The Flood. Rachel Bennett
interior smelled of wood polish and air fresheners, intended to disguise the lingering odour of stale tobacco. To Daniela, it was so familiar it always gave her a jolt. As a kid, back when their dad had co-owned the shop, she had spent hours in the overcrowded maze of wardrobes and bookcases, burrowing beneath desks and climbing in and out of cupboards, until either Dad or ‘Uncle’ Henry got sick of her scuffling presence and sent her outside to play. Now, with so much residual bitterness between the two families, Daniela hated the stink of the place.
Although the stock sometimes changed, the feel of the shop remained the same. Henry had made a big deal of getting rid of the ‘ugly, unfashionable’ stock and replacing it with ‘proper antiques’, but it was a cosmetic change at best. Its rotten heart was unaltered. Daniela dragged her fingers over the bubbled veneer of a Georgian dining table. Unpleasant memories overlaid every surface, heavy as the greasy sheen of beeswax. She shoved her hands into her pockets.
Near the front, Leo McKearney was perched on a side table, reading a paperback. He was lucky enough to have inherited his mother’s looks, although his hair was the same brick-red as Henry’s. A smile brightened his face as he spotted Auryn. He waved at Daniela; a friendly, everyday wave, not nearly so full of meaning as his smile.
Daniela felt a tug at her insides and let herself imagine the smile was for her.
The more time Daniela spent in Leo’s company – and it was difficult to do otherwise, since Leo and Auryn were joined at the hip – the more aware she became of him. What had started off as curiosity on Daniela’s part had grown over the years to a weird, unrequited longing. She noticed things about him: the way his hair curled around his ears, the dusting of freckles across his nose, the fleck of brown in his green eyes.
She’d long ago convinced herself she was in love with him.
And that was why Daniela dropped her gaze. She was certain Auryn must’ve noticed her infatuation.
Leo put down his book to give Auryn a quick, one-armed hug. He smiled at Daniela over Auryn’s shoulder. ‘Hey, Daniela.’ He sang her name – Dan-ee-el-laaa – like he’d done since they were little kids. It gave her a warm feeling every time he did it. No one else bothered with her full name. And it was cute, because Auryn was the one with the pretty, lyrical name, which their mother had insisted on after their dad had named the first three girls after his distant relatives. Daniela liked how Leo made her name pretty too.
‘Everything okay?’ Auryn asked.
Leo’s smile scrunched up. ‘They’re arguing. Can we go? I’d rather not hang around to listen.’
Daniela was already moving off through the furniture maze. A murmur of voices filtered from the back of the shop. Henry’s was harsh from years of chain-smoking, edged with a London accent. She recognised the opposing notes of her sister Franklyn’s lighter tone, which always sounded like she was mocking you, even when she wasn’t.
‘Should I get Steph?’ Auryn asked.
As if in response, something heavy crashed to the floor at the other end of the shop. Daniela sped up. The layout of the shop meant she could hear Franklyn and Henry but couldn’t see them yet.
‘It’s only money!’ she heard Franklyn shout. ‘You want to lose everything for this?’
Another crash, which sounded like a chair going over. ‘You owe me,’ Henry said. ‘After everything I’ve done for your family—’
Daniela at last found her way around a bulky Welsh dresser that blocked the direct route to the cleared area at the back of the shop that doubled as Henry’s office. A huge polished rosewood desk the colour of venous blood took up most of the space, with a wicker chair wedged behind it. The desk and two nearby tables were submerged below a sea of paperwork. At the back of the room, the fire exit was propped open with a metal urn, allowing a sluggish breeze to flow in from the walled courtyard behind the building.
Franklyn had been sat in a ladder-backed chair, which she’d knocked over as she stood up too fast. A box of papers had fallen from the desk, but it was unclear who’d done that. Franklyn was thin and wiry like Daniela, with a fringe of black hair that was always in her eyes. Henry was six inches taller and at least five stone heavier. His shirt didn’t fit well, the material stretched and strained across his chest. His reddish hair was combed flat.
‘Hey …’ Daniela said.
When he saw her, Henry smiled and shook his head. ‘How come you invited these guys?’ he asked Franklyn. ‘I thought you wanted to keep this private.’
Franklyn took a moment to shove her temper back into whatever compartment she usually stored it in. To Daniela she said, ‘I’ll be done in a minute, Dani. Just wait for me outside, yeah?’
Daniela looked from her to Henry. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Nothing. Nothing.’
‘How about you tell her?’ Henry suggested with a smile.
‘Is that really what you want?’ Franklyn asked. ‘Seriously, I would’ve thought you’ve got more to lose than me right now.’
Henry settled down into a chair and rested his arm on the rosewood desk. He was still smiling, like he was entertained by Franklyn’s words. Daniela had learned at a young age that Henry had a pretty good poker face, but all his tells were in his hands. She glanced at his fingers. The table was littered with papers and boxes and trinkets from the shop. Not far from Henry’s hand was a stack of post and a knife he’d been using to open the envelopes.
‘This isn’t a great reflection of your character,’ Henry said. ‘Coming in here to threaten me. I’m sure your little sister doesn’t want to see that.’
Daniela couldn’t look away from the knife on the table. It was a flick-knife, a patina of age across the opened blade. On the handle was an inlaid design in the shape of a snake, black on red. It looked like part of the stock from the antiques shop. The handle was less than two inches from Henry’s hand.
‘Frankie, maybe we should go,’ Daniela said, nervous.
‘Listen to your sister,’ Henry suggested. ‘It’s good to hear someone in your family talk sense. That’s been sorely lacking since your dear mother walked out.’
Franklyn took a couple of steps towards Henry. Wherever she’d put her anger, it hadn’t been boxed away securely, because the colour rose back to her face. ‘Listen—’ she said.
Henry started to his feet. His hand moved over the knife.
Darting forwards, Daniela snatched up a double-handful of papers from the desk and flung them at Henry’s face. He flinched in surprise. At the same moment, Franklyn made a grab for him.
Everything happened too fast after that. Daniela lunged for the knife. She succeeded in knocking it off the table, but lost her balance and stumbled. Someone shoved her to get her away – either Henry or Franklyn, she couldn’t be sure – and she fell, striking her chin on the table on the way down.
For a second, Daniela lay dazed on the rough carpet. Feet scuffled next to her head. The papers she’d thrown were still fluttering to the ground.
Someone yelled, ‘Stop it! What’re you doing?’
Leo had run into the shop, with Auryn right behind him, and behind her, Stephanie.
Stephanie pushed to the front. She got both hands on Franklyn’s shoulders and yanked her away like a dog on a leash.
‘All right, what the hell’s going on?’ Stephanie demanded. ‘Franklyn, cut it out.’
Franklyn lifted her hands contritely. ‘Sorry, sorry,’ she said, with a shrug that implied she wasn’t doing anything worth shouting about.
Stephanie shoved Franklyn away, not gently.
Daniela was still on the floor, dazed, unwilling to get up. Her hands shook from the brief confrontation, and there was a dull ache