Page 14 of We May Be Fractured

Bourbon and Custard Cream

[Now playing ? Turn—The Wombats]

A t ten sharp, Aaron was at the front door, punctual as ever.

He didn’t have to wait long before Landon showed up. They walked together to the station, wrapped in silence. The Tube ride was no different, the quiet only broken when Landon offered Aaron one of his earbuds.

At first, it seemed a nice gesture, but as he listened, Aaron caught on to the tunes: “Bad Liar” by Imagine Dragons, “Fire, Ready, Aim” by Green Day, and “Two Birds” by Regina Spektor. All about lying. Silently, he handed back the earphone, unimpressed by the not-so-subtle jab.

Stepping out at Camden Town station, he followed Landon through the busy streets, passing all the funky shops. He had a feeling they were heading to Landon’s workplace, and sure enough, they halted in front of a large sign for tattoos and piercings.

As they stepped into the shop, the bold black theme dominating the décor struck Aaron immediately.

From the walls to the furniture, everything had an edgy vibe.

Despite the starkness, the place felt alive, especially when they were greeted by two cheerful guys at the reception. Their smiles brightened up the room.

“Hey, Lanny!” one of them called out, his hand adorned with rings waving in the air. “Got a customer waiting already.”

Aaron and Landon glanced towards the sofas against the wall, where a girl in a school uniform sat cross-legged, hugging a backpack that was practically exploding with cute plushies. Nyle would have totally adored that bag.

“And who’s this?” the other receptionist asked, eyeing Aaron curiously.

“Just someone looking for a job,” Landon said, then headed over to the girl, gesturing for Aaron to follow.

Aaron tagged along behind Landon and the girl into a small room at the end of the corridor; the drawings covering the walls made it less gloomy compared to the rest of the shop. More sketches lay sprawled across tables, alongside bottles of ink.

“So? What can I do for you?” Landon inquired as the girl took a seat on the central couch.

She bit her lip, a trace of lipstick coming off, and turned, tugging down her shirt collar to show the back of her shoulder. “I, um, want a heart tattoo with my boyfriend’s name in it.”

Aaron had to hold back a laugh. Talk about a tattoo cliché. But Landon was all business, face expressionless as he listened.

“How long have you been together?” he asked.

“One month.”

Landon offered her a small, knowing smile. “Listen, I get where you’re coming from, but tattoos are permanent. It might seem perfect now, but it’s a big decision, especially if things change.”

“We won’t break up. He’s my soulmate.”

“Maybe just give it a bit more thought?”

“I’ve thought about it, and I want his name on me.”

The back-and-forth went on, with Landon calmly explaining the implications and the girl adamant about her choice. Eventually, realising Landon wasn’t going to budge, she stood up in a huff and stormed out, her complaints echoing back from the reception area.

Soon after, a long-haired man decked out in tattoos and piercings appeared in the doorway, looking none too pleased. “What’s this I hear about you turning away customers?”

“I’m not going to tattoo a whim she’ll likely regret,” Landon said firmly.

“The girl wants a tattoo. You’re here to do tattoos,” his boss countered.

“But—”

“No ‘buts’, okay? You’re an apprentice, meaning you’re here to gain experience. You’ve got talent, sure, but this attitude of yours won’t get you far. If you won’t do the tattoo for that girl, then Sam will. She seems more keen on practising and less on arguing.”

“You can’t be serious? You can’t support that girl’s absurd request. She’ll regret it.”

“I can do whatever I want. This is my studio,” the guy retorted, getting angrier. “As long as you stay here, you do as I say. End. Of. Story.”

Landon remained silent, frustration evident in his posture as he watched his boss leave the room. He slumped onto a table, twirling a marker in his hand.

“I didn’t know you were such a moralist,” Aaron taunted, amused by the altercation.

“It’s not about morals,” Landon replied sharply. “Every tattoo I do has my signature on it. I don’t want my work to be some impulsive decision someone regrets.”

“Well, that’s unexpected. Thought you weren’t the sentimental type either.”

“It’s not sentiment,” Landon snapped. “It’s about pride in my work. Not just doing whatever to keep the boss happy.”

Aaron nodded, already aware from Landon’s refusal to tattoo Nyle that he took his profession seriously. He scanned the sketches plastered on the walls. “All these drawings…are they yours?”

“Yeah,” Landon replied, as if it was no big deal. Aaron studied them closer, surprised at how detailed and unique they were. It was wild to think that a guy as apparently cold as Landon could put so much heart into these lines.

“Why did you start tattooing?” Aaron asked.

Landon ran his fingers over a sketch on the wall, one that resembled the drooping rose on Ria’s hand. His expression softened. “I’ve always been into drawing. There’s something about creating from scratch, bringing out more to what you see.”

Aaron related to that. He used to love sketching out his fantasies, even considered going to art school, but ditched the idea because of his parents. Now, seeing Landon’s art, a flicker of his old passion burned inside him. He wanted to get back into it.

