by E. C. Hibbs
I nodded, folding my arms across my chest against the chill. “Yes. I just... needed a minute.”
Frank nodded in understanding, and rested his hand gently on my shoulder, his arm around my back. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It was something I did, wasn’t it?”
I shook my head, still staring out into the curtain of rain. “No, it wasn’t you. You just reminded me of something from a few years ago.” I looked up at him. “That was how I got my nickname. Miss Busy Bee.”
Frank blinked. “Really? I thought it was just your name, shortened.”
I shrugged. “I suppose that might have something to do with it, but it’s not the main reason. It was because I’ve always been such a hard-worker. I always had my nose in a book in school. It fit.”
Frank chuckled to himself, and the sound was so infectious and happy that I couldn’t help but smile too. “It still does,” he admitted. “Suits you.”
“Thanks,” I replied. “Lucy gave it to me.”
He squeezed my shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologise,” I said, but then closed my eyes as hot tears threatened to spill over. “I just miss her so much.”
As I spoke, they did escape, and Frank held me tightly, gently stroking my hair.
“I know,” he whispered. “I know.”
From the way the words came out of his mouth, I realised that he told the truth. He had loved and lost, too. With a jolt, I wondered if it had been Hanna, but I didn’t say anything about it.
“I wish I could have known her,” he said.
I couldn’t help but grin. “You two would have got along like a house on fire.” I wiped away my tears and blew my nose on a slightly bloodied handkerchief I’d taken to carrying around in my pocket. “I’m fine.”
“You sure?”
“Yes. Thanks.”
Frank smiled and stroked my cheek. “Come on; let’s get back inside in the warm.”
“Oh! Hello!” Both of us spun around at the sudden new voice, and I was startled to see a strawberry-blonde haired man coming over towards us. “Bianka! It’s me, do you remember me?” he asked. “We met outside the Museum ages ago –”
“Michael?” I stared at him. “Is that you?”
“Yes!” He pushed back his hood and smiled widely. He’d grown a short, neatly trimmed beard since I’d last seen him, but his rounded face was exactly the same. Frank glanced between us, still keeping an arm on my shoulder.
“Oh, this is Frank,” I said quickly. “Frank, this is Michael Jones.”
Michael turned his grin on Frank. I looked at Frank, and his green eyes were shining with his own silent smirk now he was sure it was someone I was comfortable with. The two of them shook hands and greeted each other, and then Michael shook mine too.
“Who would have thought I’d run into you here?” he chuckled. “How have you been?”
“Alright,” I replied. “A few ups and downs here and there, but... we all have them.”
Michael nodded. He was reasonably dry, so I supposed he’d been inside the Library for a while and had only just come back out. The rucksack that he was wearing when I’d met him was still on his back, and looked equally heavy.
“What have you been doing here?” I asked.
“Oh, nothing much,” he said. “Just came to see if they had some good history books. But...” he motioned at the building, “London Library. You can’t really go wrong, whatever you’re looking for!”
I grinned, hoping he couldn’t tell that I’d been crying. “I take it you found what you were after?”
“And about four times more stuff that I wasn’t after, but they looked good!” Michael replied.
I suddenly remembered something that he’d mentioned to me the last time, and my heart quickened. “Uh, Michael? Has... has Emily been in touch with you recently?”
Frank’s hand tightened ever so slightly on my shoulder and I hung on the moment as it dragged out. The tension was almost unbearable, but to my relief, Michael nodded.
“Yeah, she phoned me last week. She seems to be doing well.” He hesitated. “Why, haven’t you heard from her?”
I shook my head. “I know that she moved and that’s it. Where did they go?”
Michael rubbed the back of his neck idly. “Adylinet, I think it’s called... is that right?”
“Adyliget,” I said, recognising it from what the caller had told me. In my head, I saw the location of the district in Budapest and latched onto it.
