The Ways of Paradox by Narya

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Our Pirate Fold

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“Is he really better than me?” Harrison looked a little forlorn.

“Oh, you're never getting cast again,” Theo grinned.

Rosie threw a cushion at him; I aimed a kick at his ankle, missed, and knocked over the side table. A collection of mismatched mugs went flying, and the four of us yelped as cold tea spilled across the carpet.

“Well, at least it's a manky colour to start with,” sighed Rosie, crossing to the bookcase and pulling handfuls of tissues out of the box. “It won't show any stains.”

Harrison lifted his cast carefully clear of the trails of liquid snaking across the floor. “Seriously, though. Just how good is this guy?”

“Very good,” I admitted, collecting the mugs and inspecting them to make sure none had broken. “But he's a fair bit older than you. He sounds professionally trained.”

“So why is he messing about with an Anthropology post-doc?”

“Philosophy.” I passed the mugs to Theo as Rosie knelt down to mop up the mess.

“Whatever.” Harrison flopped back into the pile of cushions on the sofa. “If he's so good then he should go off and do it professionally, and leave the student productions to us mere amateurs.”

“He wouldn't have gone near it if you hadn't thrown yourself off the pier,” I pointed out.

“On the plus side, he doesn't look like he'll take any bullshit from Xander,” Theo called from the kitchen.

This, I thought, was probably true. “Anyway, he's coming over tomorrow. You can inspect him then.”

“Not tonight?”

“Nope. Theo and I suggested it, but he insisted you'd need peace and quiet this evening.” I joined in with Rosie's efforts to clean the floor, sighing as one soggy tissue after another disintegrated in my hands. “Ugh, we need to get some proper cloths...”

“Try this.” Theo flung a tea towel across the room and sauntered across to the bookcase. “And check for crockery next time you decide to kick someone.”

“If you tidied up more often, it wouldn't be an issue,” I retorted

“Stop squabbling.” Rosie picked up the towel and dabbed at the damp spots on the carpet. “So Mark's coming here?” She flashed me a mischievous grin. “Exciting!”

“Wait.” Theo turned. “Have you met him?”

Rosie nodded. “Outside the Union on Saturday night. I told Claire she should ask him over for drinks.”

“Oh.” Theo pulled down a well-thumbed copy of Brideshead Revisited and sank into the beanbag, a faint frown on his face. 

Harrison and I shared a look. It seemed Mark had gone down a few notches in Theo's estimation.

Later, in the corridor as we were heading to bed, Harrison asked me, “Do you think one of us should tell her?”

“What do you mean?”

He glanced towards the living room, where we'd left Theo reading and Rosie watching clips of corgi puppies on Youtube. “I don't know, maybe not tell her, but drop a few hints – get her to tone it down a bit in front of Theo when she's got a new crush.”

“Oh.” I thought about it, and pulled a face. “No, we can't. It'd be so unfair on Theo.”

“I suppose.”

“They'll sort themselves out eventually – or at least, I hope they will.” I smiled ruefully. “At the moment it's like living in an episode of Dawson's Creek.”

Harrison shook his head, grinning. “I don't know what that is. You're showing your age.”

“Oh, sod off.” I gave him a quick hug. “Seriously, I mean it – go to bed. You've had a long day.”

“Yes, Mum.” He ducked as I swatted at him. “Goodnight.”

It was still dark when I woke up the next day. I cracked my window to change the air, and smelled salt and fog and damp stone. My chest felt heavy – not tight and breathless, the way it used to before work, but weighed down somehow, like a pair of iron bars had settled under my ribcage. I'd dreamed of the sea, I remembered, as a gull wailed from a rooftop across the street – of the sea, and an ancient white light under the waves. Suddenly I felt deeply, achingly unhappy – beyond sad, drifting near the edge of despair, but too numbed to hurt now to feel its full force...

Jesus. I rubbed my arms. Hell of a dream.

