Chapter Text
“it’s your life, it’s your time…”
Today was a beautiful day, but that didn’t matter. The boy cared not for the flowers still resolutely displaying all their colours, or the crisp blue sky marching constantly above his head, or the pleasant tan stone in the buildings round him that aged gently and with no degradation. It all ended at the cavity below him. Of a sooty black monotony etching its way, carelessly, through the town and valleys beyond as far as any could see. Its purpose evidenced with two pairs of iron rails. One on either side. Both caked in grime. Its remedy of electrification-cleaner, better-not having a good enough case for Westminster to extend it this far west.
And it didn’t matter that they went back home. Or to his accommodation. He would be returning to neither.
Here followed that tantalising silence which often characterized his life. Bursting through now like nails on a blackboard. People gathered on the other platform, though said few words. Talk of a rail tour, glory itself, arriving on Platform Two in ten minutes. Of a Scotsman.
What cause did they have to talk about a Scotsman?
He’d seen them all on the last stopper to London (what other place?) as he’d come forward to face his fate. Indeed, he lay in wait for the upcoming express. Images of his own valleys, of the parish he belonged to in practice despite the theory. Of the man who was the only father he’d ever had. The reason he was here today, in both respects. The hole Reverend Robin left in his absence was far greater than any he’d ever felt in his stomach these past fifteen years. The inevitability, the foreshadowing it gave in rattled coughs and far drives to Inverness Hospital meant nothing. He’d fought so hard for it. And now what? A reward of isolation. He may as well have never left. Then he could have done something. Found a way to keep Reverend Robin going. At the very least taken him to rest atop the hill of his homeland, watching over them from the river like a quiet grandfather watching his descendants play. Another stab in the knowledge that they were one of the precious few who saw it that way.
All his eager eyes to the Reverend’s teachings. Only to run south like all the despicable others at the first sign. One last look at the colourful diseases plastered on the sides of these houses. The reason why he’d been brought up longing to come away. He’d known then it was the only way to survive.
Five minutes in the school lunch break taught him that newcomers couldn’t even survive here.
There came the express now. First Great Western’s sickly magenta bus logo glaring grotesquely from its sides. As all the others did. A cool breath down his neck. Then the One already knew. Don’t worry, Reverend, he vowed as his eyes shut. As he took three steps forward. I’m coming.
Gravity gave under his feet. The last sound a loud, rushing horn filling everything. The transition began with a blast of hot air under it. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight cooler rushes. Secured with a final blast of heat to shove him over. That was it. He lay in stasis now. Any moment now Reverend Robin would come over, say hello in that deep yet sweet voice, and he would be free from other’s ransoms.
Yet when he opened his eyes, the same station lay before him.
The train? Continuing its final sprint to Bristol. A tug at his neck ever more apparent, though not with the desired consequence. As did the autumn air biting his face. As soon as he’d turned around, he dearly wished he hadn’t.
A vampire. Jet black hair and red streaks tied into a ponytail. The beginnings of a moustache twinkling on his upper lip, mocking the mismatched fangs below. A red rose peeking out of the clean, yet unobtrusive black and gold-lined waistcoat. Him and a green boy with dark, orange-streaked hair like a leaping flame next to him, digging into his right arm. Bearing the same cosy smile.
“Are you okay?” the vampire asked.
“What the hell did you do that for?” The boy cowered under his own Scottish accent. A lifetime of wearing it made it no less in contrast to his brown skin and thick beard, especially here.
“You were gonna jump. Are you okay?” The vampire knelt so their eyes met. His hand went round slowly, but when it did land it felt oddly warm. Secure. Never once did his eyes leave the boy’s face though his eyes darted in every other direction. Behind a gaggle of people, all with their own bright colours in their hair and the same mild expressions, formed a troop behind. He’d seen most before. In the halls, barely paying him any mind. Only now, when it all went bad, did they gather round to care. Yet a part of him, unavoidably, began to feel warm in himself in their presence.
“I don’t know, mate. It’s just all-so big, you know? And I don’t even know who you are!”
“Oh, where are my manners?” the vampire chuckled. “I’m Kieran.”
“He’s called Kieran Valentine for a reason.” the green boy added. “Spelldon Cauldronello, by the way.”
