Albatross

by Ross Turner

  Jen did not see her.

  Deacon did, out of the corner of his eye. But then, he saw everything with his all-encompassing gaze, as Jen was quickly coming to realise.

  He ignored the fact however, for his focus was entirely on her.

  He still held Jen’s hand, gently and tightly all at once, and her fingers locked between his pulsed with her racing heartbeat. Deacon could feel it vibrating against his palm, and he cast his cheeky smile upon Jen again, sending her weak at the knees, his face barely inches from hers.

  What Deacon did not see, however, somehow, was Clare, sat directly behind him, watching the pair of them with an expression cast across her face that was completely unreadable.

  She looked as though she was made of stone, but at the same time so fluid and fragile that she might disappear at any moment.

  But Deacon was oblivious to her presence.

  “Have a good night…” He breathed to Jen, his voice not even a whisper.

  Jen wanted to say something, to reply, anything. But unable to speak once again, she merely nodded.

  Her eyes were locked on the bluey green pools of his gaze, which reminded her so of the colour of the ocean earlier that afternoon.

  They drew her in, and she was powerless to resist.

  She so desperately wanted him.

  But it was bound to never be that easy, and he smiled and melted her once more.

  “I’ll pick you up tomorrow night then…” He breathed again, moving his lips yet even closer, but still not quite touching her.

  “Okay…” She just about managed, almost choking on the word as she forced sound from her tongue.

  And then, with that, he placed his hand slowly on the back of her neck, kissed her tenderly on the forehead, and he was gone.

  He looked round only once, quite purposefully, and Jen hung for what felt like forever in limbo.

  Her one hand remained unconsciously outstretched, watching him go, longing desperately for him to return.

  Anticipation

  More often than not for the duration of that evening, and indeed the entire day to follow, Jen’s seemingly ceaseless humming broke into songs of countless different keys. Her voice, unused properly for so long, burst out joyously, finally released from its captive slumber.

  Needless to say, everybody noticed.

  The kitchen in The Rusty Oak that day and the next was filled with chorus upon verse upon chorus, and Geoff and Jen waltzed and worked and hummed and sang to their hearts’ content, and for a time it was almost as if nothing had ever changed.

  Their energy seeped out from between the hot stoves and infected the free house uncontrollably, and the atmosphere that night was unrivalled. In all the years Laura had lived and worked at The Oak, she had never witnessed such a thing, and it brought joy to her heart and a tear to her eye.

  Nonetheless, for young Jen that twenty four hours seemed to take an age and even longer to pass, for she was simply marking time, waiting for the return of Deacon.

  Even as Jen plated her sister’s sweet, this time a banana split, adorned with lashings of ice cream and sauce, and left it in the fridge for her, her thoughts were constantly set upon the mysterious young man.

  She grabbed her things to head home, a little dazed and in a world of her own as she moved.

  Her walk home was silent and subdued. Clare walked close beside her, though she didn’t say a word either.

  When they got home they climbed briefly up to the rooftop of Keepers Cottage, clambering in a crablike fashion, invisible silhouettes blacked out against the skyline.

  Continuing to sit in silence and gaze out across the coast, Jen glanced briefly across at Clare, highlighted in the darkness. Her beautiful sister’s expression was indecipherable, but then, as always, Jen knew what she was thinking.

  Before too long however, dropping back down through into her room, Jen curled up in her bed, wrapping herself amidst the quilt so long unused, and fell into sleep far too deep for dreams.

  The following day could not come quickly enough, but the hours of darkness whipped by faster than they had done in months. Soon enough dawn broke out gloriously over the misty Welsh coastline, and Jen rose with eagerness wrapped about her, just as her warm quilt had been all throughout the hours of blackness.

  Breakfast was a blur of heat and steam and eggs and bacon, littered here and there with toast and butter. But Jen’s mind was not on food.

  Her mother, Dyra, looked on thoughtfully as her daughter sung and danced around the kitchen, not concentrating even in the slightest on the food she was preparing, though it still all came out perfectly.

