Note: Well, look who wanted to narrate this time!
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Janet Sharp runs out of coffee long before she reaches her son's building. Knowing that she'll not find a drop, she still lifts the cup and peeks beneath the lid after she parks.
Empty, of course. She sighs and presses down the lid firmly, out of habit, before gathering up her purse and checking her reflection in the mirror. Christ. She looks ghastly – not a smudge of makeup on, hair in a ratty bun, every line on her face showing stark, and beneath her eyes, the dark circles of an eight-hour drive from Glasgow to London.
It'll be worth every exhausted, white-knuckled moment when she sees Deryn for herself.
She climbs out of her car, making certain to lock it (daft – what happened to Deryn could have easily happened in Glasgow – but she feels criminals are lurking around every corner here in Hounslow), before climbing the stairs to Jaspert's flat.
At the door, hand poised to knock, she has a sudden and guilt-ridden flash of memory: her daughter hugging her goodbye at the train station, perfunctory and impersonal, in one of her moods about this or that, and Janet had let it go, hadn't said anything more than goodbye, have fun because she'd been late to work and half in a mood herself over her stubborn girl. But, God, that could have been the last –
She pushes it aside. Knocks briskly.
There's silence inside for a long second. Then a thump and rattle and Jaspert bellowing, "Aye, coming, Ma!"
All reassuringly normal enough that some of the worry unwinds from her heart. Not much, though. And it grabs her again as soon as the door opens and she sees Jaspert's face.
He looks as exhausted as she does. "You're early," he says, giving her a hug.
"Traffic wasn't as awful as it could have been," she says, clutching him tightly for a second longer, just to make certain he's all right.
Unreasonable of her, as her son hasn't been injured. Imminently logical of her, as she has every right to take stock of her two wee babies.
Her first wee baby pulls away and smiles down at her. Janet summons a smile for him, though she steps away and looks around the flat in the same moment. "Where's Deryn?"
Jaspert points a thumb over his shoulder. "Fetching her bag."
Of course she is. The exact thing she ought not to be doing. Irritation crawls along Janet's spine. "We aren't leaving straightaway. And she's to be resting, Jaspert, you know that."
"Aye, but," he begins, then doesn't finish, because they both know how Deryn is.
"Never mind," Janet says. She sets her purse on the sofa and takes herself towards Jaspert's bedroom, calling, "Deryn!"
No sooner has the word left her mouth than her daughter appears, framed by the doorway and her crutches. Deryn's holding her injured leg oddly, though she's wearing a pair of Jaspert's trackies over what looks like a bulky knee brace, so it's difficult to make out details. She's pale, her face drawn, her eyes glittering too brightly.
She has a fever, then, and she's in pain.
Janet's heart thumps heavily. She wants to kill the lads who hurt Deryn; she wants to sweep her girl up into a fierce hug and never let her go. The latter impulse wins.
"Oh, Deryn," she says, putting her arms around her daughter's neck and shoulders. Her voice catches.
Deryn doesn't return the embrace. Her voice is stiff. "Hi, Ma."
Oh, God.
Janet had grown up dreaming of having a little girl – hair ribbons and socks with lace edgings, nail polish and tea parties in floppy hats, pink dresses and matching aprons. Instead she'd gotten torn trousers and skinned knees, black eyes and hair hacked off with scissors in the loo, video games and a far-off skyward gleam.
Artemis had laughed and said Let her be, but Janet couldn't. She couldn't. She couldn't let go of that cherished dream, and at the same time she feared for the hard knocks the world would deliver to one who stood out so. She'd spent hours in desperate prayer: Can't she be like the other girls?
Not content to wait for divine intervention, though, Janet had taken her own measures. Skirts and dresses whenever possible, ballet lessons, etiquette classes, sewing, tea with the aunties every Friday and the auld granny next door on Sunday. Sit up straight and cross your legs at the ankles. Embroider. No cursing. Use moisturizer. No talk about flying at the table.
When Artemis passed, she'd redoubled her efforts, trying to – Christ, how wretched it sounds – to break that stubborn differentness in her daughter before Deryn, too, was ripped away from her.
