by E. Earle
Helen’s ears perked up and I rolled my eyes with a groan.
“Who’s Brynn?”
Glad to have a shot to swallow the already bitter taste in my mouth, I told her his part in everything- from the first day I met him, to how I jumped off the cliff, to the recent surfing lesson.
“I mean, I was there, surfing,” I said with my arms out, pretending I was paddling. “I was actually doing it and then he looked like he wanted to drag me out of the water-”
“He likes you.”
“Shut up, Helen.” I slammed my glass down, wondering if I could bribe the barman for a free drink by doing a Lord of the Rings rap. “We had a snog and that was it.”
“It’s more than that.” Helen’s eyes were gleaming, and that was always a look to be afraid of. “I think you should go to his exhibition.”
I stared at her pointedly. “Helen,” I started in a very matter-of-factly tone, “how on earth am I going to find where he’s showing his work?”
Now Helen was the one staring at me as if I was an idiot. She pulled out her phone and crossed her legs whilst our businessman ordered us another round. “There’s a thing called social media, my friend.”
Whilst Helen searched on the web, I reminded her of her awards night the next day.
“Balls,” she hissed putting her phone away. “I’d forgotten about that. Maybe we can go after?” She hatched a plot for me to get suited and booted and turn up to Brynn’s exhibition on a whim. I wasn’t up for it- the show wasn’t until tomorrow and I was pretty sure I was going to feel and look absolutely pants.
“It’s not going to happen,” I told her point blank. “Plus I don’t even have anything to wear. What would I even say? Hi, I’ve turned up to your show for no reason? I’ll look like a right weirdo.”
“Err, no you won’t,” Helen snapped at me. “I’ll come with you and bring a load of the boys from the salon. Jealously, my friend, is the greatest weapon a woman can use against the opposite sex.”
“Helen, you’ve spent the past several hours telling me how much your love life sucks.”
“Hey- I never said I was a good matchmaker for myself,” she snorted, brushing off invisible dust from her skirt. “It’ll be good for you to get out there and remind him that you’re not just someone who works at that pub. Remind him that miss prissy pants Olivia doesn’t have what you’ve got.”
“And what’s that?”
“Me."
I can’t remember much of that night. I only know that I ended up in Soho at a gay bar with a load of tattooed friends of Helen. I think I called Chris again, to which a few swear words may have been exchanged, and perhaps I had arranged to have my entire left arm tattooed by a guy called Steve.
How we got home- I had no idea. All I knew was that Ben was there waiting for me with a knowing look in his eyes. Communication was nigh on impossible, but he was there, giving me his warmth and comfort as Helen tucked me into bed and cuddled me until I fell asleep.
I dreamt I was walking through a museum, going from room to room in a long white gown. I was being pursued but I didn’t know from whom. Knowing I must avoid that person at all costs, I ran, but strangely enough I wasn’t afraid. There was a thrill of running away and being out of reach, but whenever I turned to glance at the silhouette behind me, I could never work that person out.
It was getting to the good bit when my phone started to ring.
I grabbed it out of alarm, my heart pounding in my chest in one powerful pump that made me gasp.
“Hello?”
“Ellena, this is pay back for the six calls throughout the night!” The phone went dead and I stared at the screen stupidly. The called I.D said Chris. I rolled my eyes and flopped back onto the bed.
I was never drinking again.
“Drink it.”
I stared at the rum and coke in Helen’s hand as I sat on the edge of the table, my face twisting in disgust at myself. “I don’t want to,” I admitted, clutching my stomach.
“Drink it, you pussy,” she demanded, urging the glass in front of me. “It’ll make you feel better.”
“Nothing will make me feel better.” I drank it down and before I knew it Helen had poured another.
“Trust me,” she said, forcing the glass in my hand.
“Ok,” I said taking it. “But if I have to then you have to as-”
But Helen had already taken a swig directly from Lambs 1849 and was smacking her lips with a smug expression. “When you’re in London you’ve got to keep up.”