  Already Dyra could see that Jen looked healthier, stronger, happier, and more content. But she knew that, although the fact that Jen was now eating again was partly responsible, there was something else going on too.

  What it was exactly, she couldn’t put her finger on, and she was afraid to ask, save ruining it. And so, besides that, she had no other way of knowing.

  She decided she would just have to stay in the dark a little while longer.

  For now, at least, she was content with the fact that her youngest daughter seemed to be drastically improving.

  “One egg, or two?” Jen asked then, barely even breaking note in her song, picking up exactly where she left off.

  This time she sang a low, meaningful, emotional melody; it was something her mother had never before heard from her, and once again Dyra felt tears begin to well in her eyes.

  “Just the one please, sweetheart…” She replied, her voice trailing off. She was somewhat eager to lead into a question, though none followed, and Jen didn’t ask.

  Soon enough breakfast was served, and seemingly even sooner came the time for Jen to leave for work, though her mother was sure she was leaving much earlier than necessary.

  Jen knew that it didn’t matter if she arrived early at The Rusty Oak, five o’clock would not come around any faster.

  Still, it can’t hurt to try.

  The sky that day was overcast to begin with, though the sun broke through the clouds every now and then as the morning wore on into early afternoon. Between walking to work, and waltzing and singing around the kitchens, Jen barely noticed the slow passage of the day.

  But then also, at the same time, she was aware of nothing else, as the seconds and minutes and hours laboured slowly by, taunting her with their every moment.

  She checked her watch again for the hundredth time: seventeen minutes past three.

  Pursing her lips, Jen pressed on, knowing that all things, both good and bad, eventually come around.

  “What are you waiting for?” Geoff asked her, his voice melting through the air between the sounds of boiling kettles, spitting pans and whirring ovens.

  Jen glanced over to him quickly. He didn’t even look up, and simply continued chopping vegetables, but clearly her nervous impatience hadn’t gone unnoticed.

  “I, erm…I…” Jen started, attempting in vain to come up with a decent enough lie.

  But Geoff only smiled and shook his head slightly.

  “So, what’s the lucky guy’s name?” He asked, chuckling as he spoke.

  “What? I…” Jen almost choked, getting more tongue tied by the second. “How…”

  “Jen…” Geoff said then quite seriously, placing his knife down and turning to face her. “I have three daughters, with four years between each of them…”

  Jen nodded, but didn’t speak to reply.

  “And every one of them…” He continued. “Had exactly that same look about them before their first dates…” He finished, waving his open hand towards Jen’s nervous, expectant, and terrified expression.

  “And how did they go?” Jen asked, smiling ruefully, knowing know she couldn’t have hidden it from Geoff even if she’d wanted to.

  “The first two, splendidly. In fact, they’re both married now to those same guys…”

  Jen smiled.

  “And the third?” She asked then.


  “Horribly!” Geoff laughed, cackling evilly and turning back to his vegetables as if the whole thing had been hilarious. “Completely crashed and burned! Went up in flames! Might even still be smouldering!”

  “Thanks…” Jen responded dryly, even as Geoff continued his chuckling.

  “I’m kidding! I’m kidding!” He quickly backtracked, though wry humour still hung on his words.

  “It went well?” Jen asked again, her words hopeful that he had indeed been joking.

  “What? Oh, no, no, it was genuinely horrible…” Geoff shot her down, this time with a more serious and sincere note to his tone, as if it hadn’t been quite so hilarious.

  “Great…” Jen receded.

  “What time?” Geoff asked then.

  Jen checked her watch again.

  “Almost half three.” Jen replied.

  “No! You fool!” Geoff burst into laughter again then. “What time’s your date!?”

  “Oh!” Jen replied, blushing and dropping her head slightly, though admittedly she cracked a smile. “Five…”

  “And where are you going?” Geoff enquired curiously.

