by EH Walter
Chapter 5: Like Fairies in a Sweetshop
Arse and bollocks. What was I supposed to do? I had little comprehension of what my father was telling me - okay, even if I could see things - why did that put me under any obligation to help people? My head was filling with questions that my mouth did not have time to process before my father's watch beeped and he stood up to leave.
"Hold on..." I said, "you can't just say these things and leave!"
He looked at his watch. "Sorry Leo, but I have somewhere else I need to be. You'll understand one day."
"What - why my own father swans in and out of my life at will? Tells me I have to help weirdos because it's my duty and then leaves before actually telling me anything? Some chance."
He looked at his watch again and shrugged his shoulders. "See you soon Leo."
"Huh!" I replied and slumped into my chair as he moved rapidly out of the restaurant. Bugger him, I'd do what I liked. I didn't have a duty to anyone but myself - never had. If he wanted a daughter who was bound by duty he ought to have raised one.
I was crossing my flat building's car park when I thought I had better check in on Trevor and see if there had been any trouble. I leant over the side, trying to touch as little of the sap-rotten, peeling-red-paint railings as I could. I peered into what Trevor had disdainfully called a 'culvert'.
"Trevor," I called, "it's Leo - has there been any bother?"
I expected his rasping voice to respond or his knobbly green figure to appear. Nothing. The young black cat that lived in the flats behind the Chinese take-away came to investigate and gave a sniff as if she could sense something new and unusual. Then she looked up at me.
"It's a troll," I told her, "and hopefully he won't be here long."
Satisfied she turned on her heel and sashayed off through the car park.
"Trevor!" I called louder. Still no response. Huh, trolls - eh?
Perhaps I should have been alarmed that Bob's body guard was not at his post, but I had not met a fairy at that point and could little imagine something I had always seen as a fluffy and benign presence, like Tinkerbell, being a thing capable of murder - whatever Bob had told me. Until I saw one I was not convinced by his fears or even that they did exist.
Innocently I tripped up the stairs and turned the key in the lock. Immediately I heard unfamiliar sounds and was on high alert. I had no weapons to hand so I slipped my key between my knuckles, ready to poke anyone should the need arise. Cautiously I slipped down the small hallway and burst through the living room slash kitchen door. A riot of noise greeted me - I had not known my TV had such a loud setting.
"I think you could make a handsome profit with this ewer," came a voice from the TV, "It could easily sell at auction for more than..."
In surprise at the sight that greeted my eyes I dropped my keys and stared open mouthed for a second before logical thought came back to me.
Sitting side by side on the sofa nearest the window were Bob and Trevor. This would sound fairly normal to most people but when you remember Bob was at least half goat and Trevor was a short, ugly troll it painted a very different picture. It was a twisted sitcom that not even Channel 4 would pay to produce.
Bob had his feet up on a box of my books and Trevor was desperately trying to copy but his legs were too short so instead he had seated himself on a cushion and was resting one leg on the arm of the sofa and the other one was dangling over the edge of the seat. Between them was a bowl of popcorn and almost as much as was in the bowl had scattered over the sofa and floor.
Trevor made a growling sound and tossed a piece of popcorn at the TV. This was evidently not a new idea as there was a sprinkling of popcorn around the base of the TV as well. The popcorn hit Tim Wonnacott on the nose, right between the silly glasses on a chain. They were watching Bargain Hunt. Of course they were watching Bargain Hunt, what else would two impossible beings choose to watch?
"That'll never make a profit dumb ass!" Trevor rasped at the presenter who was holding a glass and silver ewer, "go for the coffee pot!"
Bob threw a hand full of popcorn in his mouth and then chose to speak. Particles of half masticated pop corn danced out of his mouth as he enunciated. "He should get the sparkly thing."
