by Mike Shevdon
She lifted a hand and pressed her forefinger against my lips, hushing me with a touch.
"We'll have one room please," she clarified, glancing sideways at the landlord.
"You're sure? It's a double, but we charge the same for two singles." The landlord was amused at our confusion.
"Quite sure," she confirmed. Her eyes gleamed up at me and she lifted her finger away slowly, daring me to contradict her.
"Right you are then. The missus is just airing the room for you now, but it'll be a few minutes yet. Would you like a drink while you wait? The kitchen will be closing soon, so if you want food, you'd best order straight away."
My stomach rumbled in answer to that. "Food would be great," I told him.
He passed a menu from along the bar. It offered pubgrub standards like lasagne and fried scampi in breadcrumbs. Everything came with chips.
Blackbird quickly settled on a shepherd's pie and I chose steak. We ordered the local brew and the landlord pulled us two pints of fragrant dark beer before taking our food order through to the kitchen. We took our drinks to a table away from the noise of the other customers.
The foam of the beer made a moustache across my upper lip, which amused Blackbird. I felt a little awkward after the discussion about the room. Did that mean we were spending the night together or was it that she didn't trust me to spend a night alone without getting into some sort of trouble? We were safe here, weren't we? No one but the Highsmiths knew we were here. "A pigeon for your thoughts," she offered.
"It's a penny, a penny for your thoughts. "
"Not where I come from," she grinned.
I smiled in response and shook my head. "I don't think I'm thinking clearly enough to translate my thoughts into anything worthy of a pigeon. "
"It's certainly been a full day," she admitted, resting back against the padding of the bench seat. "I'm glad we came here, rather than trying to stay at the farm. "
"I think Mrs Highsmith would have found that difficult. They are a lot like the people from where I grew up, in Kent. It's the same sort of countryside, similar background. The people keep to themselves, not trusting outsiders. "
"The Highsmiths are good people."
"Yes, Jeff will have some explaining to do when this is over, don't you think?"
"That might be a conversation to stay clear of. Do you think they'll be able to do it, in one night?"
"We have to trust them to do their part. I don't know anyone else who can do this for us, do you? "
"No."
"Then we just have to assume they can and they will. We won't know until tomorrow in any case." We lapsed into silence, the boisterous noise from the group of friends filling the room.
"So tell me what it was like, growing up in Kent?" she asked.
It was a neutral topic, away from the trials that tomorrow might bring, so I told her about the village in Kent where people from ten miles away were considered foreigners and everyone knew everyone else's business. She was a good listener and I found myself talking about favourite pets, long departed, and running wild across the countryside with a gang of similarly unkempt children. I told her about making arrows from bamboo sticks filched from the potting shed and bows from willow branches and how we had shot the arrows as far as they would go, just for the fun of running after them and seeing where they landed.
"It wasn't a safe childhood," I told her, "but it was adventurous. I went weir riding, just the once. The kids that I hung out with had all done it and they dared me. They would get a fertilizer bag and hang off the bridge on the upstream side and then drop and ride the millrace down into the pool at the bottom. "
"I thought you said you couldn't swim."
"I can't. And after that I didn't want to. I had this idea that I could grab the bridge on the other side as I passed and climb up. The mill-race was covered in slippery weed and when the moment came I couldn't reach and it swept me down into the roiling water at the bottom. I was pulled under, into the churning river, deep into the hole carved out by the tumbling water, turning and twisting. My lungs burned while I thrashed about, unable to tell which way was up. "
"How did you get out?"
"My friend Rich jumped in after me. I nearly drowned him as well, but he fought me off and caught hold of my shirt and dragged me to the bank. I owe him my life for that, I would have drowned. I still don't like water, even now. "
"Are you still in contact with him?"
"No, I lost touch with him when I went to university and he went to work on his father's farm."
"You should send him a postcard or something," she suggested.
"Dear Rich, still out of my depth here in the land of 'you wouldn't believe'. Having a lovely time. Wish you were here."
Her smile vanished at my words.
"I'm sorry, that sounded bitter and I didn't mean it to."
"That's fine. You're entitled to a bit of cynicism from
time to time."
"Am I?"
I was rescued by the food arriving. We tucked into it and there was silence for a while, punctuated by appreciative grunts from me as I found the steak both large and juicy and the chips freshly cooked. We were both taxed by the day, but the combination of good food and decent beer helped us to recover both physically and emotionally. I finished my steak while Blackbird was still eating, so I told her about my job and projects I had worked on. I ordered another pint while she finished her food and then she told me about life in the university. She described her students, the hopefuls and the wastrels, the ones she knew would pass and the ones that would certainly fail. She parodied her academic colleagues with their pet theories and rivalry, their affairs and indiscretions. Eventually the bar was all but empty.
"Your room is ready any time you are," the landlord hinted gently.
We thanked him and he cleared up the glasses while we got ourselves together.
"Do you need help with your bags?" he asked.
"No, thanks," I told him. "We're travelling light."
