I don't own LWD. I don't own the lyrics to Twilight. Dawn Landes does, and she's a genius.
(It feels so luxurious to have been able to write two chapters this weekend. I do like all my reviewers and just want to say thanks once again, even those of you who are getting impatient! That's what I'm like when I read your stories probably. But hey, there's a kind of pleasure in taking things slow too, don't you agree?)
Previously: Derek groaned. Why did he always have be so despicably predictable? Why couldn't he, just for once, have left school at the end of a week without pursuing his absurd quest to date a girl who would, finally and irrevocably, engage both his thoughts and his physical reactions in the same way as the passionate, exacting woman in the next room? But on Friday he had known nothing of magnificent paper letters, unexpected guests, Sunday blues or secret silver linings.
Chapter Seven - Twilight
'What took you so long?' Nora hiss-whispered at George as he opened the front door to usher their guests into the house. He rolled his eyes, indicating the group standing behind him on the porch.
Cornelia Richardson and her husband stepped forward to greet Nora and explain, 'We were caught up in the most awful bureaucracy, Nora! You can hardly imagine the kinds of formalities we had to go through before they'd allow us to get what remains of the car towed. These provincial officials are so ridiculous! You see, what caused the crash was that we hit something, and we weren't sure what it was because it just kept on going on and into the darkness of the woods. You'd have thought they'd be sympathetic, but you should have seen their faces!' Cornelia shuddered and her husband added, 'But of course the police saw the blood and kept us all there to give statements. Now we have no chance of making it to Toronto till tomorrow.'
They were both loud, confident people, used having their own way. Nora wilted under Cornelia's glare.
The other four visitors, Cornelia's mother Elsie-May, and the three Vernons from Oxford, England, were a revelation. Elsie-May was as different from her daughter as Nora could have imagined, bony and aristocratic, with a fine long nose and a twinkle in her eyes. Although she was wearing walking clothes and carried a simple wooden cane, you could tell that she was used to a different life-style and regarded this whole escapade as a kind of exotic adventure, much in the manner of a Safari.
Audrey and Peter Vernon looked as if they had met in a pantomime. Petite and charismatic, she spoke in a strong Barbadian accent and shook her dreadlocks emphatically at Nora in acknowledgement of her kindness.
'Oh My! We never had intended to impose on you this way, my love, but Corny here just insisted you'd look after us! We didn't set out looking for trouble! Ain't that the truth!' Audrey seemed the friendliest of them all and very much at home, despite the new surroundings and lack of sleep. Corny? Nora almost giggled at her boss's silly nickname, but thinking of Tuesday, and the atmosphere if she allowed anything but her most professional demeanour to show, she kept her hilarity in check. George had to turn away to hide his amusement.
Peter, who looked like a typical Englishman, was fair-haired, exceedingly tall and forbiddingly silent, just nodded and shook hands with Nora before carrying two large suitcases into the hallway. And their son, Jack – Casey had composed herself completely by the time she heard their guests arrive – but when her mother introduced twenty-year old Jack Vernon to her she was suddenly jittery again. For he was not only soft-spoken and respectful in his demeanour, he was also one of the handsomest men Casey had ever met.
His intelligent black eyes assessed her rather obviously and seemed to find her a pleasing sight, for he laughed softly as they shook hands. She heard him mutter, 'Who would have thought...'
She couldn't quite take it all in, but before she knew it, Nora had asked her to show Jack and his parents to her room, which they would be using now that Derek had shifted all the furniture around to make space for two guest beds. Jack Vernon helped his father carry their luggage up the stairs, apologising to Casey as they climbed, 'We feel dreadful about moving you out of your room. This must feel like such an invasion of your weekend.' He had a strong, rich voice, almost like an actor, and didn't seem at all posh or distant like his father. Casey liked him immensely, and the fact that he wore spectacles put her at her ease, as it slightly hid his good looks.
'Oh Jack', his mother countered, making Casey laugh at her forthright manner, 'It's only for one night, and it's not like the girl is going to sleep on the streets or something! You young ones, where's your sense of adventure? When I was young none of us had a room of our own anyway, your Uncle Darren and Uncle Gavin and Aunt Callie and I all bunked together.'
Casey shuddered, imagining what it would be like in her household if all the siblings shared a room permanently. There would certainly be blood!
Knowing that they must be in need of refreshment or sleep or both, Casey left father and son in her room, showed Audrey the bathroom, handed out clean towels and then went downstairs to help Nora with what was proving to be a rather awkward conversation and an even more complicated preparation for the evening meal.
By five, when all the adults except her were seated around the dining table, Casey was quite exhausted: from trying to ensure George didn't reveal anything Nora had confided to him about her boss, in public or at least to her face; from taking stuff to Edwin, who was still feeling weak and feverish; from keeping Marti occupied and from trying to carry on a conversation with Jack Vernon about his home town, Oxford, which she had heard so much about.
