Albatross (18 page)

Had he wanted to hurt her, he most certainly could have done, but he wasn’t that sort of person.

It took her a moment, but Caroline recovered.

“HOW DARE Y…”

She didn’t get chance to finish her sentence however, for her baby sister, Dyra, didn’t show the same restraint that Deacon had.

Careering around her youngest daughter and launching herself past Deacon and upon Caroline, Dyra swung at her with all her might. She cracked her big sister across the face with her fist clenched so tight that she could have crushed stone.

Caroline, having not expected it at all, went absolutely flying across the kitchen, and crashed dramatically into the worktop across the other side of the room, and thick droplets of blood sprayed across the marble surface.

Time seemed to stand still for a moment, as they all took in what Dyra had done. It sunk in quickly enough though, as Caroline collapsed to a heap on the floor, blood pouring from her very crooked nose.

“OWW!!” Dyra exclaimed, clutching her hand tenderly, practically doubling over with the pain. She couldn’t quite imagine how badly her big sister’s face hurt in that moment, though she hoped it was an awful lot more than her hand did.

Deacon and Jen stared on in amazement, though, admittedly, a satisfied smile crept over Jen’s face.

How badly she had always wanted to see this picture, she couldn’t quite describe.

It took some time, and admittedly, none of them went to her aid, but eventually Caroline gathered her wits enough amidst her spinning head to swear at them. And once she managed to get a few out, the rest soon followed.

She scrambled to her knees and looked up, still cursing, clutching at the worktop to steady herself. By now there was blood everywhere. Her nose was all too clearly broken, for it did not sit straight in the slightest, and the screaming profanities that flowed from her tongue were both foul and boundless.

Struggling onto wobbly legs, shrieking like a raging banshee, though they could barely discern a single word she screeched, Caroline staggered slowly forwards.

Had she been able to see straight, Deacon was certain Caroline would have sought revenge on her baby sister.

As it was, however, this was not like the films, and she only just made it out through the kitchen doorway, and in fact she still had to crawl most of that distance.

Caroline inched the rest of the way to the front door and out into the night, moving tentatively and uneasily.

Jen followed her with a certain satisfaction evident in her expression, glancing out into the heavy downpour with even more delight as Caroline crawled out into the saturated night.

Dyra’s youngest daughter closed the door firmly behind her horrible aunt and locked it without even the tiniest hint of concern.

“Will she be okay?” Dyra asked then, suddenly realising exactly what she’d done, as a wave of guilt rushed through her.

Jen raised her eyebrows and looked to Deacon questioningly.

“Erm, eventually…” He decided, though he seemed in two minds.

“I need to help her…” Jen’s mother panicked then, her voice wavering, but as she rushed to the door her youngest daughter caught her, stopping her in her tracks.

“Leave her, mom.” Jen said firmly.

“But…” Dyra attempted.

Jen cut her off.

“Leave her.” She repeated. “She deserves nothing less.”

Dyra nodded glumly and walked back over to the kitchen table, sinking down into her chair and dropping her head into her hands.

The atmosphere left behind in Caroline’s wake was an indescribable one. It was guilt mixed with relief, a tad of uncertainty and a pinch of nerves.

Perhaps the most relieved amongst them however, was Jen.

That had been far too close to call, and had she had the chance, Caroline would undoubtedly have revealed the truth to Deacon.

Jen knew it, and when she looked into Deacon’s concerned eyes, she could see that he knew it too.

He had seen everything.

He always saw everything.

She would only be able to keep her secret a little while longer.

But perhaps the thing that haunted Jen the most, as satisfied as she might have been with the punch her mother had thrown at her terrible aunt, was that despite her many faults, Caroline had been right.

Amidst everything, though her words might have been said in spite, or anger, or scorn, Caroline knew the truth of what Jen had been through. And in fact, indeed what she was still going through even now, and her aunt’s cruel insults hadn’t been far from the truth at all.

Greenway

             
Following that night of drama, things seemed to settle somewhat. Dyra partly regretted what she’d done, but then, at the same time, she’d only been defending her youngest daughter, so she didn’t really feel all that bad.

              Needless to say, Caroline didn’t return.

              She had probably made it home in one piece, Jen imagined. However, harsh as it might sound, she wasn’t particularly fussed either way.

              “Will we need anything else?” Dyra asked her then, yawning as she spoke, breaking Jen’s trail of thought.

              “I don’t think so…” Jen replied, glancing around as if to spot anything they might be missing. She threw her gaze out of the kitchen window briefly and saw that the sun was only just thinking about breaking the horizon.

              The day was young, only in its infancy in fact, and the clock had not yet even struck seven. Much too early, as far as Dyra was concerned. But then, she’d hadn’t been in a routine for the best part of twelve months, and since in that time she’d not really ever had anything to be up early for, she’d gotten into the habit of sleeping in.

