Magic, Fairy Tales and Happy Ever After

Magic, Fairy Tales and Happy Ever After

Chapter 4

Late afternoon sunlight filtered through the diaphanous curtains, submerging the bedroom in a world of flickering blue. The muted sounds of traffic and birdsong wafted in on the breeze through the partly-open window.

Debbie stretched and sighed. Falling asleep in the middle of the day was not a good idea, but often happened these days. Lunch at Harry's had been followed by some very strenuous activity, culminating in falling asleep entwined together in the middle of Harry's comfortable king sized bed.

She rolled over, put her hand out and found only empty bed. Vaguely she was aware of the sound of the shower running. This was also normal procedure and her brain did not even need to attain full consciousness to realize where he was.

The lazy Sunday afternoon peace was shattered by the insistent tone of a mobile phone not too far from her head. She groaned, groped around, picked it up with her eyes still shut. "Hello, Debbie here."

There was a moment's silence on the other end. Then, a gravelly male voice said, "Is Jim there?"

Debbie's eyes shot open. She looked at the phone in her hand. It was Harry's, not hers. She hit the end button and hastily put it back down on the bedside table. It immediately rang again. She sat in the middle of the bed and watched and waited for it to stop, not daring to answer.

She was confused and perplexed. Jim? Sighing deeply she got up and started hunting for her clothes. As a diversionary tactic it did nothing to stop her mind from racing around and around the mystery phone call.

Harry wandered fresh and naked into the bedroom, his hair damp and even messier than usual. He smiled to see her up already, walked over and snaked his arms around her. "Sleeping beauty wakes," he said as he nuzzled her neck.

She pushed him away and he stepped back a slight frown on his face. "Only because I had a wake-up call. Your phone rang."

"Sorry about that."

She looked up at him. "Who the hell is Jim?"

The frown deepened. "I thought I told you not to answer my phone," he growled.

"I thought it was mine ringing," she said, her voice starting to become high and shrill. "It shouldn't really matter."

"Well it does. The calls that come in on that phone are strictly business, nothing to do with you." He grabbed the phone and stalked off down the hall to his study. Apart from the first day she came here Debbie had never seen inside that room. Like the phone, it was sacrosanct.

She pulled her clothes on in a furious hurry. It was very irritating to know so little about the most important person in your life, irritating and extremely unfair.

She had made it down the stairs and started to open the front door.

"Debbie, wait."

She stopped and turned. He was standing at the top of the stairs, wearing only his jeans. As soon as she stopped, he walked down slowly. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have got so annoyed over an honest mistake." He reached out and gently cupped her chin in his hands, leant down and caught her lips in a searing sensual kiss. Her eyes closed and the world spun; she reached out and held on for dear life.

Eventually, they drew apart and he led her back into the living room. They both sat down on the sofa. "There's something I've been meaning to discuss with you," he said, clasping her hand in both of his and looking intently into her eyes.

"Yes?" Debbie was hopeful. Maybe now she would get some real answers to at least some of the questions that Harry always left unanswered.

"It seems crazy that you have to go home to Floreat this evening, only to come back this way to get to uni in the morning."

This was not quite what she was expecting. "But that's where I live."

"You could always move in here ... with me." The tone of his voice was uncertain, almost pleading. This was not what she was used to from him. And definitely not what she was expecting.

"I don't think so, Harry."

He blinked and his mouth dropped open. "Why not?" he asked, in a barely audible whisper.

She pulled her hand out of his, stood up and started pacing up and down. "Why not! Harry, we've known each other for six months, been lovers for three and I still know practically nothing about you. You don't even like me answering your goddamn phone. What, are you afraid I might find out the awful truth about you?"

He started to open his mouth, but she ignored him and kept on shouting.

"Not to mention you seem particularly averse to meeting my family and friends. My parents are a little concerned they haven't sighted you yet and my sister is convinced you are a figment of my desperate imagination. And when they ask simple questions like 'what does he do for a job?' I can't answer, because I don't have a bloody clue what you actually do."

