A Witch In Winter (19 page)

‘What’s so funny?’ he asked. I shook my head.

‘Nothing. Nothing important. Oh Seth, what are we going to do?’

‘I don’t see what the problem is. I love you – and are you going to tell me that you don’t feel anything at all for me? Because I just won’t believe you. I’m no more arrogant than the next bloke, but after last night I just can’t believe you don’t feel something. Can you honestly say you don’t feel anything for me? Can you swear it?’

My heart swelled in my throat. I just couldn’t do it – I couldn’t lie yet again, adding yet more hurt and deception to the mountain of complexities in my life.

‘No, I can’t swear it.’

‘So you do? Feel something?’ In spite of his supposed certainty he looked jubilant, exalted in comparison to my broken defeat.

‘I … Seth …’

He sprang upright, holding my hands, gazing at me with open delight.

‘Then what’s the problem? Anna—’ he touched my face with astonishment. ‘You’re crying! What’s wrong? Oh Anna, Anna, please don’t cry.’

‘You can say it all you like,’ I gulped, ‘but I will never, never believe that you love me.’

‘Ugh!’ He broke away, his fists clenched with frustration, and began to pace the room. ‘You’re mad! This is so infuriating. I love you and whatever you say, I
know
you love me – isn’t that worth
anything
? For crying out loud – this s sud

I could only shrug, trying to smile through my tears.

‘I’m special, I guess.’

‘You are.’ He sat down beside me, tracing the tears on my cheeks with one finger. ‘You most definitely are.’ Then he seemed to come to a decision and squared his shoulders. ‘Well, you know what? I don’t care. I don’t care what you think. I know the truth. Once we’ve been going out for a few years you’re bound to come round – you’ll end up believing me after the third child or so. Definitely by the time we’re drawing our pensions.’

I snorted in spite of my tears at that, and hit his shoulder.

‘Shut up.’

He smiled and wiped at my cheek with a corner of the sheets. ‘Why is it so hard for you to believe me?’

I seized his arm and pulled him off the bed, dragging him over to my dressing-table mirror.

‘Look,’ I said. A boy and a girl stared back at us from the mirror; serious, wide-eyed, and so patently incompatible that it answered my point.

‘What? Look at what?’ Seth asked. I stared at him in the mirror – not sure if he was being wilfully stupid or really didn’t get my point.

‘At what? At us! At you and me, Seth. How could we ever be a couple? Look at me – I barely come up to your shoulder, I’m never going to make
FHM
’s hot totty, I’m just the drab girl next-door. I’m so – so
ordinary
. Can’t you see that?’

Seth turned away from the mirror to stare at me.

‘Anna, what’s wrong with you? Are you even looking at yourself or just some figment of your imagination? There is nothing,
nothing
ordinary about you, Anna. You’re the most extraordinary person I’ve ever met. In fact—’

But he never finished what he was going to say, for unmistakeably we heard the noise of Dad’s door opening.

We both froze, Seth gripping my arm so hard that I winced. There were footsteps in the corridor. Then a door opening – the toilet door, I recognized the distinctive squeak.

‘
Go!
’ I hissed. Seth nodded and pulled his damp T-shirt back on with a shudder.

‘OK, I’ll see you in school.’

‘Yes, yes, just … Will you be OK climbing out?’

He opened the window and gave me a look save
FHM.

‘I think if I can do it drunk in the dark, I’ll be OK in daylight in full possession of my senses, don’t you?’

‘All right, but just – just be careful, OK?’

‘I’ll be careful.’

He hooked one leg over the sill, then said, ‘Anna?’

‘Yes?’

‘I love you.’

My heart twisted. I so much wanted to say it back.

‘I …’

He pulled me towards him, half in and half out the window, and kissed me fiercely, his mouth burning on mine. For a moment dizziness enveloped me and I staggered, then my instincts took over. I clutched him, kissing him back with a desperation I didn’t even try to conceal.

Then we both heard the sound of a toilet flushing and Seth pulled away.

‘Goodbye.’

‘Goodbye – be careful.’

I watched him as he scaled down the old pitted brickwork, fitting his toes and fingers into the crevices so dexterously it almost looked easy. He jumped the last foot or two, picked his shoes up from where he’d left them under a bush then, with a wave, he sprinted off into the woods.

Far off, in the forest, something cawed, disturbed by his flight.

I shivered and shut the window.

CHAPTER TWELVE

J
ames slid into the empty seat beside me in History and looked around with exaggerated caution.

‘Am I safe?’ he asked.

‘What do you mean?’ I said, surprised.

‘To sit here? Waters is still off, I take it?’

‘Well, yes, he’s ill. But what’s that got to do with anything?’

‘Well, you know. Private property and all that. We had rather got the message. Hands off.’

Damn Seth. So that was why people – especially boys – had been behaving so weirdly around me for the past few weeks.

‘I’m most certainly not private property – whatever that means. And yes, please, sit down.’

James unpacked his books, taking up what seemed like an unnecessary amount of desk.

‘So what’s up with Waters?’

‘Man flu,’ I said acidly, ‘contracted while acting like a tit.’ Man flu was unfair, as Seth’s mother had barred him in his room when his temperature topped a hundred and four. But I was burning over the ‘private property’ comment and if I couldn’t punish Seth in person, I’d do it in his absence.

James raised a ginger eyebrow.

‘Oo la la. Lovers’ tiff?’

‘Oh shut up,’ I snapped. I was beginning to seriously regret letting him sit down at all. To change the subject I said, ‘So how are you getting along with the project?’

‘Done,’ he said smugly. ‘How’s yours?’

‘Not done.’ I fought off a wave of dismay. ‘When’s the deadline again?’

