The Space In Between

London

As I step out the front door of the temple, dusk is already setting in.

When I entered the Order’s headquarters this morning, the sun hadn’t even risen yet. Only now do I notice how stiff my muscles are – a sign of just how long I’ve been sitting inside. And yet, time seems to have flown by.

On the sidewalk bordering on the small corner shop opposite the temple, an old man is busy dragging crates of apples and bananas back inside the store. The day is over, and the unsold merchandise needs to be put away safely in the storage room once more. Wind tickles my face as a double-decker bus tears past me, stopping a hundred yards further down the road at the bus shelter I need to get to as well. Droves of people hurry past me in both directions, their faces stressed and the sound of their rushed footsteps leaping off the sidewalk along Tottenham Court Road.

Actually, I should be in just as much of a hurry – after all, my bus could show up any minute – but the tense feeling usually accompanying me on my walks through the city is all but gone. Thanks to what has happened today. It’s quite bizarre how your perspective on everyday things can change so radically in just a few hours.

I mean, I knew the kockak would eventually tell me more about the meditation techniques of the Order, but I’d never dreamed of gaining so many new insights so quickly. I never thought it would make me feel this peaceful and calm inside – that it would teach me to have an out-of-body experience within hours, and make me realize that this body is just a shell, at the end of the day. What were those famous words Shakespeare once used in one of his plays – ‘this mortal coil’?

To be honest, I have never felt like this – not in all my twenty-two years walking this earth. I think this is what they call enlightenment. Of course, I’ve tried drugs a few times to lift myself to a higher level, but that didn’t feel real, somehow. This did.

Smiling to myself, I grab my shoulder bag and safely tuck away the book of verses that the kockak gave to me before I left. It’s time to go home. My family is expecting me for dinner.

1.

"Just work, you miserable thing!"

Moira angrily slammed down her fist on the wheel, taking a deep drag of her cigarette and almost choking on the smoke. Halle-fucking-lujah – this was all she’d needed after a long, shitty day.

Suppressing a groan, she turned the key in the ignition once more, only to be met with the same strangled sound of her Vauxhall engine struggling to start – and failing.

Screw this. She pulled out her key and turned around to dig up her cell phone from her messenger bag. Patrick was still at work, so he wouldn’t be able to come get her. Her brother might be up to the task, so she decided to call him.

From the corner of her eye, Moira saw her boss stalking into the parking lot. John Pritchard was an incredibly tall, skinny man with legs so long she’d nicknamed him ‘The Heron’ whenever she talked about him with her friends.

John presently stalked toward her on his heron legs and bent over to peer through her side window, partially lowered so Moira could let the smoke out. You alright? he asked.

Uhm – not really. Wasn’t that bloody obvious? She tried to force a smile onto her face. Snapping at her boss wasn’t the best of ideas – not after she’d managed to mess up three puddings today in the kitchen of the hotel where she worked several nights a week. She probably shouldn’t anger John again, but Moira had to bite her tongue to stop herself from losing her temper. What did this genius think – that she was sitting here parked in a car without the radiator on in subzero temperatures for fun?

I think something might be wrong with your alternator. John tapped his knuckles on the hood of the car. Weren’t you having battery problems last week? I don’t think the battery’s charging properly.

Hmm. Okay, granted – John did have useful tips every once in a while. Moira shot him a more genuine smile this time. Is it okay if I leave the car in the lot for the weekend? I’ll ask Patrick to have a look at it.

Her boyfriend worked at a garage. She’d tell him what John had told her about the alternator. If she passed it off as her own insight, Pat would think she had a total knack for car mechanics. Moira chuckled silently.

Of course, love. No worries. We don’t have that many guests, anyway.

The small hotel in Penmaenmawr, North Wales was practically deserted this time of year, although there had been recent weekends in which Moira had been rushed off her feet in order to keep the guests happy. She didn’t mind, though – she was happy with her job. It was a short distance away from her house, her boss was a decent guy, and she had enough time left for her part-time Art studies at the University of Bangor.

Cheers, John. I think I’m gonna ring Dai. Why don’t you go back inside, I’ll be fine, she said.

