A Witch In Winter (3 page)

Only one faux pas spoiled the break, towards the end of lunch. Liz asked if I liked horses. I said an emphatic no, and then noticed the copy of
Horse and Hound
sticking out of one of her friends’ bags. Oops. Closer questioning revealed that they were all ex-members of the Pony Club and at least three of them owned horses. One of them, a big-boned, solid girl called Prue, had hers stabled up near our house.

‘Oooh, you live at the Witch’s House?’ Prue said when I mentioned it. ‘We used to be, like,
so
scared of that place when we were little! I’d never let Mum drop me off at the main road by the stables after dark; she always had to go right up the track so I didn’t have to walk past the gate.’

‘The Witch’s House, is that what you call it?’ I asked.

‘I know it’s really called the Wicker House, but no one ever calls it that. It’s always known as the Witch’s House, like the wood is always known as Witch’s Wood.’

‘My mum says it should rightly be the Witch’s House anyway,’ Liz said. ‘She said wicker is just a corruption of wicce, which is the Anglo-Saxon word for witch.’

‘I told my dad that when he asked me why I wouldn’t walk home alone through the wood.’ June spoke with her mouth full of sandwich. ‘And he says it’s rubbish. He says it’s called Wicker Wood because of the reed beds down by the river.’

‘Whatever.’ Prue waved a dismissive hand. ‘It’s bloody spooky after dark, is all I’m saying. I don’t envy you your walk home, Anna.’

‘Oh don’t worry,’ I said. ‘I’m not superstitious.’

History, after lunch, was fine, but fourth period English I was late again. The room was tucked away above the Chemistry lab and hard to find. I turned up just as the lesson was about to start and looked desperately around for a free seat. There was only one, next to a serious-looking girl with long dark hair and angular glasses, bent over a copy of
Macbeth
.

‘Excuse me,’ I said, ‘do you mind if I sit here?’

‘If you must,’ she said, in a voice that plainly meant, ‘Please don’t’.

I looked around but the class was full so I was forced to sit down anyway. I laid my books out, looking at her out of the corner of my eye. She was wearing a skinny grey cardigan with fraying sleeves, and as she read her fingers picked restlessly at the loose threads.

What could I say? Something about
Macbeth
? Or would that be too swotty?

‘Um,’ I tried, but she ignored my gaze, and I was still trying to think of an opening for conversation when the class started.

At last the bell rang for the end of the day, and I gathered up my books with a feeling of profound relief that I’d survived the first day. The girl began packing up her bag, her long black hair shielding her face.

‘It was nice to meet you,’ I said lamely. ‘What’s your name? Mine’s Anna by the way.’

‘I know,’ she said, and shoving her copy of
Macbeth
roughly in her bag, she walked off without a backward glance.

CHAPTER THREE

I
 lay in the cast-iron bath in the hateful lean-to, trying to ignore the wind whistling through the gaps in the corrugated roof. The water had been steaming when I got in but was already getting cold. Very cold. I pushed at the hot tap with my toe and a thin trickle came out, orange with rust, and dispersed into the murky bathwater. I shuddered.

I hadn’t felt right since we got to Winter; I was constantly keyed up, ready for something – I wasn’t sure what. I seemed to spend my whole time holding myself in; tiptoeing around Dad, trying not to offend anyone at school, trying to work out the rules in this strange new community. My neck and shoulders hurt with the effort of keeping it all inside – whatever
it
was.

Still, at least it was Friday. Only one more day of school to get through. The thought of school made me look at my watch, lying on the toilet seat: time I was getting out. I’d be late at this rate.

I was just gearing myself up to brave the freezing draught when there was an almighty crash from the living room, followed by an ominous silence.

‘Dad?’ I yelled. Then, when he didn’t answer, more panicked, ‘Dad!’

Then I leapt out of the bath and ran.

‘Dad?’ I wrenched open the door of the living room with a wet hand.

He was standing in his paint-stained overalls with a crowbar in one hand and a clump of paper and a blackened piece of oak about six inches thick in the other.

