by Chrys Cymri
‘Or is it his Associate that you like?’ I teased him. ‘When are you seeing Taryn again?’
‘Thursday.’
Clyde made a noise of protest. I realised that we were interfering with his enjoyment of the DVD, so I went up to my bedroom to have a shower and change. Carol service, I reminded myself grimly, feeling more Scrooge-like than ever. Hosting primary school children and their parents for a performance in church seemed so dull after negotiating with a unicorn.
<><><><><><>
The church emptied quickly after the service, possibly due to the fact that my churchwarden, as usual for school services, had turned off the heating part way through. ‘We can’t afford to heat the building for people who don’t put anything into the collection plate,’ Holly had sniffed the one time I had challenged her.
I made the necessary notations into the service register and wandered back out into the main body of the church. The head teacher was still present, speaking into her mobile phone. Rosie and a teacher were picking up stray service sheets and sweet wrappers. A child was seated in the front pew, the only one not yet collected by her parents. A Year Two girl, I recalled, so around seven years old.
‘Don't worry,’ I said, taking a seat beside her. ‘I’m sure your mum and dad will be here soon.’
‘I don’t care,’ she retorted. ‘I don’t want them anymore anyway.’
‘Really? Why not?’
She crossed her arms over her chest. ‘They make me do all sorts of things I don’t want to do.’
‘Like what?’
‘Make my bed, clear up my toys, wash my plate, and do my maths.’ She nodded. ‘I’m going to send them away.’
I wondered what her parents would say to the news that they were to be evicted from their own house. ‘And who’s going to look after you?’
‘I can look after myself.’
‘Can you reach the upper shelf of the fridge?’ Silence. ‘Or the cooker? How are you going to look after yourself?’
She pondered this for a moment. ‘I’ll pay someone to look after me.’
I rubbed my chin. ‘That might work. How will you pay for them?’
‘I have almost a hundred pounds in my bank account,’ she told me proudly.
‘And how much do you think it costs to have someone look after you?’ I decided to aim low. ‘I think it would cost at least forty pounds a day.’
‘Oh.’ She looked down at her hands. ‘I have to keep them, then.’
‘At least a few more years, yes.’
A woman’s voice called out, ‘Olivia?’
The girl sprang from her seat and ran down the aisle to her mother. I rose and turned to watch them embrace.
‘I don’t know how you kept a straight face,’ Rosie said, coming to my side.
‘It was hard,’ I admitted.
‘Maybe you should have offered to be her paid carer.’
I shuddered. ‘No thanks. I’ve already experienced taking one child through the Stroppy Sevens, and the scars are dug deep into my soul.’
‘Actually, I thought sixteen was far worse.’ Rosie sighed. ‘My daughter was impossible at that age, but it probably didn’t help that Adam and I were getting divorced around that time.’
I knew very little about Rosie’s private life, so I asked politely, ‘Has there been anyone since?’
‘Well, yes, actually, I should let you know about that.’ Her wide smile was infectious. ‘My partner is moving in next week. Our first Christmas under the same roof.’
‘Congratulations,’ I said, grinning. ‘What’s his name?’
‘Linda.’
I felt the grin freeze. My brain tried and failed to scramble the name into anything masculine sounding. ‘Oh. Linda.’
Rosie laughed. ‘Sorry, I suppose it’s a bit of a surprise.’
‘Just give me a moment,’ I said. ‘I’m just trying to make a mental readjustment. I had you in a different box.’
She asked, kindly but firmly, ‘Is there any need for a box?’
‘I guess not.’ I coughed. ‘Is Linda a Christian?’
‘She’s a Methodist, but we’ve agreed it’s important to worship together, so she’ll be coming here.’ Rosie cocked her head. ‘I can write you out a list.’
‘List?’
‘Of those in the congregation who’ll be most upset.’
‘They love you more than me,’ I reminded her. ‘It’ll be fine. I hope you two will be very happy together.’
‘We are,’ Rosie said. ‘And you and Peter must come over for a meal sometime. Linda is an excellent cook.’