She'd learned that he had hated his school, which hadn't been co-ed, but was now much happier studying Classics at a college called Christchurch. She listened to his descriptions of his fusty old tutors – the dons – with laughter, and envied the ease with which he said he could read both Latin and Greek. When he told her that one of his tutors had made a racist remark to him about his family in the first term, and that he had simply been too frightened to report the man, Casey was outraged.
'I would have shouted at him! I really would. I'd have reported him for you then and there,' She exclaimed. 'How dare he! Does he think we're in the nineteenth century?'
'Hmm, that's very kind of you to say, and rather brave. But Casey, perhaps it's easier to fight other people's battles than your own?' The young man had looked at her searchingly, and Casey had blushed, recognising the truth behind his words and feeling a little foolish. She wondered irrelevantly if he had a girlfriend, and if so what she felt when he looked at her like that.
'Do lots of the professors at your University think like that man did? I mean, do people still think about the colour of your skin in that way in England?' She had asked to escape from the moment. And they'd gotten into a conversation about attitudes to race in Canada and in Great Britain and even in English Literature, that made her feel that she hadn't thought long or hard enough about so many things in the real world and must seem horribly naïve and self centred, even to Emily. They continued conversing eagerly until Casey had to carry the dishes to the table and place the last of the chairs for Peter Vernon, who still, unsurprisingly, had barely opened his mouth. Cornelia was complaining about taxation and her mother was chipping in from time to time.
Lizzie and Marti retired to the lounge with bowls of noodles and the injunction not to spill on the couch. Casey sighed and sat down beside them, simply too tired to eat and listened with half an ear to Cornelia and her husband, now holding forth on their visit to Great Britain, where they had met the Vernons and become friends, over a decade ago.
Regretting the lack of space which prevented her sitting next to Jack to continue their discussion, Casey was nevertheless rather glad that she could get away from the group for a while, for she was beginning to wonder where Derek was. Thinking about him was becoming an addiction. She was lucky if she could go a few hours without doing so and God help her if she didn't get to see him soon.
She had seen him pull on his jacket a couple of hours ago and head out, after several hours hefting furniture around for Nora.
He had glanced at her as he left. She had felt his eyes on her, contemplative, as she conversed with Jack Vernon, and had turned to meet his glance, giving him the slightest of frowns, just to let him know that she knew he was there.
He had raised his eyebrows then, turning away, and slammed the door behind him.
Now it was evening, and he still wasn't back. Not that she had any right to expect he would be: apart from the fact that she had treated him like a stranger all day, he'd done more than enough for their guests already, and had helped her and Lizzie to rearrange their rooms. If he was trying to prove a point, then it was working. She suddenly didn't feel so sure that she was the more grown-up of the two of them, or that she was in the right and he in the wrong. Certainly his date must seem a lot more pleasant to him than her company.
Feeling sad as she always did when he wasn't around, and yet inexplicably more relaxed than when he was home, Casey leaned back on the couch with her eyes closed and a snippet of song that Derek had enigmatically played earlier in the day came back to her,
Another Starless night,
Another dim streetlight,
You turn your head just right
The street becomes a Sky
Shooting Stars go by
They spark and they die,
Mmm hmm hmm hmm hmm hmm
You love twilight
Twilight, twilight…
She hummed softly under her breath, returned unwittingly to the day when she'd first heard that song emanating from Derek's room.
At first she smiled. It was so un-Derek-like, with its slow melody and romantic lyrics. But she wasn't prepared for all the memories of dismay and misery that accompanied this slight acoustic foray and gasped as these swirled into her mind.
Although little had been said, it had felt like one of their worst fights ever, far more staining than any of Derek's pranks or her self-righteous reprimands, and completely suited to the bitterly cold winter's day on which it had occurred.
Sam had been round to hang out with Derek, she recollected, and after he'd left, Derek had made her a sandwich. Even now, recalling the unintended insult of that gesture, she snorted. In her head, on that morning, her annoyance had seemed perfectly reasonable and justified. First he smirks to Edwin about his date the previous evening, impervious to the nervous stupor his actions have been putting her into; and then he makes her a sandwich. As if that would compensate her for all the sleepless nights lying awake torturing herself thinking about him and all his other dates. As if being nice is somehow the pinnacle of what he feels he can offer her! She'd been like that for months, ever since her fateful sponsored hike.
When he'd stood in front of her holding out the tray, his body graceful and languid as ever, his eyes dancing with what seemed to be a sense of his own wonderfulness – was that even a word? – her outrage had found expression in a single monosyllabic repulse.
