Cups and Saucerers - Chapter 15 of ?
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Chapter Summary:
Leon pays Merlin a visit for advice on a tricky personal problem. Meanwhile, Moore is beginning to remember the distant past.
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'Moore knew. He remembered. He had known ever since Emrys had walked into the shop, and bought the premises outright from his mother. He recognised Emrys’ ivory skin, glossy blue-black hair, piercing blue irises; the memories were etched deep in his psyche, and had sprung forth, demanding his attention, the moment they locked eyes.'
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Three Weeks Later
Cups and Saucerers tea shop, Cambridge. Saturday 3rd April 2004. Time: 3.49pm.
Leon rarely came to the tea shop on his own, but today he needed a treat to sooth his troubled heart. His feet guided him down Bene’t Street and along King’s Parade. Somehow he knew that Merrill would understand how it felt to love someone who didn’t see you in the same way.
Leon felt helpless. Morgan had fallen for that surly teenager, Moore Dee-Reid, and she would never look at Leon in that way. He knew that. He was too ordinary, too dull, too obtainable. All he could do was wait on the sidelines and hope that maybe one day she would notice him.
Today's celebration of Gavin’s latest hat-trick took place in the Eagle, in a snug little dark-oak clad room, fragrant with ale and polish. It was a grim sight, watching Moore groping Kara. Even worse was the pained expression on Morgan's face, her tragic eyes fixed on the spectacle. Leon had to leave. He couldn't bear it.
“Penny for your thoughts?” said Merrill as he handed Leon the familiar menu.
“I need sugar,” said Leon, “to get rid of the bitter taste in my mouth.”
Merrill looked around at the semi-deserted tea-shop and drew up a chair, a concerned expression on his face. “Morgan?” he said, sympathetically.
Leon let out a shaky laugh, fingers drumming the table. “Yeah,” he said. “Moore and Kara are currently locking lips in The Eagle. The slurping noises made me feel a bit ill, so I left, but Morgan wouldn’t come with me.”
Merrill nodded, his eyes kind. “I’ll bring you a large slice of dark triple chocolate fudge cake with all the trimmings,” he said. “It’s the best thing for a lonely heart, trust me on this, I have many, many years of experience to draw upon. On the house.”
When he returned with the cake, and two cups of Earl Grey, he sat with Leon again. “Tea break,” he said. “You know,” he went on as he poured out, a pale umber trickle of fragrant tea streaming from the spout, “It might not hurt to tell her how you feel about her.” He gave Leon’s hand an avuncular pat.
Leon snorted. “I can’t compete, can I?” he said. “Morgan is attracted by exciting, unconventional, unpredictable men, whereas I?” He indicated his football training-strip, his wavy strawberry blond hair, his dishevelled goatee. “Well, I’m not much to look at, and a steady career in accountancy awaits me. She’s not to blame for being underwhelmed by such blinding excitement, eh.”
Merrill shook his head. “Don’t undersell yourself, mate,” he advised. “When I look at you I see a steadfast friend, loyal, kind, honest, thoughtful, a total gentleman. You appreciate Morgan for herself. You’re tactful and considerate. I consider it a privilege that I can call you a friend. God, if you swung that way I’d marry you myself! You’re a catch, Leon. Morgan will understand one day that these are the qualities that will make her happy-not mysteriousness, moodiness or obliviousness, which I am sorry to say that our friend Moore possesses to an unhealthy degree.”
Merrill sighed and swirled the remnants of his tea around in his cup before chugalugging the lot and replacing it firmly in its saucer. “Leon,” he said. “Don’t lose heart. Tell her how you feel. It might take her a while to get her head round it, but you won’t regret it in the end, and neither will she.”
Leon was touched, if a little uncomfortable at this distinctively un-British outpouring of sentiment. Merrill’s face split into a blinding grin, as if he sensed Leon’s discomfort, and he punched Leon on the arm, returning their interaction to a more normal footing. “But you’d better carry on with the football if you’re going to keep inhaling my cakes like that,” he said, “there’s a big difference between cuddly and downright plump, mate!”
This was undoubtedly true, but Leon was more than happy to work his way through another slice, although this time he insisted on paying for it. “What about you, anyway, mate?” he said then. Merrill had brought a fork and was sampling a bit of Leon’s cake, just to check the quality.
Merrill indicated his spare figure. “I don’t have any problem with getting cuddly,” he said, through a mouthful of crumbs.
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” said Leon. “I meant, what about you, in terms of your love life, mate. You got a man of the moment?”
Merrill shook his head. “There’s someone,” he said, mouth turning down at the corners, “but I’m not sure he feels the same way I do.” Leon could guess who Merrill was talking about, and sighed. The oblivious Pentagon siblings have a lot to answer for, he thought.
Merrill stabbed the cake and swallowed another forkful. “Hmm. I reckon it could do with a tad less icing,” he said, changing the subject. “What do you think?”
