‘Can I tempt you?’ he asked a group of Margi’s friends, offering a tray of canapés.
The dirty flirt! The girls all smiled and giggled and took the morsels of food. As soon as his back was turned they huddled their heads together and tittered with suppressed laughter. The same thing happened to the next group he approached.
Frustrated, Ondine deliberately looked away from Hamish and saw Mrs Howser sitting at a table, with a mixed group of Thomas’s friends. What could they have in common? Then she saw it: Mrs Howser upended a teacup on to her saucer and turned it back.
Inching closer, she heard the old lady’s predictions.
‘. . . a carriage. You are going on a journey.’
Pfft, isn’t everyone on a journey?
Ondine restrained her scorn but couldn’t help rolling her eyes. Something she seriously had to stop doing, because it was starting to hurt the sockets.
‘Read mine,’ a girl enthused.
‘You’ll need to drink the tea first. Infuse it with your aura.’
‘But I don’t like tea.’
Stifling a snort, Ondine made to leave, but her mother, who just happened to be passing at that moment, had other ideas. ‘Ask Ondi for your future – she’ll read it in your palm.’
A trickle of fear entered Ondine’s soul. Expectant eyes turned to her. She felt trapped. She mouthed ‘no’ to her mother in protest, but the woman ignored her.
Is this Gang Up On Ondine Day?
‘But, Ma, I’m not –’
‘You should have seen her the other day! She had the health inspector nailed, right down to how many children. We passed the inspection with flying colours, by the way.’
‘Read mine then.’ The same young woman who didn’t like tea sprinted towards Ondine with her palm out. ‘Tell me what I’m in for.’
‘She has the gift, it’s in her blood,’ Ma gushed. Ondine didn’t know what matricide47 meant, but she was having thoughts of it all the same.
The window of opportunity to protest closed with a thud in her ears. The eager teenager held her palm out for inspection. The face that greeted Ondine looked so happy, so expectant. It would really sour the party mood if she refused.
Promising to growl at her mother later, she set to work making stuff up.
‘I’ll need both hands. One palm is what you were born with, the other is what you make of it.’
She sensed Mrs Howser’s eyes on her as she looked over the two palms. Scant weeks earlier, she’d fled Psychic Summercamp. Unfortunately it had followed her home. Time stretched. Nothing came into her head to help her out. Her own palms began to sweat. Her customer’s palms were just soft mounds of flesh with lines on them. Pale, with a few blotches of red near the juncture of her fingers.
Eczema?
‘You really need to watch out for allergies,’ Ondine blurted.
‘Ohmigosh you’re right! I get terrible hayfever. What else?’
When Ondine looked up at the girl’s face, she saw her smile, and noticed the very pale gums around her teeth.
‘You’re a vegetarian.’
‘Wow. You’re good!’
No, she wasn’t good, just observant. Pink gums were an indication of good health. Pale gums showed iron deficiency, which meant the girl probably didn’t eat meat. Observation and pure good luck. Hardly a sign from the heavens.
The guesswork should have put her customer off, but all it did was attract more people eager for the same ‘divine’ instructions.
‘You have a kind heart and like looking after people,’ Ondine said. Nobody in their right mind would disagree with that.
The girl withdrew her hands. ‘I nearly forgot,’ she said. ‘I need to cross your palm with silver, don’t I? Otherwise it’s bad luck.’ She drew a few coins from her purse and gave them to Ondine.
Money.
So that’s why her mother was so keen to foster the psychic connection. They could make money from it! The realisation made her feel sick to her boots. It was one thing to engage in some harmless entertainment as a party trick, but when money was involved, it became outright fraud.
‘No, please, this is just for fun. Keep your money.’
‘Hardly. Last thing I want is a gypsy curse hanging over me. If you don’t want the money, put it towards Margi’s wedding. Now, tell me how I meet my husband, and how many children we’ll have.’
‘I’m next,’ Ondine heard to her left.
‘Then me,’ another said.
‘Start a queue then,’ she heard her mother say.
Lurch went her stomach. Fizz went her brain.
She was done for.
