by Aderyn Wood
She opened the front door to see her sisters, Nina and Mina, sitting on the couch watching an episode of Gossip Girl.
“You’re in trouble,” they said in unison.
“I’m always in trouble,” she responded, heading for the stairs.
“Is that you, Dalla?” her mother screeched from the kitchen.
Dale looked to the ceiling and sighed. Her sisters knelt on the couch and watched, more interested in the drama about to unfold in their living room than the drama of Gossip Girl. The kitchen door opened and the formidable form of their mother stood before Dale, hands on hips and a scowl on her face.
Victoria Diaz was a tall woman with dark hair and olive skin, which she claimed was a result of her Italian ancestry. The years had taken a toll on Victoria. She was still very handsome, but living the high life and having four children had altered her once slim figure. She spent much of her time purchasing gym memberships, personal trainers or contemplating surgery in a quest to return to her former glory. Dale saw it as part of her overall pretentiousness. She did not like her mother. Sometimes she wondered if she even loved her.
“Where have you been? Did you forget about your appointment?”
The twins sniggered.
Dale bit her lip as she searched her memory for the answer.
Victoria rolled her head from side to side and threw her hands in the air. “Why do I bother?” She spoke to the heavens. “You can’t even remember what it was for, can you? My god, how did I get such a stupid daughter?”
Like a puzzle, slowly piecing together, Dale remembered. The hairdresser!
Victoria had schemed with Roberto, her “miracle worker”, to transform her daughter. They had spoken about a new blonde look for the coming summer. Her mother had never liked her dark red hair, her pale skin, her large green eyes. Dale often puzzled over how she had inherited such features. Dale’s father was also Italian. Her sisters and brother all shared the Mediterranean physique. Dale was an anomaly.
She swung her heavy bag onto her other shoulder and muttered as she climbed the stairs, “Sorry, make another appointment if it means that much.”
The kitchen door slammed. Her mother yelled out her frustrations in sharp staccato. “Another appointment? I get her the best stylist in the country! She has no idea what I do for her. When is she going to get her priorities right?” The words exploded in the air like small missiles. Verbal ballistics mingled with the sounds of cooking. The fridge slammed. A glass broke.
Dale turned on her iPod and the kitchen cacophony was drowned out with Mozart’s Requiem. She looked around the sanctuary of her bedroom. Her paintings and sketches lined the walls and littered the desk; all of them strange manifestations of creatures from another world. There were slender green fairies with transparent wings and emerald eyes. Red, blue and grey gnomes, some fat, some skinny, some with broad drunk smiles, others visibly grumpy. There were sprites, dragon lings, trolls, orcs and a fierce red dragon that nearly covered an entire wall. Dale took comfort in them. When she was a child they seemed so alive, so real – and the memory of them was just as real. Visits to her mother’s psychologist friends had stopped the apparitions from manifesting. But she kept them alive in her art.
On her easel sat her current piece – a slender sprite, with fair skin, like her own. The little figure had dark wispy hair that stood up at strange angles. Her eyes were a deep green, so dark they were almost black. Her pink lips smiled subtly and revealed two delicate fangs. She wore a deep purple dress, with highlights of blue. Dale scrutinised the painting and wished she could bring the sprite to life. She needed a friend.
She was considering some possible finishing touches to the painting when a tap on her back made her jump. She spun around to see the upturned faces of Nina and Mina. “Mother wants you in the kitchen.”
Dale stood by the stove. Her parents, about to leave for some pretentious function, required her to babysit. Her mother finished her verbal manual on how to serve the spaghetti bolognese. “Don’t over-cook the pasta; it should be al dente!”
The moment they left, Dale set to work, serving dinner and bathing her brother. At three, her little brother, Benny, was the youngest. He was the best, little Benny, but no doubt his charms would wear off with time. She tucked him in bed and read him a story, helped the twins with their homework, and let them watch another episode of Gossip Girl while she did the dishes. Then she sent them to bed and finally returned to her room, and her art.
