#barnelle

“It’s really rather embarrassing that she slipped my mind for so long.  But I was walking in a market in Bangalore when I caught a whiff of some delicious rava idli, and it all came back in a flash.  More than two hundred years on God’s Earth and she’s the first and last Cemolina that ever crossed my path.  Lovely woman- well, perhaps not quite… But we had fun.  Condolences, of course, though I suppose we can bless her memory for finally bringing us together.”  He paused, gazing at Barney with a look far warmer than anything he’d ever experienced. “My own son.”

 So, clearly Ives is barking mad.  But Barney’s found that doesn’t make him bad company.  He’s in every few days for a shave, and always stays for a wee chat. It doesn’t take long before he times his appointments to just before Barney’s lunch break, so there’s really not much excuse not to spend time with the man.  Even if he’s fucking certifiable.

 One such day, they’re leaving the chips shop around the corner when a feminine voice with an Aussie lilt floats over Barney’s shoulder, “Um, excuse me.”  Assuming he likely dropped some change, Barney pauses and turns, and finds the most beautiful woman in the world looking straight at him. “Sorry, I know this is rude, but I just had to ask, is it true you’re the man who survived the Bridgeton Butcher?”

 Barney gawps at her for a moment like a landed fish, his gaze darting to Ives, who simply raises a brow. “I, ah, survived maybe isn’t the right word.  He never came after me, he just… Was just a coworker.”  Barney’s glad for the business his wholly unexpected legend brought to the shop, but these days he prefers not to think about the string of dark days in which he learned about the startling fragility of the human body. And how monsters can hide under familiar faces.

 The woman lets out a soft laugh, “I’m sure that was well close enough.  Anyway, sorry again.  Um, I’m Belle French.  I’m over at Game of Thorns.”

 She extends a perfect hand. Barney hastily wipes the sweat off his own before daring to perform a business-like shake.  “Barney Thomson, Henderson’s Barbers- but,” he winces, “I suppose you know that.”

 “I gathered, yes,” Belle replies lightly.

 Her smile is like sunshine, dazzling Barney until he feels a nudge at his side.  “Right, and this is Francis Ives.”

 “Barney’s father,” Ives says with a short bow, hand placed on his chest.

 Belle nods, then frowns, her gaze jumping between the two men, her fully functional brain drawing the obvious conclusions.  Panic swirls in Barney.  “Right, well!” he cries, voice jumping to a reedy register, “Very nice to meet you, Miss French, very nice indeed, but we need to be going.”

 “Oh, yeah, I’ll- I’ll see you around then.”

 He’s already grasped Ives’s elbow and is towing him away.  Still the madman calls over his shoulder, “I guarantee it, Miss French!  Au revoir!”

 “You cannae say that to people,” Barney hisses in Ives’s ear.

 “Why not?”

 “Why not?  Because it’s-”  He bites back the word insane as he spots a cold, hard glint in eyes that are undeniably similar to his own.  “Look, just… give it a rest, will ya’?”

 Ives sighs, and the glint melts into the usual soft warmth.  “I shouldn’t have left for so long.  But you know how it is, time gets away from you.  Especially when so much has gone before.  And it only picks up speed, you know.  Decades pass like weeks to me now.  Perhaps you’ll understand someday.  But… I don’t think you’re ready.  Not yet.”

 The race is neck-and-neck over what’s more discomfiting, Ives’s talk of being Barney’s father, or his talk of living far beyond any normal human lifespan.

 “Anyway, Belle French is beautiful as the reddest rose, isn’t she?”

 And a new challenger comes from behind to win it all!  “I hadn’t noticed,” Barney says, lying more extravagantly in three words than all his babble to the cops.

 Ives is quiet for a beat before murmuring, “Perhaps you should, lad.  Perhaps you should.”

 Barney rolls his eyes, and they continue their walk back to the shop.

 --- 

Time carries on, and Francis Ives carries on his presence in Barney’s life.  It’s not very long before the other barbers decide Ives is all right despite his peculiarities, and soon he’s gotten himself (and by convenient extension, Barney) invited to football and boxing matches, happy hours and birthday parties.  Not long ago Barney might have proclaimed he had no interest in such frivolous social engagements.  But that’s easier to say when you’ve never been invited.

