Falling For Henry (8 page)

They walked along toward a small crowd that had gathered around a man in striped pants, standing on an apple crate and gesturing wildly. Kate hung back as they approached but Hal pulled her forward.

“These people are a disgrace,” said Hal, flinging his arm around Kate's shoulders. “Going to the dogs, that's what's happening to this city.”

“I was fell sure I'd had them aw,” the man was whining, his voice raspy, his arms outstretched. “But bad omens in these times has brought back the creeshie devils.” He cast a bloodshot eye on the handful of onlookers. The way he moved his head reminded Kate of a rusty signboard swinging back and forth, back and forth in the wind.

“Afore ye knows what befell ye—” he continued.

“Okay, move along, move along.” A policeman, a
bobby
, Kate thought, had appeared, dispersing the crowd. “Away, or I'll arrest you for disturbing the peace,” the bobby said. In response, the small man shook his head from side to side as he backed away, muttering, “They wouldnae listen … nae, they wouldnae listen …”

Kate felt a shiver run down her spine. He was creepy. She wondered if he were one of the many homeless people who slept outside. She'd seen the shelters made from cardboard and old quilts. She shivered again, watching him skulk off into the shadows.

“What was that guy talking about?” she asked Hal.

“Wolves,” said Hal, snorting, giving her shoulder a squeeze before dropping his arm. “He thinks that London's actually going to the wolves! Says there's a pack here that needs to be hunted down. I heard him last Sunday. 'Course he's cracked in the head.”

“But I think … I think there are wolves here,” Kate suddenly confided. “I've … I think I've seen them, too.”

“You must be off your nut!” said Hal. “There haven't been wolves here for hundreds of years. We exterminated them, you know, in about the fifteenth century. Good thing, too, bloodthirsty devils.”

A majestic black woman in a sweeping polka-dot muumuu stepped over to them.

“I bet you are wondering,” she intoned, “about the power of love.”

“No, we're not, actually,” snapped Hal in a voice Kate hadn't heard from him before. The woman looked affronted. He doesn't have to speak so roughly, Kate thought.

“For just two pounds, you could share your love with those who need it most,” the woman told them.

“Who? Who needs it most?” asked Hal boldly.

“The little children,” she answered.

“We don't have time for this,” muttered Hal, taking Kate's arm. The smell of something metallic, maybe his deodorant, made Kate take a step away and break free of him.

“Come on or we'll be late!” called Hal, striding ahead. “We've got a bit of a walk, yet.” Kate followed, looking back at the woman who had raised her arms and was rocking back and forth as she spoke. Was she really collecting for charity? Kate couldn't be sure.

The grass was thick underfoot, and although Kate's legs ached from all the walking she'd done that day, she didn't mind the exercise. At least when you were walking, you didn't have to talk as much. Eventually they stood before a massive round building. It reminded her of Citi Field where her father had taken her to see the New York Mets play baseball.

“What is this place?” Kate breathed.

“The Royal Albert Hall,” Hal said. “Hurry up—this way.”

They went up the steps and through a gilded door that opened onto red velvet carpets. Kate looked up at the high ceilings, feeling her heart lift with the quantity of fresh, light air. A man in a blue suit was standing in the lobby collecting tickets, and Hal pulled her around behind the line of people and up a narrow stairway to the left.

“Sshhh,” he whispered in response to her unasked question. “In here!” He led her down a hallway and then through a white door embossed with gold. They entered a private box slung out over the seats on the main floor. Unless they leaned over, no one could see them. Hal sat down and Kate sat beside him, running her hand along the plush red velvet of her seat.

“Whose box is this?” she whispered.

“Don't need to whisper here,” he said. “No one'll pay us any mind. It's the Queen's box, if you must know. But I happen to know the Queen isn't going to be along tonight.” He gave her a big grin, and there was that charming dimple again. “She's otherwise engaged,” he added, and winked.

