Crystal Clear

by Aidan J. Reid

  “These’ll have to do.” Paul handed a tumbler glass filled with liquid gold to the seated man who eyed it with suspicion. Curiosity got the better of him and he raised it to his nose.

  “That’s champagne!”

  “You’ll wake her up!” Paul smiled, and moved a finger to his lips before taking the other empty chair.

  “No expense spared I see.”

  Paul took a small sip, leaned over the arm chair and set his glass down on the carpet floor.

  “Sometimes it’s nice to appreciate the finer things in life. Don’t you think?”

  “Too true my friend. Enjoy it as long as it lasts I say.”

  Paul smiled and looked away, gaze settling on the window. A cream blind had been pulled down, the glass prism framing a shadow behind it.

  “I might not be as cultured as yourself Stephen, but when you get given a break, you take it.”

  “Absolutely,” he said. “You deserve it. You both do.”

  The man was tall and thin, in his fifties with small round glasses; creased wrinkles around his eyes suggested a lifetime of reading. He leaned across and offered his glass. Paul bent over and picked his up again.

  “A toast.” Paul said. “To health, friendships and good company.”

  “That’s three toasts.”

  “So it is,” he said and laughed. “In that case let’s toast to friendships. Park health and good company for the second and third glasses.”

  *

  Paul waited for the dull pop of the cork. A minute later, his friend re-joined him with the bottle.

  “Another Louis Roederer.”

  “Yeah, I know. I was the one that bought it,” Paul said and laughed. He raised his glass for a top up.

  When it was filled, Stephen fell into his own seat. “I’ll have to make this the last. She’ll kill me if I have a late one.”

  “Get a taxi. S’quicker.”

  “It’ll cost me a fortune. Best give her a call. Said I’d only be out for a couple of hours. Suppose it’s only…” He turned a large watch face around on his wrist, narrowing his glasses for range. “Can’t be right. It’s-“

  “12.15,” they both said at the same time. Stephen groaned, and tried to get back up.

  “Don’t be silly,” Paul said and reached out an arm. “Call and say you missed the bus. I’ll pay for the taxi. From my door to yours in thirty.”

  “I can’t let-“

  “It’s done, OK?” he said and patted the forearm of the other man.

  Stephen shook his head in resignation and smiled. “Thanks mate,” he said, a hiccup breaking it in two.

  “Your turn.” Paul pointed to him with his glass and the other man seemed to deliberate carefully over the next words.

  “To Miss Nugent. God rest her.” They clinked glasses, Stephen taking a long swallow while Paul barely touched the glass to his lips.

  His friend fumbled in his pocket and removed a mobile phone. Paul watched him dial the numbers carefully and wait for it to be connected. He angled the phone away from his mouth and gave a little triumphant shake of the fist.

  “Voicemail.”

  Paul nodded, looking away to give the other man privacy to leave a message. His gaze settled on the blind, suddenly lost in contemplation. The sweet champagne coating on his tongue suddenly began to taste like bile. Rubbing it against the roof of his mouth only exacerbated the flavour, souring his expression. There was a tug on his elbow.

  “Your address?” Stephen asked and received a confused look. “For the taxi.”

  “1508 Costigan House, Roebuck Street.”

  The address was repeated into the receiver before the dialler ended the call.

  “Done. Tweny minutes,” Stephen said and stood up to pocket the phone. “You’ve been staring at that thing all night. What is it?” he said, walking over to the window.

  “Just a paperweight. It’s my ma’s,” Paul replied and leaned forward.

  “Interesting.” He picked it off the ledge, tossing it lightly in the air. “Heavy old thing.”

  “Jesus, don’t!” Paul said and jumped from his seat.

  “What?”

  “Just put it back. Please.”

  “OK,” he said, raising a hand. “I’ll be careful.”

  With a sudden interest, Stephen held the block in his hands with more poise, tracing the smooth edges with his fingers until they reached a sharp point. As he held it up in the air, the light from the overhead bulb streaked along the flat clear surface. Turning the object around, he slid his glasses up the bridge of his nose for focus.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Trying to find an insignia. An emblem.”

