by Ryder, H
"Yes." Daniel says firmly, and I think I detect a little relief too. “Yes.” he takes my hand tightly indicating he's sure of what he's saying. I suddenly remember something, and break eye contact with him. I reach into my clutch bag and pull out a small velvet pouch, black with an envelope flap. I hand it to Daniel, “Happy Birthday baby.” I tell him.
...and the moonbeams kiss the sea...
A look of surprise and wonder, crosses his face and I wonder if anyone has ever given him anything his whole life? No I decide, they're all takers.
He opens the flap and tips out a fine linked gold chain into his hand, with three items hanging from it: an engraved gold disc, a narrow platinum band with a tiny black diamond set in, and a door key swinging merrily on the chain as he holds it up to the chandelier. He looks at me warmly. “I had it engraved the moment we got back from Peru, I wanted to give you something, so when you wear it you remember how much I love you.” I turn the disc over in his palm so he can read the inscription.
‘Love Tx’ it's not romantic I’d agree, but I mean it.
“I love you Tharie, I desperately need you to know that.” He moves closer lifting the chain over his head, “I have nothing if I don’t have you.” he's right about that, he doesn't even have a cat.
I suddenly realised why Daniel needs success and power so badly, because controlled as he obviously is, he is desperate to be understood, his many layers peeled off like an onion and nobody sees that. They just see the man, Daniel Pearse, businessman, high flyer, and dater of exotic beautiful women, a-list friends, wealthy and intangible. Swept away in an overwhelming feeling of love for this man I ask him, “Marry me?” I whisper. So quietly only I can barely hear, my heartbeat flutters wildly and my hands shake. Daniel looks into my eyes, forever, silently, his gaze never leaving mine.
“Tharie,” he begins.
And once again we both sink to the floor, gravity unable to keep us upright, that's right Newton (the physicist not the assistant, just to be clear. Though he may also have a theory about gravity, I have no way of knowing). I'm falling forever, I long for Daniel to say something, anything. My insides free fall, fast like dropping hundreds of miles in turbulence, I’m unsteady and my head swims with a light nausea like a jet lag, waiting for a response. I know Daniel is closed off he doesn't let anyone in just like me, but between us I believe there could be an amazing relationship. Both of us fucked up and dealing with it in the best way we can. Pretending everything is OK and putting on an act of confidence.
Two peas in a pod my Grandma would have said, she was the wisest person I’d ever known, able to break down the most complex worries into a simple thought, I miss her. I place my hand on the tiny gold chain around my neck remembering, it was hers.
His fingers graze my jawline tilting my head up toward his mouth, and he kisses me so tenderly I am moved by the gesture, and the calming effect it has on me.
"When you look at me my brain stops in its tracks,” his gaze moves from one eye on my face to the other. “My breath shallows,” he's making sure I’m listening. “My pupils dilate.” He gently cups my chin, “it's like my whole being is readying itself for an important event, and in that moment there's just us two.” He kisses my eyelids, “the world could fall apart around me and I would still be planted to the spot.” He smiles a great happy wonderful gut tingling smile. “Looking into your eyes.” I kiss him gently, “what have you done to me?" He whispers. “Yes baby.” This may be the most he has ever said to me, or anyone.
We sit in a heap of black layers of tulle and long legs, holding each other, he straps his arms tightly around my waist pulling our bodies close and holding me steady, it feels like he'll never let go. Holds me until all the anger and anxiety escape us both and all that’s left is the two of us.
We heave ourselves upright, holding hands. Bless.
We can hear someone approaching on the stairs, their timing is terrible.
“There you are Daniel,” his Mother comes around the corner, ignoring the shattered bodies getting up off the floor, routing around in her clutch for a lipstick, behaving like it's completely normal, callous to think she could be so insensitive, failing to recognise an intimate conversation going on. But she just behaves like it's an ordinary event. This family are very different from mine.
“Come, there's people I need you to meet Daniel” and pirouetting on her Jimmy Choo heels, speeds off down the stairs in a waft of purple Saint Laurent and, Chanel no.9.
