by Sam Schenk
Old Karori Road was a patched and ancient old thing, barely held together by the tar that made it up. It slanted down towards a gutter on one side and dropped off the cliffside on the other. The only direct light was through branches that creaked with the wind as it rushed through the valley and up the hillside. There was barely room for a horse and carriage, much less a car, to make its way down to the end of Old Karori Road. No official car parks were marked, regular traffic was handled by the main street just up the hill. Power lines and mobile towers adjacent made faint vibrations through the veil, tickling through his senses, definitely more palatable than if he was placed closer to them. But hey, he was willing to deal with a faint discomfort for being connected to the modern world.
Greg made his way down the labyrinth of pedestrian staircases between Karori and the CBD. It took a while to get to know the back paths, and Greg was constantly discovering new ones, even though he’d owned the Old Karori Road house for five years. Without Maddie dictating his leisure activities, he’d had more time to optimise his path to and from work.
I’ve been having a great time by myself, Greg shushed his subconscious, threatening to throw him into memory lane again. The images that came to the surface were from the early days when they were passionate and unstoppable. They’d made amazing lovers, but as time went on, that hadn’t been enough to keep them together. They had both accepted that. It was a good run. It had been over for nearly two years.
He passed the graveyard to refresh the spells with the morning’s energy. Greg was relieved that the graveyard still felt the same. He hadn't upset any balance or turned anything off. The veil was as active and inviting as it had ever been. Exploring doorways that were a little darker and less transparent was less nerve-wracking here, probably because the ghosts here were relatively stable. As soon as everything was in place, he continued on his way.
A flush of blood rushed to his face when he passed the bar from last night. He paused outside it.
“Hey Ozzy, add band ‘The Alternatives’ to queue,” Greg instructed the phone on his arm.
Ozzy rattled off several bands called ‘The Alternatives’ into his ears.
“Ozzy, lead guitarist: Jay, Bassist Donny.” Greg assisted.
“I think I found it.”
“Play.”
The already recognisable feel of Donny’s bassline shivered down Greg’s spine the second it hit his earbuds. The warm feeling returned to his guts, reassuring him that last night’s feelings weren’t only booze. It had been a long time since he’d felt that way for anyone but Maddie.
Maybe this was what he needed, he told himself as he began off again; a crush to be pursued for a few weeks before disappearing to the other side of the world forever. No matter if he got anywhere with it. If it was enough to distract him long enough for whatever he had picked up in his encounter with Elizabeth to go away, that would be worth it.
Greg made his way down the highway to Cambridge, a more industrial part of town, where car dealerships and workshops lined the streets. The workshop was just off the main drag.
“Morning, G.” His boss greeted Greg around a mouthful of coffee as he dropped his bag in the office.
“Morning, Tom.” Greg headed for the coffee machine. “Bit of a rough one last night. Mind if I get straight to it? Anything that I could potter away on for the rest of the day?”
Tom tapped a clipboard on the desk with a grin. “I have just the one. If you’d waited a few minutes, you would have had me begging you to take her, but now you can buy your own lunch. She’s all yours.”
Greg threw up his hands. “Showed my hand too early, eh? Cheers, boss.”
Tom handed him the clipboard, the grin still frozen on his face. “Suppose so. Next time.”
Greg scanned the initial report while waiting for the coffee to boil. A real mess, but an insurance claim. He’d have carte blanche to do what was needed. Perfect. He saluted Tom with the clipboard. “Do I need to quote the insurance company before I start?”
“Third Party. Just go.”
“Nice. I’m on it.”
Greg retrieved the coffee and made his way to his station. First thing in the morning, the air was still fresh in the garage, but it wouldn’t be that way for long. He whistled as he surveyed the damage. The silver merc in his station had been bashed clean in from the passenger side, and the hood was barely hanging on by a hinge. He positioned his tools in the correct places on his workbench, set his coffee down, then threw on his coveralls.
