The white clouds hung low and heavy in the sky, darkening with the promise of a storm. No breeze could be felt in the air, or at least not in this part of the city —where a barely detectable passageway lead to a small square, surrounded by contemporary offices and residential buildings. The distinction in style served to highlight the beauty of the structure that stood near the centre of the square, a former brewery. No kind of chaos could be found here, merely bricks, a few scattered trees and an almost misplaced sense of tranquillity.
Dorian skidded his motorcycle to a halt and took off his helmet. He fished a note from his jacket's pocket and glanced at the hastily written scribbles, rechecking the address for the tenth time. Finding the place had been a challenge in its own right, even Google maps had had some trouble doing so. Now that he had arrived, however, Dorian began doubting his reading abilities. Surely, this could not be it. He would have expected something less... grand.
The construction looming over him was situated in the core of London, in the midsts of modern architecture. Once upon a time, it had been part of a Victorian brewing complex but had been restored to its current state a couple of years ago –or so the ad had explained. As Dorian peered up, he found a prominent feature that caught his eye: a clock tower in the roof. Listening closely, he could swear he heard soft tick tocks permeating the air.
Parking his motorcycle to the side, he slipped off and approached the front door. A light breeze started to gently blow, causing the leaves above him to rustle the trees awake. With the shift in the wind, he took a deep, encouraging breath before pressing a finger to the bell. When the door swung open seconds later, Dorian's eyes zoomed in on an oversized jumper that stated "SAVE THE WHALES" in almost aggressively bold letters. The person wearing it held her face forward in a steady gaze, and had an air of authority that was palpable.
'Hi, um, does Fio-noo-la live here?'
The woman scrutinized him intently, undoubtedly already forming an opinion on him. He could almost hear her brain clicking into gear, creaking and humming for a first impression.
'That's me.' She said simply, without bothering to correct his poor pronunciation.
'Right, I'm here for the rental ad?'
'Of course!' Her eyes lit up as she moved aside, allowing him space to enter. 'Please, come in.'
The hall was grand and bright with a concrete staircase leading up to the first floor. In contrast to the bare walls, the floor was an explosion of earthy colours, a masterpiece consisting of mosaic-like tiles that were lain in an intricate, organic fashion.
'Fionnoula Archibald.' She introduced herself officially, holding out a hand. 'I know it's a mouthful so Finn is fine.'
Taking note of how she pronounced her name like finn-ula instead of fio-noo-la, Dorian firmly shook her hand and casted a well-mannered tilt of the lips. 'Dorian Stones, it's a pleasure.'
Without voicing some pleasantries in reply, she turned around and gestured for him to follow. Together, they ventured into an elongated room with nothing safe for wooden stairs that presumably lead to the basement. Descending the steps, Dorian was relieved to discover the lower ground floor did not appear to emit the cliche paranormal activity vibe.
'Many previous viewers were turned off by the fact the rooms are located in the basement, which I specifically mentioned in the ad.' Finn spoke up, as if reading his mind. 'There is no reason for such negativity though, I can assure you.'
They found themselves in a hallway with two doors. The door on their right, as she clarified, was a utility room where cleaning supplies were stored, as well as food, a dryer and a washer that renters were welcome to use. The door on their left lead to the two rooms that were up for rent.
Heart hammering in eager anticipation, Dorian entered behind Fionnoula and was taken aback by the mere expansion of the so called room. He reckoned its dimensions were similar to those of a small studio apartment. Gazing around, he couldn't decide whether the feeling welling up in the pit of his abdomen was relief or utter excitement. Either way, it was definitely promising.
Dorian had been prepared for a basement, not for... this. Everything was well lit and restored in the cleverest of ways. They had played with the building's industrial connection by recreating a stone floor and leaving the floor beams from ground level exposed to create a lovely ambience and intimate space.
Lost in reverie, Dorian had just about missed everything Finn said to him so he quickly straightened up and trailed after her into the next room. Again, the sight before him was one to astonish. A modern bedroom with a connecting, open bathroom.
