The General gave a weary laugh. “World events don’t stop because some poxy general’s daughter is sick, Billy. They’re offering to let me pass but…”
“But what?” said Billy, not meaning to be quite this blunt.
“But what? If I did, then I would let my men and all their families down, by not doing what I happen to do much better than most people.”
Billy had never encountered such confidence before. He would never want to confront this man, who could park his personal feelings in such a way.
The General saw Billy’s reaction and shot him a smile. “So are we agreed? You won’t run to the press and tell them about my boxers, or anything else you saw here?”
Billy laughed, relieved to be on firmer ground. “Can I see her?”
Katherine’s father pushed his chair back and stood. “Give me a moment, I’ll see if the room is ready for guests.”
Billy moved over to the kitchen window, his thoughts suddenly pulled back to the crash in the High Street.
The General came back down the stairs. “You can go up now, second door on the right.”
Billy nodded and went past him.
“Make sure you talk to her, Billy. The doctor said it was important.”
* * *
As he approached the door, it was already opening. A lady at least ten years older than the General came out, leaving the door ajar.
“Ah, you must be Billy,” she said, smiling. “Katherine has told me so much about you.”
Billy raised his eyebrows. Surely she hadn’t just woken up?
“Before this happened, Billy,” said the General’s sister with a tired smile. “Go on in. I told her you were coming.”
* * *
He was struck by how tidy Katherine’s room was compared to his own. Sleeping, she looked peaceful but pale. Her hair had been washed clean of the ashes from the fence, and lay neatly to the side in a loose ponytail. Her eyes, one bruised purple, were still. In fact, Katherine was very still indeed. Billy moved around and sat down beside her, making the bed rock so she would move.
“So, I think I caused a car accident today. Possibly killing two old geezers too. Well, one geezer was a she. Made a real mess of the High Street.”
Katherine, apparently, wasn’t impressed.
“It was the mistletoe, you see. From my quest. The Tree said it had to stay in the park. Except I couldn’t hang about and sort it out, because I heard about you. And there’s this Gargoyle that’s been chasing me near there too. Perhaps you’ve seen it?”
She must have missed it.
“Well, you’d know it if you did. It’s really bloody scary, and stronger than that deerhound we had. He’s gone too. With the old Duck Lady. Did you know her name is Agnes?”
Not in the habit of asking the crazies their names as it only encourages them, Katherine declined to comment.
“She’s very nice actually. A bit mad, but then she’s had this really tough life. And she had the Tree too. But a hundred years ago. I know, you’d think that would make her much older than she looks.”
Well, naturally.
“But it’s the magic. It’s real, you see. Very real, like pain and luck. And now I’m worried. I’m worried that the Gargoyle might be after you too. So if you see him, run. Run like you’re in a room that is catching fire, and don’t look back. Do you understand?”
Katherine gave no indication that she hadn’t understood.
The General’s voice boomed from downstairs “Billy…Billy!”
Billy spent another moment just looking at Katherine, then left the room and rushed down the stairs. Katherine’s father, looking concerned, stepped to one side to reveal two policemen.
“Something’s happening in town. Apparently these officers think you might have been a witness. Is that possible?”
Billy thought he knew what might be happening. But how had they traced him here, and what did they know about the mistletoe?
“There was a big car accident in town. I was nearby.”
One of the policemen spoke. “We need you to come and corroborate some of the facts.”
The General looked at Billy. “I can come down with you.”
“That won’t be necessary,” said the other officer.
Katherine’s father turned back to him. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t speaking to you.”
Billy intervened. Katherine needed cover, and he would have to deal with this alone, somehow. “Please, you’re needed here.”
The General pulled a card from his wallet and gave it to Billy. “If anything gets out of hand, call me, and I’ll be with you in minutes.”
* * *
Once outside, Billy asked if they could take his bike down with them. They agreed, aware of the fairly useful card in his pocket. The police Volvo was not the sluggish family car it appeared. He dug his fingers into the sides of the seats. They were driving hard, at one moment on the brakes, the next using all the straight-line speed the car would give them. Already they were approaching the bottom of the hill, and the ninety-degree bend. Billy clutched the grab handle in the ceiling. A minute later, they had left Marlow Bottom and were heading into town. Joining the High Street, they turned left, and parked in the causeway in front of the park. Billy got out of the car and was rooted to the spot, staring at the park.
Mistletoe poured over every tree he could see. It tangled through the iron railings, snaked underneath the paving stones and made it difficult to see far into the park. Clumps of white berries pitted the mass of green. It was moving and still growing. His heart pounded. This was now very public indeed. The police officer gave him a nudge, and they turned and walked up the High Street. As they approached the scene of the accident, the acrid smell of recent burning filled Billy’s nose. They skirted the firefighters, who appeared to have just finished damping down the crashed and burning car, and two or three others nearby that must have got caught in the flames. Things had clearly escalated since Billy had left the scene. Why hadn’t he just taken the mistletoe off of the old couple?
“Full of burned plants,” said one of the firefighters to the approaching police.
