by Helen Harper
I coughed. ‘… but now I think I know which tattoo I’d like.’ I jabbed randomly at the nearest picture. I supposed it could have been worse. I was pointing at a little cartoon cat. Admittedly, it was a misshapen cat which wouldn’t have looked out of place in a horror film but it was still identifiably a cat. Barely.
The man raised his eyebrow. ‘You want to book in?’ he asked.
I shook my head. ‘Nope. I’ll lose my bottle if I don’t do it now.’ I grinned. ‘Besides there’s no time like the present, right?’
He shrugged at me as if he couldn’t care less. He did, however, point me to the door in question. I wasted no more time and hastily stepped through. I had to find out what Luke was up to.
The back room was even more terrifying than the shop floor. There seemed to be three separate cubicles, although the thought that this place would have any customers, let alone three at one time, almost defied belief. Without waiting, I headed straight for the nearest cubicle – and the one which I knew was already occupied by Luke.
Fortunately for him, he didn’t actually appear to be getting a tattoo done. He was on his feet, with his hooded top still on, and remonstrating with his hands at yet another burly bloke whose features were similar enough to the other man’s that they had to be related.
‘Just check your records,’ Luke insisted, before turning to me and frowning. ‘Who are you?’
I waved at him in apology and backed out.
‘This one,’ the first man said, jerking his head at the next cubicle. ‘Where do you want the art done?’
I didn’t want it done anywhere. I’d make up an excuse and get out of here before any needle got anywhere close to me. I needed to listen in to Luke’s conversation first though.
‘Uh, my arm,’ I said. I pointed at a random spot a few inches below my shoulder.
He grunted. ‘Payment up front.’
I nodded and reached into jacket for my wallet, leaning back at the same time so I could continue to eavesdrop.
‘We don’t keep records like that,’ I heard the other man say.
There was a faint hint of desperation to Luke’s voice. ‘I don’t believe you.’
I passed over a fifty pound note and stepped back, eager to get closer to the other cubicle and hear more. Whatever was going on here, it was clearly important. Unfortunately the other tattoo artist in front of me seemed determined to get on with his own job too. He shoved the money into his pocket and gave me a hard-eyed, suspicious stare. ‘You need to take your jacket off.’
I managed a smile. ‘Yes, of course. I’m just a bit nervous.’ I shrugged it off my shoulders.
He continued to stare at me. ‘And either take off your top or roll up your sleeve.’
I wasn’t going to strip. I had limits, no matter how determined I was to make a success of this mission. I reached for my sleeve, slowly pulling it up and taking as much time as I possibly could.
‘Look, mate,’ came the other voice again, ‘we won’t hand over someone else’s details. You could be anyone, innit?’
‘I appreciate that,’ Luke returned. ‘But I can make it worth your while.’
A heavy hand placed itself on my shoulder, all but forcing me down into the leather chair next to me. Almost immediately, the tattoo artist picked up his machine and clicked it on. I’d have protested or at least found some way to stall him, but Luke was getting to the good stuff.
‘Don’t move,’ the artist grunted.
It was becoming difficult to continue to eavesdrop over the sound of the machine. I leaned back to listen more closely.
‘I said,’ he repeated, ‘don’t move.’
‘How much?’ came the disembodied voice.
‘How much do you want?’ Luke asked. ‘We can come to some sort of arrangement. I know he used to live in this area. I just don’t have an address for him. I used to but all that sort of stuff was lost when my mum moved house. I’ll pay you whatever you want.’
I let out an inadvertent yelp as the needle touched my skin. Fuck a puck, that hurt. ‘Wait!’ I squeaked. ‘I need a few moments! I’m not sure I do want this any more…’
The artist chose not to hear me. I’d have yanked myself away as quickly as I possibly could if he wasn’t holding me down in place, supposedly so that I didn’t wriggle. Maybe he did that because he was used to customers running out of his shop and screaming. He continued to press the needle against my bare skin. I gritted my teeth. It would be worth it, I told myself. As soon as I’d heard enough, I’d leave this hell hole with at least most of skin still intact. I tried to re-focus on the conversation next door.
