Lacybourne Manor

Chapter Fourteen Real Dream Man

It was sing-along day at the Day Centre Pensioner’s Club.

Not that the oldies ever sang along, every once in awhile the organist would play something they liked and they’d all sing but that only happened about once a month. They usually just talked and smoked but they always clapped for the hardworking organist after she finished a song.

Sibyl never got any work done on sing-along day. The organ was too distracting.

Today, she was simultaneously creating a flier that advertised the Talent Show while she was writing a letter to the Council to beg them to rewire the building.

Neither of these were going very well.

She was also considering the astonishing possibility that she was, and always had been, a witch with magical powers.

She was also thinking about what happened in her Summer House Laboratory with Colin, this she seemed to be able to concentrate on (with great focus).

Lastly, she was just plain old thinking about Colin and this she seemed to be able to concentrate on very well (with even greater focus).

And Royce, of course.

But mostly Colin.

Last night, she’d picked up the phone to call her mother (and then put it down) at least a half a dozen times. She desperately wanted to explore the idea of magic, dreams and premonitions but her mother would eat it up. She’d be too excited actually to help Sibyl make any sense of it and Sibyl desperately needed it to make sense.

Since she couldn’t ask Mags and she couldn’t look in the phonebook under “witch” or “magic” or “clairvoyants” to get a professional opinion, she was on her own.

This all so prayed on her mind, Sibyl was considering coming clean with Colin, telling him about her nightmare and all the dreams since.

But if she did, he’d leave her. He’d think she’d gone around the bend. Even though she had the feeling he liked being with her (and definitely knew he liked being in bed with her), she wasn’t certain (indeed she was quite uncertain) that was strong enough to withstand her admitting to him she thought she had magical powers.

She shouldn’t worry about him leaving her, but she did. Especially after how he’d treated her yesterday in that strange, sweet way.

And that was all there was to it. She couldn’t deny it and she couldn’t lie to herself about it although she really wanted to.

She had months with him and she decided she was going to hold on to them and then…

Well she’d worry about life after Colin when it happened.

“Hey Billie,” Jemma was at the door of her office, “come out here for a second.”

Her friend’s eyes were dancing and Sibyl smiled despite her unhappy thoughts.

“What is it?” she asked, following Jem into the Day Centre.

“Just come into the Day Centre, I’ll be back,” Jemma walked behind the huge tables that were all shoved together in the middle of the room. The oldies sat around the tables to have their lunch and then lounged the hours after in conversation. Jem waved at the people who called out a greeting to her, gave Sibyl a gesture that told her to wait and sidled through the sliding doors.

Luckily, the organist had stopped and was basking in her weak, distracted applause.

“Sibyl, is that you?” Mrs. Griffith, sitting in her customary seat by the Day Centre doors, shouted over the clapping from across the room.

Sibyl walked down the tables, touching a few of the oldie’s shoulders lightly while she passed and, when she arrived at the old lady’s side, she crouched down beside Mrs. Griffith.

Mrs. Griffith was another of her favourites (Sibyl had to admit, she had many favourites). She was a crotchety old bird who complained about everything, could go on for hours about her ill-health and disliked everyone.

Except Sibyl.

And she liked Sibyl for one reason, because Sibyl had brought her animals with her from America. Mrs. Griffith liked pets and once she heard Sibyl had not left hers behind, that was it, Sibyl was on the (very) short list written in Mrs. Griffith’s Good Book.

Mrs. Griffith had the habit of grasping onto Sibyl’s hand in a death grip whenever Sibyl talked to her.

This she did now.

“I heard your new lad is too busy to come visit us. This, Sibyl, is not a good sign,” Mrs. Griffith announced in a dire tone.

Sibyl smiled despite the fact that Colin seemed everywhere, even here, where he should not be and replied, “Annie talks too much, Mrs. Griffith.”

“Tell him he must come,” Mrs. Griffith demanded. “I want to have a look at him. If I don’t like him, I’m writing a letter to your mother.”

Mrs. Griffith often threatened to write to Sibyl’s mother, but, as yet, (to Sibyl’s knowledge) had not done so even though she’d demanded to have and received Mags’s address.