“Hungry?” Daniel asks me.
“Starving.” there's a truly international buffet downstairs.
“Let's get out of here and find a pizza.” nice.
“You really know how to treat a girl Daniel” true story.
“You're worth it baby.” Good.
“Well, we'd better find a classy place, my dress will take up at least two chairs.”
“I know just the place.” I hope he means his place?
I smile through a ravaged face of wet tear soaked cheeks and red bulging eyes, my make-up has stayed put, she said it was good stuff and waterproof, just in case Daniel turned up with someone else on his arm, must remember to give Pete a giant hug.
Daniel gets slowly to his feet, this has taken it out of him too, he looks tired but the sparkle of life and happiness I see in his eyes and the smile on his face are beautiful to me.
And he is all mine.
Sliding the ring I bought him onto his ring finger for all to see. I brush my hands over my skirts to straighten them, we kiss softly, and he takes my hand, gently this time, and we head back downstairs. A pizza is promised, but there's one thing we want to do before we go.
“Dance?” He asks me.
“It's what the dress is designed for” and off we go.
Chapter fifty-three, Tuesday:2nddecember – idol
The polished gleaming golden eagle idol sits in its glass fronted case on view for a limited time only, in Professor Cummings museum. Before its tour of Europe prior to returning to Peru where it's believed it originated, it's to be displayed here in London. The craftsmanship is unmistakably Incan but there are doubters, it does have an unusual handwriting. An arguably undefinable style that could suggest another provenance, many experts have gazed upon its little crouched glistening form and are unable to decide categorically, because they are unable to agree. Worse still any suggestion of a mixed origin, but happily that's not my job.
Just peering into the clear glass box lit in halogen to make the surface sparkle and all the fine etched or carved detail stand out. It's beautiful, wherever it was designed and poured, and its story spans the centuries, the little card placed at its feet guesses a birthday and origin and a short paragraph explaining its discovery.
I like it, it's neat shape detailed lines, I decide this could be the perfect logo for Milk&Honey, yes. This will be perfect.
TC: “It’s perfect, I love it, are you certain?” true story.
PF: “Knew you would love it honey, enjoy” she’s so good to me.
TC: “It goes with everything” by that I mean black and jeans of course.
PF: “I know, that’s why I gave it to you, Mum just discovered a deep burgundy suede YSL one in the loft it’s my new favourite.
TC: “See you later at Square Tx” can’t wait.
PF: “OK honey”
I swipe my phone off and return it with care, to my new Hermes cross shoulder vintage bag in beautiful hand stitched tobacco leather with gold ‘h’ hardware. I love it.
Chapter fifty-four, Wednesday:3nddecember – the end?
My phone vibrates, a text, what now?
Strange, I think, as I swipe my phone screen, haven't I already chatted to everyone today, people are so needy.
VP: “Tharie, lets meet, I’m Daniels sister.” strange, Daniel giving her my number, he should know I don’t like it when people do that, don’t I have enough distraction and demands on my time?
TC: “OK, what’s this about Vanessa?” Do I really want to know?
TC: “What about it?” Defences are up now, I need more tea, clearly, and I can't seem to recall the correct way to ride a shoulder-in. The waitress appears to have disappeared for now. It's all spiralling out of my control.
VP: “I need to know what it looks like Tharie, I just got one too” bloody hell.
TC: “Let’s meet” but do I really want to?
I reach the meeting point on time, my Landrover is parked diagonally outside in the cracked concrete forecourt. I can see it deliberately from the seat I have chosen, well, you can't be too sure around here can you? I slide into a freshly wiped plastic covered bench seat in a booth, and order tea. Now I’m here though, it's got quite an odd ambiance, and I’d like a more substantial beverage, but they don't sell any alcohol.
My tea arrives, not nearly as dark as I’d requested, and that makes me cross, how hard can it be? Clearly she wasn't listening to my detailed instructions regarding water temp, the number of bags and the time to stew. Bloody hell.
