by Jess Webster
“Andrew is a cruel sort of boy.” Esther continued to smile. “He’ll tire of his ghostliness soon enough, as they all do, and then he’ll want to get rid of the curse. It’ll take him a good few years to return all those secrets.”
“That sounds very cruel,” Lilith agreed, smiling. “I like it.”
Esther shrugged. “Andrew’s never done an honest day’s work in his life. It’ll do him good.”
“Gosh, Miss Mason-Smith,” James exclaimed. “I’m glad I’m not in your bad books! Seems like a bad place to be.”
“I’m sure you could never be in my bad books, James Winchester,” Esther said, smiling affectionately at him. “And I’m also sure that neither of you are at all sick right now. So get back to class.”
James frowned, but eventually (with great reluctance) said, “Alright, Miss Mason-Smith.”
Lilith Palmer took James’ hand and they wandered back the way they had come and out of Esther’s sight.
“Ah, young love.” The nurse chuckled to herself. “So simple.”
Now alone, she sighed, reclined and gazed at the white infirmary roof. She had felt a strange sense of loss when she had returned to the infirmary after the Larkwind confrontation of several weeks ago, not having Byron Gables ever-present to annoy her, to make her angry and want to strangle him. Perhaps she had liked the attention, she wondered, suddenly feeling very displeased with herself. It can’t have been good for her vanity, to have been the object of a baseless, never-ending infatuation. The infatuation now gone, Esther began to wonder if she had any appealing qualities at all.
She was certain that she was not ugly[97] . And she was sure that she was not, by nature, irritating[98] . She had a simple job[99] , which she liked, and never complained about[100] . She did not feel insecure enough about herself to be the jealous, controlling type.
In fact, as far as Esther could tell, there was nothing the matter with her. The nerve of the man! All that time and… and mortification, trying to help him remove that curse – to say nothing in thanks, and then not even look at her!
And yet, what did she want from him? She had seen his true character for perhaps one minute amongst the entirety of their ludicrous acquaintance. It made no sense! Why, Esther wanted to know, should she want him to like her now?
Perhaps it was for the assurance, she realised then, of knowing that a person needn’t be cursed into liking her. Certainly, she had no major character flaws. But was she, Esther Mason-Smith, at all – even just the teensiest bit – likeable?
All that time! Byron Gables was thinking, as he lay on a wheel-platform under his plane, half-covered with grease. He did that a lot lately. Thinking, that is, instead of working. All that time… that look on her face, it was disgust. Women generally thought him attractive – he knew it, and he rather liked it – so it couldn’t have been due to his appearance. More likely it was his behaviour, brought on by that awful, awful curse. He had recalled it all – every humiliating moment of it – the moment Blythe had removed it. Then he couldn’t bring himself to look at Esther, for fear he’d see that look again: that disgust, that supreme irritation.
Byron knew his only real flaw was vanity. But other than this (and perhaps despite this) he was a sensible man, rather quiet, usually more prone to observation than conversation. And Esther Mason-Smith had never looked at him with anything more than… disdain!
He was not used to being on the receiving end of such looks.
He did not like being on the receiving end of such looks.
Except, he conceded inwardly, there had been one single moment, which seemed to contradict all the others, and gave him an irrational hope. After he’d punched Walter and she’d slapped Yvette, they’d shared a look that seemed to say: ‘You and I, we are equal; we are the same’. She would look at him like that again, he was determined. Even if just once. Then his vanity would be satisfied.
But after such a start! It would be a hard task indeed.
Soon after this, Esther Mason-Smith, who was sitting at her desk mulling covetously over the simplicity of ‘young love’, was surprised.
The infirmary door crashed open to reveal Gables, causing Esther to have a bizarre and very unwelcome daydream flash; Gables looked so manly, and Esther was so shocked, that the next logical step in her mind-scene included Gables dashing across the floor, whisking Esther up into his arms and throwing her onto a horse that would somehow have appeared out of nowhere, and riding into a sunset that had broken all natural laws of astronomy, physics and motion in order to occur at half past three in the afternoon.
