by Amanda Fleet
“I know.”
But how long for? In two days, he would be out, with scores to settle.
***
In the morning, I got up when Finn did, dismayed to see the shadows under his eyes from a disturbed night. After he went to work, I re-read the brief for the interview. It was to design new branding for a clothing company who drew their inspiration from the 1940s and 50s. Part of the brief was a sheet of images of the kind of clothes they made and I studied it. I would never in a month of Sundays wear anything like them, none of them being black and most of them being dresses. I sketched out some preliminary ideas, but inspiration felt low.
By mid-morning, I was standing outside Alison Cullen’s house, waiting for her to answer the door, hoping there would be no fresh bruises on her face. I glanced around the garden, admiring the neat borders and pretty spring flowers. Rory and Alison lived in the same semi-detached house in a modern estate where Finn had grown up. For a short while, Finn and I had been near neighbours. At the far end of the cul-de-sac was the house Helen and I had moved into after Paul had left. We hadn’t lived there long and I had no special attachment to it. I’d been in this street far more times after we’d moved into John’s house than before, coming to see Finn before he’d been thrown out.
The door opened and Alison stood in the entrance, drying her hands on a tea-towel. “Hi, Rea. In you come!”
Finn’s mum was rake-thin, with more worry-lines around her eyes than she should have at her age. At least neither eye was blacked today. Her grey-blonde hair was clipped back, suiting her elfin face and she had the same bright blue eyes that Finn had. She reminded me of a bird about to take flight: always restless, always slightly fluttery. Slim-fit jeans were topped off with a fleece top and her feet were clad in a ludicrously thick pair of socks.
I grinned at her as she ushered me through the pristine hall. “Can I smell cake?”
“Chocolate. Baked especially for you.”
“Ooh. Thank you!”
I followed her to the kitchen at the back of the house. It faced south-east and the low spring sun flooded the room, making the primrose-yellow walls glow. Two mugs already sat next to the kettle and she waved the jar of coffee at me.
“Yes, please.”
“I haven’t had chance to ice the cake yet. Do you mind?” said Alison over her shoulder.
“Of course I don’t mind. Don’t be daft. It looks fabulous.”
“Take some back to Finn for me?”
“Sure.”
I wondered how she would explain so many missing slices to Rory. I knew he knew that I came over, although he probably wasn’t happy about it.
“How’s Finn?” asked Alison, standing on tiptoe to put the coffee jar back in the cupboard.
“He’s great. He said to say hi, that he loves you and to find out when your work schedule and his next mesh, so you can grab a coffee with him.”
Alison was as likely to cross our threshold as Finn was to come here. They met when their shifts matched up and they could ‘accidentally’ see each other in town and go for coffee together. Alison worked as a cleaner. Most of her work was at a set of offices where she cleaned early in the morning before the staff came in, but she also cleaned domestically for a few people. She and Finn managed to catch up with each other about every three weeks and I knew the times were more vital than air to both of them.
“I’ll give you my dates for the next couple of weeks,” she said, pouring boiling water into the mugs. “Then he can text me and let me know which day he’s free.”
“Sure.”
That would be a text to the phone Finn had bought her. The one Rory still didn’t know about in all likelihood. The one with mine and Finn’s numbers pre-programmed into it, along with a support line for victims of domestic abuse.
Alison cut the cake deftly into eight. She popped two slices into a plastic box and handed it to me. I tucked the box in my bag. Two more slices went on to plates which she gave to me with a nod to take through.
The Cullens’ house was bright and airy, the walls pale and the carpets a dark taupe. The centre of the lounge held an old-fashioned three-piece suite and a smoke-glass coffee table. I think the decor was almost as old as me, but it was scrupulously clean and tidy.
“And how are you?” asked Alison, as we sat down.
I traced my finger around the chintzy pattern on the sofa. “Er. Mixed.”
She waited and my gaze flitted around the room while I wondered how to start. My focus snagged on a wedding invite propped on the mantelpiece and skipped on.
