Giant Days

by Non Pratt

  “Saved your seat!” the student she’d spoken to said with a smirk.

  So that would be a 100 percent fail rate at Creative Writing. Esther pushed out of the door, wanting to get away from the humiliation, but it followed her down the stairs.

  “How did you even get in?” Vectra laughed as she fell into step with Esther. “Everyone knows Frankenstein’s the name of the doctor, not the monster.”

  “Aw, that’s not true. I didn’t until I read it.” Thesaurus Boy was jostling along next to them, beaming at the side of Esther’s face so that she couldn’t tell whether or not he was being sarcastic.

  “Good point.” Vectra nodded, giving Esther a sly look. “Most of us have read our favorite books. And those of us who consider ourselves sisters of the night would know our gothic literature.”

  Esther hesitated. Did that mean Vectra knew who she was? Or was she just referring to herself?

  “I, er, we didn’t really meet properly back there—” Esther began.

  “I’m Otto!” Thesaurus Boy said brightly, waving.

  “Hi, Otto. I’m Esther.”

  “Yeah, we know. You said.” Vectra could walk fast for someone with such short legs. “You’re the Gothic Pixie Dream Girl all the boys have been wetting themselves over.”

  “Gothic Pixie Dream Girl” didn’t sound like a compliment.

  Vectra carried on purposefully along the pavement, hands jammed deeply into the pockets of her jacket. The rest of the group had all turned the same way, as if operating as part of a unified hive mind.

  When Vectra stopped and half turned back, Esther worried that she’d finally identified Esther as a threat and the rest of the hive would swarm around and sting her to death with sarcastic comments about her academic abilities.

  “Are you coming for a post-critique group drink or what?”

  When her phone went off, Daisy pounced on it so quickly that the last of her fruit tea jumped out of her mug and splashed across her thigh.

  Sorry, Daisy, going to have to bail on yoga tonight. Please send photos of Susan humiliating herself. xxx

  Doubt, long buried and dormant, unfurled inside her chest, the same feeling that had nudged her toward seeking a social life in the first place. A fear that maybe the friends she loved so much didn’t quite feel the same way. She’d barely stood up before someone swiped the chair from under her, banging the back of her knees. Ruffled, Daisy shouldered her yoga mat and stepped out into the night, drizzle settling in her hair and on her glasses, dusting the screen of her phone as she tapped out a cheerful reply letting Esther know that it was fine. All fine.

  It really was fine. Susan was going to meet her there.

  Esther wasn’t to know that Daisy had been hoping to take her two best friends out for a celebratory milkshake after yoga to thank them for everything they’d done for her this last week. She’d utilized some of the skills she’d picked up from the various crafting groups she’d left and had made them both badges that said Best Mum Ever.

  She could always do it another time.

  The address Daisy had given her wasn’t what Susan had envisioned. This was not the sort of suburb where one might locate a chilly church hall, or a dance studio above a parade of dingy shops. It was the sort of place one found Neighborhood Watch stickers on the windows and artisanal pizza boxes in the recycling bins. The houses here were detached, the gardens mature, and the trees leafy—or they would have been if all the leaves weren’t on the pavement. Half the driveways had fancy gravel leading up to porches whose leaded glass nestled between casement windows.

  Stopping as she turned off the main road, Susan double-checked that she’d typed the address in correctly, wiping the rain-flecked screen dry on her chest to frown down at the map.

  Two roads along and turn left. Number 21 . . .

  Before she’d had a chance to move, Susan saw someone approaching who very definitely didn’t belong there.

  McGraw.

  There was nowhere here for him to get keys cut or buy a lathe or a spirit level or a . . . protractor. (Susan hadn’t exactly excelled when it came to Design and Tech class.)

  Old habits died hard, and Susan slipped into the shadows cast by an ostentatious topiary before her target could see her. Hands in pockets, McGraw passed the hedge she was lurking behind with a muted rustle of damp leaves and a faint cheerful hum.