I checked that all the lights were off, and then Rosie and I left the church. As I drove home, I tried to mentally review which members of the congregation I’d have to visit after the news of Rosie’s partner became public.
As I entered the house, I heard voices from the kitchen. I dumped my coat on a hook and followed the noise.
James was seated at the kitchen table, a debris of beer bottles surrounding his empty glass. Morey and Clyde were at his elbow, Morey speaking in calming tones, Clyde gulping at a puddle of brown liquid. All of them looked up in various expressions of grief, annoyance, and guilt.
I addressed the grief first. ‘James? What’s happened?’
‘Drunk is what’s happened,’ said the annoyed gryphon.
And Clyde obviously decided the beer was too good to waste as he bent his head to resume slurping.
‘Look what I got,’ James slurred. His attempt to stand was painful to watch, so I hurried over to take the letter from his hand. It was a note from his bank, advising him of a payment directly into his current account from ‘Family Inkeri.’ I goggled at the number of zeros.
‘Wergild has been paid, all honour is satisfied,’ Morey said. ‘I came home to find him like this.’
‘It’s blood money,’ James hissed. ‘I don’t want it. Blood money!’
His arm caught a bottle and knocked it to the floor. It rattled and rolled, but remained intact. I counted the number still on the table and made a decision. ‘We’ll talk about it in the morning. I think you need to go to bed.’
‘Blood money!’ he insisted.
‘In some ways it is,’ Morey mused, ‘since it was instead of hide or blood…’ He trailed off at my glare.
James had been given the height nature had cruelly denied me, and manoeuvring him up the stairs was a challenge. When we arrived at his bedroom I merely tipped him onto the bed, aiming his head in the general direction of the pillows. To actually get him under the covers was impossible, so I found a spare blanket which I threw over his body. And, with a burst of optimism, I placed a plastic basin beside the bed. He probably wouldn't direct any vomit that way, but I could always hope.
I placed Clyde into his tank, grimly resigned to cleaning up after a snail as well as a brother, and took myself off to my own bed. With a wee dram of Talisker and Doctor Who Magazine. It had been a very long day.
<><><><><><>
There was no sign of James as I ate my breakfast and steeled myself for an assembly at the primary school. Once there, I was quite pleased with my dramatic storytelling of the shepherds being amazed by the angelic host and their wonder at what they found in the stable. Regrettably, when a child asked what sheep actually ate, I tried to make a plug for healthy eating by urging them all to eat lots of vegetables ‘because then you’ll live a lot longer.’ This message was undone by a child who pointed out, ‘My hamster ate lots of carrots and he died.’ I escaped to allow a teacher to somehow deal with that challenge.
Once back home, I made a strong coffee and carried a mug into my study. For some reason, my sermon on heaven was proving the most difficult to write. The opening asked the congregation to imagine their favourite place in the world. There was no way I could tell them that mine was on a dragon’s back under the Northern Lights. I let Clyde out of his tank to zoom around the room while I typed without enthusiasm on my computer keyboard.
James emerged at lunch time. Alt
hough he was very pale, he had the plastic basin in his hands. The smell was almost enough to put me off my sandwich. He opened the back door and emptied the contents into a corner of the garden.
‘I have some digestives,’ I told him as he dropped into a chair.
‘Maybe later.’ He groaned. ‘What day is this?’
‘Wednesday. Don’t worry, you haven’t lost an entire day.’ I put some coffee on, and brought over a glass of water with a couple of ibuprofen.
‘He lives,’ was Morey’s wry comment as he glided through the still open door to land on the kitchen table. ‘Although, from the smell of things, only just.’
‘Bad curry,’ James said weakly.
‘Or the tenth bottle,’ Morey retorted. ‘Getting drunk doesn’t solve anything, Master James.’
My brother stared at him with bleary eyes. ‘I’ve seen you absolutely hammered a couple of times.’
‘Which is why I know what I’m talking about. Alcohol doesn’t solve your problems. It just adds to them.’
‘Got it, Dad,’ James muttered. ‘Is that coffee ready, Pen?’
