Pond

The new house was big and old, though not as ancient or as large as the Victorian terraced house that had held the attic flat where she'd lived in Edinburgh. The new house was different from the flat in all aspects – the flat had been warm, clean, prettily decorated and tidily furnished. And when she'd lived in the flat, her parents had too.

Amelia Jessica Pond was an orphan. Her parents had died when the entire Victorian terrace burned down in a chip pan fire that had started in the basement flat and made its way up to their attic. There had been no escape for her sleeping mother and father. Amelia herself had been sleeping over at her Aunt Sharon's bungalow on that fateful night; her parents had had a lot of work to do that evening - they were both authors - and needed some peace and quiet from their boisterous little daughter.

The harsh memory of waking up the next morning to a grave-eyed police woman revealing the horrible news was one of confusion and hurt. She had bitten that poor police woman, called her a mean, dirty liar...and then broken down in her Aunt's restraining arms and sobbed her heart out. She had let a life's worth of tears out that night. From then on, Amelia Pond didn't cry.

There were more changes to come. Sharon, a photographer, had been planning to move to England to capture some new landscapes, and she was a no-nonsense sort of woman, not the sort who would dismantle her own plans for the good of a grieving seven-year-old. And so, six months after losing her parents, Amelia had had to say goodbye to all her friends in Edinburgh and move away with her aunt. They moved to the countryside, of course, for the landscapes; a village named Leadworth, in Gloucestershire - possibly the most boring village in the history of the universe, in Amelia's opinion. Sharon, painstakingly honest as always, had told her everything there was to know about the place: there was a pub, two shops, a post office, an old folks home, a village green, a church, a hall, some houses, and that was it. Nothing more.

They had taken the train from her beloved home city down to Gloucester, and then a taxi to Leadworth. It was afternoon when they arrived at the house. Now, as young Amelia explored her new home, she began to wonder how it had all come to this. The new house was too big for her and her aunt alone, truthfully, and it was utterly decrepit – two details which gave the house a slightly spooky feel. The rusty swing, swinging eerily in the summer wind, made her imagine a ghost child. Not that Amelia cared. She wasn't scared of ghosts anyway. The garden was wild and undisciplined - a little like Amelia herself, her aunt commented – and ivy grey up all over the worn white walls of the house. The only thing Amelia honestly liked was the fact that nearly every room in the house had blue walls; shabby, peeling blue walls, but still blue. Blue was her favourite colour - blue like the sky, blue like the sea, blue like the planet, and blue like her mother's eyes (and Aunt Sharon's, but that was irrelevant).

But the house was empty. No furniture, not yet, the trucks wouldn't be arriving until evening. The floorboards were bare, and the room which was to be her bedroom had a huge, smile-shaped crack in the wall. Amelia stood in the doorway staring at the crack for a long time. It made her feel strange, to look at it. Uncomfortable. Nervous. Frightened, even. Only that was stupid. She shook herself and ran off down the corridor, the floorboards creaking under her sandals.

"How long before the lorry men get here?" she asked her aunt, who was inspecting the staircase.

"About three hours, dear," Sharon replied absently, wondering if the banister was sturdy enough.

"I can't wait that long!" Amelia protested. Because if she didn't keep herself busy, she would start thinking about her parents.

"Go out and play," said her aunt, "Go and check out the duck pond. The village green's just round the corner."

Unimpressed, Amelia sighed, but with nothing else to do ran out of the house and across the garden. She went to the green.

Amelia spotted the duck pond immediately, as her hazel green eyes scanned the dull, tidy stretch of grass, and the first thing she noticed was that there was someone crouched beside it - a boy, about her own size. In her state of petulant boredom she found this irritating – why did someone have to be there when she needed some time alone? She marched up the pond and stood behind him.

"Excuse me, but would you please step away from that duck pond? It's mine for now," she said loudly.

The boy twisted round to face her. He had a mop of floppy brown hair that fell in a fringe over his stormy blue eyes. He blinked when he saw her, his eyes lingering on her face for a moment.

"Have I got somthing on my face?" she demanded, cocking an eyebrow.

The boy sprang to his feet. "No," he said quickly, "And it's not a duck pond."

"No?"

"No. There are no ducks. How can it be a duck pond if there are no ducks?"

Amelia frowned. "It just is. Who are you, anyway?"

"John Smith. You?"

Amelia held her frown for a moment, then let it go and sighed. "Amelia. Amelia Pond."

The boy – John Smith – was suddenly delighted, his unusual little face breaking into an enormous grin. "Oh, that's a brilliant name. Amelia Pond," he repeated the words with admiration. "Like a name in a fairytale."

Amelia couldn't help but smile a little. "How old are you?" she asked. He was taller than her, but only a little.

"Seven," he said, "Eight next February. You?"

"Eight next March," said Amelia, admitting that he was older than her.

"Are you Scottish?"

"Yes."

"Did you move here with your mum and dad?"

Amelia's face fell as her heart did likewise. "I don't have a mum and dad. Just an Aunt."

John smiled reassuringly. "I live with my godparents. I don't even have an Aunt." Amelia smiled back, happier than she had been in a long while.

There was a pause, as the two stared shyly at their shoes. Then:

"I like your hair," John said quietly.

"Oh," embarrassed, Amelia fingered a lock of her fiery red waves.

"And your freckles," he added.

"Okay!" Amelia said sharply. She wasn't used to receiving compliments she hadn't demanded.

John blushed, and she grinned.

"Hey," she said, "D'you want to play a game? It's this story I was making up on the journey here from Edinburgh. There's this magic man with a magic box that can take you anywhere. It can even travel in time! One day the magic box crashes in my garden and the magic man takes me with him. We go to other planets and we go back and forward in time. We're heroes, me and the magic man. You can be the magic man, if you want."

"That sounds brilliant!" John exclaimed, his face lighting up.

"But first," Amelia said carefully, "I want to show you the crack in my wall."

John nodded willingly, stormy blue eyes wide. Yes, Amelia Jessica Pond decided, blue was defiantly her favourite colour.