PART THREE: THE FOX
Nicky's P.O.V
xXx
The line of coke Nicky Belmont had recently snorted made her head swim with an alarming haze. Unquestionably, that could have been the blunt she was diligently puffing on, or the half empty bottle of beer still clutched in her hand, but she was at least aware enough to know it was one of those three things that had momentarily span her world off its axis. But what a glorious tail spin into destruction and chaotic beauty it was. Every nerve firing in all directions, every hair on stand, colours vivid and flashing, and god, she had never felt so alive!
Or, perhaps, it was the bright afternoon sun, the sound of music blaring out from stereo by the back-garden door, or maybe, just maybe, it was Craig's hands gently stroking her waist. All Nicky truly knew was she felt Good. Better than good. High, and flying, and lofty, as light as breath and as bright as a star and her favourite song was making the air move in such a wonderful way…
"I think that's enough for you."
Craig said as he seized what was left of her beer, swirling the brown liquid around in the glass bottle, before he downed it, plucking the half smoked joint from her lax fingers, the tip flaring a bright orange as he inhaled. Nicky only giggled as she flopped back into the cushioned deck chair, eyes trailing to the large pool, watching the water glisten as the sunbeams danced across its rippling face. She felt as if she was made up of that very shine herself, sparkling and blinding. Deran, Craig's brother, was sitting on the diving board, dressed only in his swim shorts, hair still wet from his early morning surf, feet soaking in the blue, as he too took a drag from a joint. Everything was bright, everything was peaceful, everything was perfect. And then the patio doors slid open.
"Yeah, I know the place."
J came tumbling out from the house, kicking on his shoes as he pressed his cell phone to his ear by a raised shoulder. For a split moment, Nicky thought of getting up, going over, flinging her arms around him, pressing against him like she used to, skin to skin, sweat to sweat. Perhaps they would dance and twirl, she felt like she was spinning already, and she would laugh, and J would smile, and he would lift her up and the wind would blow her away and-
But then she saw him smile and something deep inside her sternum twanged at the sight. J was never one for smiling, not really, neither did he laugh much. However, when he did, it was a sharp thing, lively, ever so cutting, and warm. He used to smile at her that way, before… Before she started sleeping with his uncle behind his back. She had not seen that smile in such a long time, she had almost forgotten what it looked like. Now he was smiling freely, that same quick keen smile she had adored, at whoever was speaking on the other side of the phone and, yes, Nicky belatedly realised, she felt a little jealous when that smile was accompanied with a bout of raspy laughter.
"Well, if you get lost, honk like an owl and I'll find you… No, the beach isn't… What lighthouse?... Jesus, you're on the opposite side… No… Hahaha… Are you sure you don't just want to meet at the airpo-… Yes, that's the place, by the pier… Yeah, with the rock pools… Stay by the sign, I'll be there in twenty… Yeah, yeah… See you soon, bye."
With a quick jab of his thumb, the phone call was over, and yet… Yet J was still smiling. Finally managing to slip his sneakers on, J was heading towards the back gate with swift, sure strides. As he passed, Nicky tried to smile at him, grin as she once did, but he didn't even look her way. She wasn't feeling so light anymore, nor so bright. Instead she felt a little twisted, like a knot in a tree, all gnarled bark and crystalizing tree sap. So, she shouted at his retreating back.
"Hey, want to have a beer with us?"
J stopped and, as he often did, shoved his hands in the pocket of his hoody. He never turned to face her, and that twang in her chest became an ache. Perhaps it was the coke. Perhaps it was the weed. Perhaps it was the beer. It had to be something; Nicky wasn't used to feeling like this. As much as J wished she didn't, Nicky knew him. She knew him. He wrinkled his nose when he found something distasteful. He ran a hand through his hair when he was stressed. He looked to the floor when someone asked a question he didn't want to answer. And he was quick, intelligent, fast, like a fox, all wily eye and cunning tongue, and once upon a time, he used to be hers. Sometimes, very rarely, when she wasn't high, or stoned, or drunk, she still sort of wished he was. J was funny, kind, loving. But he was too much of that.