 A little voice in Barney insists this will all come to an end somehow, whether with a bang or a whimper, though preferably not in a literal sense.  However, when his thoughts turn in that gloomy direction, Ives always seems to turn up.  He’s said he intends to stay as long as he can.  Which, according to him, is when people start to notice he isn’t aging.

 “Or, if you feel I must leave…” Ives prompted, still with that now familiar soft warmth in his eyes. “No!” Barney hears himself blurt out, “No, no, it’s- you’re fine.”

 When he can pry his mind away from bleak pessimism, the real trick is keeping it from wandering to Belle French.  It’s bloody embarrassing, honestly, him thinking on a lovely, intelligent young woman like her.  She’s kind too, often popping her head out of Game of Thorns for a short chat when Barney and Ives pass on their walks.  He might assume it’s just Ives’s undeniable charm that wins her attention, but oddly the man stands by mostly silent while she and Barney catch up.  Or maybe Barney just doesn’t notice him the way he usually does.  Everything seems to fade into the background when Belle’s there to look at, and talk to, and make smile.

 One day, an aspect of Barney’s most pathetic dreams comes true when Belle shoves her way out of Game of Thorns and runs down the street toward him with an absolutely radiant beam spread across her face.

 “Barney, I closed the deal!” she cries, grasping his forearms when she’s close enough and all but dancing on the spot.

 He barely manages to look over to the empty shop that’s been gathering dust beside Game of Thorns for ages. “So, you’ll be able to expand?”

 “Yes!  French’s Flowers, Tea, and Books will be open for business in a matter of months.  You’ll come to the grand opening, won’t you?”  She blinks, and glances to Barney’s right, “Oh, and you, Francis?”

 “We wouldn’t miss it,” Ives answers, draping an arm around Barney’s shoulders, “Congratulations.”

 “Thanks.  I’m so excited I can barely see straight.  But there’s so much to do, I don’t have a minute to spare if I want to open at the start of the next fiscal year.  I’ll see you both later, okay?  Bye!”

 She lets go of Barney to whip around and dart back inside, and he immediately wills his memory to record exactly what the sweet pressure of her hands on him felt like.  Meanwhile, Ives leans close to murmur, “What wonderful news.  We need to get you a new suit.”

 If Barney sees almost nothing of Belle in the coming months, he consoles himself with the knowledge that it’s because she’s busy becoming a permanent fixture on his street.  When the day of the grand opening finally comes, he manages to resist Ives’ orders to buy roses, though he quails under his stern warning, “Don’t you dare buy her carnations, lad.  She’s not a granny on her death bed.”  They settle on two dozen white and yellow daisies.

 While Barney’s stomach twists itself into knots as they walk, Ives’s lets out a long, low growl. Barney shoots a glance toward him as he pats his abdomen with a pained look.  “You okay?  You dinnae have lunch today.  Your supper disagree with you?”

 Ives’s gaze wanders skyward. “It disagreed most vehemently, I’m afraid.  But now my stomach’s remembered how to be hungry.”

 “Well, let’s hurry on then, before the nibbles are gone.”  If Barney wasn’t so nervous about seeing Belle on her big day, he might have realized that Ives never takes more than a few bites when they go to lunch.

 Balloons and streamers decorate the face of the newly-minted French’s Flowers, Tea, and Books, a charming florist-café-bookstore filled with color and air and light.  Barney actually feels able to take a calming breath when he’s stepped inside from the outdoor patio, despite the number of people packed in among the shelves and displays.  He still takes a moment to run a palm down his suit and over his hair.

 “You’re going to be fine,” Ives says.

 “Right, thanks, Dad- Francis- Mr. Ives.”

 It’s too late.  Ives beams like the sun, both hands pressing over his heart.

