#wildewillowstarter

[southernsquad]

Theo came in from his greenhouse, he was running late as usual but his plants had needed watering and Paul, a particularly sickly tomato plant had contracted some infection that had caused white spots to appear all up the stem. He should have expected it, his former-lover had always had skin problems and was pretty weak willed. It was strange how his plants adopted the personalities of their namesakes, even as they grew from seedlings. So he’d spent most of the day searching up cures or prevention methods; one thing was clear, Paul would not be growing edible tomatoes this year. If the condition of his plant didn’t improve, he might have to be thrown on the compost heap pile at the bottom of the garden. It was always sad to see another one go, but there was also some pleasant comfort that came with it, like finally moving on from a time in your past. He was reluctant to let this one go, though, Paul had always been a favourite of his, with his tomato red cheeks and thin, spindly limbs, since he was rushed away to live in Australia and they had had no definite ending, Theo always hoped he might come back. He hoped they all might, but few ever did.  

He hurried into the house, wearing only his flowery boxer briefs and an open white shirt. He had no way of telling the time, Theo never liked to wear anything on his wrists but the small golden chain his mother used to wear. He was also always leaving his phone around somewhere forgettable, in full belief that the microwaves or whatever they omitted would harm the growth of his precious plants, despite his sister constantly telling him that was bollocks. But there had been something in the back of his mind that told him Roslyn was getting irritated from inside the house and that he should probably go meet her. They’d both been invited to one of Laurence Fox’s notorious parties, and though they were largely the same every year, in the same place with the same people, Theo couldn’t help but be excited. Parties were not usually his thing, cheap booze and a lot of heterosexual couples grinding on each other to chart music with no real soul, but these parties were one of a kind. He knew he hadn’t really been the one Laurence had wanted there, that Roslyn was the interesting and fun twin, but they came in pairs and there was bound to be plenty of pretty boys that perhaps Theodore could add to the collection of names in his greenhouse. 

Rushing up the stairs, he called out for her. 

“I’m coming! Coming!” He cried, jumping up two steps at a time, tugging off the loose cotton shirt and replacing it for a tighter though still white one when he reached the room the twins both shared. He ran over to his wardrobe, jumping over his guitar that was left carelessly in the centre of the room. It was no man’s land, where neither his, nor his sister’s belongings were placed. Inside the predominantly white clothing was hung up neatly, everything lined up in order of shades, from light to dark with a few accent colours at the end in mostly blues and yellows. He grabbed a white t-shirt with a yellow sun print on the chest, then some white jeans with two rainbows embroidered on the back pockets and a blue neck scarf, tying it around his throat. His blonde ringlets remained unmoved during this whole fiasco. 

Theo shut the door of his wardrobe then peered at his reflect in the mirror at the front. He twisted his hips to see his bum, then leant down to roll up the cuff of his skinny jeans. He preferred shorts, or even better than that, nothing at all but he’d been told off for public nudity before and hopefully he wouldn’t be wearing these for too long, if the party was anything like those before it. 

[southernsquad]

Laurence pulled up outside his old school, the revving of his new Ferrari’s V8 twin turbo engine heard from miles away, especially in on a silent night like this. Willow rarely had a non-quiet night, apart from a few sirens but that was more common on the other side of town. In hindsight, this was was not the best one to come in when he was trying to be conspicuous but, as Laurence Fox often did, he had acted before thinking and therefore had bought possibly on the most recognisable cars in town to the school that he and he group of friends, if he could even call them that, were about to break into. The fact that it was a new car, as his other had been stolen a few weeks before, made little difference as though the car was different it looked exactly the same and still bore his F0XY 1 number plate, the only changes to the model were the improvements made on the inside. In a way it was a blessing that his old car had been stolen and torched as Laurence had it ensured, and he’d got a pretty dirty video of the culprits out of it. That’s what Laurence had been watching, the flashes of the two men’s pale skin, the rough sounds of moans caught on a mediocre mobile phone mic, the mess they had left his car. It wasn’t supposed to turn him on, not the way it did. It was supposed to make him angry, and disgusted  and the video did. It truly did, but not for the reason those thieves has made it. 

Thanks to an impromptu moment of self discovery, Laurence was late to the party and the ragtag group of other people that were invited were all waiting at the entrance to the path up to the school for him. Laurence stepped out of his car with a certain flair, swishing his blonde hair, in a navy jumper and black jeans, he looked the picture of arrogant. As he got closer, the figures began to get more recognisable. First, he saw Theodore Saxe-Rosberg, who’s white and yellow outfit was almost as inconspicuous as his car. Theo’s golden hair was practically glowing in the artificial light, he looked even more angelic than usual. Laurence felt a little sick, as he followed the line of his arm and saw that Theo’s gentle hand was holding a stronger hand of another. Milo. The boy he’d bumped into the park, the boy who he’d drank with and been carried by and the boy who made his heart race and his palms sweaty. He was standing tall over Theo, though they were all swamped by the huge brick and iron portcullis that guarded the school and its pupils from the outside world. 