As the phone rang on the other end of the line, Moira absently watched John marching back to the kitchen door on his stilt legs. When the call switched to voicemail, she muttered a curse. Why did her brother have a cell phone if he never answered it anyway? He’d be the most unreliable doctor’s assistant in town after his graduation, she mused sourly. Better try Tabitha – she was probably already home, plus she usually checked her phone more regularly.

It only took two rings for her sister to answer. "Helô?" she heard in Welsh.

Hiya, Tabby, she replied with a sigh of relief. "Ti’n iawn? You all right? Hey, guess whose car broke down again – I’m at The Gladstone."

No way. Again? Just get the bloody thing towed to the scrap heap.

Scrap heap? I don’t think so. I’ll ask Patrick to have a look. So is Dai home yet? I’d really love for someone to pick me up. If I have to walk all the way home in this freezing weather, I will never be happy again. Ever.

Tabby laughed. You drama queen, you. Sure, Dai’s home. In fact, he’s running around to find his car keys as we speak. We’ll come and get you now in a minute.

I love you lot. See you in a bit!

Moira clicked off, staring into the darkness outside. To kill time, she lit another cigarette. Her packet was almost empty – she’d been stressed today.

Actually, her plan had been to quit smoking months ago, but it wasn’t easy – Patrick smoked like a chimney, even though he had been the one to suggest she should quit. Because it would be ‘so much better for her’, according to him. The best thing, really, would be for Patrick to stop criticizing her and take a long, hard look at himself instead. The wanker.

Moira exhaled forcibly, rubbing her forehead in an attempt to drive away a nagging headache. She was being crabby and unreasonable. Her boyfriend was a sweetheart who always tried to take good care of her. He knew her weaknesses and all he wanted was to help her – even though he didn’t set a very good example himself. Tomorrow, she’d give it another try. She wouldn’t buy new smokes after finishing this packet. Admittedly, she had no idea how to go about it, what with the constant stream of adrenalin raging through her body, but the Ritalin she’d been taking for a few weeks now should help with that. She should no longer be needing any nicotin to be able to relax.

A small pang of jealousy stabbed her heart as she thought of Dai and Tabby, her brother and sister. The twins hadn’t been burdened with any ADHD genes – they had all gone to Moira, apparently. Although she was twenty-one now, she’d never exactly felt like a responsible adult. Everything around her grabbed her by the throat, making her act too fast and think things over too little, too late.

Without her stupid recklessness, she’d never have fallen off the roof last year – that much was sure. An ugly scar still marred her knee, but her broken leg had healed without any complications, fortunately. Those eight weeks of having her leg in a cast had come with an unexpected bonus, though – she’d had heaps of time to work on her portfolio. By the time December came around, she’d had so many new drawings and paintings to show to her classmates that some had seemed slightly envious of her accident, even. Her tutors had been duly impressed as well.

Moira jolted in her seat when her phone clanked to life. She pressed the button to answer her brother’s call. Hiya, Dai. Are you on your way yet? she asked impatiently.

Getting in the car right now. You need me to bring a towing line?

No, don’t worry. The Heron said I could leave my car here for the weekend. I’ll ask Pat to take a look at it tonight.

You really think he’s gonna feel like tinkering with your car after work? It’s Saturday night. The only thing Pat’s gonna want to do is go down to the pub and have a few beers, mind. Let’s just tow your lovely Vauxhall home so we can park it in front of the house.

Don’t say that. Of course he’ll take a look at it tonight.

Dai let out a long-suffering sigh at the other end. I’ll bring the towing line just in case. See ya.

Moira ended the call, chucking the phone into her bag with an irritated huff. She was in a black mood today, and this certainly wasn’t helping.

After some ten odd minutes, her brother and sister pulled into the lot in their mom’s Nissan. By now, the sun had set completely, so this ride was a gift from heaven.

Miss Llewellyn? You asked for roadside assistance? Dai popped his head inside after opening her door, a big grin on his pale face and his ginger hair looking like he’d been in an explosion. Dai, Tabitha, and Moira had all inherited their red hair from their dad’s side of the family, who called it ‘The LLlewellyn Curse’.

