The Baking Life of Amelie Day

The Baking Life of Amelie Day by Vanessa Curtis Page B

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Authors: Vanessa Curtis
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man laughs.
    â€˜When did you last go to London?’ he says. ‘That’s a standard off-peak rate. It costs more than that during the week.’
    I flush. I haven’t been on the train to London for at least a year and last time Mum came with and bought the tickets.
    I shove my money-box cash in his direction and put the tickets in the front of my purse. Then I hoist up the rucksack again and go to wait on the platform.
    I’ve got five minutes. I take out a bottle of high-cal milk and drink it while I’m waiting. Then I start on a bag of crisps.
    The train pulls in and I heave my bag onto it and find a seat. As soon as I sit down a great wave of tiredness and relief comes over me. I’ve done it. I’m actually on the train to London.
    The carriage is pretty empty so I get all my food out and arrange it around me. I take my Creon and then eat a sandwich that I made up this morning while Mum wasn’t looking. I finish up with a Mars Bar and then put the food away in the rucksack. Then I put all my medical stuff into my small black leather bag so that I’ve got it all together and I put it on the seat next to me. I prop up my feet on the rucksack and get out my list of recipe notes so that I can start rehearsing how to bake them in my head.
    The train lurches and sways through countryside. It’s very hot and I feel exhausted. I lean my head against the window for a moment and watch all the trees and fields whiz by in a blur. Don’t suppose it matters if I have a bit of a rest. I’m going to need all my energy for what lies ahead.
    The next thing I know I’m jolting awake with my head banging on the glass and a horrid dry feeling in my mouth.
    It takes me a while to remember where I am. My head is aching and my chest feels tight. It’s like the past few days of plotting and planning kept me going. Now that the excitement of being secretive has gone, I feel like I’ve been in a fight. And lost.
    I yawn and look at my watch. I must have been asleep for nearly an hour because there’s only twenty minutes left until the train gets in. I get out a little mirror from the top pocket of my rucksack and then attempt to calm down my hair. My face looks thin and pale in the early evening sunlight, but I try to ignore that. I get a bottle of water out and another snack and then turn to get my black leather bag full of medicine so that I can take some more Creon.
    It’s gone.
    ***
    I’m bolt awake now.
    I search under the seat, behind the seat and on all the other empty seats around me. Then I open my rucksack just in case I’m going mad and put the little bag back in there without thinking, but it’s not there either.
    My heart pounds with fright and uncertainty. I don’t know what to do now.
    I check in my rucksack for my phone and money and they’re still there, at least. Thank God I didn’t put them in the little bag. But who can I call? Mum isn’t supposed to know where I am yet and my train is almost in London. I don’t know a single soul in London.
    I try to think, even though tears are rising up and threatening to spill over.
    Maybe I could find a chemist in London and tell them I’ve lost my drugs? But then they’d be bound to contact my GP’s surgery and they in turn would have to contact Mum and then the game would be up.
    I could call Gemma, but I couldn’t expect her to come all the way up to London having first somehow got into my house and gone upstairs to my bedroom and got all my spare medicine and come out again. And anyway I don’t want to switch my phone on in case Mum or Harry call and then my voice will sound guilty and give the game away.
    I’m shivering, even though the train is stuffy and the air-con isn’t working. This so wasn’t supposed to happen. I’m angry with myself for leaving the little bag on the seat next to me and then falling asleep. Somebody must have thought it

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