Aside from her palm-reading swindle, the rest of the party was excellent. Less than half a dozen beer glasses broken, nobody came to blows, people laughed a lot, the police only came around twice to check on the noise and Margi and Thomas danced whenever the music played. The best part of the night – as far as Ondine was concerned – was Mrs Howser and Aunt Col retiring earlier than everyone else, both claiming ‘a headache’. They’d probably sneaked back into the front bar to continue bickering. Or raid the plütz supply more like.
On the minus side, Hamish had spent the rest of the night walking among everyone. Correction, flirting among everyone, tempting people with plates of food. Whenever Ondine saw him, she had to fight the growing hunger pains in her tummy against the prospect of having her family see her talking with Hamish and making a fuss. It was best to keep clear of him completely and go hungry.
Da made a speech that started maudlin and got worse, lamenting about losing his oldest daughter, his first baby who would always be his baby. Funny, that – he’d told Ondine she’d always be his baby, that day at the train station. Surely by now he had to accept his three ‘babies’ were allowed to grow up?
‘It’s difficult for me, with three daughters,’ he continued, looking at everyone through beer goggles.48 ‘When I was Thomas’s age, I could never understand why the girls I liked had such strict fathers. Now I understand. It’s because every young man out there is just like I used to be!’
People howled with laughter and thumped Thomas on the back.
‘But seriously,’ Da continued, ‘Thomas, you’re a real surprise package. You’re one of the good ones, and I’m pleased as plütz to welcome you to the family.’
To Ondine’s complete surprise, the two men embraced in a manly hug. Her father was softening. Hooray for Margi!
Da’s speech was tame compared to those made by Thomas’s friends, which started in the gutter and ended up in the sewer. Margi blushed scarlet and Thomas yelled out, ‘Who invited you?’
‘You did!’ they yelled back.
‘I don’t know these people!’ Thomas buried his head in his hands.
Poor Margi, she winced and cringed so much during the ribald speeches Ondine felt sorry for her. Although just for a moment it was a relief to have someone else become the centre of embarrassment. When the speeches were over, it was time for more dancing, so Ondine and Melody joined in with a large group of Margi and Thomas’s friends. During one of the old-style progressive dances, Ondine twirled around the group and caught sight of Hamish standing in the doorway, watching her.
Of course, she had to trip right at that moment. Stupid shoes. When she looked up, Hamish was gone, thank goodness. She could get on with ignoring him properly.
‘I see him looking at you,’ Marguerite said as she sidled up to Ondine. ‘Reminds me of the way Thomas used to look at me. He’s working up the courage to ask you out.’
‘I doubt it.’I hope so.
‘Count on it.’ Margi gave her a warm hug, then cast her eyes back to her fiancé. ‘Would you look at that. Da and Thomas are into the plütz like old friends.’
‘Who would have thought it?’ Ondine said. ‘Da’s really coming round to the idea of Thomas joining the family.’
‘You can thank Ma for that, she brought him round. And Thomas too – he’s been the perfect gentleman.’
Of course her sist
er would say that, being so madly in love with Thomas. Ondine tried to smile and be happy for her sister – truly she was – but sadness seeped in.
‘Oh, Ondi, cheer up.’ Margi noticed right away, of course. ‘It may not seem so now, but one day you will be as happy as me. I know it.’
When the last of the guests left at around five the next morning, Ondine hobbled to a bench under the fairy lights and rubbed her aching feet. It felt good to soothe the knots and aches. As she massaged the sore skin, she felt as if someone were watching her.
‘Yer family puts on a fine ceilidh.’49 Hamish approached with a plate of hors d’oeuvres.50
Ondine tucked her feet underneath her skirts to hide how ugly her toes looked from being squished and mashed all night. She made to speak but her mouth went dry.
‘Ye havenae eaten all night. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say ye’ve been avoiding me, lass.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ she said, surprised that she managed three words when her throat felt so parched.
‘Here, eat.’ Hamish grabbed Ondine’s hand, making her hold the plate of food. At his touch, heat shot up her arm and she stared at the food, her appetite nowhere to be found.
