8. Ottery's Bully
As it turns out, Nate was able to help out at the shop and arrived early the next morning. The weekday was slow, with many people from Ottery on holiday in some exotic land or some other dreary sect of Britain, leaving the town somewhat bare besides the undesirables.
We spent the morning catching up and restocking the shelves, taking particular interest in Bill's new order of decorative decks of playing cards. The decks ranged from intricate, overlapping designs of diamonds and Egyptian depictions, to salacious women (for the mature customers) and kaleidoscopes of colours.
"What did I do to deserve her?"
I glanced up to see Nate looking out the shop window and caught sight of Mrs Pike before returning to observe a deck of cards portraying raging dragons which shimmered in direct light. "Oi, don't be so horrible, she's your mum," I said, pocketing the deck discreetly, thinking it to be an appropriate belated birthday present for George.
It always pained me to hear of Nate moan and groan endlessly about his mum. Not that I could blame him; she was terribly…loose, for lack of better word. I would much rather my position of being cast away, away from the only thing I was ever sure of and had ever known into a world where everything was new and I had to begin again, than to live with the constant talk of the town. Honestly, there was a new rumour flying around every week.
"You wouldn't be saying that if she was your mum," he grumbled, staring disgustedly at his mother flirting with her latest conquest: their neighbour Samuel something-or-other. "Honestly, she's been off with him god knows how many times now, why is he still bothering?"
"I know I wouldn't. Doesn't mean I can't tell you off for it," I replied.
"Hypocrite," he spat.
"Arse."
"Cow."
"Nutter."
"Pig."
"Wanker."
"Bitch."
"Jonathan!" Mrs Pike hurried into the shop towards her son, instantly ceasing the recurring swapping of insults. "How are you? Oh, I need to rush, Sammy's just offered to help me take the groceries home. A real gentleman!" She gushed without pausing for breath.
"Mum, he lives next door, I'm sure it's no problem," Nate said. But it was no use, everyone knew no one could talk someone down to Mrs Pike unless she started it.
"Oh nonsense, love," she waved him off and sighed. "He's so wonderful. You could learn a lot from him, Jonathan. Say, what time do you think you'll be home?"
"Late mum, I'm helping Ella and then I'll probably go and see Matt," Nate answered with a frown.
"Ah, good! Well, I'll be off now. Don't rush home, love," she rushed out the shop before hastily calling out, "Have a smashing day, Ella!"
We both stood in silence, our gazes fixed on the door Mrs Pike had just left from.
"Well, then…two guesses what she's going to be doing," I hinted with raised eyebrows. Nate sighed again.
"God, she makes me sick. And to think, I'm supposed to be the teenager sleeping around," he rubbed his face and shelved the deck of salacious women he was marvelling, no longer interested in the curves of the impossibly voluptuous sirens.
I couldn't help but laugh. "You? Sleep around? Please, everyone knows you're the Prince Charming waiting for your one true love."
He smirked. "I'd rather not be Prince Charming if he ends up with Cinderella."
"Oi! There's nothing wrong with me, thank you very much." I stretched across the counter and punched his arm.
"Ow! I never said there was, you nutter," he said, rubbing his arm. "Just that you're not my type. And besides, we all know who you want to be your Prince Charming," Nate teased.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I huffed, turning my head away to neaten out rolls of old parchment and stacks of printing paper.
"Of course you don't. Oh, I saw George again yesterday! His hair's gotten longer. Oh, how I wish I could run my fingers through it all day…and night," Nate winked and jumped back to avoid my punch. "He's definitely been working out. Ah, Nate, if only you saw him. I'm planning on an impromptu water fight next time I have him half naked in my garden. Can you imagine?" Nate ducked behind a shelf as I chased him around the counter. I grabbed the nearest object to me – a melting chocolate bar – and lobbed it at him. "Maybe even invite him over for a sleepover. Say, what were those aphrodisiacs your mum was talking about the other day? I'm thinking of making him a candlelight dinner…"
"NATE!" I shrieked and lunged at him. He laughed as he skimmed past me again. I mentally cursed his athletic body from cross country.
