Sleeping Beauty (1/3)
Title: Sleeping Beauty
Fandom: Hornblower.
Characters/Pairing: Archie/Horatio
Disclaimer: All recognisable characters belong to CS Forrester, and possibly A&E/Meridian.
Summary: A slightly odd version of Sleeping Beauty based on Hornblower. Or a very odd version of Hornblower based on Sleeping Beauty.
Rating: PG
Notes: Several months ago I decided that Sleeping Beauty with Archie as the princess and Horatio as the prince sounded like a good idea. I finally got it written and the result is a mish-mash of The Even Chance, The Duchess and the Devil, the Disney and Perrault versions of the fairy tale, and some stuff that I just made up. In a modern setting.
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Once upon a time, a beautiful boy lived in a beautiful castle. He had been long looked-for, his parents fearing they would never have a child. At his christening his fairy godmothers gifted him generously, endowing him with beauty, wit, courage, and strength, but a wicked fairy also came and, jealous of the child, placed a curse on him so that he would die when he became a man. One of the good fairies tried to remove the curse but she could not remove it completely; she was only able to alter it. The boy would not die but sleep, until awakened by a handsome prince. That’s the short version…
Chapter 1
In which the prince falls asleep.
Archie Kennedy had always been a happy boy. How could he not be? Doted on by his parents, adored by all, he had been raised in love and, blessed with charm, enjoyed a popularity among his peers. They didn’t mind his sharp tongue when it was accompanied by such a winning smile.
None of his peers loved him as much as his three best friends, however. Archie had known Hether, Cleveland and Clayton for only a few years, but he felt as though he had known them all his life. As indeed he had, if he had only known it. He had been safe as a young boy but as he left childhood behind and entered his teenage years, the threat of the curse placed on him had loomed large. His parents had tried hard to protect him, moving away from the city and all its inherent dangers and shielding him as best they could. His fairy godmothers, fearing this would not be enough to keep him safe, had taken human form and come to him in friendship when he and his parents arrived in their village. There had been a few issues when, true to their nature, they had initially taken form as girls. Cleveland had pointed out that even their magic wouldn’t keep people from wondering why Archie had his own personal harem in the village, and perhaps appearing as boys would make it easier for them to spend time with him. The others reluctantly agreed, though Hether in particular found it hard to let go, and continued to wear his hair long while maintaining a passion for flouncy shirts which caused much eyebrow-raising around the village. They stayed as close to Archie as they could; in fact, he was rarely left alone. He was always with either his parents or at least one of his friends. A gregarious soul, Archie didn’t mind too much, though as he got older he chafed at some of the restrictions placed on him, not knowing the reason for them. He was unlikely to be struck by lightning or abducted by aliens. And was it really any of Clayton’s business if Archie tied his laces properly or not?
If the people of the village ever thought it odd that three teenage boys had suddenly and inexplicably appeared in their midst, it was soon forgotten about. Occasionally someone would comment on the fact that their parents were conspicuous by their absence, or question why three boys were living together at all, but they were easily distracted by Hether asking a question about sheep or Cleveland pointing out a particularly interesting cloud, and by the time they came back to their original point, they had forgotten what the question had been. The thatched cottage that had appeared at the end of Justinian Lane near the house those nice Kennedys had moved into had been a little trickier, but a few well-placed observations from Clayton to the effect that ‘it was amazing how you don’t even notice these old wrecked buildings until someone does them up, do you?’ smoothed things over. Every now and again, a passer-by would stop and stare at the cottage for a moment, confusion wrinkling their forehead, but then their eyes would slide right over it and they would continue on their way.
Everything was fine for several years, and both Archie’s parents and his friends were beginning to think that they might be able to protect him after all; that the curse may never come to fruition and they had outwitted the wicked fairy. And then Archie turned seventeen and it all went horribly wrong.
*****
“No. Absolutely not.”
“But Mum…”
“I said no. It’s too dangerous.”
“Dangerous? I want to learn to drive, It’s not like I’m going sky diving.” Archie could see her repress a shudder at the thought of her precious son going sky diving. He loved her, he really did, but these days he was starting to feel so smothered he wanted to scream. He could see his mother wasn’t going to be moved and decided to change tack. “You’re being totally unfair!”