‘Next week. Didn’t you hand the abstract in last week?’

‘No.’

Oh great.

I was packing up my books at the end of class when Mr Brereton said, ‘Anna, could I speak to you for a moment?’

Oh, really really great.

I took a deep breath and began my excuses as the rest of the class filed out.

‘I’m so sorry about the abstract, Mr Brereton. Seth’s been sick, as you know. Do you think we might be able to get an extension? I know the deadline was fixed but …’

He let me speak until I trailed to a halt, then gave an amused smile that had me doubting my ground.

‘Wasn’t that what you wanted to speak to me about?’ I ventured.

‘Actually no, though now you mention it, you’re quite right, your abstract was due in last week. I will give you until the middle of next week for the abstract, and an additional one week extension on the full project in view of Seth’s absence, but after that I’ll expect it in – without his co-operation if necessary, and I’ll mark it as a solo project. Does that sound fair?’

‘Oh, yes. Thank you.’

So what did he want to speak to me about?

‘However, I expect you’re wondering what I was actually wanting to discuss.’

‘Er, yes.’

‘Perhaps I could I offer you a lift home?’

I blinked at the apparent change of subject. Warning bells rang in my head about inappropriate offers from male teachers – but Mr Brereton must have been sixty if he was a day, and extremely proper. I simply couldn’t imagine him groping my leg in the car park.

‘A lift?’

‘Yes, I’d like to discuss it on the way.’

‘Um. OK.’

‘Good, I’ll see you at the staff car park at three-thirty p.m. Goodbye, Miss Winterson.’

And I somehow found myself outside the classroom, no wiser as to what was going on.

At three-thirty I was hanging awkwardly around the staff car park, certain that at any moment someone was going to ask me what I was doing and whether I shouldn’t be cutting along home. But no one came out, until I saw the stiff figure of Mr Brereton in his tweed jacket making his slow way across the car park.

‘Over here, Anna,’ he called, gesturing to a Morris Minor parked against the far wall. I hurried to join him.

He made pleasant conversation as we exited the car park and drove up the road. At the roundabout I ventured the information that I lived out in Wicker Wood and he inclined his head.

‘Thank you, I’m quite well aware of that. We’ll take the sea road, if you don’t mind?’

‘Not at all,’ I said faintly, still wondering what on earth this was all about. The Morris climbed slowly up the cliff road, but just as I was expecting it to swing right, following the main road round the headland, Mr Brereton took a left turn down the rutted track that led to the beach, the track Seth and I had used only the other day. I was just wondering if I should have bought my rape alarm after all, when he stopped and turned off the engine.

‘Well, Miss Winterson. Perhaps you’d like to explain that.’ He gestured out of the window towards the verge.

For a second I had no idea what he meant. Then horror washed over me. By the side of the track was a majestic, spreading apple tree, heavy with fruit. It looked at least thirty or forty years old. The gnarled trunk was a couple of feet around and the branches twisted high into the air, seeming oblivious to the searing sea wind that came over the cliff.

‘It’s an apple tree,’ I said in a small voice.

‘Quite. A Cox’s Orange Pippin, I believe. Not a very hardy variety. And yet it is growing in a location where no other tree has managed to root, let alone bear fruit. Talking of the fruit, it is currently June. Coxes do not normally bear mature fruit until about September. Finally – and this is the key point, Anna, my dear – it was not there last week.’

‘Oh?’ I said faintly.

‘No. Have you any light to shed on this conundrum?’

‘N-not really.’

Mr Brereton sighed, lowering his glasses down his nose. He stared at me over the lenses until I felt my insides jellify. I’ve never been a good liar. But how did he
know
?

‘Try again, Miss Winterson. You can do better than that.’

‘Who are you? What do you want?’ I said desperately.

‘Who am I? I am one of the community, my dear. One of
our
community. Yours and mine. As for what I want, well, a little common sense would not go amiss. For heaven’s sake, my good girl,’ he looked exasperated now, ‘don’t you know what danger you’re putting yourself in? I realize you probably wanted to impress your young man, but this kind of tomfoolery is not acceptable.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I whispered. My head was reeling. Were there witches
everywhere
? Maya and Emmaline had been shock enough, but now my school teacher? My first thought, ridiculously, was to wonder if Ofsted knew about this.

My second thought was more to the point: what else did he know about, apart from the tree? I couldn’t tell. The reference to ‘my young man’ might have been benign, or not.

‘You have great power,’ he was saying, ‘and you are young. It’s a heady combination, I do realize that. But there are people who can help you contain and direct that power into more appropriate avenues.’

‘There are?’

‘Yes. I have … friends, who would like to help you. They realize you need tuition. And they think you have great gifts and that those gifts might accomplish great things, given the right help and training. Anna, you have a great deal of power, that is something to be proud of.’ He smiled at me, full of warmth now. ‘But it is also a danger – a danger to yourself and others. We all make mistakes without the help and support of friends, particularly friends who are older and wiser than we. Will you let my friends help you? They can show you the marvels that a mind like yours could accomplish. You could do great good, Anna. My friends would like to help you accomplish that good.’

I stared at him, my mind spinning with wonderful visions. No more blundering in the dark, no more trial and error, no more hideous mistakes. Instead – what? Answers would have been enough to tempt me. But greatness as well? Was that really possible {allus ? He was silent, seeming to read my mind, content to let me finish without hurry.

‘Who are your friends?’ I asked at last.

‘Just a little group of academics – with certain gifts of their own. Teachers, if you like.’ He paused, and I was just trying to think of what to say when he added, almost absently, ‘Some call us the Ealdwitan.’