Broken Wings (11 page)

Flora’s fingers found Rye’s hand. Rye spread her fingers so they interleaved
with Flora’s. Flora smiled and wept at the same time. Rye sat up and gently
lifted Flora to hold her. Flora sobbed against Rye’s shoulder.

“You are wonderful,” Rye said. “And sexy. And beautiful. I’ve never known a
woman like you.”

“Then why are you leaving me?”

“I’m not. If you’ll forgive me. Please forgive me.”

Flora lifted her head to study Rye’s face. “I love you. I’ve been scared to tell
you. I didn’t know how you’d react. I’m thinking that I should’ve risked it.”

“You love me?”

“Why is that so surprising? You don’t really think that I just wanted a casual
bonk before throwing you out for another? Do you?”

Rye wiped a tear from Flora’s cheek. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m
sorry. Really sorry.”

Flora stroked Rye’s face. “We have a lot of things to work out, don’t we?”

Rye stood and helped Flora to her feet. Flora scooped up her discarded
underwear. Rye grabbed her pants. They didn’t let go of their joined hands.

“Will you promise me one thing?” Flora asked.

“Considering what a shit I’ve been tonight, you can ask whatever you like.”

“One day, will you tell me what is really happening with you? Why you feel you
have to hide us from Holly? About your past and your fairyness? And why you want
to bolt whenever we get close to the subjects?”

Rye sighed. She did owe Flora some explanation.

“I don’t mean now,” Flora said. “I don’t think I could cope with any more drama
tonight. Let’s go to bed. Separate beds, if you like. And sleep knowing that
we’ll still be lovers when we wake.”

Rye nodded and kissed Flora.

Rye padded across the darkened living room and scooped her discarded shirt and
bandage off the floor. At the door, she turned back to see Flora silhouetted in
the doorway on the far side of the room. Rye blew a kiss. Flora blew one back.

Rye woke alone in a bed large enough for three. The sheets and crumpled pillow
showed where Holly had slept. Sunlight poured in through the window. They had
forgotten to close the curtains last night.

I love you.

No one had ever said that to Rye before. Flora didn’t seem the sort who would
just say that, and certainly not under last night’s circumstances. And there was
the weaving. Rye wasn’t just a casual fuck. She had got everything wrong. So
very wrong.

Rye scrambled out of bed and tugged on her pants and shirt.

One of the living room glass doors to the patio was open. Flora stood on the
edge of the pool wearing a wet sexy bikini. Holly broke the surface of the pool.
She was wearing her bra and panties. Rye hoped they didn’t have holes.

“That was really good,” Flora said. “You had a great angle as you broke the
water.”

“I wish I could dive as well as you,” Holly said.

“You just need some practice,” Flora said.

Rye grinned and walked away. She found the kitchen as she’d left it last night.

Rye carried a tray of tea and toast out to the patio.

“Woo hoo! I’m starving.” Holly splashed to the side of the pool.

Flora wrapped a robe around herself before joining them at one of the tables.
She reached for a cup of tea and shot Rye the warmest look. Rye felt as tall as
a tree.

“Hey, Rye,” Holly said, “Flora is judging at the Oaklee Art Fair next Fifth Day.
We can go with her, can’t we?”

“I know it’s short notice,” Flora said. “So I won’t be in the least offended if
you have something else planned. I only found out last night myself. Chervil
twisted my arm over dinner. So, technically, it’s your fault, Rye. If I hadn’t
been feeling so good because of that fabulous meal, I might have resisted.”

“I told you that she could cook,” Holly said. “Everyone really liked it, didn’t
they, Flora?”

“Utterly,” Flora said. “Letty Elmwood wants to know how she can hire you for a
dinner she’s arranging.”

“Blow!” Holly said. “Letty Elmwood. You know who she is, right?”

“The sylph with all the makeup plastered on her face,” Rye said.

Holly grimaced. “She owns the Lightning Tree Gallery. Fey, Rye. How can you be
so smart and know so little?”

“I wonder that myself sometimes.” Rye cast a glance at Flora. “Life keeps
throwing the wildest surprises at me.”

“So, can we go next week?” Holly said. “To the art fair?”

“If you do, don’t spend all your wages there.” Flora pulled an envelope from her
robe pocket and put it on the table.