Esther, disgusted with herself for this momentary lapse, mentally brushed the flash aside. But what was Gables doing here? She did not know what to say or do. In fact, she was terrified. And so she fell back on the dominant manner she had used with him previously: sarcasm. She cocked her head to one side, saying, with apparent sincerity, “Please don’t tell me you need me to kiss you again, or that I’m the loveliest being on the planet, or tha’chu wanna be mah lover.”
Gables glowered at her.
She smiled. “Ah-ha! I can actually offend you now! Vunderbar!” Esther felt very good about these statements. They managed to put that daydream several miles away from her. She felt much safer now.
Gables drew in a deep breath and expelled it in a very controlled manner, loosing only the tiniest growl.
“Look,” he began, “please don’t judge me on the basis of what I was like when I was cursed. I’ve been like a – a ridiculous caricature of myself. So I like poetry.” He tried to look dignified (but ended up somewhere between that and petulant). “It’s not something I tell everybody, but it’s true. I’m sorry it all came out as ‘verbal diarrhoea’ every time I saw you. So I said I’m good-looking. Well, I am, and I’m not sorry I am. It’s just that people don’t normally say that out loud, and I had a weird confidence-surge in the wanting-to-kiss-you stage of the curse.”
He had traversed much of the distance between them, and had come to stand near her desk. His expression had lost its petulance and seemed now to be fixed with a slight amusement, as if he had learned just now to laugh at himself and his unfortunate moments. He continued:
“And, so I spiralled into a ‘bizarre depression’ after you said you loved me. Just because I know I’m good-looking, doesn’t mean I mightn’t be insecure about girls liking me for who I am, and not for other reasons. Whatever they may be. And this is about as much talking about… feelings–” he shook his head quickly, “–as I can handle in so short a time. So…” He looked up from the floor and caught her eye.
Esther cursed her frozen brain. She could not think of anything useful to say – or even anything sarcastic. There was no relief. The awkwardness of the moment simply increased. And increased.
Byron Gables realised something as he stared at the silent nurse. For all their differences of character, Esther did have something in common with Blythe – even if she did not recognise it, or even know it. Her sarcasm and bravado meant nothing. They were automatic defences. Esther Mason-Smith was not used to being attracted to someone, and Esther Mason-Smith was attracted to him. Unconsciously, Byron smiled at Esther with his alarmingly disarming smile. Her cheeks flushed but she remained mute.
“How do you feel about New Zealand?” he asked abruptly.
“Sorry?”
“One of the perks of owning your own plane is you can go anywhere in the world, at any time.”
“You mean… how do I feel about going to New Zealand… with you?”
“Just for dinner,” he added quickly.
“Just for dinner?”
“Well, it’s a bit early on for a mini-break, don’t you think?” Byron joked.
“Don’t you think it’s a bit extravagant to just, you know, pop over to a neighbouring country for a meal?” Esther asked, unsure whether she should be horrified or flattered by the proposition.
Byron laughed. “Of course it is. But I know you’ve already got a passport, and I’ve got fri
ends at the airport over there.”
“Oh…” Esther frowned, shaking her head. After a few moment’s consideration she said, “Fine. But only if I don’t have to (a) kiss you, (b) listen to gallingly false compliments or (c) dance with you.”
“Perfect.” Gables grinned at her. “I’m rubbish at compliments and dancing anyway.” He then flashed her a look which said plainly that he certainly wasn’t rubbish at something else.
Esther rolled her eyes and shook her head, but gathered up her passport and purse and followed Gables to his car.
And this was how, bizarrely and extremely awkwardly, Esther Mason-Smith and Byron Gables began. They ‘popped over’ to New Zealand for dinner, had the pleasure of saying very little to each other, and also of feeling very uncomfortable around one another, and seeing some very nice, incredibly blue water. By the end of the day Esther was smugly satisfied that Byron Gables liked her, which might have ended it all, if Byron Gables had not been distinctly aware that she had not yet looked at him without some measure of disgust.