"Slow poke!" he taunted.
"You arse! I've never said any of those things," I yelled, stretching out my fingers only for him to turn a corner.
"Oh yeah?" he ducked away from a stapler shooting past his head. "Just as I walked in you started telling me about how he straddled you on your sofa yesterday. Nate! His thighs are so strong and muscly, but lean at the same time. Just imagine what those legs can do," he said, his voice turning unnaturally falsetto and his eyes rolling into the back of his head.
"Shut up!" I shouted, but I couldn't stop the laughter breaking out. As soon as Nate walked into the shop I recounted seeing George yesterday after months. I told him everything, from him getting me into the sun and his embarrassing moment of insinuating I strip, to him chasing me around the house, me making us a hearty lunch of baked salmon and then of George detailing an erotic novel off the top of his head after I refused to show him my book, full with thrusts, grunts and moans (I can't lie, that was far more entertaining than the book on Hobbits on an adventure).
I was knocked out of my reminiscing when Nate suddenly tripped on a stray item and stumbled. I took the chance and jumped on his back, wrapping my arms and legs around him in a near death grip.
"Ah-ha! Gotcha!"
It had taken Mr Babbington to come in and purchase a receipt book to break us up, however reluctantly. But of course, it didn't last long. Shortly after he left, a girl from Nate's class had entered, instantly shutting him up from another made-up fantasy I had supposedly told him. He avoided eye contact with her and blushed when I asked him to introduce us. This, of course, led to him unleashing his stammering, shy self in which he barely got her name out before her watch beeped and she rushed out.
"God, you're a mess," I stated rolling my eyes.
"Shove off," he huffed.
"Whatever happened to Zoe?"
Nate shrugged. "Just friends," he replied shortly. I nodded slowly. Poor Nate.
"Care for a cuppa?" I called out as I retreated to the back where a corner was used as a make-shift kitchen.
"Sure," he yelled back.
The door jingled again, alerting us to a new customer. I popped the kettle on and left Nate to deal with the customer, knowing he could handle it as he had done so many times before.
I watched the kettle as steam slowly flowed out, curling in wisps in the air. If only I wasn't a squib and could speed up the process, like Bill. My thoughts seemed to drift to my magical, but not-so-magical blood a lot lately. Would I have been the perfect little Slytherin for daddy? Cunning and ambitious? Or was I bound to a more intelligent lifestyle, like my Ravenclaw mother, wise beyond her years and could puzzle her way out of the most startling riddle?
Shortly after my eleventh birthday I asked Bill to tell me everything – life at the historically famous wizarding school of Hogwarts, Diagon Alley, where I spent summers of my childhood basking under the sun with ice cream, the feeling of holding and bonding with your wand for the first time, feeling the magic course through your veins with a simple touch, Quidditch, both professionally and at school. I had stayed up all night, anticipating the arrival of my Hogwarts letter, a much heated topic for magical eleven year olds all over Britain. I hoped against hope that I could prove my parents wrong, that I was as magical as Abigail, my little sister who had abilities galaxies above me. That I could laugh and dance in their faces that they were wrong, and that I didn't need them.
But like all little girls, I wanted them to be proud.
I gradually grew out of that frame of mind. Why would I need them when I had Nanny Anne and Bill simply happy to have me around, regardless of my magical capabilities? I didn't need a proper family. Not like Zoe or George, with their brothers and loving parents, doting on them over the littlest of things. Not even like Nate with his mother who, although didn't care very much for the increasing volume of rumours carrying her name or reputation, would do anything for her son. No, I was the one who had to grow up before I was ready, with people other than my biological parents. And I was fine with that now.
The kettle clicked off and I hurried to pour in two mugs. Extricating the tea bags and splashing in some milk, I grabbed both mugs and entered the front of the shop.
Now then, Prunella Trunchball was the dreaded bully my age who had no quarrels with picking fights with anyone. Her weight was with her, and no one dared mess with a girl that butch.
Nate's classmates on the other hand…
The group of infamous boys didn't stray their attention to younger children, or even dared confront those older like the fearless Trunchball. They gladly transfixed themselves on those their own age and hassled them until their leaving year.
