by Ann Aguirre
The girl blushed at the sight of his exposed shoulders. She took a deep breath and then pulled her full-length gown up and over her head. She giggled nervously as she discarded it on the grass. Her tight cotton corset overlapped her petticoat and she shifted uncomfortably within her undergarments as she dipped her toe into the icy water.
The boy tucked his loose blond curls behind his ears and then extended his hand to her.
She hesitated; the water was cold. He swam to her, grasped her hips, and drew her close.
Bobbing backward, he carried her to the middle of the lake. She tilted her head back and peered up at the dusting of gold sequins in the sky. When she finally met the boy’s shining eyes, she blinked hard, unable to distinguish the difference between them and the stars.
He was a miracle.
He pressed his hand to the back of the girl’s neck, bringing the tip of his nose to her cheek, where he lingered. He affectionately ran his hand down her nape, and she flinched when his arm brushed her bare shoulder blade. She bowed her head and held her breath as the boy drifted behind her and unlaced her corset.
She exhaled when he tugged the last of the ribbon free and pulled the corset from around her body. Two welts branched out from between her shoulder blades, dry blood clotted down the marks. The boy’s pupils dilated in surprise, and his lips strained in a tight angry line, but then his expression fleeted to one of concern.
Careful not to touch her skin, he found her braid and unfurled the plait. Her hair dropped to the surface of the crystal water, before she gathered it to cover herself. The boy spread his palm wide across her belly, easing her backward, and she began to float.
As the girl’s lash marks became submerged in the chill, she jolted …
* * *
I SAT BOLT UPRIGHT, the cocoon of my sleeping bag falling down to my waist. I automatically reached for the top of my back, squeezing the skin painfully between the tips of my fingers. I panted, trying to catch myself, as I returned from the depths of a dream.
Tears pricked my eyes, and I realized I must have cried as the wounds had stung in the water that night. Now the tears gushed out of frustration, not pain.
Dreams were supposed to be the mind’s way of busying itself. But, like everything else in my troubled existence, I didn’t believe that was true for me. My dreams, my visions felt real. He felt real.
I allowed my eyes to flutter closed once more, hoping to see his face again. I didn’t entirely understand the dream, but I preferred to linger there rather than face my present reality.
The alarm I’d set on my cell buzzed, and I smacked it in an attempt to stop the piercing siren. I quickly checked the time; it was almost five o’clock and I had a shift at the pub in an hour.
I glanced around the living room, but it was hard to see; the fire had gone out while I slept. I had no electricity. So despite my lack of inclination to get up, I did.
I used my cell phone as a flashlight and freshened up as best as I could, using the last of the water that I had collected in a bucket from the stream that ran through the back of the property. I rooted around in my backpack, pulling out a plain T-shirt and jeans. I made a feeble attempt to brush out my long, matted hair, realizing it desperately needed washing, but I was out of shampoo. I searched the bag and found the small bottle of talcum powder. Shaking the last of it out, I massaged it into my scalp. When you have next to nothing, you learn to get by.
I was sliding my old, beaten Nokia into my back pocket when I heard the creak of a floorboard. I twisted to face the doorframe, panic hitting me quickly. Despite it being a decrepit, derelict building that no sane person would want to reside in, it had provided me with shelter and I was most grateful for it. But I was squatting, and that was illegal. What worried me most about being discovered was having nowhere else to go in the middle of a bitter British winter.
“Hello?” I ventured in a mousy voice.
The noise stopped abruptly.
“Hello?” I tried again. When no reply came, I strode cautiously to the doorframe, and squinted into the diminishing daylight, trying to see who was there.
The hallway was empty.
I wiggled my nose as I considered that the property was very old, and it did have a tendency to make old-house sounds; on windy nights it practically howled as the air thundered through it.
I decided to pack up the few bits and pieces I possessed, tidying them away into the broken storage cupboard underneath the stairs before I left, just in case.
* * *
I MEANDERED DOWN THE UNLIT, winding road to the pub, hurrying as the last of the daylight dwindled. I stayed as near to the forest line as possible, though cars seldom passed by.