‘I don’t care how much you offer. I might need the money but I’m not telling you a thing. It wouldn’t be right. Now get the fuck out of here.’
‘This is important!’ Luke protested. ‘I’ve got lots of money. I swear I do! Just…’
‘Get the fuck out.’ There were sounds of a brief scuffle and then all went silent.
I swung my head towards the tattoo artist. ‘Stop! I don’t want it any more. You have to stop!’
He didn’t look up. ‘If I stop now, it’ll look like shit. This is art, lady. I’ve started so I’ll finish.’
‘But…’ I glanced down at my arm. Beads of blood were rising up across my skin where the needle had pierced through. And with only a vague outline completed, the tattoo thus far did look like shit. Bastards. Maybe it would look better when he was finished with it. My shoulders sagged. I was going to end up with a creepy cat on my skin whether I wanted it or not.
Chapter Fourteen
My arm felt like it was on fire. I hadn’t dared to take another look at the tattoo itself but the artist himself had completed it so quickly that I had a very bad feeling about what it was going to be like. I was an absolute idiot for not thinking of a way to eavesdrop on Luke. It was definitely all the stress, I told myself. It didn’t seem like it would get any better either. The entire faery godmother office was filled with unhappy people who were under similar pressure. Unfortunately for me, several of them were continuing to take their frustrations out on me as the newbie. I’d barely made it back to my desk and double checked the information on Luke’s file before I could hear the sneering begin.
‘It’s not fair when others get special treatment,’ someone said in an overly loud voice from another part of the room. ‘The rest of us only get one stab at our clients. We don’t get re-dos if we mess up their wishes.’
My lip curled. The only reason I’d been granted another stab at Luke Wells was so that the evil kidnapper and cutter of ears could potentially also stab me. If I yelled that back and made it clear that I’d worked out why I was really here then it was quite possible the Director would turf me out before I had the chance to prove myself. She was probably banking on the theory that my ignorance would do even more to encourage the bastard to come at me. And I’d never get another shot at being a faery godmother. Despite the pounding in my head and the burning pain of my arm, I had to continue to play nice.
‘I’m going out for lunch,’ I announced brightly. ‘Would anyone like anything while I’m out?’
‘Yeah,’ another nearby faery sniped. ‘Some of your special treatment would be nice. Not to mention a hundred percent pay rise like the one you negotiated with HR before you’d even begun.’
Alright. Fuck playing nice. I whirled round, located the bully in question, and walked over. I didn’t stomp. I strolled. I also kept the same picture perfect pretty smile on my face.
‘Hi,’ I said. ‘I’m Saffron. I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced.’
The other faery smirked and pointed at my ID. ‘Saffron? I think it’s Savlon, actually.’
I looked down at her own ID. ‘And you’re Philippa Clearworthy.’ I didn’t miss a beat. ‘You think that I’m getting special treatment.’
She sniffed. ‘I don’t think. I know.’
‘Tell me, Philippa,’ I said, leaning towards her, ‘was your mother a faery godmother?’<
br />
She straightened her back proudly. ‘She was.’
‘And your grandmother?’
‘Of course.’
I folded my arms but kept my expression benign. ‘I bet you could trace your entire family tree back as far it goes and you’ll find faery godmothers at every point.’
‘Yep.’ She looked me up and down. ‘Unlike you and your family.’
I nodded. ‘Indeed. Definitely unlike me and my family. No-one in my family has ever been a faery godmother. I got here purely on my own merits.’ That was an outright lie of course but I wasn’t supposed to know that and neither was Philippa. ‘I couldn’t rely on the special treatment my own family name gives me. I had to get here without that sort of hereditary help.’
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Alicia open her mouth as if to jump in and help Philippa out. Then she seemed to think better of it and closed her mouth again. That was probably a wise move.
‘Well,’ Philippa said, her cheeks beginning to colour, ‘that’s because your family are losers.’
