The Poetry of Ravens and Roses Read online

  I walked past the graveyard gate, and the wall of thick green between the lane and the rest of church grounds. Through the gap in the hedge, I glimpsed the vicarage shed, a ghost yard these days. The vicar kept the gate to it closed nowadays.

  "You know, Mrs. Graves wouldn't spoil you like this," I said, as I filled the bowls at Dean's cottage for the mongrel pack. As always, lots of tail wags and thumps greeted me, followed by an immediate scarfing down of whatever I served. The only one who still looked hopeful that somebody else would come this time was Kip, the little one-eyed terrier, too plucky for his own good. He would be the last one to give up.

  "Treats all around," I said dispensing the little fish-shaped chews from the tin, one apiece. Mick Jagger and Bugsy wolfed theirs down without tasting it, and Moby Dick made a pass at stealing everybody else's. The dachshund-schnauzer mix Ewan McGregor carried his away, presumably to bury it in his usual fashion.

  The rest of the dog food I stowed in the old garden shed. The cottage was locked up, and only Callum, one of Dean's former nurses, had the keys. Dean had never given me a copy.

  My landlady and friend Sonia was at the market, leaving a chipper note pinned to the tea cosy. Beside it, the mail, which consisted only of junk for me, which I tossed into the rubbish bin before I went upstairs.

  There were no guests to look after currently, since a couple on holiday in November had stopped for a few nights while sightseeing Land's End and St. Ives. Their vacancy left Sonia with no baking to do, so she resorted to tidying the garden in aggressive fashion. As for me, I had my book to keep me busy.

  My tablet computer was asleep on my bedside table, the one covered with a cobwebby scarf of crocheted roses. I settled in against my throw pillows and opened the digital copy of my second manuscript, my retelling of the legend of Tam Lin.

  Since life had settled into its routine again, I had kept to a daily writing schedule each evening. It had worked before when I was still waitressing in California, so why wouldn't it work here, with a better incentive than the Ink and Inspiration's critical review?

  Final word still hadn't come through from the London publisher on the question of whether they planned to honor my book's contract, but I still had some threads of hope to cling to. My young London literary agent Arnold had been determined to convince the 'big guns' Kaufton Press that I was one of their newly-acquired brand's assets ... and he probably would be still, when he wasn't busy preparing for the debut of a much more promising and talented client. Our old friend Michael's brilliant book had been sold last September.

  I wasn't giving up on my dream. Just keep writing, as the little fish in the Disney movies would probably say to me, if she came swimming by right now. That's what writers do, even when contracts and big careers seem as far from reach as the moon. So I keep reaching for mine, with each paragraph I type, hoping it brings me closer to the kind of future Arnold promised was just ahead.

  "I can't marry him. I can't marry any but the father of my child," she said.

  "Thy child has no father." His voice was a commandment carved from boulder rock. "Marry, and it will, but otherwise, it will live in disgrace as you will. But you can cleanse it."

  Janet's mouth was set firm. Ogeman had her refusal already, and she had spoken her heart plainly on this decision, which was all they could ask of her.

  "I beg you. Hear my command, my daughter, and know it comes from my love. Do the only thing you can to prevent this doom for both of you." His tone softened into pleading once more.

  How many times must he ask? Her promise to Tam burned in her breast, and the mark of the fairies on her shoulder felt like a living brand. Betrayal — that's all her father's words meant. She swore, she swore in that dark moment that she would be faithful, as if those vows were sacred and she was bound to them by law.

  The whispers stole into her head, taunting voices. Pressing against her walls as if possessing little fingers.

  But he'll never be free.

  You'll never seem him again.

  Even if he was free, why would he bother to find you?

  She pressed her hands to her head, in the darkness of her bed at night. Her body rocked, but could not escape being haunted by them. One tear slipped free, as she cried for the choices thrust upon her. Unfair, unbending ones, each day squeezing her tighter, trying to break her will so she would surrender.

  It would surely break her to keep her promise, the voices whispered. Feeling her heart turn stone with a broken vow would be easier.

