“I got most of The Towers done with flyers,” Skye updated her. “Just grabbing a bite and then I’m doing the village shops.”
Morgan paused mid-stretch. “You did The Towers?”
“Uh-huh. Why?”
“Oh...no reason. Meet anyone interesting?” She sounded pensive.
Skye thought over the people she’d met. Apart from the slightly flirty response from the guy in the penthouse, everyone had been completely ordinary or kind of annoying. “Not really.”
Morgan looked relieved. “Okay. Well, don’t do too much, all right? Don’t want all three of us too tired to enjoy the opening when it finally happens.” She reached the door as she spoke, and waved goodbye with a lassitude that made Skye wonder again how they were going to juggle both restaurant and café. She fervently hoped the café would be such a success they could bid farewell to the lovely landlord and his costly ‘free’ accommodation.
After a quick snack of more leftovers she headed back out. The rain had stopped but the afternoon was bleak, the streets almost empty. She hoped when the village filled up again, the flyers would do their work.
Within a couple of hours she had nearly run out, and had reached the quiet sloping back streets where the houses began. There wouldn’t be much here, she knew. In fact, it looked like the few businesses here were closed. She began to turn back when an impression of pale reaching arms stopped her. Her momentary alarm dissolved in a laugh at herself as she recognised the second-hand bookshop set back from the footpath. She knew this shop. She’d spent hours here as a child with her mother.
She stepped closer, seeking what had alarmed her. An old print hung on the wall behind the open glass front door, next to a laden bookshelf. It was the same illustration she’d been obsessing over on the apartment wall: the Rhine Maidens. Entering the dimly-lit store she moved the door away from the wall so she could see the print better, effectively closing the shop. She stared at it until a voice behind her made her jump.
“I see you’ve found the delightful Arthur Rackham.”
Skye turned. Although it had been years, she recognised the elderly owner of the store standing nearby. He didn’t seem to have changed much at all. White hair tufted around his head, except where the dull light from an old-fashioned ceiling lamp gleamed off his bare crown. He peered over half spectacles at Skye like a character straight out of Dickens. She smiled politely, and turned back towards the print. “Can you tell me anything about it?”
The bookseller chuckled appreciatively, his glasses glinting at the print. “Ahh yes, the very lovely Rhinemaidens.” He turned away, pacing slowly back to sit at his desk, raising his voice as he went so Skye could hear him.
“They are from an opera, Wagner’s Ring cycle, and to my best knowledge, were composed of fragmentary figments of a great many people’s imaginations, all poured into the crucible that was Wagner’s magnificent mind.” He made Skye think of an old-fashioned school master.
“A combining of many ancient myths and legends,” he continued, “from various parts of the world, then reinterpreted through Rackham’s pen and brush into the beautiful creatures you see before you.”
Skye gazed at the beckoning women, wondering if whoever they were beseeching had obeyed, and if so, what had happened next. Fiction: woven together from many sources. Could Hunter’s people be one of those sources? How many stories weren’t simply stories? How many myths were living right under the noses of ordinary people?
The bookseller’s voice carried through the silent, cluttered store to where Skye stared at the print. “You’re the Sebastian child, aren’t you?”
Skye whirled to face him. “Excuse me?”
He peered at her from behind a desk stacked high with books, reminding her for an instant of her father and his research papers. “I heard that you’d returned,” he said quietly, almost sadly. “I remember you, and your mother. I am so very sorry my dear.”
Skye’s face burned. She hadn’t expected this. She managed to mutter thanks, turning for the door, but his next quiet words froze her in place.
“I never believed the stories, you know.”
She turned. “What stories?”
He hesitated, then sighed. “I never believed that she was cursed, drawing others to a watery grave. Nor that she ended her own life to protect the village. But neither do I believe her passing was an accident.” He pointed to the print she’d been staring at. “Look familiar, do they? Note a resemblance...do you?”
“Wh-what?” she faltered, unsure he’d meant what he seemed to. But as he slowly stood, his eyes gleaming over his glasses, Skye knew that he had.
