Chapter 3 #2
She turns when I say that, her face alight with pure joy, and it makes me think again of Nana, and Grandpa too. I want to smile, or cry, I’m not sure which. How could I have forgotten the feeling of family? They’ve only been gone a few years.
Peggy turns back to her tarts, scarlet hair falling in her face as she fills her pastry circles with cut strawberries. ‘Mina said you were a good egg.’ She blows out a breath. ‘I was so worried when we heard she was in hospital, but I think she’s going to be just fine.’
I nod, even though she’s not looking at me. ‘I spoke to her this morning. She’s still sore, but feeling better every day.’
‘Good.’ I see Peggy’s smile pull at the curve of her cheek. ‘It was good of you to take on this job for her.’
‘She’d do the same for me.’
‘You’re close.’ She blows out a breath, aimed upwards at the red hair falling in her face. ‘How do you youngsters say it? Ride or die?’
My smile widens. ‘Yeah.’
‘It’s funny,’ she says with a chuckle. ‘You look like such opposites.’
I don’t know what to say, and my silence makes her stop what she’s doing and look at me.
‘It’s not a criticism,’ she says gently. ‘Sometimes the opposite is just what you need, like the yin and the yang. Sometimes you find you’re not opposites at all, but just both shades of grey.’
She hums out a breath, almost a tune. ‘And I’m so sorry about the mix-up with Bram. The poor lad was mortified. He’s a good boy.’ She turns back to the worktop and starts assembling more tarts. ‘My husband is known for many things, but reliability is not one of them.’
And then, as if she’s summoned him, a full-sized, definitely-not-stone vampire sweeps into the kitchen, cloak first.
‘You rang?’ he says, in the worst fake vampire accent I’ve ever heard. It makes both Peggy and me laugh out loud.
‘Speak of the devil,’ she says, kissing him on one painted cheek, and he flashes a fangy grin at me.
‘Fresh blood?’
‘This is Lucy,’ Peggy says, raising one eyebrow at him. ‘I was just telling her how sorry you are about the mix-up with the annexe.’
He looks like he’d have blanched at that if he didn’t already have pale face paint on.
‘Oh God, I’m so sorry about that.’ His real voice breaks through, still accented, but barely.
Polish, I guess, from knowing Mina’s heritage.
‘Entirely my fault. I’ve put a call out to the local Airbnb owners’ WhatsApp group to see if we can find somewhere for the lad to stay.
’ He looks over at his wife. ‘Is he still here?’
She shakes her head. ‘He’s doing a round of his friends, seeing if any of them have space for him.’
The vampire nods before turning to me. ‘He was here first thing, seeing if there was any chance he could stay here, but I’m afraid we are bursting at the seams.’ His shrug is small, and there’s a twist to his expression like perhaps he still feels guilty about his role in the situation.
But he seems to get over it quickly. ‘I’m W?adek by the way,’ he says, extending one hand to me as his mouth quirks into a one-sided grin.
‘But,’ he drawls, slipping back into the fake accent, ‘you can call me Vlad.’
Peggy scoffs good-naturedly. ‘Don’t call him Vlad, you’ll only encourage him.’
His darkened eyebrows pinch. ‘It’s the same name, just this language, that language.’
Peggy chuckles like it’s a discussion they’ve had a lot, and he’s about to reply when his phone beeps aggressively from somewhere in his pocket.
He pulls it out with a flourish but then frowns as he starts to read.
Within seconds there’s another beep, and then another just moments after that.
He sighs so hard that I can almost feel the weight of it.
‘Dammit,’ he says, without lifting his eyes from the screen.
‘I knew it’d be a long shot finding a place for the weekend on such short notice, but I thought, even worst case, that Gerard’s place would be available.
But no. Booked solid.’ He looks up at me, face solemn.
‘It’s a flat over the fishmongers and smells just exactly as you’d imagine. ’
I wrinkle my face in disgust.
‘There’s nothing?’ Peggy asks, still deftly arranging strawberry slices.
W?adek’s shoulders sag. ‘Not a sausage.’
Peggy nods, and pauses a moment, like she’s thinking about something. ‘Hopefully one of his friends will have space,’ she says eventually. It feels like she wants to say more, but she doesn’t, just turns back to her tarts and continues working steadily.
‘So, Lucy,’ W?adek says, shoving his phone back into a pocket. ‘Are you excited about the Goth Weekend? It’s big news around here!’
Am I? If you’d have asked me even an hour ago, I’d have replied with a resounding ‘no’, but now I’m not so sure.
There’s something about these people, about the warmth of this home, which looks as if it should be anything but warm.
I feel like it’s drawing me in. If one house – one family – has this effect on me, who’s to say what the whole town could do? Maybe this is how Bram Stoker felt.
I’m just about to open my mouth and say as much when I hear the door open and close, with a draught that reaches all the way into the kitchen. Then my heart jumps into my mouth as an almost-familiar figure appears in the doorway.
Bram.
Bram the tall, scary tattooed guy, that is. Not Bram Stoker. That seems obvious now I’ve said it, but his sudden appearance has me all turned around.
He matches this house perfectly – dressed all in black but for a single red plug in one earlobe.