'As you can see, the lighting in here is fairly vibrant. What we did to accomplish this was place a couple of thick glass blocks in the floor of the Conservatory, which is situated right above us, to allow natural light to stream in.' Finn pointed upwards, proving her claims to be true.
Captured by her passionate tone of voice, Dorian listened attentively as she chatted on about the roots of the house, its history and some information regarding the restorations. Even as they finished the tour and made their way up to the kitchen for some tea, he hearkened on with intrigued ears.
With his bottom settled on a driftwood bench, he inspected his surroundings and came to the conclusion that Finn was fond of international cuisine. Or so he gathered from the iron trolley that was extensively furnished with cookbooks and showed directs signs of frequent usage --such as the gaping hole in one of the bars or a missing wheel that caused slight skewness.
Whilst sipping from his cup, Dorian peered over the rim and took notice of Finn's appearance. Or rather her dishevelled, windblown look –a look one gets from standing outside during a violent disturbance of the atmosphere. Which was ironic, because as the thought crossed his mind, the storm that had threatened outside unleashed its torrent of rain.
'Just my luck.' he mumbled to himself, already dreading the journey back to his friend's house.
'Pardon?'
Dorian shook his head and turned to face Fionnoula, realising he had interrupted her in the middle of a sentence. 'Sorry, I just saw that it's raining.'
She snorted and let a melodious giggle slip past her lips. 'Welcome to London.'
Perceiving that the man wasn't finding the joke to be as amusing as she did, Finn stopped and regarded him with a cock of the head. 'Where are you from?'
'Los Angeles.'
'Ah, Alta California.' she nodded thoughtfully and went to finish her tea in a single gulp. Taking the teapot by the handle and pouring herself another serving, she offered him one as well –which he politely declined.
'What dragged you to this part of the world?'
The double meaning behind her words was more than evident, and Dorian found himself impressed by her observation skills. The question's bold undertone was something he hadn't encountered often, not whilst living in London anyway.
'A girl.' he admitted sheepishly. And the pointed look she gave in return was one he recognized. It was an exact replica of the look his mother had given him, the day he had announced his intention of moving.
With no further judgement in her eyes, she asked. 'Did it work out?'
Memories came rushing back like a whirlwind of emotions and although he would never admit it out loud, the backlash he had received from the nasty breakup was one he preferred to forget.
Clasping his hands together, he cleared his throat and wondered why he was even talking to her about this. 'No.'
'Then what kept you here?'
'My da-'
A cuckoo-clock echoed through the kitchen and Fionnoula jumped up like a frightened cat.
'I have an appointment with a potential client.' she rushed out, disappearing behind a corner and reappearing seconds later with a vividly yellow raincoat on. 'And I'm 5 minutes late!'
Dorian sat frozen in place, not sure what to do. Staring at the bouncing ball of human energy, he couldn't pinpoint what it was exactly, but there appeared to be something remarkable in the way she scurried about. Her movements gave the impression of being calculated to the centimetre, like a dance of sorts. Each one of them carried a thousand secrets, and the nerve pinching urge to figure out every one of them was nearly impossible to ignore.
'I'll draw up a contract for you to sign soon. You're free to move in whenever, here's a spare key and my card.' She practically threw both on the table, shouting: 'Welcome to the Clock House!' before disappearing out the front door with a bike in hand.
The slam of the door resounded through the house and Dorian registered with a bewildered expression, that they had yet to discuss any issues concerning the renting agreement. But most importantly, he had never even agreed to rent the rooms.
He puffed out a long breath. So much for clarity. As the thought popped into his head, he glanced down at the card lying in front of him.
Fionnoula C. Archibald
Artist and Historian
That explained the "potential client" part of her abrupt departure. In addition to those two lines were her phone number and address. Stuffing the card in his pocket, Dorian stood up and watched the sky cry to its heart's content. Until eventually, the irregular splatters against the glass ceased.
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
The days passed like a flash of lightning and Dorian walked around with the same question still on the tip of his tongue. And until he managed to voice it aloud, he would be unable to move in. Standing in the doorway of the reception room, he clenched his hands into fists as he mustered up the courage.
