by Raquel Lyon
The train slowed down on its approach to Fosswell station, and the change of pace awoke me from my slumber, releasing me from Hell.
I craned my neck toward the window to catch a glimpse of Beth…and spotted her. She was standing at the end of the platform holding one end of a banner, exactly as she’d said she would be doing. The other end of the banner was being held by a guy with curly, mousey blond hair, who was wearing a tight, pale-blue T-shirt with the sleeves cut off, shorts, and a sun visor. They spotted me and started jumping up and down, waving. I grabbed my belongings and hauled them towards the door as the train came to a stop.
“Need a hand with those, Miss?” the guard asked.
“No, I’m fine, thanks. My friends are right there.” I pointed as the doors opened, and Beth came rushing over.
A hand brushed mine as it took hold of my case’s handle, and a hot electric rush pulsed through my body. “Let me get this one for you,” a voice said.
I looked up, about to protest, and found myself staring into the most intoxicating eyes—bright turquoise green with a distinctive dark ring around the iris—the same eyes I’d just been dreaming about on the train; the same eyes that had been appearing to me in my dreams since I was a little girl. But before I could get a better look, they disappeared from view as their owner took my largest suitcase and stepped from the train. He dropped the case unceremoniously at Beth’s feet and headed towards the turnstile, and as I watched him weave through the crowd, an old man caught my eye.
Stood in the middle of the platform, he was dressed in long johns, a string vest, yellow shorts, a long Mac, flippers, and a sou’wester. Over his shoulders hung a placard predicting the end of the world. Alighting passengers tried to give him a wide berth as he grabbed arms and coats, struggling to attract an audience.
“Take no notice of him,” Beth said. “That’s Boatman John, homeless guy, mad as a flea, always rambling on about something or other.”
“Is that all of them?” Beth’s friend asked, staring at my bags.
“What? Oh…um, yes.” I stammered back to my senses, still thinking about those eyes. “Where’s your car, Beth?”
“Having the brakes done. This is Justin, by the way,” Beth explained. “We met at the gym. He only goes there to check out the talent,” she sniggered to me behind her hand.
Justin flexed his puny biceps. “I can’t deny it. Do I look as if I go there to work out?”
I liked him immediately, and chuckled. “Hi.”
“So, who was your knight in shining armour, then?” Beth asked, glancing over at my baseball-capped helper, now disappearing through the exit.
I sighed, wishing I knew. “No idea.”
***
The taxi pulled up outside a triple-fronted, black-painted shop in the centre of town. Fenton’s Funeral Parlour, said the gold lettering on the swinging sign outside.
“Home,” said Beth.
“Creepy,” said Justin, pulling a face.
“That’ll be a fiver, love,” said the taxi driver, grinning at me through the rear-view mirror.
The flat’s entrance was down the side alley and up a set of metal stairs leading to the floor above the shop. The stairs evened out to form a balcony platform outside the door. As I struggled to climb the stairway with my cases, I glanced down towards the back of the shop. There were no windows, only a sturdy metal door, also painted black. The yard was neatly paved with old flags, and a double-gated entrance opened out onto the backstreet.
“That’s where they bring in the bodies,” Beth said as she unlocked the door, then she disappeared through it.
I shivered, not wishing to dwell too much on that thought, and quickly followed her inside.
Grateful to finally be here, I dropped my heavy case onto the bare floorboards, disturbing a cloud of dust, and looked around. “You could have cleaned up a bit,” I said.
“I have. Well, I’ve made a start, but gimme a chance. I only got the keys yesterday,” Beth protested. “At least I got the essentials, though,” she added, pointing to a shiny new kettle. “Cup of tea?”
The living area was huge and definitely had potential. In the wall facing me, there were six long windows which looked out onto the street below. To my left was a small kitchen area. There were no mod cons, just a few units, a cooker, a fridge, and a sink standing underneath a window with a dirty café-style net curtain across the bottom. Behind me, the back wall was one huge expanse of glass made up of small squares like something in an old factory, and there was an open fireplace on the end wall to my right, with a door to the left of it.
