The Veils of Valoria

by Kirsty F McKay

  Cringing at the thought of another hour spent in his company, she shook her head emphatically. “It’s Rowan and no thanks. I need to go.” She rose quickly and gathered her belongings, grateful to have stayed on the mocktails all night.

  Downing the last of his Jack Daniels, he swivelled towards her with an expectant look. The intention in his eyes was all too clear. “Your place or mine then? Either is good for me.”

  Her temper sparked at his sheer arrogance. Do you honestly think I’d be so desperate for male attention, that I would allow you to rack up another meaningless notch on your bedpost? The man’s nerve knew no bounds.

  All night she had listened to him drone on. His job, his house, his money, his cat, his previous conquests. Anything she had tried to share of her own life instantly had him turn the conversation back to himself so that he could carry on stroking his already over-inflated ego. He’d been utterly oblivious to the fact that she had drifted off into a much welcome daydream, paying no attention to anything she had eventually managed in conversation. The absolute breaking point, when she had observed him making ‘come and get me’ eyes at anything with a skirt and a pulse. The date had been a complete and utter disaster. The last hour spent waiting for an opportunity to make a polite and very swift exit.

  “Neither, Philip,” she said, hoping that the ice in her voice would send the message home.

  “Aw, come on, Rachel, we had a good night, didn’t we?” he persisted, gazing at her with puppy dog eyes.

  Like this would somehow leave me suddenly wanting to rip your clothes off!

  “No, Philip, you had a good night getting royally wasted and talking about you all night. I doubt very much that there is room for anyone else in your life.” She pulled on her jacket and zipped it hastily. “Oh, and to spell it out again for you. My name is Rowan, not Rowena, not Rachel, but Rowan. R O W A N.”

  “Babe, there’s no need to have a hissy fit,” he drawled, trying to paw at her.

  Recoiling, she swatted his hand away. “Look, I came out with you tonight as a favour to Jen, but seriously you’re just not my type.” That should do it.

  “Well, you ain’t exactly up to my usual standard either, love, but I am prepared to make an exception for you,” Philip sneered and tumbled backwards off the stool, his arms flailing. He crashed to the ground, his face a mixture of shock and disbelief.

  Rowan smothered the urge to laugh. Her mouth trembled violently as the rising hysterics persisted in their bid for freedom. Inwardly scolding herself for not feeling the least bit sorry for him, she turned away, biting down on her lip as she fought for composure.

  A male voice called out, “Can someone fetch Stan for me?”

  Rowan’s gaze shifted to her brother, working behind the bar. He finished serving an elderly gentleman and turned his attention to her.

  “I’ve been waiting for that idiot to do that all night,” he smirked.

  A snort escaped, and she clamped a hand over her mouth.

  The older man chuckled, placing down his pint. “I’ll go get Stan for you, Jake.”

  “Cheers, Pete.” Her brother peered over the bar and shook his head. “I still can’t believe you went out with him.”

  Colour seared her cheeks. “Well, you could have warned me about him earlier if you knew what he was like.”

  “He’s a total tosser. The guy thinks he’s been buying you Mojitos all night. A bloody good job I’m on shift otherwise he’d have succeeded in getting you as wasted as he is. I can imagine mum’s face in the morning being greeted by that plank. She’d be overjoyed.”

  Rowan shuddered at the thought. “I don’t know why I let Jen talk me into this. After the last blind date, I swore I wouldn’t do it again. It isn’t like I need a boyfriend right now.”

  They watched as a pair of giant hands dragged Philip roughly to his feet. “Think you’ve had enough, mate. On your way.”

  Jake nodded his approval.

  Philip was glaring pure venom. “She did it. She set me up.”

  Rowan shrank towards the bar, moving away from Philip’s accusing, jabbing finger. She reached for Jake’s hand, and he pulled her aside.

  Stan grabbed hold of Philip by the scruff of his collar. “Listen ’ere, mate, she didn’t pour the booze down your neck, and you don’t need any help to look like a prat.”

  Philip wrenched his upper body, attempting to break free. “Get off me.”

