Page 55 of By the Fae

“It’s the second one on the left,” I said.

He inched his shades down his nose and peered at the building over the top of them. “You live here? Oh, baby girl.”

“No!” I shouted. Not because I didn’t live there — I did, temporarily at least — but because I knew what he was thinking. The snob. “You don’t have to feel sorry for me because my folks live in a tower block.”

Okay, it didn’t give a great first impression. A stack of soiled mattresses and a cushionless sofa were propped up next to the front doors. Strings of laundry already soaking up the morning rays stretched from window to window right up into the sky like a rainbow of fresh sails. A variety of sun-bleached plastic toys lay abandoned on the communal lawns. Later they’d be reclaimed, and toddlers and stay at home mums would crowd out the space. A handwritten, laminated sign that read,“Pick Up Your Dog Shit You Lazy Bastards”was taped to a bike-park post. The rain had found its way between the laminate sheets and had created a pretty watercolour effect with the permanent marker.

Yes, it looked ‘rough’ but I loved it here. I grew up here. Mum and Phil loved it here. They were happy. They had a community. And Goldie would have seen that if he bothered to look more closely.

Inside the building there was a notice board, displaying all manner of posters and events. Cards nights, karaoke nights, movie nights, sports screenings, items for sale, a lost cat poster, lessons in everything from swimming to ukulele, even a book club dedicated to dissecting the latest bestselling thrillers. It was Monday, that meant Mum had gardening in the community allotment in the afternoon, and Phil had yoga in the rec room in the evening.

Community. Something my folks told me I would lose by moving to Waterside.“Rich people don’t have real friends,”Phil had said.“The only people that hang out with rich people are folk that want something from them. And nobody wants money more than those who already have it.”

Goldie was rich. Going by his apartment, and car, and general everything. Yet nobody wanted to hang out with him for his wealth. Actually, it seemed nobody wanted to hang out with him full stop. Though that was most likely by his own design.

In any case, I didn’t need Goldie’s classicism.

“You can save your pity,” I told him.

He nodded once, his mouth still a firm line. “Don’t be too long, human.” He pulled out his phone and started scrolling through gamer groups on Faebook.

I jumped out of his car — wow, the doors were heavy — and headed inside.

We were back to ‘human’. Could be worse, I supposed. His Faebook could have been plastered with semi-naked fae girls like Seth’s was.

I tiptoed into my bedroom. Abby was flat out on her stomach on the top bunk, the duvet covering only one shoulder, the window open and the gauzy curtain flapping in the breeze. I snuck over to the dresser, avoided the weird clunk it made by lifting the drawer as I pulled it open, and selected some clean clothes. I would take them into the bathroom and change there, leaving my sister in peace.

“You dirty stop out,” she said, sitting up in bed, her neck bent to avoid smacking her head on the ceiling.

“Okay, Mum,” I teased. “I didn’t realise I had a curfew.”

She laughed. “You’ve been away all weekend!” She rubbed sleep from her wide, excited eyes. “So . . . ?”

“So?”

“So, did you do it? How was it? What was he like? Is his dick as big as I said it would be?”

“Abby!” I unbuckled my pinafore, deciding I might as well change in my room since Abby was already awake. “No, we didn’t . . . do it. But, erm, we did do stuff. And I’m not talking to you about his willy.”

“Spoilsport.” She pouted her bottom lip. “When are you seeing him next? You are going to see him again, right? It wasn’t like a one-night — two-night — stand?”

“I’m seeing him in a few minutes,” I said, deliberately misconstruing her question. “He’s waiting for me outside in his car now.”

She didn’t use the bunk bed ladder, she simply hopped, like a parkour dude, from the top to the window, and pressed herself against the lower pane.

“Oh my Gods, Hols, he’s so freaking hot. Is he naked?”

“No. He’s just, I don’t know, for some reason, fae men hardly ever wear shirts. He’ll probably put one on before getting into work, because they have to wear them there, but, yeah, I don’t fully get it.”

“Galmin is the same. He said it’s because fae blood runs much hotter than humans’. He’s back, in the band, by the way.”

“I guess that makes sense. About the blood, not the band. How do you feel about Galmin rejoining?”

“Hmmm,” she said, shrugging. “At least the Tallywhacker’s gig can go ahead now.”

I finished pulling on clean underwear and clean dungarees (my toucan print ones, one of my favourite pairs) and joined Abby at the window. At that moment, Goldie lifted his blonde head up.

“Shit, he’s looking at us,” she said, and she waved.

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