by Soraya May
“May is having a sleepover, so I told myself I was gonna come and hang out with my number-one girlfriend. Which is you. Even if you have to work, I can still keep you company.”
I smiled gratefully. “Thanks, Faz. It’s pretty busy tonight, but just make yourself comfortable.”
“Comfortable? I’m gonna be working the crowd, honey; trying to get them to buy Foxworthy Vineyard product. This is a business trip.”
“Do you really need to do that? It’s a Monday, and my customers have enough to deal with just getting through the week, without being savaged by Hurricane Faz.”
“It’s for their own good. I’ve seen those stomachs, and there’s only one thing for it; more red wine, fewer pints of beer. C’mon, your public needs you.”
As I walked back down the stairs in front of Farrah, I was torn between being disappointed the guy had left—sheesh, I didn’t even know his name—and relieved, for the same reason.
Looking out across the crowded bar, I busied myself pulling pints, tidying up the broken glass from the accident earlier that had invariably found its way everywhere, and chatting to customers. I tried to forget the tall, cocky stranger who looked at me with a hungry expression, as if I was the only thing in the bar worth looking at.
I tried to forget the force with which he pulled me into him, and most of all I tried to forget how I kissed him back.
It was just a one-off, I told myself.
Next time that guy comes in—if he does—it’s strictly business. He’s hot, but he said he wasn’t staying.
Nothing to worry about.
Boy, Farrah will laugh about this. When I tell her.
7
Ryan
I mounted the guest house steps, trying to ignore the theme from ‘The Addams Family’ playing quietly in my head.
That was…unexpected. But not unwelcome.
The pretty bartender’s kiss had been with me all the way home; too bad I never got her name. The short walk had been enough time for twilight to set in, and by the time I got my key out for the front door, I had to squint for the lock to fit it in.
As I entered the hallway, Daisy was descending the stairs, and I blinked. The elderly lady made her way down the wide staircase at a considerable rate, holding on to the wide banister, and jumping down them two at a time. It was an alarming sight, and I found myself wondering how far away the nearest ambulance was in the event of her losing her footing and breaking something.
“Ah! Mr. Sanders! Welcome back.” Daisy waved at me cheerfully as she clattered to a halt at the bottom, making me wince. “The Paihamu Suite is ready for you. Just up the stairs, and it’s the first door on the left.”
“Thank you, Miss McNeish. It, uh, it sounds very grand.” I looked around for my cases, but she’d already taken them up. “To be honest, I would have been happy with just a standard room, but—”
“Oh, this is a standard room, dear.” Daisy was undaunted. “It’s all part of the service here.”
I looked about. “This looks like a big place for you to manage all on your own. How many rooms do you have?”
“Just one, dear.”
“The, uh…Paihamu Suite?”
Daisy nodded cheerfully. “That’s right.” She bustled past me through another door. “You take yourself up to your room, dear, and I’ll be up in a moment with a late snack.”
“Thanks, that’s really kind, but there’s no need to—” From the clanking of pots I could hear, I guessed the door led to the kitchen, and Daisy wasn’t about to hear me, or take no for an answer if she could.
She’s nice. Weird, but nice.
Smiling ruefully, I climbed the wide stairs at about half the speed of the old lady, went to my bedroom door, and peered inside. The room was pitch-black, and it took some fumbling before I could find the light switch, an old-style chain dangling from the ceiling.
I pulled the chain; the bulb blazed into life and illuminated a scene from nightmare.
“Fuck!”
All about the bedroom, on plinths, on shelves, and on every flat surface, stood stuffed animals. Not a range of animals; just one type of animal, the common opossum.
I wasn’t an animal biologist, but I knew the pointed snout, bushy tail and sharp claws of the opossum well enough. I stood in the middle of the room, mouth open, taking in the display in front of me.
There must have been eight or ten of the things, staring back at me glassily. The place looked like the lair of either a very methodical taxidermy student, who was determined to get one thing right before moving on to anything else, or someone with a major grudge against opossums.