She undressed and got her pyjamas out. Her reflection in the mirror caught her attention. Usually she didn’t like to look at her naked body. There were so many flaws. But tonight she looked anyway. Her breasts had grown. She would never develop big ones, but she had enough. She had filled out a little elsewhere too; her thighs had a definite curve now. But her hair was still red. And nobody liked red hair. She suddenly thought about Rhys. Had he really smiled at her? The burning sensation returned and her reflection showed the blush working its way along her breasts and neck. Why did her body react that way? So embarrassing.
Her eyes relaxed until her vision blurred. She called this her ‘second sight’. She had always been able to see auras. It was perfectly natural to her. But she told no one. What an aura meant was another matter. She had no knowledge of that. As she looked at her reflection, her aura slowly revealed itself. Red, mostly. That’s a surprise. Usually it pulsed steady lavender. It changed occasionally; as a child it was mostly yellow. She refocused. The easel in the reflection showed the resemblance between her and the sprite in the painting. She laughed once. Had she created a parody of herself?
A sudden noise, like a bird flapping, caused her to jolt. She was still naked! She quickly dressed and went to the window.
Her bedroom window faced the necropolis. The night was still. The crickets chirped lazily. A haunting hoot seemed familiar somehow. The flapping wings returned. A large white owl rested on a branch of the elm tree, level with her window – pure white, with a heart-shaped face and dark circles for eyes that looked directly at her. It was a beauty.
“What is it?” she whispered. The owl hooted once, then lifted and soared over the necropolis.
2
Dale watched from her bedroom window. The rain descended in force over the necropolis, adding yet more gloom to the ancient graveyard. Cool moisture blew into her room, and she shivered. The old elm below drooped, reflecting her mood. A week ago summer had arrived. Now winter put up a final battle. An icy storm appeared on Tuesday, bringing coal-black clouds. Today was Sunday and still there was no relief.
A loud knock at the door made her jump.
“I hope you’re ready, Dale. We’re leaving in five minutes!” her mother called.
“I’m ready.”
With a backward glance at the window, she grabbed her coat and walked out. The rain just got heavier.
Dale shifted her gaze from the windscreen wipers to the side window as they made their way through the city. Her family easily filled the Mercedes. The twins sat in the back talking their secret code and throwing the odd jellybean at the back of her head. She ignored them; they’d get sick of it soon enough. Dried egg clung to her baby brother’s face; she wiped it away with a cloth. He smiled at her, waving one chubby hand. Benny’s hair was getting darker. He would eventually sport the same voluminous dark waves shared by the rest of the family, except for Dale of course.
She glanced at her parents. Her stepfather, Antonio, drove. He was trying to listen to the radio report about the ongoing financial crisis. He shook his head every so often and turned the radio up slightly. But Victoria would turn it down and give her husband a disapproving look. Dale could see the back of her mother’s head, moving constantly as she spoke on her phone. Her bejewelled hands glittered and shimmered with diamonds and polished nails.
“Of course, darrrrling,” Victoria purred, turning down the radio volume again, “lunch is a great idea. Let’s talk more about it after the service.”
Dale popped her earphon
es in and turned the volume up until her mother’s voice disappeared. Raindrops streaked the window as the car sped along the empty Sunday streets.
A few minutes later they arrived at Christian Central. Dale’s parents clutched a twin each while she carried Benny. They raced along the pavement, avoiding puddles. Once inside the foyer Victoria dumped Nina, the eldest twin, to examine her shoes, whispering concerns for her latest “Jimmy Choos”.
Antonio deposited Mina with a kiss on her forehead. He thumbed his iPhone and dialled a number. “Bill, my friend, did you hear the report … yes, but it’s good for us …”
Dale rocked Benny on her hip. Half of Glasgow’s business network filled the foyer. She recognised some of the students from St Nino’s. Nick Travis nearly trampled over her as he did more of that moronic high-fiving with the other plastics.
