Emerald Oasis 10/18

Summer in the 1950's was the pinnacle of Joyce's adulthood. All the memories she had of her youth were innocent and fruitful. Holding Oscar's hand as they took gentle walks up and down Blackpool's piers. The proposal at sunset followed by wild parties on Saturday nights.

Looking back, Joyce knew that she had a pleasant youth, but she always felt that she wanted more. She could never shake that aching emptiness laying dormant in her heart. She was best friends with Vicky Andrews and Dorothy Davidson: two of the most beautiful girls in Uddington-Crown School. Joyce felt out of place in their group of luscious blondes. She stood out with her ginger girls, but not in a flattering light.

Luckily, Rodger Bentley, Vicky's childhood sweetheart gave the playground bullies a knuckle sandwich if they tried anything. He was a teacher's worst nightmare. He often became the joker of the class to hide the fact he was unable to read or write. Until the tree girls decided it was best to help him out as repayment for all the nice things the young lad did for them over the years.

It was an exhausting process. Joyce often found herself sweating after school over it. In the end, it was worth it. Rodger ended up being top of the class. Their snotty English teacher, Mr Price and his sharp cane took all the credit. He went on to say, "It does them a lot of good. It teaches them discipline. When he first came into my class, he couldn't read or write. Now look at him: top of the class. It's all down to discipline."

The school prom was a night to remember. Vicky and Rodger were the king and queen, and Dorothy and Joyce were behind them like the bridesmaid to their wedding. When they asked Rodger what he wanted to do when he left school, he babbled on about his childhood dream.

"I want to start my own business. I like making stuff: especially toys. Then I'm going to sell them on. I'd like to open my own factory one day."

They mocked him at first. Toys were for children. Why would he want to be playing with toys at sixteen for? He proved them wrong and most of the people that mocked him ended up working for him. In the small village of Uddington-Crown, the factory gave the village jobs and saved workers hundreds of pounds a year with commutes to Blackpool or the other major cities.

Joyce was so proud of him. So were Vicky and Dorothy. She remembered the next couple of years after school, being an accompanier for Vicky when she was waiting for Rodger to finish work. The happy couple didn't mind that her and Dorothy were tagging along on their date.

In Joyce's eyes, Vicky and Rodger were the most romantic couple in the whole world. Nothing in the world could ever split then apart even though their parents tried. Seeing the young couple together made her feel warm and fuzzy. She really felt that they would get married for the rest of their lives. She could picture the two of them roaring their wedding vows until death did them part.

Then something happened: Summer 1957. It changed the coarse of their lives forever. It destroyed a solid friendship group.

Joyce and Dorothy were in Vicky's house getting ready for another party. Joyce had a headache, so she took some paracetamol from Vicky's bedside cabinet. They were waiting for the most beautiful girl in the village to finish getting ready and also for the coolest guy on the planet to pick them up. There were times when Joyce wanted to be like Vicky. She always got she wanted with very little effort. If Joyce ever wanted anything, it would have to be earned. She even had to ask her parent's permission to go out. They would never let her go out unless she was with her friends or with Oscar.

"Hurry up Vicky!" Dorothy said, banging the door. "Rodger will be here anytime soon."

"I'm getting there."

"I'm looking forward to this," Joyce lied, gazing at her engagement ring. "I can't wait for you all to meet my Oscar."

"I know Oscar," Dorothy shouted. "We all went to school together. His sister is in our class!"

"Was she really?"

"Of course. We're only a little village: everyone knows each other"

She had heard that phrase many times but she felt it wasn't always true. How could she know everyone else, if she didn't even know herself? Did she even know Oscar? She wasn't so sure of anything anymore. Vicky was her best friend and idol. She often had fantasies about Rodger. She couldn't shake the feeling of guilt. If her family could read her mind, they would send her straight to church or dump her in a nunnery.

"What's up with you?" Dorothy asked Joyce, tilting her head and waving her head in front of her face. "Ever since you've been engaged you've been acting really strange. Can you stop spacing out like this! You're creeping me out here."

"Nothing. I'm fine."

"It's nerves isn't it? Don't worry, it will be a great night."

"But what if I end up cheating on him?"

"You won't. I know you, Joyce Eaton: you're a headstrong girl."

"But you haven't found anyone." She was desperate to change the subject. The last thing she wanted was for her anxiety to be the centre of attention.

"I'll find something eventually." Dorothy clapped her hands together. "I've got a good feeling that it could be tonight."

Vicky swung the door open dripping in pearls as red velvet hung on her petite figure. She was born to wear that dress. She brushed her hair away from her face. "I'm ready."

