Tallie has always been normal. Just a girl at school living with her mum.
But that's all changing now.
After her mother was murdered, and the murderer never charged, she took matters of law into her own young hands. But it all went wrong. She's got to escape before everyone realises the crime she's commited. Living in a hut on a deserted moorland is her only option. Until David arrives.
He can help her; he's a police man, the only one on her side. Soon Tallie is deeply in love with David, but is he all he says to be? Or is he in fact the very man she is running from?


23. Shopping

"That'll be eight pounds fifty please" The woman's perfume fills the small shop and I have to inhale as quickly as possible so as to avoid the cloud. I dig my hand into my coat pocket and yank out the tenner. The pasta, margarine, sauce and bread on the counter suddenly jerks as the belt starts to move along. I try to act as old as I can; I don't want anyone to work out who or what I am.

"Thanks" Her lipgloss smile glitters as she clicks shut the till and turns to the screen before her. I notice that her badge says 'Sam'. 

"Bye then, Sam." I say politely, before picking up the plastic carrier bag and striding out of the shop. 


And not as hard as I thought it'd be. 

I'm about to go straight back, when a small van, parked up by the roadside, catches my keen eye. In a block font, the words 'Johnnie's Pizza Parlour - On Wheels!'. 


It's been so long since I even last  thought about it, let alone, ate it! My legs are running before I can stop them, and soon I'm at the window, the change in my hand and my eyes greedily scanning the menu. 

"Hello, what can I do for you, ma'am?" A small man with chocolate hair, combed back, says over the counter.

"Oh, um, I...a Margarita please!" The words come out slurred in my excitement, but he understands.

"Five secs, milady." And with that, he turns around and begins to slap dough about on the surface behind him. It feels like hours that I'm standing there, but finally, the man returns with my pizza.

"Thank you!" I shout, chucking the cash down and breaking for it. I stuff as much of it down my throat as I can, before retching in a bin. I don't throw up, but I definitely slow down! 

The warmth in my stomach is so comforting that I almost cry for the memories. 

Instead though, I get up, chuck the box away and head back to the hut.

Still, despite the shortness of my pizza 'encounter', I can't stop the smile from spreading across my face. 

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