“Yes, well, life isn’t fair, and the sooner you get used to that the better.” Ok, so maybe he needed a different angle.
“Don’t you think you’re being a bit unreasonable?” he said, trying to keep his voice calm. His mum was big on reason; everything was rational and ordered in her world, or at least it ought to be. “I don’t think I’m asking a lot. It’s not unusual, everybody my age does it. It’s weirder not too.” He was right and she knew it, he could tell. He pressed his advantage. “We live in the middle of nowhere, Mum. I need to get around. I could help you with the shopping,” he added, suddenly inspired.
His mother was no fool though and, seeing no way around his impeccable logic, apparently decided to change tack herself. “Do you know how much driving lessons cost these days? Not to mention buying a car and running it; petrol, insurance, maintenance. It all adds up.” Archie looked pointedly around the room at this, eyeing the state-of-the-art TV and the expensive furniture, the sheer size of the room indicating a big house and no lack of funds. It was a mistake. “Oh, you think your father and I are going to pay for it do you? Well, think again.”
“Fine!” Archie said, his temper getting the better of him again. “I’ll get a job.”
“You will not!” The argument screeched to a halt at this, possibly the first time in history a mother had ever ordered her layabout teenage son not to get a job. They both stood for a few moments, uncertain of what to do next. Then Archie turned on his heel and walked out.
“Archie Kennedy, get back here. Don’t you dare walk out that door.”
“What’s wrong? Worried I’m going to mysteriously vanish on the way to the village? Maybe there’s an axe murderer waiting for me in the post office.” He regretted the words as soon as he said them, but it was too late to take them back. He continued on his way, slamming the door behind him and leaving his mother to stare anxiously after him.
He stalked off down the street, angry with his mother, with himself, with the whole world. His dad hadn’t done anything to piss him off as yet, but he knew he’d agree with his mum and so he added him to the list of things to be angry about. He kicked viciously at every stone he came across, sending them skittering across the road and into hedges, but it did nothing to ease his frustration. He didn’t turn when he heard running footsteps behind him, just continued on his way.
“Archie!” The voice was Clayton’s. “Archie, wait!” He slowed down as he reached Archie and matched his stride. “You alright? I heard yelling.”
“I think the whole village heard yelling.”
“What happened?”
“Mum won’t let me learn to drive.” Archie aimed a particularly determined kick at a stone that turned out to be still attached to the ground. He winced and just about managed not to hop around on one foot.
“Oh,” Clayton said. “What do you need to learn to drive for?”
“What…?” Archie was flummoxed by this and found himself momentarily unable to come up with a single one of the many very good reasons. “Because I do. Because I need to get around.”
“Well, um, I can drive you.”
“You can’t drive.”
“Yes I can. Passed last week. Don’t you remember?”
“Um…”
“I passed my test last week. You remember that, Archie.”
The frown that had clouded Archie’s face cleared. “Yeah, of course I do. Great, you can drive me. No, wait. That’s not the point,” Archie said, getting heated again. “I don’t want to be taxied around by you, I want to drive myself. I want to be independent.”
“But Archie,” Clayton said, despair creeping round the edge of his voice. “It’s too dangerous. What if you had an accident?”
Archie stopped abruptly and turned to stare at his friend, incredulous. “And what if you had an accident? Why is it dangerous for me and not for you? It’s bad enough my parents treating me like a child without my mates joining in. I don’t want to hear it,” he added as Clayton made to interrupt him. “I’m sick of it. I’m going into the village, I’m going to get a job and I’m going to get driving lessons. And anyone who doesn’t like it can shove it up their arse.” He turned and stalked off down the road, for the second time in ten minutes leaving someone who loved him staring worriedly after him.
“Bugger,” Clayton said emphatically.
“It was bound to happen,” Hether said, appearing suddenly behind him. “Young boys don’t like to be kept on a tight rein. Or any sort of rein really. I’m surprised it’s taken him this long to be honest.”
“What are we going to do?”
“It’ll be fine. We just need to stick close to him. We can avert major disasters so long as we stay fairly close.”
“I don’t like it. It’s too easy for him to shake us off if he’s in a car.”
“What do you want to do? Lock him up?”