‘What the hell!’ Relief made me annoyed. ‘Why didn’t you answer when I shouted? And why on earth are you doing DIY at eight a.m.?’

‘Sorry, sweetie,’ he said mildly. ‘I didn’t hear you.’ He held out the charred papers with a nod. ‘I got that bread oven open – although, bloody hell, it was a struggle. Look how thick the door was! I was right, it was an oven, and I found this hidden in there – it looks like some kind of book. Could you stick it in the kitchen until I’m cleaned up?’

‘Sure.’ I took it gingerly by one edge. It was three-quarters burnt, covered in cobwebs, and slightly paint-spattered where Dad had touched it. Part of the cover was visible and I made out the words:

…
e Hroc

Grimoire

What the hell was a Grimoire? Or a Hroc for that matter? It looked like an old recipe book but I wasn’t about to start leafing through – Dad was the one with an interest in this place. Let him get his hands dirty. I stuck it on the window sill and began making myself a cup of coffee. The plug sparked as I flicked on the percolator and made me jump. God, I hated this house. You couldn’t even make a cup of coffee without risking your life. The sooner Dad got this place rewired, the better.

Dad came through just as it finished percolating.

‘Oh good, is there enough for me?’

I poured him out a cup and as he drank it he said, ‘Did I tell you I need to go up to London tomorrow?’

A trip back to Notting Hill! Lauren – Suzie – all my old friends … I almost held my breath, but managed to stammer out, ‘N-no, why?’

‘I’ve got to get my crown refitted and we’re not registered with a dentist down here yet. I thought I’d stay with James and Lorna while I’m up.’

Oh. James and Lorna were Dad’s friends from way back; they had a one-bedroom flat in Bloomsbury. Dad would be sleeping on their sofa, and there’d be no room for me.

‘Will you be all right while I’m gone?’

‘Sure,’ I said, trying to fight back disappointment.

‘Honestly? Because this place can be pretty spooky at night, I know. I wondered if you’d like to invite some of your new friends over to stay, to keep you company.’

I suppressed the urge to snap that I didn’t
have
any new friends and tried to keep a convincing smile on my face.

‘I’ll be fine, honestly. Don’t worry, Dad. Have a good time.’ Then I looked at my watch. ‘Oh hell. I’ve got to run.’

8.44. I’d covered barely a third of the walk to school. It was starting to rain – oh, and I had a stone in my shoe. Could this morning get any better?

I knelt by the roadside and pulled off my shoe, scrabbling inside to try to find the damn stone. From far off came the roar of an engine, faint above the crashing waves. I was too busy lacing my shoe to look up, until a battered truck swept past, far too fast, its wheel clipping my school bag and sending it flying. Books flew up in the air and papers and pens rained down like bomb debris.

‘You arse!’ I screamed at the driver. ‘You’re driving like a maniac!’

I’d assumed he wouldn’t hear over the roar of the engine but there was a squeal of brakes and the truck ground to a halt. The driver’s door opened and I gulped – preparing for a road rage attack.

It was Seth Waters. He ran over, his face pale.

‘Anna, I’m so, so sorry.’

Huh. Well at least he got my name right this time. I resisted the urge to say, ‘It’s fine, honestly, Sam,’ and concentrated on picking up my belongings.

‘I’m really sorry,’ he repeated, kneeling beside me in the dust to gather up pens and sheets of A4. ‘I didn’t see you in the long grass. I didn’t expect anyone along here – no one walks this way at this time of day. Not that that’s an excuse.’

‘We’ve just moved into the Witch’s House. I mean, Wicker House,’ I said crossly. ‘So I’ll be walking this way regularly from now on. It’d be nice if you could try not to run me over in future.’

‘Let me give you a lift the rest of the way.’

‘No thanks.’ I was still shaking from the near miss, and too cross to trust myself to be polite on the journey.

‘Hey.’ He took my shoulder and turned me to look at him. His face was full of remorse. ‘I really am so, so sorry. Please, won’t you let me give you a lift at least, to save you the walk?’