I pulled on some leggings and an old baggy hoodie and slipped outside for a cigarette. The jagged edges of the cathedral climbed above the wisps of mist curling at the top of the street. The parking spaces outside the flat were almost all empty – a sign of how early it was. This was the closest free parking to town; past about half seven, it was always full, but there were two clear spaces on either side of my own battered Micra. Perhaps other drivers thought it was too ugly to park next to. I smiled fondly. Its hideous blue-purple colour had earned it the nickname 'The Bilberry' from Harrison – but it was mine, and in a funny way I was proud of it, far more than of the sleek BMW I'd hired on contract in my years as a lawyer.

As I lit my cigarette, a small grey cat emerged from behind the bins and chirped softly. 

“Hello.” I squatted down and offered it my hand to sniff. It was a pretty little thing, with thick, soft-looking grey fur, fading into a peachy-pink bib that extended to its underparts. It was a tabby, I supposed, but marked with dark spots like a cheetah, rather than with stripes. I wondered if it was part wildcat; Theo and Harrison claimed to have seen one out by the sports hall one night on their way back from a house party at Fife Park. Then again, I thought, with the state they were in that night, they could have claimed to have seen a dancing bear and I wouldn't have been surprised.

I reached out to scratch the strange tabby's ears, but it hissed and backed away into the fog.

“Well, fine.” I straightened up and took a drag on my cigarette, savouring the cheap, bitter tang in my throat as my body relaxed into its nicotine hit. “Why did you come begging for attention?”

Across the street the proprietor of Janetta's was unlocking the door and switching on the lights. A few school kids on their way to Madras and St Leonard's called tired greetings to each other, their voices muffled by the fog. As I absorbed the familiar sights and sounds and smells of the town starting its day, the feeling of acute sadness began to dissipate, but I still felt strangely restless. Suddenly I was desperate to walk along the beach, to feel the sand shifting under my feet and the rush of the changing tide around my ankles. I glanced at my watch. Plenty of time for a walk down to East Sands.

The sky was lightening now but the cathedral grounds weren't open yet, so I cut under the archway by the school and plodded down the Pends. The fog shifted around the ruined towers to my left, and a cold tickle like a soft whispering breath ran up my back and across my shoulders. The air smelled stale and close down here, and I was glad to emerge in to the busy harbour, even with its cold, fishy taint.

East Sands, by contrast, was empty except for a few dog walkers. I unlaced my sneakers and let the waves break over my bare feet, staring out at the froth-flecked peaks of water further out. I wondered what on Earth had possessed Theo and Harrison to jump of the pier and into that. In summer, I might have been able to see the appeal – but this morning the North Sea looked like a monster waking from sleep. I imagined the vicious currents running under the waves and shivered at the thought of Theo and Harrison being tugged out beyond the bay, past help.

Stop it. I forced my eyes away, made myself look at the caravan park on the hill and focus on the ugly white blocks, like Lego bricks scattered on the grass. What is wrong with you today?

My leggings were getting soggy at the cuffs. I retreated to the dunes and dusted the sand from my feet, but its scratchy grains clung stubbornly to my damp skin, and eventually I gave in and pulled my socks on over the top. I did my best to ignore the itching and chafing as I trudged back to the flat, the mist curling my hair in directions that gravity shouldn't allow.

When I got back to the flat the cat had gone, and the smell of cheap meat in hot oil was wafting from the kitchen.

“Hey, Claire,” Theo called, poking his head out into the hallway.

“What's brought this on?” I kicked off my sneakers and padded down the corridor. “It's not like you to get up early and start clattering about in the kitchen.”

“I thought I'd take Harrison breakfast in bed.”

I pressed my lips together, resisting the urge to laugh when for once he was actually being thoughtful. “Don't let him get used to it.”

“I think I owe it to him, just this once.” He smiled uncertainly and pushed his hair back from his face. “Claire...I'm sorry about yesterday. I know you're still pissed off, but...”

“I'm not,” I interrupted him, and was surprised to find I meant it. “I was yesterday, but mostly because I was worried – about both of you. It could have been one hell of a lot worse.”

