Passing Tides Ch. 05.5-09.5

I accept the motion as a farewell and leave the room, the embarrassment and the pleasure behind me.

The door shuts with another click which resonates down the empty hallway and out into the real world.

The twisting hallways feel somewhat like a labyrinth as there are no clear signs to indicate which way lead to the exit, so for a while I had to explore the floor of the building and occasionally turn around to gauge my position, eventually after some exploration and pauses to tend to last night's wounds I found the exit and located the quiet bar area.

Much to my surprise I found that the young man with the marked face still stood at ease behind the counter, the room sat empty and the soft tones of stringed instruments resonated in the space between us.

I walk, carefully as not to worsen my injuries, towards the dark polished wooden bar and position myself at the same place as before.

"Goo' mornin', Lady," he addresses me "And what can a fix ya dis blustery morn?"

"Peyton, wasn't it?" I reply, with a sense of certainty.

"And 'ow'd you guess that?" he laughs.

"We met last night?" I stress a confused tone "You gave me a drink?"

I straighten my back and clear my throat.

I do my best to imitate him and then smile. "Dis first drink ain't gonna cost ya a penny, you 'ear me? Fink nuffing of it."

Peyton slides a small glass tumbler filled with a brass coloured fluid from behind the electronic till and leans upon the counter to get closer to me.

"I find et unkind of you ta mock da way a man speaks 'is mind" he says sternly "And now I come ta fink of it, I do recall a lady of your calibre p'assing through 'ere."

He's tone sinks lower and a deep, gruff, attempt of a whisper comes forth from an otherwise soft face.

"And if I were ta place a bet, I reckon you don't know dat girl anymore e'ver, she ain't dare no more, is she?"

For a second we lock eyes, then I look away.

"I ain't gonna judge, you fink my attractive face models the life of a man playing safe?"

He leans away from me and I can no longer hide from him or myself. I begin to panic at the idea of other people knowing my history and a single tear hits my green scarf.

"I'm sorry," I find strength to speak these words without worsening my state of mind "I'll be leaving."

Peyton tilts his head to one side and it makes a tremendous snapping sound, like a branch of a tall tree.

"Don't be sorry," he sighs towards the floor "Am just tired and ya business ain't mine."

He turns away and begins clanking cups and saucers together, mixing drinking ingredients and soon places a hot, pale coloured concoction in front of me. As I lean in to examine it there on the surface floats a hastily put together smiley face made from little marshmallows.

I say nothing but I accept the gift, taking it from the bar and carrying it over to a small corner table, at that little table I dry tears and drink what I soon discover to be a hot white chocolate. It is very sweet and soothes the soul.

As I sit scooping out the last of the marshmallows from my cup, the chair in front of my is pulled out with a loud scuffing sound and Peyton sits down, slumping in his seat; clutching his glass tumbler. Again he crunches his neck, rolls his shoulders and flicks the tip of his nose with his thumb.

"A am sorry," he says in a manner as if midway through a conversation "A shouldn't 'ave got cross wit ya, it were out of order."

A second time he thumb flicks his nose and then he crosses his arms.

"Dat second drink ain't gonna cost ya a penny," he briefly smirks "A am full'a gifts."

The music stops for a moment, bringing a kind of peace to the room, then as quickly as it stopped the next song begins.

"Now, 'ow well do ya fink you know Mr Morland?" he says clearly.

"Well, I know him well enough to not have to call him Mr Morland," I speak out "and this isn't something I wish to speak about."

"First name basis, aye?" Peyton places his elbows on the table and looks over his shoulder at the camera in the top corner of the room.

"It does nay matter if you wish to speak about it, ya need to 'ear it."

He attempts to place a hand down on my but I'm alert enough to withdraw and instead hold the still warm cup.

"Miss Isla, she owes this fine establishment, she owns most of da land you can see from this window. Miss Isla Capelli owns ma family in a way, most of which work 'ere at her request, to harm our reputation and make us her drones, I fink."

"I was told that Mr Morland's father owns The White Hart." I interrupt.

He raises his glass, takes a drink and sighs. The smell of strong alcohol soon reaches me.