‘I like being human again,’ Hamish said, tilting his head down so he could make eye contact with her lowered gaze.
A lock of dark hair fell over his forehead. An ache started in Ondine’s heart. Heavens above, he was so handsome a girl could completely lose her head. As if to deny her feelings, she picked up a slice of savoury tart and shoved it into her mouth. It didn’t matter that only moments ago she’d been touching her feet and her hands were probably covered in germs. All she wanted to do was stuff her mouth with food so that she didn’t say something stupid.
Ordinarily she loved Chef’s food. No wonder Cybelle had fallen for him – the man cooked like an angel! Yet right now, Ondine couldn’t taste anything because the presence of this Scot had invaded all her senses and turned the food to dust.
‘I need to tell ye something, Ondi.’ Hamish’s hand touched the back of hers. Ondine’s heart started racing in her chest and the skin on her arm puckered into goosebumps. ‘Yer cold.’ He took his jacket off and placed it around Ondine’s shoulders. ‘There, fits ye better than me anyway.’
A nod was all Ondine could manage.
‘Ye don’t like me any more?’
Ondine gulped down the hard lump of food as her throat constricted. ‘No, that’s not true,’ she replied, but she didn’t say anything else because her brain had stopped working properly. She didn’t say, ‘Hamish, I like you too much,’ or ‘Hamish, you’re the most handsome man I’ve ever met,’ or ‘Hamish, you’d better ask me to marry you or I’m going to die right now.’ Although her thoughts took her exactly along those lines.
‘I’m no psychic, so I can’t read yer mind. But I’ll tell ye what’s on mine,’ he started.
Ondine forgot how to breathe.
‘I’ve taken Old Col’s advice to heart. I need to mend my ways. Tonight has shown me that. I have it in me, I can reclaim my life, and make it a good life too.’
Hamish shifted on the bench, and angled himself towards her. ‘Ondi, can ye please look at me. I want to know ye don’t hate me.’
It took an almost superhuman effort, but somehow she managed to get her head to turn enough, and her eyelids to lift enough, so she could look him in the face. Not his twinkling eyes, which would hurt her heart too much if she looked deeply into them. She settled for his lips. That was a mistake, because the moment she looked at his mouth she wanted to kiss it.
Stupid hormones. Turning me into an idiot.
‘You’ve shown me that it’s noble to be useful. To be part of a family. I’ve never had that before . . .’
What he said didn’t make sense, because she barely heard half of it over her hammering heart. Was he saying he wanted to stay with her family, or was he about to return to his in Scotland?
‘I’ve asked yer ma and da if it’s all right if I can stay here. Just until I find me feet, like.’
Yippee! Hamish is staying. Hamish is staying. Hamish is staying. Oh dear, did I just say that out loud?
‘I’ve relied on other people’s charity for too long. I need to find my own way.’
Hey? Had she missed a segue? One moment he was talking about staying, then he talked about leaving. Make up your mind!
Then he seriously overstepped the mark and took Ondine’s hands completely in his. ‘Do me a favour and keep away from Lord Vincent.’
Fury took hold and her breath hitched. She pulled her hands away and felt her palms grow itchy. Oh, how she wanted to slap his smug face! It was bad enough that he was so beautiful, that he said such lovely things before ruining it all.
‘You sound just like Da.’
‘I want you to be happy, and I don’t think Lord Vincent would make you happy.’
‘So I’m not even allowed to have some fun?’ she blurted out.
Hamish looked into her eyes and a lopsided grin changed his face from serious to gleeful. ‘Aye, a girl like you should have some fun.’
The reprieve gave Ondine a chance to collect herself. Anyone else would have patronised her, treated her like a child, but not Hamish. Guilt stabbed at her heart. She owed him the same courtesy.
‘Hamish?’ She hesitated, not knowing what to say next. It was right that he couldn’t stay indefinitely. Her parents were pretty generous, coping with everything that had transpired, but generosity has its limits.
He leant closer, his eyes focused on her lips. Closer. Closer, his lips descended towards hers. His eyes closed, hers followed suit, her heart hammering with anticipation and belly turning flip-flops as she waited for his lips to touch hers.
