Hawthorn (3 page)

I feel like something out of one of those family value American movies about a young girl’s summer of love. The wind picks up my shoulder-length hair and whips it back. It’s cool and refreshing on my face. I almost forget about my feet as they pump the pedals of my bike. I have a basket on the back and a small list of essentials, mainly perishables.

I want to throw back my head like they do in the movies and stare at the sky, but the road into the village is steep and crooked and I need to keep my eyes firmly ahead.

I feel almost pretty today. My legs are smooth and hair free in my denim shorts. For once I don’t mind the blobby birthmark on my thigh. I plan to get it covered up by a tattoo as soon as I turn eighteen anyway. The sun is warm and pleasant on my shoulders. I put Liam out of my mind and enjoy the ride.

I am hurtling down the slope toward the bridge when I spot her; an old lady in a dressing gown and what I am pretty sure are slippers, standing about half way along the bridge, smack bang in the centre. I reach the bottom of the hill and begin to lose momentum, and then I’m pedalling. I slow as I approach her and then hop off. She looks scared, confused. I walk my bike to the side of the bridge and lean it against the railings, my arm brushing the iron as I do so, and it’s as if I’ve been bitten. I move away, rubbing my skin. Yeah, metal gets hot in the sun.

The woman is watching me warily.

“Hi, um, are you okay?”

She glances behind her and then up the hill toward Learmonth House. You can’t see it from all the way down here, but she stares up as if she really can, as if she is studying it. Then, when she turns her eyes on me, they are clear and lucid.

“You one o’ them aintcha?”

I look up the hill and nod. “Um, yes. We moved in yesterday. My name is Gemma.” I step toward her, holding out my hand, but she jumps back, pretty agile for an old bird. “Okay.” I drop my hand. “I just…If you’re okay, I’m going to go now.” I turn toward my bike.

“You shouldn’t have come here, you know, should have stayed away like Henry wanted.”

“You knew my great uncle?”

“That I did. Knew him well, knew him true. You shouldn’t have come back.”

“Mum! MUM! Get back here!”

I shield my eyes from the sun and glance down the bridge to see a woman, probably a little younger then mum. She’s standing with her hands on her hips. I can’t see her expression clearly, but I can guess she’s annoyed.

The old woman sets her jaw. “Come and get me,” she says.

“I’m not playing this game, mother.”

“I know you won’t.” The old woman smiles and then she turns toward the younger woman and does a little jig on the spot.

The younger woman throws up her hands. “For pete’s sake! I have a pie in the oven!”

I really have no idea what to do at this point, this is obviously a thing between the two of them. The old woman is obviously a little strange so I jump on my bike and pedal toward the village. I figure the woman can sort her mum out. As I ride pass the younger woman she turns to look at me and, in the split second that I whizz past, I get the illusion of a huge smile, too wide, too sharp, but then she is behind me and I have nothing but the pounding of my heart.

The village is like something off a postcard, with houses that look too small and shops with visors. I love it on sight. We passed through on our way up, but I was too busy sulking to appreciate it then. There is a roundabout right in the centre of the shopping parade and a little fountain. I jump off my bike and walk it along the pavement, staring at the shops. People watch me curiously. I smile, but they look away. The atmosphere seems to shift from relaxed to wary, or maybe it’s my imagination. There aren’t many cars parked on the road, but I see a ton of bikes. I’m looking for a general store and find it pretty quick, probably because it’s got a huge ‘General Store’ sign above it, painted in bright yellow letters. There are bike stands outside the store and I wheel my bike into an empty slot before escaping into the shade. The bell above the door tinkles, setting my teeth on edge. I don’t think I’ve been in a shop with a bell system before. It’s dark inside. I blink to allow my eyes to adjust. The shelves and racks come into focus. I pull my list from my pocket and grab a wire basket before going in search of the items I need.

The store is pretty empty. I spot two other people who pay me no attention. I grab what I need and make my way to the till. There is no one behind the counter, but there’s an old-fashioned bell with a sticker saying ‘Ring for Assistance’. So I do.

A tall, grey-haired man emerges.

“Hello there. What can I do for you?”

I place the basket on the counter and smile.