“Rea?”
Alison was as much of a mum to me as she was to Finn. She’d always wanted a daughter, I’d always wanted a mother who’d listen to me, so we were well-matched.
“I have an interview for that job I really want.” Start with the easy one.
“The graphic design one? Excellent! When?”
“Monday.”
“But that’s what you wanted, so why are you so stressed?”
“God, you sound like Finn!” I twitched my shoulders. “I’m scared I’ll screw it up somehow.”
“What will be, will be. If you’re meant to have it, you’ll have it.”
My tongue bit down on the question I wanted to ask her – was she meant to be married to a bully of a husband who beat her? Instead I took a bite of cake, and groaned with appreciation. “Excellent as ever!”
She scrutinised me. “Why are you really stressed? Is it just about the job?”
“Partly. I mean, I’m ridiculously nervous about the interview. The job would be perfect for me. It’s in design; it’s full-time. Finn and I might even manage to move somewhere with central heating. Or a spare room.”
I trailed off. Even talking about it pushed my anxiety sky-high.
“Okay. What’s the other part?” Alison tucked a stray hair behind her ear, leaning forward in her seat slightly, her smile inviting me to open up and tell her everything.
I hesitated. “Stephen’s getting released. On Thursday.”
She pressed her lips together, her eyes wide. “Are you worried he’ll come over again?”
“Yes. No. I’m worried he’ll come over and Finn’ll kill him. You know as well as I do how he protective he is of the women in his life.”
She bit the inside of her lip and I knew I’d pushed too hard. I glanced over to the wedding invite again, just able to see the names. A Cullen cousin. I knew Finn hadn’t had an invite. I also assumed that he’d be the only Cullen on either side of the Irish Sea who wasn’t invited. Still ostracised after all these years, despite being the one defending his mother rather than attacking her.
“Stephen won’t come over. He’ll be on probation, won’t he?” Alison said, bringing me back to the room.
“That assumes a level of sense and logic that Stephen has so far failed to display.”
“Did you want me to talk to Finn?”
I snorted. “Oh, he’ll be perfectly sensible when you talk to him and then if Stephen does turn up, the red mist will come down. I’m sure he didn’t mean to hit Rory the way he did.”
“Oh, no. He did,” said Alison softly.
I let my gaze settle on her. “If I got the job, maybe we could afford a bigger place and you could move in with us…”
She held a hand up. “Rea, don’t you badger me as well as Finn. I couldn’t move in with you. You know I couldn’t.”
I backed down. If she left, she couldn’t stay inside permanently and Rory would batter her if she set one foot outside. “Are you and Rory going to the wedding?” I gestured towards the mantelpiece.
“Oh, yes. Rory is Patrick’s godfather as well as his uncle. It should be a good day. The Cullen clan usually know how to throw a party. I take it Finn’s not been invited?”
“No.”
“It’s a shame. Patrick and Finn were like brothers when they were little.”
I sipped my coffee. What could I say? I wasn’t even sure if I should tell Finn that Patrick was g
etting married. He’d probably want to know and to send a card and a gift, but he’d be spitting tacks that even a cousin who’d been like a brother to him wasn’t going to rock the boat by inviting him.
“Patrick probably wanted Finn there,” said Alison, gently, her head on one side. “It’d be Rory’s brother that said no.”
I said nothing. Whoever had said no, it was another instance of Finn being shut out for daring to hit back over seven years ago.
“Do you need to do anything for your interview? Prepare a talk or something?”
“No. I need to take along a portfolio of my work and any references or commendations, plus do a design based on a brief they sent. I’ve got a couple of personal recommendations but I need to fill a few gaps in my portfolio before I go. Funnily enough, they seem more interested in design than in pictures of Finn.”
Alison laughed. “I don’t think I know what a graphic designer is.”