They hadn't noticed me so I had a chance to survey my previously fairly clean and tidy room. One day had wreaked havoc on my personal space. At the kitchen end used crockery and pots were piled over all the surfaces and the sink, there was also a strange collection of smells wafting towards me and I tried not to think about what these could be. It seemed Bob had tried washing socks, although they couldn't be his as he didn't wear any, and said socks were drying at various inappropriate places in my flat - along the edge of my bookshelves, the kitchen counter and one even lay over the lamp. Mud and straw had been trodden into my carpet. It looked like a barnyard and nothing like the lovely little flat it had been the day before. I could have cried, instead I stomped into the room, gathered a handful of damp and smelly socks and threw them at Bob's face. Even he didn't like that. Then I grabbed the remote and turned off the TV. They both had the gall to groan before they registered the fury on my face.
"Look at this mess!" I shouted at them, "it's disgusting!"
They were even worse than the Northern Irish boys I had shared a flat with in my first year at drama school and that really was saying something.
Bob blinked and looked around hopelessly. Trevor leapt off the sofa and tried to jump up and wrest the remote from me, I held my hand higher and he jumped like a toad to try and grasp it. Ha ha short ass.
"Why don't you get a cleaner?" Bob asked innocently.
My response was part growl, part scream. "I can't afford a cleaner! And if you hadn't noticed - before you arrived I didn't need one!"
He shrugged. "Get Brownies."
"The UK has very strict child labour laws."
"Not children," he blinked, "Brownies, helpful sprites who enjoy cleaning. They like to keep things clean and tidy."
"I wish you were part Brownie!" I said, "I am going out for a very long walk and when I get back this place had better be tidy!"
I slipped the remote control in my pocket and then pulled the TV's plug socket out of the wall, I prised the back off and removed the fuse. Let them figure that one out.
Although it was late I went to the park to clear my head, steering clear of any bridges because I really had had enough of trolls. It was dark and cold and pretty miserable. At least it made me want to return to the warmth of my flat even if it did now smell and look like a home for cattle.
I didn't see anything unusual in the park, so much for being a 'Seer', and when I thought about it I hadn't ever seen anything odd before Bob came along. I was still unconvinced by Tiddles and perhaps my dad had that one wrong.
What did it mean to be a Seer anyway? I suppose the one person I could have asked was GA Mildred, but I was too mad at her for not telling me any of this and anyway - she was crazy. If being a Seer meant being like her, screw it - I could find something else to do. No one could make me be something I didn't want to be. I could always go back to acting, Jez would help me... Jez...
I sighed. He wouldn't want anything to do with me if this stupid story got out. I needed Bob out of my life and quick. I sighed, the only way to get Bob out of my life was to sort out his problem and send him on his way. Okay, I told myself, I'll sort out Bob - and then that's it, PI is over for me and so is all this seer rubbish. I was my own person and no one told me what to do, least of all an absent parent.
Back in my flat they had made an effort. Bob was in my cat apron and had tied a hand towel around Trevor. The kitchen was full of soap suds and the socks were now in a mouldering pile on the sofa. That was about the extent of the tidying, although it clearly wasn't for want of effort. They both looked harangued, although only Bob looked apologetic.
Bob looked at me with sorrowful eyes. "I cooked you supper," he said and I felt
like a complete shit as all this kitchen mess had been for my benefit.
"Lovely," I said, using all my acting skills, "yum yum!"
Something tugged at me and I looked down. Trevor was doing his best Oliver Twist impression, asking for more.
"Hey lady, can I have the magic box? I need to know what happened, whether the ewer or the coffee pot went for more."
"No," I said, "I happen to have a good relationship with my neighbours and one: I don't want to piss them off with loud noises and two: I don't want them coming round here and seeing... seeing I am... subletting."
Trevor crossed his over-long arms and pouted which had the effect of making his overbite look even more pronounced. Sulking didn't look good on a troll. Did any expression look good on a troll?
"Is it supper time?" Bob asked.
"Later," I said, "Now sit down - both of you."
Obediently Bob trotted to his sofa and sat down. Trevor remained where he was, arms crossed, face scowling. I think he may have been muttering under his breath as well, something that sounded a little like 'stoopid dame'. Fine, I thought - of that's the way you want to play it. I turned my back on him. Whistle for those mangoes buddy, whistle.
