by Frazer Lee
“And I’m glad you like it here,” Mike said.
It was evidently the right thing to say. Helen reached out and took his hand in hers. Just like Meggie had done, Mike thought for one guilty moment.
“You remember what I said before, about how everything will change?”
“Yeah, of course I do,” Mike said.
He felt a little uncomfortable at Helen’s intensity. Since cutting his thumb, he had just wanted to eat. To be back in the cottage with his noisy friends and to gorge himself on whatever was available, and then to get as drunk as a lord, fuck his girlfriend and pass out until the hunger to do it all over again woke him up. That was what the word ‘holiday’ meant to Mike. And he was just working out how to best articulate all of that to Helen when she pressed something into the palm of his hand. It felt like a pen, and for a crazy moment he wondered if she was gifting him with one—
Congrats on your graduation!
—but when he opened his hand and looked down at the object, he saw a flat length of white plastic, about four inches long.
“What…? What’s this?” he asked, dumbfounded.
“Turn it over and take a look,” Helen said.
Mike took the plastic object by one end, wincing as he gripped it with his bandaged thumb, and flipped it over. A little indicator halfway along the object’s shaft had a symbol on it. He peered closer and saw in the encroaching twilight that it was a thin blue line.
“I’m pregnant,” Helen said.
Mike’s head swam. The whole jetty seemed to lurch and tilt beneath him. He was about to stand up but realized if he did so he’d fall feetfirst into the cold waters of the loch. Instead he reached out behind him with his good hand for support. In his bandaged hand, the pregnancy test felt awfully heavy for a little piece of plastic. He didn’t know what to say. The shock was too great. But he had to say something.
Helen was crying now and smiling at him and speaking words he couldn’t quite hear. A maelstrom of emotions whirled inside his head, dizzying him. He leaned forward, over the water, and saw his face reflected on the dark filmy surface of the loch – an indistinct blur. A bubble broke the surface of the water, the ripples distorting his reflection until the dark slit of his mouth looked like it was screaming.
“But you have a say in this too,” Helen was saying. “Mike? Say something. Please?”
He exhaled, trying to get a grip on solid land, but the planks of the jetty creaked unreliably beneath him.
“It’s…it’s a lot to take in.”
Helen looked slightly confused. “That’s all you have to say? After what I just told you? You can open up to me, Mike. Here and now. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.…”
Mike did not feel that confessing to having zoned out again would help in any way right now. So he forced a smile and said, “I’m sorry. Just getting used to the idea, that’s all. I thought we were, you know, being careful.”
“So did I.”
“How, then?”
“I don’t know. I already told you.…”
Mike bit his lower lip, still unwilling to confess he hadn’t heard what she’d been saying before. “I know, babe. I know, I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to keep saying you’re sorry.” She paused for breath, and Mike saw her shiver as she exhaled. “I am a bit terrified, to be honest,” Helen said. “I was all set to do my master’s, but now.…”
“Pregnant women go to uni all the time,” Mike said, trying to sound upbeat. “You remember that mature student the year above us?”
“The Swedish woman?”
“Yeah. Her.”
“She dropped out, Mike.”
“Really?”
“Really. Never completed her course of studies. Awarded one of those token diplomas instead.”
“Never get a decent job with one of those.”
“Happens a lot with female students apparently. Easier for you bloody blokes.” Helen sighed. “As per usual.”
Mike reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out his stash tin and the cardboard packet of rolling papers. He started building himself a smoke.
“You’ll have to pack those in, you know. If you’re going to be a baby daddy.”
Mike tried to stop himself wincing and failed. He could feel his brow furrowing and conspiring against him, betraying his worry. He licked at the strip of adhesive on the rolling paper, but his tongue was too dry. Feeling his hands trembling, he took a breath.
“You don’t have to…have it, you know. There are alternatives.” The words escaped his lips before he could think twice about saying them.