She wished her mother would hurry up and head inside so they could take their seats. But this ‘being seen’ in the foyer had turned into some kind of event in its own right. Victoria, in her element, air-kissed fellow airheads, inspected new fashions, shared gossip, and made arrangements to “chat soon”. A year ago they were all Buddhists. The year before Victoria had a bout of the Kabbalah. Earlier she had returned to her Catholic origins. Now they had joined ‘Happy Clapper Central’, with all the other dimwits of the Big Business Set her parents mixed with. What would be the faith of choice next year?
People started moving inside and Dale and her family took their seats. Christian Central was a large building; the auditorium could cater to nearly a thousand people. It needed the space too; the congregation was growing. The lights blazed brightly, as always. A band played on the stage, a popular upbeat song called ‘Give up the Doubt’. A silver slogan blazed across the purple backdrop reading ‘God’s Rockers’.
On the left stood a pulpit with a smaller slogan that read, ‘Jesus Loves Me’. It reminded Dale of the sermon last week. The pastor, Richard Jones, had told them all they had to do was open their hearts and ears to Jesus and he would guide them. Dale wondered how she had been considered crazy and sent off to visit shrinks as a child on account of dreaming up fairies, but listening to the guidance of a two thousand year old dead man was perfectly acceptable.
Dale snapped her focus to the row in front of her as two familiar forms took a seat – Prudence Feathertop and her number one crony, Natalia Dunstan. The pair of them perched like peacocks, preening their hair and looking around with designer pouts to see whose attention they might attract.
Prudence was from Texas. She’d enrolled at St Nino’s a year ago. It was because of her family that Christian Central had attracted so many followers. Bill and Laura Feathertop were close to the pastors and seemed to co-ordinate the church’s fundraising. It seemed to Dale Prudence exploited her parents’ social status and exaggerated her accent in order to gain even more attention.
“I thought he would have been here,” Prudence drawled.
“You’d think so. Everyone else is,” Natalia responded, ever loyal.
“God he’s hot! Did you see him training in the pool on Wednesday? Agh! How fit!”
An old woman shushed and they giggled. Dale tried to listen to something else, anything else – even the corny band, but their chatter was too close, too obvious to ignore.
“You know, I’m thinking of having a party soon, well Mom is anyway. A fundraiser for the church.” Prudence looked at Natalia with a sly grin. “I think I’ll invite him.”
Dale knew who they spoke about. Everyone was talking about him. Rhys. She had managed to avoid him all week. Truth was, he made her nervous. She was supposed to help him with history, but how could she? Her tongue turned to rubber and her stomach did back flips every time she spotted him. Why did he make her react that way? Maybe it was the way he stared.
His looks were the primary point for discussion. But there was also a mystery about him. His accent was a little peculiar; people wondered where he had come from. He mentioned to Courtney Smith that he had no parents and that set the tongues wagging in earnest. On Monday, Dale had spied him looking a little lost in the courtyard near the canteen at St Nino’s; the next time she spotted him, on Friday, he was laughing with Nick and Douglas as they kicked a football. Prudence and her loyal followers had watched. As predicted, he’d become part of the shallow side – the plastics of St Nino’s. How could she help him with history now?
Prudence and Natalia would have talked through the whole service if it weren’t for shushes they received from the serious followers around them. They stifled their giggles as Pastor Richard cleared his throat.
“Brothers. Sisters. Let’s pray.” Richard Jones had a resonant voice that filled the auditorium with little effort. But something about it gave Dale the creeps. She watched as he performed his weekly show. He had a sharp face, eyes speckled with the colour of liquid gold. His nose was a strong beak and his brown hair came to a natural widow’s peak. He scanned the congregation, looking sharply from one person to another, like a hawk searching for prey. Eyeing each individual, until it seemed he had seen them all. His eyes bored through to hidden secrets. Dale was sure of it. When he turned her way Dale made a fuss of Benny, patting his little hands and smiling, until the pastor’s gaze had moved on.