  It had been a long day. Milo had already exhausted what little patience Susan had ever possessed, and she was cold and tired and had a backlog of lecture notes to catch up on, and instead she was out in the wilds of suburbia looking at McGraw being happy.

  This was too much.

  McGraw had effectively ruined Susan’s life by turning up in Sheffield. Now here he was ruining Daisy’s yoga session?

  The fiend needed taking down. Right. Now. Self-righteous rage catapulted Susan from behind the tree into a brisk walk behind McGraw, determined to find whatever it was that had put him in such a cheerful mood and destroy it. The road came to a dead end, but there was a short footpath leading to a street that was a lot less affluent than the one Susan had come from. Here the houses were in terraces of four, the sort with as many doorbells as floors and cars parked on the road—student territory.

  Seeing no sign of her quarry, Susan drew to a halt just long enough to catch the faintest sound of McGraw’s tenor a short distance away. She saw him then, standing several car lengths down the pavement, phone to his ear, before he turned decisively toward one of the houses and pressed the bell. Fast as a ferret, Susan darted along the road just in time to see the door shut.

  Had she been on the job, there were several things Susan would have considered doing next. Check the name on the bell and run a search through the university intranet. Peer in through the window. Concoct a quick disguise, nab a pizza box out of one of the recycling bins, and ring the bell for a wrong delivery.

  But no one was paying her to do this. She wasn’t on the tail of a known criminal—McGraw, for all his many flaws, was an honest man—and it was she, Susan, who was in breach of contract.

  Following her enemy had been a mistake. But Susan barely had a chance to consider her own foolishness, because there, looming in wobbly silhouette through the glass pane of the front door, was McGraw.

  Not having anticipated that he’d come out so soon, Susan had no escape plan. There were no walls to duck behind, no trees—but there, parked behind her on the road, was a van, with one back door open to accommodate the long beams of wood that were sticking out. Out of options and out of time, Susan scooted around the open door and thrust herself into a gap not designed for someone with hips. With a bit of a wriggle, it was enough. Her fingers hooked onto the cord that held the planks together. Chest squashed against the wood, Susan glanced back, confident that by crooking her knees, she’d remain safely out of sight.

  There was no sound from outside. No footsteps. Head twisted around, Susan stared out into the night, wondering how long she’d have to wait before she could get out and get to yoga.

  At which point the van rumbled to life and pulled away from the curb.

  With Esther having cried off and an absent Susan, Daisy could feel the familiar breath of anxiety whispering in her ear as she made her way up the drive. Esther doesn’t think yoga is proper exercise . . . Susan hates relaxing . . . They’re tired after spending so much time doing all your ridiculous clubs . . .They’re bored with you . . .

  Enough of this. Susan had probably arrived already. Having waited for Esther, Daisy was a little later than she’d planned.

  The smile with which Elise greeted Daisy when she opened the door was enough to push back even the darkest of thoughts. “Daisy! Zoise embraces you. Welcome, Sister.”

  She offered Daisy a cookie from the plate in her hand and peered over Daisy’s shoulder at the shadowed driveway. “Didn’t you say we’d be welcoming some of your friends?”

  There was no hiding the effect the question had on her, and Daisy drooped as she let go of the final f
lutter of hope. “You mean Susan’s not here?”

  Elise shook her head and put a solicitous arm around Daisy’s waist, guiding her through the house.

  “I’m so sorry, Daisy. Sometimes friends let us down.” She walked ahead of Daisy down the stone steps toward the welcoming warmth of the basement, turning to talk over her shoulder. “That’s why we need our family . . .”

  There was already a semicircle on the mats, everyone in their robes, Brother Jasper at the lectern ready to deliver the Voice of Zoise that would lead them into meditation. As one, the Brethren turned to Daisy, standing up in welcome and waving her into their midst.

  “We’d just wrapped up the Ceremony of Sharing,” Jasper said once she was settled. “Having attended your first few sessions, it is time for you to make a commitment to Zoise and pursue the path of enlightenment.”

  “Oh, er, of course . . .”