That raised an eyebrow, but he made no comment and led us behind the bar and up a back stairway. From there we were taken past living rooms to another stairway and a door that opened into a converted loft-space. "This was originally going to be our bedroom, but by the time it was finished my son had gone to college and there's only me and the missus. It's used as a guest room, now. There's an en-suite through that door, there. There are toiletries that you're welcome to use and plenty of hot water, just help yourselves. Breakfast is any time after eight. Anything else I can get you? "
"No, thank you," said Blackbird. "It's great, really. "
"I'll leave you to your rest then." He turned and left, closing the door after him and we heard his steps as he retreated down the wooden stairway.
"Heads or tails for first shower," she asked me.
I sat down on the edge of the bed, suddenly feeling the effects of the beer.
"You have it. "
"Sure?"
I nodded and she slipped into the bathroom, followed not long after by the sound of running water. I sat on the edge of the bed, finding it pleasantly firm. I took my trainers off, then lay back on the bed and waited for Blackbird to finish in the shower. It crossed my mind that I could have phoned Katherine as the pub would have a public telephone, but it was too late to do that now. Then it occurred to me that I didn't need a phone, I could find her through the mirror over the dresser if I wanted to. That would be like spying on her, though, and besides it would involve moving from the bed.
A second later, Blackbird was shaking me. "Are you going to sleep like that or are you getting a shower first?"
I groaned, realising I had been dozing, forced myself into an upright position and sat, rubbing my eyes. Blackbird was wrapped in a large bath towel, pinkskinned and combing her fingers through her hair. "Shower?" she prompted me.
I stumbled to my feet and went into the bathroom. It had no windows, just an extractor fan high up on the wall. One corner was given over to a s
hower enclosure. I stripped off my clothes, hung them on the back of the door and climbed into the cubicle.
The water was initially cool, but warmed quickly so I had to turn it down. How hot had she had it? It reached a comfortable temperature and I stood under the shower head letting the water run down over my eyes, my face and down my body. I was dog-tired, but the shower was a good idea. I used the soap provided and scrubbed myself from head to toe.
Once out of the shower, I wrapped my damp towel around my waist and looked at my reflection. It didn't look like me, but that was OK. My glamour had held and I had become accustomed to my new face. Is that
what she'd meant by the side-effects?
Taking her advice about maintaining my image, I took advantage of a disposable razor to scrape the dark shadow from my chin. I was conscious of the woman in the room next door and I felt I should at least be presentable. I had no idea what she was expecting, but having a chin like sandpaper wasn't going to impress. I splashed my face with cold water and dried it on the hand towel. Looking up in the mirror I looked tired but scrubbed, which was probably as good as I was going to get. I considered putting my underwear back on, but then rejected it having just got myself clean. Instead, towel secured around my waist, I took my clothes back into the bedroom.
Blackbird was sitting propped up on the pillows, her bare shoulders showing above the duvet. Her hair was dry.
"Where's the hair dryer?" I asked her.
"There isn't one."
"How did you dry your hair?"
"It dries itself."
That didn't really help me.
"Where are you going?"
"I'm going to try and dry my hair with a towel."
I went into the bathroom accompanied by a light chuckling from the bed. When I emerged a few seconds later she was grinning.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Something is amusing you."
She tried for a straight face and failed, using the duvet to hide her grin.
I did my best to ignore her, hanging my clothes over the chair. To be honest I was unsettled. She was unlike any woman I had ever encountered. "Are you coming to bed?" she asked.
I walked around to the free side of the bed, lifting the edge of the duvet and the sheet beneath it to sit on the edge of the bed, so I could slide in next to her and slip the towel aside.
"Is there something you've forgotten?"
I twisted around to look at her, "Lights?" she prompted.
I grabbed the towel again, wrapping it back around my waist, and padded around to the light switch next to the door and back again in the dark, trying to avoid tripping over random pieces of furniture in the unfamiliar room. I slipped into bed beside her accompanied by her suppressed mirth.
"Do you always laugh at men you're about to sleep with?" I lay on my back while she moved the additional pillow onto the floor and lay back beside me. "Only the ones that amuse me. "
"And I amuse you?"
"You come across as so rugged and then you're so demure."
I didn't have an answer to that, so I lay in the dark looking up at the ceiling where the dim light from the night sky showed around the edges of the blinds drawn over the angled loft-windows. After a moment she moved across and nudged my arm so I would lift it and she could duck her head under and lay alongside me, her head resting on my shoulder and the naked warmth of her along my right side. Her hand draped across my chest. She hugged me around the middle then relaxed. "Don't be hurt," she whispered.
"I'm not." I stroked down her arm, feeling the minute imperfections in her skin. She gave a long sigh and relaxed into me, her breath ruffling the hair on my chest.
"Niall."
"What? What is it?"
"You were snoring."
"Was I? I'm so sorry. I'm just so tired and–"
She lifted herself up and leaned over me, pressing her soft lips to mine. My body stirred in answer, but she drew away.