Although Billy heard him, he wasn’t looking at the car. The nearest ambulance had its rear doors open. There were two bodies in the back, one with feet sticking out from underneath the blanket. Billy suddenly froze. The foot had flinched. He heard himself groan, but as the sound left his mouth, it echoed back out of the ambulance with an older female voice. The woman sat up, the blanket falling. It was the lady from the park, sooty but uncharred. “You! It was you!” Her bony finger pointed directly at Billy. Beside her, her husband sat up as well.
“You!” he said, fighting the restraints around his waist. “It was your mistletoe!”
The police officer looked at Billy, who had looked away, face clearly crimson in the flashing lights. “What do you know about this, then?”
Billy had no answer for him. A paramedic arrived to see what the noise was about.
“Get the police!” the man cried.
“Sit back down,” said the paramedic. “I’ve already told you once.”
“You shut up,” said the man, who then shot a look at the police officer. “Hey you! Detain that boy.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” said a voice from behind the ambulance. Mike Hayter appeared, looking concerned.
“I was afraid these two would end up causing an accident,” he said to the police officer.
The faces in the ambulance fell, speechless.
“Really getting on a bit,” said the vicar to the paramedic. “I feel awful, I should have spoken to them about stopping driving, but you know it’s the only way they could leave the house.”
“Are you completely mad? That boy…why he…”
The paramedic closed the door on the enraged pair. As the ambulance drove away, Mike turned to the police officers.
“Quite a mess,” said the vicar. “I understand they only just got the old couple out. Now what did you need with young Billy?”
“He was spotted leaving the scene, and fitted a description from…”
“…from the couple in the Mercedes? I see. Where were you off to in a such a hurry, Billy?”
“My friend Katherine has fallen into a coma. I was seeing how she was doing when they arrived and brought me back down…”
“I see. Well, do you think you need anything more from Billy?”
The police officer was stumped. “I think I’m going to have a word with the accident investigator. If you’re in a hurry for your bike, Billy, the car is unlocked. I may be a little while.”
Billy looked up at Mike with huge gratitude, and they walked back off towards the church and the parked cars. As he recovered his bike, Mike studied the mistletoe.
“Any chance that this is to do with you, then?”
Billy stood by his bike and swung the boot down. He felt hugely indebted to the vicar, but still reluctant to tell him the full story. “It’s not about trust. I just can’t risk it. There is too much at stake. Sorry.”
Mike looked at Billy, then back up the High Street. “Do you think it’ll spread?”
“It’s a parasite,” said Billy. “As long as it doesn’t find anything else to eat, it won’t be able to move.”
He swung his leg over the bike and looked back over at Higginson Park. The noise from the High Street was beginning to subside. “I shouldn’t go in there. It’s still loose.”
He cycled away, leaving Mike staring at the park. At least he hadn’t left him without fair warning.
* * *
His mother was in the kitchen when he got home. She was bending over the sink; her right hand was bleeding. She barely noticed his arrival and was doing nothing to stem the wound. He bundled his coat off and bent to inspect the cut. It wasn’t as deep as it first looked, but was still worse than he had hoped.
“How did it happen, Mum?”
His mother had the signs of recent tears. “I broke one of the Christmas glasses.”
He looked down at the sparkling chips in the sink. The glasses were by far the finest in the house, and had been given to his parents by an elderly aunt, who had passed them on with an uncharacteristically chilly warning. Be very careful, she had said, the glasses represent you and your future family; you break them at your peril. His mother had lost one of the six in the move to this house. Thereafter, she had failed to conceive Billy for another five years, despite trying as soon as they had moved in. After he was born, his father had brought the glasses out, despite it being July, not Christmas, to toast his son. Billy’s uncle had dropped his flute, despite dire warnings from his father. He’d then managed to keep it secret until the following Christmas, even contacting his mother’s aunt in an effort to replace it, not believing his wife’s superstition, but fearing its effect. Now they were down to three.
“Why did you bring them out?”
“Well, we didn’t use them last year, so I thought I’d give them a clean,” said his mother. “I just hope that wasn’t Tom’s glass.”
She took a deep breath, as Billy dabbed the finger with kitchen roll soaked in antiseptic.
“Dad isn’t dead, Mum,” he said, concentrating on his work, “and he never believed in the glasses thing.”
“No. But we never did have another baby. I miss him so much,” said his mother, before inspecting her finger.
Billy put the lid on the antiseptic. “He will come back.”
But his mother was already leaving the room.
He wished he could tell her about the tasks, but even if that were allowed, would it be fair to raise her expectations? The kiss was still a moot point. This sent his mind back to Katherine’s room. He wondered how long the doctor would let her stay at home. Perhaps she used an Army doctor? He hoped that didn’t mean she could be shipped out to the Gulf. Stuck on a plane, unable to wake even to pop her ears. He set about picking up the pieces of shattered glass which were big enough to handle, and placing them in the box.
December 23rd
THE FAMILIAR FATIGUE, MORE AKIN to being asleep than awake, followed him out of his bed, down the stairs and into the living room. The Tree was already up, despite the fact that it was only six minutes past midnight, pacing up and down in front of the dead fireplace.
