Invisible Monsters

by H L Macfarlane

  “If you unload the bus and follow me that would be great. You still have one final leg of the journey, you see.”

  Poppy raised a curious, suspicious eyebrow at Rachelle when she caught her eye. Her best friend laughed in response; of course a retreat that Poppy herself had organised wasn’t going to be straight-forward.

  “If you insist, Patrick,” Poppy said. “Lead the way.”

  “This Patrick guy’s pretty hot,” Casey murmured as she caught up with them. “In a Highlands and Islands kind of way, but hot nonetheless.”

  “Casey, what does that even mean?” Rachelle asked, dubious.

  Cassandra hailed from a tiny village in Northern Ireland; Poppy couldn’t even remember the name of it. For some reason, though, she understood exactly what Casey meant. Patrick was dark haired and rugged, as if the violent winds that often battered the North had shaped him themselves. There was a charm to it of course…not to mention the fact that he looked like he could easily hoist any of the young women in the society up and over his shoulders without so much as breaking a sweat.

  “He’s…charming,” Casey said, waving a hand about meaninglessly. “You wouldn’t get it, Rachelle. You’re a city girl through-and-through.”

  “Says the girl who shed all but her accent when she moved to said city!”

  Casey pouted her perfectly painted lips in response. “Boys like my accent; what can I say?”

  “If we’re staying around here for two weeks then I’m sure you can try it on with him, Casey,” Poppy said, rolling her eyes, “but let’s get ourselves settled in first. I’m pretty sure some of the altogether drunker members of the club are desperate to get to a bathroom.”

  Rachelle frowned. “There was a toilet on the coach.”

  “Which was blocked about an hour of the way into the journey.”

  “Oh, ew. Okay, I didn’t need that mental image.”

  The three of them laughed away the comment when Fred joined them. Poppy resisted the very strong urge to punch him in the face.

  “King, what’s going on?” he asked, frowning. He was always frowning at Poppy. “Seems like this guy is leading us to a river.”

  “A loch.”

  “And that somehow makes this better?”

  Poppy shrugged. “May as well know the country you live in, Sampson.”

  “Can you guys just stop arguing for one minute?” Rachelle sighed.

  But Casey seemed to agree with Fred. “There wasn’t any mention of us needing more than the bus to get to this place, Poppy. If they’re expecting us to hire a boat or something…I think Andrew might have a breakdown.”

  “Relax, guys,” Patrick suddenly called over to the group, simultaneously making them aware of the fact that he’d listened in to the whole discussion. “The final leg of the journey is included in the price of hiring the centre…alcohol and all.”

  Casey perked up immediately. “Alcohol?”

  Patrick grinned as he brought them over to a small ferry – or a large boat, depending on how one looked at it. “This is my baby, the Cassandra.”

  “Fuck off, no it’s not.”

  Poppy burst out laughing at Casey’s remark, in particular Patrick’s resultant, confused expression. “Her name’s Cassandra,” she explained for his benefit, pointing at the young woman in question with a thumb.

  He chuckled; it was a pleasant sound. “Well let’s pretend I named it after you, then. Though such a beautiful lass deserves to have a ship named after her, not my tiny, old boat.”

  Casey seemed to glow with the compliment. She gave the man her most radiant smile. “Maybe you can show me about the Cassandra when everyone’s on board?”

  “It’d be my pleasure.”

  Fred and Rachelle watched the exchange with blank faces that entirely hid their bemusement. Casey enjoyed flirting more than anyone they knew; the ease with which she fell into the lap of a handsome man was ridiculous.

  Poppy kept up a responsible, presidential act until everyone was on board the boat, most of whom immediately entered the glass-fronted passenger cabin. Poppy followed suit, whistling in admiration when she spied a long, varnished, wooden bar. Patrick leapt over it and pulled out a few miscellaneous bottles of spirits, then motioned Poppy over.

  “Feel free to help yourselves to anything from the bar – Dorian’s treat,” he said when Poppy reached his side.

  Then he winked at her.

  Poppy blushed furiously despite herself.