What was worse, they weren’t displayed au naturelle, in their normal opossum-y environment. No, they were dressed up in little outfits. Some were wearing tuxedos, and clutching microphones; one, like a furry Elvis, had a sequined jumpsuit. I sat hunched on the bed, unable to tear my eyes away from them. They regarded me impassively, little jaws agape, stuck in an eternal performance.
How in hell am I going to get to sleep in here? I wasn’t a light sleeper, and I’d had to sleep in some pretty rugged conditions, but this was going to be a challenge.
As I looked around, still dumbfounded, there was a quiet knock at the door.
“Mr. Sanders? May I come in?”
“Of—of course, Miss McNeish.” To be honest, I could do with another human in here, ‘cause I’m heavily outnumbered.
The heavy door creaked open, and Daisy backed in, carrying a large metal tray. “A light supper.” She proffered the tray. “I thought you might be in need of something after your journey.”
I looked down. “Ah. Toasted cheese. How nice.” Above us, an opossum Elton John leered down from behind a tiny piano, spangled eyeglasses gleaming in the light.
“I trust the room is to your satisfaction?” Daisy looked around, her gaze somehow not taking in any of the existing inhabitants. “Plenty of space, and there’s a desk in the corner, you see.”
I blinked. There was a desk in the corner, a lovely old folding writing-desk. I just hadn’t noticed it, and the best thing was that it was blessedly free of stuffed opossum. “That’s, uh, great, Miss McNeish. Very useful. Yes.”
Daisy beamed. “Being as you’re a man of letters, I thought you’d have use of a desk for your work.”
“Well, that’s true. It will come in handy.” Especially if I stare at the wall and try not to look at anything else. “I’ll make sure to use it.” I took the tray gently from Daisy’s hands, and placed it on the bedside table.
“Mr. Sanders, if you don’t mind me asking, what is it you’re here to study?” Daisy’s wizened face was bright and inquisitive, and I found myself warming to her keen interest in everything around her.
“Well, Miss McNeish,” I began, “I’m an archaeologist. We’ve had a report of some bones discovered in one of the buildings in town, and I’m here to investigate them. If they’re of archaeological significance, it could be a pretty big find.”
Daisy clapped her hands. “Oh, how interesting! This town does have a long history of settlement, going well back before European times.” She gestured around the room. “Did you know this house was one of the first built when European settlers came here?”
“No, I didn’t, but that, uh, doesn’t surprise me in the slightest.”
“Yes, absolutely. There are a lot of other old buildings in town, and a number of them have protected heritage status.” She nodded to herself. “Of course, it’s very important to preserve our past, but it does make it difficult for the owners. You couldn’t so much as change a window-latch in those protected heritage buildings without permission, to say nothing of knocking out a wall, or putting in another room.”
“Well, you’re right about preserving the past, Miss McNeish. In my work, I have to be very careful with everything we dig up. You never know what’s going to be important, and once we forget things, or lose them, then they’re gone forever.”
For a moment, Daisy looked suddenly sad. “Y
es. Yes, that’s very true.” It was such an unexpected expression on that bright, fierce, birdlike face that I was taken aback. Before I could say anything, it was gone, replaced by cheeriness. “Anyway, I mustn’t keep you; your toasted cheese is getting cold.”
I glanced furtively at it, congealing by my pillow. “Y-yes. Thank you.”
“I’ll come past in the morning at seven-thirty. Tea or coffee?”
“Oh, there’s no need to—uh, coffee, please. Just milk, no sugar.”
After the door closed behind Daisy, and I heard her clattering back down the stairs, I shifted my suitcase and began to settle in for the evening. The bed was comfortable, if a little lumpy in parts, and the pillows were heavy, feather-filled, leaving me feeling like I was sinking slowly into the mattress.
I’d better let Mom know I’m here safely, at least. Sitting up in bed, I propped my laptop up in front of me and tapped out an email to my mother.