Helen blanched and averted her eyes from his, looking out across the water. The evening breeze tugged at her hair, tousling it across her face and obscuring her emotions from Mike. When she brushed her hair away, he saw that she had tears in her eyes again.
“Is that what you’d prefer – for me to have an abortion? To kill our child?”
“No, I mean.…” Mike paused and tried to seal the rolling paper again.
Miraculously, he managed to muster enough saliva to close the weed inside the roll-up. He fumbled in his pocket for his lighter, the bandage on his thumb making it into more of a struggle. He stopped and fumbled for the right words to say instead.
“I mean, it’s your body, so it’s got to be your decision ultimately. And I want you to know that I’d respect whatever you decided.”
“So, you don’t have strong feelings either way?” Helen sounded hurt now.
Great, he had only succeeded in making things worse.
“I’m trying to—”
“To what? Pass the buck?”
“No, not that. Honestly not that. I’m trying to tell you that I love you, no matter what happens, no matter what you…I mean what we decide.”
“What we decide. Yes, that’s it,” Helen murmured, and he could hear the strain in her voice. She leaned into him for a hug. “We’ll be okay, won’t we?”
“’Course we will,” Mike said. “I’m not sure what your parents will think, though.”
“Me neither. Yours will hit the roof, obviously.”
“My dad will. Mum will be picking out a dress for you. Total control freak.”
“Well, that makes two of us – control freaks, I mean – not the wedding dress thing, obvs, that’s—”
“A whole other issue, I know.”
Mike felt like he was having an out-of-body experience. This particular ‘talk talk’ had escalated quickly, far too quickly.
“Let’s go back inside,” Helen said, and she sounded calmer and more in control when she added, “We don’t have to tell the others yet if you don’t want to.”
Mike was horrified at the merest suggestion. “I think it’s best if we wait.”
“I was just teasing, Mike. Why don’t you smoke your last ever joint and come join me in a bit?”
Last ever joint. Now Mike really was getting the Fear.
“Sounds…good.”
Helen laughed and kissed him on the nose. “Don’t stay out here too long.” She stood up and started walking back to the cottage.
Mike waited until he could no longer hear her footsteps on the wooden boards of the jetty before he finally sparked up.
When he was done smoking it, he would smoke another.
Then another.
Chapter Six
Alex passed the whisky bottle to Mike so he could refill his glass. Mike poured an ample measure – his second since returning – subdued from smoking on the jetty.
“You’re quiet, old chum, everything all right?” Alex asked.
Mike just nodded.
“Probably the blood loss,” Alex chuckled. “Another wee dram will sort you right out. Cheers.”
They clinked glasses, and Mike drank deep, enjoying the nullifying effects of
the single malt on both his tongue and his state of mind. Every now and then, he caught Helen smiling conspiratorially at him from the other side of the room, where she was propped up on a little pile of cushions. The firelight glinted in her eyes, making Mike feel conflicted. He had come to the cottage hoping to have some fun, and to get away from responsibilities for a while, when each of them knew there would be bigger responsibilities to come now that they had graduated. With Helen’s shocking news, Mike wondered if he’d be able to relax at all in the coming days. He wondered if they might be better off leaving the cottage early. Perhaps he could invent some kind of family emergency. He smiled grimly to himself, recognizing that it was kind of a ‘family emergency’ that was giving him the impetus to up and leave.
“No luck?” Helen asked Meggie, who walked in and removed her sweater and tossed it onto the nearest chair.
“Nope. Stupid dog,” Meggie sulked.
Mike offered her the whisky bottle, which she took gratefully, swigging it straight from the bottle. She looked stressed as hell about Oscar.
“Oh, I give up. Can’t find it at all.” Kay dropped the large Ordnance Survey map she had been poring over into her lap and sighed in defeat.
Meggie looked perturbed, maybe even a little offended, at Kay’s outburst. Mike thought it was a bit of an insensitive thing to say, given Meggie’s worry about not being able to find Oscar.
