Winterbringers (2 page)

It was a saying everyone knew. There was always shelter near Pitmillie. The worst weather always seemed to pass round it. There was an old legend that said there was a way into the Kingdom of Summer nearby, and a little of the endless summer
was always leaking out, like honey from a comb; so when three years in a row the summers were bad and the harvest was poor and people went hungry in the winter, Beatrix began to think.

“What if we could find our way in?” she said one afternoon last spring, when we were drawing water together. “If we could bring back SOMETHING, just a wee bit of something from the Kingdom, don’t you think it would make the weather better here, help the crops and the beasts?”

“And how would we find our way in?” I asked.

She frowned. “I don’t know. I’m thinking on it.”
And that was how we the three of us came to cast the spell on Midsummer Night, when it hardly got dark at all and the new moon was like a nail-paring in the sky. Janet and Beatrix had had their heads together about it for weeks, deciding how best to try to find the way in.

They made a tiny boat of birch bark, that could sit in the palm of your hand. They painted an eye on the prow, so that it would find its way, then we each pricked our thumbs with the tip of Janet’s knife and let a drop of blood fall into the boat so that it would know us.

Beatrix had a long coil of white silk thread. She tied one end to the boat and the other to a trailing branch, so the boat would find its way home, then set it down on the water of the tiny stream that flowed through Pitmillie.

She’d known at once when she saw him white-faced among the potatoes that he wasn’t local.

She hadn’t been able to resist poking fun at him gently as he’d tried to cover up how scared he was of Luath. She didn’t tell him, as she should have, that lots of people were a bit cautious with him because of his size, pretending complete surprise at his reaction instead.

He had longish brown hair that curled a bit at the ends, and weirdly pale brown eyes. He kept pushing his hair out of his eyes as he talked to her.

The shopping list had given her a chance to make up for being spiky with him, and she’d watched him from her window all the way along the road as he went back to the holiday cottages.

“You were a long time,” said Anna.

Josh rolled his eyes. “The shop hardly had anything, then some enormous dog jumped out at me and the mad girl who owned it invited me into her grandfather’s garden and gave me all this.” He held out the second bag he was carrying.

She took it, baffled, and unpacked tomatoes, a cucumber, two red peppers, a bulb of garlic with the withered green top still attached, and a jar of honey.

“I didn’t know that was in there. They grew all the rest. Do
you think they made this?”

“I shouldn’t think so. Did you pay them? Tell me properly who they are.”

He explained over their unexpectedly lavish lunch.

They went into St Andrews in the afternoon, to have a look round and do a big shopping. Apart from the supermarket, his mother dragged him to a butcher’s shop in Market Street to buy haggis, although he protested that he didn’t like it, and to Fisher and Donaldson’s cake shop. He didn’t protest about that; in fact, the only problem he had with it was what to choose. Really, what he wanted was one of everything.

“It’s just the same as when I was a student,” said Anna, almost drooling.

Eventually, they each decided to have a fudge doughnut and a ridiculously creamy cake called a Devon Slice. Josh was all for eating them there and then, but Anna wouldn’t let him.

“You have to earn it first,” she said, with an evil smile, and dragged him off to play putting on an unbelievably hilly course that she said was called the Himalayas, before heading back to Pitmillie.

Josh had pointed out Callie’s house as they drove into town. Now, halfway through his fudge doughnut, he was surprised as his mother slowed the car and parked outside.

“Why are you stopping?”

“I just want to say thank you for all that stuff.”

“I already did that.”

“I know, but I’d like to say thanks as well. Are you coming, or do you want to stay in the car?”

Josh swallowed the last of the doughnut and got out of the car with a sigh to follow his mother.

They went in by the front gate of the garden this time. Josh was not reassured to see a “Beware of the Dog” sign, but his mother paid it no attention, went up the path to the front
door and rang the bell.

Josh had only seen the back of the house that morning. The front was like a child’s drawing, all symmetrical four-paned windows and a central door. There was a deep pink rose climbing up the wall, and carved into the lintel above the front door was the date 1672. On the door itself was a sign that said ‘The Smithy.’

There was a sound of footsteps inside the house in response to the bell and the front door was opened by a woman Josh had never seen before, but who he guessed must be Callie’s grandmother. She had grey hair done up in a knot at the back of her head and bright, brown eyes. Looking at her, Anna thought she had one of those faces that would still look lovely in extreme old age, with clear skin and wonderful bones.

