by S E Holmes
Mr O’Connor lavished them all with expensive Champagne from the in-built fridge, as if the man had orchestrated such largesse. The motor purred in a car so stretched it resembled a bus. Nic wore a tight smile, akin to a grimace, failing to keep Lily’s hand from its strangle-hold on his. He’d also failed in a desperate game of musical chairs, whereby Nate’s sister had resolutely won a prized spot by his side. Mrs O’Connor beamed at Nic from across the expanse. Not guzzling the contents of his glass and demanding a refill, proved trying. But getting plastered would surely only make things worse. He must stay vigilant.
“I could get used to such luxury. What about you, Jonathon?”
There was no mention by O’Connor senior of the hunt for his son’s shooter. The Arkady’s seemed to have another special knack, among many, of sanitising unpleasantness.
“Too fancy for me, Harold.”
Nic choked on a retort about fancy Arabian stallions being more his father’s preference. The gates swung wide and they cruised through, every tree decorated with hanging orbs of various sizes so the forest resembled a star-spangled Milky Way. The women gushed “oohs” and “aahs”, which swelled in decibel and frequency the closer they drove to the manor, while Nic fought rising nerves and a strange pulling sensation.
The overwhelming magnetism had nothing to do with vivid images of Mira straddling him in her bed. He repeated the denial like a chant, reminding himself the last tours up here had resulted in the death of his horse, a wrestle with a crazed monster and a gun to his skull. They were the reasons he felt so odd and jittery. The only reasons.
Lily released his hand, smirking coquettishly. “You’re all sweaty. Did I make you hot, Nic?”
He blushed under the spotlight of many eyes, training his focus beyond the car. Fire-breathers on stilts, jugglers and acrobats teemed in colourful costume. Open marquees lined the lawn where exotic, international dishes were served fresh on demand, mouth-watering aromas wafting via rolled-down windows. There were bungy-trampolines, carnival rides including a sizeable Ferris-wheel, a side-show alley lit-up in the distance near the lake, and a live band playing on the balcony when they parked.
The Arkady mansion burst alive in a psychedelic laser-show painting its stone walls. Everything had the aura of elegance, not a toothless carny, burnt-butter popcorn stand, muddy puddle or faded big-top in sight. The entire town was already ensconced enjoying themselves adorned in cocktail dresses and coat-tails, crystal-cut glasses in hand, on scattered stages of tables and chairs, beneath rainbow nets of fairy-lights. Laughter and animated discussion soared above the music. To Nic, it seemed exhaustingly perfect.
“They really hired The Grates?” Nate gawked. The youthful bumped and jived in a seething mass at their front. And in their midst, Cody danced exuberantly with Emma. “These people know how to party!”
“I can’t wait to see what you can win at the stalls. I bet it won’t be a stupid, stuffed toy,” Sam enthused.
The spectacle brought bile to Nic’s throat. How could he possibly watch-over Sam in this nightmare, chained to Lily? An evening devoted to her whims stretched before him, the sinking realisation he should not have come recalling another broken pledge. And she had on a skimpy, red number designed for maximum impact, which would no doubt tempt every male in the vicinity. He scanned for Sasha, who at least obliged on first glance with his absence, although it was easy to hide in this crowd.
“All right, Nic?” Jonathon asked as they alighted. “You look a tad green.”
What’s it to you traitor, he wanted to snap. “Fine and dandy.”
His father steadfastly ignored the sarcasm, turning heel to throw over his shoulder. “I’m in the billiards room, if either of you want me.”
“Don’t be such a sulky-pants, Nic,” Lily said, already dragging him by the hand. “What first? How about the Ferris-wheel?”
He considered saying ‘no’ to such entrapment in close quarters, but the height would afford the best view in his search for Sasha. “Where are you off to, Sam?”
“I’m meeting some friends at the Sushi tent and then we’re heading to side-show alley.”
Nic nodded, “Good.” It shouldn’t be hard to track him from an elevated vantage. “Have fun.”
He gestured for Nic with a conspirational look, getting on tiptoe to whisper, “Mira’s expecting you. Don’t let her wait too long. She promised me, it’s time for the truth.” He vanished before confusion escaped Nic’s lips. Hadn’t she made it clear on many occasions for him to keep a street, or perhaps a suburb, between them?
“Come on!” Lily lost patience and tugged him away.