Fionnoula was watching but not seeing, seated in the middle of the wide, corner sofa that took up a quarter of the room. The sounds filling the void and the images flashing on the screen were the only indication that the television was even on. Finn had a wandering eye that gave her a perpetually distracted look, as if only her body was present. Her spirit, however, had already left on some journey she'd glimpsed peripherally, a place the rest of the world were unable to see.
He lightly knocked on the wall, notifying her of his presence. 'Hey Finn? Can I talk to you for a second?'
Shutting off the television as though she had been waiting for an excuse to do it, Fionnula heaved a scarcely notable sigh and rose from her spot. She approached the hearth to poke the dying fire back to life, and fed it a piece of wood. 'What did you want to talk about?' she asked without turning around, fully focusing on the task at hand.
Dorian eyed the hearth with fascination, watching as the previously low burning flames climbed their way up to embrace the log like an old lover.
'Well?'
With hands perched on hips, raised eyebrows and a posture sharp enough to slice through anyone's confidence, Finn shot him a questioning look.
And suddenly, Dorian felt scared.
The past months –hell, years– had been far from easy and if it wasn't for the light at the end of the tunnel, he would have crawled back to his parents on hands and knees. He was sick of constantly putting on a mask of indifference, acting like a man of steel. Meeting Fionnoula's gaze, his façade was ripped away and slowly but surely, those pure emotions festered at the surface until that was all that could be seen of him.
Renting the rooms would be the first step of many, and he needed things to not go wrong for once.
'Would you object to another person coming to live with me?'
'Depends.' She mumbled vaguely, shrugging, obviously confused by the question.
It wasn't a solid answer, to say the least. And just by the look in her eyes, he could tell that his next words would be decisive.
'My daughter.' Said Dorian quickly. 'I promise she won't be a bother. No screaming or breaking things or anything. I swear.'
There was a short moment of silence.
'You, uh, have a child?'
He did not notice her stiff form as the thought of his little girl filled him with warmth. 'Maxène, she's almost four.'
Fionnoula bit down on her lip, conflicted. 'Do you cherish her?' Her throat felt constricted as her voice turned quieter.
'Like the rarest of jewels.'
'Good.'
Before he could question the oddity of the enquiry, she turned around and demanded he stay put whilst she went to fetch them both a cuppa. Unaware of the tear slipping down her cheek, Dorian went to sit down. Speedily, Finn used the moment of distraction to wipe her face clean.
A short while later, she returned with two mugs of scorching hot liquid and Dorian shot her a thankful smile when reaching for one of them.
'So, tell me about Maxène.' she said with so much enthusiasm that he pushed his worries from earlier aside.
'Well, she's very eager to learn and try new things. I know every parent says this about their kid, but she's honestly so clever, it takes me aback at times.' he averted his gaze, a ghost of a smile toying with his lips. 'Max is definitely a little rascal though. In the positive sense of the word. And she got a knack for wrapping everyone around her little finger, me included.'
'Oh dear, I smell trouble.'
The words had barely left her lips when she wished to retrieve them back, because Finn hadn't pre-empted that Dorian would freeze up, his eyes glinting with something akin to horror, the smile on his face vanishing.
'Not like that!' she hastily said. 'I was being playful. Did I not sound the part?'
After a moment or two, his expression relaxed marginally, and he awkwardly scratched the back of his neck to rid himself of the lingering tension. 'I guess.'
'See? No need to fuss.' Acting on impulse, she briefly patted his shoulder and he accepted the friendly gesture with a simper. 'She sounds lovely. But why did you not mention her when we met? Correct me if I'm wrong, but it seems to me that would have saved you some hassle.'
Shifting his weight from one bum cheek to the other, he moved his gaze to the floor. 'I figured you'd refuse me the second Max stepped into the game.'
'Don't be ridiculous, it will be nice to have a pair of tiny feet pitter pattering around.'
His eyes widened. 'Does that mean we can live here?'
'It's not like I'm doing you a favour,' She muttered defensively for some reason. Turning away slightly, her eyebrows scrunched together. 'You're the one paying me, not the other way around.'
'Nonetheless, I appreciate it.'
'Yeah yeah, just don't eat my food. There will be hell to pay if you do.'