Nicky wanted adrenalin. She wanted risk. She wanted danger. She wanted the wolf, not the woodcutter. Or was it a lumberjack? What did it matter? She wasn't little red riding hood, she was the golden goose, the glittering egg with eternity in its yolk. She wanted, and wanted, and wanted, and dammit, she got it. She got what she wanted, and she always wanted more. This time, however, she didn't get what she wanted as J answered in a tight, clipped tone, any sign of that previous warmth lost and dead, ash in the air, polluting and suffocating.
"Can't. I'm busy."
Nicky sat up, slipping out of Craig's hold just a fraction.
"Oh, yeah? Who was that on the phone? Anybody I know? Any parties from school happening?"
Obviously, Nicky would know that already, if she had bothered to be in school for the last three weeks. Yet, school wasn't what she wanted. She wanted the coke that made her feel like she was made from fireworks. She wanted to bathe in the sun until her skin felt like it was brushed in gold. She wanted the groans and squeaks of a bed rocking, the light dark and dim, with Craig murmuring in her ear. But she also wanted J to look at her, really look at her, and smile, and talk, like they used to. And why couldn't she have both? Why was that wrong? J gave a noncommittal shrug of his shoulders.
"You wouldn't know her. She's my… Friend."
At last, J turned around, but, again, it wasn't to her. It never was lately. He looked at Deran, his eyes flickered to Craig, but they said nothing, did nothing. Deran was busy on his own phone and Craig was reclining beside her, smoking as he looked up to the sky, as if they didn't see the glint in J's eye, didn't hear the way he said friend, as if they didn't hear or see him at all, lost in their own worlds. But Nicky heard, and she saw, and suddenly, she was angry. Who was this she? A girlfriend? Had he really moved on so fast from her? Before she could say anything, Craig was cutting in, dashing the butt of the joint in the empty beer bottle by their side.
"Well, be back in time for dinner. Smurf wants a chat with us."
J gave a stiff nod and then he was gone, slinking out the back gate. Nicky flopped back into the deck chair, using Craig's bare arm as a pillow. Craig began to fiddle with her long brown hair, twisting it around his fingers, tugging playfully, as he watched the small clouds drift on by, and with the sun shining just right, the high of the coke slowly coming down, the anger fled. Still, the caution and curiosity remained.
Something was going on, Nicky knew it. Over the last two weeks, the few times Nicky had spotted J loitering around the house, he had been on the phone, chatting away, as if that wasn't odd enough, he was laughing and smiling and easy, too easy. J had never been easy with her. Before, she would notice him looking at her, watching sometimes, as she giggled and messed around with Craig, and now it was like she didn't even exist. It was a frigid, acidic sort of comprehension to come to. Normally, another bump would have wiped away any sort of unwanted feelings, replace them with that sparking euphoria, but, well, the stash was out, and Craig wouldn't be getting more until later. Rolling slightly to press against the long side of Craig, Nicky curled around him, grinning.
"Who was J talking to?"
Craig scoffed up at the big blue sky.
"How the hell am I meant to know?"
Nicky's gaze flickered to Deran, his golden hair shining, and she found him already looking at her, something unreadable in his green gaze. Still, he sounded friendly enough as he spoke, and Nicky was never one to dig deeper under the surface.
"Don't look at me. I don't have a clue."
Deran heaved himself off the jumping board, bare feet padding against slick, white stone as he made his way around the pool and into the house without any further word. In the end, Nicky shrugged it away, the high singing in her blood pulling her back under, and cuddled deeper into Craig's side.
PART FOUR: THE LION.
J's P.O.V
xXx
"Eleanora?"
J asked, almost timidly. She was sitting where she said she would be, right underneath the pier sign by the rock pools on the beach, facing the sea with her back to his face, no one else around, and still, he found himself needing to ask, unsure whether this was really happening, if she was really here. Of course, since that first phone call nearly three weeks ago, they had spoken regularly, daily virtually, but it still seemed so surreal to have her sitting right in front of him when, barely a while ago, she had seemed so very, very far away. A memory lost to time.