“Yes, that’s right,” Michael agreed. “She’s still living with her parents. She mentioned about wanting to come back to England sometime in the next few years, though.” His eyes lit up at that. “She said her parents are beginning to look into retirement, and it sounds like the three of them are missing it here. It’s been nearly ten years, after all.
“And... and I think they want to get away from Budapest, in a way. You know. Too many memories.”
I lowered my eyes and Lucy’s laugh rang through my ears. It had been one of my own reasons for escaping, too. If the Denboroughs left, then I couldn’t think of any reason for me ever having to go back to Budapest.
No, Bee, I reminded myself harshly. Michael said years, not weeks. You know you don’t have that long. You know you’ll go back.
Frank rubbed my arm comfortingly, as though reading my mind.
“Is she alright, though?” he asked for me.
Michael nodded. “As far as I know. She’s got a little job as a waitress in a restaurant and she says it’s good.”
He paused, and glanced at me with that glint in his eye. “I hope she decides to come back to London. I’ve really missed her.”
I smiled. “I’ve missed her, too,” I replied, and it came from the bottom of my heart.
But even though I’d believed Frank, a new relief came to the surface. I knew Michael would know of everything that might have happened in Emily’s life since I last saw her. If anyone could have reassured me of her safety to the utmost at that moment, then it was him.
Michael gave me a supportive smile; then adjusted his weight, pulling the bag strap further up onto his shoulder. “Hey,” he said, “would you two like to come round to mine for tea sometime next week or something? I’d love to have you.”
I glanced at Frank questioningly, and his eyes sparkled. “Sure, that’d be great. Thanks.”
“No problem.” Michael gave one of his huge smiles that contrasted so much with Frank’s more reserved one. He reached into his pocket and quickly scribbled on a piece of paper before handing it over. “There’s my number.”
“When’s our next day off?” Frank muttered. “It’s a week today, isn’t?”
I pictured the rota of shifts in my head. “Yes, I think so.”
“Would then be okay?”
“Yes, yes, that’s fine,” Michael said. I tucked the paper into my pocket; then jumped as I remembered that Frank had left his laptop in the Library when he’d followed me. I quickly told him, and he shot back inside. Michael and I watched him run and I shook my head in bemusement.
“So,” Michael said carefully, “is he a friend of yours?”
I shook my head and felt a heartfelt smile creeping onto my face. “No. He’s my boyfriend.”
Saying that out loud to somebody was so brilliant that I didn’t even realise Michael had replied until his tone rose slightly to prompt an answer from me.
“Oh, I’m sorry, pardon?” I blurted.
He grinned. “How long have you been together?”
“Uh... About a year.” I glanced at him, slowly drumming my fingers on my cane. His eyes had darted over my shoulder to watch the rain, but there was something hidden in them – or something he was trying to hide. I could tell that he wasn’t envious as such, but he saw what Frank and I had.
I gently tapped him on the forearm. “I’m sure you’re going to end up with her.” As I said it, I snapped at myself for tempting fate, but I always thought that without faith, there was little t
o nothing. I could see that his little teenage crush on Emily wasn’t forgotten. If anything, it had grown and matured with age, and – nine years after she had left England – it was as strong as ever.
He scoffed jokily. “Aw, come on. It’s been ages. I’m not even sure if she feels the same way about me.”
“But you’re still in touch,” I insisted, and forced my conscience down so I could carry on. “I think that something’s going to happen when she comes back. I really do.”
Michael looked at me, and smiled deeply. “Thank you.”
I nodded once; then checked my watch. “I’d better go back inside and give Frank some help. I’ll phone you.”
“Alright.” He pulled his hood back over his hair and looked gingerly at the rain. “Ooh, this looks like it’s going to be fun...” he muttered before tossing me a quick wave and running out from under the shelter of the porch, hunched over against the shower. I watched him go with a chuckle, and then turned back to the Library.
Fool, I said to myself. You stupid, hopeful, naive fool.
But the scolding couldn’t hold back a small smile.