Quickly, Laurence averted his eyes from the sight of their entwined fingers, and instead he found the face of Roslyn, Theo’s older sister who looked perfectly at home in the night, her long brown hair curtaining her face, the light somehow managing to hit her at the perfect angle such that all of her elegant features glowed. He was drawn to her, like a moth to a flame. Laurence had spent many years trying to get into her pants with very little luck. Still, she’d asked him to come along and he couldn’t pass up on a chance to show off his bravado and play the brave, charming hero. There was something about his old school that had always terrified him, though, terrified all of the boys that attended. The bell would toll in the middle of the night as they slept in their dormitories, some days one corridor would be shockingly cold whilst the rest of the school was fine, things would go missing, boys would go missing and none of the teachers were ever seen outside of these old, ancient brick walls that guarded the school like it were a castle. Roslyn had mentioned someone going missing, a friend of her brothers, and Laurence had agreed to come and check it out too. 

By default, he’d invited his new girlfriend, Ingrid Solheim, a beautiful girl who he had met at a party and now they had been together for a few weeks, things seemed to be going well. Her platinum hair and pale complexion made her look almost ghost-like, as she stood just out of the light. He saw that wide smile grow on her cheeks as he approached, and Laurence sauntered over very cooly to meet her. If Milo and Theo were going to show off their love in such a horribly obvious way, then he was damn sure going to do it ten times more. 

As Laurence drew closer, he saw another figure stood almost in complete darkness. He was tall, and thin and looked very sinister as the shadows cast shapes over his face, bone structure accentuated to almost paranormal degrees. He couldn’t work out who it was, but he was talking easily to his girlfriend. 

A few steps away now, and finally Laurence saw him. Damien Fucking Montague. Laurence’s worst enemy, schoolboy punchbag and his girlfriend’s ‘tea date’. He hoped they might stop that after a while, but apparently not. Apparently they were good enough friends that she had invited him along and now they were talking without him knowing. Laurence hated his too-pretty face, he hated the way he held himself and he also hated the way Damien looked at him as their eyes eventually met. 

Damien himself, was more than shocked to see Laurence. When the ferrari had pulled him, he supposed Roslyn might have invited him, though for what reason she might have for doing so escaped him entirely. Now it made sense, why Ingrid was here with a bunch of relative strangers. Laurence. He was the other man. Laurence Fox, the boy who had made his school life no less easy than his home life, a face he hoped he’d never had to see again was here and worse still, he was the man Ingrid had chosen over him, he was the final victor in their lifelong feud. He watched as the pair embraced, feeling his heat sink deeper into his chest. The mystery of tonight had enticed him, the Romaticsims of a haunted school had convinced him to come, though in truth it was the invitation from Ingrid that had cemented it. Damien both loved and despised this place and now he would have to walk around it with the girl he loved, and the boy she loved who also happened to be the man he disliked more than anyone on earth. It was like a soap drama. Woefully, he looked to Roslyn and then moved slowly to her side. Hopefully, though his expressions were distorted by the harsh light, she understood a little of how he felt right now. 

[southernsquad]

Excited was a insurmountable understatement. Everyone in his house knew that Damien Montague had a date; from the amount of time he took to come down from his room for breakfast this morning. Damien was a creature of habit, as was his household. Breakfast was ready, placed on the table at precisely 8:30, not a moment sooner (except for Sundays, of course, when breakfast was at 10 o’clock, allowing for those whom were religiously inclined to attend morning Church service, and for others to have an appropriate lie-in). 

Damien usually woke up at around 6 o’clock, would be up by 6:30 and his morning coffee would be resting on a silver tray outside his room. Sometimes, he would sit and drink it on the balcony as the sun rose, and the dear enjoyed their morning feed, or he would go for a brisk walk around the his gardens to wake himself up for the day ahead. After he came in from the cold outdoors, Damien would be welcomed by the breakfast set out perfectly for him at the end of the 8 metre long dining table. He would sit at the head of the table, of empty chairs and empty spaces, and tuck into his warm porridge, sip another coffee, and finish with a piece of toasted bread and jam. The jam was the one thing that changed every day, some days it was marmalade, others it was strawberry and on occasion he would get a sharp taste of blackcurrant and elderberry, his favourite. 