“Well, this company creates logos and branding that gets used on websites and marketing and so on. The brief is to design that kind of thing for a clothing company. It’s a junior post, so I don’t know how many of my designs would make it to the clients if I got the job, but it offers great experience and further training. It’d be perfect for me.”
“Good money?”
“Better than I’m on but nothing spectacular. But Finn and I might be able to rent somewhere a bit warmer. Or bigger. If I get it.” I finished my slice of cake, before my stomach churned with nerves too much. “What are you wearing to the wedding?”
She shrugged. “What I wore to Siobhan’s. Who’s going to remember?”
“Well, you know where I am if you want to go shopping for a new dress.”
“You’ll be too busy with a new job.”
Her eyes sparkled, reminding me as ever of her son. We chatted on for another hour or so before reluctantly, I stood up. “I’m going to have to go. I really do need to think about filling those gaps in my portfolio before next week and I’m working this afternoon. Have you got a copy of your shifts for me to give to Finn?”
Alison disappeared for a moment, returning with a sheet of paper covered in neat writing. I tucked it into my bag, careful not to crumple it up too much, and hugged Alison.
“Thank you for the coffee and cake. I’ll let you know how the interview goes. Finn’ll probably text you tonight.”
She hugged me back hard, her tiny frame threatening to crack from the pressure, and stood back.
“Good to see you. Catch up soon.”
***
I perched at my desk on reception at the gym, name badge on my chest, enough war-paint on to feel secure but not so much it would scare the customers. Most of the clients knew me anyway and there weren’t usually many newcomers appearing in an afternoon. On the desk, only marginally concealed from sight, lay my sketchbook. In the long stretches between answering the phone or clients arriving, I doodled ideas for the brief I’d been sent. Even if Billy caught me doing it, he wouldn’t be upset. I crossed out most of the ideas – they were too spiky or dark. Had too much edge to them. A bit like me. Finn popped by a couple of times to bring me coffees but he was fairly solidly booked for training sessions in the afternoon.
I’d just finished jotting some notes when brakes squealed outside the gym, followed by a loud thump and screams. I scooted around to the door to peer out. An elderly man had been knocked down by a car and a group mustered around him. My heart quickened. The man didn’t look in great shape.
“He stepped out in front of me!” A pale man stared helplessly at the prone figure on the pavement, his car door open.
I rushed outside. “Has someone called an ambulance?” I crouched down to press my fingers against the man’s neck and found a weak flutter there.
Someone at my shoulder said that they had and that the ambulance was on its way. Cold drizzle seeped into the man’s lightweight coat and I grimaced. His skinny frame would chill rapidly.
“I’m going to get some towels from inside to try to keep him warm until the ambulance gets here,” I said. “Does anyone have a brolly to keep him dry?”
I rushed inside, told one of the other staff what was going on and grabbed an armful of towels. When I got back outside, the driver was standing next to the car, wringing his hands, and the gaggle of pedestrians around the man on the pavement had grown. Two people held umbrellas over him. I draped the towels over him, talking to him, but there was no response and my heart lurched. I chewed my lip, my breathing uneven, not sure what else I could do to help. Blood stained the side of his head and he looked as if he’d crumpled in the middle.
The distant sound of sirens caught my attention and I looked up. Straight into the red glowing eyes of someone… something that hadn’t been there a moment earlier. It seemed as surprised as me when our eyes met. Shadows writhed, making a shape. The eyes peered out from what seemed to be a cloak with a hood, but most of the form was swirling and indistinct. It pressed a long, bony finger to the place where its lips would be, as if to shush me, and bent back to the old man. Wide-eyed, I watched as the thing reached into the man’s chest and retrieved a small glowing ball of yellowish light. It drew the ball of light into its cloak where the shadows extinguished it. The wraith-like figure stared at me for a second longer and then vanished.
The paramedics arrived, elbowing people out of the way, including me. Their faces turned grave as they examined the man. They were too late. The police arrived, and a flurry of activity swarmed through the gym as the police used it as a place to take witness statements. The dead man was taken away in a body bag.