Clayton looked like he was considering it. “No. I doubt we’d be able to. Anyway, I could never…” he trailed off as he looked at Hether for the first time. “What are you wearing?”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“It’s got flowers. And frills. And lace.”
“I like it.”
“You’re supposed to be a seventeen year old boy. Seventeen year old boys don’t dress like that. Seventeen year old girls don’t dress like that. Take it off. Not in the street,” he added as Hether made to lift the shirt over his head.
“Would it work better in pink?”
“Oh for God’s sake.”
Meanwhile, Archie’s temper was only getting worse. Not one single place in the village had any jobs going. Not even in the Lamb, and they always needed people. He was going to have to go home with his tail between his legs, something he was not looking forward to. Stomping round a corner, he was brought up short by the sight of a sweet shop. He was sure he had never seen it before, but there it was, right in front of him. And even better, there was a ‘help wanted’ notice in the window. He looked at the sign above the door: ‘Purgatory Confectionary’. Archie had never heard a stranger name for a sweet shop in his life, but he was in no position to be looking gift horses in the mouth. He pushed the door open, the old-fashioned bell announcing his arrival to the shop’s occupants. Which were non-existent.
“Hello there.” The voice made him jump, and he whirled round, almost sending a stack of chocolate fudge flying as he did so. “It’s Archie isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is,” Archie said, trying to re-stack the boxes. “How did you know that?”
“You come in here all the time,” the man said with a smile.
“I do?” Archie said, focussed on getting the boxes balanced right. “Yes, I do. Of course.”
“What can I do for you today Archie?”
“I’m looking for a job. You have a sign in the window.” The boxes seemed to be behaving themselves, so Archie left them and followed the man to the counter.
“Excellent. Looking for weekends or after school or something are you?”
“Oh, no. I’ve left school. After my GCSEs.” He’d decided, in an earlier fit of rebellion, not to do his A Levels. He’d had an idea he might move back to the city and get a job, or maybe do some travelling, or both. But somehow nothing ever came of it. One thing had come up or another, and he found himself always being persuaded to stay. And so he had done nothing. Just spent the time idling, waiting for something to happen. He’d never had a job. His parents always talked him out of it, said it was silly to waste his youth working if he didn’t need to. It occurred to him for the first time that they had wanted to discourage anything that would give him independence.
“You after something full-time then?”
“If you’ve got it, that would be great.”
“Perfect. I need all the help I can get around here.” Archie, looking around at the old creaking floorboards and shelves, the randomly piled boxes, the dust that covered every surface, and the inescapable lack of any customers, had a hard time believing this.
“Brilliant. When can I start?”
“Come by tomorrow at nine. We can start with you then.”
“Great.”
“I’m sorry, I never introduced myself.” The man held out his hand. “Jack Simpson.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” Archie said, shaking his hand. “Archie Kennedy.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow then, Archie. I look forward to working with you.”
Archie practically skipped back to the house. He had a job! And it had been so easy! He was in too good a mood even to be annoyed when Cleveland joined him when he was half-way home. The relentless quizzing went right over his head - where had he been, what was the job, who was Jack Simpson, was this really a good idea, what sort of name was Purgatory for a sweet shop, what did he want to be independent for anyway? All were answered happily and cheerfully, with none of the sullenness that had accompanied most of his conversations with his friends lately.
This would be good for him, he thought. A chance to meet new people. Well, one new person anyway. Hether and Clayton and Cleveland were good mates, the best, but they were very definitely… a group. A trio. There were times when Archie felt very much outside of them. There were times when he didn’t understand them at all. He had never really made friends at school. Plenty of acquaintances, yes - he was very popular, and he had always had a talent for making people like him. But every time it seemed like an acquaintance was going to turn into a real friend something happened and it didn’t. Nothing dramatic, it just didn’t work out. He’d always had Hether and Clayton and Cleveland and so he’d never really minded, hardly even noticed. But sometimes… Archie had to admit to himself that, although he was rarely alone, he was sometimes, increasingly often, really quite lonely. So yes. This would be good for him.
*****
Archie straightened up with a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. He had spent the afternoon moving boxes from one side of the stockroom to the other; he ached all over. There was no real reason to move the boxes, but Jack had told him to move them, so move them he did. When Archie had asked him why, he had simply smiled and said he wanted to create some space against the wall. Archie didn’t want to know what the space was for, but a sick certainty in the pit of his stomach told him he would find out.
