The Runaway Read Free Page A

perhaps?’
    ‘No, Nick. Not next year or any year.’ He was still blustering as she closed the door.
     
    At school the following morning she was approached by several of her so-called friends. They made no effort to hide their amusement at the latest story. Only Mary was sympathetic. Older and wiser, she was aware of the pain Faith was suffering. ‘Come on,’ she coaxed. ‘It will soon be forgotten. A bit of gossip like this is irresistible, if it hadbeen someone else you’d have enjoyed it yourself, be fair. Give it a week and nothing more will be said.’
    At the end of that terrible day Faith walked home by way of the back lanes to avoid seeing anyone else who wanted a laugh at her expense. Unfortunately some of the older pupils had gleaned the details too and their derogatory comments as they followed her home, were just loud enough to be heard.
    She reached home, dropped her bag and briefcase, then went out. Thank goodness the half-term during which she was ‘temping’ at the school was almost over. How right she had been to avoid taking a permanent position. It was time to move on once more. She tried to count her previous addresses and gave up after nine. The rest were guesses.
    Try as she might she knew she would never be happy here now Nick had made a laughing stock of her. Mary was right, it would die down, but the memory would be there and the occasional revival as newcomers were told was more than she could bear. She went to see her landlord and the following week, with her stint as temporary teacher in the infants class finished, she was on the train with a ticket in her purse for Barry, the seaside town where she had once spent a happy holiday: her only childhood holiday.
    Her memories of that week were wonderful. Aged seven, oblivious to the war restrictions in force, she had been so excited as each day had dawned. Blue skies, friendly people, laughter and fun. Perhaps Barry Island with its golden beach and pleasure park, where every day was a holiday, was where she was meant to be.
    She sat on the busy train, carrying her few possessions, and misery descended once more as she visualized many more years of this, moving on when things didn’t work out as she hoped, new friends, a new school, then disappointment and off again.
    She seemed unable to become a part of a group. Friends, all with large lively families had simply made her aware of her background and reminded her that she had always been alone. It had become automatic to accept loneliness, to being outside a group; an observer rather than a participant. That was how it would always be.
    It was raining heavily as she left the railway station and she looked up at the relentless sky, the day as gloomy as her mood. This will probably be another broken dream, she thought with a sigh. Holidays aren’t real, the memories wouldn’t be the same as reality. The sunwouldn’t always shine, the food wouldn’t taste as delicious. The people wouldn’t be as welcoming and friendly. She had been a child then. Now she was twenty-two and there wasn’t a place to call home or a group of people to whom she truly belonged.
    The happiness she remembered here in Barry was because it had been the first time she had been on holiday, the one time her foster-parents had relented and allowed her to go with them for their week’s holiday instead of leaving her with carers. She had tried so hard to be good. Not asking for treats even when their daughter, Jane, was given them. She folded her clothes and went to bed when she was told, long before Jane, but they never took her again.
    She knocked on the first house that displayed a ‘room for rent’ sign and without even asking to see it, she took it. At least she would have a base, somewhere to sit and consider her future.
    The downstairs room was small and rather dark. But it overlooked the garden where there were overgrown trees and shrubs and with long grass where once there had been a lawn. Perfect for feeding