The tall trees swayed overhead as gusts of wind bobbed and weaved through bare branches, almost sounding like whistling panpipes. As I rounded the corner, I stopped briefly to rub away the chill that nipped at my ears. The wind dropped suddenly as though time had stopped; the forest around me became still.
Just like the trees, I paused.
I glanced to the woods, a tingling sensation running up my spine as though I were being watched. But if there was someone, something, following me, then it was staying well hidden.
I was about to look over my shoulder, but my attention shifted as my crystal ring, which was threaded through the chain around my neck, grew warmer against my skin. I placed my palm under my jacket and it felt cool; I thought for a moment that I might have imagined it.
I glanced to the woods as if they might provide me with some sort of answer, but they only ever kept secrets. We were alike, the trees and I: many years older than we appeared.
The girl in shadow came to my mind quickly—she was a mystery. A girl who appeared when I was faced with terrible trouble, but then simply disappeared. She blended into the night; I had never seen her face. I had no idea why she would be spying on me, but she was the only person that I could think of who conceivably might.
I hurried on to the pub, relieved to finally see it ahead. Inside, I scanned the tables and bar stools, but as usual, it was pretty quiet. Only a few of the locals sat clutching their pint glasses and looking up at the flatscreen, where a roundup of the day’s rugby match had captured their interest.
“Francesca, good, you’re early. You can restock the crisps,” Dwyn shouted at me from over the bar.
I took my arms from my jacket, hanging it on a hook behind the bar, and rubbed my arms, trying to warm up. Haydon appeared from the back and, seeing me, pulled a tight smile and said, “Pour yourself a whiskey, you’re bright red.” He walked over to his wife and kissed her on the neck, ogling her cleavage in the process. Dwyn batted him away playfully, but I didn’t miss the revulsion that showed with the roll of her top lip as she repositioned her expensive necklaces and jiggled her gold bangles lower on her wrists. I did as I was told, and sipped the spirit.
“Be sure to put it on your tab, I’ll take it out of your pay,” Haydon added, turning to me and giving me the once-over with a raised eyebrow. “You know, you’d get better tips if you dressed more like Dwyn. Something to think about?” He slapped his wife’s bottom hard as he strode back to his office.
Dwyn lifted up a box of crisps and thrust it into my arms. “He’s a pig, of course, but he’s not wrong. You could make a little more effort when you’re behind the bar; you never know who might walk through those doors. And believe me, the Haydons of this world expect a little more.” She puckered her lips together, evening out her bright pink lip gloss as she fingered her permed hair that, to my mind, resembled more of a crow’s nest.
“I’m not searching for a Haydon,” I said coldly, placing the box at my feet and pulling back the packing tape.
Dwyn bent down to face me, her eyes narrowing. “Perhaps you’re better suited to sweeping the floors than being swept off your feet. And if that starts to feel too much like hard work, don’t you forget that Haydon belongs to me, missy.”
I waited for her to turn before I rolled my eyes. If I want
ed to eat, I needed to keep this job.
* * *
I’D BEEN PULLING PINTS FOR SEVERAL HOURS, making idle chitchat with Mr. Broderick, one of the regulars, when the doors swung open and a group of young men loudly entered the pub. I glanced at them as I ran a tea towel over the countertop. There were four of them in total, and one was wearing a bright red rugby shirt with the letters CYMRU stamped in white across the front. They didn’t resemble the average rugby supporters, though, with their expensive-looking blazers and designer jeans. Two of the guys sank into the fading cushions of the sofa along the back wall, while another pulled out a chair on the opposite side of the table, and they began talking amongst themselves. The fourth guy made his way over to me at the bar.
“Evening,” he said, smiling. He perched on one of the tall stools and removed his unusual retro orange eyeglasses, placing them down in front of him.
“What can I get you?” I asked, throwing the damp rag over my shoulder and kicking the empty crisp box out of the way of my feet.
The guy’s eyes slanted to his left, assessing a pint I had just pulled in the hands of another customer. Seeing that it was all mostly froth, he looked over my shoulder to the fridges behind me. “Bottled beer, three, if you would be so kind. And a water for me, I’m driving,” he said.
