25. Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Five
T he scrunched-up paper ricocheted off the rim of the bin, much to Beetle’s delight. He pounced on it several times before stashing it away from prying eyes. Amber ripped out another sheet of notes and tried again. It missed. She pushed her textbook away. It was no use. The longer she studied, the more the words swam on the page, making her head ache. Books piled high on the desk were a constant reminder she had to do this. She couldn’t slack. Her mock results were a disappointment and without Jack to discuss the lessons and theories, her motivation waned. He was right about one thing. No amount of rosemary would get her a good grade. She missed him. If he was there, he would hug her, encourage her to carry on, and remind her of the fun they planned for this summer. But he wasn’t there. She was on her own. Ever since he’d stormed out, there was an undercurrent she didn’t understand. He turned away to answer texts, cancelled more than one date, saying he had to look after his brothers, and avoided her after lessons. Something was going on.
The house was too quiet, and she regretted declining her dad’s invitation to go to Willow’s for tea, citing her revision as an excuse. The warmth of the Emporium’s flat and company would be welcome, but it was better this way. No matter how much she missed time with her dad and longed to discuss her worries. Willow and Glenn needed time alone for their relationship to bloom. Now more than ever.
It wasn’t the sense of betrayal when she saw the extent Willow went to to shield her life from Amber that sent her fleeing down the stairs and biting back tears while serving customers that day; it was the shock of Willow’s appearance. Her vulnerability. The figure huddled beneath the duvet was an unkempt, shrunken version of the strong person she knew. Her weight loss emphasised her high cheekbones, and against her pallor, her eyes were larger and dull. If the elegant, confident mentor Amber aspired to be crumbled under pressure, what chance did she have? The force of emotion scared her, followed later by the guilt. Willow had shown unwavering support for her when she needed it, yet instead of stepping forward to give her a hug and help, she fled. Maybe if she stayed, Willow would have confided in her and explained why she’d discovered remnants of a banishing spell in the workroom and why, when the flat door opened, a fleeting look of terror crossed Willow’s face. It was too late now. The best thing to do was to maintain the protection spells around the Emporium, keep a low profile, and trust her dad to fall in love. He would protect her from the danger Amber detected lurking in the shadows.
The sketch emerged on the page, making Amber’s heart flutter as the man from the beach’s face took shape with each pencil stroke. At least something was looking up. After weeks of searching, she had seen him again.
***
It was a chance sighting. Fate, she decided afterwards, a sign their meeting was meant to be. Jack had not only stood her up for the study session at the library, but snapped at her when she phoned him to see where he was. The desire to revise vanished as she fumed; with Willow still absent from work, she had begged an overworked Rosa to cover her shift so she could catch up with him and resolve their differences. Her plan—to study, make up, and return to hers for movies and pizza—was destroyed. Checking the time, it was early. If she went to the shop, Rosa could leave to collect Alejo from school, but it would entail the third degree. Rosa was like a terrier hunting prey when it came to gossip, and a premature appearance would make her zoom in.
Avoiding the swing bridge in case the pull of the store’s magic proved too much to resist, Amber explored Whitby’s new town. With more modern shops, and flashing lights and music playing from the arcades ready for the new holiday season, the atmosphere was different. Tourists encouraged by the spring sun blocked the paths, adding to her foul mood. She climbed up the steep slope until many of the shops and the crowds fell away. Bending down to tie her boot’s shoelace that had come undone, Amber saw a familiar coat on the opposite pavement. A car honked as she ran across the road. If she hurried, she could catch up with him.
‘Amber,’ a male voice called behind her. She ignored it and continued up the road.
‘Amber.’
Groaning, she spun round to greet the local postman jogging towards her. A jovial man suited to the job, any other day she’d be happy to see him, but if there was a competition between Rosa and him for time gossiping, he would win.
‘You still work at the Emporium, don’t you? I missed a letter out. Found it just a minute ago. You wouldn’t be a love, would you, and take it with you? It would save these aching knees. They are playing up something chronic. Maybe Willow could give me something to help. The balm I used—’
‘Yes, maybe. Fine. Got to go.’ Amber snatched the cream letter from his hand and shoved it in her bag. Her prey was still in view higher up the hill, looking at a shop window. He went in. By the time she reached the building, her breath was ragged, beads of sweat gathered on her brow, and she knew, if she saw her reflection her face would be as red as her hair. She didn’t care. She needed to see him and couldn’t lose him now. The door squeaked as she entered.
