Island Skye

by Fox Brison

  “Knock, knock.” In my haste to escape the Jeffries women, I neglected to lock the front door behind me; big mistake. Sara’s head poked around the kitchen door.

  “Hey, Sara. Turkey or ham?” Despite the depression I was about to comfort eat my way out of, I acted carefree and nonchalant.

  Meryl Streep eat your heart out.

  I emptied some cheese and onion crisps into an orange and green striped bowl, and as Sara took a seat on the wooden bar stool next to the kitchen island, she pinched one half of my already prepared turkey sandwich.

  “Eww, cranberry!” she twinkled mischievously before taking another enormous bite.

  “And brie,” I added.

  “Ooh la la! Posh git! You’ve been in Durham too long, all those public school girls giving you ideas above your station.” She waggled her eyebrows and I burst out laughing at the absurd face she was pulling. “Make mine ham please, with some of that expensive fancy mustard I know you have hidden away at the back of your fridge.” I began making another round of sandwiches. Sara was a beanpole, but boy, could she put away her grub. “Skye, is everything alright? Mam said-”

  “I’m fine,” I interrupted. “I’ll apologise to your Mum, she just caught me at a bad time.”

  “I call shit and bull. Something’s going on; I spoke to you more when you were in Durham. You won’t come round never mind out and you run whenever you see me heading your way. Have I upset you? I know we’ve teased you-”

  “Ad nauseam,” I interjected.

  “Ad nauseam. But it’s just our way of sayin’ we loves ya.”

  “I know, honestly,” I rushed to ease her worries. “It’s just I’ve reached this important part of my thesis…” I was lying, of course.

  And Sara knew it.

  “I repeat my earlier assertion about the bovine brown stuff. Don’t make me come over there and tickle it out of you.”

  When we were younger and I was keeping something inside she’d tickle me until I either told her or wet myself. I smiled. “It’s nothing, Sara, I’m just a bit down in the dumps. The past has this terrifying habit of creeping up and then ambushing you when you least expect it. And I always get a bit antsy the closer to Berwick I am.”

  “Your Mam?”

  “Amongst other things.”

  Sara took a swig of my milk and wrinkled her nose. “If you have to drink this, could it not at least be cold.”

  “I forgot to put it back in the fridge after breakfast,” I poured her a glass of cola, straight from the refrigerator. I waited until the light brown foam subsided before topping her up. Avoidance tactics. If they offered an honorary doctorate in that topic I’d have been given one, years ago. With bells on. And a parade complete with marching band and fireworks. Seriously, I was that freakin’ good.

  Sara wasn’t to be dissuaded. “So, your Mam? We’ll get to the other things later.” She waited patiently whilst I wrestled with my conscience.

  I ducked my head, quickly fighting back the tears. Sara knew there were unresolved issues with my family, only she didn’t realise just how deep they went. The longer I held off from telling her, the harder it had become. Maybe I needed to say the words aloud to allow myself to move on. “My Dad, he said… at the funeral… he said that it was my fault… that when Mam caught me with Ellen Johnson… the shock killed her… I killed her.”

  “He what!” Sara exploded angrily. It was a good thing the tide was in, or she might have raced the ten miles north and kicked my Dad’s arse for him. “Skye, you know that’s not true, right? Your Mam must have been ill long before you came out. No-one could’ve predicted when that damned aneurism was going to burst.”

  “But it did burst two days after she walked in on me in bed with Ellen? What if?” I left the question hanging; like the sword of Damocles it had hung over my head for a decade. Some days I wished it would drop.

  “No what ifs. Sometimes I could swing for your family, I really could.” Sara and I rarely discussed my family, it was an unspoken agreement between us, but she clearly held a shitload of ill-will towards them. “Look, I don’t want to be disrespectful, Skye, but if anything killed your Mam it was being married to that bastard for twenty years. She was a broken woman long before she caught you naked and out of the closet. Christ, it’s a testament to you that you’re as sane as you are after being raised in that house!”

