Jemima leaves, a triumphant expression on her face. Dorcas is straight out after her.
I go outside. There are pages scattered across the garden. The cover has landed near the brook. The birds circle the ladder as I climb down on legs of blancmange.
I’m OK. Go away now.
I can vaguely hear Dorcas and Jemima arguing in the road but I just need to get the pages back so I don’t pay them much attention. I grab one before Duran Duran starts munching on it. Unhook some from the thorns of the roses. Rescue them from the wild flowerbeds. One is a little damaged from the fountain.
My mum’s drawings. I put them back in order and hold them close to my heart in a hug.
12
For once I leave quickly for school. Mae and Jules are arguing in the kitchen. The plants are dying, even though they have been moved into the shade. Mae is taking it out on Jules. Her business depends on the flowers. She’s even put the wi-fi on to sort out her orders. I quickly use my phone to check for messages from Dad. I send him one back to let him know I’m OK and that I miss him. I don’t tell him that I love him because he’ll think that something’s wrong. I give the phone back to Mae without arguing. Jules is trying to calm her down but, like everyone else in this heat, she is burnt at the edges with anger.
I slept well for the first time in forever because of absolute exhaustion, I think. I might have walked somewhere in my sleep and not remembered it, but there are no new scratches or bruises on me, and my pyjamas have no dirty patches or tears.
‘Bye,’ I yell from the hallway. I’d rather skip breakfast than talk about how Mae’s handmade soaps are sweating or how claggy her homemade toothpastes are getting. I am not responsible for everything and I have bigger fish to fry.
When I get to school, the yard is strangely silent. I’m ready for a run-in with Jemima and almost disappointed not to get it over with. Some of my class are sitting in the shade but most of them must have already gone inside.
‘Wilde. Wait up.’
It’s Lewis. His shirt is grubby and his shoes are worse for wear. I feel sad for him. He’s such a nice boy.
‘Hi, Lewis. How’s it going?’
‘Good, ta. I’ve been swimming this morning. Wanted to stay there all day but they’d send me home from school tomorrow if they found out I’d bunked off today and I don’t want to lose my part in the play.’
‘Because of the axe?’
‘Exactly.’
I’m so jealous of the swimming.
‘Still, at least if I got sent home I could go swimming again.’
Where there’s Lewis, there’s logic.
‘Did you go to the waterfall?’
‘Yup. It’s freezing. Makes you get ice-cream head, you know?’
I do know. I got it when I went surfing off Caswell Bay. It’s not much fun in reality but in this heat it seems like a glorious memory. ‘I haven’t been there yet.’
‘Seriously. You have to go. It’s stupendous.’
We move as slowly as we can to the hall for rehearsals. If we were walking backwards, we’d probably get there faster. Lewis sees the axe prop and practically leaps across the room to try it out on one of the boys’ arms.
The class is thin on the ground. Dorcas is here already, holding a cauldron and a big wooden spoon. She puts it down when she sees me and comes straight over.
‘Are you OK? I gave Jemima such a mouthful yesterday. I was going to come back, but my mam grabbed me and made me go shopping with her.’
The boy Lewis is pretending to strike with an axe takes his arm away at the last second and Lewis stumbles and brings the blade down with a thud on his own foot. ‘Argh!’ Though it’s only made of wood it must really hurt because his head becomes a beetroot. I want to help him, but Gwyneth comes in and grabs all the attention as per always.
‘Focus in, guys. I said, focus in.’ She clicks her fingers and we straggle towards her and sit on the floor. She runs through notes for the play. I look around at my classmates. Lewis, whose heart is gold and head is bright red. Dorcas, the best friend I have ever had. Branwen, who I don’t know well yet but seems alright. The boy who was being axed, Cai – that’s it. Susan, red-eyed as always. Holly. No Ivy. No Jemima. All the others look tired. These curses have really taken it out of us and, I’ve just realised, have only been aimed at people in this class. I give Gwyneth a dirty look.