And then she'd left the untouched tray outside her room, a deliberate rejection of his overture and his angry words.
So, first he made her think about him day and night in the way no sister should ever have to think about her brother nor any other relative for that matter, and then he wanted to be her family? She'd show him. That was how she'd been thinking when she set the tray down.
But then, as always with Casey when it came to her wayward stepbrother, she had found herself unable to sustain the anger or the sulk that accompanied it; had, in fact, had a whole turn of conscience and decided to remedy the situation by cooking him dinner. After all, it was Christmas week, it was snowing, and the rest of the family were away. All they had was each other, so why not try to get along. Just for an evening. Besides, she'd started to feel just a little guilty for turning the triumph of sandwich delivering joy into a crushing exercise in humiliation. If Derek had understood the meaning of the untouched food, then he would be hurt. And even if he had hurt her by dating, and flaunting it, she still didn't want to hurt him back. Oh God, no. She really didn't ever want to hurt him at all.
And so, feeling chastened and not a little hungry, Casey had descended to the kitchen and switched on the lights only to find that the power had suddenly deserted them. Not put off by this, she had cooked meatballs and spaghetti in the gathering gloom, lighted candles, set the dining table. Her apron was tied in a neat double bow around her waist and she had on the same wine red dress she'd donned in the morning. She'd washed her face and done her hair. Outside it was snowing more heavily. Her heart had been thumping in anticipation.
Just as she'd been about to call out to him from downstairs, he'd come down himself, dressed warmly as if he were about to go out. He sped through the kitchen and the lounge as if on a mission, stopping only to ask her curtly, 'expecting company?' as he'd zipped up his coat and wrapped his scarf.
'Yes, since you ask', she'd told him, leaning against the kitchen counter, white faced, her knees shaking, slim hands clasped behind her. She would not allow her humiliation to show.
'Have fun then. And don't expect me back tonight.' He'd opened the door and gusts of wind had slung crisp snowflakes into the hall.
She didn't dare voice the anxiety that sprang to her heart, the arguments that came to her lips: in this snow? Will you drive safely? You're not supposed to be out all night. What will George say? I don't want to be alone in this house all night in this weather. And of course: where are you going… who are you going to meet?
As Derek had shut the door, she had let go of the counter and sunk to her knees, wrapping her trembling arms around herself. In her head she kept saying, 'I deserved that. I did. I started it. It's my fault. He really hates me. I've got to call Emily. At least Emily loves me.' And then she could barely form a coherent thought, because the crying had begun and totally engulfed her.
Utterly unsuspecting about the effect his actions were having on her, ten minutes later Derek had stepped back into the hallway. He'd tried to start the Prince a dozen times and failed. It wasn't worth asking Sam to come pick him up in this weather, so he'd texted him 'rain check', rather glad that their evening together with Sam's girlfriend and her cousin was off.
Feeling awkward about telling Casey he was going to stay in after all and spoil whatever fun she had set up for herself, he'd tiptoed to the kitchen to grab some food and take it to his room. He couldn't bear the thought of watching her with anyone else and he'd decided that after the rejection of his overtures earlier he wasn't about to have his ego bitten again by offering to bear her company until her date arrived.
And so it was that he'd almost stumbled over her sobbing form as she lay curled on the icy floor, wet curls sticking in confusion to her cheeks, apron still on. Casey could still remember how dizzyingly brown his eyes had looked with the candlelight reflected in them as he peered down at her in confusion and fear.
'Oh God, Case! Are you ill?' was all he'd asked. And, mortified beyond belief by the gratitude flooding her soul, she'd simply nodded, and allowed him to lift her gently from the floor.
There'd been no explanations and no further talk. Derek had helped Casey into bed and covered her with her blankets, sitting easily beside her and stroking her hair until she'd fallen asleep.
He'd returned downstairs and fiddled around in the fuse box until he got the power back on. Then, true to form, he'd filled two plates with the delicious looking dinner Casey had prepared and wolfed them down in comfort as he watched old reruns of his favourite shows on television. She knew this, because when she'd come down at dawn to get something to eat she'd found him asleep in his chair, the empty plates on the floor beside him, and the TV flickering in the gloom. The candles, like her hopes, had all burned down by then.
'Casey! Where are you!' Casey started back into the present, glad to be rid of that depressing memory. Marti and Lizzie were peering at her in amusement. They'd finished their noodles and were asking her if she wanted to eat. Apparently, Nora had been calling her for ten minutes. Brushing herself down and adjusting her hair, she stepped self-consciously towards their guests and began to help Nora clear away. Jack asked her a serious question in a most pleasant voice and she began to tell him about her school, and what she was hoping to do in the future; but they were soon distracted by their parents, and particularly Cornelia, demanding to know what they were going to do for the rest of the evening and why 'the young ones were always off in a corner'.