“That leads to the bedrooms,” Beth explained, noticing my scrutiny. “Come and look,” she said, pulling me along by my arm.
I followed her across the apartment and into a small hallway with three doors. “This is my room,” she said, opening the door ahead too briefly for me to see anything. “That’s the bathroom.” She pointed to a door on the right. “And this is your room,” she said, ushering me into the back bedroom. “Now, I realise it needs a bit of work and…um…a bed…but I know you’ll love it,” she called over her shoulder as she left me alone.
So, this was it, then. My new pad. A room measuring about four metres square. In front of me, the wall was filled with old wooden fitted cupboards, and to my right, a window looked out over the backyard. The room was cold and uninviting, and I couldn’t see myself spending much time in it, so I exited quickly, closing the door behind me.
Before returning to the main room, I checked out the bathroom. Not too bad; at least the suite was white—or it was supposed to be. Next, I snuck a peek into Beth’s room. Quite clearly, the cheeky cow had pinched the best room for herself. It was way bigger than mine was, and it had a bed. No wonder she hadn’t wanted me to see it.
I walked over to her window and surveyed the scene below. On the opposite side of the street was a cute olde worlde style, wooden-fronted trio of shops, comprised of a newsagent’s and greengrocer’s, both painted in bottle green, and a butcher’s, painted white. Tagged onto the end of the row, and looking oddly out of place, was Despots Night Club, a dark building with blacked-out windows.
As I watched, a Mercedes pulled up and a smart-suited man with black, slicked-back hair got out. He lit a cigarette and entered the club.
“Justin’s just nipped out to collect the takeaway,” Beth said as I returned to join her. “And we’ve borrowed some sleeping bags for tonight. I thought it might be fun to have a girly sleepover style evening.” She giggled as she squeezed out a tea bag. “I hope you didn’t want sugar. I forgot to get some.”
“She looks sweet enough to me.” Justin panted as he returned with the food. “God, those stairs are going to be the death of me,” he said, slamming the door shut with his foot.
The weather was cool for the end of August, so we spent the evening curled up in our sleeping bags, eating Chinese food in front of a makeshift fire, chatting about the past, the future, boys, and how we were going to renovate the flat. Justin mentioned that there was a great second-hand shop around the corner, where we could probably get all the stuff we needed. I thought it sounded like a plan for the morning.
***
I awoke with a start and gasped for air, feeling like all the breath had been drained from my body. With gleams of sweat beading on my forehead, I pushed the damp sleeping bag away. I’d had the dream again, slightly different this time, hands reaching and clawing at my thinly shrouded body. The eyes were turquoise green, the same as always. The eyes I’d seen at the station, but in my dream, they were huge, hovering over me, drawing me towards them, smothering me until I couldn’t breathe, while all the time a pure white fox skipped playfully around my supine body.
I wondered what time it was and looked at my watch. 6:27. Hmm, still early. I slid on my slippers and wandered over to the kitchen to switch on the kettle. Beth and Justin were fast asleep and I didn’t want to disturb them, so I ventured into my bedroom, brew in hand, and drew back the moth-eaten curt
ains to sit on the windowsill. The panes hadn’t seen a cloth for years and were impossible to see out of, so I found myself contemplating my own reflection.
I’d never thought of myself as good-looking. In fact, I had been a plain child with mousey brown, uncontrollable hair, a pale complexion with a few too many freckles, and a wide mouth with slightly protruding front teeth. Of course my mother had insisted I was beautiful and that my features would blossom with age, and I supposed she was right. Studying my face, I concluded that my teeth didn’t seem quite so big, and the sun-kissed auburn highlights in my hair quite suited my complexion.
Steam rose from my cup and clouded the image. I took a sip of tea and turned to face the room.
