Rose Petal Revenge: Claire’s Candles - Book 4

by Frost, Agatha

  “So,” Claire said as they crossed the bridge over the canal on their way into the village, “are you going to tell me what happened with your friends? Last week, you said two weren’t coming, and now a third has dropped out?”

  “Rina,” he said with a sigh. “She’s always been a bit flaky, but she promised she’d come after what happened with Mark and Daniel. It would be the year we decide to do a group cosplay, wouldn’t it? You can get away with none of the other characters if you have a Captain Murphy. Without Murphy, it makes no sense.”

  Though Claire knew Damon’s online friends by name, and she’d met a couple over the years, she had never picked up more than the few morsels of information Damon had sprinkled in. From Damon’s complaints, she knew Mark and Daniel were the ‘childish’ ones in the group. Rina had a lot of money after investing in digital currency, which – despite the number of times Damon had tried to explain it to her – Claire still didn’t understand. Aside from Damon, Taron and Sean seemed the most down-to-earth of the bunch.

  “What happened with Mark and Daniel?”

  “I try to stay out of it.” He sighed again, more heavily. “We’ve been a divided group for a while. It’s always been Tyler and Sean versus Mark and Daniel, with Rina and me in the middle of it all. It’s a long story. Sometimes it feels like drama for the sake of drama. There are so many splintered group chats, it’s hard to keep up with who’s mad at whom and for what reason.”

  They reached the central village square, where the Friday night drinkers had replaced the day’s shoppers. Groups passed between The Hesketh Arms, the locals’ pub of choice, and The Park Inn, Northash’s ‘other’ pub. The latter was far more suited to tourists and people who wanted to attempt a two-pub crawl. Given the night’s warmth, the beer garden in front of The Hesketh Arms was packed out. In the sea of red-tinged arms and legs, Claire recognised a few faces as ones that had been there since lunchtime. Two men were on the bench under the clock tower facing Claire’s Candles, deep in conversation, with large weekend bags at their feet. As Claire and Damon approached, both looked up at the same time.

  Hanging back, Claire watched as Damon bestowed on them the sort of awkward back-patting hugs men gave each other. She immediately recognised Taron, though his shaggy black hair was much greyer than it had been six years earlier. Despite the salt-and-pepper, the same boyish charm she remembered clung to him, though perhaps that was down to his slim-cut jeans and the red hoodie enclosing his slender frame. She assumed the other man must be Sean. He had thinning, sandy hair; the kind of cheeks that always seemed to have a natural blush; and baggier clothes worn over a rounder physique. Taron stood up front, chest puffed out and arms folded, as he spoke to Damon in a low voice. Sean, fiddling with the hem of his t-shirt, retreated slightly into Taron’s shadow.

  “You remember Taron, don’t you?” Damon asked after beckoning Claire over.

  “We met at your thirtieth,” she replied, stretching out a hand. “It’s nice to see you again.”

  Taron shook her hand tightly, a strange prickle to his smile as his dark eyes locked on hers. “I see you finally opened your dream candle shop. I remember you mentioning that.”

  When Claire thought back to that night, her memories were hazy. They had started the birthday celebrations at an indoor junkyard-themed mini-golf place where the drinks were cheap and strong. They’d bar-hopped after that, but she couldn’t recall exactly where. The next morning, she’d awoken face down on Damon’s sofa with a cracking headache before they had to drag themselves to a bitterly hungover shift at the factory. Though they’d proclaimed they’d ‘never drink again’ that day, more than a handful of similar shifts at the factory had followed over the years.

  “Nice to meet you,” Sean said in a small voice as he softly shook Claire’s hand, his accent distinctly Southern in the mix of Northern tones. If she remembered correctly, Taron lived the closest of anyone else in Damon’s friend group.

  “Shall we get you checked in at the B&B?” Damon suggested, hooking his thumb towards one of the many side streets snaking away from the square. “Maybe drop your bags off and go for a few at the pub? After today, I think I need it.”

  “We just came from the B&B,” Taron said, his smile thinning into a tight line. “Fully booked, apparently. We booked online, but the guy running the place said some people turned up offering cash, and he didn’t know if we were coming because it was so late in the day. You’ve got a spare room, haven’t you?”