“Yes. Many myths and legends. From both far…and near. I remember your mother, my dear… I remember a look she had about her. A look I see about you. I was very glad to hear of the return of the boy, ‘Harvey’ I think the report said. I would take a great deal of care, Miss Sebastian, when entertaining thoughts of the water…and what lies beneath.” He slowly sat behind his desk again, dropping his gaze, and was almost completely hidden by the books piled up in front of him.
Skye’s heart hammered. She was torn between the need to challenge him, find out exactly what he’d meant, or to get out of there as fast as she could. She chose the latter. Crushing the flyer she’d had ready in her hand, she threw it in the bin outside the store as she left.
After hurrying the few blocks back to the apartment, she stared unseeingly at the elevator digits counting down the floors, her mind fixed on what the bookseller had said.
“Hello again.”
Skye jumped, looking around.
“Whoa. Sorry!” The young man from the Penthouse apartment stepped back, pretending to avoid a blow.
She realised she must have looked pretty intense. “Sorry. It’s not you.”
“Glad to hear it. Looked like you had violence on your mind. What’s up?”
Skye shrugged awkwardly, “Small towns, you know?” She frowned, her thoughts returning to the bookseller. He’d seemed genuinely sorry about her mother, but his warning had been disturbing. The young man coughed pointedly. He was holding the elevator for her. She followed him in.
He chuckled as the doors closed. “Small towns, small minds, eh? Everyone knows everyone else’s business, or thinks they do. I haven’t lived here for years, but I feel like there’s been a bulls-eye pinned to my back since the day I arrived back.”
Skye took a closer look at him. He had an air about him that spoke of entitlement. She could imagine that getting under people’s skin. He seemed nice enough though. “Local boy made good?” she hazarded a guess.
“What gave me away?” he laughed, glancing ironically at the floor he’d selected.
‘P’ for penthouse. Of course. “Right. Total no-brainer,” she acknowledged sheepishly, “and my brain’s obviously not working. Just ignore me.”
“Not a chance,” it sounded like he said, but it was too low to be sure. “So, tenth floor for you?” he smiled.
“Uh – yeah. How did you…?”
“Sorry. More of that bloody small-town talk.” Before Skye could think of what to say, the elevator stopped and the doors opened at the tenth floor. “Hey, got any more of those café flyers?” he asked as she stepped out. “Someone else wanted mine.”
“Sure,” she turned back to him, rummaging for the last few flyers, and thrust one into his hand as the doors began to close.
“Thanks,” he smiled. “See you ‘round.”
26. Ambushed
The next day Skye barely let herself even look at the sea, moodily bathed in the fine misting rain that had closed in again. She kept busy at Bliss with anything and everything she could do to help prepare for the opening that evening, sharing Morgan and Rowena’s anxious hope that the weather would clear. Late that afternoon they returned to the apartment to get ready.
She had planned to dress like Morgan in jeans and a Bliss T-shirt, although Morgan would have chef’s blacks over hers for most of the night. Now Skye stood at th
e mirror surveying the outfit Morgan had put together for her, still clearly seeing her as a project.
“One of us has to look like this is a party,” Morgan pleaded. “That has never fitted me. It’s yours now. Humour me: pretend you’re a customer and show me what all this work has been for.”
She had to admit, Morgan had a great eye for colour. The dress was the palest blue, the colour of the sea on a milky dawn. A floating silk smock, it narrowed just above her knees, and gathered into a wide flat band around her neck. The retro silver strappy sandals were Rowena’s. Her mother’s necklace, lost in the channel, would have completed the look, she acknowledged with a pang of guilt and sadness. She pushed down the painful regret, her thoughts turning inevitably to Hunter in the channel waters.
After giving her smug approval, Morgan left early for the café with Rowena in tow, who was so excited she could barely speak coherently.
Skye looked at her reflection again. She looked ethereal, like a Naiad. She’d put a hint of make-up on to match the outfit. Her eyes were blue ice above the pale silk. She remembered the words Amber had spat at her on the rocks the day of the beach party, and suddenly grinned. She hadn’t told Morgan what had happened between her and Amber, but Jasmine probably knew, and word gets around in small groups. This outfit had the hallmark of an elegant Morgan-style revenge. Morgan always had her back. Tonight, she would have Morgan’s.