“I’ll see what I can do,” she promised her friend on an utter lie.

The last two words were drowned out by Jemma who was now standing at the sliding doors that led into the hall.

And as Sibyl straightened and looked her way, it appeared Jem was making an announcement.

Sibyl vaguely noticed that the door behind her opened and closed but she, as well as all the oldies, were captivated by the usually very quiet Jemma Rashid making any announcement.

“Ladies and gentleman, I’m proud to present a sneak preview to Cadbury Community Centre’s Talent Show. I give you, Flower, Katie, Emma and Cheryl, the Greasy Girls!”

And that was when the girls made their entrance wearing saddle shoes, bobby socks, poodle skirts and fluffy pink sweaters with black scarves wrapped around their necks. Their hair was pulled back in ponytails and they looked adorable. They stood giggling and posing and Sibyl felt pride sweep through her at the sight.

Sibyl, who could not sew, bought all the clothes, shoes and socks and Jemma had made the skirts from the fabric and other bits and bobs that Sibyl also purchased.

And Sibyl stood, with Mrs. Griffith still clutching her hand in a death grip, and smiled, every bit of her pride showing.

All the oldies were shouting their compliments as Sibyl gently disengaged her hand from Mrs. Griffith and walked around the woman, clearing the tables and standing several feet in front of the door.

And as she did she clapped and shouted, “I love it! You girls look great!”

The girls noticed her and all came rushing forward jumping around her with excitement.

“Do you love it, Miss Sibyl? Do you think we look okay?” Katie asked.

“Oh Katie, you look fabulous.” Sibyl bent over and kissed the top of girl’s head then straightened and caught Katie’s chin in her hand. “I’m going to get you some redder than red lipstick and some blue eye shadow and the pinkest blusher I can find. It’ll be perfect!” she announced, thinking Katie would go agog at the idea of makeup.

But Katie was no longer listening to her or, for that matter, looking at her. Instead, the girl was looking behind her.

Sibyl noticed belatedly that the excitement had died to a very strange (for the Day Centre), eerie quiet.

“Who’s he?” Emma breathed, also peering behind Sibyl.

Then Sibyl smelled it, a woodsy scent liberally spiked with cedar.

She whirled and there stood Colin, wearing a handsomely tailored dark suit and an expensive looking deep lavender shirt opened at the collar. He looked like a movie star who had come on a Make-a-Wish errand, standing, powerful and strong and exuding all of his sex appeal in the drab and worn (but cheerful) Day Centre.

“Colin!” she cried, her heart skipping three beats before it began racing like a wild thing.

What on earth was he doing here?

“Sibyl,” he replied calmly, staring at her like… like, she didn’t know. She couldn’t put her finger on it but whatever “it” was made her stomach go funny, her knees go weak and her heart stop momentarily before bouncing around in her chest, out-of-control.

There was no other way to put it – it was a Royce Look, pure and simple.

“What are you doing here?” she forced herself to voice her thought.

Before he could answer, Marianne, the Centre’s bingo caller, shouted throatily from the back, “Billie, is that your young man?” After voicing her question, Marianne collapsed into a fit of smoker’s cough and, once she finished, she sucked another drag off her ever-present cigarette.

Everyone was looking at Colin, at Sibyl, at both of them.

And Sibyl wanted to run. She wanted to scream. She wanted to know what the hell he was doing there.

This was not a part of their bargain. This was not to be touched by him. She needed this when he was gone, not memories of him here.

“Introduce him, Sibyl,” Mrs. Griffith was demanding (loudly), twisting around in her chair to get a better look. “Don’t keep us all waiting.”

“It’s about time he came to call!” Annie shouted, apparently just being informed that Colin was there.

Sibyl stood awkwardly, not knowing what to do. She noticed Jemma watching her carefully; ready to come to her aid should Sibyl make the slightest indication that she needed it.

Which, of course, she could not do. No one could ever know.

Kyle and Tina had come in from the kitchen and were watching the unfolding drama with speculative eyes.

Sibyl cleared her throat. “Everyone,” she announced loudly, “this is Colin. Colin,” she continued, feeling idiotic and throwing out her arm to encompass the room, “this is everyone.”