Rye frowned at the envelope. It must contain the residue of the twelve hundred
that Flora had promised her. Rye felt very reluctant to take it. She lifted her
empty hands from the table, leaned back in her chair, and shook her head.

“Uh oh,” Holly said. “I know that look. When Rye gets all knotted about money,
you’re not going to make her see sense.”

“Would you do me a favour?” Flora said. “There’s a jar of sorrel massage oil in
the bathroom off my bedroom. Can you fetch it for me, please?”

Holly leaped to her feet and dashed away.

“Take it,” Flora said. “You earned it.”

“Um. It doesn’t feel right. It’s too much. And I was so shitty to you last
night.”

“That has nothing to do with this. You did a terrific job. You earned every
piece. And you really should give Holly some payment.”

“Look, I kept track of how much I spent, if you cover –”

“No. We had a deal. You can’t go changing it on me, just because you know that
I’m in love with you. Take it. And I think coming to the art fair would be a
great opportunity for you to talk with Holly about her career, don’t you? I
sounded the waters with Ginger about Holly’s apprenticeship. He’s open to the
idea.”

“I don’t know what to say. Thanks.”

Flora winked.

Holly returned. “Is this the stuff?”

“Yes.” Flora rose. “I have to take a shower and dress before I drop you two back
home. Why don’t you rub some of that on Rye’s back for her?”

“Ew.” Holly faked gagging.

Flora put a hand on her shoulder. “If I wanted my sister to take me to an art
fair, I’d do this small thing for her.”

Holly absently worked the massage oil into Rye’s wings as she sat on the bed in
the guest room. Rye wondered if Holly thought it was strange that Flora would
make such an odd request. Holly, though, was completely rapt with Flora’s home
and lifestyle.

“My mind melted when she showed me her studio,” Holly said. “I got to see what
she’s working on. Wow! And her sketches. Her loom! Daisy will gnaw her arms off
with envy when I tell her! We can go to the Oaklee Art Fair, can’t we?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Woo hoo!” Holly leaped up and bounced on the bed.

“Stop that!” Rye grabbed one of Holly’s calves. “Don’t break the bed.”

Rye packed away her gear from the kitchen and left Holly to look for anything
she missed. She found Flora in her bedroom. Rye glanced behind before taking the
two swift paces closer to her and kissing her.

“Can I keep seeing you?” Rye whispered. “Please?”

“Yes. Please.”

Rye grinned, but stepped back out of reach and glanced again at the doorway.
“And we’d love to come with you to the art fair next week. Thanks. For
everything.”

Flora smiled.

Rye thanked her again after she and Holly climbed out of Flora’s carpet onto the
parking pad outside their apartment.

“Thank you,” Flora said. “Dinner was great. Oh. You’d better take this. It’s
Letty Elmwood’s card.”

Rye accepted it and frowned.

“She wants to talk to you about catering a dinner for her,” Flora said. “I told
you.”

“I didn’t think you were serious,” Rye said.

“Give her a call. You’ll see how serious she is. If you have any questions, feel
free to contact me. You have my number.”

“Um. Okay. I will.”

Rye waved until the carpet zoomed out of sight.

“She’s the pinnacle,” Holly said. “The utter pinnacle. You’d better not get all
knotted and stupid and drive her away. I couldn’t forgive you for that.”

Rye frowned as she followed Holly into the apartment. “What was that supposed to
mean?”

“Do I get any wages? Still, I suppose you’d better keep it for food and stuff.”

“No. Here you go.” Rye slipped a fifty from the envelope.

“Woo hoo! I bet there are going to be so many scathing things at the art fair
next week.”

“You’ve not been invited to any more birthday parties, have you?”

Holly frowned. “Why?”

Rye thought better of what she was going to say. “No reason.”

Holly disappeared into her bedroom trailing the telephone cord. How had Rye
failed to instil any money sense in her? In what other areas had her parenting
skills let the kid down?

Rye tried to pay attention to the class, but her heart wasn’t in it. She dreaded
the talk she’d have to have with Mr. Bulrush at the end of the lesson.

Rye lingered until everyone else had left the class. Mr. Bulrush packed papers
into his case.