His chin-length hair, undercut high up on the sides, falls in dark, tousled waves, which he sweeps over to one side with a tattooed hand as he leans a hip against the door frame.
He seems paler in this light, his skin a perfect porcelain which really makes the ink on it pop.
At first glance he looks just as dark and dangerous as the first time I saw him, but there’s something different this time.
This time he looks comfortable.
Until he notices me.
I see the change in his posture immediately, the way his back snaps straight as he pulls away from the door frame and pockets the phone that had been in his hand. And his face changes too. That softening that was there just a moment ago is long gone.
He doesn’t say anything, though, just studies me with those eyes – green, like the cat, which is now at Bram’s feet, rubbing its little black face against his ripped jeans with quiet, insistent chirps.
‘Leave him alone, Poe,’ Peggy calls, presumably to the cat, who meows back as if he’s arguing with her. A string of message tones ping into the air and Bram digs his phone back out of his pocket to check it.
‘Did you find somewhere?’ W?adek asks, making me jump even though he’s speaking at a perfectly ordinary volume. I press my hands between the bench and my thighs to steady them.
Bram looks up from the phone and shakes his head. ‘No luck anywhere. I even went back to the bar – figured I could always get some earplugs.’ He scrubs a hand over his stubble. ‘But Quinn already offered the sofa to Sammi. She was at a loose end too, and she’ll sleep through anything.’
W?adek blows a breath out. ‘Same story on the WhatsApp group. Everyone’s full to bursting.’ W?adek’s smile is also a wince, and his fangs distort the shape of his lips with the movement. ‘Sorry, kid.’
I feel Bram’s sigh to my bones. ‘It’s the Goth Weekend,’ he says, with a shrug of defeat. ‘Every bed, sofa and coffin in this town is spoken for.’
I can’t help but notice the coffin he slipped in there, and a shiver slips up my spine at the memory of my vampire encounter last night. Guilt is hot on its heels, though. Not every sofa is spoken for.
It’s not my fault. I shouldn’t feel bad in the slightest that I’m sleeping in a beautiful little cottage while this man gets turfed out on the streets through no fault of his own. It isn’t my problem to fix – I know it isn’t.
But God help me, I’m going to try and fix it anyway.
I think of Mina’s words from last night, spoken without even the faintest scrap of doubt in her voice.
You can trust him, she’d said. He’s a good guy.
Hadn’t Peggy just said the same thing? And I can’t deny that he was the perfect guest last night.
I mean, after all the accidental nakedness, of course.
When I finally ventured downstairs this morning, I even found that he’d washed both our mugs up and left the damp tea towel neatly folded over the radiator.
‘You could stay on the sofa in the annexe?’ I blurt, before I can overthink it, and three sets of eyes turn to me at once.
‘Lucy, no,’ Bram says, a look of shock on his face, which for some reason makes me all the more determined to do the right thing.
‘It’s better than a park bench,’ I say, with a shrug. I’m trying to play off as casual, though in reality it feels anything but. Something about the intensity of his stare burning into me is making my pulse pick up. A moment passes, and he shakes his head, his forehead furrowing into a frown.
‘I can’t impose on you like that.’
But he needs this, and I know it. ‘I’m offering,’ I say, meeting his eyes steadily, like I did last night. Letting him know I’m not scared of him. Who knows, maybe I should be. But it’s just for a couple of days.
He doesn’t say anything, and I can almost see the conflicting emotions warring behind his eyes.
‘We actually have a roll-up camping mattress and a sleeping bag you can borrow,’ Peggy says then, dusting floury hands on her apron before propping them on her hips.
W?adek nods in response. ‘We do! I know the annexe is tiny but if you move that coffee table under the window there should be just enough room.’
‘Might be more comfortable than twisting yourself into knots on the sofa,’ I say, and then I’m immediately flooded by regret when Bram’s eyes dart back to mine.
I feel like I’ve confessed something. My cheeks burn with embarrassment, and he looks away, up at the ceiling and then down at the floor, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.
He takes a deep breath and then blows it out all at once.
‘I want it known that I don’t feel comfortable at all with invading your space,’ he says, a note of acceptance in his voice now.
His phone rings and he swipes to silence it, his eyes piercing mine again.
‘But,’ he continues, more slowly, ‘I’m going to say yes.
Mainly because I’ve got no other choice. ’
W?adek beams a big, toothy grin at me. ‘It’s awfully good of you, Lucy.’
Bram chances a smile too, and though his is more guarded, it’s no less grateful. ‘I’ll stay out of your hair as much as I can,’ he says. His voice is warm, genuine. ‘And thank you.’
‘You’re a lifesaver,’ Peggy says, and the look on her face, on all of their faces, actually, makes me warm with satisfaction.
It’s a familiar feeling. I’m not good at a lot of things, but I’m good at making people happy.
I mean, some might say I sacrifice my own needs to achieve it, but that’s just me.
Lucy Partridge: people-pleaser extraordinaire.
I mean, hey, what’s the worst that could happen? Ok fine, the worst that could happen is that everyone’s wrong about him and he murders me and buries me in the garden to spend eternity under the watchful gaze of that bloody vampire statue, but that’s just my stupid imagination talking.
Everything will be fine. It’s just one weekend.