  “I think I’ll take that as a compliment, even though it feels like I’ve been going steadily crazier the closer to the anniversary I get. I always thought that by staying away I was taking the high ground, but the truth is I was taking the easy route. I know I’ve nothing to be ashamed of, that’s why I’m going to the cemetery to pay my respects to my mother whether the rest of my family likes it or not.”

  “You deserved better.”

  “You know, Dad even asked the local vicar in to pray away the gay. I mean, I thought that was just something that happened on American tv programmes.”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me if the good reverend prayed for your father’s soul instead, he was damned for all the grief he put you through. Skye, if you want I’ll come with you and hold your hand.”

  I scowled. “I’ve already been accused of killing my mother. Do you want me to be responsible for giving my father a heart attack?”

  “He hasn’t had one yet,” Sara snorted. “Besides, I meant figuratively. Darling,” she drawled seductively, “you couldn’t handle me.”

  “Sweetie, if I ever got you into my bed you wouldn’t just jump the fence, you’d leap frog it singing the Hallelujah Chorus!” I polished my nails on my blue polo shirt and we both laughed; it was a familiar refrain, one which we’d sung many a time.

  She hugged me and snatched the other half of my uneaten sandwich. “It’s a good job I loves ya, or I’d have to kick your arse for being an idiot!” I busied myself wiping down the sides and putting away the detritus of our lunch as she pattered on about the kids and the plans for the house. I loved Sara and right now I was grateful she knew me better than anyone.

  Including myself.

  Chapter 11

  Natalie

  Hiya sexy,

  How’s the knee? I can’t wait to see you, this weekend can’t come quick enough – and neither will you once I get my hands and tongue on your luscious bod.

  Harriet

  Hi Harry,

  Knee’s mending thanx, but I’m going to have to cancel this weekend.

  Nat

  Huh? You’re kidding, right? Tell me what’s so important you’re forgoing a spa weekend (non-refundable) in one of the most luxurious hotels in the country. And if that isn’t tantalising enough, copious amounts of mind blowing sex thrown in for good measure!

  Harriet

  I’m really sorry, I’ll reimburse you for the hotel, it’s just this injury has forced me to take stock of what I’m doing and where I’m going, and so I won’t be able to continue with our arrangement.

  Nat

  Continue with our arrangement? Nat, you haven’t been auditing my books for the past god knows how many months, you’ve been fucking my brains out. I thought we were on the same page?

  Harriet

  We were but right now I don’t think we’re even on the same chapter. Look we had a great time together, but it had to end sometime. We couldn’t go on forever, things change, people change.

  Nat

  Now I get it. Who is she?

  Harriet

  Who is who?

  Nat

  Nat we’ve danced this dance long enough. I know you too well.

  Harriet

  Sex does not equate intimacy. You don’t know me at all.

  Nat

  We’ll see. You know we’re more alike than you’d like to admit, your career is more important than anything or anyone. You’ll be back.

  Harriet

  I’m sorry, Harriet, I won’t, not this time. It’s over.

  Nat

  It’s not over until I say it is Natalie Jeffries! You don’t
get to dump me! Nobody dumps me. I wonder if your new girlfriend would appreciate a copy of the texts you sent from Frankfurt when you played against Germany… what would your loyal fans think of such a freak… and what would the boss say if he found out the reason you’re crocked was because you decided to go skiing off piste.

  Harriet

  WTF? Back off Harriet. I’m not the only one who might suffer if emails are released ‘accidently’ and as for the boss, he knows. I told him weeks ago. The only thing I’m guilty of is being a horny idiot. Lose my number, I want nothing else to do with you except on the football pitch. Threaten me like that again and I will inform the authorities.