In the early morning light, I decided it wasn’t actually that bad. There was room to fit a double bed against the wall, and all the cupboard space meant buying a wardrobe would be unnecessary. A good clean, a copious amount of sandpaper, and a few tins of white paint would easily spruce everything up. Vowing to start as I meant to go on, I put down my tea, jumped off the sill, unhooked the curtains, and bundled them into a ball for the bin.
When I returned to the living room, Beth groaned and began to stir. “Hmm, what time is it?” she asked, blinking open her eyes.
“Nearly seven,” I said.
“What? That’s practically the middle of the night,” she grumbled. “Come back to bed, Soph.”
“Aw, come on. It’s a beautiful day, and we’ve loads to do if we want to get this place decent. Give him a nudge.” I nodded in Justin’s direction. “I’m just nipping down to the newsagent’s.”
Fifteen minutes later I returned, armed with a bagful of cleaning products and some yummy chocolate croissants.
“Breakfast?” I asked, debagging the croissants.
“You know I shouldn’t. I was naughty enough last night, and they’ll go straight to my hips,” Beth complained before picking one up and taking a huge bite. “We can’t all be as lucky as you, you know.”
Poor Beth had always had to battle with her weight—which was probably what had led her down the physical fitness road. She hated the fact that I could stuff my face with chocolate all day and not put on an ounce. I really shouldn’t tempt her, but she was so easily led.
Justin ambled over to join us, one hand scratching his eye and the other adjusting his crotch. He yawned. “I’ll help you with those.”
“Um…sure,” I said. “As long as you wash your hands first.”
The morning was a success. Beth went to collect her car, safe in the knowledge that it was no longer a death trap, and I spent the morning browsing around the second-hand shop. Justin had been right; it did have practically everything I needed, and I hardly made a dent in my savings.
The afternoon was spent scrubbing and sanding down my room. Beth had already cleaned hers, so she and Justin set to work on the living room.
Sunday was painting day, and by the evening, I was ready to install my newly delivered white wrought-iron bed with matching bedside table and all my belongings.
***
Monday morning brought rain. Large drops beat against my bedroom window, and I could faintly see them trickling in rivers down the freshly cleaned panes behind my new muslin curtains. I reached out to silence Barbie and made a mental note to buy a more grown-up alarm clock. I should have been shattered after the weekend’s cleaning marathon, but I felt strangely invigorated, and I was looking forward to my first day at Fosswell University.
The recently refurbished campus was spread out over sprawling, landscaped gardens and was comprised of four large buildings and a gymnasium. Situated in the adjacent field was a sports pitch encompassed by a running track. A couple of tennis courts to the rear abutted the surrounding woods.
I couldn’t believe I’d made it. I was so happy. But as I walked through the gates on that first day, I had no idea what lay ahead.
Chapter Three
I SOON SETTLED into my new routine. The first week was full of introductions and getting my bearings. Then, in the second week, Mr Arkwright, the head of the art department, decided to leave the class unsupervised to compose a still life. A sculpture of recycled rubbish was already constructed on the table in the middle of the classroom, with a circle of easels surrounding it. I threw my bag on the floor and sat down behind one of them in preparation.
Beth popped her head around the door. “Cappuccinos at eleven?” she asked.
My answer stuck in my throat when, at that precise moment, a tall, slim but muscular blond Adonis strode confidently past the window separating the classroom from the corridor outside.
Head to toe in black—tight jeans and a slim-fit shirt with an overly large collar and cuffs—he painted a very sexy picture. He was so different from the boys back in Brumpton, who lived in their sweatpants and trainers, that I couldn’t help but stare. He turned towards me as he stopped talking to his friend. There was something strangely familiar about him. I even thought our eyes briefly met, but I couldn’t be certain due to his dark-tinted Ray-Bans, and the moment passed as quickly as he did.
Beth glanced over her shoulder to see what had caught my attention, raised her eyebrows, and commented, “Nice ass. Good choice. Now, are we on for coffee, or not?”
“Hmm? Oh, yeah. Sure,” I answered, shaking a thought from my head. “I’ll see you after class.”
