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PART TWO
Simple things like eggs can change a day. Fried eggs. Scrambled. Omelette. Today was poached. Eggs beaten with hot butter. In the right ratio made hollandaise. Two toasted crumpets. Ham. Eggs. Drizzled on gold.
Mr Rickson had made a masterpiece. He remembered Jeremy coming down as a teen. Sleepy. Not wanting to go to school. Moody. But always at ease at breakfast. Wolfing down his eggs.
A mirage. Ronnie sat at the table. It was 5 AM. She’d been waking up at 4 because of those damn skeletons. She was minding her own damn business when they stretched their boney fingers out from under the soil. Grabbing. Grinding. Ronnie’s ankle. Dragging her to the depths until her skin and muscles were ripped off. Waking. Gasping.
“You still having those nightmares?” Mr Rickson asked.
“I’m still coming over at 5 aren’t I?” She laughed.
Eyes pink. Creases. But otherwise well kempt. Brown hair in a pony. Tanned skin all year round. Pastel clothes. Beige today. Slumped in the kitchen chair.
“You look fancy…” She said, “why the sudden change?”
Mr Rickson. Trimmed white beard. Twirled moustache. Crisp white shirt. Tweed jacket. Crossed brown pants held by red suspenders. And a bolo tie. He looked at least five years younger.
“Because I have to be ready to be inspirational.”
Ronnie smiled and looked down at the table. Looking back up. If anyone could be inspirational she was betting on him.
The last couple of weeks were rough. Tired Velmora. The Sevord riots ended but its ramifications were rippling. Mr Rickson was worried about Carey and Lena. His godchildren. Ronnie too was a young person he wanted to help. She was more sure of herself. Less ambitious, but wanted things too.
Mr Rickson fought in the Great Civil War. Nearly 40 years ago. There was a division In the population of Velmora and its neighbouring region of Holden. Now New Holden. They were part of one rule. King Redbahn IV. He was royal shit. A heaping pile.
But they lost.
Being on the wrong side of the war meant prison. Mr Rickson had a family bookstore to return to. Rotting. Dilapidated. Nature and rats invading. A thirty-five year old man working solo. Building a calm space with bare hands. His son born five years later. Emma died in childbirth. She was one of the good eggs. Taught him how to cook. Every recipe was hers. Well… Until he got creative.
Jeremy was with her now. Buried in the crypts below the city. Resting.
In the mirror. Mr Rickson adjusted his fedora. Slick. Brown. With a feather.
“Let’s open for business,” he smiled.
Ronnie nodded. Washing up her plate. Karl and Lena would be coming soon.
One night stand. Messy blonde. Flushed cheeks. Lost underwear. Spaghetti-strap dress. Aquamarine. Cut off at the knees. A denim jacket with fluff to keep her warm on the blue morning. Sophia Langston.
Karl prayed to his God. A line of blue liquid on his forehead. Water and food colouring. What he wanted more than anything was love. To be loved. And to love another. He showered. Not looking at his heavy-set body in the mirror. Purified. He called his mother in New Holden.
“Mom, you really do make the best chocolate muffins… Please bring some next week I beg of you,” he laughed.
Gold bangle on. Glimmer. Prayed for his family.
Sophia stepped out into the morning. He was still snoring. Him - satisfied. Her - relieved. The lovemaking was really… a tad unorthodox. Coffee in hand from North Stop. Sweet. Caramel. Sipping life into her bones.
Karl walked past her in the street. Double taking. She hadn’t seen him. He turned.
“Sophia!” He said.
A tad frazzled. She turned. Her eyes focused on Karl. He jogged up to her. Breathy.
“How are you?” He asked.
Sophia blinked, “I’m well Karl.”
Usually they’d chat about her opera performances or new book recommendations. Karl hoped.
“Do you maybe possibly want to get a bite to eat sometime?” He asked.
“Oh sure…” she said, “But I must be heading off… Goodbye Karl…”
The wind made her fringe flop. Un-showered. Makeup smudged. Karl had seen her like that. All yucky… She called a Taxi.
Lena dropped off by Dad. He was taking time off.
“I’ll pick you up at 6…” he said, thumbing her cheek.
This was the new normal. It wasn’t safe to walk around in Velmora. Well… At least when it was dark. Lena sighed.
Ronnie was in the bookstore. She had broken a mug and was sweeping. Eye contact. Lena.
Lena looked away. Bruised. She put her bag in the back. Mr Rickson looked like a million dollars.
“Mr Rickson… You look great,” Lena said.
Sharp fedora with a feather. Wry smile.
“I have an announcement to make soon - when Karl arrives, I’ll say it…”
An announcement? What could this mean?
Ronnie finished with the mug. A drop of magma in her soul. Lena. She used to look up to Ronnie. When did she go rotten? It was that boy… That fucker…
“Ronnie?”
Ronnie turned. Lena.
“I’m sorry… Can we go back to —“
Ronnie hugged Lena. Holding her tight. She was Lena. Her Lena.
Jingle! The door opened and Karl entered. He caught them hugging.
Finally.
“It was about time you two stopped,” he smiled.
They laughed. Tears in crevices.
Mr Rickson stepped out. A smile on his face.
“I have an announcement… Rook Books are going to help the next generation.”
A large truck pulled up in front of the store. A young man with stubble and a leather jacket swung out.
“Next stop - Velmora Elementary School.”
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