by S. C. Ransom
I remembered from my previous visits that this was the strangest and scariest part of the climb to the top – the open-tread iron stairs winding up between the inner and the outer domes, intertwined with the huge cage of massive timber beams that held the whole thing up. The drop below was dizzying, and I kept my eyes firmly fixed on the steps ahead of me.
The muscles in my legs screamed in protest as I finally approached the top, and I stopped at a small room with the peephole through which you could see all the way down to the star on the cathedral floor directly below – the point where I’d stood when I saw Callum. I waited for a moment to catch my breath, but I could feel my heart pounding in my chest and the butterflies in my stomach. I tried to persuade myself that I might not be able to see Callum properly, and told myself that I shouldn’t be too disappointed if what he seemed to be expecting, whatever that was, didn’t work. I took another swig of water, ran my fingers through my hair and squared my shoulders. I walked up the last dozen or so steps and pushed open the door into the bright sunshine.
As my eyes adjusted I could see the panorama of London laid out before me, the glass buildings glistening in the light and the river meandering past the London Eye. In front of me there was only the gold-coloured iron railing. I looked around – the Golden Gallery was tiny, a miniature balcony set on top of the dome and around the base of the tower holding the huge ball and cross. There was very little space between the stone structure and the circular railings and I could see immediately that Callum wasn’t by the entrance, but my disappointment quickly gave way to hope that he might be round the other side, overlooking the eastern part of the city.
I called out tentatively. “Callum? Are you up here?”
“Over here!” My heart leapt, and I just had time to register that there was something different about the familiar voice that answered that I couldn’t define before I squeezed my way round to the far side of the gallery.
Callum was standing by the battered old railing, waiting for me. I could see him perfectly. His cloak was on the ground and the sunshine caught the fire in his eyes. I could see every fold in his shirt, every hair on his head, every detail of the long, strong arms that were held out to me in welcome.
His beauty and his presence stunned me, and for a strange moment I was overcome by shyness. And part of me wanted to stay where I was – just far enough away to believe that he was real – to avoid the disappointment of finding that I couldn’t touch him however well I could see him. But then I looked into his eyes and was overwhelmed with the love I could see there. I couldn’t resist: I stepped towards him and reached up to stroke his face.
It felt as if a bolt of electricity went through me as I touched – actually touched – the firm skin of his cheek. I felt its warmth and contours and the bones below, and then I felt it move underneath my fingers as he smiled and pulled my hand down to his mouth and kissed my palm.
I was speechless. I put out my other hand and touched his chest, and I could feel his heart beating as fast as mine. He looked down into my eyes and suddenly pulled me to him, wrapping his arms around me. I felt faint with the pleasure of it. It was so much better, so much more, even than I had imagined. His strong arms held me tight and for a second he lifted me off the ground.
“Oh, Alex, I can hardly believe it! We’ve done it!” he breathed, his lips brushing my forehead.
I pulled back in astonishment. “I can hear you, too! Properly, not just in my head.”
He smiled at me indulgently. “I’m all yours now. We can talk all you like.”
“Actually, talking is not at the top of my list. This – this – is what I’ve been wanting to do since I first saw you,” I said, and I put my hands behind his head and pulled his mouth down towards me. His lips finally found mine: I never wanted the kiss to stop.
“That was worth waiting for,” I murmured as our lips finally parted, and I rested my cheek against his shirt.
“Really?” he asked. “You know, I’ve no idea how much experience of all this I have. I don’t want to let you down.”
I stole a quick glance at him. He was looking down at me with such openness and honesty that I thought my heart would burst with love. His deep blue eyes burned with passion. “I didn’t think it was possible to love you any more than I already did, but to have you here, to hold you in my arms, to kiss your lips… I can’t believe my luck.” He pulled me even closer to him and I could feel the muscles of his chest beneath his shirt.
“I can’t believe that we came so close to losing each other, but it was worth it to find that we can actually do this.” I ran my hand lightly over his bicep, then under his elbow and round to the back of his waist. Every part of him was perfect. Callum kissed the top of my head and reflectively stroked the full length of my hair to the base of my spine. I shivered with pleasure.
