Twin-Pearl Ring

Melinda rearranged the silk scarf with blue colourways and gave her reflection a critical stare. People, well, mostly the housekeepers had always said she was pretty, but all she saw was that the blues of the scarf made her stormy blue eyes more noticeable.

She liked the eighteenth birthday gift from the Portuguese housekeeper but refused to believe it would bring her the promised good luck. Stroking the blue scarf, she tried to pick up some nuance of the woman’s personality, but felt nothing. The guardian had probably cleansed the gift of any residue.

Staring at the ticking alarm clock which had dalmatians instead of numerals, a remnant of her childhood, Melinda wished she could unravel time like one of the previous housekeepers had done with their knitting when it wasn’t going well. She missed that one, still, but, until the current woman in that role, they only stayed a year to avoid her getting too attached. Long enough for her to study and be able to converse somewhat in their native language.

Should she ask the guardian why this housekeeper was still here? Maybe best not to call this to his attention, actually, as he might get someone new. She toyed with the possibility that he could ever make a mistake. Even though, at eighteen, she felt she could judge things better, she doubted that anything he did was random or without purpose.

Turning away from the mirror, she sat down on her bed and reflected on the past year of preparation. In the beginning, she enjoyed watching films, listening to the latest trends in music, and reading modern novels instead of the classics assigned during her education.

The first film took up more of her thoughts than any of the others. One woman. Two possible lovers. The difficulty of the choice. The obstacles. The misunderstandings. How the story unfolded at the end took her breath away though she couldn’t remember the name of the film and had never been allowed to watch any of the films more than once.

In the run up to turning eighteen, she had wanted more than ever to rebel against all the seemingly arbitrary rules. But recently, she secretly clung to them because maybe they were better than what would happen next.

What would life be like if she had a mother instead of a series of housekeepers? Tutors came and went also, but never shared much of their personality. They tended to blur in her mind since their time together was focused on her lessons.

The atmosphere in the house became more contained as her guardian returned from wherever he went. As a little girl, she used to ask questions about his absences, but none of his patient answers ever told her much. 

Without needing to be summoned, Melinda made her way downstairs.

The guardian waited in the main room of the house, appearing to her eyes as a human outline filled with layers of grey mist that swirled hypnotically. His head turned, focusing two pulsing silvery flames to regard her above an open mouth which held no tongue. 

As a child, she had crayoned endless portraits of him, substituting all the colours of the rainbow for the grey fog. Since her study of psychology with one of the tutors, she understood that her guardian was a father figure.

Perhaps he detected the direction of her thought, for he shifted into the familiar shape of an almost ordinary man wearing the clothing of a teacher or maybe a solicitor. He would blend in unless someone saw a silvery gleam in his grey eyes. But who would have the chance? If he did not deflect their attention, he would defer it so that they could only wonder afterwards what they had experienced.

“Fate is resourceful,” her guardian commented. “It is time.”

Although educated and trained since the day of her birth and perhaps in her mother’s womb before that, Melinda did not always understand what lay behind his more obscure statements. Sometimes, she wondered if he was actually speaking to someone whom she could not perceive, receiving replies that she never heard.

Whether he came from another world, a different dimension, some parallel timeline or was a time traveller from the future, she only knew, above all, that his mission here was to support her in using her gift.

At least that was the story he conveyed to her over the past eighteen years. And this seemed to be true from the daily pattern of their life together. But what if he was hiding his true intention? She had trusted him completely during her childhood, but lost that certainty in her teenage years.

Since her birthday though, a rigorous physical, mental, and emotional routine with various tutors removed her from the usual routine of making a difference in people’s lives. Not the little holiday that the Portuguese housekeeper called it. More like boot camp.

The small woman gave Melinda a generous smile as she joined them. “Thank you for the invitation,” she said in her accented English. The scent of her perfume, the sparkling earrings and the upgrade from her usual casual clothing spelled out that tonight was going to be different.

Melinda felt a mixture of excitement and apprehension as she followed them out the door into the twilight. 