And now she reaps her rewards: an ill and tired child who won't hug her mother.
Janet can't let go. She has to let go.
She makes herself let go and steps back, though not before cupping her hands around Deryn's face. Her skin is warm, but not fever-hot. The telltale glitter to her blue eyes must be only due to pain, then.
They could have killed her - Janet has to refocus. She lets her hands fall and looks up. There are two young men behind Deryn, one of them holding her large, battered sports bag (she'd refused the lovely set of matching, lavender suitcases), and the other looking a bit green at the gills.
"Hello, Eugene," Janet says to the one she knows.
"H-Hello, Mrs. Sharp," Eugene says. He offers a sickly smile. "Did you – er, did you have a good trip?"
"It was fine," she says, forcing a smile of her own that likely looks just as wan. "How are you this morning?"
"Um – I – I think – uh – I've maybe caught something," he says, sounding exactly like a lad trying to hide a hangover.
Janet clicks her tongue in sympathy and fond exasperation. "Go lay yourself down, dear. No need to stay up on my account."
Eugene mumbles something that sounds grateful, then excuses himself as he elbows past Deryn and Janet. Deryn leans on her crutches and looks tired.
The other young man hasn't said a word, and he hasn't moved a muscle. He's watching Deryn with an expression of careful concern. Janet wonders about that. She tries a bit harder with her smile: "And you are -?"
Both the young man and Deryn open their mouths to answer, but Jaspert beats them to it. "Oh, this is Alek," he says easily, coming up behind Janet and holding out a hand for the bag. "He's at university – Engineering, aye? He came round yesterday and stayed to help."
"Yes," Alek says. He inclines his head – an old-fashioned gesture – and gives over the sports bag to Jaspert. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Sharp."
Janet notes the accent with mild surprise; of somewhat more interest are the dark, intense looks Deryn and Jaspert are shooting each other. They haven't always got on, of course – what brother and sister do? – but Deryn had been so keen to visit…
A little mystery for another time. She files it away. "And to meet you as well. Thank you for your help, Alek."
He inclines his head again – a prince making a gracious concession. It's charmingly out-of-place. "It was no trouble."
"Are we leaving, then?" Deryn asks abruptly.
"After lunch. Deryn, I've been in that car for the better part of eight hours," Janet adds, automatically cross, when Deryn huffs impatiently. "I want to eat and visit the WC, at least."
"It's clean," Jaspert says hurriedly, then backpedals: "Er, that is – it's always clean, aye?"
Janet isn't fooled, but she is grateful for the distraction. She pats Jaspert on the cheek. "Of course it is."
Another huff. Janet elects not to notice her daughter's rudeness and instead goes into the loo. When she emerges a few minutes later (having given herself a bracing pep talk in the mirror), Deryn has arranged herself lengthwise on the sofa, pillow stuffed under her knee and computer balanced on her lap. Alek is sitting on the floor beside her, his laptop also open.
Jaspert is busy in the flat's wee kitchen, pulling out sandwich things. "Ma, d'you want crisps… where are the crisps? Deryn!"
"There's a bag left," Deryn says, not taking her eyes from the computer. Janet recognizes the game on the screen as the one her daughter plays all the time; nothing shocking there. As she walks past to the kitchen, though, she catches a glimpse of Alek's screen, and that does raise her eyebrows.
That's a terribly large coincidence, she thinks, both of them liking the same game.
She doesn't much believe in coincidences.
Jaspert fixes Janet a sandwich over her protests, then does the same for Deryn, laying her plate on the coffee table within her arm's reach. Alek politely refuses – "I can stop for something on my way back to Cambridge."
"Don't be daft," Deryn says. Snaps, rather, her eyes still fixed on the screen.
Alek turns his head to look up at her, amused rather than offended. "I did have a few crisps earlier."
A smile twitches at Deryn's face, then disappears again.
Hmm.
"Very well," Alek says. He sets his computer aside and stands, telling Jaspert, "But I won't trouble you to make it."
