Magenta Mine (Invertary 3)

“Right, you bunch of perverts,” Magenta shouted. “It’s obvious you heard more than you should have. The show’s over. It’s time to go home.”

Harry almost collapsed at her words. She wasn’t embarrassed? He shot a look at Matt, who seemed equally stunned. Maybe this was part of the new, mature Magenta he hadn’t met yet. She seemed to be taking the lack of privacy really well. Not at all like the old “hit first, ask questions later” Magenta he remembered from his childhood. Then it hit him. She’d assumed that being overheard was news to Harry too. She didn’t realise he already knew they’d had an audience.

The crowd weren’t pleased with her reaction. There were boos. Malcolm, the local newspaper editor, photographer and only journalist stuck a camera in their faces. “How about the two of you kiss? I could use a picture to go with this story, and one of you snogging is much better than a photo of the mine door. Not that it isn’t a great door, but I’m sure you kissing will sell more papers.”

“Not going to happen,” Magenta said.

“Kiss Harry, kiss Harry, kiss Harry…” The twins changed their chant.

Magenta’s cheeks began to flush pink, and for a moment Harry wondered if she was going to kiss him. Suddenly the day was perking up. He felt almost ashamed that he’d thought coming out of the mine would go badly. For one glorious moment, he thought he would get away with his scheming.

Then Betty pushed her way through the crowd. One look at the evil smile on her face and Harry saw his life flash before his eyes.

It all happened in slow motion. Betty opened her mouth as her eyes narrowed. Harry shouted “no” and lunged for Betty. Magenta stumbled to the side. The camera flashed. There was a shocked silence. Then Betty’s voice rang out.

“Before you kiss him, you might want to know that you could have gotten out of the mine last night. Genius here paid off the engineer to wait till this morning.”

Time stopped. The only sound was Betty’s evil cackle.

Slowly, Magenta turned to Harry. Her eyes turned red and sparks flashed around her head.

“Harry?” Her voice was soft and deadly. “What’s she talking about?”

“Oh crap, Harry’s dead,” someone in the crowd muttered.

They were not wrong.

“Harry?” Magenta’s voice was tight.

Harry ran a hand through his hair. His big brain was blank. Bloody blank. Nothing. No excuses. No fabrications. No explanations. Nothing. He felt the crowd lean in towards them.

“I might have arranged for us to spend the night together.”

The autumn air turned frigid.

“Did you know they could hear us?”

He leaned towards her and gave a small smile, hoping it might soothe her. It didn’t. “Baby, I tried to get you alone. You were avoiding me. I was desperate.”

His mistake was watching her eyes instead of her feet. Her eyes turned black. Her brow furrowed and then stars burst in Harry’s vision. Pain shot through him. His knees crumpled beneath him and he writhed on the ground, unable to breathe, unable to do anything but whimper. His hands clutched his now, no doubt, pulverised balls. Too little, too late. Why hadn’t he watched her feet?

Calmly, Magenta picked up her pack, stepped over him and started the long walk back to town.

“Somebody get ice,” Matt shouted.

“I think I’m going to die.” Harry strained to get the words out.

“You deserve to die, you bloody idiot,” his cousin helpfully said.

An icepack was thrust at his groin.

“My work here is done,” Betty said before trotting off down the hill.

A shadow covered Harry’s face, and he looked up to find Rachel glaring down at him. “Can we go back to London now?” she said.

Harry closed his eyes and groaned.

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