The Red Judge (7 page)

Inside the church, the chanting ended and another carol started up. I crept away, knowing that I couldn't join in. The sun was still shining in a sky still dazzling blue, but it didn't feel like a beautiful morning any more. A chasm had opened up between myself and everybody else. I'd thought I had come home, but I'd got it wrong. Because of what I'd done, I
had
no home.

At the church lych-gate, I broke into a trot. I had no idea where I would end up, but couldn't get out of the village quickly enough. I started up the Plynlimon pass road, trying to put as much distance as possible between myself and the sound of good Welsh hymn singing. It was a stupid thing to do – not least because I wasn't dressed for going anywhere. My coat was thin. My trainers were useless in the snow. I didn't have a hat or scarf or even any gloves.

But nothing could have persuaded me to turn back. I passed the cottages above the Bluebell Inn, and the village fell behind me. The last cottage disappeared from sight, hidden by a sweep of trees, and the mountain stood ahead. I knew that it was treacherous, even at the best of times. People went up there and never came back – I knew that as well as anyone.

But I ploughed on all the same, following what I thought was the road, until it dawned on me that I was lost. I couldn't possibly be on the pass road, I decided, but was on one of the mountain tracks that
cut up between Forestry Commission land. By now, the shape of the valley had changed drastically and I couldn't pick out a single landmark. What should I do? I asked myself. Press on through the snow, hoping to reach the next village over the mountain? Look for a barn to shelter in? Turn round, and try to find my way back?

I cursed myself for my stupidity. What had I been playing at? Plynlimon was no mountain to mess around on. It was completely unpredictable, as anybody with sense knew. The sun could shine on it one minute, and it could be shrouded in the deepest and most treacherous mist the next.

In the end, unable to decide what else to do, I carried on. Trees surrounded me until I couldn't see the valley any more. Fingers of mist started weaving their way towards me, and I was beginning to panic when I suddenly saw a gate with a house set back behind it.

It was a long, low, half-timbered house that had obviously seen happier days. Some of its windowpanes were broken, and I couldn't see a light in any of them. But I
could
see smoke rising from a single, tall chimney pot. The smoke of hearth and home – or so I hoped.

I hauled myself over the gate, and made my way towards the house, trudging up a snowy drive. As I drew level with the stable block I saw a couple of abandoned cars and a battered-looking old bus decorated with the slogans ‘
WONDER OF ALL WONDERS'
and
‘THE AMAZING DR KATTERFELTO'
.

As soon as I saw the words, I realised where I was. I
didn't know ‘the amazing Dr Katterfelto' personally but, like everybody else, I knew that he lived at Clockvine House, halfway up Plynlimon Mountain. Down in the village he was the source of endless speculation. He was a Doctor of Conjuring, internationally famous, living with his daughter, Gilda, who worked as his assistant.

The village was full of gossip about them both, but nobody knew anything for a fact. Sometimes you'd catch a glimpse of light between the trees of Clockvine Wood, but, for months at a time, they would be dark because the Katterfeltos were away on tour in their battered old bus.

I only saw it once, but it stuck in my memory because it happened just before Grace died. We'd been returning home from the Black Lion Hotel, and the bus came tearing past us, driven by Dr Katterfelto in his black four-cornered conjuror's hat and cloak, Gilda by his side, wearing a green silk costume.

The moon had caught them both as they shot past – caught their eyes and made them glint like silver. Then they'd been gone, carrying on up the pass road, leaving a distinct impression of something strange having passed our way.

The word about the village – depending on whether you drank in the Bluebell Inn or the Black Lion Hotel – was that the Katterfeltos were either eccentric millionaires who conjured for a hobby, or were living in destitution without even electricity. Either showmen or reclusives, father and daughter or lovers, Prussian aristocracy or as Welsh as anybody else, having taken on a fancy stage name in their desire to impress.

And now I had the chance to find out for myself! I
hammered on the front door, knowing that I was done for if I couldn't make them hear.

Please God, I thought, raising the knocker. Please let them answer. Please may they be in. Please, oh please!

A cat miaowed inside the house, but that was all. I knocked again, and then again, and was about to give up and go round the back when a voice came towards me from what felt like a great distance.