“Find what?” Alex asked in a clear attempt at diplomacy.
Kay reached beside her for the old book on local folklore. She had tucked a drinks coaster inside as an improvised bookmark.
“I was reading about the witch, you know, the one who they executed in the village? Apparently, she performed rituals at some stone circle near here. The Spindle Stones, the locals took to calling them. They said she sacrificed animals there—”
Mike glanced at Meggie, looking for a reaction to this, but saw none. In fact, she looked distant. Probably still worrying her head off about Oscar’s disappearance.
“Gross,” Helen said, and shuddered.
“Chickens, goats, you name it,” Kay went on. She flipped open the book at the page she had bookmarked, her keen eyes scanning the pages as she spoke. “But when the livestock ran out, she started kidnapping children. A child going missing was a tragedy that hit the community hard. They even asked the witch for help in finding the kid, but then they discovered little bones in a smoldering fire at the stone circle and accused the witch of abducting children to use in her rituals and potions.” Kay ran her finger down the page, scanning each line intently. “Yes, here it is, it says that the local pastor said she had used the fat of a virgin child to make flying ointment for her broomstick.…”
“That’s horrible,” Helen said, looking queasy at Kay’s description from the book.
“I thought it would be neat to go find the stone circle. Maybe take a picnic….”
“Oh, yes, lovely,” Helen deadpanned, “tuck into our ham and mustard sandwiches, followed by some invigorating ritual sacrifice. How bucolic.”
“But I just can’t find it on the map – I mean anywhere,” Kay went on, regardless. She held the map out to Alex, then Meggie. “Do you guys know where it is?”
Mike saw Alex and Meggie smile at each other in that particular, conspiratorial and unspoken way that siblings do when they know something that you don’t.
“It’s all around us,” Alex said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Kay said.
“He means we’re surrounded by the stone circle,” Meggie said, her eyes twinkling in the firelight.
“What? The cottage was built in the middle of it? I don’t think it would be so large.”
“No, it’s not bloody Avebury, you numpty,” Alex scoffed. “That’s in.…” He trailed off, clearly struggling to remember.
“Don’t be rude,” Kay retorted and hit him on the forehead with the crumpled map, which fell into his lap. “But top marks for remembering Avebury. It’s in Somerset, for your information. One of my all-time favorite ancient sites. Remember the long barrow? And the maypole dance the locals put on for us at the summer fair? Oh, it was bliss,” she sighed.
“I remember the beer festival,” Alex joked. When Kay tapped him on the shoulder, he added, “I do listen sometimes, my darling.” Alex shrugged. “That’s how I got a first in law.”
“All right, show-off,” Kay said. “So what did you guys mean, anyway, about the Spindle Stones?”
Meggie glanced around the cozy room they were all sitting in. “Most of the houses around these parts are so old that the people who first built them incorporated what stone they could find into their foundations and into their walls.”
“You mean they used stone from the stone circle? To build houses?”
“Aye,” said Alex, “it was quite a common practice in those days, wasn’t it, sis?”
Meggie nodded, adding, “Ancient sites weren’t as revered as they are nowadays. To the local people, they were simply raw materials to be recycled and put to better use than just standing there, being ignored. There’s a fair few churches with stones from pagan circles holding their altars up. Not content with plundering the old ways for their religious holidays, they went and stole the sacred sites too.”
“How do you mean, plundered?” Helen asked.
“Come on,” Meggie scoffed, and Mike saw that Helen really didn’t like that. “Easter is about as Christian as I am a carnivore.”
“I don’t follow,” Helen said, her tone decidedly clipped.
“The Celtic tradition predates Christianity by a long mark. Pagan worshippers venerated Eostre, a goddess at the time they called Imbolc. A festival of renewal and rebirth. The Christians came along and turned it into Easter. That’s where all the bloody chocolate eggs sprang from.” Meggie’s eyes glinted in the firelight.