‘I realise that you feel some responsibility for Miranda’s death--’
James accepted the mug from my hands. ‘Not now, Morey.’
‘Not now, Morey,’ I seconded firmly. The gryphon fluffed feathers at me, flexed his wings, and then flew to the study.
James glanced at my sandwich as I took a seat next to him. I moved the plate further away as he winced. ‘Pen, sorry, but I missed the bowl the first time.’
‘I’ll clean it up when I’ve finished lunch.’ I took a sip of my own coffee. ‘How are you? And I don’t mean your head.’
‘I’m rich because Miranda was murdered,’ he said bitterly. ‘How do you think I feel?’
‘Guilty? Angry? Sad?’ I forced myself to eat my lunch, although the mixed smell of alcohol, sweat, and vomit clinging to my brother was not helping my appetite. ‘James, maybe you should talk to someone.’
‘It won’t bring Miranda back.’
‘No, it won’t. But it might help you process what happened.’
‘You want to send me off to a shrink?’
‘Peter says there’s a chaplain the police use--’
‘I don’t want someone I don’t know.’ He waved a hand. ‘Besides, I’ve got to keep everything secret, don’t I? I can’t tell some random chaplain about dragons and vampires, can I?’
I thought for a moment. ‘What about Rosie? She knows about Lloegyr now.’
‘Rosie? She’s like everybody’s favourite nan. How can I talk to her about Miranda? I mean, I bet the last time she had sex was before the millennium.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that,’ I said calmly. ‘Her partner is moving in with her.’
James grinned. ‘Really? What’s he like?’
‘I don’t know. I haven’t met Linda yet.’
The grin widened. ‘She’s got a girlfriend? That’s so cool.’
‘I’ll give you her mobile number. Text her later, if you like.’
‘I might.’ He rose from his seat. ‘I’m going to crash out on the settee. Maybe watch some Game of Thrones.’
‘I thought you didn’t like fantasy.’
‘Thrones is so not Doctor Who.’
I opened my mouth to defend the Doctor, but James was already slouching out of the room. I finished my lunch, and went upstairs with a bucket of water and disinfectant. Scrubbing the carpet clean took a little while, and my shoulders ached by the time I went back down to the kitchen. I went outside to pour the bucket’s contents into the drain.
Morey was seated by the computer when I finally returned to the study. ‘You shouldn’t let him get away with it,’ he scolded me. ‘How long are you going to take care of your brother?’
‘Forever and ever,’ I replied wearily. ‘That’s what I promised him when our parents died.’ I sat down and blinked at my sermon. During my absence, Morey had added eight hundred words, liberally quoting from the Bible, The Martyrdom of Perpetua and Felicity, and Clement of Alexandria, all helpfully footnoted. The last portion drew out the implications of Augustine’s statement ‘our hearts do not rest until they rest in God.’ Never mind God, I thought, I’d be happy just for a bit of a rest in my bed.
‘I’m being serious,’ Morey snapped. ‘He’s passed his eighteenth year, which I understand makes him an adult in your culture. When will you start forcing him to act like one?’
‘He’s been through a lot recently.’ I looked at Morey’s contributions to my sermon and wondered how I could better incorporate them.
‘I really think--’
‘Moriarty, give it a rest,’ I snapped, loud enough to raise a squeak from Clyde’s tank.
The gryphon curled up on the desk and stared at me balefully. I returned to my sermon. Yes, indeed, it had been so much easier to write about hell. I gritted my teeth and tried to imagine James gainfully employed, Morey happily married, and Clyde eating roast chicken. Heaven indeed.
<><><><><><>
Thursday morning. All of the boys were occupied, Clyde sleeping in his tank, Morey hunting with Taryn, and as James’ car was missing, I assumed he had gone out to spend some of his new wealth. A slight drizzle was flattening the grasses in my back garden, and I had both my coat and an umbrella as I took a stand to one side. I pulled out my pocketknife, unfolded the blade, and waited.