Stephen Casey, the ringleader of said infamous group, was a force to be reckoned with. Aside from his steely grey eyes, he was well known for his stormy temper and brutal fights, sending off a fair amount of people to hospital in his time. Stephen was the exception to the boys not drifting from the comfort zone of their culprits. He had no issue with confronting those older or younger, boys or girls. His lackeys (or sheep, as Zoe referred to them as) only encouraged his endeavours. But they were hardly friends – Stephen was often caught tempting them against each other; survival of the fittest.
Zoe and Nate never spent much time dwelling on the activities of Casey and his boys, and I had never experienced anything from them first hand. So it was shocking, to say the least, when I came into the storefront to see Stephen leaning on the counter with three of his sheep.
I walked up to Nate and took in his hateful glare and furious red skin. It took a lot to get Nate riled up but when he did, he closed up, keeping everything inside until it dissipated. I put the mugs down on the shelf behind the counter and placed a hand on his clenched fist. He calmed slightly under my touch – something which was not omitted by Stephen.
"Well, well, well," he drawled, eyeing our hands and then directing his gaze to me. "Natey's little girlfriend come to save the day. Wha's matter, Nate, getting bored without Zo?"
My blood pounded as I realised what he was insinuating. Nate tensed again under my touch but stayed silent.
"Can't say I blame you though, someone like Zo can really take it out of you, trust me, I know. I can just imagine her now, all tanned and fit. Did'ja know she sunbathes naked? Hates tan lines that girl does," he continued, watching us burn with a smirk. "So, what's this one for, eh, keeping your energy up before she gets back? I never thought you had it in ya, I see you're finally learning from your trollop of a mother," he chortled, and his sheep followed his lead.
Now, I wasn't one for confrontation. Especially after my one incident with the Trunchball; Nanny Anne's disappointment supressed my need to fight back and I had never done so since. But Nate was the quiet, shy one, the golden boy who never fought. And my patience was wearing thin.
"Come on love, got nothing to say?" he teased, suspecting my growing anger. I gritted my teeth and held my chin up high despite the fear flooding through me. He tutted and leaned forward, grabbing my chin in his long fingers. His dark brown hair fell in his eyes slightly, making him look more menacing than I would have liked. I shifted my face out of his hand and glared.
"Bit of a minger compared to Zo, ain't she, Stephen?" a sheep laughed.
"No, no, this one's quite a beauty, Tom," Stephen said, obviously leering at me. I so desperately wanted to cover under his gaze but managed to hold off.
"Shut up," I said as the boys began laughing again. Embarrassment flared through me from the slight shake in my suddenly small voice.
Another of his sheep laughed louder. "Ohoho, this one's got a mouth on her, eh, Stephen."
"Just like, Zo," the one called Tom said.
"Ella, you put that mouth to good use like Zoe as well, yeah?" Stephen said. Disgust filled me but I was too shocked to retort. He knew my name. How on earth did someone like Stephen Casey know my name?
I was saved from responding or suffering from further humiliation.
"You don't know a damn thing about Zoe, or Ella, so shut your mouth," Nate growled, barely above a whisper, the tremble in his voice clearly visible. I rubbed my thumb over his knuckles to calm him from his sudden outburst.
The boys all stopped laughing and turned to Nate. Stephen smirked mockingly at Nate. "What was that, Natey?"
"I said, you don't know a damn thing about the girls, so shut, your bloody mouth."
Stephen's smirk disappeared and was replaced by a murderous glare. I pushed Nate back slightly and stepped in between the two boys despite the counter separating them.
"Nate," I warned quietly.
"I can talk about whoever the hell I want, tosser," Stephen said. I looked over my shoulder to see him leaning over the counter once again.
"Nate, leave it," I whispered when I felt Nate make a move forward and pushed harder on his chest, knowing that a fight with Stephen Casey was not going to go down well. Nate had no experience in a fight after all, the only thing he would successfully be able to do is run away. And although I'm sure that would save his life, it certainly wouldn't do anything for his reputation.