  “I’ve looked,” Paul said. “There’s no marks on it.”

  “How do you know it’s a paperweight?”

  “Well, what else could it be?”

  “Could be anything, which is my point. There is a certain beauty about the craftsmanship, not to mention the depth of the crystal - which it appears to be – and, my, see how it catches the light.”

  “You think it’s valuable then?” Paul said and held out an open palm. Stephen finished his inspection, passed it over and it was placed back on the windowsill.

  “In monetary terms, I can’t tell. Certainly, not in my state,” he said and burped into a balled-up fist. “But there is something striking about it. How did your mother come across it?”

  “Found it in a second-hand store. Come on, the bubbles are getting flat.”

  The other man laughed, sat back down and picked his glass up off the floor. He took a small sip and for a few seconds was quiet, staring off into space. Paul, noticing the change, tried to pick up the thread of conversation again.

  “I tell you, it’s good to have some company. Ma can drive you up the wall sometimes. Her and the game shows. How’s herself?”

  “Yeah. Good. Busy.” A pause. “When you called me last week, you wanted to talk about something.”

  “Well,” Paul said and shifted in his seat. “It was for more of a catch up.”

  “Is everything OK?”

  “Of course.”

  “I might be a bit drunk but I can tell somethings up. Paul?”

  They stared at one another without saying a word. It was Paul who broke cover first and smiled.

  “C’mon,” he said, rising from his seat and placing the glass on the kitchen counter. “I want you to meet someone.”

  Beagle

  Paul crept into the darkness of the room directing Stephen to stay in the doorway. Light filtered through from the hallway, enough to shine a path to the bed. In the blackness of the furthest corner, two spikes of light suddenly appeared. Paul moved quickly around the bed and bent down.

  “It’s OK,” he whispered. “She’s awake. You can turn on the light.”

  He hit the switch and watched as Paul lifted a bundle off the floor.

  “There, there. You’re alright.” He turned and Stephen could see that in his arms was cradled a puppy. It was trying to burrow its nose into the crook of his elbow. “Might be a bit bright for it. Poor thing still doesn’t know where it’s at. Close the door, will you?”

  Paul sat down on the edge of the bed and began softly drawing his nails from the top of the pup’s head down the nape of its neck. Even from the doorway, Stephen could see it was terrified. Body tremors flapped at its ears. The two little hind legs, unsteady in their placement, as they fought to kick away from the embrace of their owner.

  “She’s frightened to death,” he said, propping down on the bed. Reaching out a hand, he patted its side. “Goodness, you can feel the ribs come right through!”

  Paul nodded and began making soothing sounds. Slowly, the dogs thrashing became less animated until finally it was at rest.

  “I found it this morning,” he whispered. “Wandering the beach.”

  “You sure it doesn’t belong to anyone?”

  “Don’t think so. There was no tag or collar. Figured I’d be best looking after it a w
hile.”

  The puppy appeared to be asleep. The dark patterned fur of its belly was splotched with white. With each exhalation, individual ribs marked the tight skin, definition like sharp strings on a tan guitar.

  “Rather you than me my friend,” Stephen said, getting back to his feet. “Landlord is going to love you. There’s barely enough room for you and your mother here, let alone a dog – and,” he moved a hand to stifle a belch, “they grow. It might only be a beagle, but as it gets older, it’ll need a lot of food and…and…”

  “Exercise. I know. It’s only for one or two more days. Anyway,” he said, “looks like someone is out for the count. You like her?”

  Paul rose and carefully carried the sleeping puppy back to the corner where a little crate had been laid out, with bedding inserted. When he turned around Stephen was staring at the back of the closed door.

  “I like something alright.”

  “I know what you’re going to say. You’re not a teenager. Go on.”

  Stephen half-turned his head and smiled. “Nothing wrong with a bit of wishful thinking I suppose. Listen, my taxi should be outside.”