An hour later, Skye left The Towers. To her happy relief, the rain had stopped. The darkening mauve clouds were drawing behind the Bannimor hills leaving a clear horizon. The village felt washed clean. Street lights flickered palely on as Skye walked along Marine Parade. Beyond the wall, the beach was a perfect band of unbroken caramel, the high tide beyond it a choppy teal with silt–filled surf.
Despite her determination to put the café first, she hesitated at the top of another stone stair leading down to the beach. How much later could it really make her if she went by sand rather than pavement? She peered across the beach to where the waves ruffled over the sand. Was that a figure? Her heart beat faster and she was halfway down the steps before she noticed a tiny shape darting along the water’s edge and caught the sound of faint barking.
The figure left the water, followed by another, stout shapes which bent to a dark pile of belongings. A small dog leapt about them. Probably diehard locals who wouldn’t miss their daily dip regardless of the time – who were missing the opening despite her flyers everywhere! At that thought her conscience kicked in, and she turned away.
Less than ten minutes later she neared the end of the waterfront and heard strains of music over the muted surf. Rounding the bend, she stopped where she’d stood opposite the empty café so recently, and stared. This was better than she’d imagined. Way better.
Light glowed through the café’s large windows, catching the cut glass like crystal. Crowds milled inside and out. Music from the band vied with the laughing hum of voices. Skye could sense the atmosphere from where she stood, and a powerful swell of emotion and pride in Morgan and Rowena filled her. All their work had been worth it.
Crossing the road, she pushed through the crowded doorway into a barrage of noise. Dodging animated patrons, Skye felt her usual discomfort of crowds kicking in. She’d forgotten this part, where turning up meant mixing with strangers. Morgan and Rowena would be too busy to hang out. She looked for a wall to blend into but every inch was packed.
With the number of people happy to stand, Skye got how important the band was. She wondered if they had Ethan to thank for the last minute ‘yes’ from Side On. But despite the obviously live music, there was no band to be seen. Intrigued, she pushed further in. Staff she didn’t recognise wearing black Bliss T-shirts wove through the crowd with trays. She scanned the kitchen and counter as she passed and glimpsed Rowena and two other chefs Skye hadn’t seen before. Sharing the load of opening night, she guessed.
Looking around Rowena caught her eye, and beamed. Skye smiled back, giving her a thumbs up. Rowena nodded down the hall, confirming that Skye was heading in the right direction. She passed the back room they’d cleared and painted, now filled with people and an eclectic assortment of tables and armchairs. The volume increased exponentially at the end of the hall.
She edged through people blocking the open single door, out into a swaying crowd that filled the cobbled courtyard. Smaller than the café inside, the courtyard’s atmosphere was intimate and electric. It looked like a shadowy magical grotto, strung with fairy lights. The only other illumination came from tall outdoor heaters, and a multi-coloured glow from somewhere near the band. The pale dusk above was tinted with gold.
Although it sounded incredibly loud to Skye, Side On had gone electric acoustic for the night, and Skye guessed their amps were turned down and their drum kit dampened in deference to the houses on the hillside above. She’d been at much more deafening gigs with Morgan. Already her ears were adjusting, along with her eyes. She spotted Jasmine off to the side but close to the band. Beyond her were Amber and Morgan, both laughing and pointing towards the performers who were mostly hidden from where Skye stood.
She edged around the audience until she reached them and tapped Morgan on the shoulder. Morgan turned, her face lighting up. Skye flung her arms round her, “Mags, this is awesome!” she shouted.
“I know!” Morgan yelled, hugging her back. “Who knew Bannimor was gig-starved!” She leaned closer to Skye’s ear. “Recognise the drummer?” Skye craned around and saw the reason for their rapt attention. She turned an incredulous face to Morgan who laughed and nodded, “Again – who knew?”