"Sleep, Niall. You need to rest. We have time."
She kissed my forehead and then untangled herself from my arm and settled down beside me under the quilt. I murmured something that was meant to be "Good night, Blackbird" and sank back into sleep, exhaustion finally claiming me.
Sleep was like a black well holding me inert and for a long while that was all I knew. It was only later that I began to dream.
I was walking down a path, my bare feet brushing through grass stiff with frost. Dark evergreens enclosed my way. As I walked, the path opened out into a circular glade, the sky speckled with stars that didn't sparkle; cold, hard shards of light against the blue-black sky. The clearing was about twenty yards across and at first it was unoccupied. I moved to the centre and turned around, trying to find a familiar constellation and orientate myself. As I turned, I saw the figure at the edge. She was tall, her hair falling in long waves down over her shoulders and over the bust of her gown. It shadowed her face, leaving only the tip of her nose and the sensual curve of her mouth un-shadowed. She was grey, or maybe that was the starlight, because everything about her, even her face, caught the sallow pallor from the pale light. "You came," she told me.
Her voice was soft and intimate with a satisfied smugness in its tone. I didn't answer; I wasn't even sure I could speak.
"They told me I had dreamed you, so dream you I have," she smiled.
I looked around for the path where I had entered the clearing but, in the way of dreams, it had gone. I turned back and she was a few steps closer. "What do you want?" I found my voice.
"They told me I was getting old and that my wits aren't what they used to be, but you're here. "
"Where is here? Who are you?"
"Do you not know me, little brother? Are we not of the same flesh, you and I?"
"I don't have a sister." I looked around desperately for an exit, backing away from her. The word "brother" triggered a memory and I looked back at her to find her a step closer.
"The question is, little brother, who are you? Where are you that you have become so lost? "
"I'm not lost."
"Are you not? Then where are you, little brother? Where do I find you?"
"You're a dream," I accused her. "You can't hurt me. "
"Why should I hurt you? I just want you to come home." Her voice was quiet, close, gentle.
"I don't want to come with you. I have a home."
"And where's that, lost brother? Who have you been telling our secrets to?"
I didn't answer, just twisted around, finding all behind me a tangle of snag-thorn brambles, eager to catch and tear. When I looked back she was two steps closer. "I don't have to tell you anything."
"But you have been telling, haven't you, lost brother? Come, little lost one, tell your sister what you've been doing? Tell me where you are."
"I'm not telling you anything. Leave me alone!" I was getting desperate. I could hear my own heartbeat thumping in my chest.
"Do you not have a kiss for your long-lost sister? Am I not welcome in your arms?"
She lifted her arms in welcome, holding them out to me imploringly. At first I thought it was a trick of the shadows, but her hands slowly started to dissolve, floating on an infinitesimal breeze towards me. Her forearms slowly expanded into specks of dust, spreading gently outwards to either side of me, forming a crescent with her at the centre.
She appeared to grow and fade at the same time, becoming translucent, even in that dim light.
I began to hyperventilate as my heart raced to find an escape. A cold welled up though the soles of my feet and leeched up my ankles, a cold that ached and pierced, stilling any feeling but bone-chilling numbness. "Come," she said, drifting slowly towards me. "Embrace me, brother."
Twenty
"Rabbit! Wake up! Wake up, damn you!"
Blackbird was shaking me by the shoulders, but it was like trying to climb out of the dark well of dream that had claimed me. I was so cold, my teeth were chattering and my whole body was shaking with it. My breath was comi
ng in short gasps. I couldn't breathe. My eyes were open, but everything was clouded in misty grey.
"You think you've won," I heard her say through gritted teeth, "but I haven't even started."
She threw back the duvet and tore the white sheet back from the bed. Sliding across my legs, she straddled me, hip to hip, skin to skin. She took a deep breath, lifting her right arm high, her fingers stretched wide. Warm light filled her palm, spreading down the veins in her arm like molten gold.
Then she slammed the palm of her hand hard onto my chest. "He's mine!" she shouted to the ceiling.
Heat poured into my chest like opening a furnace door. The tightness binding my ribs relaxed and I pulled a huge breath into my lungs. My body flooded with tidal warmth. I felt the cold shrink and recede until it nestled like a tiny shard of ice in the stone which still hung around my neck.
Her hand slipped under the thong and grasped the stone, giving it a sharp tug, so it came away in her hand. She held it up, above and between us, an expression of regret in her eyes. Her eyes closed, her hand opened and dust fell from it, drifting down onto my bare skin. At that moment, dawn broke, bathing her in soft pink. Copper curls haloed around her head, catching the first light of day. Her breasts were pale, full and perfect, nipples dark and erect. The curve of her waist only emphasised the swell of her hips. As the light turned slowly golden, she slid her hands down onto my shoulders and leant over me. Her eyes had a corona of emerald around the black of her pupils, giving them a luminous quality. She had an unearthly beauty.
