In Time ▷ ENOCH O'CONNOR

I

Anastasia's POV

"Bye, have a nice day!" I say, accompanied with a tight-lipped smile as I watch the woman walk off with her heavy bags of goods and a couple leaflets. You probably guessed it- I'm a cashier at a department store, nothing interesting. I spend all day everyday scanning items on a board non stop for a disappointingly low salary. Isn't that a great way to spend your Saturday afternoon- or any afternoon quite frankly. Watching people go round, and round like clockwork every free day I have off school. My brother Jake, works next door at Smart Aid, stacking shelves for hours on end- but even that seems more exciting than this.

I run my hand through my hair in boredom, accidentally catching it on a dozen tangles and knots and I wince, mumbling to myself about needing a new hairbrush as my work phone rings.

"Hello?" I speak into the chunky landline, not bothering to check the number dialing.

"Great- Ana it's me, Jake" My twin brother replies on the other end of the line; he amongst many others call me that nickname, 'Ana', as not only is it shorter than Anastasia as well as being much easier to say, but I quite frankly don't like my full name myself; It's too formal and makes me sound ancient to anyone who comes across it.

"I wasnt sure if you had your phone on you so I called th- anyway..." He sighs "Dad called.. It's Grandad- he's going on about it.. again.." He says solemnly and I can hear him sigh down the line. The diagnosis was difficult on our whole family- especially my brother, he idolised our grandad when we were kids, constantly asking him to tell us stories upon stories, even when retelling a tale he was hooked on every word, committing them all to memory. On the other hand, although I loved hearing about my grandads adventures, I treated them as nothing more than stories; I was never blessed with the ever working imagination that my brother inherited from my grandad, and instead got the more factual thoughts of our father; which made the process of our parents telling us our grandpa's stories were fake easier than how my brother handled it. The faint chatting sounds in the background from his end of the line with a faint crackle, brought me back from my thoughts.

"Your shift ends at 5 right? Shelly's going to drive me over, so wait outside and we'll pick you up and go together.. be ready to leave in around 10 minutes, alright..?" My brother says, snapping me out of my daydream.

"Of course, yeah- sure. See you then." I say as the line cuts off

I hold the phone next to my shoulder for a few seconds. Our grandad was officially diagnosed with dementia not too long ago, it's been 3 maybe 4 years since the diagnosis? When we were children he'd tell us his famous adventures, accompanied with pictures and letters about when he lived in this children's home in Eastern Wales, 'Miss Peregrines' was the name if I remember correctly, he spoke about how the children there have very special abilities. Obviously it's not real. Just a story. But my brother and him seemed to think otherwise- well actually my grandpa is still pretty convinced. That's why we are worried about him, he seems to be stuck between what's real and well.. Unreal.

I finally put my phone back onto the machine on the counter and called over to one of my co-workers.

"Hey ...Henry?" I read one of my new co-workers name tags with an awkward caution as he turns around giving me a small smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "could you tell Gabrielle that I'm sorry but, I need to go? Like now..?" I ask quite frankly.

"Umm yeah sure.." He responds as he heads towards the staffroom at the back of the building. God why does he have to be so awkward around me I think as I sigh loudly, collecting my things.

We were the last coworkers to get "close". I just wasn't one of those people who are easy to approach, I've been told that my resting face looks either incredibly upset or really angry.