Skye turned to watch Ethan, a golden spotlight catching his short spiky hair and muscular arms, his stance tight as he nodded in sync with the beats he was laying down. She had to admit he suited the look. The song ended to enthusiastic applause.
Ethan waved to the audience before tossing the drumsticks to a young man who’d been watching from the side of the makeshift stage. The drummer took his place behind the drum kit. The lead singer, who bore a marked resemblance to Ethan, clapped him on the back as he stepped off the stage. The drummer laid down the lead-in beats to a new song and music surged again.
Returning high fives from people he passed, Ethan accepted the accolades with good humour as he made his way to where the girls waited. When he reached them, Amber squealed and flung herself on him in an enthusiastic hug, followed by a repeat performance from Jasmine. His face was alight with energy.
Catching sight of Skye, his eyes widened as he took in her appearance. Still riding the high of his performance, he pulled her into a close hug, pressing his mouth close to her ear. “Skye, you look amazing! I couldn’t see you from up there, but…I’m glad you made it.”
For a second Skye wondered if he thought he really felt something for her. Over his shoulder she took in Morgan’s grin, and saw Amber’s face sour as she noticed Skye for the first time. She quickly set her expression to what she hoped was casual friendliness as Ethan pulled back from the hug. “Sure,” she shouted, “wouldn’t miss this for anything!”
Morgan stepped closer and nodded towards the café, “I have to get back in.”
“We’ll come too,” Ethan responded. They filed inside, and Morgan pointed to a table Annie was clearing close to the front. There was a reserved card on it, and Rowena winked as they passed the counter.
It had seemed loud inside the café before, but now it was a relief to be able to hear voices that weren’t pitched at a roar. The atmosphere was homier too. Still buzzing, but not as frenetic as the live energy of the courtyard.
Morgan buttoned the top of her black smock again, on-duty style. “Hungry? Thirsty?”
Skye was uncomfortably conscious of Ethan’s eyes on her. Her appetite had vanished, along with any amusement she had felt at Morgan’s subtle payback. The others ordered sodas. Amber drew Ethan’s attention with a lively discussion about his destiny as Rock God. Morgan returned with cold drinks and a wide smile, minus her chef smock.
&nbs
p; “Awesome, Mum just extended my break. They’re managing fine without me right now. And this is for you, drummer-boy,” Morgan tossed a Bliss T-shirt to Ethan. “I’m guessing you left the stage a little worse for wear.” Ethan mock-sniffed the T-shirt he was wearing and despite Amber’s protests that he smelt goood, willingly pulled his T-shirt off and tugged the Bliss T-shirt on.
“Any update on Harvey, Ethan?” Morgan asked, taking a spare chair from a nearby table and wriggling in next to Skye. “I haven’t seen him lately.”
“I saw him today. He’s okay. Still blank on the whole thing. But if he does start remembering, I’ll let you know.”
Skye felt alarmed. Harvey had mentioned a vague impression of someone carrying him to shore. Could he remember more?
“‘Find your Bliss’,” Ethan read from his new shirt. “Not a bad idea,” he grinned, his glance lingering on Skye. “This is your work?” he asked her. “Nice job, budding artist to my right. Painting walls, designing T-shirts.”
“She did the flyers too,” Morgan added proudly. “And the rock-pool floors.”
Amber rolled her eyes at Jasmine, then simpered when she realised Skye had noticed. Skye found it easy to ignore the slight. “You and Rowena are the heroes, Morgan. This is incredible.” She looked around, savouring the success of the night.
“Oh absolutely,” Amber gushed, “Have you got a spare T-shirt Morgan? I would have worn it all night if I’d had one, for like, solidarity. I’m surprised you aren’t wearing one, Skye. Instead you’ve gone for – what, a waif look? That’s kind of a theme with you, isn’t it?”
But Morgan grinned, “That’s me, I bossed her into it. Dressing vicariously. Glad I insisted though. Doesn’t she look great?”
“Yes. Great,” Amber forced a smile, and Skye ducked her head to hide hers. But when she looked up she noticed Amber watching her with an expression that was almost gleeful. Jasmine, beside her, bit her lip and giggled. Skye felt uneasiness stir again.
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