 Barney gives him a feeble glare and turns away to look for Belle.  His heart jumps when he spots her by the till, but just as quickly sinks when he sees the strapping man leaning over her, his chiseled face executing a cinema-perfect smile.  Barney has never felt older or uglier or more pathetic in his life, which is a hard record to beat.  Clearly if he has any sense he’ll stick the daisies in one of the vases for sale and scarper. If Belle sees him and this man side-by-side, she won’t be able to contain her laughter.  Like an imp standing next to a knight, hardly recognizable as the same species.

 He’s half-turned to make good his escape when Ives strides forward, leaving Barney to scuttle along behind and pray he doesn’t say anything insane.  “Ah, Miss Belle, what a fabulous event this is!”

 “Hiya, Francis, thanks,” Belle replies, then tilts her head slightly to peer around him, “Barney? Oh, I’m so glad you made it!”

 Barney barely manages to contain the “Why?!” begging to explode from his lips, and instead thrusts the daisies in Belle’s general direction.  “Ah, for you.”

 “Oh, they’re lovely!” she exclaims while taking from the bouquet from his limp, damp, trembling hand, “Daisies for new beginnings, right?”

 “Naturally,” Ives says, “We wish you all the luck as you begin this exciting business venture, not that I think you’ll need it.  The interior design is absolutely stunning.  Just walking in is like traveling from Glasgow to Paris in a single step.”

 As if Belle could get more beautiful, a pink flush blooms on her round cheeks as she breathes in the scent of the daisies.  “Thanks, again.  Actually I based it on the shops I saw in Paris.  Traveling there was a dream come true for me.”

 The Adonis hovering nearby coughs and says, “You know, I would’ve brought flowers, I just thought they’d get in the way of- of the other flowers.”

 “Of course, Gaston,” Belle assures him, “Francis, Barney, this is Gaston Muscat, a friend of my father’s.”

 Gaston blinks, “A friend of yours, you mean.  A close friend.  We’ve known each other for…”

 “How wonderful to meet you, Gaston,” Ives declares, grabbing his hand and pumping it enthusiastically. He hangs on, and actually reaches with his free hand to clasp Gaston’s elbow while leaning away from Belle.  “My, what a grip you’ve got.  What line of work are you in?  Please, tell me everything.”

 Barney quite suddenly finds himself face-to-face with Belle while Gaston and Ives move a few steps off. She smiles, and the entire English language deserts him.  He slowly cobbles together a few halting statements, “It, uh, seems to be going well. The event.  The opening.  Here.”

 Far from bursting into laughter, a nervous look passes over Belle’s face, “Seems so.  You don’t think it’s… too much?”

 “No, no.  It’s…”  He can’t conjure any bits of poetry like Ives did, so he goes with the truth, “I feel like I can breathe here.  Which can be difficult.  For me. Sometimes.”

 Her smile returns, wider and warmer than before.  Barney feels it down to his toes.  She takes him on a tour of the whole shop, barely pausing to acknowledge other guests and customers and always returning swiftly to him.  Barney asks every question he can, if only for the pure pleasure of hearing her voice and witnessing the workings of her mind.  The existence of Gaston and even of Ives drifts far away.

 Quite suddenly it seems he and Belle are among the last few people in the shop.  Belle slips her arm free from where she looped it around Barney’s at some point.  He feels at least ten degrees colder with its absence.  “Well, I should probably help with the till, see how much we made on our opening day.”

 “Right, of course.”

 “I’m so glad you came.”

 “I’m glad I stayed- that is, I mean, I enjoyed… being here.  Spending time, with you.”

 Somehow he has managed to bring that rosy blush to her cheeks all on his own.  “Yeah, same.  Um, do you want to get dinner sometime, with me?”

 His entire throat seizes up with shock, so all he can do is nod.

 “Great!  Tomorrow, at eight?  We can meet here, and just wander until we find something good?”

 “Y-yes.  Definitely.  I would love to.” “Okay.  Until then, Barney.”  She reaches out and scoops up his hand, giving it a squeeze before letting go.

 Barney floats from the shop, and down the street, and all the way back to his flat.

 There he finds Ives. And Gaston.  Or, what remains of Gaston.  The rest is being sliced up into neat, meal-sized portions by Ives.  Barney’s feet feel nailed to the floor as waves of cold horror wash over him.