“I was hoping to talk with you, Ms. Woods,” he said. “The deadline for entry for
the certification exam is coming up. You should really be starting your extra
work.”

“Um. Yeah. Well, the thing is that I can’t sit it.”

“There’s no need for you to feel intimidated.”

“Um. No. It’s not that.” Rye bit her lip. “I don’t have time to do the extra
work. In fact, I’m going to have to quit class.”

“Quit? Well. This is a surprise. Is there something I can help with?”

“Um. No, thanks.” Rye shrugged. “Home stuff. I’ll take this class again next
year. Look, thanks for teaching me. I appreciate it. Maybe we’ll catch up next
year.”

“I understand when domestic circumstances interfere,” he said. “But it seems
such a waste. Look, why don’t I wait to cancel your registration? If you find
things change in a few weeks, you can pick it up again. You’ll have no problem
passing even with a few missed assignments.”

Rye didn’t think she would be able to return any time soon, but she smiled.
“Thanks. That’s nice of you.”

He offered her his hand. “Good luck. I hope to see you again.”

Rye shook his hand.

Her work boots clumped and echoed on the hard floor of the school corridor. The
sound was hollow. Rye tried not to think of the chance she’d just passed up. She
never got ahead. Her key to a better paying job and a more comfortable future
lay in learning and getting qualifications. But she couldn’t keep up with her
classes unless she earned more, so that she could buy a broom, which meant she
had to put her learning in abeyance while she took a third minimum wage job. Rye
jammed her fists into her pockets. “Fey.”

On Fourth Night, Rye went straight home from work instead of going to the
school. Holly’s music blasted from her bedroom.

“Holls! Turn that down or I’ll go deaf.”

The music stopped as if by magic – or as if the magic powering the speakers
suddenly died. Holly darted out of her room.

“Rye? What are you doing here?”

“I live here occasionally, remember? This kitchen is a mess. What have you been
doing?”

“I was going to clear it up before you got home. Isn’t this Fourth Night? Don’t
you have class?”

Rye rolled up her sleeves. “I’ll be working at Pansy’s tonight. She’s letting me
pick up a couple of extra nights while one of the girls is off having a baby.
You know, it takes as little effort to put the stoppers back in these jars as it
does to pull them out.”

“Extra nights? Did the week suddenly get longer without anyone telling me? And
that still doesn’t explain – Rye, you’re not actually peeling out of class? Not
you? Not Miss Education Is the Beginning and End of Life as We Know It?”

Rye plonked the jar of hazelnut flakes back in the cupboard with too much force.
“Give it a rest.”

“You
are
peeling! You’d skin me alive if I did that.”

“I’m not skipping class. Because I don’t have classes any more.”

“But it’s only the middle of the term. How can –”

Rye banged a pan on the stove and rounded on Holly. “I’ve quit. Okay? Now give
it a rest.”

“Quit?” Holly lost all her flippancy. She frowned across the table. “Rye, how
could you quit? You were –”

“I need the money!” Rye’s fists clenched. “Now, leave it alone. I mean it.”

Holly threw her hands up as if to ward off Rye’s scowl. “Okay.

Okay.”

Rye continued glaring at the doorway after Holly left it. “Fey.”

That night, after showering away the fumes from the cauldrons of bubbling fat,
Rye slumped on her sofa bed. Her textbook and notebooks sat on the packing
crates and old door that she’d converted into a desk.

“I need the money. I need a broom. That will give me more time. I’ll be able to
see Flora more. And spend more time with Holly. I didn’t have a choice. Next
year, I’ll be able to fly between classes and home and work and Flora’s place.”

Rye climbed into bed and lay staring at the ceiling. There was a new patch of
mould forming. The people upstairs must’ve spilled something again.

It would’ve been nice to be with Flora right then. Still, Flora would be coming
by in the morning to take them to the art fair.

“How do I look?” Holly struck a pose.

Rye turned around from setting the knot back into place in the wall over her
money stash. How much money would it cost for their admittance to the fair?
“Um. Fine.”

“Not that I know why I’m asking you. You’re not really going to wear that? On my
tombstone, they’ll put: Here lie the tortured remains of Holly Woods, her young
life was cut short by an agonising attack of bad taste.”