Dorcas leans over and whispers to me. ‘She is loving every minute of this.’
Gwyneth glares in our direction, then starts. ‘Our motivation is to bring a mirror to life. The curses are real. Winter is real. We are all going to die terrible, terrible deaths and it is all Winter’s fault. That’s what we want to say to our audience. With the amount of energy you lot are putting into your characters, you wouldn’t be able to act your way out of a paper bag. We want people to be afraid of the ancient curse. To be unable to sleep at night. To clutch at their hearts as the sun goes down and breathe a sigh of relief when…’
She’s interrupted by the receptionist banging on the glass. She tells us to sit and contemplate our acting. We all start chatting as soon as she’s gone. Dorcas leans in close.
‘Do you still think it’s her?’
I nod. It’s the only explanation. We watch her like hawks as she chats to the receptionist, who is flicking through his Witch Point folder.
‘How does she know so much about us?’
‘Well, he has access to all our records, and they look pretty buddy, buddy to me.’
‘You’re right.’
As we watch, Jemima appears and talks to them. She comes into the classroom. She sits quietly next to Holly. I don’t know where Ivy is. Jemima seems curiously subdued. I expected her to be gloating and proud. I look around my classmates. Everyone looks tired and miserable. What’s happened to us?
Gwyneth comes back in, wailing as if in agony. Whatever this is, it’s going to be bad.
‘I have a terrible announcement.’ She sits heavily and lets us wait, enjoying the drama. ‘Prepare yourselves for grave news.’
We take a collective breath in.
‘Ivy has been taken ill.’
Holly fidgets.
‘She is not well enough to perform in the play. As we are so close to performance, we will have to make rash casting decisions.’
I see Jemima sit up straight, a hopeful expression on her face.
‘I will now play the role of Winter myself.’ Gwyneth plays the martyr, pretending she’s doing it for us and not for herself.
Silence.
‘What’s wrong with Ivy, Miss?’ Lewis is so kind about everyone. He is genuinely concerned.
‘She has some kind of inexplicable bug. Sickness. Diarrhoea.’
We all squirm. No one wants other kids to know that they have diarrhoea.
‘I think the curse may be upon her.’
No.
‘I’m afraid I shall have to take over the role of Winter!’
Double no.
My hand flies up. ‘Miss, Jemima could play the part.’
Whatever I think of Jemima, that’s what should happen. I watch Gwyneth. She acts as if she is considering this casting, scratches her chin, folds her arms, muses. She is not a good actor at all.
‘No, no. I fear it would be too much to put upon her.’
‘It wouldn’t, Miss. I could do it,’ Jemima begs.
‘No, no. I think it’s best if I take on the burden.’ Gwyneth adopts a pseudo-brave expression and I loathe her. ‘It will no doubt bring in a crowd. I have quite the following on social media. I shall need to spend some time learning the lines, so you must all go to your various groups and lead yourselves today. We shall fit it all together this afternoon. Fear not, I will not let you down. Once a professional, always a star!’
She flounces outside.
‘What’s really wrong with Ivy?’ Cai asks Holly. We all listen in, some of us pretending not to.
‘I don’t know. She’s like vomming everywhere. I took her curse note out of the bin at home and
it said that being the lead had gone to her head and sickness would bring her back down to earth. I think the fear has gotten to her.’
I take Dorcas to the opposite wall. ‘Convinced it’s Gwyneth yet?’
She gives a low whistle.
‘We are going to catch her. I’m not sure how yet, but we are.’
‘It’s not fair that she’s going to play the lead role. We’ll be a laughing stock.’
I pretend to string up a noose in my role as hangman and watch Gwyneth take an overly dramatic bow to an invisible audience. She planned this all along. I just know it.