***
The refectory was a light, airy room on the ground floor of B block. A door in the floor-to-ceiling glass on the opposite wall to the food counter led out to a small paved picnic area which blended into the grassy mounds beyond. I chose a table by the window and sat down with my cappuccino to wait for Beth.
A portly robin hopped along the patio wall, bobbing to peck up specks of food before peeking around nervously to check if anyone had seen him. His red breast mesmerised me, and I wondered why people called it red when in reality it was more of a burnt orange.
The same could be said for the colour of fox fur.
A shiver ran through me as unpleasant memories came flooding back, and I shook them off as Beth’s voice cut into my thoughts.
“Sorry I’m a bit late. There was a catfight over a hairbrush in the changing rooms, and I had to help break it up,” she said, plopping down onto the opposite chair.
I looked at the cup she’d placed on the table. “Did they get your order wrong? That looks like an espresso.”
Beth laughed. “Yeah, it is. I decided I needed something stronger. Hey, guess what? That guy you were checking out earlier was in the gym signing up for the Triplasian Tournament. I asked around and came up with some hot info.”
I rolled my eyes. Typical Beth.
“Of course, if you’re not interested…” she said.
I hated it when she teased me. She knew just how to press the right buttons. “I was not checking him out, merely curious. He’s different. And he looked older than us.” I was digging, and she knew it.
“You noticed that, huh? Well, apparently he’s called Sebastian Lovell. He and his cousin, Connor—that was the other guy who was with him—are quite the topic of conversation right now. The word is they grew up in the city, hopping straight from one boarding school to another. They began their degrees at some upper-class uni, and then strangely both caught some mysterious illness and ended up moving over here to convalesce at their grandma’s place. Quite strange, really. Anyway, now they have to re-take their final year here. What a bummer, huh?”
“Yeah, bummer.” I mulled the information over. “So, they must be…what, twenty-two?”
“How would I know? You know I can’t add up,” Beth said, frustrated.
“True. So, the Triplasian Tournament, what’s that?”
“Oh. Just an excuse for a blatant display of testosterone-filled macho-ness.” Beth laughed. “Actually, I believe the competition dates back to medieval times in this area. Mind you, it used to be sword fighting, arrow shooting, and quarterstaff fighting, but it’s evolved since then into fencing, archery, and bo staff
s. It takes place in May, and should be an interesting watch, particularly with so many hotties on display. I certainly plan on checking it out.”
“Hmm. Well, I’m not here to ogle the eye candy.”
“Yeah, yeah. You can’t fool me with that line anymore, Soph. I noticed you not ogling this morning, remember?” She narrowed her eyes. “I know you, Soph, and I’ve never seen you look at a guy the way you looked at him. You’re hooked.”
In a way, she was right, but not for the right reason. Intrigued, yes; hooked, no.
“Mind if I join you?” a small voice whispered, thankfully silencing Beth and saving me from any more embarrassment. “If I sit alone, he always comes to ‘keep me company’.”
The girl pointed with her eyes in the direction of a skinny but toned boy with brown, wavy hair and a turned-up nose. He was wearing a white vest top, navy tracksuit bottoms, and trainers, and he was leaning over the counter trying to sweet-talk the dinner lady into giving him a larger portion.
“Oh, I know him,” Beth said. “That’s Jack. He’s in my class.”
“Yes. Unfortunately, he wants to know me a little better than I’d like,” the girl said. “He keeps pestering me to go on a date with him and won’t take no for an answer. Also, he’s got a serious case of the hand grabs.” The girl shuffled into a chair and smiled. “Sorry, I’m being rude. Hi. I’m Marie. You might have seen me before. I work on reception,” she added softly, offering her hand out to shake.
Five minutes later, we were chatting like old friends. Marie seemed really nice. She was a petite girl with dark blonde hair tied back sleekly, wearing a brown suit with a high-neck blouse that made her look a lot older than her twenty-one years, all of which had been spent in Fosswell. She proved to be a mine of local information.