  The two men squared up to each other. Stan cracked his knuckles. “Now, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. Your choice, mate.”

  The pub fell silent, all eyes eagerly fixed on Philip, awaiting his next move. Philip, having weighed up his chances of success, turned and staggered towards the door, shouting threats of retribution.

  Stan followed closely behind and grinned from ear to ear. “Come and see me when you grow a pair.”

  Philip was effortlessly ejected from the premises.

  Rowan could see the disappointment that there would be no show. She heaved a sigh of relief, the night finally over. “Thank you.”

  “No problem, Rowan,” Stan beamed at her. “Told you before, you can do much better for yourself.”

  She nodded, her thoughts drifting back to the daydream, and the memory of his touch, imagining how different tonight could have been, had it been him with her and not Philip. Blinking back the tears that threatened to spill, her heart yearned once again for the impossible. Get a grip, Rowan.

  “Do you want me to get you a taxi?” Jake asked, his face full of concern.

  She snapped her attention back to the harsh reality of the night and nodded. “Yes, please.”

  “Be back in a second.”

  Pretending not to notice the plethora of sympathetic looks from the other patrons, Rowan studied the bottles nestled at the back of the bar, and read each label in turn. A pitiful attempt to distract from her public humiliation.

  Pete headed in the direction of the bathroom and patted her gently on the back. “He’s gone now, love.”

  The heat in her cheeks blazed deeper.

  Ten minutes later, Jake joined her on the other side of the bar, his coat on, and rucksack in hand. He arched a brow. “Are you suddenly training to be a wine connoisseur, or working out which one best to drown your sorrows with?”

  “I was… oh, never mind. I thought you didn’t finish your shift until eleven?”

  Wrapping an arm around her shoulder, he hugged her close. “Gav said it was fine for me to get off early. He’ll manage for the last half hour. Besides, I want to make sure that my little sis gets home safe.”

  “Really, or are you just after me buying you a parmo on the way home?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t say no to a hotshot, seeing as you’re offering.”

  Okay, so I’ve pretty much walked straight into that one.

  “What about the taxi?”

  “I’ve already arranged for it to pick us up outside the Pizzeria.”

  She laughed, “Presumptuous, aren’t we?”

  “Nah, you just can’t resist me.”

  Rowan shook her head and followed Jake outside, her eyes searching the street, thankful to note that Philip was nowhere in sight.

  Seizing her hand, Jake dragged her across the road towards the Pizzeria. “Come on, I’m starving.” He swung the door open, and grinned as he waved her enthusiastically inside.

  “You know that a real gentleman would be buying the lady a parmo?”

  “Yes, well, we are in the twenty-first century. And besides which, you did offer. You wouldn’t want to disappoint your favourite brother, would you?”

  “You’re my only brother.”

  He batted his eyelashes. “This of course is true, but hey you adore me and I did rescue you tonight.”

  Rowan’s mouth twitched at the corners despite her best efforts to control herself. Jake made it impossible to put up any further resistance. Grumbling, she pulled her purse free from her bag and approached the counter. “Hey Tony, can I get a hotshot
parmo and a portion of cheesy chips to go?”

  “No problem, Rowan, about ten minutes.”

  “I’ll keep a lookout for the taxi. Thanks, Sis. You’re a star.” A quick peck on the cheek and Jake was out the door before she could object.

  Rowan scowled at him through the glass as he pulled the e-cig from his jacket. He shrugged his shoulders and carried on regardless, plumes of smoke wafting into the night air.

  The unexpected vibration from inside her bag soon distracted Rowan from her annoyance. She fumbled to retrieve her phone, groaning when the caller ID flashed with Jen Mobile. Not what I need right now. Bracing herself for the impact, she slid her finger right to accept the call.

  “Hey Jen, what’s up?” …and there it was!

  “Did you ditch Philip? Seriously? I don’t get it…”

  Sensing her friend gearing up for yet another one of her famous lectures, she cut her short. “The guy couldn’t even remember my name. He got wasted and ended up making a scene in the bar. Stan threw him out.”