It was strange, because Damien rarely saw the people that were the foundations of this strict schedule, only the fruits of their labour. The obsequiousness of all of his staff was still ingrained in them, even though it was only Damien Montague now that frequented the dining table, or walked the cold, empty corridors. A young man of twenty one who cared not for the strict, outdated traditions of servants of the household. It was Edgar, his loyal butler-housekeeper-friend, who insisted that the house be kept in order. Often, Damien wished it wasn’t that way, he longed for conversations with the kitchen staff, ask advice from the avuncular, kind head cook, or a simple chat with the lady who changed his bed sheets. 

Empty. That was what Damien’s vacuous life had been until he met Ingrid Solheim, entirely by chance, at the tea rooms. There was only so much comfort that books and music could provide, and it was nothing compared to the way even the slightest thought of Ingrid filled his heart. He had missed her so much, once or twice over the week he was tempted to turn up unannounced at Ingrid’s door, but that was improper and they had set a date so patiently, Damien waited, taking his breakfast at 8:30, mulling around in his mausoleum of a home, reading books he’d read before and willing for their ‘Friday’ to come. 

It had finally arrived, and Damien’s regimented schedule had been interrupted the second his day began. Rather than his 6 o’clock rising, Damien’s eyes opened at some minutes past five. He tried to go back to sleep, but his mind would not allow it. Friday was finally here, and unlike all the days prior, Damien did not struggle to drag himself out of bed; in fact he sprang from his sheets and rushed to the kitchen to make his own coffee. He took an even brisker walk around his gardens this morning and was awake early enough to hear the dawn chorus of the beautiful songbirds in the trees, the sun casting a beautiful golden light across the fields. It was going to be a good day, he could feel it. 

After his refreshing walk, Damien hurried back up to his room to chose an outfit and this what had waylaid him considerably. Normally, dressing himself was an entirely menial task, that usually resulted in Damien wearing the same outfit he wore all the time. This morning, he was acutely aware of how he looked. He spent a great deal of time deliberating on how he should have his hair, after learning that Ingrid actually enjoyed his curls, so he left them. His tweed jacket was a stable, obviously, but what to wear underneath? A question that perplexed him for over half an hour, as he rifled through his wardrobe. Though the sun was up, the day was a particularly cold one, and so he decided upon on a navy blue cashmere turtleneck jumper because it brought out the blue in his eyes. It was a little informal, but Damien was sure Ingrid would not mind. She didn’t seem to mind any of his imperfections, any at all. He finished off the outfit with some brown trousers and braces, then slipped on his oxford brogues, pinned a sprig of dried lavender to his jacket lapel. He even sprayed on some of his most expensive cologne, something he got from Cologne itself, then went down for breakfast, a full 16 minutes late. 

The bother he’d gone to to get dressed was an unnecessary one, as Damien Montague had the fortunate luck of looking good in almost anything he put on his body, unfortunately, the only one who did not realise that was Damien himself. There was still some time before he was due to meet Ingrid, and so he filled that with intermittently reading, between thinking about her and all of the things they could talk about, and do together. He wondered if he should bring a spare pair of clothes, were he fortunate enough to stay over like he had done the night of the storm. That was presumptive, but a very real prospect and so he folded a spare shirt, underwear and trousers up into his leather holdall bag, along with an umbrella (just in case) and a small gift he had bought Ingrid whilst away at his grandparents, and set them in the boot of his car.

 Edgar wished him good luck as Damien, in great excitement, left the house, his curls bouncing in the wind, a stick of liquorice hanging from his lips. He jumped into his newly serviced Jaguar, then set off for the tea rooms, having to go the long was because he was dreadfully early. Pulling up in his usual spot across from the tearooms, Damien waltzed in and sat at his usual table, then ordered a pot of tea and the drink Ingrid had before, which to his great surprise he found he still remembered. 

Now, rather impatiently, Damien’s gaze was fixed on the door. He found that he was in fact, incredibly nervous, the palms of his hands dampened by sweat which made holding the tiny teacup even harder-a-task than it normal was. It was okay, soon he would see Ingrid and he could tell her of his troubles over the weekend and she would kiss him sweetly and they would melt away. How easy this is, he thought, to be in love.

[southernsquad]

Teddy had been taking phone calls in his office all day, he’d had enough of the incompetent people he was supposed to call colleagues and was glad to get home. 

Only, now he’d been dragged back in by his secretary because of a ‘complication’, just as he’d settled down with left over Chinese and a rerun of Peep Show. Still wearing his comfy cardigan and tattered joggers, he’d only managed to shovel in half of his food and now his stomach was rumbling. Waiting for the phone to ring was never a fun experience, but this time it was made all the more uncomfortable due to the nature of whom was expecting to be on the other end.