So I did my best. I sat in the chair as Helen did my hair and allowed her housemate to do my makeup. Apparently her housemate Kenzo was a genius- a makeup artist at Mac, but I was pretty sure he was stoned out of his face as he applied gentle brushstrokes to my eyelids. Luckily when I looked in the mirror I was blown away.
My hangover was eradicated with an afternoon of wearing a facemask and a good quality concealer. We had gone for a smoky look with my makeup- nothing over the top- but just something to accentuate everything that I already had. I had to admit, this was the best I had ever looked.
I sniffed dubiously at the weed infused jumper of Helen’s housemate and wondered if it had contributed to the success of my face. Helen had made my hair fall down in soft waves down my back- it was cold and windy outside so I didn’t want to risk an updo- plus I couldn’t be bothered. Luckily instead of going to the exhibition, Helen was taking me to a hairdresser award that she was been unsure about visiting.
It was a small affair she had told me, but I would have to borrow one of her dresses.
“I can’t wear my jeans?” I asked.
Helen didn’t even bother to glance at them. “Don’t be ridiculous,” was her answer.
She gave me one of her gowns that she had used for a model in a photoshoot and I was actually relieved that I could fit in it. Long and made of floating grey and black fabric, it hugged my figure in a way that one- made me want to blush- and two- made me feel as though I was a goddess of smoke.
Helen stuck to her Jessica Rabbit red, a long vintage 80’s off the shoulder dress encrusted in beading. Although I felt good, I gazed longingly at my jeans and flat boots.
I rubbed my arms self-consciously. I didn’t have a posh blazer to go with the dress but I didn’t want to ruin the look so went without.
“You’re going to be freezing,” Helen said, wrapping a black fur coat around her. “Want to borrow one of mine?”
I raised my eyebrow. “I’m not sure fur is my thing,” I said, wondering if a beer would settle my stomach. Ben meowed in approval.
She rolled her eyes and grabbed her vintage white leather clutch. “Ready?”
I nodded.
My breath held as the buzz of my surroundings pressed down on me. My mouth released a cloud of evaporated heat as soon as we stepped out of the taxi. People were standing outside of a huge Georgian building, pillars lit up with changing lights. Security stood in front of the doors, a red carpet leading up to the entrance.
I would be lying if I said I knew what part of London we were in. All I knew was that it looked pretty nice. Clear streets full of grand buildings surrounded us, with modern bars for the upper market clientele, but not too rich to alienate the trendy people. It was current, edgy and creative.
The Thames stretched out next to the building and I took a moment to look over at the waters as Helen said hello to her fellow hairdressers. The land glittered for miles around me, the man made luminescence taking my breath away. I wondered what it would be like to live in this city for a year- just to soak everything up.
I often pondered why Chris and Helen hadn’t moved home yet. They had been here for years now and I couldn’t imagine to not be exhausted by the sights, the people, and the goings on.
I closed my eyes and thought of the peace of Craggy’s- the sound of the sea, the wind blowing and rain tapping outside my window as Ben and I huddled up in bed.
“What do you look so happy about?”
I
jumped at the sound of Helen’s voice and saw her staring at me expectantly, a glass of champagne in each hand.
“Nothing,” I lied, taking the glass. “It’s a nice place around here.”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s boring- but they’ve got free drinks. Come on!”
The night seemed to pass quickly. Helen talked among her friends and I didn’t blame her- she hadn’t seen some of them for even longer than me. I didn’t mind being left on my own- I’m a people watcher myself. The awards would come a bit later and people were fed canapés. I wasn’t sure what most of them were but gave them a go in any case.
I was never one to turn down free food.
“You know,” Helen said, as she finally sat down next to me after another round of networking, “there’s a gallery only across the bridge.”
I stared at her confused. “So?”
Her eyes continued to fix on mine for seconds longer. “It has a great host of photography.” She opened her clutch and passed me a crumpled flyer. “Amazing artists, apparently.”