A cacophony of greetings emerged from the room.

“Are these your girls?” Colin asked after he’d arrogantly inclined his head to the elderly assemblage. His voice was quiet and his eyes were on the four girls who were staring at him as if he’d just stepped out of a movie screen.

“Um…” she started (bloody, bloody hell), “yes.”

“I’m Colin,” he introduced himself to the quartet.

“I’m Katie.” Cheeky Katie didn’t miss a trick and shot forward to shake his hand, a shake which Colin returned solemnly.

“Cheryl,” Cheryl offered but she was not nearly as bold, though she wasn’t going to be left out, thus no hand shake.

“Emma,” definitely not bold, Emma said her name in a timid squeak and kept her distance.

Flower, however, was staring at Sibyl.

“Did you really call us ‘your girls’ Miss Sibyl?” she asked breathlessly.

Sibyl looked at Flower who was staring at Sibyl with her heart in her eyes and Sibyl’s own heart melted.

She forgot Colin (or, at least, ignored him) and crouched next to Flower. “You are my girls so of course I did.”

Flower, who had no decent woman-figure in her life, save Jemma and Sibyl, threw herself in Sibyl’s arms for a quick, embarrassed hug and then ran from the room.

The three other girls followed, trailing giggles.

Sibyl watched them go and wanted to take that opportunity to shove Colin out the door and scream at him at the top of her lungs but her torture was not complete.

“Come here, young man. I have a few things to ask you,” Mrs. Griffith demanded imperiously.

“Don’t do it,” Sibyl hissed under her breath, straightening, but Colin simply cocked his head, regarding her with eyes filled with amusement and something warm and tender, something she had never seen before. Something that made her bones feel like jelly.

And then he totally ignored her demand and strode toward Mrs. Griffith.

Sibyl counted to ten. Then she went up to twenty for good measure.

“Yes?” he said to older woman, looking down at her.

Mrs. Griffith looked up at him.

“You’re tall,” Mrs. Griffith announced, wanting him to crouch at her side but too proud to ask.

He didn’t crouch and he also didn’t reply. There was no need, she was stating the obvious.

Even though she didn’t get her way, Mrs. Griffith persevered and she did this by snapping, “Do you have a good job?”

“I believe so, yes,” Colin answered without hesitation

“Do you have a healthy diet?” Mrs. Griffith fired off and Sibyl’s eyes searched the ceiling, praying for deliverance.

“Not really, no,” Colin replied.

Mrs. Griffith gave a short harrumph of displeasure at Colin’s answer.

“When you go out, who pays for dinner, you or Sibyl?” she demanded to know.

“Me.”

“Always?” she went on.

“Of course.”

“Do you work hard?” Mrs. Griffith carried on with her mini-interrogation, undaunted by his short, uninformative answers.

“My mother thinks I do,” Colin returned.

This was apparently a good response and, lightning quick, Mrs. Griffith made up her mind and turned to Sibyl saying, “He’ll do.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Griffith,” Sibyl muttered, wanting a hole to open up in the floor and swallow her.

Colin was smiling one of his killer, white-flash smiles at Sibyl made all the worse by a hint of smugness.

When Mrs. Griffith turned back to him and caught his smile, she announced, “He’ll definitely do.”

And that was when Sibyl had had enough. She grabbed Colin’s hand and started marching toward her office.

Surprisingly, he followed.

The Mistress of Luck was not smiling on her that day because as they passed Annie’s chair, Annie’s hand shot out as if guided by a mystical tractor beam because surely she couldn’t see them and she caught Colin’s forearm.

“Sibyl’s my daughter,” she announced in a very loud voice when Colin stopped and looked back at her.

He turned fully to the old lady, his brows rising. He was now holding Sibyl’s hand (rather than the other way around, in other words, she couldn’t get away) and he pulled her back to Annie.

“Is she?” Colin asked politely.

Annie didn’t respond and Colin stood patiently watching her.

“She’s mostly deaf,” Sibyl whispered with a tug on his hand which he ignored.