“Ah, well, let’s see.” He picks up each item and then places it in a brown paper bag. “That’ll be £15.40, please.”

I don’t know if he’s showing off for my benefit, or if he always totals things up in his head, but I can’t help myself. “What if I need a receipt?”

His blue eyes twinkle and he quirks a brow. “Do you?”

I shrug. “Just wondered.”

“Well, then I would write you one.”

“Okay, good to know.” I hand him twenty quid and he gives me my change.

I am almost out the door with my bag when he speaks again.

“You up at Learmonth?”

I glance over my shoulder. “Yeah, my great uncle left the house to my mum.”

He nods. “It’s a lovely property. I hope you enjoy it.” I sense he wants to say more, but after a few seconds, when he doesn’t, I walk out the door.

I decide to walk my bike out of the village. I want to get a feel for my new home. I study the houses that I’m passing. Most are cottage-type affairs, painted various colours, but I notice the similarities. They all have a tree planted in their front lawn. I’m not an expert on trees, but I’m pretty sure it’s the same type of tree. It’s odd because unless all the residents got together and planned it, how is that possible? Another similarity is the presence of a horseshoe, either on the gate or above the doorway of the house. It’s supposed to be decorative, but once again I get the feeling that there’s more to it than that. I decide to google it later.

I get to the bridge and am relieved to see that the two women have gone. There’s a thin trail leading off to the right which I assume leads to their home. An image of razor-sharp teeth flashes through my mind, making me shudder. I’ve obviously been out in the sun way too long. I climb up onto my bike and pedal the rest of the way home, up the hill, working my muscles and working up a sweat. A nice cool shower awaits me and then some grub.

Excitement bubbles up in my chest because for the first time since I found out we were moving, I feel that I could actually like it here.

I knock on Heather’s door. Jules said to give her some space. Jules said that when Heather was ready she would come find me and ask me to play, but it’s been two days and I’m so bored. Gemma says she’ll play water fights with me in the garden after she helps mum move the furniture and get the downstairs sorted. She told me to go amuse myself.

I played cars for a while and then I did some colouring in my Spiderman book. I love Spiderman ‘cos he’s funny and cool and he can shoot webs from his hands and he saves the good guys and gets to hang upside down. Mum says she’ll get me a Spiderman costume for my birthday, which is in three weeks. I can’t wait.

I want to talk to Heather about our birthday and get all excited about it, so I pretend to forget what Jules said and go find Heather.

She doesn’t answer her door, so I push it open and go in but she’s not there.

I decide that she’s playing hide and seek with me, and Buster and I go searching. She’s not hiding very well. I find her on my third try in the smelly room. Mum says it doesn’t smell. It’s just musty. She opened the windows and stuff, but it still smells. It reminds me of the time mum gave me an apple in my pack lunch and I forgot it in my bag all half-term and when I went to pack my bag for school it was a squished and a funny colour and it smelled really bad.

The room smells like a squished apple.

Anyway, Heather is standing in the smelly room by the big wardrobe. The door is open and it blocks the side of her face. I can only see her back half.

I stand real still because she doesn’t know I’m there and she’s talking to someone.

“Why? He’s not a princess. Why does he have to play with us?”

I want to laugh at her for talking to herself, but I talk to Buster all the time and she never laughs at me. Maybe she’s found her own Buster, but then I hear another voice. I can’t understand what it is saying, but it makes me want to wee myself. I can’t help it. I make a sound and the voice stops. Heather is very still and then she steps back and turns to me with a smile.

“Hi, Danny. You want to meet my friend?”

This is bad, this is really bad, because Buster don’t talk back and I know whatever is in that cupboard is not a Buster, it’s something horrible and scary and I want to grab Heather and make her run. But I am too scared to go into the room and too scared to run.

Heather holds out her hand. She is smiling, but her eyes are angry. She doesn’t really want me to go into the room, not because she’s scared, but because she doesn’t want to share. Heather always was a bad sharer.

I shake my head.

The voice comes again and it is so horrible that it un-sticks my feet from the ground. I turn and run.