“Any particular brand?” I asked, stepping backward and opening the fridge door, acting on autopilot.
“Buds will do fine,” he replied politely. I couldn’t help but notice that he was extremely well spoken, with an upmarket London accent, and I wondered for the briefest moment what he and his friends were doing in Creigiau—a tiny Welsh village in the back of beyond. But it was a fleeting thought; it neither mattered nor made any difference to me.
An uncomfortable silence drifted between us. I thought then that perhaps he was expecting me to make polite conversation with him, so I obliged. “What brings you here?” I popped the bottle caps off one by one.
“I have some business to see to near Dublin. A few of my old Eton buddies thought we could make a weekend of it, and stop in on the rugby game en route. Will, over there—” He stopped, turned round, and nudged his chin up. His friend raised his eyebrows in reply. “He was born in Cardiff. He seems to think that makes him Welsh, even though he’s lived in Chelsea all his life.” The guy smirked, straightening his dark green tweed jacket, the color of which complemented his jade-green eyes.
“Right … so what, this is a pit stop on route to Holyhead?” I asked, throwing the caps into the bin, not bothering to make any eye contact.
“In a manner of speaking. The Range broke down. I’ve called for assistance, but it’s freezing out, so we thought we’d have a tipple instead of waiting in the car. Can’t say how long they will be.”
I couldn’t help raising my eyebrows; I doubted he really knew what freezing, real cold, felt like. I scooped a tray from underneath the till and proceeded to place the bottles on top.
“Would you like glasses?” I asked.
He nodded, and then reached into his back pocket, producing a wallet, and offered me a black credit card. “Run a tab for me, if you wouldn’t mind, and charge it at the end.”
I reached for it, my face still bowed down. But he didn’t release the card immediately, which forced me to look up and meet his eye. “My name’s Darwin. It’s a pleasure to meet you…?”
“Francesca.”
“Pretty name. Do your friends call you Fran?” he inquired, loosening his grip around the plastic.
My shoulders slumped as I tucked his credit card away and I said, “No, not exactly. I’ve been called … Cessie.” I struggled to take a breath as I said it, my mind immediately fleeting to Frederic; he was the last friend I’d had who’d called me by my nickname. The very same friend who had tried to kill me.
I chewed my lip and furrowed my brow. Darwin offered me a reassuring smile, as though he somehow knew that I had suffered, that I was suffering still.
I was aware that I appeared detached; I preferred it that way. If I let people in, they couldn’t or wouldn’t be able to stay. My existence was between reality and dream; I drifted through life, a silent observer. I let the noise of the living echo around me, but never allowed it to touch my skin.
I gathered myself quickly and stepped unsteadily from behind the bar.
“Let me help you with that?” Darwin called as I scuttled ahead of him, but his offer was a little too late. As I tried to balance the tray against my waist, I realized that I hadn’t evenly distributed the weight, and the glasses began to clatter together. Darwin’s bottled water went over first, soaking me through as it spilled down my chest. I jerked backward, and then two of the glasses tumbled, hitting the floor and shattering.
Darwin hurried to my side, took the tray from my hands, and placed it on the table in front of his friends as they howled with laughter. “Ah well, never mind … she looks in need of a bath anyhow,” the dark-haired guy jeered, and I cringed in embarrassment.
“I told you, Welsh girls—filthy little devils, in every way. Maybe you should slum it with her for a night, then you’ll know what I mean,” Will joined in as though I weren’t there, and my cheeks grew hot.
“Will!” Darwin barked.
“I’m sorry,” I said, turning to Darwin. “I’ll fetch you another water, and new glasses.” I stumbled away, pinching my wet top from my skin.
“Cessie—”
I ignored Darwin, as I bumped into Dwyn, who had reappeared at the commotion. She saw the mess I was in, but then that was nothing new—I had barely made any money the first week I had worked here, with all the deductions from the glasses I’d smashed.