It clicked. “Oh.”
She smiled at me, red lips shining. “Come back and tell me what it was like.”
I shrugged. “He’s just a friend, Helen.”
“Sure thing, sugar.” She stood and waved to another hairdresser with platinum blonde hair.
I looked back at the flyer and when I glanced up, she was swallowed up in the crowd.
The wind whistled in my ears as I crossed the bridge. A couple of Helen’s friends had insisted they escort me. Kenzo, once again smelling of weed (strangely not unpleasant) and Hamet, a friend of Kenzo’s who claimed he was going to a pub near the gallery.
They were both perfectly nice people- easily forgettable if it wasn’t for the host of tattoos scrawled across their bodies.
Apparently as soon as we had set off, Helen had texted Kenzo to say that she would join us in a nearby pub after the awards, called The Shakespeare.
The wind was strange against my skin- warm (a sign that I had consumed enough alcohol) and blew my dress out behind me. I wondered what Ben would be doing right now and focused on just putting one foot in front of the other. We didn’t like being apart from each other- it affected us. But we drew strength from each other knowing how the other felt. I didn’t know what bond we had, but I knew without it there would be no point.
“Look,” Hamet said, his dark curls, artfully cut to fall in his dark eyes. He pointed ahead at a huge white building, his tweed suit perfectly tailored for his small frame. “That’s the place.”
My eyes widened. “What? Really?” I gasped. “But that place is huge!”
They said nothing, my powers of observation evident. They talked between themselves, guessing that I wasn’t interested in conversation until we were at the pub.
The gallery drew closer, a factory that had been turned into a glowing orb of light.
How the hell had Brynn managed to get a show in that place?
Kudzu and Hamet pointed out the pub they would meet me in and told me to ‘bring your friend’ too.
I faltered at the steps to the building, pristine huge glass doors open in front of me, the glass so thick it shone with a faint green light. Why not see what Brynn was up to? Why not take an interest in his art?
He didn’t ask you to come! A voice hissed in my mind. You are not welcome here!
“Just a little peek,” I murmured as I took a step forwards, my dress blowing out behind me.
People were dressed in all types of fashions; ripped jeans, miniskirts, long dresses, suits and a couple in tuxes. The place had a huge opening of new artists, and apparently there was a theatre just down the bridge further down. They had timed it well for the rich to come and look at their goods. They were fresh, full with creative inspiration from a show, and were now pruned and plucked ready to spend some serious cash.
Eyes followed me as I walked slowly around the gallery. The lower levels were full of sculptures that I didn’t understand. I used to be so open minded when I had been studying my diploma in Fine Art, and now my brain was too tired to take it in.
I enjoyed looking at an exhibition of a tree carved out of wood and then found myself walking further to the back of the gallery, voices a low hum around me, prickling at my pale skin as I passed by like smoke.
I accepted an offered glass of champagne as I walked into another room, towering ceilings bowing above me, their Victorian architecture unmistakable. The reminder of what it once was comforted me. It had used to be a place of service to a generation that was forgotten- their steps washed away from this place by the clinical white paint of a new age.
They were a reminder that something else had happened here.
My scar tingled.
I shook my head and sipped the champagne, its sharp taste bringing my senses back.
People continued to stare at me as I walked through this near empty room, only two paintings on the wall to proceed into the next. I tried to ignore them and half wondered if I had something on my face or if I was wearing my dress incorrectly. Why were they looking at me like that?
I took three steps into the room and that was when I saw them.
Huge black and white images stretched across the walls, of a girl with a haunted face.
I walked towards the first image; a woman’s profile looking out over a cliff, grass swallowing up her pale legs and the wind tearing at her hair. Dark shadows framed her face, haunted and sharp bones from a few missed meals, dark circles around grey eyes that stared across the sea.
In another she had her back to the camera but had just turned around, a look of suspicion of her features, dark shadows casting her expression in a distrustful glare. Primal. Angry. Desperate.
