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

out. After what happened this summer, it’s our responsibility to look out for signs of post-traumatic stress. And we need to check your living arrangements. How would it make us look if the ovum organi was being neglected?”

“She’s going from strength to strength.”

“Then invite us in. Otherwise we’ll access it another way.”

“You don’t have the right to come over without my permission, doctor.”

Fia smiled. “We do, Norah. Ova organi are our property. Its function is our business. As are you.”

I was struck between wanting to please the woman who held the keys to our happiness and wanting to slap her across her skinny and patronising face. A motherly embrace could quickly have turned to rage, my claws pulling tufts of fake, blonde hair from their roots.

The bald man was waiting for me to do something. He leant forward and pulled a notebook and pen from his pocket. He clicked the pen five times before speaking and something in my head lurched.

“So, if we send an appointment for just after New Year, you’ll be there? And your manager will make sure you have the time off?” He peered at Markus over his glasses. Markus nodded, his eyes closed. He swallowed a lump.

“Brilliant news. I’ll come along to that too. We can discuss any need for a residential stay at Easton Grove in January. Lots of members benefit from that. I’ll bring a key, so we can let ourselves in, yes? We’re family after all,” Fia said, tapping on her tablet. “Speaking of family, how’s Arthur doing?”

I wasn’t stupid, Fia was leading me down some alley. The bald man was still staring at me, his face expressionless apart from the odd glance up at Markus, twitching in his seat.

“Why?” I said.

“Norah,” Fia replied, her face all open with mock surprise. “You’re not usually so abrupt – is something going on at home?”

What do you want?

“He’s doing just fine. We’re doing fine. All open, honest,” I spat my last words, “like in the contract. Cut us and we bleed the same bronze.”

Fia sat back in her chair and spoke slowly. “Do you need any tips from us on keeping everything nice and sweet? Perhaps for his Christmas gifts? When we spoke to him recently he didn’t sound very–”

“No, Fia. Stop now.” I stood up, my words loud, and I knew I’d made a mistake. In a split second, the bald man was on his feet too, towering almost a whole foot over me. For a mad moment, I actually had to stop myself from reaching out and touching his skull or even clasping that hot dome in my palm. I think I just wanted to remind myself of his vulnerability, his humanity. After all, like all of us, he was just blood, bones and a heart. He wasn’t just a hired goon – he would have had a family, a home. But instead, I sat down again, my knees melting beneath my weight. Fia cleared her throat.

“Anyway,” she breezed, as if the last minute hadn’t just happened, “while we’re here, we wanted to give you your Christmas gift. From Easton Grove, to you.” She nodded at Markus, who caught her signal despite his eyes still being closed. Perhaps they weren’t closed, but just appeared that way through puffiness? Markus began to speak, his voice hoarse and mechanical.

“An opportunity has come up, and it’s perfect for you. It’s about time you moved up the ladder. It’s more responsibility. More pay. More prospects. Are you ready?”

Up the ladder? Here? Up the ladder. Up the ladder into the loft at Stokers. My own dark loft, with a hatch that opens at my keepers’ bequest. Moving upstairs was moving into darkness, not the light.

Escape. Escape. Gush out honesty. For once, honesty.

“I- I don’t know,” I blurted. Fia was eyeing me up like a meal. “I’ve been thinking of something else,” I said. “Something creative. My mum was a painter, she was really good. I think I’d like to do some classes. Maybe see how good I get, get some advice.”

The three of them stared at me. Fia’s eyebrows merged with her hairline. Dark patches ate Markus’ shirt.

“But Norah,” Fia laughed, “that doesn’t sound very stable, does it? How far do you expect to get with that? It’s too late for you to start again.”

“I’ll just do an evening class,” I whispered. “This might be the thing I’m actually good at. Something creative, like Arthur.” I tried to smile. “If anyone here has time, surely it’s me.”

I plucked the words I used like fish from a pond. But I could tell from their faces I’d gone too far, strayed too close to the deep waters. They knew me, what I was made of, what I tasted like.

Fia spoke slowly. “It might be that we can arrange a night class for you. A hobby class. But I think that’s as far as that’ll go. Norah, you’re our shining example of what members of the Grove are capable of. We all want to be proud of you. Make us proud of you.”

She reached across and placed her hand over my offered heart. It was almost… romantic. She stroked my knuckle with her thumb, back and forwards, back and forwards. Was it love?

“I’ll try,” I whispered.

“I- I think you’ll like it.” Markus stuttered, shuffling his papers with an eye on Fia and the man in blue. On top of the pile was a dull grey envelope with the bronze ankh and Markus’ name on it. The paper looked wrinkled, damp, as if it’d been clenched in sweaty hands. Everyone was watching me, waiting for me to make my next move in the game.

“What is it you want me to do?”

“You’ll be managing the staff on this floor, the clerks who process small claims. You’ve got enough experience of the day-today, anyway.” Markus laughed, his face a shining ruby. The papers under his hands were softening in the damp, becoming waves on his desk.

“But Markus,” I said. “Isn’t that your job?