  Jen looked over at him as he glanced up again from his vegetables.

  “I have no idea…” She admitted, and he only smiled in response, nodding ever so slightly and in a very mysterious fashion, as if he knew something that she most certainly did not.

  Just as she knew it would, the time eventually neared five o’clock, and Jen felt in every way, shape, and form, unprepared.

  Though she wore the same sleek, black dress that she had bought only the day before, and held a jacket folded over her one arm, as Deacon had requested, she felt her nerves tingle and shudder as the hour approached.

  “Any sign yet?” Geoff asked, walking over from the kitchen on his break, drying his hands with a tea towel.

  Jen sat side on to the main door, glancing over occasionally, sipping a glass of water.

  “Not yet…” She replied.

  “It’s still early, isn’t it?” He asked, checking the time himself.

  Just after ten to five.

  “Mmm…” Jen nodded.

  Suddenly then though, Geoff’s expression changed and he practically beamed at her.

  “Have a wonderful time.” He offered, and retreated back to the bar where Laura stood watching also.

  Jen rose and turned towards the door, and laid eyes immediately upon exactly what she’d been waiting so impatiently for.

  “Good evening, Jen…” Deacon greeted her, bowing his head slightly as he spoke, though not once taking his eyes from her.

  Jen’s gaze swept up and down the mysterious Deacon in an instant, and quite obviously so, taking in everything that she possibly could. Though, undoubtedly, it would still never be enough.

  He wore pressed black trousers with very thin, almost unnoticeable grey stripes running vertically up and down them, and buffed black shoes. His collared shirt was black also, very smart and well fitted, with not a mark or crease to be seen that didn’t belong there. His hair seemed longer than Jen remembered, though it was cut very short on the sides, and he smiled welcomingly at her.

  Although he was dressed so sharply, he looked relaxed, casual even, and Jen felt completely lost even just in his presence.

  “Deacon…” Was all that she managed, once she had finished sweeping her eyes over him longingly.

  He laughed slightly, and one corner of his mouth turned up seemingly higher than the other.

  Having already looked Jen up and down a hundred times, even still he did so. As far as he could see, which was quite a long way to be sure, for there was rarely anything he ever missed with his keen gaze, she was flawless.

  “Shall we?” He asked her then, offering her his outstretched hand.

  She took it without a word and followed him out into the fading afternoon light.

  Deacon flashed a smile to Geoff and Laura, and briefly waved them goodbye. They both turned away, Laura blushing and Geoff chuckling, for as discreet as they might have been trying to keep their watching’s, Deacon had spotted them in an instant.

  Jen smiled and laughed slightly.

  “How do you do that?” She asked him, just as he held the door open for her and the chilled air rushed in from outside.

  “You’ll see…” He replied mysteriously.

  Jen looked up at him with a questioning frown.

  “I’ll show you…”

  On Top of the World

  During the car journey Jen felt as if she was daydreaming the whole way. Deacon drove a sleek, black Mercedes that looked far too expensive for anyone their age to be able to afford.

  Jen hadn’t been driven by anybody since getting into Geoff’s banged up old death trap of a car, and, especially in comparison, Deacon’s driving was absolutely flawless, and infinitely smoother.

  Inside the car the seats were all leather, the dashboard was dark mahogany, and every surface was scrupulously clean.

  The sun was dipping its head lower and lower in the sky, and beginning to throw huge, arcing orange and yellow strips out across the vast expanse of darkening blue above. Jen’s eyes wandered over the sight before her endlessly. However, she most certainly allowed her eyes to wander to the driver in the seat next to her, every now and then, or perhaps even a little more frequently than that.

  Deacon pretended not to notice, and instead focused on the road, but Jen knew he saw her every time she looked. Nonetheless, he made no motion to stop her, and in turn she made less and less effort to keep her wandering gaze inconspicuous.

  “Where are we going?” She eventually asked, breaking the casual silence that had fallen over them.

