Page 9 of Only a Monster

‘There was a family thing,’ Joan said. That wasn’t exactly a lie, but it sounded like one. ‘And . . . and I’m sorry I didn’t answer your messages. I lost my phone. . . .’ She heard herself trail off. But I found it again.

You must never tell anyone about monsters, Gran had said. For the first time, Joan wondered if this secret would always stand between her and people she cared about. Here with Nick, and at home with Dad.

She imagined Nick waiting for her at that café. She hadn’t responded to any of his messages. But she knew him. He’d have waited and waited, just in case. How long had he been there before he’d realised that she wasn’t coming?

Are you okay? he’d asked in his last message.

She imagined him getting that curt message from her hours later that night. A family thing came up.

‘Joan . . .’ Nick was still standing there, waiting for more. Now Joan saw the realisation dawn on him slowly, along with the hurt of it. She wasn’t going to give him a better explanation.

Downstairs, doors were closing. Footsteps tromped to the main entrance. The last of the tourists were leaving for the day.

Joan scrubbed a hand over her face. It was all too overwhelming. She needed something real. ‘I could . . .’ She gestured awkwardly at the dusting cloth in Nick’s hand. He blinked down at it, as if he’d forgotten he was holding it. ‘I could finish up in here. I know it doesn’t make up for the shift I missed, but . . .’

Nick searched her face. ‘You don’t have to do that.’

‘It won’t take long,’ Joan said. She went over to the cleaning kit. She could feel Nick’s eyes on her as she rummaged for a cloth. She was being all weird, she knew. And she was only putting off the inevitable.

The picture frame was wooden with rose carvings. Joan cleaned it as they’d been taught, getting the dust out of the fiddly carved bits, careful not to touch the painting itself. The silence was heavy. She tensed, waiting for him to say it: You really hurt me. That’s not okay, Joan. Or maybe he’d just leave.

She heard Nick’s footsteps. Slow, like the way she’d walked to Mr Solt. He wasn’t walking away.

He stopped beside her. She felt overly aware of him: broad-shouldered and square-jawed. ‘Joan?’ His voice was a soft rumble. ‘What happened yesterday?’

Joan’s throat felt thick. How often did her family do it, she wondered. How much life did they steal—and from who? Had Ruth stolen time from neighbours? From people Joan knew? She wished for a reckless second that she could actually confess everything to Nick. She always felt better when she talked to him. And what Gran had told her last night was so frightening that she needed to tell someone. But she could never tell Nick. He was human, and Gran had reminded her of the rule last night: You must never tell anyone about monsters.

Downstairs, staff called goodbyes to each other. More doors were closing. People were going home. ‘I just came here to say I’m sorry.’ Joan had to force the words out. Her throat felt so tight.

She shouldn’t have come here at all, she realised now. She hadn’t known who to turn to, but she shouldn’t have turned to Nick. The truth was, she’d stepped into a strange and dangerous new world last night. One Nick didn’t belong in.

Nick didn’t answer for a long moment. Joan saw the emotions cross his face. Had he guessed that when she left, she wouldn’t be back?

Joan’s chest hurt. I like him, she’d said to Ruth. But that wasn’t what she felt. When she’d met him, it was like she’d recognised him. Like she’d known him her whole life. And when he’d asked her out, she’d felt like a new part of her had opened up. She hadn’t even known she could feel like that.

The thought of leaving now—of never seeing him again—made her heart break. But she knew that she had to. She knew herself. She wouldn’t be able to lie to him. She’d already had a reckless urge to confess. She felt it still.

‘Joan,’ Nick said. They were standing so close. ‘Don’t,’ he said. There was something raw in his dark eyes. ‘Don’t just go.’ So he had guessed.

I have to, Joan thought. I don’t trust myself around you. I’m scared of what I’ll tell you. I’m scared of what I am.

But when he said, ‘Please,’ Joan found herself nodding.

Staff weren’t supposed to stay after hours. Joan felt strange about breaking that rule—she was usually a letter-of-the-law kind of person, and Nick was too. They retreated to the far end of the library to sit side by side on the bare wooden floor under the window—where they couldn’t damage anything.

Nick found a hazelnut Dairy Milk bar in his bag and laid down his jacket as an improvised picnic blanket. ‘Wouldn’t want to drop any crumbs,’ he said solemnly. His collar slid down as he smoothed out the jacket, and Joan tried not to look at his pale neck.

Nick’s fingers brushed against hers as he passed her the chocolate. Joan suppressed a flinch. She’d taken time from Mr Solt just by touching his neck. She would never forgive herself if she hurt Nick like that too.

By tacit agreement, they avoided the topic of yesterday. Instead they made halting small talk. ‘Were you gardening today?’ Joan said. It came out sounding as awkward as she felt.

There were a hundred unspoken questions in Nick’s eyes, but he answered her. ‘Still doing that audit for the insurance company.’ He’d been born in Yorkshire and still had a faint northern accent. It sounded stronger when he was tired. Joan could hear it now. ‘I catalogued that room you like—with all the little paintings.’

‘The Miniature Room,’ Joan said. It must have taken him ages to catalogue all the curios. That was a two-person job, and he’d had to do it alone today. No wonder he was tired. She looked down at the floor. Her guilt felt like a live thing inside her. She’d hurt Mr Solt yesterday. She’d hurt Nick. She might not have intended to, but she had. Was this what monsters did?

As they exchanged more awkward small talk, the air felt heavy with unspoken things. The conversation they weren’t having seemed louder than the one they were.

Joan drew her knees up. Around them, the house got quieter and quieter, until even the settling creaks of the floor seemed to still. They were the only ones left in the house.

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