“Yeah. Formerly Valentine. Now I’m just Kieran. How about you?”
“Kyle.” the boy replied quickly. One look closer into the crowd, to its darker angles beyond the two girls in leather jackets, convinced him to edge further away, between Kieran and Spelldon.
Kieran stared into the buildings. The slightest widening of his eyes noticeable. Perhaps in gathering that they weren’t much older than him. “Well, Kyle, my personal opinion is that you never know what’s right around the corner. If you die right now, well, then you would never know what good things could come next?”
Kyle scoffed. “Like what? It’s not like any of these lot would miss me. I’m just the weird Scot who somehow turned up to them. And also it’s not like we’re gonna have much of a future. Just look at the news and see for yourself. It all just gets worse. We’re not even gonna have the power to deal with it no more, as we only went and voted to leave the union which helped us so much. We’re total idiots!”
“Yeah, you could say that. But I feel like a lot of people forget something.”
“And what would that be, Mr Valentine?”
Kieran smiled, drawing into Spelldon himself for a hug. Both absorbed in each other’s faces for a moment before a delicate, yet perfect kiss.
“That anything can change at any moment for the better.”
“Ah, I’ve heard o’ you. You’re one o’ them men who goes out with other men instead o’ a woman.”
Spelldon flashed his white teeth, and a baby blue t shirt with a rainbow. The words ‘Kiss whoever the fuck you want’ right in Kyle’s face over black dungarees coated in rainbow badges. Silver piercings in his nose and ears making him almost iridescent. “Sure am, honey. You wanna kiss me too?”
No reply.
Another giggle. “Heh, it’s okay. Point is, be who you want to be.”
Kyle’s chest moved as he closed his eyes, growing to their height. Slowly but surely, the yellow line characterising danger beyond grew a little further away. “It’s just-where do I go from here? Like, the only reason anyone would even talk to me is gone. After I fucked up that Economics exam there’s no chance anyone’s gonna come near me. They probably look at me in the streets round school and laugh at me. And they have every reason to, cos why wouldn’t they? I’m a pathetic boy who abandoned the one man who ever loved him to run south like the rest of them and-“
A small finger painted black at the nail fell upon his lips like snow, while a shushing drowned out all other sounds in his ears. A jolt went right through his body as one of those ominous girls all in black counted to four. Compelling him to breathe in time. Her voice, her smooth insistences it would be okay, inspired all the raging seas of his mind, of his stomach, to calm at once while the sun rose to its highest point.
A cloud of smoke from the west inched closer.
“I dunno what I’m gonna do now.” Kyle confessed, in a voice far smaller than his overgrown limbs. “Dunno what I’m gonna do.”
Kieran shrugged. “We always have room for one more friend. Come with us!”
A boy with skin made of stone nodded from the front of the crowd near him. “It’s a Thursday. You know what that means.”
“Drag Race time!” they all shouted, one of each fist slamming into the air.
“But first,” the stone boy continued, “I suggest we watch out for the train.”
A girl with teal hands and a top hat clapped her hands, scuttling to the front of the platform at once. “Oh yes, there’s a railtour coming through today! Raven, gimme my camera.”
“Where’s the train, Maddie?” Kieran asked.
“Platform two.” she beamed, teacups and picnic blankets on the platform in seconds.
“When?”
“Now!”
A mountain of steam shot through the other platform. Distinctive, regular breaths sounding in Kyle’s very heart. Challenging the foundations of the entire station and bridge beneath it. And in its entourage of steam, a crisp malachite green locomotive entered Bath Spa station. No amount of coaches, stretching as far as the eye could see behind it, were remotely enough to slow it.
In gold, the words “Flying Scotsman” centre to its running board.
Metal rods over the wheels threw themselves round and round with ever-increasing determination. A blur of a hand from the cab. Its tender sporting a majestic roaring lion. The words “British Railways” emblazoned in gold below it. In his mind where it would stay firmly forever. A tall, bald man seemingly made of ice saluting the very name. With the force of a bullet, its ethereal whistle pierced the very back of Kyle’s ears as it exploded through his vision and round the next corner, into the town. Into the spired cathedral and great green hills bordering it all. Not even taking a moment to hesitate. Though he wouldn’t rather be anywhere else. This was what he’d nearly missed? The tender ache he felt when Reverend Robin’s voice was no longer there to comfort him remained. But a little less. Just for now. That same lion in every carriage. Each whipped out of sight quicker than the last, the puffs and pants of that leviathan machine echoing far into the distance. Its final encore a resounding cheer from the entire station as cameras froze where their prize had thundered past.