The concert began and soon Hal offered her some crisps he'd brought in his leather case. She munched her way through what Hal said was a Bach sonata before she remembered her diet. It was strange to be at a concert of classical music. Who would have guessed that Hal was into this kind of thing? After a while, he offered her a candy and she took it without thinking, and then, when the strong lemon taste caught her by surprise, she spit it into her hand and stuffed it into a Kleenex. Too late, however. The lemony taste had already conjured the closed-in feeling, and she choked and stood up.

“The lavatory's down the hall,” said Hal, without taking his eyes from the stage.

Kate stumbled out of the box and stood in the hallway, grateful that there were no ushers about. Breathe, she coached herself. Steady. In and out, in and out. Breathe. Calm down. It'll be okay. It'll be okay. Alongside the helpful phrases came another, harsher voice from inside her head:
Why am I such a freak?

She stumbled into the ladies' room and washed her hands, holding them under the tap long enough for the hot water to soothe her spirits. When she turned over her left hand and stared at the palm, she muttered: “K for Kate. I'm still here.” She existed, as she always had. Things would be fine. They had to be. Believe, Gran always said.
Believe.

It was strange how lemon brought out her worst fears. She swallowed, grateful that the panic attack had ended. Quietly, she tiptoed back to the box and lowered herself beside Hal. He acknowledged neither her quick exit nor her return. Notes from the orchestra made the air around her alive, and she breathed deeply, feeling somehow older here in the splendor of the Royal Albert Hall beside this good-looking guy. She didn't know what the orchestra was playing but she didn't care. It was nice, whatever it was. Little melodies intertwined, echoing in the wide, dark spaces of the hall. Kate thought of the couple on the subway, and the music reminded her of the two of them in harmony.

“It's early,” Hal said, as they approached her building after the concert was over. “Only eleven. Is your sister home?”

“Not likely,” Kate said. “Sometimes they … sometimes they finish sooner, but usually it's—”

“I wonder what she did for her audition piece,” muttered Hal. “It had to be brilliant, to get her into RADA—”

“I don't know,” said Kate. “But I could ask her. She loves to talk about—”

Hal interrupted by leaning close and touching her lips with his. She breathed in his warm, metallic scent, feeling weak in the knees. The kiss went on and on, and might have lasted even longer if a couple of older women hadn't gotten out of a cab and brushed past them on the walk, causing her to pull away. Hal must really like her. She briefly wondered why he was so interested in Willow, and then pushed the thought out of her mind.

Two objects less than an atom's length apart will fall together
, she considered, abstractly, remembering one of the theorems in her physics book. But—and she gave herself credit for this afterwards—she didn't say it out loud.

“Well, bye,” she called, heading up the walk.

“Cheerio,” he replied. “See you.”

See you
. That meant he wanted to see her again! The night, she thought as she ran up the stairs to the second floor, had been perfect.

The hallway was exceptionally dark; some of the overhead bulbs had burned out and Kate could barely see to fit the key into the lock. The mechanism was sticky, as usual, and she worked away, swearing under her breath, for a good five minutes. When the door finally opened, she heard an eerie howl above the rumble of construction that was a constant backdrop in London. She stopped and listened, straining to hear the sound again, but it didn't come. She stepped into the flat and slipped off her shoes, wondering whether anyone else in the building had heard the noise.

She slowly got ready for bed and, as she was brushing her hair, she heard the sound again, not disconnected, as it had been before, but in a series of howls. She went to the window and stared down into the misty street. The eerie cadences rose and fell. Dogs? No. It had to be wolves. A shiver ran down her spine. Something wasn't right, and she thought about phoning Gran again but looked at the clock. Almost midnight. Way too late to call. The howling stopped. She'd phone in the morning. After she had a good sleep to clear her head.

But a good sleep was far from what she had. She dreamed of the tunnel at Greenwich, entering it in the company of a great gray wolf with steely eyes. The wolf seemed to be her guide, and she moved alongside it with some anxiety, making sure not to get too close. There was something the wolf was searching for, something it wanted her to find. What could it be? And then, without satisfying her curiosity, she awoke, sweating in tightly bound covers, relieved at being able to breathe again but dismayed at the puzzles the dream had conjured.