“I know. It was pretty stupid.” His smile grew puppyish and appealing, and he lifted his arms. “Truce?”

I did laugh then, and stepped into the offered hug, the aching sadness in my chest finally clearing. “Truce.” I stood on my tiptoes and peered over his shoulder at the pair of pans balanced on the gas stove. The big pan held eggs and white pudding, and there were mushrooms frying gently in the small saucepan at the back. “Need any help with anything?"

“You could butter some bread rolls. This is all going in a sandwich.”

“You've got to be joking.”

“It's something Harrison and I were talking about the other night – what's the ultimate breakfast sandwich? My grandma used to make this for me when I was in sixth form, if I'd had a few too many the night before.” He poked at the slices of pudding with a spatula. “It's amazing, but Harrison refused to believe it without trying it.” 

“Hmm.” I considered the quantities in the pan. Even Theo and Harrison would have a challenge mowing through all that. “I think you need more than two judges – to make it a truly objective test.”

Theo grinned. “I'll see if I can stretch it to feed four.” He pulled a couple of extra eggs out of the fridge and returned to the stove.

Ten minutes later we were all sitting on or around Harrison's bed, munching our sandwiches. It was pretty good, I had to admit; Theo's Grandma clearly knew a thing or two about lining stomachs for the day ahead. I'd have to bear it in mind the next time we had a big night out.

“I'm not sure it's the best sandwich ever, though,” said Harrison, mopping up the last of the egg yolk with a scrap of bread roll. 

“Best breakfast sandwich,” corrected Theo. “Best sandwich ever, full stop...well, that's a completely different discussion.”

Harrison's eyes lit up, and he smiled a smile I knew far too well.

“No,” I said.

“No what?” Rosie asked.

“Yes!” said Theo and Harrison at exactly the same time.

“What?”

“We're going to find the ultimate sandwich.” Harrison rested his chin on the kneecap that wasn't bound in plaster. “Theodore Morris Wentworth, you are a bloody genius.”

I rolled my eyes. “Well, you can find your perfect sandwich between meals; I don't want them for breakfast, lunch and dinner every day between now and the May Ball.” I glanced at my watch. “Right – time to get moving.”

“Me too.” Rosie wriggled out of the knitted blanket she'd tucked around her legs. “I'll walk with you.”

I kept quiet through my tutorial; the day before hadn't exactly been conducive to productivity, so I hadn't done as much of the reading as I'd have liked. I made a mental note to catch up over the weekend.

Afterwards I mooched for a while in the second hand bookshop, and picked up a battered old copy of Le Morte d'Arthur. A guilty twinge reminded my that my Mlitt was not in Medieval Literature – but then again, there were plenty of articles and books that read The Waste Land as a Grail quest. It was related. Kind of.

I also agonised over refreshments for the evening – I'd definitely told Mark to come after dinner, but he struck me as the cultured type. Would he expect drinks? Canapés? Chocolate? I felt like I should be able to offer something, even if it didn't get eaten.

Bloody hell, why not arrange parlour games too and be done with it, I thought, irritated with myself for caring so much.

In the end I settled for a couple of bottles of red and a cheeseboard, reasoning that if it didn't get used then Theo and Harrison could have the cheese for their mad sandwich scheme – and red wine would never go to waste in a student house. I winced a little at the cost of the cheese, but I squashed the guilt as the shop assistant rang it through. I'd been careful all semester; I could afford a small treat. 

Cheese and white pudding in one day, though... I smiled, imagining the reaction of old-me, lawyer-me – the me who had bought Stella McCartney suits a size too small, then lived on kiwi fruit and watercress until they fitted. I wouldn't have set foot in a cheese shop.

The fog from the morning had cleared, and the crying of the gulls felt friendly again. The last vestiges of the weak November sunshine clung to the pavement and trees, and the air tasted clean and sweet. I remembered the muggy grime of the street I'd lived on in London, the strange flat I'd rented that was a converted room above a single garage, and I tipped my face upwards into the sea breeze, breathing deeply.