  “Yeah,” Paul replied. “Let me take you to the door.”

  He raised a finger to his pursed lips and led the way into the hallway. Three steps later they were at the door.

  “Thanks for the champagne my friend.”

  “Anytime. Let’s try and make it a regular thing.”

  “Depends on how bad this hangover will be.” He rubbed the side of his head as if to confirm the authenticity of his stupor. “Or in how much trouble I’ll be in when I get home.”

  “Ah, you’ll be fine,” Paul said with confidence. “Invite her over next time. I have another bottle tucked away.”

  Under the flickering lightbulb of the hall corridor, Stephen seemed to wobble on his feet, although there was no displacing the smile.

  “On one condition,” he said, leaning an arm against the doorway. “You get rid of that poster.”

  “Ms. June 2007?” Stephen nodded. “No chance. She’s a keeper.”

  Leading the Chase

  Despite the weather, both man and dog – mostly dog, if truth be told – kept up a relentless pace. Straining on the lead, the timidity shown to the owner had evaporated overnight. The downpour of rain that caught them earlier made coffee stains out of the coat of the puppy which, despite its youth, pushed the fitness of Paul. The ascent leading into the town centre was made more difficult with a group of tourists choking up the pavement.

  As they nudged closer, moving onto the cobblestone road to bypass, Paul hovered at the perimeter of people to take a closer look at the focus of the group. A man with a bulky camera propped on his shoulder was narrowing his lens on a pretty woman. Behind her, the town hall loomed – a large nondescript building. It was the eyesore of the town, in dire need of a makeover, part of a long series of campaign election promises made by local councillors seeking office.

  The female reporter was speaking to a man in the wings. Looking to the heavens, she seemed pleased with what she saw there, nodding to the assistant who took her umbrella before she fastened a mic on the lapel of her jacket.

  “Can you give us a little more space there please?” the assistant said.

  The crowd moved back, pushing Paul onto the slippery road cobbles again. Along the row of terraced houses, heads popped out of windows, and bodies leaned out from doorways. Some, still dressed in their nightgowns and pyjamas, shuffled into the scene to see what the commotion was about. A man, similar in age to Paul, approached. He was being led by the hand of a young girl with dirty blonde pigtails and a pug face. The man gave a wide smile and allowed himself to be dragged by the girl into the group. When they had found a spot, he looked around the enclave of faces, caught Paul’s eye and jostled through a few bodies to slot in beside him. He had a thick grey moustache which stretched across his upper lip like a bat.

  “You think they found something?” Paul was silent. “With the digs? Maybe they found something after all. I mean, more than those bloody coins. Might as well use them down int’ arcade. Not that I’m complaining. Bit more business bout town.”

  “We good to go Jay? Trace?” the assistant said. The woman nodded, and the half-man-half-camera gave a thumbs up.

  Paul had to get up on his tippy toes to see over the heads that had gathered. People were beginning to press from the back, struggling for a better view. Above the murmurs of those being edged out of the way, the reporters voice suddenly broke through.

  “Thanks Liza. I’m outside the town hall here in Bellington where archaeologists continue their excavations nearby. Two weeks have passed now and despite initial excitement with the discovery of several rare coins and artifacts dating back to the seventeenth century, experts still believe that they’ve only scratched the surface. For the residents of this sleepy town, many have enjoyed…”

  A nudge in the small of his back almost made Paul topple his neighbour over. He raised a hand to steady himself against the man’s shoulder, apologising and getting a smile in return. He was wedged in so tight, it was becoming difficult to breathe. Turning, the person behind gratefully traded his place. Paul watched his feet to avoid getting them tangled up on the lead. The lead! It had slipped from his grasp.