When Eleanora had asked if she could visit him just last week, he had been sure, so fucking certain, something would go wrong. Her flight would be cancelled. Something would come up. Family business would pull him away. Anything and everything, and yet, here she was, and still, he was sure this had to be the wrong person, an accidental misidentification, a little break taken at the wrong place at the wrong time because… Well, nothing ever really went right in J's life.
The woman's head slowly turned around, the hot sun painting her with a golden halo, as she brushed her hands off from the sand and came to a stand, swivelling to face him, and finally, J got a good look at her. She was dressed casually, just barely on the right side of lazy, in a set of torn light washed denim shorts, holey and ripped at the thigh, with a high necked white crop top, scarcely showing a sliver of taunt stomach, all of which was draped in a faded unbuttoned blue flannel, three sizes too big, one sleeve having fallen down, leaving ivory shoulder open and bare, frayed cuffs rolled to elbow, and there, on her shuffling feet, was a pair of bleached tennis shoes. It was an odd assortment of clothes, some of it old, none of it matching, some a little battered, and yet, she made it work somehow.
And just like her clothes, her features were an odd match, and yet, seamless. Her flaming red hair, a bursting mane of curls and coils, exploded down around her, the soft breeze catching the rebellious locks at her waist. Those, if ever, were Pope's curls, and although he was dark auburn, she had likely inherited the ginger gene from their mother's twin. Her features were sleek but sharp, all feline refinement, brows arching high, a strange gnarly scar splitting one in two, raising up through her forehead, nearly touching base in her hairline, nose sloping elegantly, cheekbones cutting with a delicate jaw, lips full, but all softened to fairy like mischief with the splattering of taupe freckles mapping across her pale skin. And her eyes… J had never seen such green eyes before, though Deran shared the same shade, if not the brilliant lustre. Not even her strange glasses, big and round with silver frames, could hide or dampen them.
Red, green, white, she was a clash of colour, a burst of light, summer wrapped in skin and flesh with gold dusted right on top. And all J saw, really saw, was the gummy smile of a green-eyed ginger baby looking up at him as it dribbled and cooed. J had not remembered that before, had only his photos to fall back on, and even now, he was not completely convinced the little flash of an image flaring on the back of his eyelids was a memory at all. Yet he saw it all the same, he remembered it, and, most importantly, he felt it. Especially when the woman in front of him smiled widely, flushing pink, chin tilting proudly, and with that hair, she was almost, somehow, both this woman, a lion cast in amber and jade, as well as the baby he had always pictured her to be.
"Just Nora. I'm guessing you're Joshua?"
Nora had a thick English accent, voice huskier than he first thought it would be, but there, lurking between her words, was a soft lilt of a Scottish roll that had not translated well over the phone calls. It gave her a natural joviality. There were many things to say and ask in that moment, too many, in fact. How was your flight? Where have you been? Are you okay? Has life treated you well? Who adopted you? Where did you grow up? Did she, perhaps, remember him? Their mum? Even just a little? Perhaps a smell, or a noise, or a certain colour? Instead of asking any of this, or welcoming her, J found himself parroting her back.
"Just J, actually."
J winced, and he could see Nora's smile fracture just a little bit, a tiny tremble to her bottom lip that spoke of her valiantly trying to hold it in place. The air, as it often was, was hot, but it also felt heavy, solid, oppressive. J had never been a very social individual. He was too blunt, too serious, and frankly, people didn't often interest him enough to warrant the effort or energy needed to navigate social necessities. Still, he had never thought it to be much of a problem before. Until now, when everything felt tight, hefty, so fucking unsure and unsteady. Nora's grin flashed brighter, and idly, J noted that she also had Pope's dimples.
"No offence, but I was expecting someone taller."
J cocked a brow, deliberately scanning her from head to toe with a slow, sweeping gaze.
"Really? Coming from someone your size?"
