Basically, just don't cause trouble and you'll be fine, okay?"
"Yes." I say, taking in everything he's saying, hoping I can remember all of this new information.
"Good. When it comes to outside of school, it's pretty much the same. Do as you're told. Don't go off anywhere without permission. Don't fight. Respect your elders." He lists off and I take it all in, listening intently. "Around the house you'll have to help out a little bit. For example, I cook dinner and you wash up. I wash your clothes and you tidy up. We both do things for each other, okay?"
"Of course. You don't have to do thugs for me though, I'm happy to help as much as I can." I tell him honestly. I don't really like going out anyway.
"That's very sweet of you but I quite like cooking and it gives me something to do." He says and I nod. If he wants to do things for himself, I'm not going to stop him, I'll just do as much as I possibly can to help him. "So, there's not really much to know. We can go out tomorrow and I can show you where everything around the village is. You're probably tired after such a long journey. I'll put some dinner on and then you can get some rest. Does that sound good?" He asks and I nod with a smile.
"Yes, thank you." I say politely and he smiles at me.
"Help yourself to any of the books on that shelf." Phil says, pointing towards a shelf that contains about twenty books. "And the radio's just over there." He indicates to a small device on top of a record player in the corner of the room. "If you need anything, I'll just be in the kitchen." He says before disappearing into the room next door which I assume was the kitchen. Once he's gone, I walk over to the book shelf and search for a good book. I find a copy of Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare and take it over to the sofa where I sit and begin to read. The words in this are harder to read than more modern books but I've read it before so they make more sense.
Half an hour later, Phil calls me through to the kitchen where there is a small, two person table against one of the walls. He is sat at the table with a bowl of past with tomato sauce in front of him and there is another bowl of the same dish at the seat opposite him. My stomach churns. Phil motions for me to sit opposite him and I do so, staring down at the dish with a horrified look. "Is it okay? Do you not like it?" He asks with concern laced in his voice.
"No, um, I just, I'm not used to eating this much." Well it's a half truth. When my dad was around, he used all of our money for alcohol, meaning that we had nothing to eat. Even after he left, I just can't bring myself to eat. Every time I try I feel sick and I just didn't want to eat anymore. I only eat when it is absolutely necessary. Probably once every three days.
"It's okay, just eat what you can and I can put the rest in the fridge for tomorrow." He smiles kindly over at me and now I feel guilty. I pick up the fork and eat a very small bite. It's been a couple days so I suppose I can eat most of the bowl without being questioned.
After two bites I smile at Phil. "This is really nice, thank you." I notice that he's half way done while I'm nowhere near.
"Thank you." He replies.
I look down at my bowl with determination. Come on, Dan, you can do this.
YOU ARE READING
Evacuee (Phan Fiction)
FanfictionBased during World War One. The year was 1916 and Dan Howell had been sent off to the British countryside due to the war at the age of 16. Leaving behind his mother and friends, Dan doesn't take much of a liking to the unfamiliar way of living he ha...