I’m doing the daughterly thing and helping sort the living room out. There is so much stuff and everything is wrapped in newspaper, bubble wrap, or both. I didn’t realise how many ornaments and knick knacks we had; that and the photos and albums. Mum and her pictures.

I unwrap a tightly wrapped item and hold it up. Ah, the emerald-green vase. It always reminds me of the Emerald City in Oz, in particular the scene in Return to Oz where the Goblin King forces Dorothy to play a game, to choose from an array of enchanted objects to free her friends. She figures out the objects that are her friends will be green. I used to imagine the vase was such an object. I’ve lost count of the times I played Dorothy, holding the vase and shouting “OZ!”

The pounding of feet down the stairs momentarily distracts me and Danny barrels in almost, knocking me off my feet. I drop the vase I’m holding and it smashes on the floor.

“Dammit, Gemma!” Mum glowers at me, but I don’t care because there’s something wrong with Danny. He’s shaking like a leaf. I pick him up and his bottom is warm and wet. I lock eyes with Jules across the room.

“What? What’s wrong, Danny?” Mum’s anger evaporates and she moves close to place a hand on his back. “Honey, you’re shaking. What happened?”

“We were playing and he got scared.” Heather’s standing in the doorway. “You dropped this, Danny.” She holds up Buster, wiggling him in the air tauntingly.

Danny buries his face further into my shoulder.

Jules takes Buster and passes it to Danny. “Danny, you want to tell me what happened?”

“I told you. We were playing and he got scared,” Heather says.

“Why don’t we let Danny speak?” There’s an edge to Jules’s voice.

I rub the back of Danny’s head. “Danny? You want to show me what scared you?”

He shakes his head vehemently.

Mum sighs in exasperation and glances about the half-finished room. She has no patience for this kind of thing.

“I’ll get Danny cleaned up.” I move past Heather, who turns to follow.

“Heather? Why don’t you stay and help us?” Jules suggests.

“But I want to make Danny feel better,” Heather says, looking up at me with her big brown eyes. I usually melt at that look, but there is something sly in those eyes, something that makes me want to push her away.

“I think Danny might need some time to get cleaned up, Hev. Go help mummy.”

Something flashes in her eyes, it looks suspiciously like anger, but I turn away, ignoring the spike of adrenaline. I hold Danny close and climb the stairs.

Danny is sitting on my bed clutching Buster.

“So, wanna tell me what scared you?”

“There was a voice.”

“Ahuh.”

“There was a voice in the wardrobe in the smelly room. Heather was talking to it.”

I can’t help it. I get a chill down my spine.

“Heather was talking to the wardrobe?”

He looks up and nods and then catches his bottom lip in his teeth. “It was talking back.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention. I recall my first day here, the giggle that I was sure I had heard coming from that same armoire.

“Did you see who she was talking to?” I feel stupid even asking this, but I have to know.

He shakes his head. “The door was open. I couldn’t see inside.”

I exhale in relief and resist the urge to laugh at myself. I don’t want Danny to think I’m making fun of him. Heather has an imaginary friend. My friend Karen has a sister who has one, she makes a croaky voice when she plays with him. He’s called Jeremy. I can understand how this may have frightened Danny, but I can’t have him having nightmares about that damn armoire. There is only one thing to do.

“Come on.” I hold out my hand and he doesn’t question. He takes it.

We pad past the staircase and down the dim corridor. I don’t know what it is about this side of the house, but is always seems darker. No wonder Danny’s imagination is working overtime. The door to the room is ajar and I push it open and lead Danny in. He resists a little, but I give him a reassuring look and he relaxes.

I can’t help it. I hesitate before grasping the handle on the armoire. It’s silly, I know, there are no such things as ghosts or monsters, but a tremor passes through me anyway. Danny is still holding my other hand and his grip tightens.

“It’s okay, sweetie. Look. One. Two. Three.” I yank open the door. There is a face staring back at me. I scream.

Danny screams.

We look at each other and we laugh.

It’s a mirror, just an old mirror stuck to the back of the armoire.

“Well, there you go,” I say.

“There you go,” Danny says.

I close the door and give him a squeeze. “Come on, let’s play in the garden.”

We leave the room, closing the door firmly behind us.