"Yeah, Nate, get your slut to keep you from being beat the shit out of," a sheep taunted.
"Or is she the fighter?" another winked.
"Come on baby, fight with me." The sheep's voices all overlapped in a jeering song of catcalls and whistles.
My blood boiled, but I counted to ten and breathed deeply as Nanny Anne once taught me before turning to the boys.
"Out," I ordered.
"Oooh," the boys chortled, grinning at each other. "You gonna come with us, love?"
My hands were shaking tremendously. Nate must have noticed as he grabbed one and interlocked our fingers with a squeeze. But this did nothing to smother my fear and disgust and anger.
"I said, get out," I commanded again, my voice louder and firmer in false confidence. What could I do if they refused?
Shaking my hand free of Nate's, I stormed around the counter and towards the door, but a hand grabbed my wrist and yanked me towards the hard body. I looked up to see Stephen leering down my black top before meeting my eyes. I squirmed under his grip to free myself but he only intensified his hold on me.
"Such a fidgety one, aren't you, Ella?" he tutted in a low voice. "Am I going to have to…calm you down? Get you to relax? Tame you?" He lifted my hand and brought it up to his face. Keeping his eyes fixed on mine, he pressed my wrist against his nose and inhaled deeply, then dropped it lower to his mouth and licked my palm slowly, in a move that could be interpreted as seductive. I was positively burning. Without thinking, I flexed my fingers and pinched the skin on his face tightly until he let go.
"Ah! Feisty one, aren't you. Bitch," he growled. I stumbled back, wide-eyed, staring at the red mark beside his nose. It reddened further, and then a slither of blood seeped out. Oh no. I did not just provoke Stephen Casey. I did not just make Stephen Casey bleed. I did not just give Stephen Casey an incentive to come after me.
But I did.
The noises coming from Stephen's lackeys were a jumble of hushed whispers and lurid goading. Blood pumped in my ears, blurring out the barrage of cries. I watched Stephen press his finger to the pierced skin and look at the droplets of blood staining it. He chuckled.
"Damn, Ella. Real feisty." He lifted his eyes for a split second and smirked. "I gotta say, I like my girls gutsy."
What. The. Hell. The three words echoed in my mind, trying to get a hold on the thought that Stephen didn't look like he wanted to kill me – which I'm sure he was more than capable of. He stepped forward slowly, like a predator stalking his prey.
"Ella!" Nate yelled. It was then I noticed that two of Stephen's sheep had a hold on each of his arms, keeping him away from me. He was struggling quite a bit, either itching to get a good hit or to pull me away…I would bet on the latter.
"Ella…" Stephen crooned into my ear, his finger trailing my cheek and his mouth painfully close to my face. I almost flinched. Almost.
"Is there a problem here?"
Nate stopped struggling and was let go, the boys all staring at the newcomer by the door.
"'Course not, just popped in to say hi, didn't we boys?" Stephen answered. His sheep all murmured agreements.
"Looks like you're about done. Now get lost," George said with the most menacing glare on his face.
"Or what, ginger?" Stephen sneered.
I subtly shook my head at George, hoping he saw the slight movement. Stephen was taller than George, but George made up for the few inches difference with muscles and strength. He crossed his arms over his chest, inadvertently flexing his muscles.
"Or I get the authorities to come in and make sure you never lay a finger on Ella again."
Stephen scoffed but said no more, and left the shop. Even Stephen Casey knew when he lost. But Stephen Casey never really lost.
The remaining boys stumbled out the door, one by one, all eyeing up George, and one – Tom, I think – even bumping his shoulder on the way out.
I exhaled a deep breath I had been holding in and rushed over to Nate. "Are you ok? They didn't hurt you, did they? Oh, I can't believe that! Those bloody – "
"Ella! For god's sake, you barmy nut, I'm fine."
He was indeed fine, I found out as I checked him over. Not even a bruise. "You're sure?"
"Yes, now – oi, where's the ginger?"
George!
I whipped around to where George had been. But no one was there. "What…?" I ran out the shop and surveyed the small crowd in the High Street for any side of his bright hair. But there was nothing. How could he disappear so fast?