So even though their relationship began purely on the basis of both parties wanting to satisfy their own vanity, Esther Mason-Smith and Byron Gables quickly found each other compatible in almost every way. For Esther’s part, Byron was quite often away (Esther’s view of things was ‘What’s the point of spending so much time together? You’re only going to get sick of each other sooner’). Nor was he often given to overt, public displays of affection, and this (due to her possessing a nature that was very reserved about all things emotional) suited her perfectly. And for Byron’s part, Esther was neither clingy[101] nor given to speeches filled with eloquence and emotion, and other such icky sentimentality[102] .
But Esther could have sworn – weeks, months later, and more – that some warped remnant of Blythe’s seed curse had remained within Byron. Sometimes he would subject her to gallingly false compliments, then, like a knee-jerk reaction, she would slap him, and suddenly Byron Gables would want nothing more than to kiss her. Strange. Except these days she didn’t feel the need to pull back.
But of course, a romance between two nine-year-olds is hardly likely to last forever. This was the case with James and Lilith. They parted ways after their HSC to be further educated for their respective careers: James in medical science, followed by diagnostic pathology[103], and Lilith as Blythe’s apprentice. At that time, both felt that they would simply die from their sorrows. However, as they immersed themselves in their studies, a reasonable passage of time found them not dead at all, perhaps only increasingly myopic.
James did eventually grow up and marry, but that is another story altogether. The events of the day on which James finally asked this unnamed female out for their first date were quite amusing, but, like the story of Peter Hargraves and The Magician, would probably need to be told in the context of the previous 100 or so almost-attempts to properly express James’ happiness upon hearing two small words: ‘Well, okay’.
The fate of Lilith Palmer may only be guessed at. After finishing her apprenticeship with Blythe, Lilith changed her name (she was sick of everybody being unable to pronounce it[104]) and disappeared into the woodwork, with a professed intention to work in counter-terrorism. (Lilith was particularly fond of one story her adoptive mother used to tell her, of when she and James were about to be ‘delayed’ at the airport.)
Oh, but shall we forget the wretched Andrew Harrison VI? We might as well as not, for everyone else in the world did. Since Lilith Palmer had orchestrated a perfectly unseen escape from the Children’s Hospital, it was assumed that Andrew Harrison VI had run away. (He had made several threats to that effect to the nurses, and at a volume that seemed to indicate the strength of his determination.) An appropriate amount of time and resources was invested in the search, which inevitably turned up nothing. Even his parents, whilst consciously devastated by the loss, in the very deepest parts of their unconscious beings felt relieved by his absence. But before you go feeling sorry for Andrew Harrison VI, as I know you might, you really must recall his deepest secret and realise that the world, in subtracting a negative (by pure mathematics), ended up better off.
By the time Andrew Harrison VI tired of making mischief in stealing secrets, and then attempted to rid himself of the curse as Esther had suggested (by returning each secret to its rightful owner), mankind was halfway through a 3rd millennium Anno Domini. Remarkably enough (considering Esther in fact had no idea what she was talking about, and only told Andrew such a thing because she imagined it would take a very long time), this was how Chrysander Noble had intended the curse to be broken. So Andrew Harrison VI at last found himself visible and touchable, and the curse of the Secret Stealer came to an end. I leave it to the reader to imagine how Andrew (still in his nine-year-old body) was to fend for himself in a 26th century world…
There – have I left anything out? Well, it is perhaps against tradition to close a story with the misery of the villain rather than with the good-fortune of the hero… So I will venture to mention that the turning point in James’ pursuit of the unnamed girl – the thought that finally allowed him past all his illogical neuroses – was the same piece of unwittingly imparted advice that helped him past almost every obstacle in life. Though I’m quite sure Esther had no idea these words would be taken to heart in such a way, it was this: if nothing else worked, at least he knew he looked good in a tux.
