by Annie Dyer
An hour later Keren was slobbing out on her sofa, pyjamas on, dressing gown on and an almighty portion of special chow mein. She surfed between channels showing reality TV programs, although none grabbed her for more than a couple of minutes, and then she perused social media, catching up on other people’s lives because she clearly didn’t have one of her own.
She’d just finished the takeout when the doorbell rang, it’s twee chime enough to make her debate whether she could hide round the back of the sofa and her visitor would fuck off.
Then it rang again, this time accompanied with a not so gentle tap on the door. If she ignored it, she knew damn well that the tap would get louder, followed by shouting and then her neighbour would start to complain about that Maynard girl again. The same Maynard girl who had been tormenting Severton for thirty years, because Keren was pretty sure that Rayah Maynard had been born a tormentor.
“What?” Keren snapped as she answered the door, not caring that her dressing gown was open and the bunny print pyjamas were on full show. “Why are you here?”
Rayah was wearing what looked like a trench coat and holding a bottle of prosecco.
“Are you wearing slippers?” Keren said, staring down at her best friend’s feet.
“I might be,” Rayah said. “But at least I’m not wearing rabbit pyjamas. Jesus, how long have you had those? I swear I remember them at a sleepover when you were sixteen.”
Keren looked down at her PJ’s. “Yeah, same ones.”
“And they still fit?”
Keren looked down again. Her boobs were bigger and so was her butt. She had always been a curvy girl and she had no issue with that. It gave her an excuse to maintain those curves, like tonight.
“They still fit,” she said. “What’s on under the trench, Pervy?” She used the long standing nickname she had for Rayah as it summed her up completely.
“’Jamas,” Rayah said. “And I need to come in. They’re not winter ones.”
“Holy mother,” Keren’s eyes bugged at the trench coat. “Have you been flashing Severton again? The neighbours really will start to complain.”
“Not yet, but if you don’t let me in, my nipples are likely to become classified as illegal weapons.” Rayah raised the bottle and poked it towards Keren a couple of times. “And I want to drink.”
“Hard day?”
Rayah rolled her eyes. “Hard doesn’t quite sum it up. If teaching really was just teaching, then it’d be a damn sight easier. Nowhere on the job description does it say social worker or parental coach. How about you? I smell Chinese.” Rayah sniffed the air as she entered in a similar manner as Keren had seen dogs sniff another canine’s backside.
“My last patient was your cousin.” She headed straight through to the narrow galley kitchen to get glasses. She hadn’t intended drinking tonight, thinking she’d leave it till nearer the weekend, but a couple of glasses to numb the pain of having spent time with Scott sounded like a good idea.
Rayah sat on the kitchen worktops, because even though she was thirty, she hadn’t grown up. “I saw him briefly when I went to steal that bottle from his bar. His face looked swollen, so I figured something was up. Not that I asked.”
“Why didn’t you ask?” Keren said, popping the bottle.
“Because he looked extra grumpy and I didn’t want to draw attention to the fact that I was stealing his stock.” Rayah reached out a hand for the glass. “What was up with him?”
“Broken tooth caused by an abscess. I had to extract the tooth and clean out the infection. It wouldn’t have been pleasant for him.” Keren watched Rayah squirm on the counter. She was the biggest baby when it came to dental treatment. “It’s why you should come for regular check-ups, because prevention is better than cure.”
“Did you tell Scott that or did you just glare at each other?” Rayah said. “He must’ve been in pain if he went to you.”
“Which is ridiculous,” Keren snorted. “I’m a professional. My aim is to help people look after their teeth and oral hygiene and stop them from experiencing discomfort. I’ll treat anyone.”
“I know,” Rayah said. “I believe you had a visit from Severton’s cutest terrorist yesterday.”
Keren grinned. “She’s such a sweetheart,” she said, thinking of Sadie Grace, although terrorist was probably a much better adjective. “Did Jonny remember to leave money from the tooth fairy?”
Rayah nodded, looking a little dreamy. She kept it very well hidden, but she’d had a huge crush on Jonny Graham since Sadie Grace had started in her nursery class eighteen months ago. “Sadie ran to me this morning in the yard and told me she had a shiny pound.”
“When are you going to ask Jonny out?” Keren said. “Instead of staring at his ass whenever you see him walking away?”
“I’m not. I can’t.” Rayah said. “And I know that means I’m going to die a lonely mad cat woman who becomes known as the most prolific purchaser of batteries in Severton to power her vibe, but it’s never going to happen.”
Keren shook her head. They had this conversation at least twice a week. Jonny was a widower with three children, his wife Grace was killed in a hit and run when Sadie Grace was just three months old. He was also in charge of the local fire station and could’ve produced his own calendar to raise funds, which Keren had suggested.
“Still don’t understand why not,” Keren said, because she didn’t.
“Because he’s the best friend of my brother and cousins, which pretty much makes it incestuous. We grew up together – he saw me naked when I was six – and I’m not what he needs.” Rayah shook her head, clearly still trying to convince herself.
“What does he need?”