  Nat

  Chapter 12

  Skye

  After working hard all afternoon and into the early evening on my thesis I was pleasantly surprised by how much I’d accomplished. The black type face on white paper, however, was now blurring into an inky mess and I wearily rubbed my tired eyes. Checking the clock at the bottom of the computer screen I was startled by just how late it was and my stomach rumbled in agreement. Food… I need food… it whined like a petulant five year old. I stood and stretched, my back creaking in protest, which forced me to swiftly reassess my priorities. Bath first, supper after. The chicken curry from the day before was still in the fridge, so after placing it in the oven to warm through, I headed towards the bathroom, my stomach and back both thanking me profusely for my thoughtfulness.

  It was dark outside. The gusts of wind battering the window made me glad I was inside, the flickering light of the stove warming me, unlike my thoughts which were encasing my heart even further in a glacier of ice.

  It had been a crap few days.

  The weather had taken a turn for the worst, which meant the few tourists who braved the elements to get to the island spent their time in the visitor centre. The one poor soul who did venture out into the gloom slipped on the wet grass and twisted his ankle. Who knew there were so many forms to fill when someone does something as simple as twist an ankle? I certainly didn’t. Accident report forms, incident logs, the list was endless. And if that wasn’t enough, I was ‘asked’ to fold the leaflets which turned up unfolded that morning.

  All five thousand of them!

  I didn’t get them finished, obviously, but I did almost lose my will to live and the only cure for that? Certainly not a spoonful of sugar. No, I followed the three steps of Skye Donaghie’s patented relaxation remedy.

  Step one: lose myself in my work, focus on the past, not the present and certainly not the future.

  Step two: a cold beer in a hot bath, a good book to escape reality for a few mindless hours and candles, scented ones naturally.

  Step three: bubbles, clouds of foamy white bubbles that covered me from head to toe.

  I slipped beneath the water and lay there, my eyes firmly closed as I allowed the heat to erase the tension in my shoulders. Oh yes. That felt better. The only way it could improve… my eyes remained closed and I warmed all over as my mind drifted and my hand joined it in shared memories of Natalie, looking so utterly sexy as she came out of my shower, her wet hair messily slicked back…

  I traced a finger over my breast and gasped. I was already turned on and that was before I started fantasising about Natalie’s strong arms encircling me, pushing me back towards the bed…

  And then the darkness from without swamped the inside of the cottage.

  “Oh Horlicks!” I cursed.

  Okay, so I know what to do in a power cut, it’s not exactly rocket science. Light a few candles, (I was ahead on that score) check the trip switch, report it to the landlady, hunker down for the night. But I didn’t have a clue where the other candles could be found and I only had a few votives left. As for the fuse box, that could be in the Central African Republic - Pointless answer, go me - for all I knew. I hadn’t noticed it inside the cottage thus far, mind you, I hadn’t exactly been looking for it either. And as for Mrs McCarthy my landlady, she was currently sunning herself on a Caribbean cruise. I wrapped a towel around my chest and, dripping water and foam everywhere, I stumbled, carefully, into the living room. The glow from the stove and my laptop was at least offering me some assistance, so I managed to find my phone which was charging on the sideboard, and I immediately called Sara and Andy.

  Voicemail.

  Damn! I forgot they were heading for a romantic night out in Newcastle. I scrolled through my contacts and found Mrs Jeffries’ number. “It’s not a problem,” she assured me when I explained my predicament. “I’ll send Tommy round.”

  Great. Morton would piss his pants. “Thanks,” I murmured. I didn’t want to be ungrateful, but still! I just can’t catch a break at the moment. I hurried into the bedroom and threw on whatever came to hand. I really didn’t want Tommy to see me half naked, so on went the blue and cream striped flannel pyjama bottoms and a cream vest and off came my wondrously soft towel.

  I should dress in the dark more often, I’d never been so co-ordinated.

  I tapped my finger on the kitchen bench as I waited for his knock. I bet it would be sarcastic. Everything he ever did was sarcastic. I bet when he came out of his mother’s womb…

  Knock, knock, knockety knock.

  The sharp raps on the door cut through the now howling gale and my howling condemnation of Tommy’s character. I hurried to the door to let him in, after all, the weather was atrocious and he was doing me a favour. The bright beam of his torch illuminated fat raindrops pounding the cobble road and his dark green rain slicker was sopping.