He could sense something wrong the instant he touched the side of the car. The energy of the veil crawled around the damage, poking through the side of the car. Greg grimaced. “Anyone hurt in the accident?”
Tom poked his head out of the office door. “Yeah, punter’s son. Up and coming in club rugby apparently. Real shame.”
“Crappy way to go.” Greg agreed.
“I didn’t say he died. But he won’t run well enough to play competitively again.”
Greg turned his attention back to the damage. As he ran his hand over it, cloudy wisps of veil atmosphere crawled around his fingers. If he could reach into the veil, track down what was lost, and return it to the world, that would be real magic. Maybe someday. For now, the least he could do was repair the damage.
The car wouldn’t ever feel right again with the damage left untended, even to a normal person. It wouldn’t make a material difference to the function of the engine, or anything physical in nature, especially to someone insensitive to the veil. They might be slow to become comfortable, clasp the handholds at the edge of the door even at slow speeds, or spend a time fixated on the place that had been damaged, but they would still ride or drive it. It was normal for Karori residents to walk through Bolton Street Graveyard, for example, on their way to Government House or the CBD. All they noticed was the curated peaceful air. The general population were quick to credit attentive council groundskeeping. Because the vault was so far below the surface, the distractions around it so vivid, it was no wonder that it didn’t really ‘feel’ like a graveyard.
His mood suited metalwork, so Greg stripped off the chassis and began hammering out the dents. Crystals at the back of his workbench leant collected energy for him to pull. He wove the threads together with his arms, and each strike of the mallet flashed like lightning and sparked through the metal. The substance smoothed just a little more than the strength his strike should have allowed. Slowly, piece by piece, the patch began to hold, and the veil’s energy no longer flowed through more than normal.
He was drenched in sweat by break time. Even though he was tempted to work right through, he put down his tools for a quick cigarette. Once outside, Greg leaned against the shop wall in the sunshine, his eyes closed. He took a long drag from the cigarette.
“I thought you’d broken the habit.”
That voice. Greg snapped to alert. Maddie, her arms crossed, stood just off the workshop entrance. Her bright red hair was clipped into a sloppy updo. Sky-blue eyes were offset by a cozy-looking v-neck top of the same colour, more expensive than it looked, knowing her. Her jeans were tapered and showed off her slender body. He hated that the sight of her still did crazy things to him.
“May I?” Maddie gestured for his cigarette.
“Sure.”
As he drew close, Greg caught a whiff of her usual perfume, combined with the clean smell of powder on her face, mingled with tobacco. Not her first of the day. She took a long drag of the offered cigarette. She closed her eyes, showing the light blue makeup draping neatly across her eyes. Was that for him? His breath caught in his chest as he watched her exhale, a long stream of smoke wafting from delicate lips.
“You quit too,” Greg accused.
“Yeah, I know. It’s been a long couple of years.”
“Tell me about it.”
Maddie half smiled at him and handed the cigarette back. “Are you doing ok, Greg?”
He took it from her. “Yeah, trucking along. Yourself?”
“The new place is pretty handy. Modern, not like Old Karori Road. It’s got a gym in the building.” For the first time, he noticed a simply decorated tote bag on her shoulder. Maddie kept stylish handbags, stuffed to the brim with all the stuff women carry.
The silence that followed was hard and empty. “What are you doing here, Maddie?” Greg asked.
“I came to drop off the paperwork. It’s close to the time we need to finalise our divorce and...” She reached into her bag to pull a manilla folder out. Rather than handing it to him, she held it for a minute in front of her, as if it was a leaden weight in her hand. “I’m not good at this.”
Anger rose to the surface. Greg’s fist clenched by his side. “Stop playing games. If this is all you wanted, pass it here and go.”
Maddie’s eyes were wide when she met his. “That’s hard, Greg. You weren’t happy either.”
Greg turned away, his hand extended for the folder.
“You don’t want to hear my counteroffer?”
Greg’s breath caught in his throat.