The bubble of hesitant strain burst like a balloon being stomped on as the two laughed. Before J knew it, they were meeting in the middle, smashing like a tide on a rocky shore, hugging. Nora smelled like coffee, candy, the cheap kind packed full of sugar, with a freshness that reminded J of the air right after a thunder storm. It reminded him of home. Not Smurf's place, nor the tiny apartment their jacked mother had died in, no corporeal place on earth. It was that feeling, of smiles and sunshine, back when Julia had tried, back when he was innocent and young, carefree, and Nora, sitting in these very sands, with chocolate smeared across her babbling mouth, used to giggle at the faces he pulled. J embraced her harder, her wild hair tickling his chin as he rested it on the crown of her head.
"It's good to see you again."
Nora hugged back just as hard, and despite being tiny, delicate looking even, she had some fucking strength in her.
"You too… You too."
Nora whispered over his shoulder, where her face barely met, voice feathery but potent, punctuating it with a sound clap on the back. J had been unsure about all this. Getting in touch with the adoption agency, the phone calls, the steadfast yes he had given before she had even finished her sentence when she had asked to visit, all of it. And why wouldn't he be? So much time had passed, they were practically strangers, he was no longer a naive little child, so many things could go wrong… But god fucking dammit, this was his sister, his little sister, and it felt right. It was right.
Eventually, they pulled apart and Nora, unceremoniously, dropped back down into the sand, kicking up a little dust cloud, as she patted the empty space beside her. J lowered himself down, both turning to face the great sea before them, elbows resting on bent knees. This time, the chatter came easy, fluent and sure.
"So, how long are you staying?"
Nora gave a little shrug.
"For a while. I've rented one of those little beach huts out on the ocean front. I've never been to America before, so I thought I might as well enjoy the ocean and sun as much as I can. Do you live around here?"
J jerked his head off to the side.
"Yeah, just up the hill and down fifth avenue. You can't miss the place, it's at the very top."
Nora dragged her gaze away from the sea, a bunch of surfers bobbing along a cresting wave nothing but shadowed dots from this far back. Frivolously, J tried to count them.
"Do you still live with mum and dad?"
J froze.
"I… Nora, mum… Mum is dead."
J had meant to tell her, he really had. Yet, while they talked a lot over the phone daily, the conversations had always been light, a little shallow, full of how's your day been and up to much's, and it had never felt like the right time to just blurt it out. Nora had never asked before either, possibly, like him, wanting to keep the conversations cheerful and carefree, especially when they were only just getting to know each other again, not quite ready to tackle the hundred and one heavy questions precariously dangling over their heads, perhaps a little afraid of the answers, and J had never pushed or tried to steer the conversation into murkier or deeper depths.
"Shit… Sorry, I didn't think. I just-"
J cut her off sharply.
"No, no. It's fine. You have nothing to apologize for. I wanted to tell you, I really did, but it just didn't seem right to do so over the phone, and then you said you could visit, and, well, I thought it was better to tell you face to face."
Silence fell upon them, resolute, and J wondered how Nora was feeling. Maybe she had always suspected this was the case, or maybe, because the contact letter had only mentioned his name, she had thought their mother wanted nothing to do with her, Julia had given her up after all, or maybe, just maybe, in this messed up situation, like him, she didn't know how the fuck to go about things and was just trying to wing it, hoping for the best. After all, it wasn't everyday you discovered you were adopted with a whole other family out there. Did she even know their mother was called Julia? Did she know about her uncles? Her grandmother?
No. She was here now, right now, and they had time, and J would tell her all of it, the good and the bad, show her if she wanted. There was no need to rush. Easy baby steps. That was the way to do it. Like breathing. In. Out. Easy. Nora opened her mouth once, closed it, twice, closed it, before she was drifting back to the sea, nibbling on her lip. Finally, Nora broke the deafening silence.
"How did-… How did she die?"
J scratched the back of his head.
"Mum was an addict. She, uh… She overdosed."