  Quickly, he squatted down, pivoting on the spot to peer through the gaps of legs, hoping to catch a glimpse of the red rope. Suddenly, he found himself spat out of the crowd. They moved around him like water around a stone. Then it happened. A brown and white puppy streaked across the road, lead trailing behind. It was chased by a young girl, who would never reach it. Then there was the screeching of tyres on the wet stone. Everything moved so fast. The girl’s scream had barely left her mouth.

  Stone Unturned

  “Are you sure?” Paul shook his head and continued to flick through the channels.

  “Yes, Ma. They get to the gold rush but run out of time.”

  “What choice?”

  “The Gold Rush,” he pronounced carefully, rubbing his face. The flicking images on the TV finally settled on a channel which had the thumping urgency of the news intro. Expensive speakers placed in the four corners of the room boomed the sound off the walls, trapping the two residents in the centre.

  “Now I know you’re telling fibs. They didn’t even win get the gold star so they couldn’t have done the gold rush.”

  “Ma, can you just…”

  “You need at least three stars and they only had one.”

  “Just watch.”

  He pressed a button on the remote and the increasing volume slowly drowned out the mumbling argument of his mother. A talking head appeared on screen, a male newsreader with a wispy tan beard which was either new or only noticeable since they installed the state of the art, high-def TV.

  “Where are you going?” The elderly woman had inched forward to the seat edge about to launch herself onto her feet.

  “Get a paper. See what’s on tonight.”

  “Ma,” Paul said, “just watch for a minute.” He pointed to the TV and she reluctantly sloped back into her chair and watched.

  “…top story where a local resident of Bellington was hailed as a hero this morning after saving the life of a young girl…”

  Paul glanced from the screen to his mother’s face, beady eyes narrowing to slits as she studied the newsreader.

  “Mobile phone footage recorded at the scene show the daring rescue as the resident, Paul Byrd, dashed across the street and pushed the girl out of the way of an approaching car. In this exclusive video captured by a witness, the vehicle appears to miss by inches before crashing into Fogle’s column…”

  There was a puzzled expression on the old woman’s face. Paul smiled, excitement pulsing through his body, watching the video loop as it played over and over on the newscast. In it, the girl was rooted to the spot, facing the oncoming car. A blur of colour from the side-lines appeared in the shaky footage, shoulder charging the girl out of the way as the car
shot past and crashed head first into the structure.

  “…where, in a stroke of luck, our reporter Tracey Lacey was already at the scene. She caught up with the unlikeliest of heroes just a few short hours ago.”

  The comfortable newsroom was replaced with the image of Paul on the screen, looking sheepish with a big microphone held under his chin. A file of people stood behind him, closed near – some cheering, as the reporter struggled to maintain quiet.

  Paul didn’t need to hear himself speak again. Like an out of body experience, he simply observed, looking at his mother’s reaction to how he was perceived on the screen. Her stern face had softened and her jaw sagged open. Pleased, he turned his attention back to the TV where the cameraman had zoomed down to the interviewee’s side. A grubby little girl in a red overcoat was hugging a puppy, scratching it between the ears. To the reporter’s questions, she simply nodded which generated more enthusiastic cheers from the gallery behind. Finally, the child’s father embraced Paul in a bear hug before the camera panned back and the reporter walked into shot. There were smiles and back slaps all around as she closed off her segment to huge cheers.

  Back in the studio, the newsreader had a wide smile stretched across his face, and continued reading from the teleprompter.

  “In an incredible turn of events, the uprooted column which was displaced by the impact of the car, revealed a collection of rare crystal fragments. Archaeologists are keen to explore the scene in what experts are hoping will lead them to the fabled pilgrim stone. We will of course be keeping an eye on this incredible story as it develops.” A pause, then in a lowered tone. “News just reaching us, is that the driver of the car has sadly-“

  The TV switched off. Paul looked at his mother. He waited in silence, studying her reaction. She slowly turned her head. He could see her eyes were wet with tears.

  “My boy.”

  Celebrity

  It broke like a wave - a ripple of noise that started from the doorway before moving through the small room, as people bunched tight to get a closer look. A wide arc of space opened ahead of the emerging trio.