  “H-how long will the journey take to the centre?” she asked, stammering slightly as she thought of the mysterious Dorian she was so close to finally meeting. “We didn’t know you could only get there by boat.”

  “About thirty minutes. Technically you can drive there, but the road’s far too narrow and winding to get a bus along. A boat is much safer. And way more fun.”

  Poppy smiled. “I think most of us would agree with that sentiment.”

  “If you can keep watch over your group in here, I’ll get the engine started and we can head off. Oh, and,” he raised his voice so the whole group could hear, “there are a couple toilets just off the hall to your right. I’m sure a few of you need them.”

  There was a rush of about six or seven students who immediately ran in the direction Patrick had pointed, causing a smattering of laughter to fill the room.

  Casey all but ran up to the bar after Patrick left. “Quick, Poppy,” she exclaimed, “make me a drink so I can chase after him.”

  “Why don’t you make it yourself?”

  “But you’re the barman.”

  “Do I look like a man?”

  “Okay, the bar lady.”

  “Move over, Morph, I’ll do it.”

  They both turned; it was Nate, his silver hair shining brilliantly under the lights of the cabin.

  Poppy grimaced at the nickname. “You really couldn’t think of a better superhero name for me, Nate?”

  “I’ve legitimately never seen you in pain. And morphine comes from poppies. What else would you expect me to call you?”

  “My real name, maybe?”

  “Never, Morph,” he laughed, ruffling the silver streak in Poppy’s hair before taking her place behind the bar. “Vodka cranberry for you, Casey?”

  “Oh, I do enjoy that you know my drink order.”

  Poppy left Nate to play barman as she searched the cabin for Andrew, who had stayed characteristically quiet and, therefore, unseen for most of the journey. It was his first time away from home for longer than two consecutive days; Poppy wanted to keep an eye on him to make sure everything was okay.

  She eventually located him sitting with Fred at a small, circular table, so she hung back for a minute or two knowing that Fred was doing exactly what she herself had planned on doing. Though Poppy couldn’t stand the guy he was just as dutiful as she was in making sure Andrew felt safe and comfortable.

  When Fred caught her eye he took the hint and left, allowing Poppy to take his place.

  “Howdy, partner,” she joked, looking around the room before settling her eyes on Andrew. “Kinda looks like a cowboy tavern in here, don’t you think? What with all the wood and the little tables and the deer heads on the wall.”

  Andrew’s eyes shifted to take in the animal heads mounted above the bar. “I don’t like them.”

  “Do you want to go stand out on deck, then? I’ll go with you.”

  Andrew was visibly relieved at the prospect. “Please.”

  And so the two of them vacated the busy cabin, making their way to the prow of the boat just as the engine came to life and they began to leave the jetty. Poppy saw a few of the townspeople watching the boat leave from shop windows. She wasn’t sure if she was imagining it but it very much seemed as if they were happy the boat was gone.

  I suppose they don’t want a bunch of rowdy university students around to make a load of noise, she concluded. If I lived here I wouldn’t want a club like this one around to bother me, either.

  Poppy resisted the urge to
shudder at the very thought of living in a town so small. She would die of boredom if she was forced to live somewhere this quiet and unassuming.

  Although the location isn’t too bad…

  This was true, of course; with the hills and mountains surrounding the remote town, as well as the loch and the rivers and streams that ran into it, the place was a haven for an overly-energetic, outdoor-loving person like Poppy. She always found it funny that she could be so active and so lazy at the same time – as had her parents, who’d spent much of her teenage years struggling to get her out of bed for school in the morning.

  That task had fallen to Rachelle once they’d become flat mates at university, though Rachelle quickly learned that there was little joy to be had from forcing Poppy King to get up in the morning.

  Realising that her mind had already wandered instead of paying attention to what was going on in front of her, Poppy glanced at Andrew. “Better?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  “I can’t believe your parents actually let you come on the retreat, Andrew. They almost lost their heads when you wanted to do that overnight kayaking trip last year!”

  “They’re not happy about it. But I told them: I’m an adult and I have to move away from home eventually. If I can’t last a two week trip away then I’ll never be able to live alone.”