"I am very, very tired," I told Bob, "my head is spinning with all this new information. I am going to bed and I am going to sleep very well for a very long time and when I get up I am going to find a way of getting you and your little green muscle man out of my life. Until then I suggest warty over there returns to his culvert and you settle down quietly on the sofa. If I hear any noise above the level of a whisper in the night I will have no problem in tossing you out into the street and the fairies can do what they wish to you."
As Bob gave a shudder I left the room.
"Stoopid dame," muttered Trevor under his breath.
Over the next couple of days I saw nothing of Trevor, which was something of a relief as he wasn't the most aesthetically pleasing being in my life. Every morning I left Bob at the flat and drove to the PI office as normal. If anything I spent longer than usual at the PI offices, returning home only to sleep. I kept Rose in biscuits and shuffled papers until my heart was content. No more jobs came in and I hadn't made any progress with Miss X's case. To be honest, I had kind of lost the will with a troll and a goat man in my life. We seemed to have no trouble from any 'fairies' although I couldn't day for sure if this was due to the presence of a troll, Bob's whereabouts being unknown or that they just simply didn't exist.
On the third day I got a new case. Rose took the call and arranged the meeting. As I always did I took the bus up to High Barnet and waited for my new client in Starbucks. It was, as usual for mid morning on a weekday, full of mothers and screaming toddlers. I sat in my accustomed seat, waiting and reading a book to while away the time. It was an absorbing book and the time passed rapidly without my realising.
One second I was reading a page of my novel and then I caught something in the corner of my eye. I looked up and without any noise or disturbance a figure had seated themselves in the chair opposite me. It was a young girl - early twenties maybe - with pale blonde hair and an expressionless face as if someone had gone crazy over her skin with botox needle. She was exceptionally beautiful, the kind of beauty that can only be caught by the naked eye and does not transfer onto canvas or film. She smiled. It was not a smile that put me at ease. As her lips moved I could sight of the slightest edge of her teeth, they looked like they had been sharpened into razor sharp points. Her pink tongue brushed over them as if she had been aware of my attention.
"Well," she said in a soft, tone-less voice, "you are interesting, aren't you?"
A sense of unease came over me, like someone had dripped liquid nitrogen down my spine. I couldn't move, an irrational sense of panic was beginning to overwhelm me. I didn't know who she was but I knew I didn't like her and she didn't like me.
She licked her lips, something sparkled. Her eyes worked over me, up and down.
"I had no idea the new Seer was so interesting."
I wanted to speak but my mouth would not open and no words would come.
"We haven't seen one like you for many generations, if ever. There is something unusual about you, I wish I could put my finger on it. I wonder if you know how special you are?"
She leant close and sniffed me, it was as if the smell of me was intoxicating. She lingered there for a moment before sitting back in her chair.
"Fascinating!"
I opened my mouth, nothing came out.
"They'll be all over you like a sweetshop. And you have no idea."
She clicked her fingers and something in me relaxed. Her tone of voice changed and became more business like.
"I am Orla of the Fae. You are Morgan Leonora Elizabeth Fey," she said, "Seer of the two worlds and you have something belonging to me. Answer."
Bugger you, I thought. I couldn't answer when I wanted to so I'll be damned if I will now! I looked down at my tea and stirred with the wooden stick. Then I looked up at her and smiled.
She stuck out her lips slightly and her eyes narrowed. "You would be wise not to play games with me."
"Shame," I said lightly, "I could just do with around of Scrabble."
Her smile became a sneer. "I want the satyr child."
"The what? You must excuse me, this stuff is all rather new to me. What is a satyr child?"
"I want the goat man. He belongs to us."
"What will you do with him if I give him to you?"
"Eat him." she said without relish.
"Right... okay - you want to eat him?"
"We gave our word he would be eliminated, to be eaten is his punishment for running. We don't break our word. The word of the Fae is final."
I had a very vivid picture of Bob's bemused face being held between her teeth. "The problem is, I think Bob is kind of used to being alive and rather likes it."
Her eyes grew wide, "You gave the slave a name?"
"I can't let you kill him."
She leant in and spoke on a whisper. "You really think you can stop us?"
I looked up at her and shrugged. "I'll give it a damn good go."
If I had known how violent and unstable fairies were, I might have reconsidered my words. As it was they were spoken and it was too late.