"Aye he did, once. He's long dead and gone now."

Peyton drums his fingers on the table and then turns his head away from me displaying the scars on his face. He points at them.

"On a technicality, she owns these."

He stares into the nearly empty glass as if he were reading the future at the bottle of it, swirling the remaining content.

"And if ya 'ave done what I fink ya have, she now owes ya now too."

He downs the last of the bronze coloured spirit and places the glass upside-down on the table with a gentle tap; he leaves the table tucking the chair in behind him.

He turns around and begins to back step to his post at the bar.

"A hope ya enjoyed it, 'cause it'll be a fucker to escape it now, lil girl."

My heart and head fills with a mixture of anger, sadness and worry for what is known in the present and what the future could find out.

I glance out of a nearby window, the clouds outside are few but heavy and the birds singing can been seen sitting on the tallest branches of neighbouring trees.

"Thank you for your concern, Peyton" I speak aloud "It is good of you to show a stranger that you care."

With this I gather what little possessions I have on my person and leave The White Hart. I don't look back.

Down the hard set stairs and through the impressive hallways that are baron of personality other that 'minimalistic'. My little shoes click and clack as though I were stepping on marble, I pass no other people on my departure and at the large main door I find that there are no longer two doormen on duty.

A morning chill blows through the entrance and in front on me I see an open field with small gravel pathway and a sky littered with large clouds as far as the eye can see.

The walk home is long; made longer by my many conflicting thoughts and physical exhaustion. Although the returning scenery is no less beautiful during the cold light of dawn than it was in the amber glow of dusk, it all seems to feel distant and detached, almost as if I were viewing the world through a window or television screen. I make no stops for rest upon the way back to my little brick abode, by the time I reach the front door the sun is high in the sky, the clouds have retreated and my endurance has depleted. With my final ounce of strength, I slum against the door and knock upon the glass window; hoping that somebody will save me the effort of unlocking and opening it. Somebody does.

As the lock rattles and the door gradually opens I am greeted by a tired, yet friendly looking face.

"Morning." mumbles a dishevelled Dannii.

Her hair is ruffled and the dark circles under her eyes contrasts with her pale skin. It is hard to recall any moments before The White Hart but if my memory serves me correct then she is wearing the same clothes as yesterday.

"Morning." I reply.

Dannii recoils her face away from mine.

"Had a drink, Josie?" she utters in horror.

Although I cannot smell the alcohol on my breath it must clearly be obvious to others; I'm glad alcohol is all she can detect.

"What will the neighbours say?" she laughs "Come in, you party animal!"

Dannii offers out a hand, I take it and head inside.

The house feels very stale and very lived in, as I walk through the narrow hallway I pass the living area, there through the open doorway I see great stacks of paper spread across the carpet, the pages are peppered in scribblings and pencil notes; around the white A4 towers are empty coffee mugs and pencils of different colours. The sight of the main room of the house in such disarray fills me with a sense of defeat.

I hang up my coat and kick off my shoes.

As I'm about to head upstairs to try and rest I'm interrupt by a hand resting on my shoulder. I think that just twenty four hours ago this would have perhaps frightened the soul out of my shell; I fear that my soul has been taken by three near strangers.

"You...'" Plisskin pauses "Look Kaput."

The hand upon my right shoulder gives a compassionate squeeze and pats me again.

"I'll run you a bath and bring you a hot drink up, no arguing."

I appreciate his kindness but ultimately my only 'want' is to lay face down into a pillow and sleep away the aftermath of my travels. Before I can object to his gift a Plisskin shaped blur darts up the stairs; soon followed by the sound of running water.

After climbing the Mount Everest that was my staircase I open my bedroom door with my shoulder and fall backwards upon my bed, staring face up at the ceiling, my head swirls around like a brew within a cauldron and I try hard to focus on the sound of the running water to anchor myself to this world.

Listening to the splashing brings back memories of the previous night, I picture myself sat on the bed and listening to Isla shower and Nathan standing before me unsheathed. I feel nothing inside while thinking of these moments, I am too tired; exhaustion consumes.