Not even the face he saw next could damage it. A face he hoped he’d never, ever see again. The reason the Reverend, his Reverend, had died and he’d been helpless to stop it. The whisps of smoke curling off her damned smile. He thought it was over. Yet that same thought had just gone as quickly as the train, and Kieran and Spelldon got rid of it. Their type had only ever been a myth. A bedtime story to scare the bairns. Maybe one might have come to the Kyle over summer. Then gone away again as everyone else did. Indeed, he was that namesake. Kyle of Lochalsh. Named by the town and valley’s priest on a night where ice choked the water and snow smothered the fens. Anyone responsible for his existence had long since vanished, hence his disdain yet eager watching of any straggling tourists.
Now here he was. Up until five minutes ago, a straggler himself.
Kieran’s attempts to say hi to a mint green girl with whited-out eyes, or a tall boy with snakes atop his head and shades in a mohawk, each turned the same way. Null and void after five seconds. Yet he merely shrugged and moved back to his boyfriend, and their stone companion. The two girls walking in step. The one who shushed him leading with an expression of resting, but firm, anger. And Maddie, with her teal hair and her teacups doled out to a friend with purple hair and crow feathers on her shoulders and baggy hoodie, reciting the full history of the Flying Scotsman at double speed between sips. Herbal tangs and clementine undertones relaxed his nose from twenty metres at least. As natural for him, he sidled behind the stone boy. His presence there a drop in the water. Come unnoticed. And almost certainly leave that way when paid no mind. Right up to the station that morning.
“Hey man.” The stone boy found him almost immediately. His smile the same angle as all his friends, its genuine nature revealing itself quietly. “Being lonely sucks, doesn’t it?”
Kyle nodded.
“Man, look, you got us now. I know sometimes it seems like there’s no other way out. But trust me, there is. And you’ll be glad for taking it when you look back, and wonder why you ever worried.” #
“Thanks.”
“The name’s Ely, by the way. Ely Hutning.”
“Where are you lot going?”
“Wherever the wind takes us, I suppose.”
Almost immediately after descending from Bath Spa, their bonanza of colours and reasons to smile today crammed into winding streets. The tan buildings taking the diseases they wore on their sides and making them homely. Each name unique to only that squat little row of stones on that road which had been there longer than its inhabitants (or its human ones at least) had been alive. The whole thing like going back into some middle land. Between history’s houses and today’s digital displays. Most times he passed through here his head drooped. Shame a millstone curling his entire body in. Preventing any from seeing inside.
“I’m going for coffee.” Kieran shouted. “Any of you guys want some?”
Spelldon giggled. “I’ll take the sugariest, most shit for your diet Haunt Chocolate money can buy.”
Kieran sidled up to him and whispered in his ear: “I’ll get yours first. You are a growing boy after all.”
“Can I have one?” Kyle gulped. “Sorry. You really don’t have to. I’ve just never really been taken out for a coffee by anyone at school.”
“Course you can, dude!” Kieran beamed. “Though do me a favour. Take it with a big fat side of slack. You deserve to cut yourself some.”
“If you say so.”
“O-M-Ghoul, Kyle, just you wait until Drag Race! You’re gonna love it, love it, love it!” Spelldon squealed.
“Hold up.” The girl with purple hair held an intense gaze right in Kyle’s eyes. The pupils flickered and burned into his soul, as if they themselves held a sort of dark flame. “You’ve never watched Drag Race? Literally how? How are you one of this generation and you haven’t watched Drag Race?”
“How are you one of this generation and have never gone trainspotting before?” Maddie rebutted.
Raven sighed, though with a small affectionate chuckle. “We talked about this, Maddie. Trains…just aren’t really my thing. As long as it gets me from A to B it’s cool with me.”