The cat was sitting on the bins again when I got back.

“Hi,” I said to it.

It flattened its ears and hissed.

I shrugged. “Please yourself.” I shouldered the door open, reminding myself that we needed to get the landlord to come and fix the lock, then checked the post (a couple of bills and an underwear catalogue I presumed had been ordered by Rosie) and headed upstairs.

To my astonishment the flat smelled of bleach and furniture polish. The worn red carpet in the hall had definitely been hoovered, and the laundry that usually adorned the bannisters was conspicuous by its absence.

“Hello?” I unzipped my coat and checked the impulse to sling it down on the nearest available surface.

“Hey, Claire.” Theo's grinning face appeared around the living room door. “What do you think?”

“Nice!” The kitchen worktops were gleaming; fresh air poured in from the open windows, and even the skirting boards had been wiped down. “How long did this take you?”

“Oh, all day,” he said airily. “But Harrison said it wasn't fair for the flat to be a tip when your date gets here.”

“Mark is not my date,” I said automatically.

“Tall dark handsome stranger volunteers to undergo ritual humiliation for a girl he hardly knows?” Harrison's voice echoed from the living room. “I think he is.”

“Shut up,” I called, then dumped the shopping bag on the kitchen floor and started to unpack. 

Later, as I was doing the washing up, Harrison caught me alone in the kitchen. “Sorry about before,” he said sheepishly, “but Theo was still in a strop, thinking Rosie's into this Mark character.”

“Well.” I carefully dried the corners of the roasting tin. “She is.”

“Yes, but I had to say something to shut Theo up.”

“Teasing me isn't the answer.”

“I know. Sorry.”

I still couldn't feel annoyed with him. “I doubt I'm his type anyway. He looks like he'd prefer someone more...I don't know...glamorous.”

“You're glamorous.” He tilted his head, smiling cheekily. “Or you were, before you turned back into a scruffy student.”

I smacked him with the soggy tea towel, just as the buzzer rang. 

“No stupid comments,” I added in a low voice as Theo went to answer. “I like this guy – not like that!” I sighed at Harrison's smirk. “But seriously, he's nice. Can we please not scare him away?”

He nodded. “Scout's honour.” His eyes widened and he suddenly looked hopeful. “Hey – if he's not into you or Rosie, maybe he likes guys?”

“Who knows?” I smiled at him. “Come on – let's get you introduced.” 

I could already hear Mark's musical tones in the hallway.

“I wasn't sure what to bring...”

“Oh, no way – this is amazing!” I'd rarely heard Theo so enthused. “Bloody hell, Doublewood Seventeen...!”

“If he's bringing whisky then I approve already,” whispered Harrison.

“Ssh,” I hissed as we headed out of the kitchen. “Hi Mark,” I called down the corridor.

“Hi, Claire.” He smiled warmly at us both. “And you must be Harrison.”

“How did you guess?” Despite his grumblings of the previous evening, Harrison returned the smile and shook Mark's hand. “Thank you for saving the day.”

Mark laughed easily. “I don't know about that. It's a long time since I last sang Pirates; I'm horribly out of practice.”

“That's not what I heard.”

“It's total bollocks,” Theo confirmed. “This guy could walk into D'Oyly Carte.”

As good-natured as he was being, Harrison tensed a little at that. Luckily, Rosie chose that moment to sashay down the stairs; I noticed she'd changed from her usual leggings and man's shirt into a slinky black mini-skirt, glossy tights and a snugly-fitted cashmere sweater. The next few minutes were occupied with introductions, discussions of which degree everyone was doing, sorting out who was drinking what, and turning the living room into a temporary practice space. Once or twice across the general hubbub I caught Mark's eye and smiled a silent apology – for Rosie's brazen flirting, Harrison's jealousy, Theo's inane comments.

Don't worry. Again the lazy wink, the half-shrug, the lopsided smile – and again my stomach flipped.