His eyes were pleading; I felt myself soften. The part of me that was still cross wanted to retort, ‘What and risk my life all over again?’ but instead I just shrugged. Caroline’s icy countenance floated into my head.

‘Please?’ Seth held out my bag and the sheaf of crumpled homework pages. ‘I promise I’ll keep to the speed limit …’ The warmth of his smile and his wheedling tone was impossible to resist. I reluctantly cracked a smile back. ‘Go on, you know you want to. You’re late anyway.’

‘If you’re sure—’ I was going to say, ‘If you’re sure your girlfriend won’t mind’, but it suddenly sounded weird, presumptuous. I stopped, floundering.

‘Course I’m sure! It’s the least I can do after running over your bag. Come on, jump in.’

I nodded and climbed in, and Seth started the engine again with a roar.

‘Sorry,’ he called over the noise of the engine. ‘It makes a bit of a racket I know. I inherited it off my dad; he was a plumber.’

‘What does he do now?’ I shouted back.

Seth gave a funny little apologetic smile and a shrug.

‘Oh, well, he died. Pancreatic cancer.’

‘Oh!’ I flushed scarlet. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. Was it recent?’

‘Four years ago this summer. Don’t worry, you weren’t to know. Anyway, it’s nice to talk about him. No one does any more.’

‘What was he like?’

‘Great. I really miss him.’

We drove in silence for a bit, then Seth said, ‘So what does your dad do?’

‘Oh, he used to be a stockbroker. But he lost his job. That was why we had to move.’ My face felt stiff with the effort of trying to say the words casually. Memorhe ually. ies flashed into my head unbidden: Dad stumbling home from work, his face white and drawn; piles of red demands on the hall table; the
thump
,
thump
of a hammer as they nailed up the ‘sold’ sign outside our house.

‘Oh, sorry.’ He glanced at me with his intensely dark eyes. They seemed full of concern though I couldn’t imagine why he’d give a toss about my dad’s job. ‘What happened?’

‘He was made redundant and … well … he had a kind of breakdown,’ I said reluctantly. ‘So this is sort of a new start for him. For both of us.’

‘What’s he doing now?’

‘Nothing. Just doing up our house. Well, he’s got some random idea about writing a book about the history of fishing on the south coast, but I can’t see that happening any time soon.’ I tried for a laugh.

‘Sounds interesting,’ Seth said. I looked at him sharply to see if he was being sarcastic, but he seemed to be serious. ‘What does your mum do?’

‘My mum’s …’ I hated this moment. ‘Well, dead too, I guess.’

‘Now I’m sorry again. Especially as I seem to have put my foot in it twice, with your dad’s job and all.’

‘No, it’s really OK,’ I tried to explain, not wanting to feel like a fake. ‘It’s not like your dad. I never knew her. She – oh God, it’s all so difficult to explain.’

‘How come?’

‘Well …’ Usually I brushed this conversation off with some stock responses and people backed away from intruding on grief, but I felt I couldn’t do that in the face of Seth’s honesty about his dad. ‘She disappeared when I was a baby – I remember that she was declared legally dead when I was about seven, but that’s pretty much all I know. I’m not really entitled to miss her or anything. I never knew her.’

‘Of course you’re entitled to miss her,’ Seth said quietly. He shifted gear, his arm brushing mine. Heat rose up my cheeks. This was getting out of hand; OK the guy was seriously good-looking and, in spite of what June had said about his reputation, he seemed pretty nice too, but he was also seriously taken. I wasn’t about to start my life in Winter by stealing someone else’s boyfriend – even in the unlikely event that he wanted me.

The atmosphere in the truck felt too charged for comfort so I tried for a laugh, which came out more wobbly than I would have liked.

‘Sorry, this is a bit heavy for a Friday morning, isn’t it? We should be talking about what we’re doing over the weekend or something.’

‘Hey, it’s fine.’ Seth stopped the truck and I suddenly realized we were in the school car park. He turned to face me and gave me an awkward half-hug across the seat. ‘It’s nice,’ he said intom he saio my hair. ‘I haven’t talked about my dad for a long time. It’s good to talk to someone else who knows what it’s like.’