Jaspert snorts and takes his own sandwich to sit beside Janet at the table. "Put it all away again when you're done, aye?"
Janet watches Alek as he sets to work. A prince indeed; his clothes have that best-quality look about them, and he holds himself straight and sure. A wealthy family. A wealthy foreign family, at that. Germany or some similar country, from the sound of it. How did he end up here, diligently returning the cheese to the battered refrigerator in a tiny Hounslow flat?
"You're at Cambridge, then, Alek?" Janet asks, hoping she can pass off her curiosity as typical motherly nosiness. Useful, that. "How do you like it?"
He sits on the floor again, mimicking Deryn by using the coffee table for dining. "It's an excellent school, ma'am."
"And you're studying…?"
The answer is prompt: "Mechanical Engineering."
"Clanker," Deryn says, with an indefinable undercurrent to her voice.
Janet glances at her daughter, then back to Alek just in time to catch another ghost of a smile. Small and private.
Deryn makes friends easily, but half a day is a bit early still for in-jokes, isn't it?
Another mystery. Well, at least they'll have a few things to discuss in the car besides What the bloody hell were you thinking, trying to fight three boys at once over a bag. Though she does want an answer to that, too.
She asks Alek a few more questions about himself, and then – as Deryn is still sulking on the sofa – shifts her focus to Jaspert. Regardless of the circumstances, it's nice to have a chat with him, face-to-face, instead of over the telephone.
He's much too clever for his job at Heathrow, though she can't say she's sorry to see him out of the RAF. Imagining him up there with those planes, and her wee baby looking so much like Artemis in his uniform… It had only been harder, day after day.
Far worse is knowing that her girl will move heaven and hell to reach the same destiny.
Janet looks again at Deryn, who's clicking away at her game with one hand and eating with the other.
Maybe Deryn's knee will never heal well enough. Maybe the RAF won't have her now.
The last bite of Janet's sandwich turns to ashes on her tongue. Even in her idle thoughts, she can't stop betraying her daughter.
She swallows. "I'll tidy up," she says, louder than she'd intended. Jaspert protests – halfheartedly – but Janet sweeps it aside. For the next few minutes, she's able to distract herself with the business of collecting plates and drinks.
Alek abandons the computer game to help her wash the dishes in the sink. "I've only learned how since moving here," he says, dead serious, when she tries to shoo him off; "I like to practice when I can."
It's a daft excuse, but Janet supposes the lad is trying to make himself useful. He seems the sort. She lets him stay.
After the dishes are cleaned and tucked away into their rightful cabinets again, Alek resumes his computer game. Janet stands in the wee kitchen and dries her hands on a towel while she tries to think of reasons not to get back into that bloody car.
She can't.
Deryn abruptly hoots in delight, thrusting one fist into the air. From his position on the floor, Alek grins up at her.
"What?" Janet asks, leaving the towel on the counter. It doesn't sound as though anything's amiss – quite the opposite, in fact. Her heart skips in fear anyway. "What is it?"
Deryn crows, "So much for those German ba- blighters at Tsingtao!"
"Are you at a good stopping place, then?" Janet asks, familiar at least with that part of gaming.
"We have to get across the Pacific," Deryn says. Balking, just like every other time her ma has asked her to stop playing.
Except –
Janet pounces on the pronoun. " 'We'?"
She knows she's right when Deryn's eyes dart towards Alek and back again. "The Leviathan. We're refueling in Tokyo, and then we have to take Nikola Tesla to California."
Alek says, "It can wait."
Deryn glances at him once more. Her expression settles into something tired and… sad, aye, that's it. Sad.
"It can wait," he repeats, gently. "You ought to go home. 'Get well soon', isn't that the phrase?"
"Aye," Jaspert says, not gently. "And 'don't pick fights with tossers.' "
Instantly, the sadness vanishes, and Deryn puts aside her computer, temper blazing at her brother. "It wasn't my barking idea -!"