Nora nodded slowly, sluggishly, processing that glorious little tid-bit of information. J wished he had a better story to tell, perhaps of a medic saving some one's life with unforeseen consequences, or a tragic car crash, but, well, the truth was what it always was, brutal and harsh and never anything like a story. Oh, J knew Julia had loved them, in some form or shape, she had loved them deeply. Nevertheless, Julia had loved heroin just that inch more and it had cost them, her children, everything. A real family. A real home. A happy childhood.
They couldn't get most of that back, J would never forget some of the fucked up shit he had seen, or had to do, and god knows what Nora's life had been like, you didn't get scars like the one on her forehead from fucking accidents, and, once again, J felt the love he felt for his mother, the love all children had, battling viciously with that bitter hatred of what her greed had snatched from them. But it wasn't too late, it never was, to at least try and build something in the ashes and ruins their mother created. Perhaps, in death, their mother could give them something she had denied them in life, a chance. Just a chance. One chance at something others took for granted, what his uncles had, what he had always wanted. Family.
"And our dad?"
J's eyes fell to the golden sand, voice taut. No, life was never anything like the great stories.
"I never knew my dad, and I don't remember yours. I'm… I'm sorry. I have a photo, if you want it? She was called Julia."
The implication was clear. The distinct separation of his and her dad, the already passed knowledge that their mother was a junkie, well, it didn't take a rocket scientist to put two and two together and get four. Once again, he wished he had something better to give her, to welcome her with, but this is what they had. A dead junkie mother, two different fathers god knows where, though J thought he knew exactly where his was, and a measly few photos he had managed to scavenge. To be honest, he wouldn't blame Nora if she got up right this second and just walked away. Some days, that was all J himself wanted to do.
Digging into his pocket, J pulled free the photo, holding it out for Nora to take. It was an old one, curled and cracked around the edges, and it wasn't the clearest of photos, whoever had taken it might have been laughing or moving as the colours smudged and blurred just a fraction, but there Julia was, smiling, clean and sober, the sole reason he had chosen this photo out of the others, because it showed their mum in one of her rare good moments. Gingerly, Nora took it.
"Julia? Julia."
She tested out the name as she gently fingered the old photo, softly running a thumb over the woman's face. She stared down at it for a long while, and J couldn't even begin to imagine what she was thinking or feeling. Happy? Bitter? Resentful? Confused? Finally, she lowered the photo and smiled at him. It wasn't as bright as before, nor as warm, but it was something. Something soft, and gentle, and hopeful.
"She had a nice smile."
J grinned as he nodded.
"She did."
Her hand fell to the sand between them, though she did not let go of the photo.
"Just us two then, aye?"
J noticed how her hand had tightened into a little fist.
"Yeah, just us two."
Unhurriedly, J reached down and placed his own hand over her fisted one, the picture of their smiling mother half hidden beneath fingers and palms. He squeezed and she squeezed back. He felt something raised on the back of her hand, and cautiously, pulled his own away. There, white and old, was another scar… A set of words. I must not- She must have seen him looking, as her hand fled back to her body, taking the photo with it, seeking shelter in the pocket of her flannel shirt, concealed and safe, before J could finish reading what the scar said.
Bile lapped at his throat. She had been holding the photo in that hand, her left, and from what he had seen, she was left handed, meaning the words, carved and scarred, must have came from someone else. That was when he clocked it, on her other arm, on the raised forearm resting on bent knee, was another scar, like a star burst, round and fat, as if her arm had been stabbed with a fucking rail road spike. He diverted his gaze immediately, hoping she wouldn't know that he saw that one like the one on her hand. As he did so, he saw another, cracked and splintering, over and down her shoulder, disappearing into high neckline. J forced a smile, keeping his voice even, lax, mild.
"What about your adopted parents, are they here too?"
Nora grimaced.
"Uh, no. My mum-… Lily… They died when I was a year old. They left me a huge trust fund though, so, not all's bad."
Nora tried to joke with a tight, dry chuckle, but it fell flat and dead between them like roadkill left out in the Californian summer. J blinked, and no matter how hard he tried, dread set into him like redwood roots.