It took a while for her eyes to adjust to the gloomy light in the empty room. Someone had squeezed two overstuffed sofas into the compact space and several magazines cluttered the table in front. Framed prints filled every space of the walls; she stepped closer and monochrome tattoo designs of varying detail drew her in. Her fingers itched to wipe the glass of dust to see the contour of the dragons, creatures of the deep, and cartoons more clearly. Was he getting a new tattoo?
‘Can I help you?’ A gruff voice snapped her out of her thoughts. A gargantuan man approached her, crunching his podgy knuckles before stroking his short, unruly beard. His greying hair pulled back into a ponytail emphasised his receding hairline and his heavy-metal T-shirt strained over his stomach and chest. She cringed under his stare until she became mesmerised by the intricate dragon descending his arm. It gave her courage.
‘I want a tattoo.’
‘You want a tattoo? You need to be eighteen.’ He retreated behind a reception desk and flicked open a magazine, dismissing her.
‘I am eighteen. I have ID.’ She slammed her rucksack on the counter and rummaged through her college books and sketch pads. She swore under her breath. It was there somewhere. If only she were organised, her ID card would be in her hand, ready to wave it under his condescending, bulbous nose. She unloaded her bag, finding it sandwiched between the pages of her English textbook. Amber thrust the provisional driving licence to him. He pushed it away without looking and continued to read his graphic novel. Unsure what to do, she reloaded her bag and hovered nearby. The clock on the wall ticked louder and the rustle of paper with every page turn added to her anxiety. What was she doing? The shop door invited her to leave, walk across the beach until she came to her senses.
‘For fuck’s sake. Just sit down over there,’ the man snapped. ‘Artie will be with you in a minute.’
With a brief nod, and cheeks burning, she perched on one of the sofas clutching her bag. A door opened in the distance. Heavy footsteps approached, and he strode out from an archway in the corner of the room.
‘Thanks, Uncle Garth.’ The voice was smooth like the sweetest chocolate, and, like their first meeting, Amber drowned in his deep brown eyes. Without his coat, the intricate designs covering both his muscular arms were visible; a fire-breathing dragon wrapped around his forearm. She longed to study it and know its meaning. This was Artie .
‘Hey! It’s the ferret girl. Tell me you haven’t got him hiding in there?’ He flashed a smile, pointing at her bag.
Her dry mouth and tongue refused to cooperate with a spoken response. It really was him. After dreaming and searching, she had found him.
‘Come on. I’ve a free slot; we can discuss what you are looking for?’ You , she thought . I’ve been looking for you.
The room she followed him to was bright and clinical, a contrast to the gloom they had left behind. The photographs displayed on the wall were stylish, modern, and showcased the best of tattoo designs. Amber settled into a reclining leather chair, watching Artie prepare his workstation.
‘So, did you manage to bounce it?’
The low music in the background calmed her, allowing her to gather her composure. ‘Several times.’
He rewarded her response with a warm smile and rolled the stool he sat on backwards so he could study her. ‘Let me guess, you’re after a tattoo of your furry friend. He was a surprise. I’ve never seen a ferret before, never mind on the beach.’
‘No. I don’t want him. I want a dragonfly—here,’ she said, pointing to her inner forearm. Despite her impulsive visit, her decision to have a tattoo wasn’t a whim; for two years she had mulled over the idea, born from a comment made in class as she doodled endless dragonflies darting across the page of history notes. ‘That would look great as a tattoo,’ made her consider it, research artists, establishments, and count down the days to her eighteenth birthday. Jack’s discouragement and reluctance to see the attraction didn’t faze her. He warned her it was a lifetime commitment, but that was the point. It would be with her always, a reminder of her past, and keep her grounded in the future. A sign of who she was. Stumbling across Artie and this place was meant to be.
Scanning the last page of the portfolio Artie had given her, she shook her head, None of the designs were right.
‘Why don’t you explain what you want again?’ Artie took out his sketchbook, opened it to a fresh page, and hovered a pencil over it. ‘Maybe I can do a custom design.’
Amber pulled out her own sketch pad from her bag, bulging with extra scraps of paper. Shrugging off her shyness of showing her work, she flicked through the pages until she found the right one.
‘I want something like this.’