Maddie sniffed. “When your bum hurts from travelling on new and uncomfortable IETs, and their ironing board seats, and the government has gotten clean away with it, don’t say I didn’t tell you so.”
A thumb jabbed beyond the bush of teal hair right into Raven’s chest as she drilled Kieran on the exact specifics, to the nth degree, of her coffee. “Check this loopy lady out. First says she doesn’t like trainspotting, and orders coffee instead of tea. And they call me the insane one! I personally like a good earl grey myself, especially in this early afternoon when life can seem like a bit of a drag.”
“You lot don’t seem normal.” Kyle said under his breath.
Immediately Maddie burst into hysterics. The glow in her eyes, a crackle and fizz of life itself, glinting in the afternoon sun. “No one ever is.”
“There are monsters all around here.” He gulped. “Only a matter of time before they get bored and decide I’m their next meal. Same at school.”
Maddie stroked her chin as if she had a wizard’s beard curling to the floor. “You’re often with Daring Charming, aren’t you?”
“Aye. In’t he the popular one?”
She scoffed. “Oh, goodness me no! He used to be, but no one really knows anymore. Besides, popularity is a bit stupid anyway.”
“Brilliant. So who am I supposed to hang out with now? If anyone actually wants to hand out with me, and doesn’t just see me as some weird kid from up north to take notes from.”
“Well, you’re not the only one who comes south for school. You might get on quite well with Cedar and Cerise. I imagine they’re more your speed.”
He gazed at the crowd. Of those who had even said hi to him, few did so with a mere fraction of the enthusiasm others got for free. That changed only before the Economics exam. So now what? “What can I bring to them other than notes? And why the hell would they even like me? I’m just-well, me.”
Maddie glanced at Raven above her. The two sharing a fond smile. Remembering that Legacy Day. “Well, Kyle, being oneself can wield great force now. In terms of time and place and person, the only question is how.”
“You what?”
She giggled. “Oh, it’s Riddlish. You’ll figure it out. In the meantime, come with us and put a smile on your face. We come together in a small hut just like rabbits, but with the privilege of all there we are glad to have it.”
When the front half of the group, the one who came to Kieran with no sour expressions on their faces, all had coffees in hand, Kyle found himself sandwiched between Maddie who stood up to his shoulder even with her hat, and Ely who towered far over him and his shadow. Talk of Drag Race reverberated round like wildfire. Daring to glance a look, the other girl in all-black gave a venomous stare at him. It would be far from the first time in this place. Best to merely pretend it had not happened. Keep walking. By this point the back split off two by two. Their disgust at the amenable Kieran kept at bay no longer. Shared with older passersby, of men who clutched their wives and covered their children’s eyes. Of those who did lock eyes with Kieran, Spelldon, or Ely, for a moment it watered the smiles they wore down. Yet one look at the boy next to them rekindled that at least a little. Any buildings which charmed those inside and out neither glowed in either side’s happiness, nor imprisoned them in their pain. Merely look on. Offer any material thing for the right price as if nothing had happened. The ever familiar face of a Sainsbury’s paramount to the square. Winking at Kyle. At least there was something he knew this far south.
Kieran turned Spelldon to the side and pointed while they still walked. “See that there?”
“The pink Docs?”
“That would be a lovely birthday gift.”
“Heart-stopping?”
“Yeah-you could say that.”
“We gotta find something for Mavis’ b-day though, and quick. It’s literally this week.”
“Get her an experience.” Kyle blurted.
Kieran, as ever, only smiled as sweet as he could behind somewhat conflicted eyes. “Pardon?”
“Reverend Robin always said to me gifts can decay and rust and break, but an experience and its memory remains pristine forever. Though he did also say that he’d never say no to a cask of whisky or hot chocolate powder.”