They returned home just after midday. Dale ran up to her room and changed into comfortable jeans and a sweatshirt. She glanced out the window; the rain had finally stopped. Grabbing her sailing jacket and cap, she raced down to the kitchen where she wrapped some left over kitchen scraps and took some apples from the fruit bowl. Finally, she filled her water bottle and stuffed everything into her pack. She hurried through to the television room and managed to get to the foyer without her mother yelling at her to do some chore or other. The twins were sitting in front of the telly.
“I’m going out,” she told them and opened the door before they had a chance to respond.
Outside, she kept a quick pace until she turned onto London Road, out of shouting distance. Then she slowed and let freedom wash over her. The overcast sky was no longer the dark slate colour it had been for the past few days. A slight breeze came from the south, bringing warmth. Dale smiled. Summer was returning.
When she arrived at the old hospital, Joan was in the garden, fussing over her crops.
“Hi, Joan, I suppose you’ve liked the rain?”
The old woman nodded, before returning to her work – weeding. Dale almost offered to help but she was desperate to see if Gareth had returned.
“Seen Gareth, Joan?”
Again the old woman nodded and held one muddy finger toward the river. Dale’s smile broadened.
“Thanks,” she turned to go down the path, but remembered the scraps and apples. Joan used the scraps for the chickens she kept at the back of the building, but she’d probably use the apples in her cooking. Dale handed them over then turned and sprinted down the path.
At the clearing there was no sign of him, so she continued on to the river bank.
The sun came out from behind the grey and the river sparkled. The vibrancy of the indigo boat was startling. She jumped as she waved her arms, and clapped in excitement. Gareth waved back.
From the other side of the river, he tacked the boat, and headed back towards her – the sunshine reflecting the odd colours of the sailboat. The hull was an indigo blue, but the sails wore bright red, with green ribbons for tell-tails. It was a mismatch of colour, but she loved that little boat. They called her Joy. Dale saw Cat sitting up in front of Gareth, sniffing the air.
“About time you returned, Gareth. I was beginning to think you were sailing to China,” Dale yelled out when the boat was almost in.
“Stop giving cheek, lass, and grab the nose.”
Dale followed his instructions while Gareth jumped out and moored the bow to a steel pike.
She gave him a hug and kissed his fuzzy beard. His familiar sea scent brought comfort and almost evoked tears.
Dale swallowed her loneliness as Gareth gave her a fatherly squeez
e before gently pushing her away. “Now don’t forget about Cat; he’s missed you.”
Dale gasped; a mixture of a laugh and a sob as she picked up Cat and gave him a cuddle. The feline purred and pawed her shoulder. Gareth claimed that Cat was a genuine Scottish Wildcat that had got himself lost and ended up in Glasgow rather than the Highlands where he belonged. Gareth had found him at the same time he found the boat; he’d been curled up in the boat – a little ball of silver fluff. Gareth had rowed downstream, back towards the old hospital and Cat hadn’t stirred the entire way. The old man thought he’d been born on that boat. In any case, whenever they sailed Cat was always there.
Dale put Cat down and he darted off into the woodland. Gareth opened up a porthole. He removed a plastic bag that had two paintbrushes and a large can of paint.
“Where’d you get them from?” she asked.
Gareth gave her a sidelong glance and tapped his nose. “I know me some people.”
“Is this for Joy?”
“Well, it’s not for the hospital, lass.” His eyes sparkled with mischief, but Dale slouched. She wanted to spend the summer sailing, not doing maintenance.
“So we have to paint it before we can go anywhere?”
The old man nodded. He fingered part of the bow and gestured for her to look. There was bubbling in the paintwork.
“It’s like that underneath in a few places.”
Dale nodded.
“Come now, you better watch that bottom lip or you might trip,” he chuckled. “It will only take us a few days, and then we’ll be off. You’ll see.”
He put the items back into the porthole and secured the lid before taking out his crystal. Gareth kept a blue-green crystal in a pouch around his neck. He said it brought him luck. It was the size of a small bar of soap and he frequently rubbed it between forefinger and thumb when deep in thought. Seeing the familiar gesture made her smile all the more that he was home again.