"Well…that was bloody weird," Nate stated as I walked back in.
I couldn't agree more.
"Stephen…has he really been with Zoe?" I hesitated to ask, but I knew I had to. Zoe wasn't the type of girl to go off with someone like Casey, but a lot of girls had fallen prey to him before. Why was Zoe any different? She was possibly the most gorgeous girl in Ottery, of course boys would notice her. But had she really been…intimate, with the perverted delinquent?
Nate shrugged.
The shop remained fairly empty after that, so I decided to close up early. Nate left after a quick snack at Imogen's, where I stocked up on cookies and muffins, and I hurried home with the twilight casting an ethereal orange glow over Ottery. Bill still wasn't back, so I cooked up a quick dinner of shrimp pasta and retreated to the pistachio-green sofa and put on the television. It was very small and hardly ever used; I mainly used it as a source for comfort as background noise in the empty house. The magical residue of the Floo only disrupted the signal, never causing it to burst like the light bulb after Bill used a levitating charm.
The images swirled around on screen – something about a short, dodgy London salesman with a lanky brother in a pub. It was one of Bill's favourites.
"Ella," a voice sang. I shifted in my seat, noticing an ache in my lower back. I must have fallen asleep on the sofa.
"Oi, get up you lazy arse."
Blinking my eyes open, I was met with red.
"Bill?" I asked.
He chuckled. "Nah mate, sorry to disappoint."
I blinked some more, clearing my vision. "George?" I sat up and noticed it was indeed, George. "What are you doing here? How did you get in?"
"You left the door open, idiot," he replied. His smile left his face and he turned strangely serious. "You okay?"
"Of course, why wouldn't I be?"
"With those boys? In the afternoon?"
Realisation dawned, and I shivered from the thought of Stephen so close, his tongue on my skin, his eyes burning through my clothes. I felt suddenly very uncomfortable in my own home. "I'm fine. Where did you go?"
George pulled on his ear and explained. "I only popped in to see you – good thing I did as well. My brother came with me today and I had to hurry back before he noticed I left him."
"Your brother was with you? What, Fred?" I asked, excited. "Well, why didn't you bring him?"
"After seeing that git all over you, I guess I just didn't want to ruin your first meeting," he shrugged and offered a pitying smile.
"Oh, you idiot!" I cried and hit his arm. "I've been dying to meet Fred for ages now. You should've brought him in."
"Next time, promise."
"Swear?"
George rolled his eyes and crossed his fingers over his heart. "Yeah, yeah, I swear."
"Good. Hungry?"
"Always," he winked. My stomach fluttered on my way to the kitchen. Who knew the same gesture could bring on completely different reactions contingent on the person? George's winks were always playful and sweet, not the creepy kind where you'd rather melt into a puddle and sink into the sewage. I grabbed the bags of cookies and muffins and returned to the living room.
"Ooh, Immy's. My favourite. Thanks, love," George said, rubbing his hands together and taking a large bite out of a blueberry muffin.
"How the hell do you stay so slim? You eat like a pig," I commented, distracting myself from the flurry in my chest.
George flexed his arm. "You're just jealous."
"Of what, exactly?" I snorted.
"My impeccable muscles, duh," he winked again and flexed his other arm. Oh, please, stop doing that, there's only so much restraint a girl has.
"As if I want arms like that, no thank you. If you hadn't noticed, boys don't exactly like burly girls," I said, spraying cookie crumbs over us both.
"Oh yeah, and they really want someone who can't speak without spitting out all their food," he retorted dryly. I stuck my tongue at him. He shook his head and turned to the television. "What's this?"
"Only Fools and Horses. Bill's really into it. It's actually quite good, you should watch it." I explained the show, detailing the characters of Del boy, Rodney, Uncle Albert and, my favourite, Trigger.