“Seems like a wise man to me.” Ely said. The older buildings more sparse, banding together in clumps, against those same rows of cloned boxes people called homes from Kyle’s origin to further south than this. More strain coming into the legs with every step, as the paved world gradually turned upwards. Mavis, evidently the woman who’d slowed his breathing a few paces behind, held the most venomous expression of all. Every once in a while, when they passed a phone shop or a repair store squished between two far emptier stores, she’d scan it up and down. Lock onto the people. Then, anger not satisfied, walk with her head and chest out until the next was foolish enough to catch her eye. Indeed, when not staring intently into Kieran’s eyes Spelldon carried himself with a degree of heaviness. More than you could blame him wearing Docs on. Not fiery, waiting for a fight as Mavis was. More resigned. Observing instead of acting. Kieran no better in the worry his pupils displayed. Ely had it, though far less. His observance more quiet, thoughtful. Darting between the dirty looks of grandparents returning to their flats. Of besuited men and women coming and going, computer and fates of precious, yet fragile communities choked by their smooth hands. On the final stretch, Kieran and Spelldon busying each other with bold predictions for this week’s episode, a crescent of townhouses high up from their proletarian, boxy flat counterparts. Any who left that fully changed the direction they were walking. One barked some order to stop doing something. Raven’s hands came ablaze in purple fire, though even that sole reaction was soon curbed by Maddie’s miniature hand.
Thankfully, everyone cheered right up the second the TV switched on. Another green girl inside, her welcomes free for the first second. Then squished by a hug from both Spelldon and Mavis.
“Casta!” Spelldon chirped. “So, so good to see you again! You been preparing all day?”
“You betcha!” the green girl smirked. “Battle of the Bands ain’t gonna know what hit it!”
“Rock on, ghoul!” Mavis affirmed. “Just wear your own leathers this time.”
Casta kissed her teeth. “It’s not my fault your fire leather jacket is hot. Pun abso-fucking-lutely intended by the way.”
“Stop stealing my shit! I mean it!” Mavis chuckled.
“Stop leaving it in places where it can easily be stolen.”
“How many leather jackets do you have?” grinned Raven.
“Oh, don’t start…”
“One leather blazer, five black biker jackets of which two are studded, a flame biker jacket, and a leather gilet covered in punk badges.” Casta said in one breath.
“Kill yourself.”
Kyle’s face dropped. “You what? She probably lives an amazing life. What kind of friend are you?”
Mavis rolled her eyes, thumping him on the shoulder. “Ugh. It’s just an expression.” Her version of the team’s warm smile betraying a callous exterior. “Lighten up a little, will ya? Cmon, have a beer.”
Kieran and Spelldon tore into the living room. Two thuds rocking the floor beneath. Sound and colours blurting through in under five seconds. No care for the opulent winged fireplaces or warmth arising from the carpets, nor the pleasant royal blue lining every wall and a trim of white on the corridor.
Ely on Kieran’s left. Casta on Spelldon’s right. Mavis flanked on a squashy armchair, all contents of her beer can down in one gulp. Not even the slightest twinge in her face. The sofa opposite her went at once to Maddie, Raven, teacups on one arm and a small colony of mice playing with Raven’s hair on the other.
Leaving the sofa behind Mavis. Kyle. And the final, most abnormal member of the group. A djinni girl in a tracksuit a shade bluer than her own face. Her hair revealing her true nature in its scorpion tail shape. She couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes. And she, like a visceral injury, was something he couldn’t pull his eyes away from. Not even the well-aged townhouses in the window, nor the yawning hill bearded in shrubbery, nor the first of many extravagant costumes flaunting themselves to a chorus of whoops, made it any easier.
“Hey.” the djinni mumbled.
“Hey, Whisp.”
“You-wanna sit down?”
“Whatever.”
Nobody paid either any mind as they sidled into opposite cushions of the sofa. Not even themselves. The less she tried to say the better. Her expression was like a child being reprimanded. He knew why. That didn’t make it any easier. He knew it. She knew it. She was the reason he’d had to be yanked back from the platform no more than half an hour earlier.
Yet when the next contestant came on in a plume of all colours, at the next round of laughs from Kieran and Spelldon and Ely and Casta and Raven, he began to feel a fondness for the breaths he took. A sense that they were worth taking. That they held great meaning. The fights between two fierce opponents dressed to impress tickled his heart as it did any regular watcher. Icy liquid seeping into his throat, down every vein, made it all a bit slower and easier to keep up with. When Derrick, a human beneath those perfect curls and crimson lips, cried, it took all his might not to cry with everyone else, and then heave with waterfall cheeks anyway.
“Cupid’s back on air next week!” Raven proclaimed.