Epilogue
Sebastian Pritchard was sublimely happy. And he hadn’t even shocked anyone into tears yet. Or pilfered anything. Well, at least not today. Nor was it his birthday, or Australia Day, or Christmas, or any other day that the average Joe (or even the ridiculously rich) would celebrate. The occasion was significant, though. It was the fourth anniversary of the death of Angeline Winchester.
It may seem morbid that this was Sebastian’s favourite day of the year, but in truth, he knew nothing of Angeline Winchester except that she was the mother of little James, and that on the anniversary of her death his two daughters would come home to him, bringing such company and entertainment as to keep his thoughts happily occupied for weeks. And the gathering was never sober or sad. James may have been the quietest of the group, but he usually observed the others with a soft smile of contentment. There may have been a trace of regret in there somewhere, Sebastian thought – after all, the poor boy never got to meet his own mother. Nevertheless, he smiled more often than he frowned, and when he spoke it was always to contribute to the current joke, and never to quash their enjoyment.
That is not to say that these gatherings were entirely peaceful and without argument. But this was half the fun. Blythe was usually playing some trick or another on Esther – who had, more recently, learned to retaliate (in her own subtle way) rather than simply turning the other cheek. Domenic and Byron got along extremely well, often laughing to themselves over the similarities in their wives, which the two twins inevitably and vehemently denied.
Fiercely independent, strong-willed and impatient, Lilith was virtually a caricature of Blythe at that age. But Sebastian rather suspected that she was smiling on the inside whenever she pouted or frowned or glared at him. At present Lilith sat to his right at the round table, James sat to his left, and beside him sat Esther and Byron; beside Lilith were Blythe and Domenic. Their plates were empty after a fine lunch, and all reclined and took deep breaths, attempting to relieve their full stomachs.
“Hey, Popples,” Lilith said suddenly, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “You must’ve dropped this.” She placed a small Eiffel tower key-ring in his hand.
Sebastian grinned. “You little monkey – I told you, no cheating! If you’re going to pickpocket, do it the good old-fashioned honest way. No magic! Now I’ll have to put all my keys back on the key-ring…” He fished about in his pockets.
“Here, Popples, let me do it.” She then withdrew the keys from her own pocket and looped them into the key-ring. “And I didn’t cheat, honest,” she assured him, her expression impish.
Sebas
tian half-growled and attempted to tousle her hair, but she wriggled out of reach. “Well then, have the last cupcake, for that amazing show of thieving skill.”
“Excuse me, father,” Blythe interrupted, and pulled the plate away from Lilith before she could get at it. “I won’t have you rewarding my Lily for thievery.”
James, Esther and Byron chuckled all at once.
Blythe pulled a face at them. “Yes, yes, I’m aware of the irony. But we’re not stealing anything anymore. Are we, Dom?” she prompted her husband.
Domenic cleared his throat. “Hm-hm, no, not stealing anything at all.”
“Don’t say it like we are!” Blythe lightly slapped his shoulder. She looked around, saying, “We’re not!”
“So who do you propose should get this last cupcake then, Blythe m’dear?” Sebastian said through his arched fingers.
Esther said, “I think it should be given to the person responsible for us all being here today.”
Blythe grinned at her twin. “Well that would be Domenic and me, of course. If we’d never stolen James’ secret, he would never have learned the truth about the Winchesters, and Lilith would never have come to Westcott.” Blythe looked down to her feet and saw her father’s pet dachshund staring up at her with a mournful look in his eyes. “Shoo, puppy,” she quickly ordered.
Byron chuckled. “Way to nominate yourself by virtue of your own thievery.” He waved a finger at her, saying, “Double standards, Blythe, double standards.”
“The man’s got a point,” Domenic said with a shrug.
Blythe pouted at her husband, but nevertheless pushed the plate to the centre of the table once more.
“So you’re saying that James becoming the Secret Stealer is the basic reason we all came back together again?” Sebastian Pritchard surmised. “Why not just give James the cupcake?”
“Nooo-no-no-no.” James shook his head. “I would’ve been completely lost without Esther[105] . Give her the cupcake.”