“Someone hot who will look after his children and be a good wife. And let’s face it, Key, I’m not good wife material. Look at me – hot mess pretty much sums it up,” Rayah stretched out her arms, knocking something off the shelf and almost falling off the counter.
Keren raised a brow. “You’re hot. His kids adore you – you know you’re his go to babysitter…”
“Because I’m single and available when he gets called into work. I’m like a little sister. He hooked up with some woman in Leeds last weekend,” Rayah said, her words tight and her nose wrinkled.
“The man has needs,” Keren said. “I still think you should offer to assist him with them. Think about how you’ll feel if he meets someone and it’s serious. The worst that can happen is that he says no, and you know Jake and that lot won’t interfere.”
Rayah shrugged. “I wasn’t like this when he was married. I loved Grace – and they were so perfect together.” She shook her head. “Let’s not talk about Jonny. Let’s talk about your love life.”
“And that will be a very short conversation, because it died a long time ago. In fact, its gravestone is now covered in moss.”
“You shouldn’t refer to your vagina like that. Moss does not become it,” Rayah said. “And besides, it won’t have healed up and it won’t be eating grass. You just need to find it some penile action.”
“And they let you teach the young of this community,” Keren said. “There is no hope.”
“Have you tried that new dating website? The one I sent you the link to?” Rayah said, completely ignoring the insult. She was used to it. She’d been considered a terrorist herself since being old enough to point.
Keren muttered something under her breath about wastes of time. “The men on there aren’t what I’m looking for?”
“What are you looking for?” Rayah said. “Besides someone to knock the moss off your falula.”
“Falula? Where the hell do you get these words?” Keren said, leaning back against the counter. “I want someone who doesn’t look as if they’re, well, desperate to see what a naked woman looks like. And let’s face it, most men on dating websites are there for a reason, at least they are when they get into their thirties. You know, they’ve been divorced or they’ve never had the confidence to speak to a woman or…”
“They live in remote communities and it’s difficult to meet new people,” Rayah inserted. “I get what you’re saying. Maybe we need to go out more in Leeds and Manchester.”
“Ray, I’m not likely to meet anyone serious in a bar. We’ve been trying that now for years. Where do most people meet their partner?” Keren said, feeling more and more resolute as to what she was going to need to do.
Rayah shrugged. “You live in Severton. So here it would be at a barn dance or in primary school. Or potentially on the young farmers’ pram push.”
“But in the city, it’s at work. Or someone connected with work.” And the pram push was an excuse for farmers to resort back to being children and create vehicles to push each other round in while drunk. Not the best for finding a potential partner.
Rayah sat up straight and proceeded to knock over Keren’s recipe book holder. “You’re thinking of moving again, aren’t you?”
Keren didn’t say anything, instead she topped up Rayah’s glass with more prosecco.
“Key, you can’t leave. This is your home… You love it here,” Rayah said, using exactly the same tone as she had to persuade Keren to go with Connor Roberts to the after-prom party so Rayah could tag along with his brother.
“I do love it here, Ray. But I’m thirty-two. Time’s ticking by if I want to meet someone and have a family. And if that’s not going to happen, I’d like to specialise in children’s dentistry,” Keren said. “There’s a post opening up in Manchester, working with kids with complex physical disabilities. I’d love to do something like that and there’s nothing to keep me here.”
Rayah pouted.
“I know,” Keren said. “But it isn’t going to change us. We coped through university being at opposite ends of the country. I have to at least consider this.”
“Have you applied?” Rayah said accusingly.
Keren shook her head. “No. It isn’t advertised yet. I know the person in post at the moment is moving to Australia with his wife, but there’s no time frame on it yet.”
Rayah hopped off the worktop and strutted into the lounge with her glass. “I can’t have you leave Severton,” she said. “So I guess I need to find you a reason to stay.”
“That sounds ominous,” Keren said.
Then Rayah’s mouth curved into a smile wide enough to swallow a bus. “Would you let me set you up?”
“No,” Keren shook her head. “We’ve tried that. Twice. Both went horribly wrong. Embarrassingly so.”
“This won’t. Honestly. He’s just moved to Severton and he’s joined Scott’s band,” Rayah said, sounding as if she’d just discovered the solution to end world poverty.
“I can’t see myself in a relationship with a musician,” she said, trying to hide under a blanket on the sofa and hoping Rayah would go away. “Too unreliable.”
“He’s an accountant. I suspect he’ll be reliable.”
“If he’s an accountant, he’ll be boring.”
“He’s joined the search and rescue team.”
“That doesn’t mean he’ll be interesting.”
“He plays guitar…” Rayah was at her most persuasive.
“So does Scott.”
“But Olly is the right age, he’s had a couple of long term relationships. He’s intelligent and good with money…”
“You can’t assume that just because he’s an accountant…”
“He’s just bought the Jacksons’ place on Moorcroft. He’s good with money,” Rayah said, now looking as if she had not only discovered the solution for world peace, but had also worked out how to stop global warming. “And he’s hot. Let me set you up for a drink with him. Just a drink.”
Keren began to flinch. “Why can’t you just ask him to join us all for drinks on Friday and then if we click, I can ask him out?”