A glance at his watch said he wouldn’t find out today though. It was time to shut up shop and Jack hadn’t returned from wherever he had disappeared to earlier, most likely the pub. Archie hastily closed down the till (never an arduous task) and tidied the shop (ditto), anxious to be away before Jack realised how late it was and came back. He hurried out of the door and pulled it shut behind him, locking it quickly and hastening down the street. Every step took him closer to home, but he could not relax until he was out of the village proper, until he knew he would not hear that imperious call of ‘Kennedy!’ behind his retreating back which told him he had not been quick enough.
He was in luck tonight. The tension eased slightly from his shoulders as his friends’ cottage came in sight. Should he go straight home or call in there first? Both options had their drawbacks, but at least at the cottage he wouldn’t have to spend the evening avoiding his mother’s anxious gaze. He turned in at the cottage gate, cheered a little by the sounds of light-hearted argument he could already hear from behind the door.
He had been working in the sweet shop for months now. He kept meaning to quit but never did. He would walk up to Jack full of determination, but when confronted with him he would find that the words wouldn’t come, or he’d forget what he wanted and carry on working, only to remember later, in the middle of the night. Many was the morning he had woken up and decided he just wasn’t going to go to work, and then found himself standing in the shop, with Jack smiling and welcoming him as if he were his friend. He had stopped trying now. There was no point; he would never escape. It was just him and Jack and he would never be free of him.
His parents were worried about him, and so were is friends. But what could he do? Even if he could tell them, he wouldn’t. How do you tell your mother something like that? And so he continued on, going through the motions each day. He saw his parents at breakfast, talked about his plans for the day, smiled as best he knew how. He didn’t look them in the eye. He couldn’t. And he didn’t know how to talk to his friends any more. They had little in common to begin with, though that had never seemed to matter before. Now, he would sit for hours in the evening, saying nothing, enjoying their banter and teasing but never a part of it. He felt better around them; safer, though nothing would ever make him feel truly safe again. He knew that from the bottom of his soul. Sometimes Archie would fall asleep in front of the fire, and it was a blessed relief, for a time, right up until the moment he woke up screaming. Then Clayton would hold him like a child, soothing him, telling him it would be alright, while Hether and Cleveland looked on anxiously.
Clayton watched Archie as he sat by the fire, despair washing over him as it did a hundred times a day. They had not expected this. They had worked so hard to protect him, all his life. They had clung to the knowledge that the curse wouldn’t kill Archie, that Clayton’s quick thinking had prevented at least that. And yet still they had lived in fear, dreading the day he fell and split his skull, or got into a fight, or a random flowerpot landed on his head. Coma, concussion, unconsciousness. All these they had been prepared for and guarded against as much as they could. There had been some concern about narcolepsy, about which they could do nothing, and Archie’s mother had once become nearly hysterical after reading a magazine article about a woman whose husband, to the bafflement of doctors the world over, slept for 18 hours a day and was only partially awake for the other six. But this. They had not seen this coming; this shutting-down, this switching-off. Their bright, cheerful boy had withdrawn inside himself, and they never saw him any more. The endless chatter had been replaced by silence, and the sparkle in his eyes by a dull sheen. Archie sleep-walked through life.
They had been suspicious about Jack Simpson from the start. He had appeared from no-where and taken Archie to him so quickly, and Archie hadn’t questioned it. But they couldn’t be sure. He was slippery, and so convincing. Even Clayton had found himself believing the sweet shop had been there all along before he got a grip on himself. And then one day, one ordinary, slightly misty day, Clayton had been doing the washing up when something had made him look out of the window. Jack Simpson was standing on the road outside, watching the cottage. Not with the frown that most people wore when they studied the building for too long, followed by a sudden shift in focus and a rueful shake of the head, but with a clear, knowing smile. And Clayton had known then. With a deep-seated, irrefutable conviction, he had known. Despite their best efforts, he had out-witted them; the wicked fairy walked among them, unhindered. Clayton had watched as Simpson’s smile changed, shifted sideways until it was a definite smirk. Then he had raised his hand and waved to him, before turning and walking down the road, whistling, hands in his pockets; not a care in the world.