The cheeseboard provided another talking point (I'd deliberately selected a charcoal-infused cheddar for its dramatic slate-grey colour), and eventually, glasses of red wine in hand, we settled into a quick run through of lines.

Mark, unsurprisingly, was word perfect as the Pirate King. Harrison read the Major General, Rosie read the various daughters, and by the end of the First Act most of us were falling about clutching our sides.

“Rosie, please audition for our next show,” begged Theo.

“I can't sing,” she objected.

“That doesn't necessarily matter. Isabel isn't a singing part – and you're so funny...”

Her cheeks turned a delicate shade of pink.

“I think you've got undiscovered range, too,” I said to Harrison, curling up against his side as he leaned into the beanbag. “You're a great Major General – better than Roosevelt. He's so...stiff.”

Harrison grinned, relaxed now after a glass of wine. “Say the word to Xander and I'm all yours. We can't have a limping Pirate King, I know that, but I could play the Major General on crutches...”

I elbowed him. “No way. You're having the most relaxed end to the semester possible – and anyway, Xander would have kittens if we had any more casting changes.”

“Come on, guys.” For once, Theo took charge. “Let's crack on, we're nearly at the end of the Act. Mark?”

Mark didn't respond. I propped myself up on one elbow; he'd been watching Harrison and I with a strange, almost hungry expression, and now he seemed to have retreated into a sad, distant daydream, gazing out of the window towards the cathedral.

“Mark,” I repeated, louder.

Another pause – then he jumped and turned as though he'd only just heard me. “Sorry – where were we?”

“'Orphan, frequently, only once,'” I prompted.

We got through the rest of the Act without incident, and then we pushed the furniture back against the walls so we could take Mark through the blocking. As Harrison explained the choreography for the Pirate King's big solo number, and Mark climbed onto the sofa (which was doubling as the pirates' ship), Rosie snorted and began to giggle uncontrollably.

“What is it?” I asked her, as Mark paused in the middle of waving his imaginary sword.

“Sorry,” she gasped, tears beading at the corners of her eyes. “But honestly...”

“Spit it out,” said Theo, who was balanced carefully on the arm of a nearby chair.

“You do realise that essentially we're a bunch of grown adults, playing at pirates like little kids?”

Harrison, Theo and I fell about at that, and Mark laughed too, apparently forgetting his earlier melancholy – and shortly after that the whisky was opened.

“Dude, you can definitely come again.” Theo closed his eyes in ecstasy as he passed the whisky under his nose. 

Harrison nodded. “Agreed.”

“I don't know how you can have it with cheese, though.” Rosie wrinkled her nose.

“It actually works surprisingly well.” Theo proffered her a small piece of the Cashel blue. “Give it a go.”

She shook her head, honey-blonde highlights shimmering. “I'll pass.”

There was no more Pirates that night. After a couple of whiskies and some more small talk, Mark got to his feet to leave.

“I'll go with you.” I grabbed my book bag. “I have to go to the library anyway; it'll be quiet now, I might actually be able to find what I need.”

Harrison gave me a knowing smile. I rolled my eyes at him; he'd pay later.

Outside the temperature had dropped to at least minus five. Frosted flowers adorned the Bilberry's windscreen, and the pavements shimmered silver. Our breath clouded in the air; wind hissed through the crumbling walls of the cathedral, and I buried my nose in my scarf.

“'The North Wind doth blow,'” quoted Mark.

“Well, I hope we don't get snow,” I grumbled in response – although the sky was knife-clear, so it seemed unlikely, and anyway I didn't mean it. Harrison's pictures of the old town blanketed in white, the ancient spires looming against the heavy sky, and the frozen quad glinting in the pale sun, had been part of what had enticed me up here. It had looked like fairy-land. I'd sat in my poky London bedsit gazing at the photos of Harrison and his friends pelting each other with snow, and wondered what the hell I was doing with my life. I remembered sleeping on the floor in the tiny dorm room Harrison and Theo had shared in their first year, when I came up for my interview. We'd stayed up until three drinking Old Pultney and plotting to share a house the next year if I was accepted. I smiled at the memory.

