It boggled my mind to realise he’d been born in a time when single mums were true social pariahs. Granted, I’d spent my formative years being bounced between children’s homes and foster care like a ping pong ball, but my parentage had never really even raised an eyebrow. I felt a sudden pang of sympathy for little Edwin, growing up with a secret he had to keep.
“I never knew my dad either,” I offered.
We exchanged a silent moment of understanding. Then Baxter broke it with a very fake cough.
“James. Wanna see where we work?”
The basement was a whitewashed cavern. I noted a thick blind at the window, which was currently angled to allow the street lights outside to warm the stark paintwork. There were tables everywhere, some of them slanted like in design techback at school, with folders, files, and notebooks in untidy piles. More art supplies than most shops had were gathered in tins and pots or bulged from racks of colourful plastic drawers. On the other side of the room was an impressive bank of computer screens, some three to a desk. This part was tidy to the point of minimalism, cables clipped together and any paper and pens arranged into small neat heaps.
“Wow.” I narrowed my eyes at Edwin. “You’re not the tidiest, are you? And to think you’d managed to fool me so convincingly.”
Baxter hollered. “You’re too funny. Our Eddie, tidy? He must be on his best behaviour. It’s all smoke and mirrors, babes. He keeps most of his wardrobe here. I have to nag him to hang stuff up and remind him to get his dry cleaning done. He’s a total clothes horse, but he’s still got the manners of the guttersnipe he was as a ten year old.”
“You’re a rude bitch,” Edwin countered, but as he was smiling, I figured this was normal banter for the pair of them. He beckoned me over to one of the clearer desks. “Come and see what I do for the Council.”
I leafed carefully through the papers he pointed at, trying to work out exactly what it was he did. In the end, I said,
“These look like they might be forgeries of some kind. But only because I can’t tie up the dates on these—” I indicated two forms. “— with the names over here.” I was looking at certificates, birth and marriage, my head about to explode because I had no idea what, if anything, wasn’t real.
“Full marks. A Fae who’s got dispensation to live on this side forlurvereasons,” he smirked, “needs to prove she exists for a job she’s applied for. Pain in the arse, but bureaucracy does love a certificate. I use originals to copy from, then we hope nobody goes digging deeper or Baxter will have to get involved. Which doesn’t usually happen because I’m good.” He chuckled at mygoldfish impression and added, “Really good. I’m a shit-hot forger and I know it. Bax does a lot of data manipulation online these days, but before computers, photocopiers, and scanners, I did the lot freehand. It’s kept me employed ever since I was turned.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I might’ve done the odd job before that an’ all.”
“Odd job, right.” Funny, when I pretended it was just me and Edwin, I lost my nerves and talked back to him.
“Remember I mentioned we got beaten if we smudged our ink at school?” I nodded. “We got beaten for loads of things. So I took not smudging my work to a higher level than most. I charged a farthing a time for doing other boys’ work for them. Not too often, as I didn’t want to get caught, but I was a dab hand at copying my classmates’ handwriting.”
“He’s being modest,” Baxter called from where she was seated at one of the computer desks across the room. “Ask him to show you his etchings.” Her cackle was positively filthy, but her tone was warm and proud.
“Etchings?” I echoed. I wasn’t that naïve; that was old-time code for sexy times, but I doubted Baxter meant that.
Edwin was leafing through papers on yet another desk. “This isn’t Evergreen Council work, this is my own stuff. Here, have a seat.” He even held out the chair for me.
Page after page of unframed pen and ink drawings covered the desk surface as I worked my way through them slowly. Some of them were places I recognised as local to Poplar, like Chrisp Street market, a church I’d passed on my walks, and what looked like part of a park. There were other pictures of famous London landmarks like Big Ben, but loads more that were more like little snapshots of times gone by: cobbled streets, crooked narrow buildings, and a really ancient pub with those tiny criss-cross panes of glass, whatever they’re called.
Every single picture made me feel I could step into it and walk around. I said as much, not needing to be a genius at reading body language to interpret Edwin’s delight.
He immediately covered his joy with a shrug. “I’ve had a lot of time to practise.”
Baxter, who was tapping away furiously on the other side of the room, made a rude scoffing noise. “Oh please, you were born artistically talented, you twat. There’s no point pretending false modesty now.” Even with her back to me, I found her easy to hear and understand; she must have exactly the right pitch for my ears.
I poked the top picture with a careful fingertip. “These are bloody brilliant. Do you sell them?”
“Maybe. I have done with others, and I probably will do, once I can think of a name to sign them with.” I blinked at him while I processed this. He continued, “It might not be a great idea to sign it with the name of a bloke who’s been missing, presumed dead since 1922.” He winked at me. “Because they didn’t find a body, obviously.”
“Plus you’d be in the Guinness Book of Records for your ancient self’s ability to defy ageing,” I muttered. “Can’t see that ending well.”
He began gathering the pictures up. “No, so you see why I can’t just scribble something and stick ’em on Etsy or wherever. It takes planning. Whatever name I go with, I’ll need documentation to match. A bank account at the very least. And I need to be reasonably happy with the style I’m using so I don’t get bored with it and just stop drawing. That’s happened a couple of times, which made the whole creating an alias a pain in the bum when it turned out to be shortlived.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Madam gets snotty if I make her do stuff for no reason.”
We didn’t stay downstairs much longer, Edwin insisting that I would be bored. Instead, he and Baxter brought out a huge selection of board and card games. Baxter fetched a bottle of wine, and we took turns choosing what to play. I limited my drinking until it turned out Baxter was a lot more organised than Edwin and before we’d even arrived had ordered food to be delivered. We stopped playing so they could both watch me fix myself a hot meal. I was touched she’d gone to so much effort when I’d have been happy with a sandwich. When I said this, she fixed me with an indignant glare.
“You’re Edwin’s—” She paused. “I was gonna say property, but that’s icky. Responsibility, or employee.” She leered at me. “Sex toy. Anyway, he knows he needs to look after you properly.” She lost her teasing tone. “He is doing that, ain’t he? ’Cause Iwillfucking hurt him if he don’t treat you right.”
“He’s amazing. Please don’t hurt him.” I was still astounded I was managing to spit out full sentences around this woman, but when she wasn’t threatening people, she was easy company in spite of her stunning looks and fiercely competitive nature; boy, did she like to win.
Baxter giggled. “You really are quite sweet. I have no idea what stars aligned to gift you to Eddie. I do hope he doesn’t fuck up. I’d rather like you to stick around. Now,” she eyed me hopefully, “want another cuppa?” I had the feeling that tea-making was possibly Baxter’s only culinary skill, so I said yes please. Her radiant smile made me quite weak at the knees.
We ended up staying over, which I’d half assumed we would have to after checking the times for sunrise. Edwin seemed surprised I wasn’t bothered, but when I fished my toothbrush and deodorant from the depths of his backpack, he gave me a knowing grin.
“I didn’t know you’d put those in there. No clean underwear though? That’s not very Boy Scout of you, is it?”