"What about your guardians? Have they come?"
If Nora's adopted parents died when she was only a year old, she must have been given to someone, a guardian, an orphanage, someone to make sure she was okay and grew up healthy. He was reading too much into it. The scars could be anything. A car accident. A sport gone wrong. A fall. Yet, didn't that sound just as before? Like a story? Too nice, too clean, too… Happy. Like J had let Nora's joke die, Nora killed the story J was painting in his head.
"No. They were… I've been emancipated since I was thirteen. So… Just me."
J flinched. From someone who knew deeply how child services worked, they had visited their mother often enough after all, J knew exactly what emancipation meant. Even after seeing the state of his mother, catching her shooting up once or twice, the most child services had done for him and Julia was to put him in residential care while his mother was forced into rehab. They had once threatened to give him to Julia's mother, but had never followed through, and not once, not fucking once, had they ever mentioned emancipation.
To get emancipated, and he highly doubted England was much different to America, there had to be sufficient, almost dire, reasoning for the child to be given legal adult status, as well as their being no one else suitable available for the child to live with. He also wasn't blind, he saw the scars, the few on show, the way Nora rolled her jaw on the word emancipation, as if it tasted foul, and the way she wouldn't rightly meet his eye when she spoke. It seemed like both of them had childhoods better yet not spoken or thought of.
"Sorry to disappoint you, but it's just my ugly mug you have to put up with."
Nora tried to joke again, diverting from the heavy, dark topic with a little jostle to his shoulder to try and lighten the stagnant mood. Knowing it was better not to push, perhaps one day they would talk of it, J went along with the switch, nudging her back.
"I think I may be able to do that if I have enough beer."
She laughed, and it was back to that loud star bright warmth.
"Cheeky bastard."
Grasping into her short pockets, she pulled free a half-crumpled carton of smokes. Flicking the lid, she bounced the bottom off her thigh to knock a cigarette free, offering it out to him. J took it as she flicked another free before crushing the carton back into her pocket, plucking out an old zippo, a chrome little thing, battered, with a black paw print and the word Sirius inscribed on the flat side, from her flannel. She lit up, offered that out to him too, but J already had his own lighter out. With a clang of the lid flipping shut, she fiddled with the lighter, words dancing with the cloud of smoke trailing from her lips.
"So, you're on your own too?"
J took a long drag.
"No, I live with our grandmother and uncles."
Staring out to sea, noticing the surfers were long gone, from the corner of his eye, he saw Nora smirk at him.
"They don't know I'm here, do they?"
It seemed his little sister was as perceptive as he was. When she had first rang, J had been on his way to school, and he had planned to tell Smurf and the Cody's Nora had been in touch when he made it home. The problem was, when they finally settled down for dinner, nothing had come out. He had thought that a few private phone calls, just so he and his sister could get to know each other, before he told them couldn't possibly hurt. But a few turned into a week, and a week into nearly a month. J soon realised why he was so hesitant. For once he wanted to be selfish.
Baz, Pope, Craig, Deran all had each other, and they all had Smurf, and Smurf had all her boys. As much as J was a Cody, family was family, he was still, at the moment, very much outside the box. Even Nicky, his own fucking girlfriend, had deserted him for his uncle when offered a bit of coke. So, was it really that bad that he wanted it to just be him and his sister for a bit? He wasn't planning on keeping them in the dark forever, in fact, J didn't think he could even if he wanted to.
Baz, Craig and Deran had asked about the contact letter and if he had heard back every now and again, but it was rare and often asked only as an afterthought. Smurf, however, had been asking every damned day. In the morning when he woke up, and at night before he headed in to crash and sleep, she would ask. Obviously, J had taken to lying over the last few weeks, but he couldn't bring himself to feel too bad about it. How many secrets were they, particularly Smurf, keeping from him? And yes, perhaps he felt a bit victorious on getting one over them instead of the other way around, but again, who could blame him? And this secret wasn't likely to end with one of them in jail or with a bullet in their skull.