She was walking down a beach, waves crashing against her legs, a rare smile.
Laughing with a group of people, their faces too blurred to make out- a moment in time of her sitting on a bar with a pirate’s hat lopsided.
Covered in oil with the hood of her car halfway down a hill, a black line smeared across her forehead and nose.
Sitting on a bench, a cat sitting beside her.
“It’s me,” I breathed. Then I saw the titled of the photographs.
The Girl With Ten Claws.
I took a step back right into someone.
I turned around and saw Brynn staring at me.
His mouth dropped open.
“Ellena?”
My mouth worked and I slammed it shut. I felt as though there was a wave crashing down on me, my lungs too full of something to take in anything more.
My expression was reflected on his face. He had shaved for the occasion, wearing a black suit with a thin black tie- the suit he had worn for Old Marley’s funeral. He looked incredibly handsome, dark, with none of that wildness of the ocean gone from his stance. Every inch of him screamed predator, his hazel eyes darkening even more at the sight of me. In his hand was a glass of champagne, the other clenching and unclenching.
His eyes roved over me as if not believing what he was seeing. It was as if I had stepped out of the photographs.
He had caught me in my most unguarded moments- and I hadn’t even realised.
I wanted to scream at him, shout abuse, swear at him and scratch his face until his explanations came pouring out. The most imaginative swear words twisted in my head, all ready to throw at him.
“Nice exhibition,” I said instead, because two words were all I could manage.
Seconds passed of him continuing to stare at me before he finally blinked. “What are you doing here?” Before he could let me answer, he took my elbow and started leading me to an adjoining room ahead. “You’re supposed to be back at Craggy’s!”
I snatched my elbow away from him, my joints stiff with fury. “I’m visiting friends,” I seethed, turning around, my dress whirling around me like a tide of water.
Brynn was still staring at me with that same of look of confusion- as if he couldn’t actually believe what he was seeing.
“You look amazing,” he said, taking me off guard.
Now it was time for me to blink at him confused, my wall of harpy screams rising and falling inside me.
“What did you-?”
“Good god O’Connell!” a man exclaimed patting Brynn hard on the shoulder, making us both jump. “Is this little lady your muse?”
I was about to open my mouth to protest when Brynn had suddenly pulled me to him, his scent of mint enveloping me. “Indeed she is,” he said with a nod.
My ribs were crushed up against him as he held me to his side, his fingers pressing into my arm in a way that screamed- shut your mouth!
“Extraordinary,” the man said, gazing at the pictures and then to me. “Really, they are stunning!”
The man in question was tall and slender, wearing a pristine slate grey suit and brown shiny shoes. His hair was wavy, his skin tanned from countless holidays abroad, and his face had the air someone who had never known poverty. I don’t know what it was about the aristocracy- it was something in the way they blinked, the way they held their mouths, the way they tilted their heads that gave away their upbringing.
I was from a completely different world.
He held out his hand to me. “How rude of me, Vincent Killney.”
I gave him my useless hand to shake but he grabbed it and touched it to his lips instead.
“A pleasure,” he said, releasing it.
My fingers twitched in distaste, my skin prickling with unreleased energy and I looked to Brynn pointedly.
“Well, O’Connell?” Vincent said, putting his hands behind his back expectantly. “Aren’t you going to introduce your breath-taking muse to me?”
Brynn started, as if lost in a bazaar dream. “Yes, this is Ellena Blackwell, my partner.”
Vincent’s eyes widened at the word partner. It didn’t even register on my own mind until too late of what he must have thought.
“Partner!” he exclaimed. “Well, as if that isn’t jolly! You’ve kept that quiet, O’Connell.”
Seeing his presumption of the word ‘partner’ I opened my mouth to correct him, wanting to scream out; ‘Business partner! Business partner!’ My attempted correction was quickly swallowed as Brynn squeezed me harder.