“That’s what we like to hear.” Spelldon said, delving deeper into Kieran’s armpit and chest.
“She’s just sent me a photo of her and Melody record shopping. That’d be some duo on air.”
“Not enough to topple me!” Casta retorted. “Battle of the Bands will show that much.”
“You got two backup dancers right here.” Kieran added.
Spelldon gave him a slightly dirty look. “Ghoul, you have two left feet.”
“And you have no fashion sense, so I’d say we’re even.”
“Ugh, says you! You literally raid Mavis’ wardrobe every single fucking time we go out.”
“To be fair, he’s not the only one.” Mavis added, scowling at Casta.
“Mark my words,” Spelldon commanded right into Kyle’s eyes, “he’ll be stealing fabrics from Clawdeen’s wardrobe next.”
“Well, what can I do to stop him? He’s a vampire. Not a nice way to go.”
Kieran rolled his eyes. “I’m not gonna eat you, don’t worry. Never liked human flesh, it’s always too chewy. It’s Mavis you really wanna watch out for.”
She said nothing to the contrary. Merely resumed her usual stare at the latest in the show. Hadn’t the image of a black man standing proudly in front of the US flag just ended? In any case, whoops from Kieran, Spelldon, Ely and Raven erupted when the next came on. A troupe of men in only underwear and perfect ads at the ready.
“He has my vote for sure!” Kieran barked.
“And mine!” Spelldon yelled, trying to conceal that same downcast look as he said it. Yet as the ad kicked right back up again, as the ever-knowing RuPaul returned for judgement day and as Kieran’s chest resumed its role as a pillow, away it went again. Each dance grew crazier than the last. Each face having wings of makeup big enough Kyle was certain their eyebrows were ready to fly away. Nothing like that could be found, or barely even heard, back home. Men in women’s clothing was another scary invention of the twenty first century. Another step from the hills which provided guardianship for Kyle before...well, before the djinni next to him. But never for a moment was shame something that made its way in here. Being yourself, freaky flaws and all, was the norm. And for some inexplicable, weird reason, that grew infectious. These men in women’s clothing, their ads ripping each other to shreds, and those who revelled in it all, made him comfortable to simply be here. Conversations with Daring always felt more like an uphill battle.
“They’re just giggling in the corner like two Chia pets, being adorable, aren’t they?” one simpered in front of a world of pink. Right on cue, Ely pointed at Kieran and Spelldon. Who promptly shifted the blame to Raven and Maddie. Who, like cowboys in the final standoff, drew a finger for each hand right back at them. Alas, they were outgunned as the djinni, master of fate, slid a finger’s aim right onto Kieran’s neck. And there was no room for doubt when it came to determining who the men, muscular to perfection and hungry for the crown, represented most.
Even Kyle’s finger crowned that.
“It’s not my fault we’re too hot for you guys.” Spelldon retorted. “Haters gonna hate.”
“We don’t hate you though son. We love you!” Kyle blurted. “Now give us another Coke. I might become an addict.”
Raven collapsed with laughter. More so when it flipped her over the sofa and right beneath it all. A packet of cigarettes, a tobacco bag with an image of decaying gums, a lighter shaped like a claw, a card for the coffee shop stamped seven times, five pounds, and a Lego minifigures blind bag all spilling out the pockets. Laid in a wreath by uneven, frayed black feathers.
She peered up from the floor. “Mavis, do those leather jackets of yours have zip up pockets?”
“Nice try.”
“I’m sorry,” Ely interjected, “but have I just witnessed a Minecraft death or something?”
Another immediate laugh from all. Even Kyle found himself shaking by this point.
One more strut, bounces of fabric and hair, enough to send laughter shaking the foundations once more. One political ad made by the queens was muscled out by the next. Each opponent taken and dragged through the mud, though with actual meaning and motive. The ever-damning ‘sashay away’ enough to strike a pang to the depths of Kyle’s heart. But not ruin the moment. If anything, empower it.
Whoever this Kieran Valentine was, he found it impossible to conclude that he brought anything but joy into his life. Joy in a world that devoted itself to purging it. Alongside that, there was one thing Kieran rekindled in Kyle that the world could never take away.
Love for all.