  “Come in Tom… oh,” I said, “you’re not Tommy.”

  “Sorry to disappoint, I’m Natalie, pleased to meet you,” she held out her hand and gripped mine. It was as soft as her voice. “Now enough pleasantries. I believe I’m here to rescue a damsel in distress.” The rain was by now dripping off the end of her nose and her jeans were covered in wet patches where the water was soaking through to her skin. “I don’t suppose you could let me in, I’m getting rather damp here.”

  Oh shit!

  I moved back and she followed me inside. “Why is it whenever I’m around you I become a bumbling ass?” She removed her coat and I hung it on the cream wrought iron coat stand next to the door. The water dripped onto the black and white chequered lino, forming a squiggly puddle.

  “Hmm. Maybe it’s my winning personality? My natural charisma? My stonkingly hot bod?” She bent over to remove her matching green wellingtons.

  Oh dear god kill me now. My libido was sent racing into overdrive by her perfect derriere filling the seat of her jeans. Houston, we have a problem. I’d reverted to adolescence and was a hormonal teenager once again. I cannot flirt with my best friend’s sister, I cannot flirt with… “Oh definitely the bod,” I said with a wink. Damnation. Apparently I can flirt with my best friend’s sister. “Are you sure you have the necessary expertise to flick my switch…” I added suggestively.

  “I’m sure I’ll manage, I’m very good with my hands!” she shot back and the room was suddenly thick with sexual tension. “Helllllooo ladies,” I heard the merest whisper and hint of admiration as her torch flickered in my direction. I blushed furiously, which was good, because it covered the instant flush of arousal. Who needed a fire when Natalie Jeffries looked at you?

  A cream vest and wet body wasn’t the most modest of combinations and she could clearly see the girls popping up to say a hearty good day. “You’re such a guy Jeffries. Eyes on the prize please,” I said crisply. I needed to put a lid on this before things got out of hand.

  “I thought they were.” Natalie winked, unabashed. “Dad told me the box was in the back of the pantry.” She headed into the kitchen and I turned to put another few logs on the fire. I was mentally planning what sustenance I would offer her (the clichéd coffee, tea, me kind of thing) when the cottage lights came back on.

  But for some reason it was still black.

  “Skye? Skye, sweetie, can you hear me?”

  I groaned and opened my eyes. “Y
es,” I croaked. “What the hell am I doing on the floor?”

  “You must have slipped on that rather large foamy wet patch. You’ve caught yourself a nasty one on your head.”

  “Ow!” I touched my temple and immediately regretted it. “Thanks, for the lights I mean.”

  “Skye, I’m worried. You were out cold.” I could read the concern in her eyes and something else, something I desperately wanted to identify but was afraid, afraid that if I was wrong things would become awkward with Natalie, with Sara, hell with Mrs Jeffries. But I really liked Natalie, I liked her humour and expressive eyes. I liked her kind heart and warm smile.

  And I especially liked her firm thighs pillowing my aching head.

  “I’ll be fine.” I brushed off her alarm and tried to stand. Big mistake. I felt my stomach churn and held my hand to my mouth. My eyes were wide as I looked at her. Please, do not let me puke…

  I slumped back to the ground.

  “Wow, okay, that’s never happened to me before.” Natalie crinkled her nose but still held me tight, carefully cradling me to avoid chunks of vomit painting her jeans. “Maybe I should have kept the slicker on.” Several weeks had passed since I called her a bully, well an ignorer of bullies and now I’d peppered her jeans with the contents of my stomach. Could I be any more crass? I felt the tears burning my eyes. “Hey come on now, none of that.” She wiped the hair from my clammy forehead. “I reckon you might have a touch of concussion.”

  “Are you a doctor as well as a rescuer of damsels?” I tried to tease but the words were choked by my utter embarrassment.

  She kissed the top of my head and I melted right there and then. “I’ve had a couple of head injuries in my time,” she said.