‘
All right, all right!
' it called. ‘I'm coming. Don't be so impatient.'

I heard footsteps behind the door, and suddenly it flew open to reveal a man with sandy-coloured hair, a holey sweater with dandruff on its shoulders, baggy trousers and Winnie the Pooh slippers. We stared at each other. It was hard to recognise him as Dr Katterfelto, but that was who he was. I tried to speak, but didn't need to.

‘Good grief!' the man said, in a voice that could have been Prussian, like some people said, or it could have been Welsh – or anything else. ‘Look at the state of you! What are you doing out there on my drive? Don't just stand there like that, boy – come inside, or you'll freeze to death!'

My first thought, upon entering Clockvine House, was that I'd made a terrible mistake. I might have been freezing cold and half dead, but it had always been drummed into me that I should never go anywhere with people I didn't know. Not only that, but the inside of the house was almost as dark and inhospitable as the mountain upon which it had been built. By the time I'd got to the end of the long hall, I could hardly see my way back to the front door.

I began to feel sick and slightly panicky. The place had a musty, cold smell about it, and I was just beginning to think that the local gossipmongers had been right about it lacking electricity, when a door opened and a voice said, ‘Really, Pa. What are you doing, stumbling around in the dark? You'll trip over the carpet if you're not careful.'

A light went on, and there stood Gilda Katterfelto. Her eyes were like bright emeralds and her hair was dark. Her father explained about finding me on the doorstep and sent her upstairs to fetch warm clothes. I
changed straight into them, a baggy sweater, jogging bottoms, slippers and thick socks, then allowed myself to be led into their sitting room, where a fire was burning.

‘Sit down,' Dr Katterfelto said. ‘What's your name? Zed? Well, Zed, pull up a chair and get warmed up.'

I did as I was bidden, and immediately began to feel better. The Katterfeltos might be strangers, but they couldn't be kinder. Gilda disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a trolley laden with tea and a cake. It was as if I was an honoured guest. Her father poured the tea while she sliced the cake with a silver knife.

‘I hope you're hungry,' she said. ‘Help yourself.'

I didn't need to be asked twice. Suddenly my being here didn't feel like a mistake. I piled my plate high, then emptied it, then did the same again, and then again. Before too long my life began to take on a distinct glow. Gilda sat at my elbow, wielding the cake knife, while Dr Katterfelto topped me up with tea and filled my awkward silences with tales about his show-business life.

He was a brilliant storyteller, full of tales he couldn't possibly have made up because, on every wall, I could see the photographs that proved him right. I looked at a pop legend from the sixties, proud to shake the doctor's hand. A famous violinist. A late-night newsreader. A politician. Even a minor royal.

‘Before you ask,' said Dr Katterfelto, following my eyes, ‘I've met them all. Kings and princes, lords and ladies – you name them and I've performed for them. I've put on shows in palaces, and I've put them on in village halls. High and low – it makes no difference.
And I'll put on one for you. Test-drive my latest tricks on you – if you'd like me to, that is.'

My plate was empty by this time, and so was my cup. Gilda nodded at the cake, but I shook my head. She wheeled the trolley out of the way, and I said that I would love to see the doctor's new tricks. At this, he rose to his feet.

‘Shall we go, then?' he said.

I was more than willing. The three of us set off through the house, down yet more long, dark corridors, through a pair of glazed double doors, and into an elegant old conservatory. Its great expanse of glass revealed a sky full of stars, and I realised for the first time that night had fallen. Dr Katterfelto pulled up a cane chair between a pair of potted palms, and told me to make myself comfortable. Then he and Gilda made their way down the conservatory to a makeshift stage full of props.

‘Just give us a minute while we put on our costumes,' he called, as he climbed on to the stage.

Gilda climbed up after him. As she picked her way between their props, she pulled on her green silk costume and matching cap, tucking her hair up into it. The doctor started getting dressed up too, pulling on white gloves, a black cloak and a black, four-cornered hat until, finally, he stood centre-stage, utterly transformed.