Maddie took his silence the way she wanted to. “I wanted to ask you if you wanted a coffee, or something stronger, after work. Not today if you don’t want to, but before we make this final. I wondered if you wanted to take one last shot at working it out.”
His arm fell to his side. He’d wanted her. He’d thought about her, but she had been gone. Gone since that time.
“Why did you call me, Greg?”
“I was thinking about you.”
“You can’t just do that. We’re not together anymore.”
His cheek was sweating against the phone. “It’s a beautiful day, I was just…I wanted to go out to the beach like we used to.”
“Greg, I’m on a date. I’m moving on. You should too.”
The click of the phone as she disconnected still rang through his ears.
She’d shut him down so hard, but still, he had held onto those memories. He was moving on, slowly, at his own pace. Now she was threatening to take that steady progress down. It might be that Elizabeth had woken those feelings again, but he would be lying to himself if he thought he was over Maddie.
He struggled to keep his voice steady, but he couldn’t meet her eyes. “How long has it been since that phone call, Maddie? Six months? Nine? You told me not to call you. You didn’t call me. You’ve let me sit with those last words to haunt me. It’s what you always do, even for something as small as that damn key hook. Were you waiting for me to come begging for you to come back? Leave the papers in the office. I’ll pick them up on my way home.”
The words sounded like they came from a pockmarked teenager. He’d always tried to be the type of man that Maddie could be seen with: suave, kind, cultured, woke. He was pretty sure she’d never seen him sulky. Well, first time for everything.
Greg stamped the cigarette out on the ground, perhaps with more vigour than he intended, then headed back inside.
Maddie didn’t follow.
When he reached the workbench, his nails scratched splintered edges into the rough wood. Maddie shouldn’t be able to get to him here. This place had nothing that reminded him of her. It was oil, grease, the veil energy that he’d cultured and felt only like him. Now he would always see her leaning outside the office. That was the thing about Maddie, she always knew how to trip the rug right out from under him and make sure his eyes were centred on no-one but her.
Greg blinked away tears hovering at the edges of his eyes. He wanted things to be back the way they were. He was fine, he had his own life without her in it.
Vibration quivered through the wood from his phone. He wrenched his hand away from the bench and made a blind grab for it.
Hey, friend, thought I’d remind you that I expect you to be on Cuba tonight. Looking forward to seeing you. This place has an adequate gin selection! Donny
Greg’s hand clenched around his phone. Damned if he cared whether this guy was going to chew him up and spit him out. He needed someone to dance and drink with, to kiss and take the edge off. Anything would be better than this. His hands trembled as he pounded the letters into the screen.
Count me in. Greg. Send
Greg omitted his next break. He didn’t stop until both the side and the hood of the Merc were hammered out, and only then when Tom came out of the office to tell Greg he was going home. Greg took a swig of water as Tom surveyed the work, muttering appreciatively to himself.
“I’ll start on the engine tomorrow,” Greg reported. “Probably not much good starting it tonight. Still got another layer of polish to do on this, but that needs to wait til tomorrow.”
“Good plan.” Tom rubbed a hand over the smooth metal. “You did a good job, mate. Maybe I will pay for your lunch tomorrow, even though you let me off.”
“Yeah. I reckon I’ll do the first coat before I head off.” Greg brushed off the compliment and turned back to the vehicle. “Doesn’t make any sense to let it dry during the day.”
He heard the folder hit the workbench.
“Don’t suppose you know what this is? Save me some awkward words,” Tom asked him.
Greg didn’t turn. “Yeah, I know. Just leave it there, I’ll take it home.”
“You going to be ok to work tomorrow? Want to get a drink?” Tom put a hand on his shoulder.
“It’s ok,” Greg said. To his surprise, he meant it. “I think I’ve just been asked out on a date.”
Tom clapped his shoulder hard. “Good on ya, mate! Need a chaperone? I could do with a night out.”
“Nah, I think it’s best I just awkward my way through it. Haven’t been on the market for a long time.” Greg admitted.