              However, it was the day of Greenway’s Natural Beauty Exhibition, and Deacon was coming to collect them at about quarter past seven, for it was a long drive to the gallery.

              They lived right by the coast, which was lovely. However, to get to the nearest city with enough money knocking around for an exhibition such as this, the drive was always going to be lengthy.

              Jen nibbled at some toast and cereal as she watched the second hand on the kitchen clock whirr slowly round, and Dyra cradled a mug filled with strong coffee as if her life depended on it.

              Gradually the hands on the clock made their way laboriously closer and closer to seven, then five past, and ten past. They crept begrudgingly towards quarter past, and were a mere minute away when the kitchen window looking out over Shortberry Lane was illuminated by headlights.

              “He’s here!” Jen exclaimed. “Come on mom!  Let’s go!”

              She was excited, understandably, and groggy as Dyra might have been, she too was looking forward to the day ahead.

              Deacon had of course asked if Clare would be joining them, but, apart from the fact that Jen had even still barely seen her, she had woefully told Deacon that her older sister couldn’t get out of work.

              “Good morning!” He greeted them both enthusiastically, getting out of the car and walking round to open the passenger side doors as they came down the short garden path and out of the front gate.

              He looked very smart in a black suit, a white shirt and a black and grey, striped tie.

Jen bit her lip when she saw him, and felt the fire within her throw out a few embers.

              “Morning!” She replied merrily, planting a kiss upon his lips as he leant down to her, holding there for perhaps just a moment longer than she should have done, but she couldn’t help it.

              He grinned at her cheekily as she pulled slowly away, breathing a little more heavily than she had been before.

              She looked stunning in her long, blue flowing dress, reaching down past her knees. It was something she hadn’t worn for quite a while, but time had only improved her, and she looked positively ravishing.

              “Hello Deacon.” Dyra greeted him, smiling warmly. She too had made a good effort, and looked years younger than her actual age.

They all climbed into the car and were off in moments, zipping along narrow country lanes and out eventually out onto the messy spaghetti of motorways that are splattered across the country.

              As they drove Deacon found that his guests still had many questions. He answered them all just as patiently as he ever did, explaining to them amongst many other things that once they arrived they would meet the Greenway benefactors.

Hopefully the gallery would be for the most part ready, but he would have the final say on any changes that needed to be made.

              He’d done this a few times before; that much was obvious.

              Dyra was more impressed with Deacon by the day of late, and it appeared that today would certainly be no exception.

              It was several hours later, as the clouds traipsed along in the stiff, cold breeze, looking down upon Deacon as he chauffeured his guests through the colourless city, that they finally reached the gallery.

              The building he pulled up outside of was an enormous structure, which looked to be made almost entirely out of glass, with but a few seams of perfectly crafted steel set within it that wound their way up its towering face.

              An enormous set of steps led up to the massive, glass fronted double doors, and a dozen or so porters lined the walkway leading up to the foyer.

              Above the doorway, etched somehow in black onto the very surface of the glass front of the building itself, read the outstanding title of today’s spectacle, unmissable to all who passed.

Greenway’s Natural Beauty Exhibition

Green Energy, Green Earth

              “Oh my word…” Dyra breathed, as Deacon turned off the ignition and stepped out and into the chilling breeze, doing up the front two buttons on his suit jacket as he rose.

              In an instant, less in fact, a porter was there. He was dressed very smartly in a black and red uniform, and looked to be no older than Deacon himself.

              “Mr Ash.” He greeted Deacon, his tone very formal and somewhat rigid as he stood officiously to attention. “Very good to see you back sir.”

              “Ben! Good to see you too!” Deacon laughed, handing the man he seemed to know his car keys. “Smile! Always so formal!” He joked light heartedly as he wound around the back of the car to open the passenger doors for Jen and Dyra.

              “You’re too kind.” The overly official Ben replied, though he did crack a smile. “The pleasure is all mine.”

              “Oh stop it!” Deacon laughed again, grinning at Ben. “I’ve known you too long for all that rubbish!”

              “I suppose you’re right.” Ben eventually cracked, laughing and loosening up almost immediately. “I have to try.”

              “And try you do.” Deacon complimented him. His eyes and open hands turned to his guests then. “This is Jen, and Dyra.” He introduced them, and Ben bowed his head in much the same manner that Deacon often did.

              “An absolute pleasure.” He greeted them both very formally.

              “Ben here…” Deacon went on, shaking his head helplessly. “Is an old friend of mine…” He explained. “He’s supported my work right from the start. Long before it became popular.”

              “I try.” Ben smirked then, his change of character throwing Jen completely. “Deacon’s done alright since then…” He jested, grinning impishly.

              Deacon laughed and shook his head in defeat.

              “You’re a nightmare, Ben…” He accused.