Oddly, however, it had been Pope who had proven to be the worst, after he eventually came back after storming off when he first learned about the whole adoption. It was always the first thing he asked when he saw J, heard back yet?, and more than once, he had urged J to tell him if J heard anything, anything at all, as soon as J did. Fucking hell, the man had even nabbed one of J's precious few photos of his baby sister when J had been out of the house. And J knew it was him, because he had spotted Pope opening his wallet a fortnight ago, and low and behold, crammed into the plastic card-holder was the damned photo J had searched his room for. God fucking knew why Pope was so hung up on the issue, J didn't think even Pope knew why, but he was, and it was getting harder to dodge or rebuff his questions without outing himself. Pope was a perceptive fucker.
"I was going to tell them, but I-… It's… They…"
J sheepishly replied, stumbling like a fool, rubbing at the back of his neck. Nora, however, only grinned as she waved her hand flippantly.
"It's fine, honestly. Perhaps it's for the best. Too much, too soon, all that jazz."
With a closing drag, rolling the smoke up and through her nostrils, Nora flicked the butt down the beach as J dashed his own off to his side.
"Did you always know you were adopted?"
Nora kicked her legs out, balancing on her arms outstretched at her back, head up and facing the sky and blew the smoke she had held in her lungs upwards, so it could float up and join the clouds.
"No. The contact letter was the first I heard of it. You should have seen Petunia's face when I-"
She cut herself off, jaw clamping shut tightly, biting off whatever was about to break free as her stare fell back to him and away from the vast azure heavens.
"Well, it came as a bit of a shock."
"Do you regret it?"
J couldn't stop the hint of vulnerability from seeping into his voice. Having met him, seen him, did she wish she never left England? Did she wish he was someone else, with a better past, a better story to give? Did she wish this had never happened? But then she was looking at him, really looking at him with those intense summer grass eyes, and she was smiling, the kind of grin that made her nose wrinkle and her eyes crinkle, dimples deep set and freckles jolly.
"I always wanted an older brother to annoy. You'll fit the bill."
J was beginning to think he was getting a grip with Nora, on who she was as a person. Somehow, even with the heaviest of topics, or the darkest of memories, or the toughest of question, she, one way or another, managed to lighten the grim and gloom with a smile, an idle little joke, a quip or a chuckle. She pulled you in as if she had her own gravitational pull, with her laidback charm, and made everything seem like it was going to be okay. This, meeting your sibling for the first time since you or the other was put up for adoption, was never going to be an easy task, neither would it not be awkward or pensful, a bit sore, but she smoothed it out as much as possible, and for that, J was grateful.
"I'm glad I meet your high expectations."
Nora chuckled and the two fell into amiable silence as they dug their feet and hands into heated sand, watched a cloud or two float by. Every now and again, they would make a remark, ask a question, joke about a few drunken teens stumbling passed, or laugh at a surfer who had taken a header from a wave, but other than that, they were happy to just sit there, in the sun, together. Before either of them really knew it, the sun was beginning to set. As the sky was cast in expanding shades of orange and pink, Nora reached to the waist line of her shorts, and from her belt at the side of her hip, Nora pulled free what looked like, to J, to be a carved stick of some kind. Thin, long, it had little knots in it, pitted balls leading up to the end, a little space near the base wrapped in what could have been ivory, odd symbols carved on the yellowed face. It must have been one of the hair chopsticks some girls wore, J thought.
"Did mum have one of these? Or anybody in our family? Not exactly like this, but similar?"
J hummed and shook his head.
"Um, no. No, they don't. Did the adoption agency say they did?"
As quickly as it came, Nora was jamming the thing back through her shorts belt loop, pinning it in place at her side, flicking her flannel back over to cover the strange stick.
"No, no, no, It's just… Never mind. It's not important."