Throughout my description, I caught George staring at me several times. The only light in the room was the flashing TV, casting shadows across his handsome face. When he saw that I caught him staring he didn't move, he just carried on, as if it were as normal as the need to pee first thing in the morning. I didn't know what to make of it, but to deflect the uncomfortable atmosphere I began describing another TV show. I couldn't tell you what is was about; I was pretty sure I was making it up as I went along, just to have something to say.
Which was another odd thing, I always found our silences comfortable. But today, I couldn't get over the tension I was feeling. Perhaps it was from what he had witnessed earlier in the day, I mused.
George smirked at the ending of fictitious TV plot.
"And that's an actual thing?" he asked.
"Well, yeah?" It wasn't supposed to come out as a question, but I could have sworn George wasn't that close to me before.
"So, the ginger alien finally fixed his spaceship but didn't want to leave the human he fell in love with, and then the townspeople tried forcing him away from her. Then she killed herself. That right?" he surmised, smirking.
God, did I really say that? "Umm…yes."
George chuckled and ruffled my hair. "You'll have to show me that one sometime mate."
I swatted his hand away. "Ge'roff."
"Touchy," he tutted, and leaned back on the sofa, his legs wide open and his arms spread over the back of the sofa. He quirked an eyebrow at me. "What?"
"Shouldn't you be going home?" I suggested. It was rather late – past midnight now. He had never come so late at night before.
"You wound me, dear princess! Why, does my company not satisfy you?" he cried in mock anguish, one hand over his heart.
I giggled. "Your presence has overstayed its welcome. What would your mum say if she knew you were out this late? At a girls no less?"
"She'd be shot to get rid of me," George winked. "And she'd be over the moon to hear I'm mature enough to find a girl."
I lifted an eyebrow. "No you're not."
George laughed. "What are you doing to your face?"
"What?" I relaxed my face and lifted my hands to assess it. Everything seemed normal.
"Your face scrunched up –" he paused through his laughter to gather his breath. His face was bright red. "Do it again!"
Without thinking, I quirked an eyebrow again and George burst out into a new round of laughter. His eyes were squeezed shut and he was silently laughing, his body shaking with each breath.
"What?" I demanded, frustrated.
"You – you can't lift your – eyebrow!" he replied, taking in lungful's of air.
"Huh?"
He shuffled closer to me on the sofa and lifted a finger, tracing the outline of my eyebrows. When he got to the middle of my left eyebrow he pushed it up and down, up and down, sniggering.
I pushed his hand away. "Sod off, git, or you won't get your birthday present," I threatened as I felt the outline of the cards in my pocket dig into my leg.
George made a show of lifting an eyebrow. "My birthday was over two months ago."
"Well, if you don't want it then…"
"NO – no. I'll be good," he removed his finger from my eyebrow and clasped his hands in his lap, adopting a childlike smile of innocence which contrasted greatly with the trademark mischievous glint in his eyes.
I giggled. "Ok, only so you'll hurry up and go, I have work in the morning again." I raised my hips to get better access to my pocket and took out the deck of cards. As soon as I sat down properly George snatched it out of my hands and began inspecting them in silence.
"So," I started after a moment's silence. "What d'you think?"
George looked up and shrugged. "S'alright, I s'spose."
"What, just alright?" I huffed, frustrated at his lack of appreciation. "Well fine then, that's the last present I ever get you. Now get out."
"Oi, relax will you," he chuckled. "I'm kidding. These are amazing." George flicked on the table lamp and angled the card around, watching the picture change from a quiescent blue dragon to a roaring one.
"You'd better like them."
George looked up again with a grin, then raised another card to the lamp light. "I do, honest. How do they get the picture to change?"
"Oh, I don't really know. It's called lenticular printing and I think it has something to do with getting different pictures and combining them together somehow. I never really got the details," I answered, surprised that he would ask.
"Thanks, by the way." He pocketed the deck and got up. "I should be off now, mum has a habit of checking in our room at random times. Honestly, you'd think she thought we were up to no good."
I giggled knowing his room was probably his lair for mischief. I got up and led him to the door. "See ya."
"Bye, love." I opened the door, and then George did something he'd never done before. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to my cheek. It was only a quick peck – friendly, I kept telling myself – but it left me standing there long after he had gone.