  Poppy smiled gently at him. Andrew’s parents only wanted to protect him, she knew, but lately he’d been managing his autism so well that people didn’t generally catch on to the fact he wasn’t neurotypical at all. Poppy was deeply, fiercely proud of Andrew for coming out of his shell; when he’d come along to a taster session for the Outdoor Club four years ago he’d barely been able to speak to her.

  “I’m glad they trusted you enough to go,” she said. “And you’re right; it’s something you need to do to be independent. And besides that – this trip is going to be fun. So have fun and don’t worry about anything.”

  Andrew sighed. “I don’t want to graduate. I don’t know what to do.”

  “You and me both. I’m still tempted to fly off to Australia or New Zealand and spend my life snorkeling and bouldering and ignoring any and all adult responsibilities. Wanna join?”

  His gentle, brown eyes lit up with genuine excitement at the prospect. “Can I?”

  “If you can promise I wouldn’t be your babysitter then sure.”

  He nodded gravely. “I’ll work hard so that you don’t have to.”

  “The point of the whole thing is to not work hard, Andrew,” she said, rolling her eyes. “The point is to have fun, instead.”

  But Andrew seemed confused by this. “Don’t we have to work hard so that we can then have fun? If we have fun all the time then won’t it all seem less fun?”

  “That’s annoyingly logical. I don’t like it. Do you want a drink?”

  He shook his head. “I like it out here. I think I might ask Patrick what kind of engine he’s running; I hope it’s a Kelvin.”

  “Aren’t those the super old-school ones? The rare ones?”

  “Yes!” Andrew seemed delighted that Poppy remembered. He was obsessed with engines. She didn’t get it, of course, but he talked about them so enthusiastically that Poppy had learned far more about them than she probably ever needed to know.

  At least if engines happen to come up in a pub quiz I’ll sail through the questions, she thought, amused.

  “It doesn’t seem likely that Patrick’ll have one of those Kelvin engines if they’re so rare, Andrew,” Poppy told him in order to school his expectations.

  “I know. But I’d be happy if he showed me whatever one he uses, anyway.”

  “Then why don’t you just go ask him now?”

  He grimaced. “Casey is up with him. Won’t it be socially unacceptable if I interrupt them?”

  “Ahh, I suppose so.”

  When Andrew had first joined the club, Poppy had taken him under her wing and taught him exactly what was ‘socially acceptable’ and what was not. Though her intentions had been pure, Fred had been furious that Poppy taught Andrew her version of what he should and shouldn’t do…because some of it was wildly off the mark.

  But Andrew had taken her lessons to heart, flawed as they were or not. And at the very least what Poppy taught him about interrupting two people having a private conversation was generally correct.

  “I’ll leave you here, then, if that’s okay,” she said. “I think I might wrangle a vodka or two out of the free bar we have.”

  “Okay. See you later, Poppy.”

  “You’ll see me in literally fifteen minutes when we dock the boat.”

  “I know. That’s what I meant by later.”

  Shaking her head at Andrew’s infallible logic, Poppy re-entered the cabin only to see Nate showing off his barman skills to the rest of the club. He was throwing bottles into the air only to catch them behind his back or between his legs; Poppy couldn’t help but laugh.

  “Tell me, Nate,” she called over the ruckus, “how many drinks have you actually managed to make serving people like that?”

  He flashed a grin her way. “Two, probably. People are just serving themselves though.”

  It was true; almost every small group of people had simply taken a bottle from behind the bar and were sharing it. Poppy had to wonder whether they had taken the ‘drinks on Dorian’ a little too far.

  Thinking about the man with the beautiful voice again caused Poppy’s stomach to lurch. She didn’t understand why she’d found it so appealing.

  It’s just a bloody voice, she reasoned as she grabbed the bottle of vodka out of Nate’s hand and poured herself a shot. Grow up, Poppy.

  The final ten minutes of the journey were over before Poppy knew it; when her stomach reeled again it wasn’t because of nerves but due to the boat stopping.

