said. I opened my eyes wide at her, surprised until she continued, ‘At least, when I’ve been playing some sort of fantasy game. I’ve been called Marilyn and Madonna and Brad.’
‘You’re joking.’
She raised her arched eyebrows at me, and I realised that she wasn’t. And why should she have been? Nora has the ability to transform herself on a daily basis. Why shouldn’t she use this ability when in bed? She is definitely the type to wear a white dress and stand over a grate, to put on armfuls of rubber bangles and a bustier as a top, to purchase and wear a harness and a strap-on if this sort of thing would work for a lover.
‘But back to it,’ Nora insisted, her hand squeezingmine. ‘I don’t think you two were engaged in role-playing activities at the time, were you?’
‘No.’
‘Were you ever?’ she asked, curious.
I shook my head. Should we have been? If I’d become Marilyn or Madonna or Brad would he have stayed with me? Were any of those people the type to please Byron? I didn’t think so.
‘So don’t let him off the hook for it, kiddo. Just tell me what was good about your departure.’
‘I broke this antique,’ I began, closing my eyes as I recreated the scene in my head. ‘This ancient Greek urn that my great-aunt willed to me. I have no idea how much the thing must have been worth.’
‘Rose died?’ Nora asked, looking shocked.
‘Well, she didn’t die so much as disappear. But her immediate family has waited the prerequisite amount of time. The will has gone into play.’
Nora held out her glass reverently. ‘To Rose,’ she said. She’d never met my great-aunt, but she’d heard the stories. She knew that Rose was worth millions of dollars, and that she loved me.
‘You can see that the urn was priceless –’ I paused ‘– and I broke it.’ I sighed, still in semi-shock at what I’d done.
‘You didn’t mean to,’ Nora said matter-of-factly, as if that made things better.
‘Course not. But that doesn’t change the fact that I destroyed the thing. Still, when it broke, I went on my knees to pick up the pieces. Even one of those shards of pottery would have been worth money to a museum, and I had some fleeting thought of crazy-gluing it together. Crazy all right. There’s no way.’ I sighed. ‘And even with Byron standing there, screaming down at me, I was thinking of the museum. That’s when I saw it.’
‘It?’
‘This … This sheath of papers. This manuscript in therubble. I don’t even know if Byron saw the thing at first, he was so out of his head at the thought that Gwen might not really be in love with him.’
Nora made a gagging noise, like a cat fighting with a hairball.
I lowered my head in my hands, wanting to clear the memory, wanting to think about the positive rather than Byron. After a moment, I looked back at Nora, ready to continue. ‘I scraped the bits of the urn into my suitcase, and picked up the papers – they were practically crumbling at my touch – and I wrapped them in some of the brown paper the box had come in, stuffed them in the bag and left.’
‘Where are the papers now?’
I motioned to my sleek red computer carrier. I hadn’t wanted to leave the bag in my car, hadn’t wanted to leave it at Nora’s. I wouldn’t feel truly secure about the manuscript until it found a home at ARTSI.
‘What are they?’
‘I don’t know. I saw the writing as I put the pages in the case. They’re in Greek. Or some form of Greek. Scrawling writing. I can’t read Greek – Latin, but not Greek – but I can recognise it, after having seen so much of it in the museum. Think of the concept, Nora. These papers must be thousands of years old. The only reason they survived this long is because that urn was airtight, sealed completely, and then broken by me in a heated fight with an imbecile.’
‘What will you do with them?’ Nora was obviously entranced at the thought. This was fanciful, the stuff of fairy tales. Exactly the
‘You’re joking.’
She raised her arched eyebrows at me, and I realised that she wasn’t. And why should she have been? Nora has the ability to transform herself on a daily basis. Why shouldn’t she use this ability when in bed? She is definitely the type to wear a white dress and stand over a grate, to put on armfuls of rubber bangles and a bustier as a top, to purchase and wear a harness and a strap-on if this sort of thing would work for a lover.
‘But back to it,’ Nora insisted, her hand squeezingmine. ‘I don’t think you two were engaged in role-playing activities at the time, were you?’
‘No.’
‘Were you ever?’ she asked, curious.
I shook my head. Should we have been? If I’d become Marilyn or Madonna or Brad would he have stayed with me? Were any of those people the type to please Byron? I didn’t think so.
‘So don’t let him off the hook for it, kiddo. Just tell me what was good about your departure.’
‘I broke this antique,’ I began, closing my eyes as I recreated the scene in my head. ‘This ancient Greek urn that my great-aunt willed to me. I have no idea how much the thing must have been worth.’
‘Rose died?’ Nora asked, looking shocked.
‘Well, she didn’t die so much as disappear. But her immediate family has waited the prerequisite amount of time. The will has gone into play.’
Nora held out her glass reverently. ‘To Rose,’ she said. She’d never met my great-aunt, but she’d heard the stories. She knew that Rose was worth millions of dollars, and that she loved me.
‘You can see that the urn was priceless –’ I paused ‘– and I broke it.’ I sighed, still in semi-shock at what I’d done.
‘You didn’t mean to,’ Nora said matter-of-factly, as if that made things better.
‘Course not. But that doesn’t change the fact that I destroyed the thing. Still, when it broke, I went on my knees to pick up the pieces. Even one of those shards of pottery would have been worth money to a museum, and I had some fleeting thought of crazy-gluing it together. Crazy all right. There’s no way.’ I sighed. ‘And even with Byron standing there, screaming down at me, I was thinking of the museum. That’s when I saw it.’
‘It?’
‘This … This sheath of papers. This manuscript in therubble. I don’t even know if Byron saw the thing at first, he was so out of his head at the thought that Gwen might not really be in love with him.’
Nora made a gagging noise, like a cat fighting with a hairball.
I lowered my head in my hands, wanting to clear the memory, wanting to think about the positive rather than Byron. After a moment, I looked back at Nora, ready to continue. ‘I scraped the bits of the urn into my suitcase, and picked up the papers – they were practically crumbling at my touch – and I wrapped them in some of the brown paper the box had come in, stuffed them in the bag and left.’
‘Where are the papers now?’
I motioned to my sleek red computer carrier. I hadn’t wanted to leave the bag in my car, hadn’t wanted to leave it at Nora’s. I wouldn’t feel truly secure about the manuscript until it found a home at ARTSI.
‘What are they?’
‘I don’t know. I saw the writing as I put the pages in the case. They’re in Greek. Or some form of Greek. Scrawling writing. I can’t read Greek – Latin, but not Greek – but I can recognise it, after having seen so much of it in the museum. Think of the concept, Nora. These papers must be thousands of years old. The only reason they survived this long is because that urn was airtight, sealed completely, and then broken by me in a heated fight with an imbecile.’
‘What will you do with them?’ Nora was obviously entranced at the thought. This was fanciful, the stuff of fairy tales. Exactly the
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