“Is she?” Colin asked, in a louder timbre but not exactly a loud voice.

“I’m Annie,” she told him.

“I’m Colin,” he returned.

“Children take care of you,” Annie was on a roll but not making any sense whatsoever.

“Annie –” Sibyl began by shouting her name.

“That’s why you’re my daughter,” Annie said to some point over Sibyl’s shoulder. Then she guesstimated (badly) where Colin might be and declared dramatically, “I’m starting legal proceedings to adopt her. Tomorrow, I think, I haven’t decided. She’s going to be my adopted daughter because she takes care of me.”

Sibyl’s already racing heart started its rocket thrusters. Colin didn’t need to know this. Colin knew too much already.

Way too much.

“Oh Annie...” she murmured, half with her heart in her throat, half horrified.

This time Colin crouched next to Annie.

“What does she do?” Colin asked, his voice still vibrating strongly enough for Annie to hear and Sibyl wished she could pull him up and away, but she couldn’t.

“She talks to me,” Annie explained. “And she cleans my house and she gets me my favourite kind of custard. Then, when she puts things in the refrigerator, she always takes me there and puts my hand on everything so I’ll know where to find it when I need something and I don’t knock it on the floor, like I used to.”

Colin was still holding Sibyl’s hand and his seemed to contract spasmodically then it gentled.

Annie wasn’t finished. “I never had children but children are supposed to take care of you. That’s why I’m going to adopt Sibyl. I can’t adopt Jemma because she already has parents.” Then she leaned forward conspiratorially. “Though I’d like to, she’s a very nice girl too.”

Tina came to the rescue by announcing the minibus was going to be there in five minutes and those who rode it would have to be ready.

Therefore Annie immediately lost interest in Colin in her haste to get prepared. The minibus driver didn’t dally and he had no patience (the screaming jerk).

Sibyl took seized her opportunity to drag Colin to her office and, once there, she closed the door.

When she did, she whirled on him only to find him staring around with an expression that could only be described as extreme distaste.

“You work here?” he muttered, his voice mimicking his expression.

She ignored his question. She wasn’t in a good mood and she had bigger fish to fry.

“What are you doing here?” she snapped angrily and his eyes cut to her.

“Sibyl –” he began, his voice patient.

“Don’t you ‘Sibyl’ me. What are you doing here?” she demanded.

He came toward her but she backed away and he halted.

“This isn’t your place, this is my place,” she informed him hotly. “You aren’t supposed to be here. How did you find out about this?”

Before he could answer a knock came at the door and Kyle poked his head in.

He looked at Sibyl then at Colin then said, “All right, mate?”

Colin inclined his head.

Sibyl, feeling the bizarre need to act politely (for Kyle’s sake), said, “Colin, this is Kyle. He’s our caretaker. Kyle, this is Colin.”

She didn’t give Colin a role. Colin had no role that she’d share with anyone at the Centre.

“Colin, good to meet you, mate,” Kyle greeted and his eyes shifted to Sibyl. “Bus’s comin’,” he announced.

The door closed again and Sibyl closed her eyes and muttered, “Bloody, bloody hell.”

“Listen to me,” Colin demanded but she opened her eyes, sent him a savage glare and interrupted him.

“I have to go help get the oldies on the bus. We’ll talk later.” She was walking to the door as she spoke but stopped and then her glare turned murderous. “Unless there’s something you require?”

He watched her closely for a moment, his expression unreadable then shook his head.

Instead of leaving, like she should have done, she ranted, because that was what she did when her temper flared out-of-control.

“This isn’t fair, this isn’t right, this isn’t a part of our bargain and you know it,” she told him on an infuriated whisper.

“Come here,” he ordered gently.

She stood where she was and continued glaring.

“Sibyl, come here.” This was said in a tone that could not be defied.

She walked toward him but did it in a way that showed she didn’t like it.

When she arrived close enough to Colin, his arm stole around her waist and, with his other hand, he tipped her face up to look at him with a crooked finger under her chin.

“I was curious how you spent your days.” His voice was low and soft and he was looking at her like he’d looked at her in the Centre.

To her dismay, and against her will, she felt her body react to it by relaxing.