“Evening,” said Billy, flopping into the red chair by the bucket.
“Morning,” said the Tree, still deep in thought.
Leaving the Tree to pace, he let his mind drift. Thoughts of Katherine entered his mind. She was still sleeping, but as he called her name her eyelids fluttered, reacting to his voice. He put out a hand, at first reaching for her face, but then falling away to pick up her hand that was suddenly made of pine needles. Billy jumped.
“Katherine,” said the Tree leaning over a blinking Billy. “You have a friend whom you love, whom you wish me to help recover.”
Billy leapt out of the chair pushing past the Tree. Find Katherine?
He shook the sleep out of his head.
“What do you mean, find Katherine?”
The Tree shifted from side to side. “I have to confess, we have a problem.”
“What problem?”
Hopping over to the mantelpiece, the Tree bent down and examined the fireplace. “We might have been a little premature in getting rid of the poisoned ashes.”
“Why does that matter?” said Billy, dreading the answer, but determined to hear it.
“It appears that when you chopped away the poison, we lost the area where I stored the memories of this task.”
Billy fought to control his fear, and his temper. “Your task was to return my father, who disappeared a year ago last Christmas Day.”
“Not the girl?”
“No,” said Billy, now doubling his worry. How bad was Katherine?
The Tree raised branched eyebrows, then hunched down, again concentrating with great intensity.
“You had found him!” Billy was now unable to contain himself, and advanced on the Tree. “You told me he was alive and safe.”
“Did I mention where?”
With that, Billy had both hands around the trunk of the Tree, ignoring the scratches. “I saved your life last night, and now you don’t even remember the task.”
“I am certain shaking me will not restore the memories.”
“Then what?”
“My tag, my import tag,” said the Tree. “Do you still have it?”
Letting go of the Tree, Billy went over to the pile of velvet pouches still piled on the windowsill. Underneath the pile lay the import tag, which was as big as his open palm. He picked it up. On one side there were the words Imported: Christmas Tree & Decorations (12), on the other an inked drawing, a logo of a Christmas tree.
“Nothing,” said Billy. “There’s nothing on here.”
“Show it to me,” said the Tree. “Please…”
Billy held up the side with the words “Imported…” on it. The Tree looked back at him.
“Anyone can read that. Turn it over.”
Billy flipped the tag over.
“As I thought,” said the Tree. “An ancient map.”
“A map?” said Billy. “But it just looks like a tree.”
The Tree peered down at the label. It began to glow, and Billy looked closer. The ink bubbled up and sat for a moment on the surface of the cardboard tag, then sank back in, this time not in the shape of the tree, but in a perfect line drawing of the British Isles. A dot of red ink blinked from a point just west of Scotland. The Tree looked over the label as a naval officer might look over a new chart. As it tilted the card back and forth, the ink sloshed across the material, revealing a smaller scale, close-up version. Indeed, the map was now showing a moving three-dimensional approach to what appeared to be a series of islands. Names such as Oban and Tobermory flashed in front of him before the map crossed over more water and appeared to halt over an island called Rum. The island had mountains to the north and south, and the map drew in closer still to a southern range with a peak, which had
a pool below. Near the top was what looked like an albino deer. As the picture drew close, the deer looked up, directly at Billy and the Tree.
“Senga.”
The Tree dropped the tag, and the image snapped back to the logo. Looking shaken, the Tree hopped back to the mantelpiece.
“What was that creature?”
The branched eyes of the Tree were searching for something; eventually it turned back to him. “This is unorthodox, Billy, but I need you to come with me.”
Billy looked back at the Tree. “Come with you where?”
“Rum.”
* * *
Billy was wearing two scarves and his father’s spare overcoat.
“Warmer.”
“You want me to wear more?”
“Yes. Do you own any hats?”
Fishing deep within the drawers in the hall, Billy pulled out two skiing hats belonging to his parents.
“Both of them, and another set of gloves,” said the Tree. “The extremities are most important.”
“How cold is it on this island?”
“Well the peaks are about two thousand feet up, and catch the proper cold winds from the Atlantic. But that isn’t the reason I need you wrapped up.”
With the last pair of gloves added, the Tree judged Billy ready, and they left the house by the front door.
“How is this going to work?” Billy had seen the Tree shoot into the air once before, and he didn’t fancy his chances of being able to hang on if this was the proposed method of transport. The Tree leant over him, shaking slightly, and a few green needles fell onto Billy, sparking as they touched him. At once, his legs started to feel less stable; a giddiness took him over.
“What is this stuff?”
“To help you relax on the flight,” said the Tree. “Don’t relax too much though, and whatever happens, don’t let go.”
Billy thought this might prove to be a tall order with two pairs of gloves on. He crossed his knuckles over a pair of branches. He looked up at the Tree again, stomach lurching with the loss of balance.
“So we’re going to Scotland?”
“The Western Islands, yes.”
“Not too fast, eh?”
“Look down, Billy.”
Billy Christmas Page 15