"Hush," Janet says, wading in. "Jaspert, take Deryn's bag down to the car. Deryn, do you need to –"
"No, but I'll do it anyway." Deryn heaves herself to her feet – Alek hands her the crutches without being asked – and soon she's lurching and thumping to the loo.
Jaspert stows the laptop in her bag, gets the keys from Janet, and heads downstairs.
That leaves Alek and Janet alone. He closes his laptop and tucks it into a posh computer bag with "AFH" monogrammed across the front.
"Thank you again," she tells him. "You certainly went to a lot of trouble."
"I would do much more for a friend," he says. Serious. Then a small, rueful grin cracks through. "I have few enough of them."
"Oh?" she says, caught off-guard. He seems such an affable lad. "Well, uni's good for that."
"So I've heard." He holds out his hand. "It was truly a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Sharp."
"Likewise." She shakes hands and smiles at him. "If you find yourself in Scotland, give us a ring, aye?"
"I will."
Deryn rejoins them, cursing under her breath, which Janet pretends not to hear. Shortly thereafter, Jaspert returns as well, equally happy.
"It's raining," Jaspert reports, brushing water from his hair and scowling. "Of course it's raining, because Deryn's brace isn't to get wet."
"I'll help her down," Alek says.
Predictably, Deryn says, "I don't need –"
"Aye, good thought," Janet says loudly and firmly, fishing in her purse for the travel umbrella she keeps stashed there. She hands it to Alek. "Jaspert, let him borrow your mac."
The sleeves on Jaspert's mac hang two inches past Alek's wrists. Janet can sympathize; neither she nor Alek are short, exactly – and Alek's taller than she is – but Jaspert's well over six feet and Deryn's not far behind, same as their father. Life amongst giants.
Deryn argues and complains, but eventually she's propelled out the door and down the stairs, Alek and the umbrella along with her. Janet shuts the door behind them and waits a moment, until she can no longer hear voices.
Then she turns to her son and asks, "Who is Alek really?"
Jaspert opens his mouth, then closes it. He darts a worried glance at the door.
Janet arches one eyebrow and pins him with a stare.
He folds. "Deryn's friend. They met online a few years ago, something to do with that daft game of hers – Leviathan, that's it."
Now Janet looks at the door, a bit rattled, and not at all certain she likes Deryn being alone with a lad she met on the Internet. Then again, though, she can't say that Alek's struck her as anything other than – well, an affable lad.
She takes a breath and reminds herself that Deryn's a sound judge of character, too. And if they've been chatting for years… that's reassuring, in a way.
Jaspert goes on, "You remember that politician bloke who was killed by terrorists in Sarajevo? Along with his wife? A year after Da, I think it was."
Janet does. At the time she had felt for a family that, like hers, had been so cruelly and needlessly torn apart. "They had a son. That'll be Alek?"
"Aye. He's rich as Croesus – or will be, when he's twenty-one – and he's more than clever enough for Cambridge. He and Deryn are only friends, at the moment, though I reckon he'd like more. We had a wee chat this morning, him and I, before Deryn woke," Jaspert adds with a faintly predatory gleam.
"Jaspert," Janet says. There's a wealth of unsaid things in that one word, including Don't scare the boy off, we'll never find another that fancies her. Too right; of all the problems she's faced before with her girl, this hasn't been one of them. She recalls the undercurrents she sensed. "And she'd like to be more than friends as well, mm?"
Jaspert shrugs, then crosses his arms over his chest and frowns at the floor. "I've been trying to find something wrong with the bastard since he turned up."
Trying – and failed. Another good mark for Alek.
Janet pats him on the cheek. "There's a good lad," she says, amusement curling her voice. She collects her purse and the keys. "I'll handle it from here, love. Bust first I think I'll make a quick stop in the loo."
He stares at her for a moment, then grins. "Aye, Ma. Travel safe."
Janet takes a good deal longer than she needs to for a simple washing-up, gives Jaspert a kiss and a hug on her way out and tells him to make her farewells to Eugene, and leaves the flat with a lighter heart than she's had in ages.
She isn't at all surprised at what she sees by the car.