Joyce gulped. "Aren't you going to be cold? Would you like to borrow my other jacket. I have another one in my handbag."

Vicky shook her head. "No. I'm fine. No offence sweetie, but your jackets would ruin my elegant style."

"So what shall we do while we're waiting for Rodger?" Dorothy asked.

"Nothing," Joyce said, peering out of the window. "He's here now."

"Are you sure that's him?" Vicky said gazing at the window. Fingers crawling on the glass.

"That's his car isn't it?"

"It looks clean. About time too. He hasn't cleaned that putrid car since he bought it."

"That's him alright," Dorothy cackled. "I can tell. He's got that stupid hat on again."

"He knitted it by himself," Joyce commented with a little smile on her face. "I think it's really cute."

"He looks like a battered raven," Dorothy hissed.

"He's my lovely little raven at least," Vicky said, clutching onto her chest.

"How sweet," Joyce muttered. She found herself to be mimicking Vicky's movements, thinking to herself how she would love to be in her shoes as holding hands and the occasional kiss. Vicky told Joyce and Dorothy everything that happened between the sheets, on the beach, in the car and on wet grass.

It sounded like a fairy tale.

Joyce was certain if the lack of spice in her life continues, that Oscar would move on to another girl. Then spend the rest of her life alone as a miserable spinster. A true disappointment to the world.

Yet at the same time, she didn't want to speak out of term. Dorothy, Vicky and Rodger were the only friends she had, other than Oscar. She had bad vibes about her future. Sleepless nights thinking about solitude. One day Vicky and Rodger would get married, go on their honeymoon and never return. Dorothy would end up doing her own thing and Oscar would leave her.

She could feel it: she wasn't welcome anymore.

And yet, there was no reason to suggest why she thought like this. She didn't know why she woke up every morning with perceptual emptiness. Oscar filled her up every now and then, but once he was gone, the depression returned with a vengeance. Even with friends, she lost the radiance she had in her childhood. She had high hopes for the party. She wanted to be the soul of the party again. She didn't want to be chained by her parent's dictatorship anymore. Nor did she want to be stuck in Vicky's shadow forever.

She followed Vicky and Dorothy out the door. They were having a banter with Rodger as she got into the car. They were talking about her, but she shivered and spaced out, not paying attention to what they were saying. She nodded off to sleep.

Joyce woke up to the sound of slamming. They were not in Uddington-Crown anymore. Outside was a desolate warehouse surrounded by hippies and acoustic music.

"Where are we?" Joyce asked.

"We're at the party?" Rodger said, hands around Vicky's waist as she puffed on her cigarette.

"This place?"

"Yes!"

"I thought the party was at Blackpool."

"It technically is Blackpool, but far from the centre."

Joyce rubbed her eyes and crawled out of the car. Her neck felt loose as if someone had been overplaying it. Rodger helped her stand. Vicky passed her cigarette over to Dorothy and held Joyce's right arm.

He glared at his girlfriend. "How many pills did you give her?"

"I didn't giver her anything."

"Cool it!" Dorothy said, taking one last puff before stubbing the cigarette out. "Let's take her to the hospital."

"Don't be daft," Rodger roared. "We can't go beat feet, we've only just got here."

"Beat feet?"

"You've never heard of that phrase?" Vicky asked.

"No."

"It means leave quickly."

"Right enough chatter," Rodger interrupted. "First stop is the bar."

"What about my make-up?" Vicky asked.

"That can wait," Rodger said. "Let's get a good seat first." He glanced at Dorothy. "Get us a round of drinks."

"Righto!"

Joyce could feel her legs being dragged on the floor as the palms of her feet became colder and stickier. Her vision became distorted as the disco lights inside pixilated into fairy-wings. The drinks started to change colours. She felt as if she was floating until a plush leather seat slapped her back.

"Here's the drinks," Dorothy's words became epic echoes. Four times she heard the glasses bang like church bells.

She noticed Rodger sprinkling something in the cup closest to her. He stirred it like sugar in tea. He told Joyce to drink it and she did exactly as she was told. It took a while for her to get her bearings, but after another couple of drinks, Joyce felt as if she was on top of the world.

"I'm glad you're feeling better," Dorothy said. "I was very worried.

"Is Oscar here?"

"Not yet, he'll be in later."

"That's good," Joyce slurred.

Rodger tapped his shoes and swayed his hips at Vicky. "Let's have a dance."

Vicky smirked and twirled her way to the dance floor with Rodger. Their movements were so fluent nd vivid that Joyce felt dizzy just by watching them.

Dorothy rammed her shoulder against Joyce's back. "If you're feeling up to it, we should dance."