Moira couldn’t help laughing. Shit, Dai, what did you do to your hair? You look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards.

Uhm, nothing. That’s the problem. Tabby forced me out of the shower and into the car before I had time to even look in the mirror. She said I didn’t need any hair gel.

Tabitha poked him in the side. Gel should be the last thing on your mind when your sister is freezing to death waiting for you in her junk heap. You diva. She shot Moira a wide grin. Go on, help me hook up that line so we can tow you home.

Moira got out and followed Tabby’s instructions. Soon, they’d safely hooked up the cable, driving off one after the other very carefully. Moira and Tabby were driving the Nissan while Dai was steering the car that had broken down. He felt more confident than Moira did at the moment. The two cars slowly wound their way through the little town in Wales, on their way to the Llewellyns’ house on Paradise Road.



My God, what a day! Moira chucked her bag into the lazy chair next to the fireplace in their cozy sitting room once they were home safe. She extended her hands for a moment to warm them by the fire. What’s for dinner?

Her mom emerged from the kitchen. Pizza, she replied. I didn’t feel like cooking a big meal so I picked up some easy food at the Co-Op. We’re going out for dinner tomorrow, by the way, because Tad’s coming home.

Moira’s father worked as a manager at Lloyds TSB, commuting between home, the bank’s headquarters in London and their subsidiary office in Bangor. Lately, he’d been spending a lot of time in London, where he was needed several days a week, so whenever he got home after those periods of absence, her mother felt like throwing a party.

Marc Llewellyn was just as impulsive and quick-tempered as Moira. Last year, he’d rushed back home in a heartbeat when he’d heard the news about her little stunt on the roof of the local train station. Work and London had been the last thing on his mind at the time.

Absently, Moira brushed her hand over the scar on her knee just as Dai put some glasses and bottles of soda on the coffee table. The accident had turned her life upside down, and yet, she’d been so hammered on the night in question that the reason for her alcohol-induced scramble-and-crash had been wiped from her memory – and the memories of that night had never resurfaced, either. Not really. Sometimes, she felt as if she were almost touching a memory of what had transpired that night, the words she’d said to her boyfriend, but the next moment, it was gone. Patrick had had to tell her about what happened.

According to him, she’d been in one of her spur-of-the-moment moods again, thinking it would be funny to climb up on the roof of the village railway station and steal the Welsh flag from the flagpole directly above the entrance as some kind of patriotic trophy. Unfortunately, the sloping roof had been more slippery than she’d anticipated, with disastrous consequences. Due to the slimy moss mixed with early snow beneath her feet and her drunken brain fog, she’d managed to tumble down to the platform fifteen feet below and break her leg in the process.

When she woke up in the hospital, the last thing she remembered doing was her and Patrick playing a game of darts in the Bron, the local pub. She didn’t recall anything about the accident, or why she’d been at the station in the first place.

Little wonder that Patrick wanted to protect her from herself ever since the incident. He’d never quite understood why she was always so ebullient and impetuous – he called it childish – and had insisted she make an appointment with her GP so he could do some tests to take a closer look at her ‘abnormal behavior’. And then, she turned out to actually suffer from ADHD. They’d only cracked silly jokes about it before.

A half hour later, the entire family minus their dad was sitting in front of the TV, large pizzas on the plates in their laps. The piano tune of Eastenders poured from the TV speakers.

So, what have you got planned for tomorrow? Dai mumbled around a bite of pizza, cocking his head at his twin sister Tabitha. That is, I assume you’re going to surprise us with some fabulous Halloween activity?

Tabby flashed him a goofy grin. You assume correctly.

I’m not gonna dress up like a witch again, okay? Moira warned her sister. That stupid green makeup you used on me for the party last year wouldn’t come off properly. I could still see it on my face after three days. Pat said I looked like a ghoul. Not to mention the fact that it was very impractical to be a witch with my leg in a cast.

Doing something for Halloween was a sibling tradition. Tabby came up with the plans, and Moira and Dai dutifully tagged along with whatever she suggested. Their sister was the only practicing Wiccan in this part of Wales, so if they didn’t want to celebrate Halloween with Tabby, she’d be all by herself.