              “But you couldn’t live without me.” His friend pointed out, raising one eyebrow.

              “That I couldn’t.” Deacon admitted thankfully. “See you upstairs?”

              “You shall.” Ben replied assuredly, stepping down towards Deacon’s car to take it off and park it. “The bigwigs are all waiting for you.” He grinned. “You’d better get your arse up there before they think you’re not coming!”

              “Right you are!” Deacon smirked. “See you soon!” He called as Ben restarted the ignition.

              “Enjoy!” Ben shouted through the open window as he sped off and into an adjoining car park.

              Deacon shook his head, but couldn’t help but chuckle.

              “He’s a good guy.” Deacon explained, as he lead Jen and Dyra up the steps and towards the huge, glass fronted doors.

              “He seems nice.” Dyra commented, and Deacon nodded in agreement.

              “He is. But he’s impossible sometimes. Greenway don’t really like him. They’re all about business. They think he’s too much of a joker.”

              “What do you think?” Jen asked him then, and Deacon grinned at her even more mischievously than Ben had done.

              “He’s here isn’t he?” He asked, winking slyly.

              “You got him a job as a porter?” Dyra asked, but Deacon only laughed again, holding open the huge glass door for them and gesturing with his hand.

              “No, no, he’s dressed as a porter.” Deacon corrected her, chuckling.

              “What?” Jen questioned, confused. “He doesn’t work here? But he said it was good to see you back?”

              “He’s never worked here!” Deacon laughed expansively, seeming not to take notice of the crowd of officious looking businessmen and women approaching them, and the sudden excited flurry of chatter amongst the beautiful girls sat behind the modern, mahogany reception desk.

              Impressive statues and water features were dotted around here and there, attracting attention, as was their intention.

              Naturally though, Deacon saw everything, and dropped his voice to Dyra and Jen one last time just before he turned to greet the encroaching throng.

              “Ben’s a nightmare, but I can’t help but invite him. He’s hilarious…”

              “Mr Ash!” The man who seemed to lead the crowd greeted Deacon, shaking him firmly by the hand.

              They were all dressed at least as smartly as Deacon, their blue and grey and black suits all pressed perfectly, but still, Jen couldn’t help but think that none of them looked a patch on him.

              Deacon made all the proper introductions, as he seemed to be all too efficient at.

              “Greg!” He greeted the gentleman in the suit, warmly, yet still formally.

He was a very portly chap with an almost entirely bald head that couldn’t help but be likened to a bowling ball. His body was almost as round as his head, yet somehow, Jen noted strangely, he wasn’t fat in the slightest. There just seemed to be an awful lot of him.

              “Jen, Dyra…” Deacon began. “This is Gregory Hughes. He’s the man who makes it all happen.” He explained, gesturing grandly as he always did. “Greg, this is my partner, Jen, and her mother, Dyra.”

              Jen shook Greg’s enormous hand, but barely paid any attention to the compliments he showered her in.

She’d gone slightly giddy at Deacon’s words.

              Deacon smirked cheekily at her, though without letting anybody else see. He saw immediately the effect his words had had on her, and Jen tried to get a grip of herself.

              But she couldn’t help it, and apparently neither could Deacon, for the same thing happened over and over again that day, and neither of them seemed to tire of it in the slightest.

              Being introduced as Deacon’s partner stirred something inside of Jen that she had never known.

She felt all of a sudden valued beyond belief. It felt like such a long time since she had belonged at all.

              No matter how many times she’d spoken to Mandy, or how much grief Caroline had ever given her, or how many times Clare had made her laugh in the past year, only now was it that she felt alive.

              Soon enough, Greg and his studious, officious followers escorted Deacon and Jen and Dyra upstairs.

              Jen was introduced to them all, at one point or another, but she couldn’t for the life of her remember their names, and they all looked the same, she thought. The only one who stood out amongst them was Greg, and even then, he paled in comparison to Deacon.

Though, that could just have been Jen’s infatuation talking, again.

              Swept up amongst it all, Jen heard talk of past exhibitions and stories retold and old successes and new ventures since them. As the lift took them up to the very top floor, sixty nine storeys up, she couldn’t help but get a little lost in the talk, coming thick and fast and relentless.

              The lift pinged gladly and the doors slid slowly open, revealing beyond them a view across the city magnificent and unparalleled.

Directly ahead of them was the side of the building, entirely glass, save the two steel veins that Jen could just about make out running up either side of where they stood.

              And then, all around them, on thick columns and pillars that seemed to be as much a part of the building’s architecture as they were its decoration, were a multitude of canvases and framed works.

Some were painted, some were sketched and drawn. Oils and acrylics danced around for as far as the eye could see, some pieces so enormous that they covered entire walls from floor to ceiling, and others small enough to fit in a briefcase.

              The art itself, varied and superb in a thousand and even more different ways, was unrivalled, surely.