Twenty damp minutes later, Raven swooped out of the misty skies. His head was snaking left and right as he landed, obviously looking for a source of danger. I almost expected him to say, ‘Please state the nature of the medical emergency.’ But perhaps it was too much to ask of a dragon. Even many humans didn’t share my love of Star Trek: Voyager.
‘No attacking unicorns?’ Raven demanded, his wings still outstretched. ‘Rampaging snail sharks? Clicking bugbears? Over-eager hornswogglers?’
‘None of those,’ I admitted, although I was dying to ask what a hornswoggler was. ‘I didn’t know how else to bring you here.’
Raven shook his wings violently, spraying water under my umbrella to slap across my coat and trousers. ‘That knife is not a whistle, and I am not your dog.’
‘Okay, I promise never to expose the blade unless it’s a real emergency. But I didn’t know how else to get in contact with you.’
‘When we last stood in this place,’ he said aggressively, ‘you sent me away. All over a malwen siarc.’
I sighed. ‘Could we stop arguing and go someplace warmer? And drier?’
His ears were still laid back against his skull. But he extended a leg. I closed the umbrella and tossed it in the general direction of the house. Dragon skin, I discovered, was slippery when wet. It took me several attempts to climb up his side and I nearly slid off his neck when trying to settle myself between two of his rubbery spines. When I was in place, and looking forward, I saw that his ears were once again erect. Laughter rumbled against my legs. ‘If you’re nearly ready...’
‘Just use an easy take off.’
Raven did his best in the small space. I still found myself clinging to his spine as we cleared the garden fence, and I could feel water soaking through my trousers to my underwear. Rain stung against my eyes as he powered us upwards. There were times, I realised, when riding a dragon wasn’t particularly romantic. Like on a soggy Thursday on a winter’s day in England.
We slipped through the thin place above my neighbourhood. The sunshine was weak, but welcome. I barely had time to shake my head, flinging wet brown hair from my face, before Raven had dived down and through another crossing.
Time zones and continents were flicked through as quickly as if Raven were using a TV remote. I closed my eyes against the dizzying changes between night and day, desert and forest, ice and sun. Only when his flying had levelled out and we seemed to be staying in one location did I dare to look again.
We were flying over grey-blue ocean. To our right I could see rounded hills tumbling down to rock-strewn surf. Sunlight broke through scatter
ed clouds to glisten on the green grass. There was a bite to the air, and I shivered in my damp trousers.
Raven angled his wings, bringing us alongside a rocky outcropping. The peaks were like jagged towers, a natural castle rising from the sea. We circled the crown. A small, nearly flat area of grass crouched at the feet of the rocking outcropping. I gritted my teeth as Raven spread his wings, using every inch of the blue-green expanse to slow his speed. We all but hovered for a moment before he dropped lightly to the ground.
Since it was obviously expected of me, I dismounted. The grass was springy under my boots. ‘Good landing,’ I told him.
‘Easier in a head wind.’ But he arched his neck in pride.
I stared at my surroundings. ‘This looks familiar. I'm sure I’ve seen it before.’
‘It takes wings to come here.’
‘Or steps.’ I turned around. ‘There aren’t any steps. But I'm certain there should be some.’
‘Perhaps on your world.’
‘And soaring music…’ For some reason, I found myself humming ‘The Force Theme’ from Star Wars.
‘I’ve brought you here for music.’ He cocked his head. ‘Unless you would rather argue?’
I shoved my hands into my coat pockets, wishing that Raven had brought us somewhere warmer. ‘Clyde is important to me.’
‘So we’ve established.’
‘So who I care about doesn’t matter to you?’
‘No.’ He yawned, exposing sharp teeth and blue tongue. ‘My fascination with you does not automatically extend to any strays you decide to adopt.’
‘So you wouldn’t care about any children I might have?’
‘Cross species mating is always infertile,’ he said with a nonchalance that left me speechless. ‘We would have no children. I accept that.’
Suddenly I was very warm. Raven eyed my red face, snorted, and walked away. I watched the muscles bunch and slide under his glossy scales, and tried not to wonder what was in the bulge tucked between his hind legs.
