“I’m used to the clatter and grind of the breaker’s yard, the groan of car crushers and scrap magnets, the drone of traffic on the East London streets. So when I woke up that morning and everything was quiet, it took me a while to realize where I was. When I finally did realize where I was—Dartmoor, farmhouse, bedroom—I also realized how tired I was. I’d only had about an hour’s sleep all night. My eyes were thick, my body ached, my head was all tight and buzzy. I closed my eyes and tried to go ...back to sleep, but I knew that I wouldn’t. Sunlight was streaming in through the window, birds were singing…everything was too quiet. I could hear too much: Abbie and Vince in the kitchen downstairs, Cole in the bathroom, a dog barking somewhere in the distance. And now the smell of breakfast was beginning to drift up the stairs—bacon and eggs, toast, coffee… It was all very nice—but I wished I wasn’t there. I wished I was at home—in my house, in my room, in my bed, smelling my breakfast.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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