“Yes, can I help you?” she said, looking at them quizzically.

“I just came to say thank you. It was very kind of you to give my son the vegetables and honey this morning.”

Comprehension dawned in the woman’s eyes. “Ah, Josh and his mother, you must be. You’re more than welcome; we’ve always got more than we can eat. It’s good to be able to get rid of some of it.

“I’d call Callie, Josh, but I’m afraid she’s out with George and the dog.”

“Oh yes,” said his mum. “I heard about this huge dog.”

Josh cringed.

“He is big – a bit daunting if you don’t know him. He’s a Scottish Deerhound; we’ve kept them for years. Clever dogs, amazing vision. There’s an old legend about them you know: that their eyesight’s so keen they can see the wind.” She seemed to fall into a reverie for a few seconds, then roused herself. “Why don’t you come for lunch tomorrow? You
can meet the dog properly and see where we grow the fruit and veg. It would be nice to have the company – especially for Callie. Don’t ever say I said this but I think she gets a bit lonely for company her own age with just us old fogeys around.”

Oh no
, thought Josh.
Just say no, mum. Come on.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to say no. I’m up here to work – trying to meet a deadline for a book I’m working on – and if I start doing enjoyable things I’ll never get it done.”

Nice one mum.

“I’m sure Josh would love to come though.”
What?
“I’m sure he’ll be bored hanging around all the time on his own.”
Nooooo!
“You’d like to come, wouldn’t you Josh?”

He made some sort of
Urk
noise, which his mother decided meant, yes, I’d love to, and before he could do anything about it, he’d been well and truly
lunched
.

Back in the car, he turned on his mother. “Why on earth did you say I’d go? I don’t want to have lunch with a mad girl and a couple of pensioners.”

“First, it was very good of Mrs Ferguson to ask. Second, they were kind to you this morning, and if their granddaughter
is
lonely, it would be kind to go. Third, it gets you out from under my feet for another couple of hours.”

“Charming. I don’t know why you didn’t just leave me at home with a week’s supply of microwave pizza.”

She didn’t rise to it.

It was raining again the next day, but at least it was a bit warmer. Josh swam again in the morning and hoped his mother had forgotten about his unwanted lunch appointment, but at twelve thirty, she said,

“You’d better get ready soon.”

He sighed, defeated, and went to get ready with the minimum possible effort.

Callie opened the door with a scowl on her face and her hand on Luath’s collar. She looked as pleased to see him as he was to see her.

“This wasn’t my idea,” she said.

“Nor mine.”

“Come in.” She pulled the dog out of the way, just enough to let him squeeze past.

Don’t react
, he thought.
She’s doing it on purpose to try and
make you panic
. He managed to stroke the dog’s huge grey head briefly as he passed.

“Outside, Luath.” She pushed the dog into the garden and shut the front door behind him.

Josh followed her through into a kitchen with a big wooden table in the middle. Pots were bubbling on the cooker and Rose Ferguson was slicing tomatoes.

“Hello Josh. It’s very good of you to give up your time to join us.”

“Thank you for the invitation,” he said.

A silence developed awkwardly. Rose seemed quite unaware of it, or at least, unwilling to break it.

“Do you want a drink?” Callie said at last, and Josh thought he saw the corner of Rose’s mouth twitch.

“Not just now, thanks.”

“Callie, lunch will be another fifteen minutes. Take Josh across and show him round and bring your grandfather back with you.”

“Okay. Come on Josh.”

It would have been hard for her to sound less enthusiastic, but she led him out of the kitchen, stopping in the porch to pull on an ancient pair of trainers.

To his surprise they went out of the garden and across the road. About fifty metres ahead there was a white-painted door in the high wall that bordered the pavement. Callie shoved it open with her shoulder and Josh found himself in another garden.

This one was quite different from the one around the house. It was filled with straight rows of plants – vegetables, Josh supposed, though he had only a hazy idea of what most of them were.

Callie rattled off a list as they went past, but he didn’t take much of it in. They came to a sort of tunnel made of metal hoops and thick polythene. “The interesting stuff’s in here,” Callie said, forgetting to sound bored.

Inside, she pointed out sweetcorn, a lemon tree, a grape vine, peaches – even a fig tree.

“I didn’t think you could grow any of that stuff in Britain,” said Josh, gently stroking a small, furry peach.

“You couldn’t in most places, but we get better weather than most places. You still couldn’t do it without the polytunnel though. Come on, I’ll show you the rest.”