“What’s wrong with my clothes? The holes are all patched.”

Holly rolled her eyes. Her parting shot was, “It’s a good job you’re a fabulous
cook.”

Rye frowned.

Someone tapped on the door.

“I’ll get it!” Holly shouted. “It’ll be Flora.”

Rye folded herself into the rear seat of Flora’s carpet to allow Holly to sit in
the front. Flora kept peering over the top of her sunglasses to make eye contact
with Rye via the rear-vision mirror while Holly craned her neck to look up,
across, and down for anyone she knew. Holly’s estimation of Flora’s utmost
stylishness suffered a dent when she fiddled with the carpet’s sound system.

“That’s the sort of cobwebby stuff Rye listens to,” Holly said. “You ought to
hear Funguz. And Slash the Chrysalis.”

“You think so?” Flora sounded amused. “Would that be safe at my age?”

“They’re so scathing and this minute,” Holly said. “Oh! That’s Orpine Madder. In
that carpet there. She’s the snottiest girl in the whole school. And we’re going
to pass them! Astronomical. Don’t look. Pretend you don’t see them. I’m going to
wait until we’re passing before I look surprised and give her a little wave.
I’d hate for her not to realise that I’m in the stylish carpet that is passing
her family’s dusty old thing.”

Rye smiled. She shared a look with Flora’s image in the mirror. Flora fully
restored her idol status by speeding up to whiz past the Madder family carpet in
the lane above them.

At the entrance to the park, Flora flew past the queues waiting to cram into the
parking lots and parked in the VIP area.

Rye followed Flora and Holly into the big red VIP tent. Volunteer workers
greeted them. Rye found herself handed a sticky tag with “Guest” printed on it
and a glossy brochure.

“Ms. Withe?” A pixie woman beamed up at Flora and held out her brochure and a
pen. “Could I get you to autograph my brochure, please?”

“Sure.” Flora took the pen and signed her name across one of the pages.

“I really, really liked
Adventures in Four Panels
,” the pixie said. “I went to
the gallery, like, every day in my lunch to see it.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” Flora smiled and handed the pen back. “Now, if you’ll
excuse me.”

Flora went off to check her judging duties. Holly made a beeline for one of the
hospitality hostesses. Rye jammed her hands in her pockets and frowned back at
the little pixie woman, who was now wiping tables. People wanted Flora’s
autograph?

“This cup of tea is yummy,” Holly said. “Raspberry leaf and hazelnut. And free.
You should get one.”

“What was that woman talking about?” Rye asked.

“
Adventures in Four Panels
?” Holly said. “My eyes dropped out when I saw it.
Only a copy in art class, of course. Not the original. Flora was still an
apprentice when she wove it. Haven’t you ever seen it?”

Rye shook her head.

“A really, really fabulous cook,” Holly said.

Rye scowled.

Rye trailed Holly and Flora through a sea of people and colourful alleys of
stalls displaying oddly-shaped pots, lumps of glass, paintings, lurid clothing,
tortured bits of metal, and supplies for making them all. Wind chimes tinkled
behind the noise of chattering and laughter. Music thumped somewhere. Jugglers
and tumblers moved through it all attracting knots of spectators.

Later, Rye’s bored gaze snagged on a stall displaying cooking pots and pans. She
left Flora and Holly discussing some knitted rags to saunter across. She lifted
the lid on a double boiler.

“That’s one of my best sellers,” the elderly pixie man said.

“Yeah?” Rye caught sight of the price tag and nearly dropped the lid.

“You look like you’re in the trade,” the pixie said.

“What? Oh. No. I work on a building site. You make these yourself?”

“I used to have an apprentice. My son, Hop. But I work alone now. Between us,
it’s getting a bit much. I really need someone to come in and help me with the
heavy work. But no one wants to work just a few hours a week.”

Rye looked up from enviously studying a frying pan. “What sort of work?”

Ten minutes later, Rye strolled away from Nuttal’s Pot stall whistling. A
hundred pieces for two nights’ work. Okay, it sounded like heavy, dirty stuff,
but it paid well. Mr. Nuttal seemed to be a nice bloke. Not the sort to work her
to death.

Rye stopped to frown around at the seething crowds. Where were Flora and Holly?