Fandom: Hornblower.
Characters/Pairing: Archie/Horatio
Disclaimer: All recognisable characters belong to CS Forrester, and possibly A&E/Meridian.
Summary: A slightly odd version of Sleeping Beauty based on Hornblower. Or a very odd version of Hornblower based on Sleeping Beauty.
Rating: PG
Notes: Several months ago I decided that Sleeping Beauty with Archie as the princess and Horatio as the prince sounded like a good idea. I finally got it written and the result is a mish-mash of The Even Chance, The Duchess and the Devil, the Disney and Perrault versions of the fairy tale, and some stuff that I just made up. In a modern setting.
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Once upon a time, a beautiful boy lived in a beautiful castle. He had been long looked-for, his parents fearing they would never have a child. At his christening his fairy godmothers gifted him generously, endowing him with beauty, wit, courage, and strength, but a wicked fairy also came and, jealous of the child, placed a curse on him so that he would die when he became a man. One of the good fairies tried to remove the curse but she could not remove it completely; she was only able to alter it. The boy would not die but sleep, until awakened by a handsome prince. That’s the short version…
Chapter 1
In which the prince falls asleep.
Archie Kennedy had always been a happy boy. How could he not be? Doted on by his parents, adored by all, he had been raised in love and, blessed with charm, enjoyed a popularity among his peers. They didn’t mind his sharp tongue when it was accompanied by such a winning smile.
None of his peers loved him as much as his three best friends, however. Archie had known Hether, Cleveland and Clayton for only a few years, but he felt as though he had known them all his life. As indeed he had, if he had only known it. He had been safe as a young boy but as he left childhood behind and entered his teenage years, the threat of the curse placed on him had loomed large. His parents had tried hard to protect him, moving away from the city and all its inherent dangers and shielding him as best they could. His fairy godmothers, fearing this would not be enough to keep him safe, had taken human form and come to him in friendship when he and his parents arrived in their village. There had been a few issues when, true to their nature, they had initially taken form as girls. Cleveland had pointed out that even their magic wouldn’t keep people from wondering why Archie had his own personal harem in the village, and perhaps appearing as boys would make it easier for them to spend time with him. The others reluctantly agreed, though Hether in particular found it hard to let go, and continued to wear his hair long while maintaining a passion for flouncy shirts which caused much eyebrow-raising around the village. They stayed as close to Archie as they could; in fact, he was rarely left alone. He was always with either his parents or at least one of his friends. A gregarious soul, Archie didn’t mind too much, though as he got older he chafed at some of the restrictions placed on him, not knowing the reason for them. He was unlikely to be struck by lightning or abducted by aliens. And was it really any of Clayton’s business if Archie tied his laces properly or not?
If the people of the village ever thought it odd that three teenage boys had suddenly and inexplicably appeared in their midst, it was soon forgotten about. Occasionally someone would comment on the fact that their parents were conspicuous by their absence, or question why three boys were living together at all, but they were easily distracted by Hether asking a question about sheep or Cleveland pointing out a particularly interesting cloud, and by the time they came back to their original point, they had forgotten what the question had been. The thatched cottage that had appeared at the end of Justinian Lane near the house those nice Kennedys had moved into had been a little trickier, but a few well-placed observations from Clayton to the effect that ‘it was amazing how you don’t even notice these old wrecked buildings until someone does them up, do you?’ smoothed things over. Every now and again, a passer-by would stop and stare at the cottage for a moment, confusion wrinkling their forehead, but then their eyes would slide right over it and they would continue on their way.
Everything was fine for several years, and both Archie’s parents and his friends were beginning to think that they might be able to protect him after all; that the curse may never come to fruition and they had outwitted the wicked fairy. And then Archie turned seventeen and it all went horribly wrong.
*****
“No. Absolutely not.”
“But Mum…”
“I said no. It’s too dangerous.”
“Dangerous? I want to learn to drive, It’s not like I’m going sky diving.” Archie could see her repress a shudder at the thought of her precious son going sky diving. He loved her, he really did, but these days he was starting to feel so smothered he wanted to scream. He could see his mother wasn’t going to be moved and decided to change tack. “You’re being totally unfair!”