“You’ll smash it,” Tom assured him, turning him around. He pursed his lips together as he scanned Greg’s face up and down, then unbuttoned the top of his shirt to expose the top of his chest. “Shame you didn’t get rid of that grizzle before it though. Lesson one in the back to dating book! Got a good scent to wear?”
Greg brushed the back of his wrist against his five o’clock shadow (which if he was honest, was more like midday). He grinned. “I’ll be ok. Hoping he likes it the way it is.”
Tom paused, then cleared his throat. “You’re at least going to pick up some Lynx right? Wait…no, how old are you again? I’ve got something in my locker, and I’ll leave it out for you. You better make use of it! I want to hear all about it tomorrow. Well, maybe not the gory details.”
Greg laughed. It felt great to laugh. “I doubt it’ll get as far as that, but thanks.”
Chapter Four
With a quick check-in and wink from Tom, Greg was left alone to shut up shop. His spray painting took him a few hours past close. After he’d tidied the floor of his station, and given himself a mini-bath in the sink, he did a quick wander around to make sure everything was ready for the next day.
The manilla folder lay smouldering on his bench. The negative energy around it had been distracting him all evening. It had been printed or written in a moment of ill intent, for sure. He checked his smartwatch. Running the folder home before Donny’s set would be possible if he took a cab, then it wouldn’t hang over his evening. He decided against it. Walking up the hill would mean he didn’t have time for food, and cabs were on double time in rush hour.
The office desk was clear except for the promised bottle of spray when Greg was ready to collect his gym bag. Greg had a sniff. It wasn’t too bad, a bit intense, but at least it smelled better than oil. He used it liberally, changed clothes, and ran a comb through his damp hair. The manilla folder was chucked into the bottom of the bag, smothered by his discarded overalls.
By the time he made his way back to Cuba, the sun had set on the pedestrian-only street. Restaurants and pubs turned on their lights and were opening doors out to the night air. Bands were setting up in the street-facing windows. Greg had forgotten about the Friday night market, and as soon as he smelled the soy sauce, chilli, and spices, he regretted that he’d stopped in for quick takeaways on the way.
The bar he was looking for was below street level, and scantily labelled. The bar staff were putting out their signs when he approached, or Greg might have passed it entirely. Whisper level dubstep forked through the speaker. Fluorescent lights blinked soft tones into the dark stairwell, leading to heavy doors which had been propped open. He hadn’t missed the door charge this time and forked over a twenty to the cheerful, casually dressed person on till.
A cosy corner booth with pink leather cushions was still unoccupied, in good view of the small stage where the band’s instruments had been set up. Greg parked up, nestling a rum and coke. He hadn’t had more than a sip before Donny slid into the seat beside him and pressed his thigh against Greg’s. Greg reacted a little too slowly to greet him with a smile before the bassist spoke.
“Nice of you to turn up! The last time I hit up a hot guy on tour, I got jilted for three solid weeks.”
“I thought the approach seemed a bit practised.” Greg teased.
“All until I meet the right guy!” Donny protested.
“Sure. And I’m your love at first sight.”
Donny put his hand on Greg’s shoulder and fixed him with those intense, beautiful eyes. “How do you know you’re not?”
Greg caught the comeback that lingered on his tongue. It might have been a while since he played the game, but he still knew the rules. He softened his gaze. “I know it’s me. Just happened to fall into your lap. Lucky you.” He crooned.
Donny slid his arm around Greg. His hands investigated the taut muscles across the small of his back to settle against his hip. The gesture was smooth and firm, the tightening pressure of his caress more a compliment than any words. The bassist’s strong grip was reassuring and comfortable. Greg tried to remember the last time someone else had led an embrace. Maddie wasn’t the type of girl to have her arm around a man, despite her feminist rhetoric. He found his eyes being drawn back to the bag beside him as Jay’s mic check rang out across the bar. Part of him wanted to sign the papers and get them out of his life — but who knew how long that would take to recover from.