Joyce's shoulders shook in rhythm with the indoor orchestra. She nodded at her friend. "Let's go for it, you're only young once."

Dorothy and Joyce jumped all over the stage and around the dance floor. Joyce thought that Dorothy's idea of playing tag was absurd, but then she stopped caring. As the music took her in she felt young and free again. Perhaps this was what she was missing in her life, she thought.

"Tag!" Joyce screamed. Dorothy giggled and made her way towards the two men in the corner of the bar. They were dressed in fluorescent yellow. They were pleased to see them. Joyce didn't know who the men were, but she assumed that Dorothy did. The taller man pointed at Joyce.

"You're Oscar's girl? Joyce Eaton?"

Joyce nodded.

The shorter man smiled at Dorothy and leaned towards her. "And who are you?"

"Dorothy Davidson."

"I'm Harry Milkman. My mum works with your mum."

"And who are you?" Joyce asked the tall man as Dorothy and Harry went into their own little conversation.

"I'm Crawford Knight, and this is my friend Harry Knight. We're from Uddington-Crown too."

"You're the Hairy Milkman from school!" Dorothy chuckled. "You're face always used to go red when I called you that. She pinched his cheeks. "Still, no harm done."

"None at all." Harry nearly lost his voice.

"Can we get you ladies a drink?" Crawford asked.

Just as Joyce was about to refuse, Dorothy squeaked, "Yes please!"

"What would you like?" Harry asked, leaning towards the wall.

"Surprise us." Dorothy winked, pulling her dress down.

Joyce jolted to the bathroom, feeling the sudden urge to vomit. The cubicles were free but the sinks were packed with girls smoking and powdering their noses. She left the bathroom after doing what she had to do and charged out of the door. Rodger was waiting outside for her.

"Hey sexy! "

Joyce gasped, startled, she ran back to her cubicle. After taking a few deep breaths she marched straight out again. What was he doing, she thought to herself. Those words were meant for Vicky.

Rodger was still waiting for her. "Sorry about that my love. Did I scare you?"

"Yes. You surprised me."

Rodger wrapped his arms around Joyce's waist. Her fantasies about Rodger were becoming a reality, but they were more like nightmares then the sweat dreams that she imagined them to be. She tried to rustle out of his grip, but he was too strong. His fingers crawled around her private parts. He was drunk, she could smell it on his breathe. The real Rodger would never do a thing like this. "I''m full of surprises," he whispered. "This might be my last day of freedom. I'm going to make the most of it."

"Why are you touching me?" Joyce asked. "You have Vicky remember? She's the love of your life. I'm her best friend."

"Yes, but I'm a man. I can do whatever I want." He winked and pecked her cheek.

Joyce gasped again. "Rodger." Her knee rammed in-between his legs. He whined then pulled her into a corner and opened the adjacent door. Joyce wrestled against his grip. "Let go of me. We shouldn't be doing this. We've both had too much to drink."

He took no notice. She was pulled into a pitch black room. She started to become unwell again. Her knees jerked to the ground. A large weight pounced on top of her, she could only assume it was Rodger. Then she felt nothing.

The next time Joyce woke up, she was in hospital. One hand felt much warmer and heavier than the other. She turned her head and saw Oscar holding her. He looked as if he had been crying.

"Oscar..."

"Joyce, you're alive!"

"Of course I am," she grumbled. "But why am I here?"

"You collapsed," Oscar said with disbelief. "So they say. You had a nasty bump on the head. There was a chance you wouldn't even wake up."

"Where are the others?" Joyce asked, pushing herself out of bed.

"The others?"

"Rodger, Vicky and Dorothy?" She rose to her feet. "I have to find them. I need to know that they're okay."

"Relax," Oscar cooed, puller her back on the bed. "It's better that you never talk to them again."

"But why?"

"They do drugs and they're alcoholics. Believe me, they're not worth your time."

"But they're going to be bridesmaids and best man at my wedding."

"Not anymore. My sister and my uncle will take their place." His voice softened when Joyce frowned. "I'm sorry... but they hurt you. You'll forget about them eventually."

"This is all my fault."

"None of this was your fault. If only I had gotten there sooner. Perhaps you like to know that Vicky and Rodger have split up."

"Split up! But they were getting married next week!"

"Rodger's only got himself to blame for that one. He shouldn't have been messing with other women and taking advantage of you. Besides, my father's had a word with the Right Reverend Arthur Teacake."

"And..."

"And he has allowed us to book the wedding for next Saturday."

"Really?" That was also the same date at Vicky and Rodger's wedding. Of course, now that they've split up, they won't be getting married anymore. For years, Joyce had wanted to take Vicky's place, and it appears that her wishes had come true.