Hi Mom,
Made it to Cable Bay alright. Antoinette said to say hello to you and that she’d call soon. Do you remember that she used to come here on her holidays when we were kids, and I would always get jealous? I said I would go and check on her Grandad’s house when I’ve finished work; he is in a home now too. What’s the latest with Dad’s care? If you need more funds, just let me know. When I am back, we’ll go and visit together; maybe some more pictures from when I was a kid will jog his memory.
Love,
Ryan
Tomorrow, I would check out the rest of the town, start my investigation, and maybe get another kiss from the pretty bartender. Before sleep came, my last thought was of her body against me, and her breath on my neck.
8
Ryan
Half-asleep in the big bed, I drifted.
The pretty bartender, coming closer to me, with that half-smile in the darkness…
I thought about the feeling of her waist under my hands, the heat of her body against me. When we kissed, I felt her lips on mine, cold and wet…
Cold and wet? That wasn’t right.
The cold, wet sensation continued, a steady pulsing against my face. That definitely wasn’t her lips.
I opened my eyes, and moved my head. Another drip of water landed on my face, falling from far above me.
“Shit!” Sitting upright, I struggled for the bedside light. Don’t forget about the bloody opossums. Flaring into life, the light illuminated the gang of tiny preserved rock-stars surrounding me, but this time I was ready for it, and only shuddered for a moment.
What was more serious was the roof and the bed; around me, the mattress was completely soaked in a wide circle, indicating it had been going on for some time. I must have been heavily asleep to not be woken by that. Above me, a large dark patch of the ceiling bulged ominously. As I watched, the bulge in the ceiling grew noticeably bigger, and a crack starting at one wall become more prominent. The dripping on my head turned into a near-steady pour, as if from a tap with a faulty washer.
Uh-oh. Time to rise and shine, Sanders. I rolled out of bed and got to my feet, casting around for a pair of pants and pulling my suitcase into the driest part of the room. As I did so, the ceiling gave a deep creaking noise and a small amount of plaster drifted down to settle on my head, giving me the sudden appearance of a bad attack of dandruff.
Pulling on a t-shirt, I looked around. At the window, early morning light crept in from between the thick curtains. My case was dry enough, but the mattress wasn’t going to be slept on any time soon. I’d better find a tarpaulin or something waterproof, or this is going to get worse.
Heading downstairs, I saw a light on in the kitchen and went in. Daisy was bent over an ancient stove, stirring something that looked like porridge; I caught the scent of cinnamon.
“Uh, Miss McNeish? I’m afraid I’ve had something of a leak.”
“Good morning, Mr. Sanders,” Daisy didn’t look up from her stirring, “Not to worry; it happens to all of us as we get older. Why, only the other day, I—”
I coughed. “No, Miss McNeish, I mean the ceiling in my room has had a leak. I’m afraid it looks like there’s a hole in the ceiling, and the mattress is very wet.”
This time, Daisy looked up. “Oh dear.” Her mouth set in a line. “I’d better come and have a look.”
Upstairs, we stared at the sorry remains of the mattress. As we watched, a light slurry of plaster mixed with water dripped steadily from the burgeoning hole in the ceiling, into a small mound in the middle of the bed.
Daisy muttered a word that I was quite surprised a lady of her age even knew. “I knew that ceiling wouldn’t last.” She turned to me with an apologetic expression. “I am so very sorry about this, Mr. Sanders.”
I tried not to grimace. I was lucky that none of my equipment was damaged, but there was no way I was sleeping in here that night. “Well, accidents happen, Miss McNeish; please don’t blame yourself.” I looked out the window at the clearing mist. “I guess I’d better find somewhere to stay.”
Daisy, clearly distraught, wrung her hands. “Well, you’re welcome to stay in the lounge on the sofa, if that’s any consolation. I hate to think of turning you out like this.”
I thought about lying in the big lounge, in the dark, under the accusing stares of thoroughbred racehorses and prize pigs. Would it be worse than the opossums? Hard to tell. “That’s very kind of you, but I wouldn’t, uh, want to impose upon you. I’m sure there’ll be another place I can find accommodation in town.”
