Living with Barnaby- part 2.

Fiction By Kassady // 12/3/2011


Part 2.


I woke up and looked out, hoping that we were finally there, but we weren't and we were still driving to Bamburgh. I sighed and moaned and stretched my limbs as best I could in the cramped taxi cab. It felt like the ride would never end.


I looked out the window and saw more annoying bright green grass, from miles and miles around, it was everywhere! Hills and rocks and Grey skies. I growled deeply in my throat and folded my arms on my chest.


John Benson was in the passenger seat, dowsing softly.


The cab driver was smiling to himself and singing along with the merry British tune that was playing. The music was annoying me, just like everything else in this dreary world was.


“How much longer?” I whined.


“About three hours, two if we peg it,” He said in his thick British accent.


“Three hours!” I moaned and threw my head back on the seat.


The cab driver chuckled, “Keep your pecker' up!”


I looked at him oddly, I guessed what he meant but still, were all British so... British?!


---- Three hours and thirty minutes later----


I saw the house on the hill before I saw the man standing on the porch, it was a two story brickish, stone house, looking out over the North Sea.


There wasn't much to look at landscape wise, unless you counted the green hills and dirt and stones and sea, not many trees and I didn't see any flowers or gardens or anything.


I couldn't quite make out the figure on the porch, he was tall... I guessed, well, tall to me! His shoulder's were a bit broad, but not overly, and he looked like he was living off vegetables and vegetables only.


I stepped out of the cab, stretching my arms in the sky for a moment, yawning. I had done this lots of times before, meeting knew family members, meeting new foster parents, this was no different.


He didn't move off the porch, just stood there, watching the proceedings.


John Benson signaled to me to follow and we walked up to the porch steps.

His face was becoming more and more visible as I got closer, and he seemed nice, handsome I guess. He had shaved, but I could still see stubble on his face, and that made him even more attractive. He had bright happy eyes, that seemed so very joyful and... and... excited! Like a child's. He did not smile, in fact the rest of his face --excluding his eyes-- was stern, sort of upset and grumpy, his mouth lined in a frown.

I stood uncomfortable, as he looked me over and then John Benson.


“Your late,” He said, and woe is me, he had a Scottish accent! Of course he did! He lived in England and had a Scottish accent! He grinned a very toothy, bright white and excited grin that spread through all his face, making his eyes look squinty a bit. He then came forward and hugged John Benson and then grabbed me by the shoulders and kissed both my cheeks, “Claire Enya Wilson,” He cried my full name, beaming at me brightly, “You look just like your mother!”

I groaned inwardly, but despite myself, I had to smile, his smile and face was so infectious! Too infectious!

“Well let's not wait for the grass to grow! Come inside!” He said brightly, pushing both them inside.

“I can't stay!” John Benson said quickly.


“Aw! Won't you have a drink?” He asked smiling.


“No, I should be going and... You still have to pay the cab driver and we have to grab Ms. Wilson's luggage.”


Barnaby groaned playfully, “Bloodyy H**l, I do don't I!? Well, let's get it over with!” He took out his wallet and skipped down the steps and went over to the cab drivers window.

I felt weird about not being the center of attention, I was being ignored, and never in my foster years have I ever been ignored when it came to the subject of new guardianship! NEVER! I didn't like it, and Barnaby was starting to annoy me with all his joyful happiness. He took out my bags, one by one and then carried all of them inside, bumping me out of the way saying softly, “Shift your a***, dear!”

I gaped at him and moved aside, wondering if I should follow him inside or if I should wait until he told me to come in. With the language he was already using, I guessed that I would have to get used to the British cuss words, because they'd be said all the time.

John Benson pointed his finger to me to go inside, “I really do need to go Boyd, It was nice seeing you again, Ms. Wilson pleasure,” He inclined his head at me.

I nodded, standing uncertainly in the door way partially inside the dark house and partially on the doormat that read, Welcome. I watched John Benson climb into the taxi cab and drive away. I turned suddenly as I heard a loud crashing sound. I ran forward and walked into a kitchen, Barnaby's head covered with a brass pot.


His face turned to me, with handle of the pot moving with his head, “Coi?!”


I walked away annoyed. I couldn't believe I was stuck living with this Scotsmen!


“Well,” Said Barnaby, coming up from behind her, “We should get to know each other, don't ye think?”


I raised an eyebrow, “No.”


He looked stomped.


“Where's my room?” I asked him.


He smiled, “Here!” He went over to the stairs and waved to me, “Come on!”


I followed, not as enthusiastically as him, but up the stairs none the less, “Is my room big?”


He turned his head to look at her, “Do you want a big room?”


I shook my head, “I don't have to have one!”


“Well, bees knees, because you don't!” He said and turned back and climbed on.


The stairs were steep and I tripped on one of them, but finally we were on the second level. A pink carpeted wide hall, rooms leading off it.


I turned my head this way and that, looking at all the different pictures on the wall, of family members, “Are you married?” I asked.


He grinned and sighed, “Alas, no... I once thought I'd marry this fine lady... but she was a Pratt...never mind about that though! Here is your room.”


I walked into the room he indicated, the wall were covered in soft annoying pastel pink wall paper, and the bed had bed curtains and everything. The room looked like it belonged to a girl in history... but not my history! The only bright point of the room was the window seat, and the halfway empty shelves on either side of the window seat. “Hm.” I mumbled shortly, turning once, twice, three times around in the room and looking back at Barnaby, “Its not much... but it will do!”


He smiled, “Spiffing!”


I had no idea what 'Spiffing' meant but I guessed it was a British exclamation like “Great” or “Wonderful”.


Barnaby nodded and then walked down the stairs again.


I frowned, wondering if Barnaby was going to ask me any questions. I wasn't sure if I liked the way he was treating me, it wasn't fair... but I couldn't figure out what was not fair about it!


I walked over to the bookshelves and read the titles, all childish books. Like Brother Grimm Fairy tales and other fairytale books. Books were a very big thing for me, they were my only safe-haven in my crazy life! I could hide in my books, and read anything I could. I was rather literate for my age... as my foster mother said... I missed her.


There was thud on a wall in the hall and, surprised, I looked out, only to see a pair of legs and a pile of suitcases, my suitcases.


I moved aside before he could swear at me and watched him struggle with all of them, not even asking for help. He sent them down on the bed with a cloud of dust and one bag slipped off and hit his toe, “B*****ks!” He cried, hopping up and down.


I chuckled lightly.


“S***!” He muttered under his breath, rubbing his toe, “Bloody bag!”


I covered my mouth with my hand in a gasp at his language. I rushed forward before Barnaby could pick up the bag and throw it around in anger, “Get out,” I said.


“Get out?” He asked.




“Get out what?” He asked sternly.


“Get out... of my... room,” I said uncertainly.


“No! No!” He said, shaking his head and raising a finger in the air, “Get out... please!”


I rolled my eyes at his correction, “Ha! And who are you to tell me that?!”


He shrugged, “Dad's usually say things like that, I just wanted to give it a try!” He walked out.


I shook her head in confusion, wondering if my time with him would be weird like this all the time.


*sorry for the british swearing!


Ahem. You already know...

Ahem. You already know how I feel about Baranby. ((aka Mr.CussALot))...but I'm sure I'll warm up to him! Otherwise, I love everything about this. Great job! :D

Madeline | Tue, 12/06/2011

everything was better when/you would call and I'd be like/yeah babe, no way


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