The housekeeper drove, chattering occasionally with the guardian who sat beside her, not seeming to be put off by his silence.

In the back seat, Melinda stared out the car window at the blurred shadows of pedestrians under street lamps. She kept her mindset neutral, did not allow herself to slip into working mode. Hearing cries for mercy was not on the agenda tonight when she could do nothing about them.

The Thai restaurant, when they entered, had two layers. On top was normality that anyone would see, hear, and accept. Various people dining at different tables, waiting staff coming and going, laughter, the scent of spices, animated conversation, the clink of cutlery on plates, the sparkle of mineral water.

Beneath that was an unoccupied restaurant where one waitress took their order with an absent expression. When the meals were served, Melinda saw through the illusion of the guardian eating, but kept up her side of the conversation, the housekeeper sharing a dream of one day visiting Thailand. The woman had many dreams like a butterfly flitting always to a brighter blossom.

Silence briefly intruded into the surface appearance with the arrival of a young man who looked somewhat confused. He paused at the entrance then his roving gaze discovered her.

Melinda felt what a magnet must feel when another magnet was brought into proximity.

“You have a spare seat,” he said to the guardian. “So crowded tonight. May I join you?”

The guardian gestured toward the empty chair. 

“Thank you,” their guest said as he sat down. “I’m Alexander.”

“My niece,” the guardian said, “Melinda.”

The rote words that she learned as a child fell out of her mouth. “My uncle, Richard. Pleased to meet you.”

The housekeeper introduced herself. Some pleasantries about Portugal were exchanged, reference made to the Portuguese language as well, though he did not speak it.

Melinda wondered if that small connection was coincidence or not. Then, for the first time, she looked into Alexander’s brown eyes and lost track of everything. Only the two of them existed in that expanding moment. Accustomed to being invisible or ignored, she felt seen by him though, oddly, he was like a book on a high shelf that barely her fingertips could touch.

The waitress intruded into their privacy, bringing a meal for Alex without ever having taken his order. Melinda knew his friends called him that, but he introduced himself more formally. Also, he adored cats but was allergic to the particles on their fur. That was all. And, with the way she was feeling, she wasn’t convinced this was accurate. She would need to tease out the truth through conversation like people generally did without a gift like hers.

Their next meeting was less contrived, a walk along the canals with a picnic lunch to share. They took turns carrying the basket. Melinda made sure this was set down on the ground rather than passed from hand to hand. She wasn’t ready to risk the touch of his hand on hers. 

Alex spoke of his twin sister, her sense of humour, her love of music, the piano that sat so awfully silent since the day she drowned on a family holiday. Melinda could feel the depth of his grief but only on the periphery, not that she wanted to climb inside it.

Most of their outings avoided crowds, though every so often they returned to the Thai restaurant which, to her, was empty except for a waitress and the cook, but to him was full of laughter and conversation.

Sentence by sentence, they continued to build a bridge of words from both sides of the enormous gap between them. She understood that this was how normal people started a relationship and felt a little panic in case she wasn’t doing it right. But Alex kept coming back for more, although she couldn’t be entirely sure he wasn’t influenced to do so.

Melinda tried to avoid telling lies since then she would need to keep track of them. But sometimes it couldn’t be helped. When she revealed that she worked in a role that combined Customer Service with Admin, Alex did not ask any questions except whether she liked the job. She had been prepared to tell him some anecdotes, if need be, drawn from the old woman she used to pass every day who was retired now, others from the previous housekeeper.

Back at the restaurant, when he told her about his fledgling career in graphic design, she expected him to show her some images on his mobile phone. To show interest, she asked to see some designs.

“I only have a work mobile,” he told her, “and nothing interesting to share yet, anyway.”

She needed to run his words through her brain more than once before she asked, “So how do your friends keep in touch?”

Alex laughed. “We still have a landline,” he said, “so they leave messages for me. My father told me last week that he was planning to charge me for each message now that I have a good job.”

One mystery solved. That was where her voice mails were going then. Each one, since they first met, set up the next meeting. She felt awkward that one of his parents might have heard the messages. Not that she had said anything that personal, but still.