By mid-morning, an hour’s work on the telephone had made me realize how wrong I was. “Dammit.” I put the receiver of the old phone back on its cradle and looked at my notes. How can there be nowhere else to stay in a town this size?
Daisy entered the lounge, wheeling a trolley. “Muffin, Mr. Sanders? I made them this morning. How goes finding a room?”
I rubbed my forehead. “Badly, Miss McNeish, badly. Every single place in town is full.” I peered at the muffins suspiciously; after Daisy’s last offering I’d intended to give her cooking a wide berth, but these actually looked pretty good. Selecting one from the tray, I bit into it tentatively. Actually, they are pretty good. Fruit and nut, I think.
Daisy made sympathetic noises. “I’d feared as much. There aren’t a lot of places to stay here at the best of times, and this is a busy time of year for tourists, you know.”
“Right.” I nodded, chewing on the muffin.
What could I do? I couldn’t go back to the city empty-handed, and the longer I left it, the greater the chance of those fossils being damaged or forgotten. I won’t let that happen.
“Have you tried further out of town?” Daisy proffered the tray of muffins. “Take another one, do.”
I swallowed the last bite of muffin, and shook my head. “I’ve tried everywhere in a twenty-mile radius. All booked solid because of the holiday season, it seems.”
“Oh dear. I’m afraid I can’t think of anywhere else in town that has accommodation, Mr. Sanders.”
I thought for a moment, and something the pretty bartender said came back to me. “I think,” I said, taking another muffin, “I might know of somewhere that does.”
9
Cat
‘So you’re telling me you actually kissed this guy?’. Farrah was beside herself with glee as we walked toward the farmers’ market. It was a fine day, and the mid-morning sun was warming after a heavy shower last night.
“Well, yeah. Sort of.” I’d finally steeled myself to spill the beans to Farrah, and her reaction was exactly as I feared; a shriek of glee, followed by relentless questioning about the precise details of an event that made my cheeks color every time she recalled it.
“Sort of?” Farrah’s tone was acerbic. “You don’t sort of kiss a hot guy in the middle of your place of work, honey. At least I don’t.” She thought briefly. “Not that I’ve had the opportunity. Maybe if they weren’t all elderly businessmen and grasping entrepreneurs, it’d be a more appealing idea. Huh.”
“Okay, oka
y. He kissed me, and I kissed him back.” And I did a bit more than that. My face burned as I recalled not only that I’d kissed him, I’d pressed myself against him, hard, and felt the substantial bulge in his pants. Damn, that was really hot. I tried to shake the feeling of his arms around me, demanding, hungry in his desire, but it wouldn’t leave me, making me clammy and flushed at the same time when I thought about it.
“Where?”
I kept my face expressionless. “On the lips.”
“Not where on you, dummy.” Farrah swatted me lightly with her voluminous handbag. “Where in the bar? What did Bob say? What did the customers say? What did—”
“It was near the foot of the stairs, in the little alcove coming back from the bathroom, you know? Nobody saw it, so nobody said anything. And that, Madam, is how I would like it to stay, if it please you. So no blabbing, okay?”
Farrah narrowed her eyes. “Would I do that? Would I tell people that my best friend, my sensible Cat Milsom, went around kissing the customers on a whim?”
“Yeah.” I jabbed her in the ribs. “Yeah, you totally would. So don’t. As far as I’m concerned, it was a one-off. I’m not,” I paused, remembering the feel of his mouth on mine, and the brief seconds where I wondered what it would be like to be naked with him, with that mouth on me in every possible place, “saying it wasn’t enjoyable, but—”
“Mmmm-hmmm, you got that right. I saw the guy on the way out, remember? Damn!” Farrah was unrepentant.
“BUT,” I continued sternly, “it was a one-time occurrence, never to be repeated, okay?”
The farmer’s market was held in a park in the middle of town, every Tuesday morning. A children’s playground stood off to the side, and we could hear whoops and shrieks of joy even at this distance.
“Well, okay. What happens if you run into this guy again? Oh, what are we here to get, anyway?”