Tabitha couldn’t help laughing. No, I promise I won’t use makeup on you this year. I want to do a – sort of a small ritual this time. At Meini Hirion.

Dai glanced sideways with a frown. What, you mean at the stone circle?

At nighttime? Moira chimed in, sounding even more uneasy.  The stone circle built by Bronze Age people – but named after the Druids due to faulty local legend – was up in the hills bordering on the cliffs of Penmaenmawr, where the sea wind howled relentlessly day and night and the air never got truly warm, not even in summer. Horses couldn’t drag her to that place after dark, Halloween or not.

No, of course we can’t go at night, Tabby replied, shaking her head. We’re going out to the restaurant, remember? My plan is to go at three. And it won’t get really dark anyway. There’s a full moon tomorrow.

I don’t know, Tabs, Dai muttered. What kind of ritual?

Tabby shrugged. Just – a way to contact the spirits of our ancestors. So I can lift the veil and see into the other world for just a few moments. If we sit within the circle, my spell will have more effect, I think. And we need three people, of course.

The power of three, right? Moira chuckled, quoting the familiar slogan used in the Charmed TV show.

And this is what you call ‘just a small ritual’? Dai laughed, reaching out to ruffle his sister’s hair into a tangled mess. There you go, witch. Now your hair looks just as ridiculous as mine.

Sian Llewellyn cleared her throat. Uhm, darlings? You’re talking right through Alfie. She pointed at the TV.

Sorry, Mam, they mumbled in unison. Their mother didn’t watch a lot of TV, but nobody should come between her and Eastenders.

They ate the rest of their pizzas in relative silence. After dinner, Moira went up to her room to work on the sketches she had to show to her teacher this coming Monday. They were supposed to be still life sketches, but she hadn’t managed to come up with anything interesting yet.

The other sketches scattered all across her desk weren’t part of her Monday assignment. Last night, she’d been on the phone with Holly, absent-mindedly scribbling away on the sheet of paper next to her laptop. To her surprise, she’d managed to draw a beautiful eye without even trying. Eyes were her biggest stumbling block – whenever she tried to do portraits, she could never manage to capture the light in people’s eyes convincingly in the way truly skillful artists could get a good likeness on paper. And yet, her doodling of last night had left her with a sketch of a beautiful, hazel eye speckled with lighter spots of gold – as if it had begged her to be drawn. Encouraged by her sudden knack for drawing eyes, she’d tried a few more, and those attempts had been successful too. Unfortunately, her teacher wouldn’t be interested in pictures of eyes one little bit, so she had to come up with something else before the weekend was over.

She had just put pencil to paper when her cell phone rang. Hey, Pat, she answered the call in English. You’re done eating?

Almost, Patrick mumbled, obviously still munching on something. Are you coming down to the pub? I’m already here. Mam wasn’t home and I didn’t feel like cooking, so I’m having a burger and chips.

Oh, uhm, yeah, Moira fumbled. Actually, I was hoping you could pick me up. My car broke down again. Something’s wrong with the alternator.

Patrick grumbled. I should head your way right now, then before I get another lager. You’ll have to stay over at my place, though. I can’t drive you home tonight.

Moira side-eyed her drawings. She’d actually wanted to work on them after the pub closed at eleven. Well, I could ask Dai to pick me up afterwards.

Just spend the night with me, sweetheart, Patrick said. It’s been a while, you know what I’m saying?

Yeah, I know. It’s just – I still have some homework to do.

You can finish that on Sunday. So, I’ll see you in a bit, alright?

Moira sighed inaudibly. Yeah, okay, see you, she replied a bit tersely. With a frown, she stared at the sketches she wouldn’t have time for on Sunday, contrary to Patrick’s claims. After breakfast at Pat’s place tomorrow, she’d be setting out to the stone circle on some god-forsaken trek with Dai and Tabby. And after Tabby was done with her pagan mumbo-jumbo, they’d have to rush to be on time for dinner with their dad. After that, she’d probably be too tired to work on her drawings.