“For the love of God, please don’t change anything about this cake,” replied Leon. “And that was just the most transparent case of ‘fishing for compliments’ that I’ve seen since Morgan asked Moore whether he liked her new dress.” Gloom settled over Leon again at the thought. He still had dreams about that dress, which showed off Morgan’s assets to a “t”.
Merrill waved a hand in front of his eyes, and Leon started. “You still with us, Leon?” he asked.
Leon nodded. “Think I’m going to need another slice,” he said, pleading with his eyes. The cake was a superb distraction.
“That bad? Good thing I made an extra one this morning.”
When Leon left the tea shop half an hour later, his heartache had eased enormously. He wasn’t sure whether it was thanks to the third slice of drool-worthy cake that he’d devoured, or more likely the relief at unburdening himself to a sympathetic ear.
A few minutes later he was almost surprised to find that his footsteps were taking him in the direction of Morgan’s rooms at Jesus College. Sod it, he thought. I might as well put my heart on the line now. After all, what do I have to lose? Thus resolved he set forth with renewed vigour and a firm tread to his steps. I’m going to tell her, he thought, laughter bubbling in his throat. I’m really going to do it.
But when he got to her set there was no sound from inside, and she wasn’t answering her phone. He started to write a note on the piece of paper she’d left on her door using the pencil she’d blue-tacked to the dark oak panel:
“Morgan,” his hand scrawled, struggling with the difficult angle. "I think I'm in love with you."
But then the pencil snapped before he could sign his name.
Leon sighed and walked away.
~#~
Two days later
Cups and Saucerers tea shop, Cambridge. Monday 5th April, 2004. Time: 10.15am.
Moore knew. He remembered. He had known ever since Emrys had walked into the shop, and bought the premises outright from his mother. He recognised Emrys’ ivory skin, glossy blue-black hair, piercing blue irises; the memories were etched deep in his psyche, and had sprung forth, demanding his attention, the moment they locked eyes.
He had struggling to reconcile his memories since then, to make sense of the swirling, jumbled thoughts that attacked him every waking moment, swarming into his head like angry bees.
He remembered.
He remembered Kara, the deathly silence that fell over Camelot when she swung from the gallows, his helplessness and fury.
He remembered the deadly satisfaction of his vengeance, the smoke, the stink of battle, the burning stench of Emrys’s sorcery, and above it all the blind hatred that moved him.
He remembered the sickening sound his sword made as he thrust it into Arthur’s side, the resistance posed by Arthur’s armour as his sword slid between Arthur’s ribs, the agonising pain of Arthur’s return blow. The triumph. The rising tide of darkness that followed.
His emotions fought maddeningly for control over his mind. At times he felt a powerful need to atone for his crime. He had to remind himself that things were different now. This time Kara was alive, was still his. But when he looked at Arthur’s golden head adoration wrestled with hatred until he felt he would explode with the strength of his feelings.
Gradually he had come to realise that, although none of the others remembered like he did, many of the actors in this ancient drama were gathering together again here in Cambridge, and he wondered what it all might be heading towards.
He pushed open the door to the tea shop. Here at least there was one person who might understand his inner conflict, might listen to him. He was not fooled by the disguise, by the man’s transparent pseudonym and breezy manner. He knew what manner of being Merrill truly was.
The tea shop was empty when he went in, and Merrill was sitting reading a newspaper. Moore strode across to him, pulled up a chair. Merrill looked up, his blue eyes wary.
“Moore,” he said, expression closed, folding the paper. Merrill had always been guarded and formal with him, when all others received a warm welcome. Oh yes, thought Moore. Merrill knew him. Merrill remembered.
Moore closed his eyes and reached out with his mind.
“Emrys,” he said, telepathically and then opened his eyes.
Merrill flinched and put a hand to his head.
“I haven’t heard that name in a long time,” said Merrill, out loud, his face expressionless.
Moore leaned forward. “I remember,” he said intently, his voice a hollow whisper, jaw tense, bunching his fists to stop them from trembling.
Outside there was a sudden rattle of hail on the window. Moore thought he heard a click, as if the lock was suddenly drawn across the door.
“As do I,” Emrys said, his voice deepening and his eyes clouding like the sudden disappearance of the sun outside.
“Then we understand one another,” said Moore. The two men regarded one another in silence for a moment.
Emrys cleared his throat. His eyes were shuttered. “Albion’s time of great need is upon us,” he said. “We all have a role to play. Mine is to protect Arthur and ensure that the balance is not disrupted. Make no mistake, Mordred,” and Moore shivered at the use of that ancient name, “I will defend him. You will not thwart me this time. I have waited long enough…” Lightning flashed outside and thunder crashed so loudly the window-panes rattled.
“You may find this hard to believe, but I do not wish Arthur any harm,” Moore replied, refusing to be intimidated. “Things are different now. I want to start afresh.”
Merrill nodded. “I believe that Kara is the linchpin on which this all stands. I will do my utmost to protect her.”
Moore smiled grimly at that, baring his teeth and leaning forward across the table.
“See to it that you do, Emrys” he said in a low voice. "See to it that you do."
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