Lots of the class are whispering. We are all under suspicion, but no one is pointing at Gwyneth. Branwen and Susan are pointing at me. They turn away when I glare in their direction. Rachel and Manon point at Jemima then shake their heads and assess me too. Lewis is pointing at a splatter of sick on his trousers. No one is talking about the real culprit, who is starting to sign imaginary autographs for imaginary fans.
Birds pattern the sky beyond her, but I will them away. I’m going to catch this woman myself and when I do there’ll be hell to pay.
13
It’s getting dark finally. I really need to sleep, but it’s so weird having Dorcas here staring at me.
‘Sniff this.’ She shoves a bunch of lavender in my face. A sprig goes up my nose.
‘Ow, you idiot.’
‘It’s meant to be therapeutic.’
‘Not when you stab me up my nostril, it isn’t.’
‘Sorry.’ She yawns. This isn’t going to work if she falls asleep too. Seeing my worry, she slaps her cheeks to rouse herself. Poor Dorcas. She hasn’t been sleeping well either. ‘I’m here. Present. On watch. I. Will.’ Slap. ‘Not.’ Slap. ‘Fall.’ Slap. ‘Asleep.’ Slap, slap.
‘Good.’
‘You, however, can feel free to sleep at any time now.’ She is sitting in a chair right next to me. ‘Seriously. Any time you like.’
‘Perhaps if you move away a bit.’
‘Oh yeah. Of course.’ She moves the chair to the other side of the room and stares at me.
This is such a ridiculous plan, but Dorcas will guide me back to the bed if I start to sleepwalk. We know it’s dangerous to wake up someone who is sleepwalking, but I reckon it’s more dangerous to let them climb on a roof, so I’ll take my chances.
‘Wilde, you have to actually close your eyes to go to sleep. Count sheep or something. I don’t know. Put a pillow over your head.’
‘It’s too hot. I’d die of asphyxiation.’
‘Good word.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Now stop saying words and…’
‘I know. I know. I’m trying.’
‘Try harder.’
I close my eyes and Gwyneth appears immediately. She jigs about in a Halloween witch’s costume then puts a pumpkin on her head as a helmet and rides off on a broomstick with a banner advertising the show trailing behind her. I’m sure it’s her writing the curses. I’m sure that we can catch her.
‘Stop thinking about wreaking revenge on Gwyneth and go to sleep.’
Dorcas knows me better than almost anyone else already.
I open my eyes enough to see Dorcas. She’s messaging someone on her phone. I wonder who it is?
Could it be Dorcas writing the curses? No. I tell myself off. I turn away.
I’ll count sheep. One, two, three. I try to make them turn uphill, but they won’t. Stubborn sheep. The owls land and scratch the roof above with their talons. I imagine Mrs Danvers licking her lips as she looks at them. I’ll count birds instead. I’ve always liked them. Nice friendly birds. I think of them gathering, following me, swooping down to peck at people. Not helping me sleep at all.
I sit up.
‘I can’t talk to you right now.’ Dorcas puts her palm towards me and carries on messaging. I grab the water spray I’ve brought up and soak my sheets. Dorcas’s lit-up face rolls its eyes then pointedly ignores me. I lie back down.
The water is soothing. I think of swimming. The wriggles of light on the yellow walls of my room in our flat by the sea. Dad and me out on a boat. The waves gently rocking us, just me and him. Magical glints of white against lifts of azure blue. It’s just us two and the ocean. Just us and the dreaming, drifting, endless rolling blues.
‘Argh!’ I fall. I wake with a bump. It takes me a second to get my bearings.
It’s fine. It’s good. I’m in my room. I’m on the floor by the witch window, but I’m inside. It’s all good. It’s dark. The lamp is on the floor and there’s a strange noise coming from the other side of the room. Dorcas.
I reach for the lamp and turn it on. ‘Dorcas?’
She’s cowering on the far side of the room.
‘Dorcas. What is it?’
‘There are no facts to support this. There have been rumours, sightings even, but there’s no scientific evidence.’