  “I did.” Damon clenched his eyes. “Nobody ever stayed over, so I got rid of the bed. Put my computer and all my memorabilia in there.” He looked past them to Marley’s Café, and his flat above it, on the corner of one of the side streets. “I have the sofa, but it’s only a two-seater.”

  “Oh.” Taron’s right brow arched. “You still have a floor, I guess?”

  “I have a spare room.” Claire nodded at her candle shop. “I’ve only just moved in, so it’s a bit bare, but there’s a bed. One of you could stay with Damon and the other with me.”

  “That could work,” Taron replied tentatively. “Only if you’re sure?”

  “No point having a spare room if you can’t loan it out to people in need.”

  “I’ll take the sofa.” Sean directed his first contribution to the conversation since their introduction at Taron rather than Claire. “I don’t mind.”

  “You’re a lifesaver.” Damon gave Claire a one-armed shoulder squeeze. “That’s at least one disaster averted. Don’t suppose Rina told either of you why she bailed?”

  “You know what she can be like,” Taron replied, picking up his bag. “Shall we ditch these and get the drinks in? I’m intrigued by this Hesketh Homebrew you’re always going on about.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Damon clapped his hands before nodding at the plastic bag in Claire’s hands. “Bring that with you. These two aren’t going to believe what you have in there.”

  While Damon took Sean to his flat across the square, Claire unlocked her candle shop. After the slow process of getting things ready, she’d been officially open for well over a month — and she was loving every second. Nothing made her happier than seeing all her colourful homemade candles lining the walls in neat rows, their foil labels catching the light.

  Rather than taking Taron straight up to the flat, she put his bag in the back room – once the former tearoom’s kitchen – where she made and stored her candles. A fresh batch of vanilla, made during a lull earlier that day, was curing on the middle island. When she returned to the shop, Taron was nose-deep in one of the new rose petal candles from the circular Star Candle of the Month display in the centre of the shop.

  “You’ve done well for yourself here,” he said with the same strange smile and intense eye contact as before. “You don’t remember, do you?”

  “Remember what?”

  “Damon’s birthday?” Taron laughed and shook his head as he placed the candle on the display, making sure the foil label pointed out like the rest. “Doesn’t matter. Let’s go and get the drinks in. Looks busy.”

  Brow furrowed, Claire locked the front door and headed into the quickly darkening square. She caught a whiff of Taron’s spicy aftershave, and for a moment, the scent was overwhelmingly familiar. She tried to place it, but only Taron’s face came forward – and not the amused one standing before her now. The face was slightly younger and very close, engulfed in semi-darkness and smoke. Loud music echoed in her eardrums as a specific detail she shouldn’t have known popped forward.

  Taron was a good kisser.

  And she couldn’t believe she’d forgotten about it until now.

  Chapter Two

  Claire awoke the next morning to stinging sunlight streaming through her flimsy curtains. She rolled over and pulled the covers over her head, wishing she’d listened to her mother and spent the extra to get the blackout variety. Four heavy paws padded up the length of her body and settled on her shoulder to knead at the covers. The soft purrs were too sweet
to ignore.

  “Morning, boy.”

  As Claire pulled herself up slightly and grabbed her glasses off the bedside table, her head whooshed from the one too many Hesketh Homebrews she’d imbibed the night before. They’d only intended to have a couple of drinks, but the weather had stayed invitingly warm late into the night, and Damon had pointed out they could only enjoy the pretty beer garden backing onto the canal for half the year and it would be a shame to waste the opportunity. During the other half, only the smokers were brave enough to drink outside.

  Claire scratched Sid’s head as he squinted up at the ceiling, wearing as close to a smile as a cat could muster. Unsurprisingly, her other cat, Domino, was curled up in her new favourite spot atop the wardrobe; the built-ins at her parents’ place had kept Domino from her high perch. The cats weren’t the only ones enjoying the new routines that came with living alone. The double bed was slightly smaller than the king at her parents’, but at least Claire didn’t have to worry about her mother bursting in at any time of the day or night without bothering to knock.