Mark smiled too, as though I'd shared the story with him. “It's nice,” he remarked, “seeing family members so close. Often cousins drift apart as they grow up.”

“Not me and Harrison. We're both only children, so he's like my little brother. Better than, really,” I amended, thinking about it. “We didn't live together, so we didn't fight like siblings sometimes do.”

“And Theo and Rosie? Are they family too?”

“No. Theo and Harrison shared a room in halls last year, and Rosie lived across the landing from them.” I grinned. “They adopted me when I came back to uni.”

“Back?” he inquired.

“Mm. I did my undergrad at UCL, then did a law conversion.”

“Goodness.” He looked me over again, as though imagining me in my court robes and wig.

“It wasn't for me. Academia's more my scene.” I took a breath of the sea air, reassuringly cool, easing away the grey dread that had haunted my years as a London professional. “Anyway, how about you? Family? Previous unrelated careers?”

He laughed. “Plenty of the latter, none of the former.”

“What about your cousin?”

“I'm sorry?”

“The one who fell out of a tree.”

“Oh.” He stopped at the entrance to one of the wynds that linked the main streets. “He died a long time ago.”

I was glad that the dark spared my blushes. “I'm sorry.” I wondered why I'd pushed it; I knew he'd been a soldier, he'd told me so the other day, and I knew veterans sometimes found it difficult to talk about their experiences. I should have guessed he wouldn't want to discuss the past – selfish of me to have forced it, just because I'd wanted to change the subject.

“I was sorry too.” We couldn't see the sea from this part of town but he turned his head towards it anyway, and for a moment the lamplight burned in his eyes – then he looked back at me and his face was softer again, friendly, smiling. “Anyway, this is me.”

“Oh! You live in one of these?” I couldn't help it; I walked past the stone cottages every day on my way to the library and loved them, with their mossy stone steps up to the front doors and the little animals carved into their roofs.

His smile widened at my enthusiasm. “It's tiny inside. And of course, it isn't really mine – I'm just renting.”

“Aren't we all.” I was still jealous. “Are you free tomorrow evening? We should probably take you through the rest of the blocking before we throw you into a full rehearsal.”

“I can do tomorrow.” He glanced down the street. “I'd offer to host you this time, but unfortunately I don't have the room.”

“We don't mind.” I was pretty sure I was speaking for the other three too; Harrison and Theo had settled down again, especially since Mark had brought that astonishing whisky. “Same time?”

He nodded. “As long as that suits you.”

“Great.” I hesitated, uncertain. I didn't know him well enough for the easy goodnight hugs I exchanged with Harrison, Theo, Rosie and a few others – but a handshake felt too formal now. “Right. Anyway. Library.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Good luck.”

“Ugh, don't.” The state of our library was a standing joke in the postgraduate community. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Claire.” His voice was gentle, like a breath of wind in the bay.

“Goodnight.”

I lit a cigarette as I headed down the wynd towards the library, my shoulders hunched against the cold, and as I put it to my lips I seemed to hear Mark's voice in my head, kind and a little reproachful.

I've told you about those.

“You and God knows how many others,” I muttered, staring at the orange glow at the end of the thin little cylinder. I wondered whether Harrison wasn't right; would I be imagining Mark's voice in my head if I didn't have a crush on him? But something in my gut told me that even if I did, it wouldn't be returned – and not only because, as Harrison had wistfully speculated, he might prefer men instead. Somehow I felt that such a foolish, childish thing as a crush would be wrong where Mark was concerned. He seemed above it, in a way.

I stubbed out my cigarette against the nearest wall and chucked it into a bin. It was a bad habit left over from London, a crutch that had got me through nights of sleepless worry and days of frantic, circling thoughts like rats scurrying in my brain – an escape from the crushing fear I'd woken up to every single day.

Maybe it was time to try and give it up.