It's delivered with a indifferent shove, part spilled into the saucer, that semi translucent white stuff you get in these places where the seams on the handles are uncomfortable to hold. The surface of the table is pastel pink and white gingham laminated, the dried marks of the cleaning cloth smeared across it. I hate waiting. I'm a slurp away from drumming my fingers on the table.
It’s a faux diner-type place, red, piped with cream plastic upholstery, mini juke boxes at every table, squeezy ketchup and brown sauce pots, refilled and wiped repeatedly alongside a plastic covered menu propped up the far end. Waitresses in candy-striped dresses and frilly aprons, American tan hosiery and comfy pumps shuffle uninspiringly across the mopped tile taking orders with little or no enthusiasm. The rolling stones play in the background, this fake 50’s Americana with a British band playing intrigues me, and tea is the very last thing on the menu which I naturally disprove of. The smell of pancakes and maple syrup reminds me carbs are key. And I check the boys on my phone, yep grazing in the sunshine, and the December sunshine is low and silvery.
Staring at my phone, I wonder what Vanessa will look like, and now I’m wondering why she selected this place to meet, seems an odd venue sitting as it does right on the A40. And now I’m here I’m wondering whether I should have told Daniel about this. Too much thinking, I’ll never learn.
Job one get here, tick. Next one will be trickier.
TC: “Hi Mum, I have a tattoo” I opt for the long, drawn-out approach, she'll appreciate that.
EC: “Me too” really? That's slightly distasteful.
TC: “Really?” Please say no.
EC: “Yes, your Dad and I both got them done on our honeymoon” I can’t believe I never knew that!
TC: “No!?” Please no!
EC: “For a designer Catharine, you're terribly old fashioned” that told me didn't it?
The waitress comes back over, her shadow passes over my phone as I end the text stream.
Her plastic name badge tells me she's a 'Betty', and invites me to: 'ask me about the specials'. A woman who looks less like a Betty I can't begin to imagine however, and my brain begins to hum. Perhaps they just have a selection of name badges in a little box at the back, old names from staff long gone, and you choose who you want to be for the day? Or they're a deliberate selection of 50's names and it's supposed to be fun, I’m not laughing, so likely not. An interesting idea though.
She hands me a folded piece of paper with an awkward smile on her thin lips, her lipstick is too dark for her complexion, oh Betty, I’m tempted to donate my Vogue to her right there and then. Her hands are older than her face and her nails chewed and painted dark red. I can always buy another one, her needs are greater than mine. I wait until she's gone back to refill the coffee pot before I glance at the paper in my hand. Opening it, the eagle and ship watermark clear in the fibres of the paper, written on it are just a few words. It's been conceived by someone who appreciates the retro feel, it's been typed on an old ribbon typewriter, and now Buddy Holly is playing, I begin to wonder whether it's all part of the delivery, the place, the message, Betty, the song?
It reads:
‘black horse/bay?
Whitehouse road
1968/sept.
J Ainsworth’
A code? Where is Vanessa?
TC: “Vanessa, I’m here at 'The Cherry Pie'” don't recommend the cherry pie not surprisingly, it looks oddly deflated sitting under a scratched clear dome on the counter top.
Black horse, that's a pub in Hainault.
Mum and Dad took us there when we were kids, it had a little play area looking out onto the forest with a huge friendly bay grazing beyond the barbed wire. With tiny pieces of his hair caught in the barbs. I remember bringing carrots along especially to feed the horse and getting very excited about it, until a little note appeared politely asking: Please don't feed Bob, he's watching his waistline, thank you. Naturally as a little girl I was upset, I loved to feed Bob, he was so big, and so shiny.
Mum would sip white wine and Dad was always chatting with that man. Henry and I didn't like him, he glared at us for playing and laughing, and Mum didn't speak a word to him either. Which was odd, she'll talk to anyone now.