  The soft drumming of fingers rattling on a keyboard reminded Claire she wasn’t alone this morning. She climbed out of bed and into her dressing gown before emerging into the small open-plan living area. Wearing nothing but a pair of black underwear, Taron sat cross-legged on the grey, L-shaped sofa with his laptop, facing the window that looked out at the clock tower. The screen showed stats and characters against a backdrop of purple and blue star systems; everything shifted and changed as he typed at lightning speed.

  “Morning,” he said over his shoulder, his fingers still going. “Didn’t wake you, did I?”

  “Cheap curtains.” She suppressed a yawn as she staggered into the kitchen tucked away in the corner. “Coffee?”

  “Please.”

  Her beloved coffee machine, one of her few expensive belongings, whirred to life with a jab of her finger. The buzzer for the flat door joined the noise, three short rings, one after the other. Knowing it could only be one person this early, Claire put her cup under the machine’s spouts and pressed the double espresso button. The buzzer rang another four times before her coffee finished brewing. She put Taron’s cup under and took hers with her to the intercom system.

  “Good morning, Mother.” Claire blew on the surface of her coffee. “Bit early, even for you.”

  “I have your costume,” her mother said loudly, keys rattling. “Don’t come down, I’ll let myself in. I just wanted to make sure you were up.”

  Realising what Janet would assume if she saw a strange man in his underwear on her sofa, Claire reluctantly put her coffee on the side table by the door after a sip and went to intercept her mother. Slender and zippy, she was already halfway up the stairs leading from the shop’s back room.

  “I just about got it finished.” Janet gave a black dress bag a shake as she marched up the remaining steps. “It’s not my best work, but it’s all I could do with so little notice.”

  “Thank you so much.” Claire took the bag, blocking the stairs. “I’m sure it’s perfect.”

  “Aren’t you going to let me in?”

  “It’s not really a good time.”

  “Is someone here?” Janet’s eyes lit up. “Is it a man?”

  “Why is that where your mind goes?”

  “Wishful thinking.”

  “Well, technically, you’re right.” Claire closed one eye and scratched at the side of her head with her free hand. “But it’s not what you think, wishful or otherwise.”

  Before Claire could explain, her mother pushed straight past her and into the flat and gasped. Right on her heels, Claire grimaced. Taron was in the worst possible position. He’d stood, and his lightly hairy body clad only in small, tight underwear was on full display. He smiled and nodded at Janet before taking the laptop through to the guest bedroom.

  “He’s made himself right at home,” Janet whispered, tugging her cardigan tightly around her body. “You might want to crack a window. It smells like men in here.” Rather than waiting for Claire to do it, she rushed right to the window and flung it open, letting in the sounds of the square as a busy Saturday began below. “Does Ryan know you’re seeing someone? Why didn’t you tell me? And where did you find him? He’s not bad looking, but I wouldn’t think he was your type.”

  “I don’t have a type.” Claire laid the black bag over the back of the sofa. “I’m not seeing him . . . or anyone. And Ryan and I are just friends. Does that about cover it?”

  “Hmm.” Janet scanned the papers and books on the coffee table. “What’s all this? Looks foreign. Is it Chinese?”

  “I don’t know.” Claire snatched the book out of her mother’s hands before she lost the page. “Leave it; it’s Taron’s.”

  “Taron, is it?” Janet craned her neck and peered through the open guest bedroom door.

  “He’s a friend of Damon’s.”

  “I didn’t think that poor lad had any friends other than you, but at least he’s good for something.”

  “Taron is sleeping on my couch because the B&B was full.” Claire gulped her coffee; the caffeine wasn’t kicking in fast enough for her liking. “Sorry to disappoint you, but you don’t need to rush to Marks and Spencer’s to pick out a wedding outfit just yet.”

  “Oh.” Janet wrinkled her nose as she glanced around the flat. “Would it have killed you to have a little tidy around here, knowing you had guests?”

  “Don’t you have to get to the post office?”

  “My shift doesn’t start for ten minutes.”

  “Goodbye, Mother.” Claire turned Janet by the shoulders and gave her a gentle shove towards the door. “Thank you for the costume. I’m sure it’s great.”