  I reread my last paragraph one more time. I closed the document and leaned back against the pillow pile. Outside, a rainy mist fogged the windowpanes, one more gasp from a winter that wasn't quite ready to give up.

  ___________________

  Hen nights at the Blackbird were Katy's idea, a way to stave off wintertime stagnation. Fridays at the pub were quieter these days, as if the bleakness of season and world had became the unswallowed dram at the bottom of everyone's glass, cheered only by what we made for ourselves from the small and quiet comforts of village life.

  We made ours from karaoke night and ales I found bitter, as if Sam's bartending skills at the Penmarrow had programmed my tastebuds to the sweet by testing one of his unusual cocktails. Katy wore a tiny cowgirl's hat and her glitter eye shadow, much like my landlady and housemate Sonia, who was a more mature version in riding boots and smoky lipstick.

  Even Molly let her braids down — not a crossword puzzle to be seen. Tamara had brought a karaoke CD of pop songs, and performed an off-key version of a Britney Spears song I remembered from a time when I thought bubblegum-flavored ice cream was genius.

  "I used to sing all the time when I was working in Tewkesbury," she said, out of breath when she sat down, to the smattering of polite applause from the pub's other customers — mostly the ones fighting off the grey day with full pints and chips drowned in tomato sauce. "Give it a go," she said to Sonia, poking her in the ribs.

  "Not my forte, darling," Sonia demurred. "Women in my family do not sing. Warble, hum, occasionally scream, but nothing melodic leaves us in the form of words. The sound of one of us nagging another human being with gently annoying hints is the closest we come."

  "It's true that I've never heard you sing around the cottage," I said.

  "All the more reason to try it here," said Katy. "I've got a proper awful voice, but pop stars are all confidence anyway. We all wish sometimes we were one of them." She reached over and sneaked some of Molly's crisps, smothered in some sort of white cheddar sauce.

  "Put the phone away, Molly. We said no boyfriends tonight," she said. Molly, who had been sending a text, blushed.

  "I was only telling George that I might be coming in April, if Brigette will mark me off the schedule," said Molly.

  "Go ask Mr. Trelawney," snorted Katy. "Brigette's turning into a dictator — it would serve her right to have someone bypass her little laws and highlighted charts for once. She'll have us filling out triplicate forms just for our day off soon."

  "She wouldn't," Tamara giggled. "Would she?" Her face fell now.

  "She wouldn't," I reassured. "Brigette's just stiffening up a little because she knows that Mr. Trelawney will eventually hire a new head of housekeeping. It's hard for her to give it up."

  "Workplace gossip," said Sonia, arching one eyebrow. "Do tell. Why is a shakeup so imminent among you?"

  "It's nothing big," I said. "Brigette's been interim head of staff for ages, ever since Mrs. Finny quit. It's the hardest position to fill, and until Mr. Trelawney finds someone that suits, there's only Brigette who knows enough about organization and staffing to keep its work from falling on his shoulders. But generally he finds someone experienced to fit the position, with enough time to look."

  "That puts her back in the common lot with the rest of us," said Katy. "I feel sorry for her. She never has any fun. I'll bet she's reading staff schedules upstairs at the hotel right now, with nothing but a cuppa and a pair of old bed slippers for relaxation. But sh
e wouldn't be caught dead here with us."

  "Did you invite her?" Molly asked.

  Katy looked taken aback. "Well ... not in so many words," she said. "It wasn't as if she'd have said 'yes' if I did. I used to ask her all the time if she fancied hanging out with me and some mates and she always tightened her lips all prim and implied she had better things to do. Like not having a boyfriend's a virtue, apparently." Katy's zinger brought a smirk along, since Brigette never had a date.

  I wasn't so sure Brigette didn't want to come, deep down inside herself. I had seen a blush that sometimes suggested a romantic was hiding inside that model of efficiency and rules. It just had no idea how to come out — or was afraid of disillusionment if it did.

  "Oh no, Timmy is stepping up to the mic," groaned Katy. "He thinks he's Bruno Mars in a plastered-on vest." She wrinkled her nose.

  "Let's do something next," Molly suggested to me. Despite her shyness, Molly was a fiend at karaoke.