“Just think,” I murmured. “Perhaps Catherine did us a favour. We might never have got to this without her interference. We could have spent the rest of our lives just looking at each other in a mirror.” I leaned back to look at his face. “This way I get to know rather more of you.” My hand pressed into the small of his back as I pulled him towards me again.
“So how can this all work?” I asked as I sat on his lap, resting my head against his shoulder. I couldn’t stop touching him, feeling the sinews and the muscles in his arms, running my fingers through his hair at last.
He was just as compelled to touch me, and couldn’t stop leaning in to kiss me again every few minutes. “I really don’t know, but when I told Matthew yesterday that you could see the auras, he seemed to think that this might be a possibility. That first time you saw me – when I was directly under here – you didn’t need a mirror then. We think that there is something about the dome which concentrates the energy – the essence – of us, and at the very top it’s at its strongest. And when you combine that with the effects of the amulet on you – and, of course, the strongest possible connection,” he kissed me again, “well, this is the result.” He smiled briefly. “At least, that was Matthew’s theory, but I really didn’t know whether to believe it, and I didn’t want you to be disappointed if it wasn’t the case, so I’m sorry that I didn’t warn you.”
I traced my finger down his jawline, admiring the contours. “I forgive you. It was the best surprise I could ever have been given.” I luxuriated in the feel of him. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor of the balcony with me nestled into his lap and I was conscious of being warmed by him as well as by the sun. I felt like purring like a cat, I was so content.
“Do you know I was up here the very first time I saw your face,” he said reflectively, twirling a lock of my hair around his finger as he spoke. “I come up here a lot – it’s one of my favourite places. I love to stand here and watch the light change over the city. Really early morning is the best time.” I stole a quick glance at his face – his eyes were focused in the distance, remembering.
“It was mid-afternoon and I had had a good day of gathering. I was up here alone with none of the others around, and I was leaning on the railing looking at the river when your face suddenly jumped into my head.”
“I had no idea how I’d find you, or even whether you were in your world or mine. You were so beautiful, I think I started to fall in love with you then,” he admitted. I turned to look at him and caught his look of happiness. I would never tire of that face, especially now I could reach up and kiss the hollow of his jaw. He was so real, so gorgeous, and he loved me. I wanted to stay with him forever, but I knew that wasn’t possible. I glanced at my watch and groaned as I realised that I was going to have to start making my way back home. I looked back at him and could see the love and longing I felt mirrored there.
“Come on,” I said gently, as I hauled myself upright, “I’m going to have to go soon, and we need a plan.”
We stood locked together watching the sunlight play over London, seeing the windows sparkle and the soft light glitter on the river snaking away into the distanc
e. All around, the city was thrumming with energy and noise and business, completely oblivious to us above it. On a nearby rooftop I could see a lone figure with a large sketch pad. From the direction he was facing it looked as if he was probably drawing the cathedral. Would we both be in it, I wondered, or would he see a lone figure on this balcony?
As we watched the city I felt his gentle lips kiss the top of my head again and I leaned back against him contentedly. Here he was, someone I could see and touch and smell and hear. I examined his hand which was so tightly held in mine, the long fingers and the smooth palm, and raised it to my lips. I kissed it gently. “What do we do now?” I whispered. “How can we make this work?”
“I have no idea,” he murmured in my ear, “but I think we can have some fun trying.”
I looked down again and saw his wrist next to mine, with the matching amulets side by side now, two identical blue stones glinting in the sunshine. The fire in them seemed intensified somehow, as if the two together had a greater power than they had individually. I knew I would never take mine off again, and smiled to myself at the thought. I turned around in Callum’s embrace and lifted my face to kiss him again.
It was quiet in the ward. The nurses had finished preparing all the patients in good time for the impending ward round. There was a new consultant, and he was known to be a stickler for details, so all the staff, from the registrar down, were keen to impress him with their knowledge of the patients.