CHAPTER XXI
The week went by slowly. Frank and I drank our fill of blood for the month and returned to work. I oversaw the updating of an exhibition on Victorian London and watched as the rain carried on falling. It had stopped for a day or two, but the sky hadn’t lifted of the clouds, and soon it seemed like the whole ocean was coming down on us. I began to wonder how much longer it would take for the Thames to overflow and I’d have to get home in an inflatable boat.
I became very quiet, as I thought back over what we’d found at the Library. I’d put the list of names and dates into a coherent order and pinned it onto my corkboard in the second bedroom – along with a printout of the painting. I stared at it for hours, trying to make some kind of other sense out of the brushstrokes – and at the same time, try to accept the image for what it was. The priest in the centre, between the humans and the vampires. Somewhere along the line, he was a part of me.
Frank asked me every day if I was alright, keeping an eye on me to check that I wasn’t going to fall apart. I always replied with the template “I’m fine” as I buried my head in the two books we’d used in the Library. But anxiety crept over me, about how much longer I’d have as a juvenile.
Frank had mentioned that until it happens, you can’t tell when it’s time, and the fact that it could be slightly different for everyone didn’t help at all. He said it had only taken him six months to come of age; Hanna had been a juvenile for almost seven years before her wings came through.
Four years to the day I’d been bitten was only a few months away. How much longer could I will my body to hold on?
Our day off rolled around to the present, and Frank helped me into my coat, resting a hand near my waist in case I stumbled. I could manage fine without it, but I appreciated the gesture. It still made me smile.
“It’s funny,” I muttered, buttoning up the front and then starting to wind my scarf around my neck.
Frank glanced over. “What is?”
I watched him as he perched on the arm of the couch and pulled on his boots. Since the streets had started to freeze a few weeks before – and become slick with cold rainwater at any other time – both of us had taken to wearing footwear with good grip, especially me. One afternoon, before the rain could melt the majority of the ice, my cane had slipped and I’d almost sprawled onto my face.
I grinned. “When I first came here, I wouldn’t have managed to drink half as much tea as I can now.”
He nodded. “I remember. It was always fruit juice and the occasional hot chocolate. Or ice cream.”
“Well, the hot chocolate and ice cream’s still welcome.”
“Hot chocolate can never not be welcome!”
“And don’t forget the ice cream!”
“The day I deprive you of ice cream will be the day I sign my death warrant.” He laughed, and got to his feet to give me a quick hug. “You ready, then?”
“Yes, I think I’ve got everything...” I quickly rummaged in my bag to check. Frank’s hand suddenly reached inside and pulled something free. He inspected it and frowned.
“How come you’ve got this?” He showed it to me, but I knew what it was even before he’d turned it around. It was the photograph of me and Lucy, now in a new frame so I could pick it up and not worry about the back-board falling off.
“I always carry it near this time of year,” I explained with a small shrug; then picked up a small handful of birch twigs from the bag. “And these.”
Frank smiled and handed back the picture. “Glad to see you’re being paranoid,” he joked, laying a small bouquet of carnations in the crook of his arm. I’d insisted on taking them for Michael as a courtesy.
“I know he – it – can’t step outside of Hungary,” I said as we headed outside, “but I’m not taking any chances. Anyway, I’ve always thought, it’s a bit more awkward to walk down the street carrying a stick of incense.”
“Or a pocketknife,” Frank added. He locked the door and pushed it to make sure the catch had fastened before switching to the car keys. “I don’t think a policeman would be too happy if he found that in that bag of yours.”
He opened the car door for me and I slid inside, watching him hurry round to the driver’s side to get out of the rain quickly. He passed me the carnations to hold and I rested them across my lap, recalling how I’d decided that my never learning to drive was a good thing. Even if I’d gotten my license as soon as I could, I would have hardly managed to use it. The severed nerve meant I didn’t have enough control left over my right leg to drive effectively, and I wasn’t about to become a hazard by attempting to use only one foot.