  "How about the Bangles?" I asked. Lately, I had been listening to some old eighties records I bought from the secondhand vinyl shop in Newquay, where Sidney used to buy some of his. Mine had been a bargain sale stack, of mostly forgotten girl bands and obscure, lyrical, and gritty British artists whose latter-era invasion had failed to breach the walls of the musical charts overseas.

  "Like — the bracelets?" Molly frowned.

  Before I could explain, my mobile phone rang. "Well — sort of," I said. "Or maybe Cyndi Lauper? Hang on, I have to take this, it's probably my mom." She checked up on me most weekends she wasn't working a shift at the craft store.

  I checked the screen before I answered, and, like an ice cube in heat, my smile dissolved. The number on the screen was one I hadn't received a call from in a long time, belonging to Dean's mobile phone. I rose from the table and slipped into the pub's entryway, where it was less noisy without the back beat of a Dr. Dre song.

  My finger hesitated, before tapping the answer button. "Hello, Dean," I said.

  I heard a slight chuckle on the other end. "You almost sound unsurprised to hear from me," he said. "I suppose to keep me from imagining those gears turning inside your mind, thinking 'what could he possibly want, calling me at this hour?'"

  Trust him to be blunt about the truth. "Maybe I am," I admitted. "But I didn't think that was a very nice way to answer a call from an old friend who must have his reasons." Almost as if I was kidding him, the way we used to. That's what my tone said, even though my feelings were far more mixed.

  My first thought before answering was of Alex, and my heart's rhythm faltered for possible bad tidings, as if it wasn't true that he was happy and healthy these days in London. Dean's news bulletins on that front had ended months ago. Would he call if it was something else — Alex embarking on a career? Falling for somebody new? These ideas were a crushing weight, suddenly.

  That convivial tone — I knew he wasn't calling with bad news, anyway.

  "I do have a reason," he said. "It's to ask you to come celebrate my birthday next weekend."

  I was quiet for a beat. "Me?" I said. "Really and truly?" Lightheartedness was not working the way I hoped, despite my trying for it.

  "This is the number of one Maisie Clark, isn't it?" he answered dryly. "If so, then I am asking the friend who holds it to come for a weekend. One generally celebrates with friends. I'm staying at a cottage by the shore for a week, but I know the most I can expect from you is a long two days, so I am not asking for more."

  My breath inhaled slightly raggedly. "I'm flattered," I said, keeping the playfulness alive. "But ... I don't know if this is a good time. Work and stuff." That vague old excuse, as if my pitiful book contract in limbo had finally been accepted.

  I didn't say it was because we spoke rarely since that goodbye on the train platform, when Dean's injured look was a glancing blow seen from the corner of my eye. Emailed polite wishes for Christmas, at last recollection. Why ask now?

  "Please think about it." Dean's tone softened. I could tell, even over the distance of a phone call. "I'm aware of my negligence when it comes to human connections. Between the two of us, I'm entirely to blame. It does not change the fact that you are a friend of mine. You are one of my closest friends."

  "You shouldn't say that. It makes your life sound sad," I answered. Don't do this, Dean.

  "Be that as it may. You can come out of pity, if you like, even if my pathetic life is entirely my own fault," he said.

  I kept my silence, picking at the hem of my shirt. Trying to think of a better excuse than before.

  "Don't make me plead." Dean's tone lost some of its lightheartedness. "You probably suspect I am capable of it. I would like to avoid being too pitiable in this conversation, if I'm doomed to be alone next weekend as well."

  His pressure was beginning to be too much for me. I had a finely-tuned sense of when Dean is doing a poor job of disguising his feelings. It was triggering my inner weakness, bringing about a surrender.

  "All right." I didn't sigh, but the exhale inside me was very deep and long. "I suppose that for a special occasion, I could ask for a couple of days off. It's not like I'm asked to a seaside cottage every weekend of my life, is it?"

  "I'll send you the address," he said. "I'll have Phil meet you at the station. Don't fret about bringing some sort of present for a person perfectly capable of buying what he wants. Consider your coming to be gift enough for me."