With a deep sigh of frustration, she got up and slipped the drawings back into the big folder she kept in the corner next to her desk. Lost in thought, Moira stopped in front of her easel, where a largely unfinished work of art was staring back at her. She’d painted a pitch-black landscape with red-orange morning glory dawning on the horizon, but she hadn’t had time to add in more details. It was as though the canvas was holding its breath, inviting her to carefully consider what should be the center piece of the scene, afraid she’d make the wrong decision. Somber thoughts like these had been creeping up on her quite often lately. They plagued her – mostly the idea she was mucking things up. A sense of unaccomplishment because her new meds were deadening her intuition. The fear she’d never feel enough again to create true works of art.

With a disgruntled huff, she whipped around and stalked to her mirror to apply some makeup. The side effects would wear off – that’s what the doctor had said. She should be glad she’d found more balance in her life.

When the doorbell rang downstairs, Moira picked up her bag from the bed and pulled her bedroom door shut, leaving the half-empty canvas behind like an unanswered question.

2.

Shrill, piercing beeping startled her from sleep.

Switch off the bloody alarm, Moira moaned, opening one eye to a crack. The pounding headache and dry mouth she woke up to reminded her of last night. She’d drunk way too much alcohol, out of sheer frustration. Patrick had flat-out told her he’d only be able to have a look at her car on Monday night, because he didn’t want to do any work on Sunday. Actually, that wasn’t even a big surprise – in fact, it was quite reasonable. She’d just been annoyed with the fact that Dai had, once again, been right about her boyfriend. Oh well. Just because Patrick didn’t feel like fixing his girlfriend’s car on a Sunday didn’t mean he was a good-for-nothing always faffing about. Patrick just needed a day off without anyone bothering him, that was all.

Grumbling, she’d mulled things over in her mind, tanking down two pints of lager by herself after Patrick had moved over to the corner to throw a game of darts with his friends. On top of that, they’d also gotten into a big argument when Moira had told him she was going outside for a smoke. I smoked half a pack at work today anyway, she’d snarled. You really think this one fag is gonna make all the difference? Once I finish this pack, I’ll quit. Besides, why can’t you just mind your own business?

Later, up in his room, he’d kissed her and touched her everywhere until the anger had drained away from her. He’d even chuckled when she’d lit her last cigarette after sex. That means it was good, right? he’d teased her.

The high-pitched alarm didn’t stop, so Moira opened both eyes now, casting a look around the room to localize Patrick’s alarm clock. How strange – the thing wasn’t even switched on. And her boyfriend was nowhere to be found.

Pat! she shouted. What’s with the bloody noise?

Footsteps trudged up the stairs and into the corridor. Then, Patrick stuck his head round the door. It’s the smoke detector, he replied agitatedly. I’m grabbing the ladder so I can take the minging thing down from the ceiling. Hold on.

Moira heard him walking away, banging around in the hallway cupboard to drag out the ladder and take it downstairs. After another minute, a blissful silence descended in the house. When Patrick stepped into the room once more, he was balancing two plates in his hands. Breakfast in bed, he grinned. Including a special wake-up call for cute redheads with hangovers.

Moira sat up straighter. Aww, that’s so sweet! What did you make?

Patrick slipped under the covers and settled in next to her. Well, first I made scrambled eggs and toast, and after that, I incinerated some bacon strips, he explained. Hence the fire alarm. I had to take an incoming call from my boss, so I wasn’t minding the pan. He pointed to the plates. Fortunately, we had some more bacon, and attempt number two turned out a lot better.

Moira smiled up at him, running her fingers through his curly, ash-blond hair. Thank you. It all looks delicious. And you’re right, I’m wide awake now.

Sunlight was peeping through a gap in the curtains. Which was good news – at least their Halloween ritual at Meini Hirion wouldn’t be accompanied by rain pouring down on them. It looked like it was going to be a beautiful day.

Any plans for today? Moira inquired, nibbling on a piece of toast with jam.

Nothing special. Well, we’re going out for dinner tonight, innit? What about you?

Dai and I are joining Tabitha for a Halloween celebration.

A dark expression crossed Patrick’s face. You lot still do that? How old is your sister now?