A youngish policeman called me forward to give my statement and I perched on the chair, threading my fingers through each other.
“I didn’t see the accident,” I said. “I heard the brakes go and then a thump, but I was on the reception desk. The old man was already on the ground when I went out.”
“Do you know if he was still alive then?”
I gulped, nodding. “I could feel a weak pulse in his neck. I got the towels to try to keep him warm.”
He scribbled in his notebook. A large, raggy-edged plaster wrapped his thumb, grubby over the knuckle and with a disconcerting, rusty stain over the pad of the thumb. “Did you see anything else?”
My heart banged against my ribs. Yes. “Er, no. The paramedics arrived and we were all told to move away.”
The policeman asked me a couple of other things, made brief notes, and let me return to reception.
I settled on my stool, my hands still shaking, my mind running back over everything. What the hell had that thing been? And when it took the light out of the old man, was that why he died? Had it killed him? My head was too full of what had happened to be able to concentrate on my design. While it was fresh in my mind, I turned to a clean page in my sketchbook and drew what I’d seen, storyboarding it out: man hit by car; man gravely ill; strange wraith-like creature; it shushing me; the ball of light. No one else had seen it, I was certain.
Finn came over as I was finishing my sketches and contemplating going home. He leaned his forearms on the counter, peering over at me.
“This is the first chance I’ve had to come over. Did you see the accident?”
“Sort of. Heard it more than saw it. Saw the result, though.” I swallowed hard, a sick feeling in my stomach.
“What the hell happened?”
I relayed the details to him, omitting the light-stealing wraith… for the moment.
“Was the driver drunk?” asked Finn.
“I don’t think so. The police breathalysed him. I think the old guy stepped off the pavement without looking.”
“That’s horrible.” His gaze drifted over my sketchbook and he grinned. “You been working on the brief?”
“Yeah. Show you when we get home?”
“Sure. I’ve got to run, anyway. Is that you finished for the day?” He leaned back to see out of the door to the gym. “It’s still raining. Did you want to take the bike?”
“Thanks, but I’m okay. I’d rather walk in the rain than drive.”
He nodded and pushed himself away from the counter. I gathered my things together, glad my shift was over. Interesting as working reception could be, I wanted to go home and think about what I’d seen.
***
“Hey, Rea!”
“In here,” I called back from the lounge, tucking my sketchbook down the side of the sofa.
A moment later a half-drowned Finn stuck his head around the door.
“Still raining?” I quipped.
He pounded upstairs, returning a few minutes later in dry jeans and a sweatshirt from the gym. Half of Finn’s clothes were from the gym. He flopped down beside me and I swivelled to face him, tucking my feet under his broad thigh, a squashy cushion between my back and the arm of the chair.
“So, how was Mum?”
“She was fine.”
He peered at me and I smiled reassuringly. No, no bruises.
“I’ve got her rota for you. Text her when you see a day you’re both free? Oh, and I have chocolate cake too.”
He was still scrutinising me. “What aren’t you telling me? Did she have a shiner?”
“No. She was absolutely fine.” I stopped and he arched his brows, clearly not buying it. “Your cousin Patrick’s getting married. There was an invite at your mum’s.”
His brows switched to a scowl.
“Sorry.” I slipped my arm around his middle. “I thought you’d want to know. It’s at the end of next month. I can get details of the wedding list and stuff next time I see your mum if you want.”
“Hm. Beer?”
“No, I’m grand thanks.”
He stalked out, shoulders set. Better to leave him be. He’d come back when he was ready.
By the time he returned, sipping from a bottle, his jaw had softened and his shoulders were more relaxed, but I knew him too well to believe he was reconciled over the lack of a wedding invite.
“You were working on stuff to take to your interview?” he said as he sank down next to me, making the sofa creak.
“Mm.” I handed him the folder. “I’m not feeling the love for it yet.”
