The Red Slayer
12 - Iorwen the Hero

Tara has her lunch break at the same time I’m discharged the next day. She meets me and Dad in the hospital lobby, immediately seeing my arm strapped across my chest in a nylon sling, and grimaces.

‘How long do you have to wear that?’

‘Until Tuesday,’ I reply. ‘But it’ll be a while until it’s back to normal. I’ll miss a few weeks of P.E.’ I clasp my heart and gasp melodramatically, making her giggle.

I have made my peace. No planks, no press-ups, no weight lifting, no parkouring. But I can still run and swim and work my core. My legs are going to be dynamite this summer. I should get some miniskirts.

After having lunch in the canteen and Tara goes back for her final work experience hours, Dad takes me to the Battersea animal shelter to see the kitten. She looks happier already having been fed and given a safe place to sleep. I’m told that, despite a notice given out about a found kitten in Holborn, no one has come forward to claim her. Thus proving my abandoned theory.

‘The fella who brought her in yesterday said you were injured trying to save it,’ says the shelter employee, eyeing my sling. ‘Would you mind taking a picture with her? It will help replace her a family.’

I agree and they get candid shots of me giving the kitten belly rubs, feeding her treats and putting her in her basket where she curls into a tiny grey ball again. By the time Dad and I are ready to leave, I’m tempted to ask if we can adopt her. The only thing that stops me is the burden of responsibility.

***

I’m willing to put this experience behind me. Enjoy being taken care of and look forward to looking back on it fondly. Perhaps I can use it during university applications and they ask what’s the bravest thing I’ve ever done, seeing as I can’t use my vampire encounter.

I’m proved wrong the very next day when Luke and I are watching Labyrinth and the phone starts ringing. Dad answers it before coming into the living room and handing it to me.

‘Someone from the local newspaper wants to talk to you about the kitten,’ he says.

I take the phone and answer their questions, hanging up fifteen minutes later. Half-an-hour passes and the phone rings again. Couldn’t they have waited until David Bowie was done with his Magic Dance? This time it’s an animal charity interviewing me for their newsletter.

Another local paper calls during the trippy stairs sequence, followed by BuzzFeed during the dance party ending. They’re lucky I’ve seen this movie so many times I don’t mind being interrupted. That’s the last of the phone calls until eight o’clock the next morning when dad wakes me up to answer a call from yet another newspaper.

By Sunday night, the kitten story is trending on Twitter. Pictures of me with the kitten show up in every other post on my timeline. My DMs are full of praise from strangers and my followers have bumped from a few hundred to five thousand. Videos show security footage of the men I outsmarted, as well as me replaceing the kitten under the bin.

Regardless, the story doesn’t include everything. I said nothing about parkouring, and as far as they’re concerned, I tripped and dislocated my shoulder instead of falling three storeys. It’s probably for the best. They don’t need to know I risked the kitten’s safety because I’m allergic to staying on the ground.

***

I’m not expecting the attention at school on Monday morning. Tara and I walk the corridors and spot person after person looking my way and whispering amongst themselves. I self-consciously grip the elbow of my sling, as if that’s going to cover it up.

‘Hey!’ someone shouts from behind us. They call again, getting closer. We turn and see Vicki hurrying up the corridor, eyes set on me. Whatever she has to say, it can’t be good. Tara clutches my good arm, but in that moment’s restraint, I notice that, while Vicki is genuinely smiling. I know enough from acting to recognise the difference.

She skids to a stop and stares at my sling before asking. ‘I heard you saved a kitten.’

‘Yeah?’ I reply.

‘And got injured.’

I nod, keeping a blank mind to see where this is going. Vicki looks up and down the corridor in case teachers are nearby and fishes her phone from her blazer. The lock-screen is a photo of a brown tabby doing an ‘If-I-fits-I-sits’ in a lasagne dish.

‘This is Tiger,’ she explains. ‘I’ve had her since she was a kitten. When I heard about the one you saved, it was all I could think about. I can’t believe someone would abandon a baby like that, or that people would want to hurt it.’

I say nothing, simply because I’m dumbstruck. When is she going to turn around and say something mean?

‘It was a really brave thing to do,’ Vicki continues. ‘I’d have done the same—though I might have beaten up all those men first.’ She smiles again and continues down the corridor.

I’ve seen a literal vampire, and this by far is the strangest thing I’ve ever experienced.

In morning registration, people cross over to my desk to give me a pat on the back, bearing ’good-on-yer’s and ’well done’s, followed by questions about my shoulder surgery. Expecting a gory story of flatlining and CCs and ‘Live, damn you, live!’ Their faces fall with disappointment when I say I just watched FMA: Brotherhood on my phone.

The only one who isn’t interested is Bradley, who walks past the crowd around my desk and ignores us.

