Bad Prophecies (draft 1)

IV

Months had gone by, it was now August.
We never spoke of what happend in June, and it would be a very long time before we did.
I recall one late morning in August, the very first morning, in fact, I was running errands once again, as I often did. When sauntering between stands and shops, I was greeted with all sorts of lovely scents, such as incense or fresh seasonal tomatoes. I did miss the salty smell of the sea quite profoundly.
As I usually expected to, I ran into my paper boy, Elijah.
"Kohl, would you like to buy the morning paper?"
"Depends, is the price the same?"
"Yup, ha'penny a piece."
"I do suppose my father would also want the paper, so two for today?"
I gave him my penny in exchange, and he gave me the two copies of the morning paper.
We went our separate paths, and resumed my way home. On my way, I spotted a fluffy ginger cat sitting on the pavement.
"Oh, Reddie, how are you, lovely friend?" I scratched behind his ears. "I haven't seen you in a while, huh? Would you like some smoked ham?"
I looked through which bag had it, and once I did I got a small piece and I fed it to him.
"Lovely kitten, you are Reddie."
"How old is he?"
I nearly fell over.
"Heavens!" I squealed, making Reddie panic and run away, as well as drawing slight attention from sellers nearby, so I gestured to them that I was alright. "You scared me, Alex!" I stood up to face him.
"Sorry!" He grinned awkwardly, hand behind his head. "I didn't mean to."
"You should know by now that I'm not the most graceful girl in London."
"I know."
"So what was it you asked?"
"How old is the cat?"
"Uh, he's a stray, but he was a kitten when he wound up here. Because of that I'd like to say he's got about 11 years."
"What's his name?"
"Reddie, and yes, it's because he's ginger."
The cat had by then returned and started rubbing his head on my ankles, as per the way cats do, so I picked him up and scratched the top of his head.
"Can I pet him?"
"He doesn't like being pet, but he sure loves his scratches."
I swear we probably spent upwards of ten minutes talking about the little furball, when the cat slid out of my arms and ran away.
"Does he do that often?"
"Yes, he does. Reddie makes up his own time limit for how long you can hold him, so that's that."
"Huh."
For a while, we didn't say anything, just stood there quietly.
"Do you want go to go to a dance hall?"
"Why?"
"Harvest, they're hosting one over at The Thatcher's."
"The public house?"
"Mhm."
"Well, I wouldn't mind if we delivered my father the eatables first."
"Right, that would be much more convenient, without the bags."
So we did just that. The house was empty, so invited him to help me carry the groceries upstairs, and we essentially ran our way to the pub.
"Slow down!"
"Well, why don't you keep up Mister Black?"
"I hate you sometimes!"
"Don't lie, you love me!"
"That's exactly the issue!"

When we got there, we stood to catch our breaths.
"That was great."
"We aren't even in the dancing hall yet!" Alex remarked.
"I know."
The price was ha'penny a person, so we paid and went inside. The song being played was 'Lady Greensleeves' on a lute.
"Do you know how to dance?" I questioned.
"Do you?"
"Only the waltz and some general ballet, but I doubt either is useful. "
"Really? That's it?"
"My father's family weren't ever too keen on dancing, so yes."
"D'you want to know this piece?"
I hardly nodded, and then he proceeded to show me the steps.
Once I got the hang of it, it was quite fun. Within the hours, he showed me quite a few different ways of dancing, we joked about, and chatted. We were there for hours, I recall.
I also danced with some other lads, who I didn't know, while I was there.
It was quite fun, I hadn't ever been to a dance hall so it was a new experience. I don't think I've ever enjoyed a human activity so much.
I didn't like eating, and I didn't need to eat, so I probably ate about once or twice a year at most, and it was never a meal. I didn't like sleeping. As a supernatural entity, it did absolutely nothing for me, and moreover felt like a waste of my time. I liked music, but I couldn't listen to it for more than 2 or 3 songs because I found it to be too monotonous in the genre it was commercially available at the time; though dancing was something I loved after the day Alex took me to the dance hall. The music was much more upbeat, and moving about gave it an immediate improvement in my book.
It was well into the evening when we returned to proper conversation. We were doing a ballroom waltz.
"Do you think we should make our way home soon, angel?"
"I think we should, after this dance."
"Right. So, how's your day been?"
"I'll be honest, it was a lot better than I thought it would be."
"See? It's not the worst after all." He teased.
"You are a fool, Alexander A. Black."
"Ah, but I'm your fool, Kohl H. Crowley."
When the dance ended, we left the pub, and instead of running our way back, we strolled rather slowly for most of the way.
The street was no longer busy, apart from the occasional cab or drunkard passing by. It was only about half past eight in the evening, so the sun hadn't completely set, but the lamplighter was already going from post to post.
We snickered and babbled nonsensical things for the entire hour-long walk.
"Yes, but I wholeheartedly believe what they currently consider impractical youth rebellion will be fashionable in about thirty or forty years!" He argued.
"I know that we've been evolving our social standards well since the dawn of time, but there is absolutely no way it will change so quickly."
"You don't know that!"
"Neither do you! It just doesn't make rational sense."
"Oh well, potato, po-tah-to. Isn't that a phrase the Americans use?"
"Yes, but it's rather rude to use in conversation."
"Oh, I'm sorry."
"No, it's fine. I guess we could make a bet about it."
-if he's still here in forty years- I thought to myself. Back then, people, especially men, didn't live for upwards of fifty or so years. We were both considered to be in the upper-middle class at the time, so he had better chances of life, yes, but it wasn't guaranteed.
"Are you sure you won't die of consumption by then?"
"I'm sure, Alexander, and I should ask you the same."
"I'm the healthiest bloke on the city block."
"Sure you are, but aren't you the bloke who got ill in June?"
He dramatically made a face of offence.
"How could you insinuate that I am an idiot?"
"Because I know you better than anyone at this rate."
"But you're not my wife yet, so you can't point out my stupidity."
I scrunched up my face and kept a smile to let him know I wasn't really angry before I realised,
"What do you mean by yet?"
"Well, once we grow to be the oldest spinster and bachelor in England, they'll call us married, won't they?"
"How can you guess that I won't coerce you to jump off a cliff?"
"I expect nothing less. We die how we live, like idiots."