She stood there looking down at him, still sitting on the sofa. Her breathing was ragged and her fists were clenched. His head was hanging down; for a moment she fancied she saw an expression of distress, but as he raised it all she could see was a blank slate.

"So you don't care enough about me."

"No," she groaned, "I care about you. But I don't really know you. That's no basis for a long term relationship."

She quickly headed for the door, not wanting to see anymore of that indifferent expression on his face. As she opened the door she halted for a moment. "And I had so hoped this could be long term ..."

As she pulled the door shut behind her, she just caught his answer.

"So did I."

***

Two weeks can feel like eternity when you are miserable. Debbie had long ago lost count of the number of times she had picked up her phone to call him, only to remember the seed of the argument and shove the phone back in her bag in anger. Next week was her twenty-first birthday and the party was tonight. It should be a joyous occasion, all her friends and family, but she felt anything but joyous.

A month ago, when all was well with the world, she had given Harry his invitation. The response was, "It will depend on my work." She gritted her teeth at the memory. Maybe it was better this way - at least she knew he wouldn't turn up. Rather that than what might have been, waiting all night hoping for his arrival, only to receive a late call to offer apologies.

The party had started at seven and it was now nine o'clock and everyone and everything was ticking over nicely, well fuelled by the copious amounts of alcohol provided partly by her parents and partly by the guests themselves. Debbie was out on the back patio with a couple of old friends from high school, one of whom she hadn't seen for two years. Conversation naturally enough turned to romantic attachments, as the girl in question was flashing an incredible rock on one hand and grimly hanging on to her accountant fiancé with the other.

"And what about you, Debbie?" she gushed, "No-one at the moment? Whatever happened to Darren?"

"Oh, he's ancient history," one of her uni friends interjected into the conversation. "This year, Debbie's been spending her time with some mystery Pom. He must be really something. We still haven't been allowed to catch a glimpse."

Debbie could feel herself start to blush. "Not likely to now either," she muttered, desperately wishing someone would change the subject.

She could hear her father's voice coming down the side of the house behind her, "She's out the back, so you might as well come round this way as try and push through the crowd inside. My wife's brothers are parked in the family room watching the footy, and the ladies are starting to ferry in the hot food, so its absolute madness."

Debbie was intrigued. She thought everyone was here already. Well, everyone except for ...

She turned to see her father come around the corner of the house followed by Harry - a vision in black jeans, white shirt and black leather jacket, an enormous bunch of red roses in one hand.

He moved towards her, a ghost of a smile on his lips, obviously unsure of his welcome. "Happy birthday, beautiful."

He held the flowers out to her, and she took them, "Thanks, they're lovely."

"Not as lovely as you," he murmured. She handed the flowers to one of the girls who were standing around silent and open-mouthed, and stepped forward to give him a little thank-you kiss.

As soon as their lips touched, Debbie knew she was a lost cause. It felt so good, so right. She forgot for a minute where they were, until interrupted by a very loud, "Ahem!" from her sister, who must have made her way from inside in record time. She reluctantly drew back, her hand still in Harry's.

"Everyone, this is Harry Evans."

"No kidding," snorted her sister.

Harry smiled at her before adding, "Also known as Jim."

At the first opportunity, he pulled her close and whispered in her ear, "I have another couple of presents for you. One will have to wait for tomorrow, but the other one you can have now." He grinned wickedly. "Put your hand in my coat pocket."

She slid her hand in and encountered a flat velvet covered box, a jeweler's box. She pulled it out and held it reverently in her hands. "Go on, open it," he urged.

"Oh my god! Another present!" shrieked her sister, who had been hovering nearby. "Go on, Deb, open it!"

Debbie resisted the urge to make a rude gesture in the direction of her sister and opened the box instead. Inside was a beautifully-crafted pendant in the form of a rampant golden stag on a fine gold chain; its eye was a small, but brilliant emerald.

"You like?" he asked.

She looked up into eyes that matched the colour of the tiny emerald. "I like very much," she said.