  A brief silence followed and then, “Just a minute.” Jen relayed the news to her boyfriend, Simon. He immediately leapt to the defence of his friend, clearly swallowing the pack of lies spouted by the hard done by Philip.

  Holding the phone away from her ear, Rowan slowly counted to ten and resisted the temptation to join in the ensuing argument. Five minutes later and neither Jen nor Simon were willing to concede on the subject of Philip.

  Rowan elevated her voice just enough to make herself heard. “Listen Jen, I’ve got a taxi waiting. We’ll talk tomorrow. Oh, and for the record, Philip is a lying shit.” She disconnected the call before either one could say anything in response to her last comment.

  “Bad night, huh?” Tony said sympathetically and handed over the food.

  “You could say that,” she replied with a heavy sigh. “Thanks.”

  “No problem.” He waved a quick goodbye and retreated once more to the kitchen.

  Jake shoved the e-cig into his pocket, as soon as she joined him outside. “The taxi rang; they are about one minute away.”

  “Their definition of a minute or ours?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  Shivering, she drew her coat closer, the night air bitter against her skin. “Well, for their sake, I hope it’s our definition.”

  Jake eyed her choice of outfit. Strapless knee-length dress, bare legs and the killer heels she had bought a few days ago at the behest of Jen. “I’d have gone with outfit number two.”

  “Hindsight’s a wonderful thing,” she muttered, huddling close to him for warmth.

  The taxi frustratingly arrived ten minutes later than promised. Jake, calling shotgun, automatically jumped into the front passenger seat. He beamed like an insane Cheshire cat. If it were any other day, Rowan would rise to the challenge. Tonight, however, she allowed him this small moment of victory and climbed into the back seat without complaint. What did it matter? They were en route home, and she could, at last, put this evening behind her, the lecture mentally prepared for the taxi driver, forgotten.

  Attuned to her mood, Jake happily took the lead and chatted all things football. Settled against the seat, Rowan ignored their conversation, her thoughts preoccupied with Jen’s phone call, her stomach twisted into knots. It was inevitable that Philip would call, and of course, make himself out to be the injured party. But surely, he’d have picked a more civilised time to do it? The amount of alcohol he had consumed would have most normal people passing out until late morning, giving her at least a fighting chance to speak to Jen first, and explain what had happened. She knew Simon and Philip were close. Quite possibly close enough to create a rift in her friendship with Jen. It was the last thing she wanted on top of everything else she had endured this evening.

  The guilt continued to prick at her conscience for hanging up so quickly, her parting shot unlikely to have helped the situation or a case to plead with Simon. Running through possible scenarios and counter-arguments, Rowan completely missed the fact that Jake had suddenly stopped talking. An awareness that something was wrong only registered when Jake eventually spoke again. “Excuse me, mate, but you’re going the wrong way.”

  Lifting her gaze to the mirror, she met the older man’s stare. His eyes crinkled in the corners. “Now don’t you be fretting, miss, I’m not planning on turning all crazy on you. The police blocked the main road off, that’s all. Not sure if you know but there’s been a gale force wind tonight.”

  Rowan heaved a huge sigh, relieved to note that the driver had no intention of taking them off to some abandoned cabin in the middle of nowhere, and chopping them into tiny pieces.

  Studying her in the mirror, he chuckled softly. “You kids watch far too many horror movies.”

  Jake’s shoulders shook vigorously up and down in his seat as he smothered his laughter. Rowan fought the urge to give him a swift kick. That was the last time her brother would be calling first dibs on their Saturday movie night in. No more of these grab and slash horrors. Tomorrow she would choose the film and the one she had in mind, a full-blown musical chick flick, would be guaranteed to make him suffer.

  Ignoring her brother’s continued sniggers, Rowan shifted her attention to the driver. “Has it done much damage?”

  He shook his head. “No major incidents as far as I’ve heard. The worst of it seems to have focused on the outskirts of the village. They’ve been quite lucky really. You had nothing in the Boro?”

  “It did get a bit windy earlier, but nothing that exciting.”