  When she glanced over to where Elise stood at the bottom of the steps, the young woman nodded with encouragement, and without her friends there to stop her, Daisy couldn’t really think of a good reason why she shouldn’t participate. Only she hadn’t brought anything with her . . .

  “That’s a very pretty necklace.” Jasper nodded to where Daisy’s hand had automatically gone to the delicate gold bird pendant that Granny had given her for her sixteenth birthday.

  “Oh. Right. Yes.” Reaching up, Daisy undid the clasp and handed over the necklace.

  A gift from her old family so that she might join a new one.

  There are more dignified ways to travel through Sheffield than with one’s top half wedged in a van, a yoga-suitable bottom sticking out the back door. A situation made all the worse by the fact that there was no way Susan could reach for her phone without risking life and limb as the van swung round one of the city’s many roundabouts. Fingers bloodlessly hooked over the cord, Susan thought of Esther and Daisy waiting for her to join them, assuming that she’d let them down yet again.

  Which she had.

  Wedged in the back of a van with only her guilt for company was not ideal, and by the time the vehicle pulled up at its destination, Susan’s mood had grown so black that there was no telling exactly what manner of retribution she would inflict upon the driver once she found out who it was.

  Futility had that effect on her.

  When the engine died, Susan did her best to shuffle out of the van, feet kicking wildly as she tried to find purchase on something—anything—to help extract her shoulders so she could wreak vengeance on the idiot who’d started up the van without checking that the load was secure.

  “Do you need a hand?”

  The question stilled Susan’s thrashing, her limbs momentarily incapable of activity, as every ounce of energy was required to comprehend what was happening.

  That voice belonged to McGraw. But . . . McGraw was supposed to be making his laborious way back to campus via the public transportion network, as was his custom. He wasn’t supposed to have . . . driven here in this van.

  “What? No!” Susan yelled. Although whether in rejection of the offer of help or as a simple declaration of horror wasn’t clear.

  “If you’re sure . . .”

  “Touch me, and I will end you.” Her thrashing resumed, all the more ineffectual for the amount of rage channeled into it. Eventually, Susan’s efforts shifted things so that she was able to slide out, but her top caught on the rough surface of the beams and rolled up. Her skin scraped along the wood, splinters grazing her.

  Emerging red-faced and fuming, Susan tugged her top down to face McGraw, sitting patiently on the car park wall by F-block, his mustache impassive, eyes hinting at mirth.

  “Hello, Susan,” he said.

  Susan couldn’t say anything. Her body couldn’t process the level of rage she’d ascended to.

  “Is there a reason you were hitching a ride in the back of my van?”

  “Your van?” That was what she was going to lead with? Apparently so.

  McGraw shrugged. “Technically the van belongs to Allan Cho, a third-year Mechanical Engineering student whose uncle runs a roofing company and had some unused—”

  “Ugh. Stop talking!” Susan clutched her head, trying to claw all this unwanted information from her brain.

  “. . . good for a project I’m—”

  “No! Not interested.”

  “. . . said I could borrow the van while—”

  “Stop!” In desperation, Susan lunged forward and slammed both hands across McGraw’s mouth. Startled, the two of them stared at each other for a second, frozen in a horrifying tableau, McGraw’s mustache strangely soft against her fingertips, his eyes no longer hinting at mirth so much as . . .

  “Ugh.” Susan sprang back, wiping her hands on McGraw’s sleeve rather than contaminating her own clothes, ignoring the shape his muscles made under the material and the smell of metal shavings and sawdust and soap.

  Turning her back, Susan stormed away as McGraw called after her, “You do know you’re in direct violation of Clause 4 of our contract?”

  Her response was in direct violation of basic human decency.

  There is nothing quite so unsatisfactory as finding your soul mate and her not even noticing you exist.

  That had been what it was like in the pub. Whenever Esther tried to talk to Vectra Featherstone (even her surname was cool!), one of the other Lit students would join in, dominating the conversation. And on the rare occasions Vectra said anything, Esther had barely been able to hear her. Vectra’s throaty crackle was exactly the wrong frequency for a Friday night in a busy pub.