  Janet grumbled but left. Claire locked the door behind her and let out a sigh of relief. As though he could sense it was safe to return, Taron walked back in with his laptop, this time wearing yesterday’s hoodie and a pair of grey joggers, thankfully.

  “Sorry about her.” Claire could barely bring herself to look at him. “She can be a handful.”

  “Mothers.” He shrugged. “I get it.”

  While he resettled in the same position on the sofa, Claire fetched his coffee from the kitchen and slid it into one of the few bare spaces left on the table.

  “Is this part of the game?” Claire picked up some sheets. “Damon said it was complicated, but I thought it would be in English.”

  “It’s my university work,” he said with a laugh. “Had some reading to cram in before the convention. Studying Asia Pacific History and Japanese. I’m what they call a ‘mature’ student. I had my fair share of false starts before I figured out what I wanted to do with my life.”

  “You’re not the only one,” she said, gesturing down through the floor towards her shop. “At least you got there. Better this side of forty, right?” She returned his papers and sat next to him, cradling her coffee as she glanced at the screen. “Is that the game?”

  Taron nodded, fingers still tapping. “Bit of practice before the tournament.”

  “Tournament?” Claire choked on her coffee.

  “Don’t worry.” He laughed again, slapping the laptop shut. “We have the three players we need to enter. Captain Murphy can cheer us on from the side-lines. I’ll be taking on her role in the game.”

  “I think I might feel like a bit of an imposter today.” She glanced at the sealed game, still in the bag she’d left on the corner of the kitchen counter. “I’m unworthy to own something so rare.”

  “If I had one, I wouldn’t sell it.” He shrugged again. “I’d play the game. That’s why they made it.” He grabbed his coffee and crossed his legs with a teenager’s energy. “You couldn’t be cosplaying as a better character, in my opinion. Murphy is a badass. She’s got max skills in everything. Intelligence, strength, dexterity, charisma. Even cooking. What she says goes.”

  “That sounds like a lot of pressure.”

  “She takes it all in stride.” He sipped the coffee. Claire
always drank it black. If he preferred it otherwise, he didn’t say anything. “She was born in 2154 in a slave camp on Mars. Broke free with a small crew and stole a ship to explore the stars. I usually play as the lieutenant, but there are also cadets, engineers, and even a pirate. As long as you have Captain Murphy and two other players, you have a game, but you always need Murphy. It’s her game.” He let out a long yawn. “She does have one weakness, though. Living in the camps on Mars for so many years made her allergic to direct sunlight. You draw the solar flare card, and it’s all over.”

  Claire didn’t really follow everything he was saying, but his enthusiasm was infectious, and she couldn’t help but smile. He was as passionate about games as she was about candles.

  She thought back to that night when their lips met in the corner of the nightclub. The vodka had flowed far too heavily leading up to that moment, but she’d clearly liked him well enough to end up there. She considered admitting that she did remember, but her embarrassment about forgetting in the first place stopped her. Taron clearly hadn’t forgotten.

  “This coffee is hitting the spot,” he said as he pushed himself up. “Barely slept last night. Big day today. We should probably start getting ready. Damon wants to get there before the queues start.”

  Taron cleared away his papers and books. After feeding the cats and scooping out their litter, Claire hung the black dress bag on the front of her wardrobe and unzipped it.

  “Bloody hell,” she whispered to herself, grinning ear to ear. “You really outdid yourself this time, Mother.”

  * * *

  Claire might have felt silly if she were alone on the bus in her purple spacesuit made from cleverly shaped painted cardboard stuck to a black one-piece, but being amongst friends in similarly outlandish costumes made the perplexed stares of their fellow passengers more amusing than anything. They weren’t alone either. A group of helmeted Cybermen from Doctor Who climbed on the bus a few stops after them, followed by a group of robed teenagers carrying Star Wars light sabres further down the line. By the time the bus pulled up alongside King George’s Hall in the town of Blackburn, most of the passengers were decked out in their finest sci-fi attire. Some costumes were homemade, like Claire’s, although most, like Taron, Sean, and Damon’s, seemed to have been bought. If they were anything like Damon, they’d likely spent untold amounts to recreate the perfect illusion of their characters.