Chapter Text
Simon
I wake up, as usual, to the smell of bacon cooking downstairs. And even though Ebb cooks bacon and eggs every morning, it still makes me want to cry tears of joy. By the time I’ve gotten down to the kitchen, Ebb’s already plated our breakfasts and sat them down on the little table by the window.
“Morning, Simon,” She greets in between mouthfuls of eggs, her blonde bedhead barely tamed.
“Good morning,” I smile back at her, shoveling my breakfast in my mouth as fast as humanly possible. I never had breakfasts like this before Ebb. I wouldn't even call what they gave us at the homes proper breakfast, really. Nutrition bars, biscuits, sometimes an orange if you're lucky, never enough for me. Ebb says when she found me I was skin and bones, nothing like how I am now, bulky and round.
I’m still amazed by the fact that she just...took me in. Even seven years later I can’t believe her kindness. Back when I was in the homes, they always told me I’d never get out. No one would want a boy who never spoke and got into more fights in a week than there are days. When I got kicked out of my last home, I thought I was done for. I didn't even think they could do that. Legally, that is. But Ebb found me on the street, trying to steal from some poor vendor.
She smacked my wrist and said “What would ya mum say if she knew you were stealin’?”
I shook my head at her and murmured “Aint got one, miss.”
“You got a pa?” I shook my head. She had sighed, “Who takes care of ya, boy?”
“N’one. Not anymore. Was in the homes. They threw me out.” I couldn't get out a whole sentence back then.
“Kicked ya out? Why in god's name would they do that?” She had begun smoothing the nappy, overgrown curls on my head, I remember how caring it felt even with her calloused hands.
“Fightin,” I huffed. She stayed silent for a moment, before asking my name. “Simon.”
“Are you hungry, Simon?”
I just nodded, still staring at my beat up trainers. She’d ruffled my hair, “Come on then, let's get you some food, boy.”
Ebb brought me to her ranch, fed me, raised me. She gave me a home, something I’d never known before. When I was in the homes, I thought I’d never get out. I thought I’d be tossed around different homes until I turned eighteen and they would just boot me out. Didn’t expect them to kick me out at eleven. I mean, I had been kicked out of homes before. But they always transferred me, never just put me out on the streets. Guess I ran out of homes. Whatever. She eventually found the one I'd last been to, and filled out the papers so that I was legally her kid. I thought for two days that I had died on those streets and this was heaven.
Being on the farm is a godsend, really. I’ve never been good with people, and here on the ranch I don't have to head into town except every month or so to help Ebb with delivering eggs, milk, and other produce to the pubs and stores in the village nearby. The village, Watford, is small, too. Ebb knows everyone, and I know at least half the residents and I only talk to people I must. And my friends. Penny and Agatha. They're great.
Penny’s mum is a teacher at the school here and her father is some kind of plant scientist. I’ve never met him. Penny says he's always in his lab or at the library.
And Agatha’s family lives on a ranch just west of Ebb’s. But theirs is nothing like our ranch. It’s all posh and clean. They have horses there, and no other animals. Agatha is a jockey. She's got three shelves covered in trophies, ribbons, and medals from horse races. It's impressive, really.
Agatha grew up here, but she moved to America a few years ago, for college. She visits for a month every summer and all of Christmas break. Come to think of it, she should be flying in soon.
Later, when I’m washing the dishes and Ebb is wiping the countertops, she clears her throat, I turn off the tap and turn to her.
She wipes her hands off on the towel and throws it by the sink, “I’ve gotta take the truck into town for a couple deliveries, an’ I won’t be back for a few hours.” Ebb absentmindedly raises her hand to wipe at her cheek, “Er, an’ one of the blokes with Grimm Farms will be by, don’t-”
“I wont start nothin, Ebb. I know,” I interrupt. Her eyes crinkle at the sides, she reaches up to pat my cheek.
“Attaboy, Simon,” she roughs up my hair before crossing the room to grab a knitted hat (In bloody June, for fucks sake) off of the hook by the door, along with her keys. “I’ll be back at, eh, two,” and she raises the end like it's a question, “Love, ya. Bye.” I wave.
I turn back to the dishes and after a few minutes of what I assume is Ebb loading the car with whatever she’s delivering I watch the truck drive down the driveway, the tires kicking up a cloud of dirt in its wake.
Every other Thursday is Delivery day, Ebb drives into the nearby town to deliver eggs, milk, and whatnot to whatever pubs and cafes want it. I’d do it, if I could drive. Ebb tried to teach me to drive. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her cuss as much as I did last time I was behind a steering wheel. Needless to say, I'm complete shit when it comes to driving.
It’s almost ten o’clock when I see a flawless, black convertible drive up to the farm, and by the time I’ve gotten to the gate, it’s been parked and there’s a tall, tanned bloke climbing out of the driver’s seat. He sports a permanent glare and looks like he already hates me. Alright then.