It was a general medical ward, dealing with a variety of patients and conditions. At any one time you could hear conversations in at least ten different languages between the patients and their visitors, who came in to leave a card, a bunch of flowers or food in fancy bags or plastic containers. Only one bed was different. The patient in bed twelve had had no visitors and had been given no gifts. She lay silently, staring at the ceiling while the buzz of the ward went on around her. Her eyes were empty.
Earlier the social worker had tried to get her to speak, but had got absolutely no response. After a while he had sighed, scribbled something on the chart at the end of the bed and returned to the nurse’s station.
“I can’t get a thing out of her. I’ve no idea who to inform. She doesn’t match any of the missing person descriptions either. And that injury! Who did that to her? No one would do that to themselves.”
“Well at least the silence is better than the noise,” replied the young nurse. “I could do without that on the ward round.”
She was interrupted by the social worker’s bleeper. He read the message quickly and pulled a face.
“Let me know if anything changes, will you, Penny? I have to get over to A&E now.”
“Sure, I’ll take her over a cup of tea later, and maybe some magazines. Perhaps she likes to read.”
The sheer curtains in the staffroom fluttered as the summer breeze stirred the hot air. Penny was sitting at the corner desk and looked up expectantly as the door opened. A harassed-looking young doctor rushed in, then looked at his watch and swore under his breath.
“Have you lost something, Dr Luck? Can I help at all?” She rose from her chair, keen to take this opportunity to do a favour.
“Thanks, Penny. I’ve just lost my notebook and the ward round starts in a few minutes. I have to mug up on the amnesia patient in bed twelve. Do you have any notes at all? I wasn’t on yesterday’s round and don’t want to be seen getting the update from the desk this close to the event.” The young medic ran his hands through his hair distractedly.
Penny smiled. “Of course, Dr Luck. Would you like a full history?” She tried to sound as efficient as possible. Dr Luck nodded, his pen poised.
She consulted her notes. “Found in the Thames near Blackfriars Bridge three days ago, unconscious. Only visible injury’s a burn around her wrist. Vitals are all good. Given she was found in the river there was surprisingly little water in her lungs. I mean, physically, she’s fine.
“She’s had a full tox screen but it came back completely clean. She’s got no identifying marks apart from her injury and she carried nothing.
“Yesterday she regained consciousness, and for a while we thought we would have to ship her off to the psych ward. She wouldn’t stop screaming and ranting until we got ready to sedate her earlier today. Then she suddenly quietened down, but when we tried to talk to her we got nowhere. Her memory seems pretty patchy. She spent all of yesterday shouting that she should be dead, and ranting about someone called Callum, and the fact that he was responsible for everything, but then she couldn’t – or wouldn’t – give us any idea who he is. She’s just been staring into space since mid-afternoon.”
Dr Luck looked up from his scribbled notes. “Psych consult?”
“We’ve requested one, but they’ve not been over yet.”
“Great. Just what I need: a suicidal amnesiac.” He sat back in his chair, his long legs stretching out towards her.
“There was some improvement later this afternoon though,” Penny added, pleased to be able to give the doctor some new information. “I think maybe something is coming back to her. I opened the windows near her bed to get some fresh air in, and you could hear the bells ringing the hour. She suddenly sat up and asked me, quite rationally, what church it was. ‘St Paul’s Cathedral,’ I said. ‘Have you ever been there?’
“There was a moment of silence and then she said, ‘Catherine. I am Catherine.’”
SMALL BLUE THING
First published in the UK in 2011 by Nosy Crow Ltd,
Crow’s Nest, 11 The Chandlery,
50 Westminster Bridge Road,
London SE1 7QY, UK
Registered office: 85 Vincent Square, London SW1P 2PF, UK
This ebook edition first published in 2011
All rights reserved
© S. C. Ransom, 2010
The right of S. C. Ransom to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, incidents and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictiously. Any resemblence to actual people, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 978 0 85763 033 9
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