The garden was packed with edible plants. Apple trees were trained against the walls. There was a walk-in cage of netting to protect the raspberries and strawberries that grew inside. Against one wall were two beehives, something that Josh had never seen in his life.

He edged cautiously closer, watching the bees come and go. “This is where that jar of honey you gave us came from?”

“Yes. A few people round here used to keep them, but these are the last hives in the village. The weather killed the rest of them, I suppose.”

The farthest end of the garden was fenced off, and behind the fence a dozen black chickens wandered among another set of apple trees, pecking for insects.

“And this is where the cider comes from,” said Callie, “and the eggs, obviously.”

George was in there too, nailing a piece of wood onto the hen house.

“Lunch is nearly ready, George. Rose said to bring you back.”

“All right,” he called.

“Do you always call them by their names?” Josh asked.

“Of course. That’s what they’re called.”

“I mean, you don’t call them grandma or …”

“No, I never have. They’ve always been George and Rose.”

Since she was being relatively friendly, he asked the question that had been puzzling him. “Do you live with them all the time?”

Callie waited for him to step out of the garden onto the pavement, then pulled the door shut behind him. “No. My parents are doctors. They usually work in the hospital in Dundee, but they’re in Ghana for six months doing voluntary work on an immunization project, so I’m staying with George and Rose while they’re away. We live in the village anyway, so it’s not very different from usual, except that they aren’t here.” Her voice had gone a little bleak as she spoke.

“What about you?” she asked

He shrugged. “Nothing to tell. My mum and me live in Edinburgh. She writes books on architecture; churches, mostly.”

“No dad?”

He shook his head. “He’s never been around.”

“Do you mind?”

“Not really. I’m used to it being just mum and me.”

They went back into the house, the ice between them thawing now.

“I thought you were bringing George back with you?” said Rose accusingly.

“He’s just coming.”

Everything they ate for lunch seemed to be home made: crab tart, salad and bread – even the ice cream that went with the strawberries. Josh couldn’t remember eating a meal where everything tasted so good.

When they’d finished, George said, “Do you think your mum’s in a hurry to get you back, or do you want to come for a walk down at Fife Ness with us?”

“She won’t mind. What’s Fife Ness?”

“Just a beach,” said Callie.

“Not
just
a beach,” corrected George. “The easternmost point in Fife. You get some good birds there.”

“He’s a birdwatcher,” explained Callie. “Never goes anywhere without his binoculars.”

George smiled. “Well, you never know what you might miss if you don’t have them on you. Right, we’ll just clear up, then we’ll go.”

They went in the car to Fife Ness, bouncing over the potholes for the last mile of unkempt road, past an abandoned World War Two aerodrome.

George went off on his own among the scrub and bushes, his binoculars ready round his neck. Callie and Josh made their way down to the beach, talking about their respective homes and schools.

She went to school in St Andrews, travelling in by bus every morning.

“Are there other people from the village who go there?”

Callie screwed her face up. “Yeah, but we don’t exactly
get on. They think I’m weird because I’m not into clothes and makeup and music and boys, and I think they’re stupid because they are.”

She probably didn’t hesitate to tell them either, thought Josh. Just then, rain came without warning, rushing in from the east on a blustery wind. They were soaked in seconds.

“Come on, this way,” yelled Callie over the drumming of raindrops. “I know where we can shelter.”

They ran pell-mell, jumping boulders and piles of seaweed, trying not to slip on the treacherous slabs of rock. Josh was going so fast he missed the moment when Callie turned off the beach.

“In here, Josh!”

He slid to a halt and looked round to see Callie disappearing inside an opening in the rock face just behind the beach. He doubled back and followed her in, and for a moment they stood just inside, looking out at the rain and catching their breath, then Callie raked in her pocket and produced a tiny torch. She fumbled with the switch for a few seconds before she got it to work.

“Come on. Have a look round since we’re in here.”

She swept the beam of the torch around. The light from the entrance reached about five metres in, but the torchlight showed that the cave went further back than that.

She shone the torch at some vague circular shapes on the floor near the front of the cave.

“What’s that?”

“George says it’s a forge from the Iron Age, where they used to melt the iron out of the ore.”

Josh whistled. “How old does that make it?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Two thousand years? Three thousand? George can tell you all about it if you really want to know. He’s got a bit of a thing about blacksmiths. I suppose it comes
from living in a smithy.”

“Come again?”