As I feel my eyes begin to close and the world descends into slumber the silence is interrupted by a knocking at my door, three short taps followed by the sound of light doorsteps heading downstairs. I rise from my bed in the way a ghoul might rise from the grave, lurching and groaning, to find that outside of my room sits a little mug of white hot chocolate with marshmallows.

I begin to wonder if from now on my life would be haunted by symbolism and omens.

The rest of the day rolled by much like any other, with very little effort on my part the sun rose up in the east and settled down in the west, the only real input I contributed was the steadily moving around the house to prepare dinner for my roommates and falling asleep; much earlier than usual.

'Time takes no prisoners' I think to myself as I soon wake up at 6am and begin getting changed for another day's work at The Passing Tides. A few heartbeats later and I've relocated to the centre of the now busy café, shuttling loaded trays back and forth to an exhausted looking Angie; she frantically multitasks washing up and being polite to customers at the same time.

As minutes turn to hours and the sun begins to rest upon burning orange skies, the manic rush of Saturday begins to die down, a chance to finally lower my defences and rest; or so I would of liked to have believed.

I had decided to take cover from the customers, sitting behind the counter on an upturned bucket, when no sooner had the final family tipped our service with a warm hearted 'Thank you' and left, the bell above the door chimed once more and a figure approached my sister; carrying a small bunch of red and white carnations.

"Pologies, Lil Miss," spoke an all too familiar voice "Dis is da work place of Josie?" the accent so thick that Josie hardly sounded like Josie at all; although what accent the voice had was difficult to assess.

Angie, stood leaning against the counter, she must have been a matter of inches away from the source of the voice. She turns to look at me, sat hiding on my bucket, then back to Peyton.

"The Miss isn't necessary," Angie replies, not shifting her stance "I could very well be married, and if I were a free woman there is still no need to address me as though I were a child."

"Pologies Miss..." Peyton begins to recover.

"As to your question," my sister continues "She works here, but anything she needs to hear can pass through me."

I extend a foot and kick her ankle, though I might of well have been kicking a cast iron post as she hardly moved at all. I begin to question myself as to why exactly I'm still in hiding, so much has already been spoken that I feel glued to the spot.

A third voice joins the battle.

"I do apologise for my brother's ignorance." pipes a much higher, softer voice.

Out of curiosity as to who the newcomer's voice belonged to I rise up and show my presence to the room. There, next to an exhausted and bewildered Peyton stands a somewhat familiar frame; a contradiction in appearance.

The young man's autumn red immediately stole my attention, its unkempt style could have only been sculpted by a restless sleep; it looked like wild fire. His clothes seemed expensive, a white shirt with cufflinks, a black waistcoat with an ornate 'W.H.' embroidered on the breast pocket in an emerald green, black pressed trousers and piano black shoes which were polished to a mirror shine. All of this on a regular man may have given the impression of sophistication or expensive taste. Unfortunately, the clothes on this male seemed to be two sizes too big, giving the impression that they were brought for him in the hope that one day he may grow into them; his clothing was no more organised than his haircut.

"Oh it is you!" exclaimed the young man "You're the girl from the party the other night! The girl without the invitation?"

The Doorboy, Arlie. Minus his Alpha companion; in the natural light of day it was hard to recall him.

"You are mistaken," Angie continues her assault "This Josie of mine does not party and she doesn't received flowers from men, so I can only conclude that these are for me."

As such Angie extended her arms to receive the flowers Peyton pulls them close to his chest and sidesteps so that he is now parallel with me.

"It is you!" Doorboy continues, cutting away some of the tension my sister had created "My Brother told me that he was concerned he may have offended a young female that stayed, after speaking with Ms. Isla Capelli..."

I feel a lump in my throat.

"She was quick to point out an address to which we may find you." Doorboy finishes.

"So dat aye may bring ya these." Peyton punctuates, extending the bunch of flowers and placing them into my arms.

As he does so I see him wince, he holds a hand against the marked side of his face, for a moment, then crosses his arms.

Angie turns to face me, leaning away from the counter and instead props herself against the wall behind her, hardly moving her feet at all; instead she just rearranges the angle she was at. With hers eyes intently starting at me she speaks with a quieter tone.