“I bloody love chocolate eggs,” Mike said.
“Well, you learn something new every day,” Helen said.
“You do. And don’t let’s get started on Halloween,” Kay added.
“Why? What about Halloween?” Mike asked.
Meggie and Kay shared a laugh. “All Hallows’ Eve used to be Samhain,” Meggie explained, “which was basically the Celtic New Year.”
“How do you guys know all this stuff?” Mike asked.
“Read a book – broaden your mind, Mike,” Kay said, making Helen chuckle.
Kay reached out and scooted her hand over the rough stonework of the hearth. “So this cottage is really made from ancient standing stones? That’s crazy. Kinda cool too, but crazy.”
“Not the whole cottage, just bits of it,” Meggie pointed out.
“Which parts?” Kay asked.
“No one knows for sure,” Meggie said.
A thought seemed to strike Kay. “You’re messing with me, aren’t you?”
“Not at all,” Meggie said. “When we pop into the village again, ask any of the old folk about it. They’ll be able to tell you more, though you may regret asking. Some of them can talk the hind legs off a donkey, given half the chance.”
Meggie offered Kay the whisky bottle. Kay refused. “I’ll stick with vodka, thanks.” Kay looked over at Helen. “Hey, my main girl, you haven’t got a drink.”
“Oh, I’m fine without, thanks,” Helen said.
“No, no, I insist,” Kay protested. “Let me get you a glass.”
“No, really, I’d better not. Not in my condition—”
Helen clamped her hand over her mouth, but it was too late; they had all heard her.
Mike almost crushed his glass tumbler in his fist, he was gripping it so tight. He felt his cheeks begin to burn with embarrassment.
Kay’s jaw dropped.
Alex nearly choked on a mouthful of whisky.
Meggie simply raised an eyebrow.
Each of them looked at Mike and Hel
en, and – seeing both of them blushing profusely – a series of amazed gasps, then delighted laughter, filled the living room.
“Who’d have bloody thought it, you dog,” Alex said, sloshing an ample measure of whisky into Mike’s glass. “You look like you’re in shock, old chum. Better get malted!”
Mike took a slug from his glass, wishing for the night to be over. He felt numb, from whisky and from the unexpected outing of his impending fatherhood. Unless Helen changed her mind, and judging from the way she was laughing and smiling with Kay and Meggie – and now even gently smoothing a hand over her belly – that seemed increasingly unlikely. Meggie looked especially happy at the unexpected announcement, and Mike watched as she toyed with a loose strand of Helen’s hair. This intimate act struck him as strange. Until now, Meggie had kept her distance from Helen and vice versa. But with the news that Helen was pregnant, Meggie seemed to have softened and, very suddenly, closed the distance between the two of them. Kay, on the other hand, seemed a little subdued. In between sips of his drink, Mike caught fragments of the girls’ conversation. He heard Kay asking Helen what she was planning to do about her studies and about her travel plans, and he wondered if he detected a slight look of distaste in Kay’s expression. There was something aggressive in the way she was abruptly interrogating Helen. Mike couldn’t really tell if Kay was jealous of Helen somehow or disapproving of her – maybe a bit of both.
Alex refilled Mike’s glass, even though Mike tried to protest. He felt a bit drunk already and more than a bit nauseated. He hadn’t eaten much, finding his hunger had turned to nausea when he’d sat down to a plate of pan-fried trout earlier – he had been unable to shake the nightmarish image of plump, slimy maggots wriggling from the fish’s stomach cavity.
Mike glanced up at the piece of broken antler on the mantelpiece above the fire. It sat next to the black scrying mirror Helen had bought from the village arts and crafts shop, reminding him of the stag’s dark, accusatory eye gazing at him as it died on the road. Mike felt cold sweat trickle down the back of his neck. He wiped it away with his bandaged hand and shivered, remembering the imagined hot breath of the beast on the back of his neck from his bad dream the night before.