“Don’t worry,” he told her. “If it’s for me, they skip to the next message.”

“That’s good to know,” she said.

He held her gaze for a little while before saying, “I’ve never seen you disconcerted before, Melinda. Nice to find out you’re human, not some visiting angel.”

Human? She looked away, not entirely certain how much of her bloodline was human. Genetics was one subject her science tutor had never dwelled on. And when she raised that exact question with the guardian, he only told her that this wasn’t something she needed to know.

“Only joking,” Alex said. “Sorry if I said something wrong.”

“It’s not you,” she replied, thinking of the human outline filled with swirling fog, the silvery flame eyes, the mouth that held no tongue. She didn’t know whether someone like the guardian was part of her ancestry. She might never know.

Distracted by the conundrum, Melinda didn’t notice his hand reaching across the table to touch hers until he was so close that her arm flinched away to avoid contact.

“I’m sorry,” he said and, for once, she could feel his hurt though it wasn’t deep.

She almost relished this except for his pain because she was used to delving and finding answers. What to do, though? 

“I’ve ruined everything now,” Alex said, looking down. “I know you’re shy.”

She needed to reverse this, felt the distinct importance of doing so, almost as if the guardian was coaching her the way he used to do when she first started doing the more important work. She focused on Alex, disappointed at the muddle they had made of their conversation.

But she couldn’t reach for his hand like an ordinary person would.

 “Let’s unravel it,” she told him, then felt annoyed at herself because this was exactly what the guardian would say.

“What?” he asked.

She held up one palm to stop him from speaking then repeated her earlier question, “So how do your friends keep in touch?”

Rather than rush into the reply, Alex took some thought and answered more smoothly, including the reassurance that as soon as they heard his name mentioned, they skipped to the next message and didn’t listen any further.

Melinda broadened the subject, involving him in a discussion about communication generally and how it speeded up from sailing ships to the world wide web.

They lapsed into silence when the waitress brought their meals. She told him about the Dachshund that had strained toward her at the end of its leash on her morning walk. He asked what novel she was reading now. 

Under the surface, she sensed more was going on, but it wasn’t until their plates were cleared away that Alex produced, with the flourish of a magician, a very small blue box which she recognised as a ring box from some of the films she had watched during her preparation.

Would he go down on one knee? What would she answer? But she knew it could only be a yes, no matter how nervous she felt.

He set the box on the table between them and said, “I’m going away for a little while.”

She blinked, as that was not according to the predicted script from any of the films.

“I want you to have something of mine while I’m gone, also it doesn’t feel right to take it with me.” He gestured toward the box.

Melinda watched her fingers open it to reveal a ring with two pearls, one slightly larger than the other, two diamond chips sparkling on either side.

“My sister’s,” he said, then cleared his throat. “I wear it sometimes at home because pearls need to be worn or they lose their lustre.”

A worn object, not something purchased new in a shop. Her breath caught. And his sister’s impressions would be on it, too. 

“I signed up to a program to do what I can. It turns out I’ve been assigned to the relief effort after the recent earthquakes. I wouldn’t want to risk losing the ring.”

Alex took the ring out of the box and slipped it on to the little finger of his left hand. “Bit small for me,” he continued. “But I would really appreciate if you could wear it once a day for half an hour. Or, if you prefer, you could put it on a chain around your neck.”

This wasn’t at all what she was expecting but as she got used to the idea, it felt right. Had the guardian known? For once, she didn’t mind not being informed in advance.

“Thank you for trusting me,” she said.

Alex flashed her a smile. “The twin-pearl ring is only my most precious possession,” he said, “apart from our friendship.”

He replaced the ring in the box and closed the lid. A friendship ring. The phrase came to her from one of the many films she had watched. Friendship could lead to more than friendship, but felt much more comfortable than the leap toward intimacy of getting engaged that she was expecting.

Melinda picked up the box and put it in her jacket pocket, needing to be on her own when she touched the ring for the first time. Relief flooded her that things were not moving as quickly as she had worried they might.