"Stayed? At a party?" Angie's eyes still locked on me.

I try my best to act calm, to ignore the trouble that the two men before me may have just brought into my life. Their intentions were good; they wanted to right some wrongs.

"You didn't have to do this, it is very sweet of you, Peyton." I send a smile, which is returned.

"I'll leave ya be, dares not much more to say now, other dan sorry."

With this Peyton places an arm around little Doorboy and turns him around to walk out. As they both open the chiming door and step outside I call out a final thank you and wave.

For a fleeting moment the café is silent; the silence is deafening.

"So, you stayed out last night?" Angie finally speaks out "At The White Hart too, judging by that boy's uniform."

Having lived a quiet life, reserved and isolated, I find it difficult at first to find the right words. Instead I lie.

"Plisskin and Dannii..." I search hard within my mind to get the correct material to craft something convincing "They were invited to a party; I was a plus one."

"What kind of party was it, Josie?" Angie works quickly to find weaknesses in my story.

"A formal one."

"And you stayed with who?"

"A room to myself, I didn't want to walk home alone at night."

Once more an awkward silence falls over the room. This doesn't last too long as Angie ever curious mind starts to explore other avenues of gossip; this idle chit-chat lasts for the remainder of the shift.

Finally, at around 6pm we closed up shop for the day, I have always been proud that myself and my sister manage to keep this café operating and financially afloat between ourselves but on days like today I would spend a wish on having new company to share it with; somebody outside of the family tree.

"You know how to pick them, don't you?" Angie comments as we step outside and lock up.

"Of all the strange looking fish in the sea, you manage to reel in some really... unusual specimens." She laughs "That's you Josie, isn't it? You couldn't be normal if it saved our lives."

We walk and talk back to the crossroads we usually part at, I carry my flowers with care and do my best to avoid any further talks that may bring Peyton to the foreground. A near impossibility as while Angie can be a very supportive and caring sibling, the majority of the time, she is always very quick to gather up any information that fills her need to gossip.

By the time I reach the safety of my home the warmth of the sun has all but gone, there is a chill in the air although the skies are clear. When myself and Plisskin first moved into this address we would spend evening like this sat outside the front door on lawn chairs, I would stare at the late afternoon skies until they were dotted with stars, Plisskin would speak of his troubles at work and where he saw himself in the future. I would listen intently and hope that the moment would last a life time.

I pause at the steps of my house and picture those two red chairs sat side by side, since the arrival of Dannii we no longer have moments like that, I am at the point of exhaustion when work ends; too tired to socialise properly.

My spirits are lifted as I enter our home, the air is filled with scent of cinnamon, from the front door I can see straight through to the kitchen, there at the oven wearing a little black dress, black lace choker and apron is Dannii cooking up something that smells heavenly. The warm smell isn't the only thing that pleases my senses, the house appears to be in an immaculate condition! I enter the kitchen and before I can announce myself to the room Dannii detects my presence, she talks to me without distracting herself from cooking.

I often find myself wondering how on Earth Dannii affords to pay her way through life, she always seems to have new clothes and food in the fridge, her paperwork is often scattered throughout the house and sometimes I can hear her typing away frantically in her room. I know her work is something she doesn't like to discuss; Peyton tells me that she works as a freelancer within the finance sector.

We talk for a while, I set the table and soon Plisskin is in our company pouring the drinks. While we eat we talk and laugh, most evenings I eat alone in my room, it has been such a very long time since I sat and ate with company; I feel closer to Plisskin and Dannii when we share moments like these.

"Edward, I think it's your turn to clean up." Dannii broadcasts across the tiny table that is our eating space.

For a moment I hesitate for a moment, the wheels in my head trying to confirm which one of us she is supposed to be addressing. Then, after sighing loudly, Plisskin rises to the occasion and begins to work.

"I complete forgot you were Edward!" I begin to tease.

"I'll never be an Edward to you." Plisskin replies, ruffling my hair as he walks past'

"So how come Dannii gets to call you it?"

No reply.

'"A letter arrived for you today." Dannii addresses to me, rising from the table and collecting a small square envelope, she finds her seat back at the table and slides the envelope across to me.