  Every time Esther edged close enough to maybe say something, the group would shift, and she would find herself watching as someone else caught Vectra’s attention, her heavily kohled eyes turned in their direction as Vectra chewed disinterestedly on her straw.

  Oh, for such disinterest to be directed at Esther . . .

  They would be friends. Of this Esther was utterly, completely convinced. There was no one Esther had ever met who hadn’t warmed to her eventually, and she knew, deep in the chambers of her heart, that Vectra and she would be the best friends ever.

  If only they talked to each other.

  Stomping up the stairs, weighed down with creative writing ephemera and disappointment, Esther hoped that Daisy wouldn’t mind what had happened. After all, she’d had Susan for company, and she didn’t really need two of them to go with her to this club. It wasn’t as if Esther had abandoned her. She’d sent a message. She’d been to all the other clubs. And Daisy had said she was fine . . .

  Turning onto the landing, Esther walked into a wall of smoke. Once she’d stopped coughing, she wiped away tears to see Susan standing moodily by an open window, ash dusting the tops of her shoes and regret shadowing her eyes.

  Yoga must have been really bad.

  “I’m so sorry—”

  “I feel terrible—”

  They stopped as quickly as they started.

  “You first,” Esther said, tucking away a tight, guilty smile.

  Susan sighed, flicked the butt of her cigarette out the window, and recrossed her ankles. “If I’m going to be apologizing, I’d prefer to do it only the once. Where’s Daisy?”

  “Isn’t she with you?” Alarm flooded through Esther. She’d assumed Susan had been waiting there as vanguard for the recriminations she deserved for bailing on the two of them, but . . .

  “What?” Susan frowned. “No, I thought she was with you.”

  The two of them stared at each other in shame, Susan’s guilt multiplying Esther’s tenfold. If she’d thought there was the slimmest chance of Daisy being on her own, she never would have contemplated going to the pub with Vectra.

  “I only flaked out because I thought she’d have you there.” The excuse sounded even more flimsy when Esther said it out loud.

  “I was—should have been.” Susan shook her head in irritation and looked down at her phone, running her thumb over the screen. “I got waylaid and couldn’t use my
phone until it was too late. Daisy’s not replied to any of the messages I sent her.”

  Faintly, like a siren song a desperate sailor might cling to, there came a familiar hum from the bowels of the stairwell, echoing up to the fourth-floor landing. Instinctively, Esther drew closer to Susan, adopting a similar hangdog pose and penitent expression, facing the stairs and waiting for judgment.

  A halo of golden curls edged into view, then the rims of Daisy’s owlish glasses, and . . . her smile?

  “Hello, friends!” Daisy beamed at them. “Is this a welcoming committee?”

  The force with which they flung themselves at her nearly resulted in a twelve-limb tumble back down the stairs. It was worth the risk to smother Daisy in love and apologies and promises not to let her down ever again.

  Susan drew away first with an awkward cough and a mumble about popping the kettle on. As the three of them walked along the corridor to the kitchen, Esther asked how the club had gone.

  “How did you manage to disentangle yourself?”

  “Did you declare a preference for Pilates?” Susan suggested.

  “Ooh, or did you make all your poses weirdly provocative?” Esther stretched into Tree Pose and cast a coquettish pout over her shoulder.

  “Actually.” Daisy cleared her throat and gave a defiant tilt of the chin. “I decided to join up for good. It’s the only club I’ve been to where I feel like I really belong. I’m going again on Monday.”

  Esther cast a cautious glance in Susan’s direction. “Well, you do really like yoga . . .”

  “. . . and if these people make you feel at home . . .” Susan shrugged.

  “What harm can one club do?” Esther finished, and she gave Daisy an affectionate squeeze.

  7

  THE PATH TO ENLIGHTENMENT

  At home, there had always been someone to make stuff happen. Clothes would get washed, meals cooked, bills paid. Esther would write what brand of shampoo she wanted on the shopping list, and it would turn up in the bathroom. She never had to know how much it cost, the same way she never had to pay for the hairdresser or the dentist. There was no admin required for being someone’s daughter.