After wandering fruitlessly for more than an hour, Rye bought herself a
hideously expensive jar of beer and found a spot to sit on a grassy knoll near
the dancing stages.

“There you are!” Holly slumped down beside Rye and started eating from a paper
plate.

Flora lowered herself on Rye’s other side and handed her a plate of food. “We’ve
been looking for you.”

“How much is it for the food and entry?” Rye said.

Flora waved that away with her fork. “Tell me what you think of the lavender
shoots.”

Rye dug her wallet out. “Will twenty cover it?”

“It’s my treat,” Flora said. “I’m not inviting you two out and expecting you to
pay.”

Rye frowned. Holly glared at her as if she were contemplating throttling her.

“Look,” Rye said, “I owe you.”

Flora shook her head. “No, you don’t. Your food is getting cold. Try the
lavender shoots. Oh, Holly, look. That’s Chicory Field. The sculptor I was
telling you about.”

Rye’s frown deepened as she shoved her wallet back in her pocket. She hadn’t
realised that by accepting Flora’s invitation to come with her, she had tacitly
agreed to let Flora pay for them all. She would have to be more careful in the
future.

While Rye brooded on how she might discharge this unintended obligation, she
happened to glance aside and see Flora giving her a scorchingly saucy look.
Despite sitting in the middle of a crowded park and Holly close on her other
side, Rye’s wing buds twitched in response. She lost her thread and had trouble
thinking about anything other than sex.

Holly finished her food, leaped to her feet, and strode away to find a bathroom.

“I could have sex with you right now,” Flora said.

Rye nearly choked on a lump of boiled dock root. “Here?”

“Doesn’t the idea of public sex turn you on?” Flora said.

“It scares me to death.”

“Oh. Then I suppose I’ll just have to keep seducing you in my lair,” Flora said.
“Hmm. I have to go and do my official thing shortly. Why don’t you take the
opportunity to talk with Holly about her career? Which reminds me, Holly said
you’ve given up night classes. Is that true?”

Rye shrugged and reached for her beer. “Just until next year.”

“But why? I thought you loved doing it? And were a straight-A student?”

“I can pick it up again next year.”

Flora frowned. “Does your decision have anything to do with us?”

“Here comes Holls.”

Flora glanced across to where Holly wove her way through the crowds. “Did you
arrange something with Letty Elmwood?”

“Um. No.”

“Why not?”

Rye shrugged. “It doesn’t feel right. I’m not a proper cook or caterer.”

“Branch, you can be hard work sometimes. I have to go. We’ll talk about this
later.”

Flora and Holly exchanged a few words before Flora strode away. Holly dropped
down beside Rye and helped herself to Rye’s beer.

“I hate you,” Holly said. “I wanted the earth to eat me when you started getting
all knotted about paying for the food. Why can’t you be normal? Flora doesn’t
care about a few pieces.”

“That’s because Flora has a lot more of them than I have.”

Holly angrily plucked at the grass. “You always say stupid stuff like that. It’s
not the end of the world if Flora wants to buy us lunch, is it?”

“It’s not Flora’s place to feed us. That’s my job.”

Holly scowled. “I’m going to earn so much money that my kids are never going to
be embarrassed about me paying for anything. And I’ll be able to afford mobiles
for them. And give them good clothes from a real shop, not the second-hand. And
not live in some mouldy apartment.”

“I hope you do.”

“And I’m going to give you thousands and thousands. And I bet you’ll keep it all
tucked away somewhere and patch your shirts anyway even though you could afford
to buy new.”

“I’ll be interested to see how you cope with teenaged children just like you.”

“I’m going to be with Flora.” Holly leaped to her feet.

“Holls! Wait. Sit down. There’s something I want to talk with you about.”

Holly glowered.

“Flora is judging,” Rye said. “We’ll go and find her just as soon as she’s
finished, okay? Please sit down.”

Holly subsided unhappily and played with Rye’s beer jar. “I wish I was Flora’s
sister.”

“She was telling me that it takes a lot of hard work doing what she does.”

Holly looked wary.

“But if I really liked doing it,” Rye said, “and if I were really good at it,
then I’d give it my best shot. Flora told me that it’s what you want to do.”