PLATO'S STEP-DAUGHTER I FLYNN CARSEN

Bunty & Archie

Bunty & Archie

I'm paper and I'm snow
I'm yours but I go slow
I'm lost but not alone...

Clara slammed the fridge door shut, balancing the jumbo-sized tub of Dippin Dots on her hip as she reached for the wine-rack, deliberating between the Chateau Margaux or the Domaine de la Romanèe Conti. She used to fantasize about living this kind of life, but her bank balance had kicked such dreams to the kerb, until the day Flynn had skipped her in the queue at Starbucks. Now, thanks to her monthly parchment payslip, she was laughing all the way to the bank, the tellers practically rolling out the red carpet for her every time she darkened their doors.

But for all the perks, Clara wasn't happy. It wasn't the irregular hours and even more irregular events that made up her work-load, but something more intangible, a vague doubt that undermined all she attempted to do. She was losing faith in not just herself, but also the others. Instead of making progress in their quest to become fully-fledged Librarians, they were backsliding to the point of blunder, and no matter what Eve did, she couldn't bring them back to par. The mistakes they were making were becoming near misses; Clara's being the closest call yet.

Yet the discord went deeper than that. There were factions springing up, Ezekiel siding with Cassandra, Jacob caught between Cassandra and Clara, swinging like a pendulum between the pair, whilst Clara struggled to forgive and forget what Cassandra had done. For all Flynn's wise words on faith, Clara just couldn't bring herself to trust Cassandra again. And if it wasn't Cassandra, it was Eve, Clara butting heads with both women, making Clara think so much for sisterhood.

A strange sort of power struggle had sprung up between Clara and Eve, leading to several rows, placing everyone even under more pressure. Everything Eve suggested, Clara challenged, Jenkins making an odd third in the fray, uncharacteristically backing Clara up before doing a complete 360 and backstabbing her. He was on nobody's side but his own, preferring to pass his time by stirring up trouble, always reminding them how much he resented their presence, pointing out their weak points whilst reminiscing about things they would rather forget, like the time Ezekiel got himself and Clara trapped in a Wendy House, or the night Jacob had accidentally unleashed a sand-storm in Cassandra's brand-new bathroom, wrecking her marble tiling.

Initially, Clara thought Eve's animosity was over losing Flynn to a lesser rival. She knew Eve was in contact with Flynn, and the knowledge stung, Clara having heard nothing from him, but Eve was their Guardian, Flynn the Librarian, and since Clara didn't fancy playing piggy in the middle, she kept quiet, stewing in silence instead. It was beneath her dignity to start scrapping with Eve over a man, and it was even more beneath Eve's dignity to do so as well, so they tried and failed to keep the peace. But Clara had soon learned Flynn wasn't the problem. Whatever Eve had felt for him, it had been fleeting, fading into friendship instead. The problem seemed to be about who held the upper hand, Eve forcing Clara to capitulate at every turn, Clara rebelling at every corner, turning the Annex into an oestrogen-fuelled battlefield.

As she finally decided on the Chateau Margaux, Clara tiredly suspected this was why she'd literally risked her neck in the limousine, trying to get one up on Eve, only to spectacularly fail, Eve having the last word by getting Clara's apartment blessed from top to toe by an exorcist, the rooms now wreaking of incense, crucifixes nailed over every door and window, not including as the one now hanging around Clara's bruised neck.

Carefully levering the wine bottle free, she picked up the Sangraal Jenkins had surprisingly pressed on her, before heading for her bedroom, dragging her feet as she went. With Flynn gone, life had taken on a Bridget Jones bent. She didn't know where she stood with him, whether they were even together or not, their last kiss as cryptic as a cabalistic symbol. Had it heralded a once upon a time or the end of their story? She wasn't sure, and she wasn't sure whether she wanted to be sure either. He seemed to be hiding something from her, but what it was, again she wasn't sure she wanted to know.