“Yes, well, life isn’t fair, and the sooner you get used to that the better.” Ok, so maybe he needed a different angle.
“Don’t you think you’re being a bit unreasonable?” he said, trying to keep his voice calm. His mum was big on reason; everything was rational and ordered in her world, or at least it ought to be. “I don’t think I’m asking a lot. It’s not unusual, everybody my age does it. It’s weirder not too.” He was right and she knew it, he could tell. He pressed his advantage. “We live in the middle of nowhere, Mum. I need to get around. I could help you with the shopping,” he added, suddenly inspired.
His mother was no fool though and, seeing no way around his impeccable logic, apparently decided to change tack herself. “Do you know how much driving lessons cost these days? Not to mention buying a car and running it; petrol, insurance, maintenance. It all adds up.” Archie looked pointedly around the room at this, eyeing the state-of-the-art TV and the expensive furniture, the sheer size of the room indicating a big house and no lack of funds. It was a mistake. “Oh, you think your father and I are going to pay for it do you? Well, think again.”
“Fine!” Archie said, his temper getting the better of him again. “I’ll get a job.”
“You will not!” The argument screeched to a halt at this, possibly the first time in history a mother had ever ordered her layabout teenage son not to get a job. They both stood for a few moments, uncertain of what to do next. Then Archie turned on his heel and walked out.
“Archie Kennedy, get back here. Don’t you dare walk out that door.”
“What’s wrong? Worried I’m going to mysteriously vanish on the way to the village? Maybe there’s an axe murderer waiting for me in the post office.” He regretted the words as soon as he said them, but it was too late to take them back. He continued on his way, slamming the door behind him and leaving his mother to stare anxiously after him.
He stalked off down the street, angry with his mother, with himself, with the whole world. His dad hadn’t done anything to piss him off as yet, but he knew he’d agree with his mum and so he added him to the list of things to be angry about. He kicked viciously at every stone he came across, sending them skittering across the road and into hedges, but it did nothing to ease his frustration. He didn’t turn when he heard running footsteps behind him, just continued on his way.
“Archie!” The voice was Clayton’s. “Archie, wait!” He slowed down as he reached Archie and matched his stride. “You alright? I heard yelling.”
“I think the whole village heard yelling.”
“What happened?”
“Mum won’t let me learn to drive.” Archie aimed a particularly determined kick at a stone that turned out to be still attached to the ground. He winced and just about managed not to hop around on one foot.
“Oh,” Clayton said. “What do you need to learn to drive for?”
“What…?” Archie was flummoxed by this and found himself momentarily unable to come up with a single one of the many very good reasons. “Because I do. Because I need to get around.”
“Well, um, I can drive you.”
“You can’t drive.”
“Yes I can. Passed last week. Don’t you remember?”
“Um…”
“I passed my test last week. You remember that, Archie.”
The frown that had clouded Archie’s face cleared. “Yeah, of course I do. Great, you can drive me. No, wait. That’s not the point,” Archie said, getting heated again. “I don’t want to be taxied around by you, I want to drive myself. I want to be independent.”
“But Archie,” Clayton said, despair creeping round the edge of his voice. “It’s too dangerous. What if you had an accident?”
Archie stopped abruptly and turned to stare at his friend, incredulous. “And what if you had an accident? Why is it dangerous for me and not for you? It’s bad enough my parents treating me like a child without my mates joining in. I don’t want to hear it,” he added as Clayton made to interrupt him. “I’m sick of it. I’m going into the village, I’m going to get a job and I’m going to get driving lessons. And anyone who doesn’t like it can shove it up their arse.” He turned and stalked off down the road, for the second time in ten minutes leaving someone who loved him staring worriedly after him.
“Bugger,” Clayton said emphatically.
“It was bound to happen,” Hether said, appearing suddenly behind him. “Young boys don’t like to be kept on a tight rein. Or any sort of rein really. I’m surprised it’s taken him this long to be honest.”
“What are we going to do?”
“It’ll be fine. We just need to stick close to him. We can avert major disasters so long as we stay fairly close.”
“I don’t like it. It’s too easy for him to shake us off if he’s in a car.”
“What do you want to do? Lock him up?”