‘Hey,’ says Lewis, ‘Did you hear what happened to Iorwen?’

Bradley frowns. ‘You mean her PR stunt?’

I turn to him. ‘What?’

‘Seemed a little convenient you found a kitten close to your work experience.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ says Penny. ‘It was a coincidence.’

‘A lucky coincidence,’ adds another girl, showing me a picture of her two black cats, Luna and Jiji. ‘Can I sign your cast?’

Mr. Partridge, our form tutor, comes in and we take our seats. After the registration, he takes the envelope he was carrying with the register and tells the nearest pupil to pass it to me. ‘It arrived at the office for you,’ he says. Everyone’s eyes are on me, expecting me to open it then and there. But the attention is raising my heart-rate, so I slip it into my bag and forget about it.

By lunchtime, I’ve forgotten about it until I’m in the library getting ahead of my French homework and replace the envelope in my workbook. Tara sits next to me and leans in to see me open it and replace a note inside.

Hi Iorwen,

I feel bad you didn’t get to finish your work experience with us. We enjoyed having you and we’re proud of what you did.

Kaarlo suggested you should be entitled to comp tickets for Posh when the run begins at the end of the month. I’ve put two tickets for opening night in the envelope, but you can contact me if you want to make it another night. After the show, you can come to the stage door and meet us all. We’d all be glad to see you again.

Hope your arm gets better soon,

Catrin Glynn

I take said tickets from the envelope. ‘Wow! Front row of the Dress Circle in the centre. Them’s prime seats. People would give their right arms for these. We should totally go.’

Tara stares in disbelief. ‘We? Wouldn’t you rather go with your dad?’

‘It’s not his kind of play. He didn’t fit in with the other posh boys at Cambridge. If we go, it can be a date night.’

Tara gasps with delight. ‘I’d love a date night.’

‘And we can go to dinner before it starts. There’re tons of restaurants that offer deals if you’re going to see a show. I’m sure we’ll replace a vegan-friendly one.’

Her arms wrap around me. I can’t resist laughing, even if our risk of getting caught doubles. Nothing matters but us right now.

***

Not only do we plan dinner, but Tara and I also go shopping for perfect outfits. While she gets a pink dress with a short skirt, I replace another trouser suit with a black-watch pattern, along with a poet’s blouse, a black ribbon tie and a double-breasted waistcoat. I can be glamorous without showing my scars. I’m a suit person now.

We’re a sophisticated-looking pair when we roll up to the theatre, Tara linking her arm into mine. The best part is no one’s looking. They don’t care two girls are on a date. In a crowd of strangers, our façade can drop.

The inner growling returns the second Kaarlo steps onstage. No matter how awful his character is, no matter how sexist or snobby, I remember the guy who awoke all those growls in me. So much for thinking they would peter out over a couple of weeks of not seeing him. The playbill buckles under my clenching fist every time he speaks, hoping Tara can’t hear me breathing heavily.

Once the show is over, we head to the stage door and get sent straight to the green room where we replace the cast waiting for us. Snacks are laid out on the tables. Biscuits, a cheese plate, cakes and candy. Hugh is the first to come talk to me.

‘How’s your shoulder?’ he asks.

‘A lot better, thanks,’ I reply.

He shakes hands with Tara who calls herself my girlfriend. That pride from earlier returns, waging war with these strange feelings for Kaarlo. If we can say we’re an item in public, among people we barely know, we may be able to come out at school. I give her hand an extra squeeze and get her a bottle of Coke Zero.

Kaarlo comes over just as I hand Tara her drink. Thank God she takes it before he flashes those adorable dimples at me.

‘I’m so glad you made it,’ he says.

‘Thank you for getting me the tickets,’ I say,

He pats my arm. ‘You deserved them. Oh, and guess what? The kitten found a home.’

I gasp. ‘That’s wonderful. Who adopted her?’

His grin widens. ‘I did.’

I arch an eyebrow at him. ‘Won’t your landlord…?’

‘Well, it’s a funny story…’ I replace myself sitting on a sofa beside him, Tara perches on the arm. ‘Rhaegal was rescued from a kitten farm, and when I took her to the vet, I found out she was depressed from not having a kitten to look after. My landlord said it was okay as long as it was one kitten and I knew which one I wanted. I’m bringing her home next week.’

‘Let me guess,’ I say, ‘You’re calling her Viserion?’

He nods enthusiastically. ‘I have the full set now.’

‘You must let me know how she gets on.’

He tears off the corner of a newspaper lying on a table and writes down his email address and phone number. ‘Call me whenever after next week.’

I take the scrap of paper as if it were an ancient text from the Library of Alexandria. Is this pulling? I almost believe it is until Kaarlo’s phone buzzes and he reads a text.