I look around me it's far too quiet for nearly lunchtime, there's nothing happening but the peculator squirting pressurised steam onto the ground beans, and the sound of the commercial 50's in the air. I sit alone on the plastic bench seat, only one other person 'dining.' He has his broad slumped back to me the opposite side of the room, and an enormous half eaten all day breakfast in front of him. He wears a faded brushed checked lumberjack shirt and has thick fingers, funny how you notice things. He's quite still, perhaps his plate of heart attack has given him indigestion? The waitress has disappeared and I get the familiar feeling trouble is brewing again, and that of course reminds me, I’d like more tea.
And the answer?
VP: “Automated message: this number does not exist any longer, please contact the service provider for further information” that's odd too, bloody hell.
Whitehouse Road, Mum and Dad's first home was in Whitehouse Road, Seven Kings.
I should just go back home, but my tattoo does need explaining.
Here we go again.
TC: “Pete, you busy?” Please say no.
PF: “That depends on what you want me for” how did she get so smart?
TC: “Need to show you something” you’re not going to believe it.
PF: “Sounds interesting” you have no idea.
TC: “Can you meet tonight? Pleas say yes.
PF: “Sounds important? Yes, fine, usual place?” Thank you.
TC: “See you at 8 then” deep breaths everyone.
Who am I talking to when I do that?
Note to self, stop leaving notes to yourself.
Now, I can guess what you’re thinking dear reader, you’re right of course, let’s get that kettle on.
One more text though:
TC: “What year were you born Mum?” Virgo's are naturally inquisitive, we have that in common.
EC: “68 Catharine, a very good year” yes, I’d have to agree with that. A good year indeed....and my head begins to thump, ouch!
Note to self, try to stay out of trouble this time.
TC: “Daniel, you busy?” Please say no baby.
DP: “For you, I won't be” ahh, that's nice.
TC: “Tell me about your Sister Daniel, over lunch” I look around me, but not here.
DP: “Remember the place we first had lunch baby?” Do I? My face heats up just recalling my first day at RANDom.
TC: “See you there at 1.30” if the sprayed antiseptic they use to clean everything here hasn't sterilised my taste buds, I’ll be starving by then.
No, where can I get a descent cup of tea around here?
Book1theend.
DISSCLAIMER:
For all those reading this text who think they recognise themselves or others amongst the colourful characters therein, you're wrong, and any similarity assumed is pure coincidence, they are all made-up. Plus, how vain are you? True bloody story. Now, just have a cuppa and stop wondering.
PEARCED TOO
Part four:
The bit before chapter one, Thursday: 13thfebruary2014 a sneak preview.
Vaguely aware of being cold I open my eyelids, squinting in the harsh lighting.
My phone vibrates, no it’s not my phone, tone and resonance is different, my wrist is irritated I look at the source, it’s my Dads gold watch. A super scientific looking thing with lots of buttons and functions, and a huge face. I try to get it closer so I can see, it’s never done this before I must have accidentally pressed something. My arm only travels so far before it’s stopped, a metal cuff around my wrist, I hear a chain rattle in the distance, as I pull to gain control, ouch!
Handcuffs!
I sit up, or try to, my wrists are bound in iron and I am held in place with a heavy chain, my ankles too, what the fuck!?
Naked, I’m naked.
My watch stops vibrating, then pulses two more times and stops, odd. Why can’t I think straight?
I’m not in pain, I’m not hurt, I’m lying on black sheets and quite comfortable, what can I hear? Water, I hear water running somewhere in the distance, and a smell, a smell I recognise, Daniel!
“Daniel”! I yell, but no sound comes at all, I try again, and I get a mild throaty gasp and nothing more.
I remember, or do I?
My wrists, why don’t they hurt? The heavy iron cuff is lined with velvet, a deep orange, like the yolk of an egg. Free range of course. But that's not right either is it? Shouldn't it be red? Not sure.
I hear music? Yes, music, it’s something I recognise, but my brain is slow, must be the wine! Wine! Yes, that’s it, I had a lot to drink last night. Stone Sour, that's what I hear, far away, and someone humming, that smell, it stirs me. Daniel.