“Why don’t you tell your boss to screw himself and open your own shop? You’re really good.”

“I almost forgot how young and clueless you are about how the real world works.”

“You’re not exactly ancient yourself,” Aaron retorted. Considering they were both in a youth community service program, Landon couldn’t be much older. “What are you, twenty?”

“I’m twenty-two,” Landon said flatly.

“You didn’t answer my question though.”

Landon sighed. “It takes a fair bit of cash to start a shop, and banks aren’t exactly queuing up to throw money at someone with a record.”

That clicked for Aaron. Maeve’s words came back to him. “Maeve said you did time in juvie?”

Landon offered only a noncommittal shrug. “You ask too many questions.”

“And you seem pretty good at dodging them.”

“It’s not the questions I have a problem with,” Landon shot back, his eyes flicking with something harder. “It’s the answers I’d rather not give.”

*

T he morning slipped by quietly in the shop, with no further customer rejections.

Aaron didn’t get to see Landon tattooing anyone, but he quietly observed his consultation sessions.

He was still puzzled about why he was there.

He had no experience in tattooing, and Landon didn’t know about his interest in drawing.

Everything started to make more sense at lunchtime when Landon took him next door to a vinyl shop with the sign Revolutions Per Minute .

The name was pretty cool, but the shop was a different story.

As soon as they stepped in, a mustiness combined with the strong scent of over-brewed coffee hit Aaron.

They weaved through tightly packed shelves crammed with vinyl records, arranged in a totally random order.

The chaotic setup of the place was overwhelming.

In the back, a guy lounged in a chair, buried in a book, with his foot up on the counter and a fancy beer can beside him. A woolly cap hid his face. He didn’t even glance up as they approached.

“Fell,” Landon said, breaking the silence as they got closer. “This is Aaron, the guy I told you about.” Turning to Aaron, he added, “And Aaron, meet Fell, the shop owner.”

Fell looked up then, and Aaron instantly recognized the Beer Guy from the bonfire party.

“Aaron,” Fell acknowledged with a nod, clearly remembering him too. “Landon mentioned you’re looking for work. As you can see—” He gestured around the cluttered shop. “—there’s plenty to sort out here.”

Aaron chuckled nervously as he glanced around. He doubted whether his few remaining months before heading to Australia would be enough to sort this mess out.

“Before we start, I need to do a quick interview to see if you’re the right fit,” Fell announced, standing up. He grabbed two biscuit packets from the counter and held them out, one bourbon and one custard cream. “Which one’s your jam?”

Caught off-guard, Aaron hesitated. His parents had spun a tale about food allergies when he was a kid, and he never got around to tasting them. Even after he found out it wasn’t true, he never developed a taste for sweet things. “Uh, I haven’t had either, actually.”

Fell paused in surprise. “Wait, you’ve never tried a bourbon or custard cream biscuit?”

Aaron chuckled, a bit embarrassed, as both Fell and Landon stared at him like he’d just admitted he’d never used a smartphone.

“You’re missing out,” Fell remarked playfully. He carefully detached one half of a bourbon biscuit and one half of a custard cream, then pressed them together, creating a unique combination. He took an experimental bite, nodded in approval, then assembled two more hybrid biscuits.

“Here, try this,” Fell offered, extending one to Aaron and another to Landon.

Aaron took a bite and, to his surprise, found it quite tasty.

“Well? What’s the verdict?” Fell asked.

Mouth still full, Aaron approved. “Yeah, it’s pretty good.”

Fell clapped him on the back. “Welcome to the weirdo club.”

“He was already in, biscuits or not,” Landon quipped.

“So, when can you start?” Fell asked.

“Like, now?”

“Brilliant.” Fell pulled out a key and handed it to him. “No strict hours here. If it’s closed when you get here, just open up, and same deal for closing.”

Aaron held the key tight, feeling excitement and nerves. This was all kicking off faster than he’d expected.

“Right, but first, let’s grab some grub. Landon and I usually hit the market for a bite,” Fell said, already heading for the exit.

Aaron tried to picture Landon and Fell as lunch buddies.

As they made their way to Camden Lock Market, he watched in amusement as Fell greeted almost everyone they passed.

From shopkeepers to stall vendors, it seemed Fell was a local celeb.

His easy-going and friendly nature contrasted sharply with Landon’s more withdrawn personality.

After weaving through the noisy market crowd, Aaron found a moment to lean in towards Landon while they waited in a queue for food.

“Thanks, by the way,” he murmured.

Landon didn’t let on he heard, didn’t react, didn’t say a word, not even a nod. But later, after they finished eating and stepped aside for a cigarette break, Landon silently extended his lighter towards Aaron.

That small gesture felt like a quiet acknowledgment. Aaron couldn’t help but smile. Perhaps hanging out with Landon wouldn’t be as challenging as he’d initially thought.