  “Alright, guys,” she called out, just as Fred did the same. They glared at each other, neither one wishing to relent to the other. But then she decided to let Fred have this one simply so she could leave the boat first. There was someone she was dying to meet, after all.

  And so Poppy ran out of the cabin despite the fact that Fred’s narrowed eyes followed her the entire way. Even Rachelle and Nate watched her bolt out the door in surprise. When she got outside she saw Andrew very passionately talking to Patrick about engines, whilst Casey followed along looking thoroughly put out by Andrew’s presence.

  Clearly he couldn’t wait until it was ‘socially acceptable’ anymore, Poppy mused as she ignored Patrick’s warnings to wait until the boat was properly tied up and the gangway put down before leaving. She leapt over the side of the boat, nimbly landing on the wooden planks of the jetty without so much as a glance back at the people leaving the cabin.

  Because Poppy had spotted him.

  The man with the beautiful voice.

  The man who had completely and utterly saved her skin with that one email.

  Dorian.

  POPPY KING

  Poppy

  Dorian Kapros somehow, inexplicably, looked exactly the way Poppy had imagined. He had a lean-muscled frame that was typical of rock climbers and swimmers, obvious even under the long-sleeved t-shirt and dark trousers he was wearing.

  Walnut-brown, wavy hair framed his face in a perfectly haphazard fashion that looked entirely effortless. It was the kind of hairstyling she’d seen guys at university desperately try and fail to emulate.

  Dorian’s blue eyes were framed by dark eyelashes and thick brows. Sparse stubble lay along his jawline. It looked like his nose may have been broken once or twice in the past.

  Oh fuck, Poppy thought as she stared unabashedly at the man. I’m staring. I’m staring. Stop staring.

  Dorian smiled brilliantly for her. “Nice landing, Poppy King. Though you might let Patrick tie up the boat next time.”

  “You – how do you know I’m me?” Poppy asked, feeling like she wanted to punch herself at how stupidly she’d worded the question.

  “I had a hunch. I’m not wrong,
am I?”

  She shook her head. “Not wrong. I’m Poppy. And you’re Dorian.”

  It wasn’t a question; Poppy hadn’t even had to hear Dorian speak to confirm that it was him.

  His smile grew even wider. “Yes, I’m me. Did you have a pleasant journey?”

  “The bus not so much,” she admitted. “The boat, absolutely. Um…thanks for all the alcohol.”

  He quirked an eyebrow. “Are you drunk?”

  “Not at all,” Poppy lied smoothly. In truth she was somewhere past tipsy, thanks to her bus drinking and the shots of vodka on the boat. But she didn’t want Dorian’s first impression of the president of the Outdoor Sports Society to be that she couldn’t even last a four hour long journey sober.

  Dorian smiled as if he knew Poppy might be lying but didn’t care. “I guess we should wait for everyone to get off the boat before I show you around the facility. Where are your bags?”

  Poppy stared at him blankly, then down at herself. She’d been in such a rush to meet him that she’d left all of her belongings in the cabin with Rachelle. Blushing furiously she tried to laugh it off.

  “I may have left them with a friend. I’ll be right back.”

  “King, you can’t just leave all your shit with Rachelle!” Fred hollered. Poppy turned; Fred was walking towards her with Rachelle, who was struggling with both her own bags and Poppy’s. She rushed forwards to take her belongings from her, smiling apologetically.

  “Sorry, Rachelle. I never meant to leave you with them.”

  “How many times have we heard that before?” Fred muttered, glowering at Poppy. Then he looked past her, saw Dorian, and straightened up immediately.

  “You must be Mr Kapros,” he said, voice formal as he moved forward to shake the man’s hand. “I’m Fred Sampson, the vice-president for the Outdoor Sports Society.”

  Dorian smiled politely. “Pleasure to meet you. Is that everyone off the boat now?”

  Poppy glanced behind her. Patrick was leading up the rear, Andrew and Casey still in tow.

  “Just about, yeah,” she said, shuffling her bags onto her shoulder as she moved to stand by Dorian’s side. When Casey and Andrew reached them, Poppy saw Casey’s eyes light up at the sight of Dorian.