They joined the queue, where he spent five minutes craning through packed bodies for his brother, Sasha, and although he tried to fool himself otherwise, Mira. He barely paid attention to Lily, who chattered non-stop. They took a seat, too squashed together beneath the bar for Nic’s comfort. She snuggled into his arm and they began a revolution. The relentless survey continued, despite her insistent efforts to engage him in conversation.
“I’ve got syphilis. So if you’ve any idea of sex, we’ll need protection. But don’t worry. I brought loads of rubbers and the chancre hasn’t really taken hold, yet.”
“Uh-huh,” Nic agreed, testing neck rotation. He grasped his error belatedly, the revellers a tide of penguin-suits difficult to distinguish from each other. Even with a telescope, spotting Sam was a test.
“Did you know, it can give you gangrene of the penis?”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said with a trace of impatience. Why wouldn’t she shut-up? Where the hell had his brother gone? Sushi tent, his arse! He patted for his mobile, realising he’d left it at home on discovering how tight his jeans had become.
“You don’t like me. Do you, Nic?”
Lily earned his full-attention. “Pardon?” he spluttered.
She gazed at him, eyes bright. “You don’t like me. Nate probably blackmailed you or something. That’s why you’re stuck with me.”
“What do you mean? Of course, I like you. I’ve known you since you were in nappies.”
“And I’ve known you since you were only recently out of nappies. Do I really need to point-out eighteen months is hardly the difference between youth and responsible adulthood?”
He must have looked entirely gormless, but it seemed overnight she’d morphed into a sophisticated creature who had all the answers. Lily was right: she was an awful lot older than he’d given her credit for. “I like you.”
She flourished a hand dismissively. “I don’t mean in general. I don’t blame you. Nate’s always in the way. Hypocrite! Lecturing me on behaving, while he carries-on like a deranged sex-addict. Don’t get me started on mum. She’s planned the number of grand-children we’ll supply. We never stood a chance.”
“Deranged?” Nic gulped feebly.
She bandied the word ‘sex’ about with unacceptable ease. He’d known her since she was in nappies, for crying out loud!
“So, I have a proposition. You let me go on my way without interference or tattling to either of my exceptionally annoying brothers. Then, we’ll meet back together at the end of the night, no-one the wiser. Sweet?” It sounded so very reasonable.
Nic struggled to keep-up with the turn of events. “Oh, no. No, no, no. I gave my word. You’re stuck with me for the interim.”
He gagged at the irony, never for a moment thinking Lily wouldn’t be thrilled by the prospect of hanging with him. He’d assumed the bare skin and cleavage were for his benefit. What a fat-headed tosser! All the mischief she could get up to in this Mecca of vice played out in horrifying detail. Were staff checking the age of patrons or distributing booze willy-nilly? Was anybody monitoring the pornographic activities of these teens, a million secluded nooks available for the cause? Could he detect the faint whiff of pot?
Her scant attire wouldn’t take much to remove. It wasn’t simply his English grade plummeting by the second; Nic was genuinely fraternal towards Lily. And Jed would kill him if he let an
ything happen, let alone Nate. Or Mr O’Connor. Heaven help him -- Mrs O’Connor!
“It’s just a formality, Nic. As soon as this ride stops, I’ve some place else to be.”
She crossed her arms and glared, the pig-headed family genes obviously not bypassing the females in the pool. And, consistent with his luck so far, the ride began to slow, couples disgorging through a lattice of ironwork. As soon as they made earth, his erstwhile date was out and dodging the obstacle course.
“Lily,” he yelled, running after her jilted-lover style.
She darted ahead, the mob seeming to advance her progress, yet hindering his. It was almost by design.
“Nicholas! How marvellous.” An extremely tall, cadaverous woman sporting a pair of opera glasses and a feather boa loomed into his path. One of them: the accursed Felid.
“Not now!”
He barged passed, but to no avail. Lily was consumed by the throng. Nic turned a circle in place, aware for the first time of the avid stares and fond “hellos” echoing this cave of bodies. Hands extended enmasse for a pat or a shake. Ceding defeat, Nic irritably fobbed touches and blocked calls of admiration and invites for a drinks. He felt a charlatan celebrity minus the helpful security entourage, fleeing for a less populated area. If he took them all up on the offers he’d end up paralytic or seriously over-hydrated.
Finally in a shadowy, out-of-the-way copse, he rested against a rough-barked tree and scrambled for a new plan. And that’s when her captivating scent reached him, as clear as the night-sky. Angst fell away like sloughed sand. Her presence was a siren’s song and Nic was powerless but to answer.
***
Chapter Twenty-Eight