Bitterhall by Helen McClory (story books to read .txt) 📕

‘Oh, it did,’ Tom said.

‘And does this—’ I moved closer to him to take it, ‘does this have bits in it? Is it watching us. Seems like it could be.’

‘No,’ he said. He hadn’t let it go. He took a little breath and shifted it. There was a small sound of objects moving. ‘It’s solid inside, mostly solid, see.’ He pinched it, and the fabric moved around. ‘The machine couldn’t scan inside, so it just filled it with little bearings, I think. Anyway, I like it. This one.’

‘You like the copy? You seem like the kind of person who’d only like the real thing.’ I said, for something to say. I was standing close to him, but he wasn’t standing close to me. He took a breath in.

‘Who’s to say it isn’t real? I’m holding it, it’s real to me.’ He said. Then with a funny look on his face he went by me to put it back on the fridge. Devotional site. I returned a second time to the bread, and found myself mashing butter into it with my fingers, pushing yellow into the gaps I had driven into the loaf, seeing only the yellow, inhaling it, smelling it on myself afterwards for hours. I thought to myself, how strange. It was just a stupid toy. You never know what’ll bother you always, what can turn a relationship off on tilt.

Invitation

When I wasn’t at the university either in the library looking at scans of marginalia in codicology databases and taking notes or playing hunt-the-supervisor or drinking coffee, I was at work. Work then was a frozen yoghurt and bubble tea shop a street over from the main part of the campus, a small street-front room with white moulded seating, unhinged pink mural and toppings with the look of inedible plastic.

One day Daniel walked by the shop and saw me, came on in.

‘What’ll it be?’ I said, pretending I didn’t know him. He blinked, played along.

‘Uhm. What – is it?’ he asked, pointing at the big board.

‘You’ve never seen this before? Well – we’ve a treat for you. It’s a kind of tea, I mean, you know that. Says it right there. You can have it hot or cold. The milk teas we have are plain, taro, matcha latte, caramel latte, chocolate, coconut, honey. The others are black tea, peach tea, jasmine tea, raspberry tea, nettle, white tea, green tea, lemon and green tea and blackberry tea. It comes with tapioca balls or jelly. The jelly comes in lychee, grass, pineapple, apple, banana – disgusting – aloe, strawberry, peach and winter melon.’

‘What about the tapioca?’

‘It comes in tapioca flavour.’

‘Will I die of the sugar?’ he said, smiling shyly.

‘Yes. Definitely yes.’

‘Order for me. Your favourite.’

‘Okay. A cold taro milk tea with tapioca. Li’l bit less ice so you get your money’s worth. Normal sweetness.’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

I turned and began the process. Daniel stood at the counter. I could feel him there, exploring the shop with diffuse grace and a few twitches of his hands and shoulders. I hadn’t seen him since we’d first met and that had been weeks. Perhaps he thought I had forgotten him – a twinge of pity, then. I was in the blissful honeymoon of me and Tom, Tom and me. My flatmates were sick of hearing about it. But the girls at work only knew of the relationship slightly. From the afterglow when I ran in late.

‘Are you Tom?’ Jen asked him, smirking, ‘Órla said you were handsome. Is he handsome, d’ya think, Anj?’

‘I dunno, I dunno,’ said Anj in her gruff voice.

Kids. Daniel was dying.

‘Leave him be,’ I said. I handed him the drink, ‘On the house. In case you die.’

He took it and hesitated.

‘Haven’t seen you about.’

‘Shh. Loose lips sink ships,’ I said. The girls giggled as they pretended to clean up. I went round the counter and we sat in the window watching people queuing at the bus stop pretending to be in control of their lives.

‘I’ve missed you,’ he said, playfully.

‘I’m easily missed for all that.’

‘Oh yes. Climbing out the bedroom window before the house awakes, lest we accuse you of living there. I wouldn’t mind you around more, you know. Badr wouldn’t notice, he’s out most of the time.’

‘And old Minto?’

‘I’ve heard a rumour Minto has left the house on important business in Nicaragua,’ he said.

‘A drug deal, eh?’

‘Oh definitely.’

‘Funny that I’ve never seen you by here before now.’

‘My routes don’t take me this way much. I’m in George Square, most of the time. Or in the house.’

‘So you came here on purpose. Did Tom tell you where I worked?’

‘I think you’ve put a spell on Tom. Or maybe he was always that way.’

And that was how it began. Of course Daniel spoke about it first. For all his elusiveness he had things gripped between his two hands, he could talk his way around to the pertinent parts.

‘Oh?’ I said.

‘We’ll go into it later. For now – listen. Mark, you remember I told you about Mark, well, he’s having a Hallowe’en party. He has one every year. It’s lavish, costumes, booze flowing, at that house I told you about. I wanted to invite you. You and Tom, but I didn’t want you thinking I think of you as a set.’

‘So far as you know that’s what we are.’

He stared at me a moment, ‘I hoped – never mind.’

‘Never mind it.’ I said. Feelings inhabited me, too slippery and confused to speak on. I looked at him as he turned and sucked on the giant purple bubble tea straw. No one ever looks anything but cute doing that. Even harsh ugly people are given a wisp of adorability. Not that Daniel was ugly. It’s this glimpse into their childhood selves. I grabbed the cup from him and took a long sook myself. Lips over where his hand been. The balls rolled up the straw and into my mouth, black, and I chewed against my back teeth. Swallowed them, down my throat they