Composite Creatures by Caroline Hardaker (best story books to read .TXT) 📗

my local bookseller and all that.” She held up the photo to me with her eyebrows raised, “And by the way – cringe.”

I became very aware of Aubrey, still standing silently in the passageway just outside the dining room. Right then I wanted to snatch the photo from Eleanor’s hand and burn it. Instead, I spun Art on his heel.

“This is Aubrey.”

I’d told him a bit about Aubrey, but not all of it. The old stuff. He didn’t question that the stories stopped when Art and I met, or that I hadn’t seen her while he’d known me. I’d told him that we’d made different choices, which was true, and that we hadn’t fallen out, which wasn’t true.

He knew she’d be the most difficult to melt, so he reached out for her hand rather than her whole body in a bear hug. She took his hand with a stiff smile, inspecting him like a mannequin in a ghost train or a fun house, one that might all of a sudden jump into motion. I’d seen that look before. She watched him like he was an animal.

Art didn’t seem to notice. “I’ve heard lots about you, more than these losers.”

Eleanor tutted dramatically, sipping her wine with a pinkie outstretched. Rosa’s head flicked left and right between Art and Aubrey, biting her lip so hard that she’d turned it white. For a moment we were all caught in a freeze-frame, waiting for the drama to break. Aubrey let out a sharp little breath. “I’ve heard lots about you too. I’ve brought you a present.”

After a “blink-and-you’d-miss-it” glance at me, Aubrey handed Art a purple gift bag with a dangling “New Home” tag. Art delved into the bag and retrieved a little potted plant with fat pink leaves which sat spread-eagled upon the soil.

“It’s an echeveria, a succulent,” Aubrey said. “They’re the hardest houseplant to kill apparently. No stress.”

Art handed me the plant and embraced Aubrey, “Sounds perfect.” She let him hug her but she didn’t move a muscle, as unyielding as an oak. In my hands the cactus called out for water with a shrill little cry only I heard. I prodded the dry and crispy soil. To distract myself from the lurching feeling in the pit of my stomach I headed to the sink and turned on the cold tap, thrusting the plant beneath it. Over Art’s shoulder Aubrey spotted what I was doing, and pushed him away.

“No – don’t water it too much, they like to be dry.”

Crap. I quickly pulled the pot from under the tap but the soil was already soaking. I couldn’t believe what I’d done. How could I be so stupid as to assume I knew what to do? Perhaps I’d already killed the thing, and I’d only had it a matter of seconds. Art pressed at the dirt with his fingertips. “It’s fine, it just needs to dry out. Stick it on the windowsill and let’s go for a tour. I’ll be the guide.”

“Just give me a minute. I’ll fix this.” I turned the pot over, squeezing out every drop of water I could with my fingers, as water began to leak from my own eyes. The four of them had already left me behind. One of the fleshy pink leaves fell with a soft thump into the sink.

I placed the cactus in the middle of the kitchen windowsill and dropped the lost leaf in the composting tub. I turned back to the empty kitchen, wiped the smudges from under my eyes, and listened to Art’s laughter in the study upstairs.

* * *

By the time Art brought everyone back to the dining room, I’d set the table with my homemade starters and lit some candles, the sort that burn with a rose-tinted flame. Everyone looked impressed enough with my hosting skills that I felt a little bit buoyed up again, and I moved around the group, flamboyantly pouring wine from the wrist like a butler on TV. Everyone accepted a top-up except Aubrey who clung to the wall, fiddling with the collar of her shirt.

We sat around the romantically lit table and began to talk in turn. Mostly stories about “work gone wrong”, or the minor catastrophes in the lives of friends-of-friends that always seem funny when you’re not involved. We kept it light, and skimmed dialogue across the table like pebbles across a pond. I hid my left hand underneath the table, and kept my stones for strategic throws. It seemed like a betrayal of the reality of things to talk about fluff when there was meat hiding beneath the oak.

Aubrey laughed along with Eleanor and Rosa but stayed leaning back in her seat, hands hidden like my own. While I found it impossible to catch her eye, Art tried repeatedly to hook her in, asking her questions about me, how I’d been at university, how I’d been when we’d lived together. Nothing Aubrey said back to him was ever rude, or short or blunt – but somehow she managed to kill each conversation with a few soft words. You had to admire her skill to create an answer impossible to reply to each time, but it also struck me as incredibly unfair. I knew she’d find this hard, but she was being cruel to a man that didn’t deserve her bitterness. That was the truth of it, and I tasted her spite on the sharp tip of my tongue.

It would’ve been too much to share my newest news. I was still in shock myself. The ring had pulled me back to a particular night last spring, and I just didn’t have the strength to argue this time. Not with everyone watching. Not on a night when we should all be looking towards the future. A new year, and a new beginning. No. I’d let the snow fall on that night.

I looked up from the table straight into Rosa’s pink eyes. She lifted her glass and drained the last few drops between