I go towards her and she backs away, still muttering incoherently about there being no facts.
‘Dorcas, what is it?’
‘Somnambulism. Sleepwalking. Yes. But this. No. No facts. No facts to support.’
She’s like an android having a meltdown. ‘Dorcas, you’re scaring me.’
Mae’s voice yells up the stairs. ‘Wilde?’
Oh, for goodness sake. ‘Dorcas. It’s Mae. I’m just going to head her off. I’ll be back. Just calm down. Calm down!’ I dash out.
Mae stands at the bottom of the narrow stairs, rumpled in her nightshirt and clearly cross as well as concerned. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Sorry, Mae. We were just messing about. I was telling Dorcas a ghost story, you know that one about the girl in the green dress, and she got scared and screamed. That’s all. I promise we’ll go to sleep now.’
‘I’ll put my earplugs in. Carry on. As you were.’
She goes and I sprint back up the stairs.
Dorcas is still jabbering away to herself.
‘It’s fine. I told Mae a little lie, but she’s fine.’
Jabbering random facts is Dorcas’s way of calming down. I let her do it for a bit, but curiosity and irritation overwhelm me.
‘What are you talking about? Dorcas, tell me.’
I take the glass of water from the side of the bed. I can’t bring myself to throw it in her face, like I’ve seen people do on films, so I flick some of it at her with my fingers. On the third flick her eyes focus on me.
‘Wilde.’ She studies me so strangely.
‘Dorcas.’ I wait. I have no idea what is coming. What if she is the one writing the curses and is about to confess? I’ll forgive her. She’s my friend. If she did it there’s a good reason.
‘I don’t even know how to say this.’ Her voice wavers an entire musical scale.
‘Just spit it out, Dorcas. Whatever it is. We’ll deal with it, OK?’
‘Not this.’
‘Just tell me.’
She’s not even looking at me now. I feel so sorry for her. This is horrific. She is going to confess to being The Witch.
‘Wilde. You were…’ She hugs herself for comfort. ‘You were flying.’
‘What?’ I burst out laughing. ‘What?’ It’s the only word I have.
She still doesn’t look at me.
It’s a joke. A prank. I bet she’s filming my reaction. Her phone is clutched in her hand, but it’s not on.
‘Dorcas. I don’t get it. What’s the joke?’
‘It isn’t a joke.’ She keeps hugging herself, like her arms are some sort of protection against me.
‘Dorcas. Stop it. You’re freaking me out.’
‘You were flying, Wilde. I was looking at my phone and you were sleeping and then there was this sound, like a whoosh, and you were by the window. In the air by the window. Your feet weren’t on the floor. And I screamed and you dropped, but you were flying. You were flying.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘You were flying. There is no other explanation for what I saw. You were flyi
ng.’
I think of all the places I’ve woken up. High places.
Ridiculous.
I think of all the things that have happened to me in the past. Weird things. Dreams of flying. Birds. The stories about my mother. I know deep down that I am different. But this?
‘Did you film it? This alleged flying?’ This is a childish joke. Childish and upsetting.
‘I…’
‘Well? It’s a simple enough question, isn’t it?’
‘I was too scared.’
Dorcas was scared of me. That hurts, and it shows.
‘Shocked, I mean. I was too … shocked to…’ She uses the wall to stagger up. ‘It makes no sense.’
‘You’re right. It doesn’t.’ My voice is filled with spite, and for once, I don’t care. ‘Do you think perhaps you fell asleep, Dorcas?’ I’m leaning in at her, threatening. ‘That you might have been dreaming?’
I want to stop being this person and help her because she looks so petrified, but I can’t. I won’t have this nonsense hurled at me. I trusted her. I thought she was my friend.
‘I wasn’t dreaming, Wilde. I wasn’t. I kept playing that world-building game on my phone to make sure I stayed awake and … you were in the air. You were. In the air.’
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