Awake in the dark, her mind spun to the animal she'd seen in the Underground. And the crazy man in Hyde Park, talking about bad omens. For a moment, Kate wondered if she had dreamed the date, dreamed, in fact, the whole day. But when she thought of Hal's kiss, she knew it had been real, his lips against hers. The memory of that kiss distracted her until the sound of a door slamming separated Kate from her thoughts. The hall light came on and, in an instant, Willow was in Kate's bedroom doorway, looking furious.

“Why didn't you lock the door before you went to bed!” she said. “You know we've always got to keep the flat locked!”

“I guess I forgot,” Kate mumbled.

“You're just too lazy to think about safety!” yelled Willow. “Why don't you just grow up!”

She turned and slammed the door behind her.

“Okay, be that way, Miss Perfect,” muttered Kate.

Sleep didn't come for a long time after that, and when it did, there were no more dreams. When Kate awoke, it was Saturday morning, and the blue dress was stretched across the foot of her bed.

9
The dress

KATE REACHED OUT for the dress just as Willow called, “Wake up, sleepyhead! Have a look at your early birthday present.” Her voice held no trace of last night's anger.

“The dress? It's for me?” Kate asked sleepily.

“Don't act innocent,” Willow answered. “I know you already found it in my closet! Anyway, since you've already seen it, I thought I'd get you to try it on. Then I'll finish that side seam so it'll be ready for Monday, the big day. You might want to wear it to school or something.”

The idea of wearing this dress to school on her fifteenth birthday made Kate roll her eyes, but she said, “Wow! Uh … maybe.” Might as well humor her sister.

“It was extra from the show,” said Willow, stretching out her long, model's legs to sit on the side of Kate's bed and running a hand through her short blonde hair. “The costume mistress made it for Katherine of Aragon—you know, Henry VIII's first wife. And then the director didn't like the blue. He wanted cornflower blue, not gentian blue, or something like that. Anyway, this one wouldn't do, so Ariana offered it to anybody for cheap. I thought you might like it. Your wardrobe could use a lift. You wear such ugly stuff.”

“It's not like I want to wear that stupid uniform,” Kate said defiantly, sitting up and swinging her legs out of bed. Next to Willow's, they looked short and plump.

“Well, it's for after school, then,” said Willow, smoothing the fabric of her own stylish top where it wrinkled above the waistband of her tight jeans. “Don't get huffy. You must get tired of sweatshirts.”

“Not really,” Kate began, conscious of the gray sweatshirt she'd slept in. It was easier to sleep in your clothes than change, and she did it quite often.

“Live a little!” advised Willow. “And for goodness sakes,
do something
today other than hanging around. Run, walk, anything! You always used to run back home, and I think it kept you from being so melancholy. Now, try on the dress and I'll finish that seam.”

“I'm not melancholy and I did try it on,” Kate said. “Before. And it's too tight.”

Willow grinned triumphantly. “I knew it! Sneak!”

Kate scowled.

“It's a Tudor dress,” said Willow. “Straight from the history book.” She held the dress against Kate to check the size. “You'll be the envy of everybody if you wear this to the play on Wednesday night. That's Preview Night, don't forget!” She looked at her sister thoughtfully. “You've got the figure for this style, unlike me. I'm way too flat for this neckline.”

Kate looked down at herself. Flat was not a word she would have used to describe what she saw.

“And the color will look good on you,” Willow continued. “Blue always looks nice on redheads.”

Big Apple
, Kate remembered, and flushed.

“The Tudor period was a fine one for dresses,” Willow said, stopping for a breath and then going on. She'd make a good tour guide, thought Kate, with her foghorn voice. “You can see bits of the same style returning now, all the way from the 1500s. The square necklines, for example. You know, the walls between worlds are thinner than you'd think.”

“What?” said Kate, startled.

“You know, styles and fashion, moving from one time into another,” Willow went on. “Hurry up and get out of bed. You've got to come and help me with something before I leave. Robert wants to go through a couple of scenes today and I need you to run some lines. Help me with some back story for my reactions to Katherine. There's soup for brunch.”