She fought against her body but, it must be said, didn’t entirely succeed with her struggle.

“I’m very angry with you,” she announced in an effort to control her emotions.

“I can tell,” he grinned, completely unaffected by her words.

She sought refuge in fury. “Don’t you grin at me, Colin Morgan. You haven’t heard the last of this.” Then, for her sanity (and for the oldies), she tore free of his arm and stalked out of the office.

Several of the oldies were still packing up but she could see the minibus was already there and some of them were getting panicked.

Colin had followed her and she was helping Marianne pack up her cigarettes, lighter and a variety of napkin wrapped food she hadn’t eaten at lunch and would consume for dinner (Tina always gave Marianne a little extra because Marianne didn’t have much and would skip dinner if she didn’t).

Sibyl took Marianne’s heavy carrier bag filled with whatever Marianne (or any of the oldies, most of them seemed to lug around bulky carrier bags) carried around with her all the time, turned around and saw Colin staring out the windows at the bus.

“Make yourself useful,” she ordered grumpily and began to hand him the carrier bag but, uncharacteristically impolitely, he didn’t take it and she lifted her eyes to his face.

Now he was staring out the window and whatever he saw made the warm, tender expression he was wearing moments ago fade to one of complete fury.

Then he turned without a word and, with long, quick, ground-eating strides, headed for the door.

She whirled to see what had made him react in such a way and saw Annie trying to alight into the bus.

Annie, blind and reaching, was not having a good time of it and all the while the minibus driver stood not two feet away, smoking a roll up and not assisting her, even though it was clear Annie was having trouble.

Sibyl, still carrying Marianne’s bag, ran after Colin. She exited the door in time to see Annie catch her foot on the step of the bus and stumble. Her heart tripping in alarm, Sibyl sucked in her breath just as Annie righted herself at the last minute.

Kyle was at the back loading a folded wheelchair so he couldn’t see what was happening.

The minibus driver flicked his butt into the grass.

“What in bloody hell is going on here?” Colin demanded while Sibyl raced up behind him. At his deep, angry voice, most jumped and everyone turned to stare. “Everyone, get off the bus,” Colin ordered and Sibyl’s mouth dropped open in shock but before she could say anything, Colin turned to the driver. “What’s your name?” he demanded in his smooth, even tone that said, in about two seconds, the driver was about to have Colin’s fist in his face.

“Who’re you?” The driver, clearly not that bright, didn’t read Colin’s tone.

“I said, what’s your goddamned name?” Colin roared.

Sibyl (and pretty much every one else) jumped again. She quickly put down Marianne’s bag and ran to help Annie away from the minibus.

“Why’d you wanna know?” the driver asked on a mini-sneer.

“I want to know,” Colin enunciated every word with perfect clarity, “because I’ll need to be certain I get the right man sacked.”

The minibus driver stared at Colin goggle-eyed and everyone gasped (including Sibyl).

“You can’t get me sacked!” the driver snapped.

“Would you like to bet?” Colin’s voice was still smooth, dangerous and had a very sharp edge. “Did you not see that woman struggling to get into the bus?” he demanded.

The minibus driver shrugged, thinking it was a good idea to throw fuel on the fire. “Not my job.”

“You’re not only incompetent, you’re negligent. You drive a bus for elderly people,” Colin informed him. “That makes it your job.”

“Have you read my job description?” this time the driver outright sneered. “I don’t think so.”

“Your job description will be changed by five o’clock tomorrow night. Unfortunately, you won’t be in the job to see it.” That said, Colin turned his back on the driver and said to Sibyl, “Get everyone out of the bus.”

Regardless of the fact that his eyes were blazing, carefully, Sibyl said, “Colin, this is their only way home. It would take Kyle and I –”

While she was talking, he pulled his mobile out of his jacket, flipped it open and punched two numbers.

Once he’d done this, he spoke into it. “Mandy, get me…” He surveyed the crowd that was now exiting the minibus, gathering around and staring at Colin with avid fascination. “Fifteen taxis to the Community Centre at Cadbury Council Estate in Weston. Right now. Have them do a docket and bill it to us.” He paused. “Yes. Right now.”