My grievances had mostly gone, I assured myself that I still had at least ten years before I was forced by ageing to make the confession that I would outlive him significantly. I thought that's just what we would be. A spinster and a bachelor. No commitments, no rings, nothing. And that's what we were. Throughout the passing months of harvest, I found my connection to him becoming less sentimental and more personal.
That's what harvest was about back then, embracing what you have now and just having to give it up in a few months anyway. Enjoy it while it lasts.
I realise that in modern times, this analogy is completely useless, because we now have greenhouses that can artificially force a tomato plant to blossom outside of summer, which in my opinion has absolutely no point anyway because the out-of-season tomato tastes like nothing. But even a few decades ago, this was still quite a good take on it.
I studied poetic and philosophical work to try to get myself to fully imagine such a concept.
I preferred reading poetical work because, as I still have to uphold today, I had a family grudge against most philosophers and couldn't keep their work in the house. And because poets at least had the decency to not complicate the words they used to impossible standards.
Most of the time, anyway.
I realise I'm starting to digress, so I'll proceed.
Much later in August, and nearer to September, we were spending an evening in a field, accompanied by a flock of sheep. It was per my own request that we went here.
I knew the shepherd, Jacob, and his dog, Shiloh, since I was about thirty. In heaven, there's an old tale that states every hermit shepherd is one of the most devout yet reasonable followers of Her you will ever meet. Apparently this was true, because I forgot to miracle that he wouldn't notice my lack of ageing, and instead of calling me a witch or something else ungodly, he just asked me to bless his flock with good health every winter after 1837. And I did.
"So you go here frequently?" Alex questioned within minutes of us sitting down on the grass.
"The shepherd asks me to come down here often, yes. He says I keep the sheep healthy."
"Ah, a superstitious man?"
"He has good reason to be. He's a hermitted shepherd."
"I guess that's true."
We lay in the grass, enveloped by the green blades and looking up at the clear, reddish sky. Shiloh lay on top of Alex's chest. The dogs were always very fond of him, so when time came to round up the sheep, Jacob had to come get her.
I recognised his Scottish accent when he shouted for Shiloh to wake up and came to speak with us.
"Red sky at night, shepherd's delight, eh? But don't you kids need to get back to Soho in time for supper?"
"We have plenty of time, don't we, Alexander?"
"We do, but we best head off before it's dark, and your father scolds you for staying out late with a lad or something."
"You must be terribly mistaken if that's the kind of man you picture for my father. He owns a bookshop in Soho, for heaven's sake."
Jacob grinned widely, exposing his nicotine-stained teeth.
"Every time you tell me of your father, Kohl, he reminds me of a man me mam used to describe. Apparently, he gave her ninety guineas after her first wife died and told her to buy a farm."
"How odd." I clicked my tongue. "Well, we probably should get back."
The shepherd helped us get up, and we helped him round up the sheep before we headed back.
We fetched a cab back to London and sat opposite each other.
"Have you finished your schooling, or are you going off to a campus this following month?"
"I did two years just so I could have a degree." Alexander told me. "Are you going to school? If you are, please don't tell me you're going to finishing-school."
"Sweet simmery, no. I did two years in college."
"So we're not going anywhere?"
"I was considering taking a city break for health in October, but otherwise, no."
"I never doubted that you must miss the ocean."
"I do miss it, but you do keep me very busy, you're like a reckless child," I joked, "I worry you'll get yourself killed if I leave you alone too long."
"I managed eighteen years perfectly fine without you, thank you very much."
"And thank They you did, I don't know how much longer you'd have gone on."
He smiled at me defeatedly, but cheerfully.
"You are insufferable."

By September harvest, I had most of the planning for the break over with. I had one major aspect remaining.
"You want me to go with you?"
"Yes, that's why I'm asking you, silly."
"But what will people say?"
"We can honestly just put some random rings on, and pretend we're married, or engaged if you would prefer that."
He dragged his palm down his face and looked out the window for a second. We were sat in a tea shop. He took a breath,
"Yes, I suppose we could. You know what? Fine, I'll come with you."
"Excellent!"