“Really!” she wailed at me. Then she noticed the group of guys staring after me from across the room and she broke into a wide smile. “Francesca, go to my room. There’s some fresh laundry at the end of the bed, help yourself to a shirt. I’ll take care of these gentlemen.” Her pitch leveled out, as she made her way over to Darwin and his friends.
I made my way through the hall and up the stairs to Dwyn’s bedroom. Opening the door, Haydon was sitting half naked, perched on the side of the double bed. I realized then why I hadn’t seen either of them for a little while.
“Sorry, I just came to borrow a top…” I trailed off, averting my eyes and grabbing the first garment my fingers could find.
“Spilled a drink again?” he asked smoothly.
I glanced up as he proceeded to pull a cigarette out of a packet using his lips, while he reached for his lighter resting on the bedside table. “Yes, sorry,” I said, shuffling back toward the door.
The end of his cigarette glowed orange and he puffed, blowing the smoke from his nose and out the corner of his mouth. “You can change in here, you know. I don’t mind.”
I bit my tongue; I needed this job too much to be sacked from it. Haydon paid me in cash, and I was pretty sure he knew I was lying about my age.
“I need to dry off first,” I replied, trying not to let the disdain show through my voice.
Haydon merely shrugged, flipping his feet up onto the bed, he propped himself up against the pillows. Holding his cigarette in his lips, he scraped his fingers through his thinning hair, and reached for a newspaper.
I ducked into the bathroom and changed quickly, frowning as I slid Dwyn’s tight-fitting V-neck shirt over my curves. Not only was the top cut a little too low for my liking, but it also had an open back, which would show my scar. But I didn’t have much choice; I had no desire to go back into the bedroom to search for something else to wear.
I tucked my ring under the delicate material and I made my way to the bar.
When I returned it was a little busier, and a frosty wind was traveling in through the side door, which the smokers had left ajar while they sat in the gardens. I immediately began serving another customer, who seemed disgruntled that he’d had to wait; he pawed at his wiry beard as I pulled his pint, grumbling underneath his breath. My eye wandered over to Dwyn, who was busy flirting at t
he guys’ table. Darwin looked over his shoulder, locking eyes with me. He smoothed his dark blond hair, tying the top into a small elastic, above the short back and sides, and scraped his chair as he stood up. I opened the till, plinking in the coins, before sliding it closed.
“I should apologize on behalf of Will, and what he said before—that’s no way to speak to a lady. And you are a lady.” Darwin’s calming voice traveled over to me.
I hesitated before replying. “Did you want another drink?” I asked, staring at the floor and pretending to shuffle something under the counter.
“I’m quite fine for now, thank you.”
He didn’t move, and I wondered what he wanted. “Did you come over just to apologize on behalf of your overprivileged, obnoxious friend?” I asked a little too sharply.
“Well, yes, and I left my glasses.” He put the bright orange specs over the bridge of his nose. Still he didn’t leave. I turned to another customer, who was leaning up against the bar next to Darwin, and took his order.
I finished serving and began tidying the glasses behind me, once again trying to avoid any eye contact with Darwin, who was still hovering. He cursed lightly under his breath, and I realized that he could see the bare skin of my back. I swiveled around too quickly, and I almost lost my footing.
“Cessie, are you okay?” he asked as if he’d known me all my life.
“Yes. Thank you.” I kneaded my lower back with my fingertips, thinking that maybe, if I rubbed hard enough, I could erase the terrible mark Frederic had left on me.
“So, what business do you have in Ireland?” I asked, trying to change the subject. He was clearly in no hurry to leave, and I didn’t want to talk to a stranger about my scar.
“There’s some unusual activity in a town not far from Dublin. I’m heading over to analyze what I can.”
“Unusual activity? What do you do exactly? For a living, I mean?” I ventured.
“I’m a scientist and a fully fledged geek. I just graduated from MIT. Right now, my focus of study is all related to dark matter, particles … I spend my life dreaming about the stuff that makes up the universe.” He stopped and then, quoting Shakespeare, added, “‘Such stuff as dreams are made on.’” He pushed his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose.