"I think we're both ready," Oscar said, smiling more with every word. "Everything has all been paid for. Then we can travel around the world, raise our own family. I think we'll have a happy life together."

Despite Oscar's words, the next week was chaotic. She wasn't sure how she survived it. She never got the chance to speak to any of her friends, but it sounded like they were quick to move on. When she called Dorothy's telephone number, Mr Davidson informed Joyce that she was in Blackpool with Harry Milkman. The Knight household were less pleasant. The snobby Mrs Knight told her that Vicky now wanted to be referred to as Victoria, and that she had no time for silly tarts. When Joyce hopped on the bus to work, she saw Vicky holding hands with Crawford Knight, both looking miserable as sin.

Joyce lost all her jealous thoughts of Vicky the day she became Oscar Patrick. Her husband fulfilled all his promises. Baby Maxine came first, becoming the apple of her father's eye then when Cleo was born, Joyce felt complete.

Joyce knew the truth. The dark side to the village's most successful entrepreneur. She wanted to forget the bad and cling onto the good. It was something that she had been doing a good job at for decades. Everything started to make sense. There was a possibility that Maxine could be Rodger's biological daughter. But it did not make Rodger Maxine's father, even if a DNA test was carried out, it would change nothing. She would always be Oscar's little girl. He was the one that raised her and loved her. Joyce had made the choice not to try and remember summer 1957 ever again.

She thought of her children again. Her two beautiful children. She curled into the corner of the chapel. She didn't care if the smoke would consume her or the fact that the others were trying to escape, and were crying out her name. She felt like a failurel

She had made errors in her past and continued to make them Now she knew why Maxine hated her because she focused all her attention on Cleo. If she had been more vigilant with Maxine, she may not have become the unemployed slob she grew up to be.

She raised her head and saw the disgraced King Fore tumble down from the ceiling. With the snap of his fingers, the fire evolved into an army of Gothic fairies dressed in black with red tutu skirts.

"It's nice to see you've brought some friends with you."

"I don't know if they're my friends anymore," Joyce stammered, heart racing.

"Of course they are," Fore reminded her. "You've known them for years."

"That night! Summer 1957." Joyce glared at Rodger. "You drugged me, got me drunk...I was sexually assaulted."

"I know," Dorothy said, bowing her head in shame.

"Then why didn't you do anything?"

"I tried."

"You should have tried harder. Oscar was right about you all. Maybe dementia is doing us a favour making us forget these painful memories and mistakes."

"Humans do bad things all the time," Fore said lowing his head. "As a fairy, it's my job to be perfect. But I'm not perfect. Perfection doesn't exist, nor does normality."

"I regret my actions," Rodger said. "I have been ashamed of my actions."

"YES!" Victoria hissed in a sudden demonic tone. "AND YOU MUST DIE!" Her breathe became rapid, clinging onto the rails, she was surrounded by shadows that painted half her body black. When she lifted her face, it was crooked, then all her facial features melted away into a red haze. She screamed, but her cries sounded anything but human.

"Victoria? Vicky?" Dorothy panted. Victoria opened her hands, pounced on top of Rodger and strangled him from behind. "Stop!" Dorothy plead over the sound of Victoria's possessed laughter. She rushed to split the two apart. A red aura took all three of them and turned them into bleeding statues.

Joyce struggled to stand, holding onto the altar to stand her up. She was too slow to help her friends. She looked up at Fore, the one fairy she never expected to rely on. All the other fairies were watching, also helpless to the curse that consumed her friends. "WHAT'S GOING ON?"

"You've made a deal with Empress Fee haven't you?"

"How did you know? I'm sorry, I didn't know she was capable of this kind of madness."

Fore crossed his arms. "Now you know. She hates humans, she loves cursing them."

"What have I got to do to bring them back?"

"How many of us are here?" Fore asked as he counted. "Dammit, if only I had my shed. I need a thousand fairies for my spell."

"How many fairies have you got here?"

"996."

"If only we could call Emily, Rita and Ivy. Maybe Hon could help us."

"That's it!" Fore roared. "Those four are exactly who I need."

"How can we call them?"

"I can send the signal," Fore announced.

"Can I help you with it?" Joyce begged. "Please, I'm sorry for all the times I may have been rude to you."

He sighed. "Actually, I was the rude one. It's me who should apologise. I need you to dream. Fairy networks are powered by dreams, that's why our signal is stronger at night."

"How does it work?"

"I'll explain later, I'll have to put you to sleep now."

Fore sprinkled golden powder around Joyce. The scent of lavender and chamomile consumed her as she drifted off to sleep.