To her utter dismay, his lips touched her cheek instead.
‘Jupiter’s moons!’ she exclaimed. If this was to be their first kiss (hopefully of many), she wanted it to be a good one. Seizing her chance, she held Hamish’s face in her hands and pressed her lips directly to his.
An arrow-fast jolt of lust shot through Ondine and her breath hitched in her throat. His lips felt so warm and inviting, the pressure not much more than chaste but the contact made her whole body buzz and fizz. Time locked around the two of them, extending the moment, filling her heart with a strange mixture of elation and pride. She’d kissed him, really kissed him, and hadn’t botched it up.
Hamish pulled back, his shining eyes locked with hers. The smile he gave her sent warm flurries all around her.
‘Ye shouldnae done that,’ he said, sounding like he, too, was short of breath.
‘Why not?’
‘Because now I have tae do this,’ he said, parting his lips and pressing them back on Ondine’s, coaxing her to open to him. She nearly lost her mind at the intimate contact and the swathe of sweet and strange sensations roaring through her body. The kiss deepened and she heard a soft moan escape from Hamish. Tiny electric shocks danced over her lips, his chin felt prickly against her plump skin. Beard whiskers grazed her.
‘Ouch.’ She pulled back and rubbed her fingertips over her inflamed skin.
A half-embarrassed grin spread over her face. Her first pash-rash? Expecting to see the same delight in his expression, she met his eyes just as they were turning from green to black.
Matching black fur spread over his face.
‘Oh no, not now!’ A heavy weight grabbed at her heart.
‘What?’ Hamish managed before he doubled over in pain, clutching at his belly. He reached to Ondine for support, and the skin over the back of his hand turned black and furry.
The sun rose for the new day, casting the beer garden into pink-orange light. The full moon was gone. A pile of second-hand clothes sat lifeless on the ground. Where Hamish the man had been, now sat Shambles the ferret.
47 Unpleasant business. The result of which seriously dented Charles Lamb’s writing career. Shakespeare suffered no such problems.
48 Beer goggles make everyone look much more attractive
than they really are. Especially at closing time when there aren’t many singles left in the bar.
49 A popular form of entertainment, with dancing and music, pronounced ‘kay-lee’. Not to be confused with ‘Kylie’, which is another popular form of entertainment.
50 Fancy French finger food. Pronounced ‘or-dervs’ with a hint of garlic breath.
Chapter Twelve
Swearing. Some people are good at it, some people trip over their tongues. Take the not-yet-sixteen Ondine, for example. Her swearing wasn’t very advanced, because she’d had a reasonably protected life so far – as protected as a person can be while living in a pub.
For example, when she becomes frustrated or shocked, she will just as likely say ‘Jupiter’s moons!’ as ‘Clutterbuck!’ (or something sounding very much like that). On the other hand, Shambles, who up until now had managed not to swear too much in front of the de Groot family, proved himself proficient in profanity.
‘Ye chanty wrassler, A’ll dun’t ye!’51 His accent came back thick and strong. ‘A’ll gar ye claw whaur it’s no yeukie!52 A’ll saut yer brose,53 Old Col! Ma tongue isna unner yer belt!’54
He laid the brogue on thick. Despite the accent, some of the swearing required no translation, which only made Ondine’s face burn with shame. Those lips she’d just kissed were spewing forth the most fearsome curses.
‘Shambles, please calm down!’ Her heart ached for the man he’d been not a moment ago. How horribly unfair that he should revert like this. Could the timing be any worse?
Despite her pleas, Shambles would not be stopped. He swore some more, with a few new expressions. After he’d exhausted his repertoire, he went back to the start and repeated the tirade all over again.
It was too cruel, watching him writhe about on the ground, her handsome young man reduced to ferret form again. Ondine felt her heart constrict, tied up like one of Chef’s string roasts. Heat seared her face and eyes. Something wet splashed on her cheeks. Oh for shame, she was crying! What was the point of trying to behave – and be treated – like an adult, if she ended up blubbering like a child who’d just found out Santa wasn’t real.55
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