  "More flattery?" I said. "It will get you nowhere, Dean."

  "It has gotten me to this point, hasn't it?" he said. "I'll see you Friday."

  "Okay." The call disconnected after a goodbye. I held my phone against my chest, wishing I had asked the one question left hanging on my lips. The one thing that might have changed my mind, and probably still should.

  Stop thinking about it. Stop thinking about everything too hard. I put my phone in my pocket, and went through to the pub's room again.

  Tamara was the only one at our table, clearly in the middle of texting someone. I spotted Sonia at the bar, while Dr. Dre had been replaced by Katy and Molly doing a duet to the old nineties' favorite 'Where Have All the Cowboys Gone?'

  Sonia was sipping a gin and tonic. "Something exotic for the lady?" she teased me. "You were gone for rather short a time. Your mother must have been hurrying to bed for a late night's sleep."

  "It was Dean," I said. "He called to ask me to come visit him next weekend."

  My nonchalance had a tell in it that Sonia detected immediately. She set aside her cocktail. "What did you say?" she asked.

  "I said 'yes.'" I shrugged. "There wasn't much else to say. He's a friend, after all. He pointed out there's no reason why he shouldn't ask me."

  "Except for the obvious ones, of course," said Sonia, with only the slightest trace of sarcasm. "I won't say he has a nerve, of course, but you're rather nicer about his apology than some would have been in your place."

  "It was my decision to come back, so it was me who opened the door to us being estranged," I said. The publican passed us, wiping down the bar. "Bygones should be bygones." I watched Katy and Molly twist and bob in sync to the lyrics, where Molly was too cheerful and Katy was too sexy and serious.

  "How do you really feel about it? Look at me, darling girl," said Sonia, giving me a searching glance when I turned my head. "Time for honesty. This is your wise and discreet old confidant to whom you're speaking."

  I sighed. "I don't know." That was the honest truth. "It isn't like I don't want to see him. But it feels like a long time. I don't want things to be awkward." For lack of what I wanted to say, which is that it might still hurt a little bit to open the door again. It had taken such a long time to close it, and to feel comfortable with it bolted shut behind me.

  Sonia's hand touched mine. "You don't have to do it if you don't want to," she said. "Call him back and tell him you're simply not ready."

  "He didn't say anything about Al — Sidney." I corrected myself, since Sonia wasn't used to hearing him called by any other name. "
There's always hope that we might not talk about it much." I didn't want to talk about it anymore.

  "Why do you think he's inviting you?" Sonia's tone suggested she had the same reasons in mind that I had. "Planning to drag you back to London?"

  "Honestly?" I said. "Because he's lonely." My smile twitched one corner of my mouth, putting in a rueful appearance. "I'm not saying there's no ulterior motives, but at its heart, I think that's why he's asking. Even if there was no chance for anything else happening, he probably would call." I had thought by now Dean would have reconciled with his London past, but tragedy likely still ruled the day in his world. I was the rare exception to his current clause regarding the human race.

  Sonia propped her cheek on one hand. "Do you want to go?" she asked me.

  It was more complicated than a simple answer. She knew that, so I didn't expect her to press me. "I miss some things it will remind me of," I said. "Remembering for one weekend couldn't be that bad. I have to face it sometime." Was it better to take a deep breath now, and see if things had finally improved? And hope this weekend was about nothing more than friends catching up on each others' lives.

  I wished I knew the answer to it, instead of hoping I did.

  "Well," said Sonia, softly. "Here's to old friends." She raised the last of her drink to me and smiled, as I smiled back. Here's to making the best of things, I thought.

  She downed the last swallow, then set aside the glass. "How long are you expected to stay this time?"

  "He said the long weekend. I'll probably take the train on Friday and come back Sunday afternoon."

  "Late train, you mean. But I'll wait up for you," she said, with a sympathetic smile. "Do be careful."

  "It's just a train and a cab ride," I said. "I won't be doing anything crazy in the company of Dean." To pretend that this was her concern made it easier. If I could go on pretending, the whole thing would be easier to see through with a smile. Then things could go back to normal.