I continued to smile. I was getting good at this. ‘If you believe that to be true, then you have to believe that your family are winners. Ergo I had to work about a million times harder than you to get to this very point.’ I cocked my head, pretending to be confused. ‘So how am I the privileged, special one? Unless your family aren’t winners at all. Perhaps they’re just losers like mine.’
‘My family aren’t losers,’ she spluttered.
‘Ah.’ I nodded wisely. ‘So you’re the one who’s had the special treatment then. Not me. Thank you for clearing that up.’ I hitched my bag onto my shoulder. ‘So would you like me to fetch you anything while I’m out then?’
She sank down into her chair. ‘No,’ she muttered.
I grinned. ‘Okay then.’ I turned around and began heading for the lift. Behind me, I heard Billy’s voice pipe up.
‘Philippa!’ he said, sounding utterly aghast. ‘Are you typing your reports in that font? It gives the Director a migraine! And are you seriously eating crisps at your desk? That’s the worst possible thing you can do around a keyboard. The germs that you’re both spreading and picking up could cause an outbreak across the entire office!’
I permitted myself another smile and pressed the button to call the lift. Rupert walked up and winked at me. ‘You have no idea,’ he said, ‘how turned on that made me.’
I reached into my bag and drew out a tissue, then dropped my eyes to his crotch. ‘I guess you’ll be needing this then.’
He blinked rapidly but, to give him a smidgen of credit, he recovered quickly. ‘Ha! Yes, good one.’ He took the tissue from me and made a show of folding it up and putting it into his breast pocket. ‘Could you perhaps pick me up some dark chocolate when you’re out? The canteen doesn’t sell anything like that because it’s not supposed to be healthy. But dark chocolate is different. Not to mention,’ he added with yet another wink that made my stomach heave, ‘it’s an excellent aphrodisiac.’
Fortunately, the lift took that moment to arrive and I stepped in. ‘Sure, Rupert. I’ll get you some of that.’ The doors closed on him, leaving me alone. I doubled over and breathed out. Man. Talking to Philippa that way had been unwise. But so much damn fun.
***
Mrs Jardine gave me a surprised look as I walked out past her desk, giving her a wave.
‘I don’t need the Metafora room right now,’ I explained. ‘I’m only going out for a spot of lunch.’ Besides, if I triggered the Metafora room I’d also trigger my trackers. I wanted to be alone for this little venture.
She raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re already bored of the staff canteen?’
‘I’m meeting someone,’ I told her. Hopefully anyway. ‘Don’t worry though. I won’t be late back.’
‘I don’t expect you will be,’ she murmured.
I smiled and walked out. St Clements Park was, quite fortuitously, less than a fifteen minute’s walk. I’d be there and back with the identity of one creepy boogeyman clutched in my sweaty little hand in no time. And if the gods were smiling on me, Duncan’s boogeyman would match the faeries’ one too.
Despite the lunchtime rush, as other office workers poured out of their offices in the search of a sandwich, I made it to the park without delay. Even with golden sunshine cascading down from the cloudless blue sky, it was a dreary place. Perhaps once upon a time it had been pretty, with orange and lemon trees dotted around to give weight to its name. Now, however, the grass was patchy, there was litter all over the place and the only tree appeared to be half dead. That was unfortunate. A flyer attached to the iron railings which fenced the park in proclaimed that the ‘Friends of St Clements’ were meeting in the park the following weekend to attempt to tidy things up. I made a mental note of the time. Some voluntary work might impress the Director. If that didn’t work, it would also spruce up my CV. I might need it.
A few brave souls were sitting around the park on rickety wooden benches. Not one of them looked in my direction as I passed. In fact, it was quite the opposite. They kept their eyes resolutely away as if to suggest that meeting the eyes of anyone whilst in this place would immediately turn them into stone. I had the distinct feeling that if I approached any of them to inquire about suspicious strangers, I’d cause several strokes and at least one heart attack. I checked my watch. It was early yet. I still had plenty of time before I had to get back to the office.