  “We’re almost there…” Deacon replied, glancing across to her briefly and smiling.

  His response didn’t really answer her question at all, but butterflies stirred in Jen’s stomach and her cheeks flushed pink.

  Finally, as they turned down a narrow lane off the main road, squeezing between the trees on either side as the sun cast orange beams down upon the forest, Jen at last saw what Deacon had planned for their evening.

  Emerging from between the illuminated trunks, Jen’s mouth dropped open and her eyes flicked between Deacon’s quirky smile and the sight she beheld before her.

  Attached with rope to what looked like an enormous wicker basket, a giant, half inflated balloon, the top of it red and the bottom blue, grew and expanded and rose slowly above the roaring tongue of flame exploding up from a metal burner.

  Deacon pulled the car up about two dozen feet or so away from the basket, within which a man was teasing the balloon up higher and higher with the dancing flame.

  In an instant Jen’s door opened, startling her, for she had been so engrossed she hadn’t even heard Deacon get out of the car.

  “Are you ready?” He asked her, holding out his hand for Jen once more, and as she looked up at him, his cheeky smile sent the butterflies that had been in her stomach cascading throughout her entire body; down every vein and into every crevice they flew.

  “Are we…?” She started, swivelling her legs round slowly, taking his hand and rising from the leather seat. “Really…? Are we going…?”

  Deacon laughed gently again.

  “Yes, Jen.” He replied, linking his right arm with her left and taking her hand smoothly. “We really are.”

  Jen didn’t say another word as she stood and watched the hot air balloon inflate gradually to its full size, hand in hand and arm in arm with Deacon. When it was at its full height the balloon stood about a hundred feet tall and Jen gawped up at it in all its splendour, like a child seeing something amazing for the very first time.

  “Deacon!” The man who had been toying with the burner and inflating the balloon greeted him, his voice serious, but mischievous and roguish all at once.

  Although he was an older chap, he practically threw himself out of the huge wicker basket, landing perfectly on his feet, thudding into the ground, and skipped across the grass towards
them.

  His face was rugged and his hair was perfectly white: short and messy. He wore what looked to be a rich, blue doublet over a ruffled white shirt, as though he was from a time long forgotten, and his high, black boots reached almost to the knees of his dark blue jeans.

  Much the curious character.

  “Good evening Grimm.” Deacon replied, bowing his head slightly, as he always seemed to.

  And if this so called Grimm had been wearing a hat, and could have tipped it to Deacon in return, Jen was almost certain he would have done.

  “Jen…” Deacon said then, looking down to meet her gaze. “This is my dear friend, Walter Grimmway.”

  “Ever the gentleman!” Walter exclaimed, motioning to Deacon exuberantly, his every action seemingly exaggerated and flamboyant. “Please, my dear, call me Grimm!”

  “My pleasure…” Jen greeted this strangely energetic, elderly man, scrawny and full all at once.

  She didn’t know quite what to make of him.

  “Oh no! The pleasure is all mine!” Grimm replied then, spreading his arms wide and taking several paces backward. “Welcome! My friends! Allow me to introduce you to the Duchess!”

  “The Duchess?” Jen whispered to Deacon, still clutching his hand tightly, and Deacon squeezed her fingers affectionately in return.

  “It’s what he calls the balloon.” Deacon explained, whispering also in reply.

  Grimm began to dance around the enormous wicker basket, seeming to check that everything was in order, pulling here and there on the ropes before jumping back into the giant hamper and leaning this way and that beneath the burner.

  “He’s a bit eccentric…” Deacon admitted. “But you get used to it.”

  “Right then me hearties!” Grimm cried then, launching himself up onto the side of the basket, clutching one of the ropes in his left hand like a pirate looking out across the ocean, as his head bobbed precariously close to the burner. “Are ye ready to set sail into the sunset!?”

  And before they even had chance to answer, he dropped back into the basket and sent the burner roaring into life once again, and the Duchess began to tug fiercely on the ropes holding it to the ground.