“Because that’ll make it sound like I’m interested. And he’ll hear you and Scott bickering. If Scott can speak by then. Go on, let me set you up.” Rayah beamed at her.
Keren held her head in her hands and shook her head.
“Even if I say no, you’re going to do it anyway.”
Carry on reading here! Stirred
CHANDELIER
September – Present day
I am still on my knees when the gunshot ruptures the noise outside.
It doesn’t occur to me to stand, to move away from Ben, to conceal what sin we’ve just prayed at the altar of. Mainly because Isaac’s hand is still holding my hair, his fingers massaging my scalp as if he’s praising me for what I’ve just done.
If we were at war, I would’ve taken cover. Proper war, like what we were taught in history lessons, not this continual threat that’s an axe over our heads. But I’m in my hotel room, protected, two men my bomb shelter.
But this isn’t a bomb.
There are screams outside. Shouting. The sharp screech of tyres against the asphalt. Nothing unusual for a big city, but this isn’t a usual day and something in the air has changed, switched. Particles have stilled, the city has become a paused movie, waiting for the thunder. Then there’s a knock at my door from the adjoining room next door and my name is being said.
It isn’t a prayer. It’s agitated, just like it was said when I was a small child and then a teenager, sneaking in from parties where I should never had been. The voice of the man who has been my guardian since I was a tiny child.
Isaac’s hand leaves my head and Ben yanks up his trousers. He’s in a suit today, trying to blend into this world that I know he hates because he is the desert or the arctic or the seas, not a rally in a northern English city with the royalty he’s never understood.
“Blair, we need to get you safe.” Franklyn sounds just the same as he did when I was fifteen and we had an intruder. He doesn’t even blink at what was going on in the room.
Isaac’s hands pull me up off my knees and he guides me out of our bedroom through rooms and suites and corridors, Ben next to me, the three of us and Franklyn who’s still not judging. There are hotel rooms, all empty, all booked out for the few people staying in this large building swept for bombs and bugs, every member of staff screened along with their grandmothers and relations they never knew existed. I’ve been here before as a child with my parents, then for a tour of the university – where I was never going to go – and again as a woman without my parents knowing. Just Franklyn. It’s an old building, historic. It’s seen much more than what I’ve just done, lived more than I ever will. He opens a door to a room I never knew existed, one that is windowless but with the door open, the noise from outside can still be heard, even if it’s just a cacophony of whispers.
I can feel the roar from outside and it feels red, a commotion that I don’t know the reason for, and then a door closes and the silence becomes overwhelming.
“What’s happened?”
Franklyn shakes his head, his glasses balancing on the end of his long nose. He is ageless, never changing. If I believed in such things, I’d imagine he was an eternal creature.
Isaac is at the door, looking at Ben. He might be trying to communicate something, but even though we’ve just shared an act that is more intimate than most, I know they haven’t developed the art of telepathy yet. I’m not sure if they ever will.
“I won’t let anything happen to her.” Ben is quiet, his words a muted cold blue. Any closeness that there was minutes ago has evaporated, water in the sun.
Butterflies on the breeze.
“I can send…”
“I’m not a thing.” My voice is calm, steel that will never move. A tone I taught myself when I needed something other than my chime.
Ben turns me to him, his hands on my hips now. “That was a gunshot.”
“Could’ve been friendly fire.”
We all know it wasn’t.
There’s nothing friendly about today. Or this place. We shouldn’t have come. Should’ve let Lennox come here alone with his entourage and speak his pretty words to people who thinks he’s either a god or a
devil.
I turn to Isaac, seeing his hands in his pockets. I’ve known him three months. Known Ben fifteen years. Known myself even less.
I don’t know this girl who gets on her knees for one man, while another holds her hair and whispers sweet dirty words to her.
“Where’s my brother? What was his schedule?”
There’s no real reason for Isaac to know, except that he knows everything.
“He gave his speech in the square and then he was heading into the Town Hall.” It’s Ben who answers. He will have memorized the itinerary.
But I’m not thinking about how he recalls everything he’s read, can recall details that the average human wouldn’t even have noticed. I’m thinking about my brother with his enthusiasm and vigour and passion; his desire to somehow unify our country with this one through trade agreements and free movement of people. Desires that others don’t share. Desires that others will kill to extinguish.
Before I can say my brother’s name there’s a piercing ring and Franklyn moves to the corner of the lightless room with his phone in his hand. We all watch him, the bare bulb making us all appear as strangers.
Franklyn says nothing, but when he looks up at me I know.
The bullet fired found a new home.
My brother is dead.
My brother is dead and I am now the heir to a tarnished crown.
Everything has changed.
Continue reading Chandelier
Also by Annie Dyer
The Callaghan Green Series
In Suggested Reading order (can be read as stand-alones)
Engagement Rate
What happens when a hook up leaves you hooked? Jackson Callaghan is the broody workaholic who isn’t looking for love until he meets his new marketing executive? Meet the Callaghans in this first-in-series, steamy office romance.
White Knight
If you’re in the mood for a second chance romance with an older brother’s best friend twist, then look no further. Claire Callaghan guards her heart as well as her secrets, but Killian O’Hara may just be the man to take her heart for himself.