“You know what I’m going to do as soon as all this is over?” Frank asked coyly as we pulled out into the stream of traffic.
“What?”
“I’m going to buy you a brand new necklace, so you can take that one off.”
I smiled and looked down at the birch amulet, running my fingers over it. “That would be great,” I admitted.
I did love the pendant, but the fact that I hadn’t taken it off for almost three years had made me somewhat sick of it. I wanted to not feel its familiar weight around my neck, but I didn’t dare move it.
As we made our way through the rainy roads, I directed Frank with a printout map. I’d drawn a line on it in red pen, winding along the network of streets from our house to Michael’s. He lived in Camden – about a half hour drive away – but the journey was made slower by the rush hour traffic. As soon as I saw Michael’s house, I was reminded of my old home close to the cemetery, because the door was linked to the pavement by a small flight of steps lined with wrought iron railings. But the building was larger than any in the Izabella Street complex – even Mrs. Fekete’s – and divided into three rented flats.
Michael lived on the first floor, and he met us on the porch to hurry us out of the rain. Frank helped me up the stairs, and we entered into a small but open room lit by warm table lamps. A large mirror, that could easily encompass someone’s whole body even if they stood right in front of it, was propped up against the far wall.
Michael quickly drew the curtains and sealed us in. “Welcome,” he smiled, holding out his hands like he was serenading the living room. “It’s not much, but...” He shrugged. “Make yourselves at home!”
“Thank you,” I replied, handing him the bouquet. He frowned in confusion as he took it, and thanked us before asking what the occasion was.
“It’s just a small Hungarian courtesy,” I explained quickly. “Bringing flowers when you’re invited to dinner at a friend’s house.”
“Oh! How nice!” Michael chuckled. “I’ll go and put them in some water.”
He disappeared into the kitchen and I glanced around the room. It was quite tidy, but a lingering smell of dust was in the air. There was a bookshelf in the corner stuffed with films and I nudged Frank with my elbow.
“You’re going to get along,” I muttered to him as Michael reappeared in the doorway and tried to sweep up a stray sock from the floor without us noticing.
“Why?” Frank asked, and I motioned towards the shelves. His eyes settled on the numerous cartoon collections and then lit up.
“Would you guys like a cuppa?” Michael asked. There was a dull thump as he threw the sock and it hit what I presumed was the washing machine.
I smiled. “Yes, please.”
“Milk?”
“None for me, thank you,” Frank called, ghosting over to the bookshelf and muttering to himself under his breath. “The Wacky Races! Brilliant!”
“They’re not yours!” I reminded him jokily and then replied to Michael. “Quite a lot, please. And a bit of cold water too.”
“Cold water?”
“I can’t drink it too hot, it burns my lips.”
“Oh. Okay!”
There was the hiss of the kettle and then the fridge opening and closing, followed by the cellophane around the carnations rustling as it was removed. Frank was now squatting down on his haunches and carefully inspecting the contents of the lower shelves.
“He has all the Disney classics as well!” he said. “Where did you say you found this guy again?”
I chuckled. “Honestly! How old are you?”
“Not old enough.”
“Haven’t you got enough cartoons? We’re going to need another bookcase of our own soon with the amount you have!”
“You can never have enough cartoons,” Frank replied. He looked round at me and his eyes shone.
I shook my head. “The term ‘midlife crisis’ comes to mind.”
He got to his feet and craned his head towards the topmost shelves. “It’s only a midlife crisis,” he said matter-of-factly, “if you grew up in the first place.”
I had to allow that, and turned my own attention to the room itself as the kettle subdued to a lower rattle in the background. Among a maze of photos on the mantelpiece, I found one of Michael and Emily, and stared at that for a while, marvelling at how the years had changed them both. They were about ten, and Emily looked almost exactly the same as I remembered her being all the time I’d known her – but she had never been one for changing her appearance more than the occasional haircut to keep the length the same. The most striking difference was Michael’s hair, which was a buzz-cut in the photo.