Clayton looked like he was considering it. “No. I doubt we’d be able to. Anyway, I could never…” he trailed off as he looked at Hether for the first time. “What are you wearing?”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“It’s got flowers. And frills. And lace.”
“I like it.”
“You’re supposed to be a seventeen year old boy. Seventeen year old boys don’t dress like that. Seventeen year old girls don’t dress like that. Take it off. Not in the street,” he added as Hether made to lift the shirt over his head.
“Would it work better in pink?”
“Oh for God’s sake.”
Meanwhile, Archie’s temper was only getting worse. Not one single place in the village had any jobs going. Not even in the Lamb, and they always needed people. He was going to have to go home with his tail between his legs, something he was not looking forward to. Stomping round a corner, he was brought up short by the sight of a sweet shop. He was sure he had never seen it before, but there it was, right in front of him. And even better, there was a ‘help wanted’ notice in the window. He looked at the sign above the door: ‘Purgatory Confectionary’. Archie had never heard a stranger name for a sweet shop in his life, but he was in no position to be looking gift horses in the mouth. He pushed the door open, the old-fashioned bell announcing his arrival to the shop’s occupants. Which were non-existent.
“Hello there.” The voice made him jump, and he whirled round, almost sending a stack of chocolate fudge flying as he did so. “It’s Archie isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is,” Archie said, trying to re-stack the boxes. “How did you know that?”
“You come in here all the time,” the man said with a smile.
“I do?” Archie said, focussed on getting the boxes balanced right. “Yes, I do. Of course.”
“What can I do for you today Archie?”
“I’m looking for a job. You have a sign in the window.” The boxes seemed to be behaving themselves, so Archie left them and followed the man to the counter.
“Excellent. Looking for weekends or after school or something are you?”
“Oh, no. I’ve left school. After my GCSEs.” He’d decided, in an earlier fit of rebellion, not to do his A Levels. He’d had an idea he might move back to the city and get a job, or maybe do some travelling, or both. But somehow nothing ever came of it. One thing had come up or another, and he found himself always being persuaded to stay. And so he had done nothing. Just spent the time idling, waiting for something to happen. He’d never had a job. His parents always talked him out of it, said it was silly to waste his youth working if he didn’t need to. It occurred to him for the first time that they had wanted to discourage anything that would give him independence.
“You after something full-time then?”
“If you’ve got it, that would be great.”
“Perfect. I need all the help I can get around here.” Archie, looking around at the old creaking floorboards and shelves, the randomly piled boxes, the dust that covered every surface, and the inescapable lack of any customers, had a hard time believing this.
“Brilliant. When can I start?”
“Come by tomorrow at nine. We can start with you then.”
“Great.”
“I’m sorry, I never introduced myself.” The man held out his hand. “Jack Simpson.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” Archie said, shaking his hand. “Archie Kennedy.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow then, Archie. I look forward to working with you.”
Archie practically skipped back to the house. He had a job! And it had been so easy! He was in too good a mood even to be annoyed when Cleveland joined him when he was half-way home. The relentless quizzing went right over his head - where had he been, what was the job, who was Jack Simpson, was this really a good idea, what sort of name was Purgatory for a sweet shop, what did he want to be independent for anyway? All were answered happily and cheerfully, with none of the sullenness that had accompanied most of his conversations with his friends lately.
This would be good for him, he thought. A chance to meet new people. Well, one new person anyway. Hether and Clayton and Cleveland were good mates, the best, but they were very definitely… a group. A trio. There were times when Archie felt very much outside of them. There were times when he didn’t understand them at all. He had never really made friends at school. Plenty of acquaintances, yes - he was very popular, and he had always had a talent for making people like him. But every time it seemed like an acquaintance was going to turn into a real friend something happened and it didn’t. Nothing dramatic, it just didn’t work out. He’d always had Hether and Clayton and Cleveland and so he’d never really minded, hardly even noticed. But sometimes… Archie had to admit to himself that, although he was rarely alone, he was sometimes, increasingly often, really quite lonely. So yes. This would be good for him.
*****
Archie straightened up with a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. He had spent the afternoon moving boxes from one side of the stockroom to the other; he ached all over. There was no real reason to move the boxes, but Jack had told him to move them, so move them he did. When Archie had asked him why, he had simply smiled and said he wanted to create some space against the wall. Archie didn’t want to know what the space was for, but a sick certainty in the pit of his stomach told him he would find out.