Maybe Nora had always had it, whatever it was, and had thought it might have come from her real mum. Just as J was about to say he had some of their mum's things, some little trinkets, as poor as they were, that she could take and keep, his phone buzzed from his pocket. All thoughts of sticks, heirlooms and strange trinkets fled him as he pulled it free, screen lit up with three messages from Baz. J quickly scrolled through them. Fuck. They were wondering where he was, dinner was due and Smurf wanted to talk, and asking for him to get back there as soon as he could. J tensed and Nora spoke up from his side.
"Do you have to go? We can always meet back up when you're free. I'm not planning on leaving anytime soon, so don't stay if you-"
"No. Nothing like that. I've got nowhere better to be."
Can't make it. Busy. Be back later.
Was the short, crisp reply J shot off to Baz. If Craig, Deran and Baz could get away with ditching meetings whenever they felt like it, J missing just one wouldn't hurt. It wasn't like it was going to be about another job, they were still waiting for the heat of the Pendleton heist to simmer down before attempting anything else. Plus, they would just fill him in later, he was sure. And if worst came to worst, he would just tell Smurf he was partying. She was always telling him to go out and act like the teenager he was. Well… Here he was.
"Then, do you want to head back to mine? Order in some take-out, maybe watch a movie or two while we catch up? You can crash at mine and head out in the morning? I mean, if you want to. You don't have to if you need to get back and-"
"I'd love to."
Scrap that, staying at a friend's. Won't be back till morning. Don't wait up.
Was the final message he sent before he stubbornly switched his phone off. Nora stood up, dusting herself off as she smiled at him, and J smiled back and for once in a very, very, very long time, it came to him easy. J followed her as they began to trek back to the main road just off the beach.
"Chinese or Mexican?"
Nora asked as they stalled next to a motorbike, a beast of a machine with shiny chrome finish, a Triumph 650 if J wasn't mistaken by the large headlight taking centre stage upfront. It was the kind of bike Craig would get in a fucking tizzy about. To be honest, J wouldn't have blamed him, it was a beautiful beast indeed.
"There's a good Mexican place just around the corner. I'll show you it."
It must have been Nora's, as she pulled out a set of keys from her pocket and straddled the bike. Jarringly, J wondered if someone so small could handle a bike like that, but Nora was already settling in, turning the key so the engine purred, and, really, she looked right at home on the big beast.
"You know, I've never had Mexican before."
Reaching down to the side of the bike, Nora unchained the helmet and swiftly chucked it at him. He caught it just an inch before it would have bounced right off his chest.
"No shit? Get out of here."
"I really haven't. We don't really have Mexican take out in England. Although, we do a smashing pork pie and crumpet."
"What the fuck is a crumpet?"
Nora's head snapped around so fast he thought she might have given herself whiplash.
"Now it's you who needs to get the fuck out of here. You don't know what a bloody crumpet is? Really? Jesus H Christ kid, am I going to blow your fuckin' mind. Forget the take-out, we'll stop at the grocery store and I'll show you some real food."
J's head cocked to the side, like a curious puppy.
"You're good at cooking?"
Nora scoffed, but there was no true heat behind it.
"Good? Are you trying to insult me? I'm a work of art in the kitchen. You?"
Their joking banter was a way for them to connect, to get to know each other, without the tension or awkwardness strangling at them, and once again, J was thankful for Nora's seemingly outgoing cheery personality.
"More of a baker, myself."
"I'll cook, you bake desert. Sound good?"
J nodded. It did sound good. Better than good.
"Now, cram your head into that helmet and hop on. You're riding bitch."
J snickered as he strapped the helmet on, slinking in behind Nora to perch himself on the back of the huge bike. Nora revved the engine and glanced back.
"Hold on tight, I'm a nippy little thing."
J grabbed onto the back bracer, and before he could reply, Nora was kicking back the foot stand and they were peeling down the road with a roar, the ocean, beach and city lights blurring around them as they swerved and dipped through the open road. Shit! She was fast. But as the sky bled to purple, and the city lights lit up in a rainbow of fluorescence, with Nora's orange hair billowing around them, the taste of sea salt on lips and sand scattered clothes, just the two of them, J was happy.
So, what do you think? Who's P.O.V do you want to see next?
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