At his deadly tone, Sibyl felt a chill go down her spine just as she felt a soft flutter in her heart.

He flipped the phone shut.

“Don’t bother me, mate. Makes my afternoon easier,” the minibus driver remarked.

Colin looked over his shoulder at him. “Get used to it; you’re going to have a great deal of free time on your hands.”

Something about the way he said it made pretty much everyone believe it except those who didn’t couldn’t hear what was going on but when they were told, they believed it too.

“Think you’re the big man, get me sacked. She couldn’t get me sacked,” the minibus driver taunted, making it known he most definitely did not have a very high IQ or enough instinct to last an hour in the wild.

Colin slowly turned back to the man, so slowly it was crystal clear he was doing so to keep himself in rigid control.

Sibyl held her breath.

When he spoke again, Colin’s voice was as rigidly controlled as his body.

“If you ever get the chance again, which you will not, you will refer to her as Miss Godwin. And Miss Godwin doesn’t know seventeen councillors on North Somerset Council, all of whom I’ll be having my staff calling in five minutes and telling about you. If they don’t hand me your job by nine o’clock tomorrow morning, I’ll have every paper, TV and radio station in Weston and Bristol all over this estate. The Councillors will undoubtedly listen at that point as they won’t want to be the ones who allowed an incompetent, uncaring, thoughtless bastard to look after their community’s grandparents.”

After this stunning declaration, Mrs. Griffith shouted, “I know two councillors and I’m calling them in five minutes too!”

“I know three!” a gentleman (another one of Sibyl’s favourites) named Gilbert called.

“I don’t know any but I’m calling them anyway,” Marianne yelled.

Before the oldies jumped the minibus driver and brained him with their carrier bags, Kyle, ever the peacekeeper, snapped open the now unloaded wheelchair and shouted, “All right, everyone back into the Centre!”

Colin flipped open his mobile, dialled his two numbers again and said, “Mandy, I want you and every administrator on staff to call every North Somerset Councillor in my Rolodex and tell them…”

Sibyl didn’t wait to hear what he said. She helped Annie to the Centre, scooping up Marianne’s carrier bag along the way, all the while her mind whirling in an attempt to process what had just occurred.

Did Colin just make a scene in front of the Day Centre, battling her hated minibus driver nemesis and conquering him for a bunch of elderly people he didn’t even know?

She couldn’t quite believe it. She wanted to but she couldn’t.

And this was because this was the kind of stuff a dream man was made of.

And, because of what she’d done and who she was to him, Sibyl had lost all hopes of ever being his dream woman.

Dazed, she helped everyone settle back into the Centre, vaguely noticing they were all watching her closely.

She didn’t pay attention.

Instead, she was thinking there would be, soon, a life without Colin and not always, but increasingly often, he acted like her dream man.

Most especially that day.

But there was nothing she could do about that the day when her life would be without Colin.

In the meantime, however, it was a life with Colin and, in those moments she saw him tearing into her evil nemesis, she knew that she was going to make the most of every damned second of the time she had.

Fourteen (Colin had made a slight error in counting) oldies, Kyle, Tina, Jemma and four ten year old girls all crowded around the big windows that looked out on the patch of worn grass in front of the Day Centre.

They saw their adored, beautiful, American girl wander across the grass slowly toward the tall, dark, broad-shouldered, handsome man who was talking angrily on his mobile phone.

They watched as she approached him, stood in front of him toe-to-toe, then she leaned in and rested the top of her head against his chest, placing her hands lightly on either side of his waist.

They watched, too, as he slid one hand up her spine to curl it around the back of her neck, he pulled the phone from his ear and bent his dark head to kiss her honey one.

Then he put the phone back to his ear and kept talking.

Everyone in the room decided they made a striking couple and felt, considering what they knew about Sibyl and what they’d seen of her man, that they were the perfect match.

“I think we know who our anonymous donor is,” Tina whispered to her husband and Kyle nodded.

“I’m writing to her mother,” Mrs. Griffith declared.

“I’m going to adopt him too,” Annie shouted.

And then fifteen taxis started arriving at the Centre.