It was as if a piece of magic had already taken place. Gilda was transformed as well. She didn't look like a young girl any more, but a woman of dark mystery. And Dr Katterfelto didn't look shabby. There wasn't even a hint of dandruff on his shoulders and he definitely didn't look like the sort of man who'd wear
Winnie the Pooh slippers. Instead he stood tall – a Doctor of Conjuring, and the undisputed master of Clockvine House conservatory, not to say anything of village halls and palaces!

I found myself clapping. He hadn't done a trick yet, and I was already impressed. Gilda smiled and bowed, turning towards her father who cried out in a whole, new, ringing voice: ‘Wonders! Wonders! Wonders! I will show you wonders! Greater wonders, my friend Zed, than you will ever see in your whole life!'

And I believed him. How could I not? The show hadn't even begun, and already I was on the edge of my seat! Dr Katterfelto threw back his cloak and, in his hands, he held a long golden hunting horn. He raised it to his lips and blew, and immediately the tall palms on either side of me started rustling like trees in a forest when a storm's on the way.

‘Let the wonders commence!' Dr Katterfelto cried, and suddenly the air was alive with circles of light. They looked like silver moons between the palms. I watched them rise up the conservatory, casting shadows outside in the snowy garden. One by one, they reached the top of the glass and started fluttering down again like white-frocked ballerinas doing pirouettes.

I stared at them in astonishment. I didn't know where they'd come from, nor what had brought them into being. All I knew was that they were beautiful. As I watched, they formed themselves into an arc over the stage. Then patterns appeared on each of them, moving and shuffling across their surfaces like the shapes in a kaleidoscope. One circle filled with dancing snowflakes. Another filled with dark, winged
birds. Another filled with floating clouds. Another filled with flowers opening out into exotic shapes.

Then Dr Katterfelto clapped his hands, and the circles disappeared like lights going out. But the moving shapes remained. Not only that, but they came to life! Suddenly clouds were drifting between the palms, and flowers bursting out all around the conservatory. Snow was falling on my face, and birds were flying everywhere. I felt their wings stir the air above my head. For a moment, they were
that
real. And then they disappeared as well, and the conservatory was plunged into darkness.

I clapped until my hands stung. ‘You think
that
was a wonder?' Dr Katterfelto cried out, taking centre stage again. ‘Well, what do you think of
this
?'

He threw back his black conjuror's cloak. Gilda came and stood in front of him, pressed her cheek against his chest and stood perfectly still while he wrapped his cloak around her until all that could be seen were her head and feet. Then Dr Katterfelto cried out, ‘Wonders! Wonders! Wonders!' and, at the first ‘Wonder', Gilda's feet disappeared, at the second, her head disappeared, and at the third, the rest of her went too.

Dr Katterfelto threw back his cloak and Gilda had gone. All that remained – tucked into the crook of his arm – was a small, black cat with emerald eyes. Dr Katterfelto lifted it up, and I clapped and clapped. I didn't really believe that the doctor had turned Gilda into a cat, but, before I could work out what else he'd done with her, he started on his next trick.

It was even better than the last. Dr Katterfelto ran his hand down the cat and its body started slowly
vanishing. It happened right before my eyes – no cloak to hide behind this time, no mirrors, tricks or sleight-of-hand that I could see. Finally everything vanished, except for the cat's tail that hung, disembodied, in the air. Then Dr Katterfelto ran a single, white-gloved finger down the tail and – with a little fizz of blue light – that vanished too!

I stared in unbelief, too astonished even to clap. But Dr Katterfelto hadn't finished with me yet. From his pocket he produced a small biscuit wrapped in tissue paper. He unwrapped the biscuit, which he gave to me, but retained its paper, which he lit with a match and then let go. It rose to the top of the conservatory, burning all the way like a bright star, then slowly fell back down again until Dr Katterfelto caught it in his cupped hands.

By this time, it was nothing but a skeletal piece of grey ash. Dr Katterfelto held it up for me to see, and there in his palm – I swear this, honestly – was a miniature Gilda! A tiny model of her, perfect in every detail, except that it was made of ash. And then the doctor clapped his hands and the ash turned into a poof of smoke –
and Gilda was back!