  Jake cleared his throat and turned to offer an apologetic smile. She could see his struggle for self-control, his mouth twitching as he met her gaze. Hiding her irritation, Rowan beamed back at him sweetly and waited. It took only a few moments before it finally dawned on him that she meant to pay him back. “Erm, how about a comedy instead?” he offered.

  “I don’t think so, do you?” Her smile widened further. “You’ll go crazy for the one I have in mind.”

  Defeated, Jake slumped back in his chair. “Do you mind if we have the radio on?”

  The older man laughed and switched on the stereo, the car blaring with sound. He reached quickly for the dial. “Sorry about that, I tend to turn it up when it’s the Friday night club classics.”

  “It’s okay,” she reassured, the music bringing a small semblance of normality back.

  Jake pulled his mobile phone from his pocket and signed into his social media account. “Nothing on my news feed. Wonder if there’ll be any mention on the radio?”

  “They did a report about an hour ago. It seems that the weather forecasters are completely baffled. I don’t know why, it’s not as though they always get it right, is it?” The driver chuckled.

  Cold travelled down Rowan’s spine. Maybe not, but something tells me that their confusion this time is genuine. Shifting her eyes to the darkness outside, the unfamiliarity of the road added to her increasing discomfort. Jake’s mood almost echoed her own, as she watched him turn his head toward the window, confident that he’d sensed the same feeling of impending doom.

  Oblivious to their unease, the older man hummed along to a song now playing on the radio, the volume cranked up a notch.

  Finally, they exited onto a familiar stretch of road, and Jake visibly relaxed. Following his lead, Rowan allowed some of her tension to release. The driver respectfully switched off the stereo, as they passed through the centre of the village, eerily quiet for a Friday evening.

  Pulling onto their street, he turned to Jake. “Whereabouts would you like?”

  “A little further down, on the right.”

  The taxi came to a welcome stop. “That’s fifteen pounds, mate.”

  Leaving her brother to settle the fare, Rowan called out a quick thank you and collected the food. Stepping free from the car, she almost stumbled over the broken remains of what looked to be the next-door neighbour’s garden gnome. Her eyes swept across the drive, taking in the full extent of the d
estruction exposed by the streetlights. Hanging baskets, only recently purchased from the garden centre, thrown over the front lawn and beyond all hope of rescue. Wheelie bins toppled, their contents spewed across the drive. Rowan’s nose wrinkled in disgust. Perfect! No prizes for guessing who’d be cleaning that little lot up in the morning.

  Other than the varying degree of branches, wood, broken pottery and an assortment of litter scattered, she was relieved to find the house to be perfectly intact.

  Jake gave a long whistle as the taxi pulled away. “I’m not cleaning that crap up.”

  “So, you’re going to leave it to me to sort then?” she grumbled, navigating her way across the drive.

  “Trade you, I’ll do the cat litter tray, and you can do the bins,” he offered, his foot accidentally kicking a tin can. She winced as it rattled across the drive and finally landed on the lawn. Jake shrugged and headed up the steps, although with a little more care as to where he placed his size nine feet. Following closely behind, Rowan pondered on both options, neither chore she found to be remotely appealing. Typically, Jake opted again for the one he considered to be far less time-consuming. No surprises there really.

  Knowing her brother as well as she did, the likelihood of him surfacing out of bed this side of midday was extremely remote. Reluctantly she agreed to take the bins, unable to bear the thought of leaving the drive in its current state all morning. “Okay, it’s a deal.”

  Jake smirked and turned the key in the lock. He pushed the front door open. Rowan hurried inside and resisted the urge to thump him. He released the door, and it creaked closed behind.

  She rested the takeaway boxes on the stairs, while she slid off her jacket. “No need for you to look quite so smug.”

  Annoyingly, Jake leaned over her in his eagerness to get to the food. Snatching both boxes, he gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “It was my turn to do the litter tray anyway.” Laughing, he proceeded to the kitchen.

  Sighing at her stupidity, Rowan hung up her jacket, and paused for a few moments at the foot of the stairs, her ears straining for sound. Good. Their mother somehow managed to continue sleeping through Jake’s noisy entrance. She followed him into the kitchen. “We’d better eat in here. We don’t want the living room to stink of takeaway.”