Elsie-May suggested that they might play cards, and so to George's dismay, they all found themselves in the lounge, learning the rules to some obscure English card game. As Jack knew it well, he agreed to partner with Nora for the evening. Casey excused herself, saying she needed to study, and went to check on Edwin, whose bed had been moved into the basement with Nora and George for the night. When she was satisfied that his fever was coming down, Casey began to wonder where she was to go for the next few hours. Her room was crammed with the Vernons' luggage, its fresh lavender smell mingling with her own perfume. Lizzie's room was equally out of bounds, and although all her books were now on Derek's desk, she felt uneasy sitting in his room when he wasn't there. It would only make her wonder more fiercely where he was and whom he was with.
Seeing everyone seemingly pleasantly involved in the game - except George, who was casting longing looks at his case files - Casey donned her cardigan and slipped out onto the porch in the cool spring air.
Twilight was her favourite time of day. Everything was drenched in a mysterious honey-like sheen; it was chilly but not so cold that she was in any discomfort. Wrapping her arms around herself, she stared out across the drive, thinking of the wording she would use in her apologetic refusal letter to the University. As if they would want to know, or particularly care for her real reasons. They'd probably think she'd found an even better place to study. And strangely, since she'd made her decision, she felt as if she had indeed found at least a modicum of calm, and a better place to be, because all the tension of knowing she was going to be separated from Derek was now at bay. At least her unresolved feelings for him would not now need to be destroyed in honour of her eagerness to study literature. What was literature if she didn't have peace of mind?
As if on cue, she heard an engine, and Derek parked the Prince, completely spoiling her view in a miasma of metal and smoke. She had a chance to look at him, though, before he saw her, and she realised that he was smiling to himself in a most peculiar manner, as if in anticipation of something that only he understood the value of. And it was a real smile, not his frequent self-satisfied smirk. He started when he saw her, as if she'd been in his thoughts as he was in hers; then he lowered himself onto the porch step beside her and asked in a companionable voice,
'Lover boy gone to bed?'
Instead of taking umbrage at this sneering reference to Jack Vernon, Casey sensed the jealousy which fuelled it and replied sensibly, 'You should chat to him. He's really smart and nice. You'd like him.'
'I would?'
'That's what I think.'
'What did you guys talk about? I take it he's not a hockey fan?' Derek asked, genuinely curious.
'Literature, our different countries, racist professors.'
'Really? Wow. He really is smart then. Did you find your rose-coloured view of the world a little dented, Princess?'
'Um hm. Oh, I mean, no.' Casey thought about what Derek had just asked her. It was a good question, and deserved a proper answer, even though the person asking it had just been on a date. With someone else.
Making a mental note to ask him what film he'd seen, she replied,
'Actually, it did make me think about all the things I just take for granted. I've never talked to Emily about what she feels in all these years. I don't notice people's colour or their origins, so I just assume that that is how everyone in our generation is. And of course, it's not true.'
' Space Case! Even I can't believe you're that naïve. Don't you even watch the news? Have you any idea how badly some people get treated or how it's always the same old reasons why nothing changes? Or let me think, it's not as easy to be keen about vile things, is it?' Derek's tone was slightly bemused.
A fresh breeze had picked up and Casey shivered. He was right to be surprised at her. She was beginning to feel that books, discipline and intelligence were not the only ways one could learn about the important things in life. Derek took off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. Casey glanced at him, then looked at her watch. It was past eight.
'We'd better go in'. Her cheeks were glowing from their conversation. Derek had all but scolded her and yet she felt as if he'd paid her some huge and delicate compliment.
'I'd rather we just stayed out here.' She caught him looking down at her with open warmth, his marvellous lips slightly quirked, and his eyes darker than usual; she found herself smiling in response, trying not to stare too openly at his mouth. Out here it felt as if they were really alone, just the two of them, and not embedded in the context which sometimes pushed them to quarrel or despise each other. Out here they could almost taste the unspoken desire that flavoured all their mundane interactions.
'I know what you mean. That Richardson woman sets my teeth on edge. But we should probably go in, at least to help put the kids to bed.'
'Typical, Casey. Too soft to live.' He said teasingly but there was no malice in his voice.
Twilight had faded to complete dusk. Clasping her hand he pulled her to her feet, both of them studiously avoiding eye contact as an undercurrent of pleasure and agitation ran between them. Casey suddenly realised that perhaps the night with Derek and her and Lizzie and Marti was going to be an adventure after all. And she shivered in anticipation, suddenly and intuitively aware what Derek had been smiling about when she first caught sight of him.
Now, dear readers, don't yell at me. I don't know when I can update, but the next chapter is already written in my head, so you know what's coming when I do. Truly Dasey!