I headed for one of the empty benches, brushing off the worst of what I hoped was merely dirt before I sat down. My stomach grumbled loudly and I wished I’d thought to actually bring some lunch with me. My arm seemed to be hurting more now, rather than less. I leaned back and pretended I was enjoying the view, whilst neither in any pain nor hungry in the slightest. If only wishing always made it so.
I stayed where I was for several minutes. A few people got up and left the park. A few people entered. The gentle hum of traffic from beyond continued unabated. A scruffy looking dog which was being dragged along on a lead by its owner cocked its leg against the only other empty bench, liberally spraying it with urine. I grimaced and leaned to one side, sniffing and wondering if I’d made a mistake by sitting down. That was when I saw him.
He was shifty as hell. Truthfully, he couldn’t have looked more shifty if he tried. Despite the warm sunshine, he was wearing a filthy trenchcoat which had bulging pockets that no doubt contained all manner of dodgy objects. His eyes were sliding around the park, landing on everyone there with an assessing consideration. He was looking for new clients. I was sure of it.
When his gaze moved to me, I looked away, then looked back, then looked away again. My pink faery godmother cloak was still tucked away and I knew that in my office suit I might not look like one of his usual punters. If I’d learned anything in my time as a dope faery, however, it was that you should never ever judge someone’s secret proclivities by the way that they dressed. I was hoping that this man, as unkempt as he was, would know that.
He ran a hand through his greasy grey hair, which was in dire need of a good wash and trim. Then he extended his pinky out towards me, gently beckoning me towards him with a questioning glance. Satisfaction settled in my stomach. My little nervous dramatics had been enough.
I looked around, as if checking the area for secret undercover police, then got to my feet and walked over to him. He was hovering beside an old rosebush which, surprisingly, had a few budding flowers. I stopped a foot or so away from him.
‘Afternoon,’ he muttered, in a perfect example of Essex accented English. Almost too perfect. It was like the dirty coat coat he’d shrugged on – all part of a very deliberate persona.
‘Hi.’ I rubbed my palms against my black skirt, indicating to him that I was still terrified.
‘Can I help you with sumthin?’
This was where I had to be very careful. It was vital that I played my cards correctly if I were going to find out anything at all. It was possible indeed that this bloke was the boogeyman I was
looking for. I was already starting to have my doubts, however.
‘I don’t know,’ I hedged. ‘I’m here to meet a … friend of a friend.’
‘Oh yeah?’ He’d perfected the art of appearing disinterested. ‘Who’s that friend then?’
The last thing I wanted to do was to give up Duncan’s name. I had no desire to get him in any deeper than he already was. From what I’d already gathered, he was terrified of this man. I deliberately misunderstood his question and licked my lips. ‘I’m told he’s the boogeyman,’ I whispered.
For a brief second, he didn’t react. Then he threw back his head and laughed uproariously. ‘Yeah,’ he said through a series of phlegmy snorts, ‘I’ve been called that before. And worse too.’
I didn’t doubt it. I opened my eyes wide. ‘Why?’ I asked. ‘Why do they call you that?’
He grinned, showing me his crooked, tobacco stained teeth. ‘Cos I’m scary as fuck.’ He took a step towards me, his left hand drifting towards one of his pockets. I caught a glimpse of what could only be the handle of a large knife. It was interesting that he was making such a show of strength this early on in our ‘relationship’. ‘What do they call you?’ he asked.
‘Alicia.’ I twisted my fingers together.
‘Nice to meet you, Alicia.’ He nodded at my bulging bag. ‘Whatcha got there then?’
I reached in with one hand, keeping a close eye on his expression as I did so. I pulled out the pink cloak, shook it out and placed it awkwardly round my shoulders.
The boogeyman blinked. ‘You going to a fancy dress party?’
‘I’m a faery godmother,’ I told him, taking a gamble. I wasn’t officially working right now so the memory magic wouldn’t work and the boogeyman here would remember me and everything I told him. I decided it didn’t matter, however. He would either be the bastard I was looking for or I’d never see him again. This was the quickest way to divine the truth.