‘Crap,’ he mutters. ‘Sorry. Gotta go. I’m meeting my girlfriend.’

I think I’d have preferred it if he slapped me. Of course walking perfection like that wouldn’t stay single. I gravitate towards Tara, leaning my head on her hip. She smiles, combing her fingers across my scalp.

Kaarlo puts his phone away and starts to leave the green room. I draw in breath to let out a sigh when he comes right back as if he’s forgot something.

‘I need to tell you something, Iorwen,’ he says. ‘I already know you.’

Tara sits back, nearly losing her balance.

‘I had to Google your name after your first day here, but when I found out I was working with Marnie, I was like “wow”.’

‘Yes,’ I say, smiling once again. ‘Yes, I was Marnie. And Anna.’

His jaw drops. ‘You did both roles?’

‘Of course,’ I say. ‘I was only going to be Marnie at first, but the mother of the girl playing Anna was a crazy stage-mum. They walked off the set so they reshot the series with me in both roles. Makes sense since Marnie and Anna are related.’

Tara leans into my peripheral vision. ’Do you mean the When Marnie Was There mini-series?’

Kaarlo nods. ‘Yeah. My sister and I grew up with the book and the mini-series was a perfect adaptation. If I knew it was you right away, Iorwen, I would have bought you more than just coffee, but I thought it might look creepy to say I recognised you outright.’

‘I wouldn’t have minded,’ I say.

He laughs, more to himself than anyone else. ‘Well, I hope you continue acting. You’ve got a bright future ahead of you.’

That’s where he leaves the conversation. That hunger I was feeling is replaced with warmth and delight. I can’t stop smiling.

I have a bright future.

He believes in me.

The happiness lasts long after Tara and I leave Drury Lane and return home where she’s sleeping over. She’s quick to fall asleep next to me, but I’m too awake with self-esteem.

I go down to the poolroom. Because I won’t be overheard and there’s plenty of space to sing, ′I’ll be swell, I’ll be great. Gonna have the whole world on a plate!’ My only audience is Ariel, who jumps up every time I clap.

′Wouldn’t it be lover-ly…’

′I don’t know how I know, but I’m gonna replace my purpose…’

′I’m not throwing away my shot…’

′Tomorrow! Tomorrow! I love ya, tomo—ARGH!’

I jump back, thrown off balance from treading on something cold and slimy. Something wrong. The only thing stopping me from falling into the pool is Ariel grabbing the shirt of my PJs in time. She’s a good dog.

I look to what I stepped on. A slug. It must have come in under the garden door. And now it’s dead.

***

‘The poor slug,’ says Dr. Clarke in our next session.

‘I wouldn’t have touched it if I knew it was there,’ I say.

‘Of course. These things happen. I imagine you’re one of those people who feels bad when they accidentally step on a snail.’

’Do you think it’s because, when I was younger, I was mistreated by my uncle, I want to protect the vulnerable, sometimes to my detriment?

‘It’s a common outcome of abuse survivors. Though, you must be careful for your own wellbeing.’ She pauses and scrolls back the transcript we’ve made so far.

‘Now, you mentioned this Kaarlo quite a bit in our last few sessions.’

My cheeks start burning. ‘Have I?’

‘You mentioned his osprey tattoo, the way his eyes “sparkle” and what you describe as “weird stomach cramps” each time you think about him. I think your attraction to him goes further than a crush.’

’I’m not attracted to him!’ I cross my arms. ’I’m supposed to be gay. And even if I was attracted to men in some way, which I’m not, it wouldn’t only be because of Kaarlo. I always thought I fancied Laurence Olivier, and fictional characters like the Phantom but—I like girls, I’m dating a girl.’

Dr. Clarke lowers her glasses. ‘Iorwen, have you considered that you may be bisexual?’

I slouch in the beanbag, dropping my arms and turning my eyes to the ceiling. ′Bisexual?’

’It means being attracted to females and males.’

‘I know what it means…but I can’t believe it’s taken this long to realise it.’

‘It’s not uncommon,’ she says. ‘Sometimes it takes years for people to fully understand their sexual identities. You replaceing yours at fifteen shows a great level of maturity. You’ve shown great strides since we started seeing each other again. I’d be willing to say you’re mentally sound enough to go without our sessions. As long as you stick to your medications and meditate, you should be fine.’

‘Really?’ I say. ‘You’re sure.’

She nods. ‘My door is always open if you need me again.’

Our session ends there, and I leave the practice relieved, getting a celebratory ice cream from Hampstead Heath and sitting by the pond where people swim. I don’t have to be ashamed of myself for liking Kaarlo while dating Tara. I know he’s too old for me, but knowing what I am is a huge load off my shoulders.

© Alice of Sherwood, December 2019