A glance at his watch said he wouldn’t find out today though. It was time to shut up shop and Jack hadn’t returned from wherever he had disappeared to earlier, most likely the pub. Archie hastily closed down the till (never an arduous task) and tidied the shop (ditto), anxious to be away before Jack realised how late it was and came back. He hurried out of the door and pulled it shut behind him, locking it quickly and hastening down the street. Every step took him closer to home, but he could not relax until he was out of the village proper, until he knew he would not hear that imperious call of ‘Kennedy!’ behind his retreating back which told him he had not been quick enough.
He was in luck tonight. The tension eased slightly from his shoulders as his friends’ cottage came in sight. Should he go straight home or call in there first? Both options had their drawbacks, but at least at the cottage he wouldn’t have to spend the evening avoiding his mother’s anxious gaze. He turned in at the cottage gate, cheered a little by the sounds of light-hearted argument he could already hear from behind the door.
He had been working in the sweet shop for months now. He kept meaning to quit but never did. He would walk up to Jack full of determination, but when confronted with him he would find that the words wouldn’t come, or he’d forget what he wanted and carry on working, only to remember later, in the middle of the night. Many was the morning he had woken up and decided he just wasn’t going to go to work, and then found himself standing in the shop, with Jack smiling and welcoming him as if he were his friend. He had stopped trying now. There was no point; he would never escape. It was just him and Jack and he would never be free of him.
His parents were worried about him, and so were is friends. But what could he do? Even if he could tell them, he wouldn’t. How do you tell your mother something like that? And so he continued on, going through the motions each day. He saw his parents at breakfast, talked about his plans for the day, smiled as best he knew how. He didn’t look them in the eye. He couldn’t. And he didn’t know how to talk to his friends any more. They had little in common to begin with, though that had never seemed to matter before. Now, he would sit for hours in the evening, saying nothing, enjoying their banter and teasing but never a part of it. He felt better around them; safer, though nothing would ever make him feel truly safe again. He knew that from the bottom of his soul. Sometimes Archie would fall asleep in front of the fire, and it was a blessed relief, for a time, right up until the moment he woke up screaming. Then Clayton would hold him like a child, soothing him, telling him it would be alright, while Hether and Cleveland looked on anxiously.
Clayton watched Archie as he sat by the fire, despair washing over him as it did a hundred times a day. They had not expected this. They had worked so hard to protect him, all his life. They had clung to the knowledge that the curse wouldn’t kill Archie, that Clayton’s quick thinking had prevented at least that. And yet still they had lived in fear, dreading the day he fell and split his skull, or got into a fight, or a random flowerpot landed on his head. Coma, concussion, unconsciousness. All these they had been prepared for and guarded against as much as they could. There had been some concern about narcolepsy, about which they could do nothing, and Archie’s mother had once become nearly hysterical after reading a magazine article about a woman whose husband, to the bafflement of doctors the world over, slept for 18 hours a day and was only partially awake for the other six. But this. They had not seen this coming; this shutting-down, this switching-off. Their bright, cheerful boy had withdrawn inside himself, and they never saw him any more. The endless chatter had been replaced by silence, and the sparkle in his eyes by a dull sheen. Archie sleep-walked through life.
They had been suspicious about Jack Simpson from the start. He had appeared from no-where and taken Archie to him so quickly, and Archie hadn’t questioned it. But they couldn’t be sure. He was slippery, and so convincing. Even Clayton had found himself believing the sweet shop had been there all along before he got a grip on himself. And then one day, one ordinary, slightly misty day, Clayton had been doing the washing up when something had made him look out of the window. Jack Simpson was standing on the road outside, watching the cottage. Not with the frown that most people wore when they studied the building for too long, followed by a sudden shift in focus and a rueful shake of the head, but with a clear, knowing smile. And Clayton had known then. With a deep-seated, irrefutable conviction, he had known. Despite their best efforts, he had out-witted them; the wicked fairy walked among them, unhindered. Clayton had watched as Simpson’s smile changed, shifted sideways until it was a definite smirk. Then he had raised his hand and waved to him, before turning and walking down the road, whistling, hands in his pockets; not a care in the world.