‘And you won’t tell me.’
‘No,’ Lili said. ‘I won’t. Not because I don’t want to or because I don’t think you have a right to know. I do, but it’s not my secret.’
Cadi looked Lili hard in the eye. ‘Why won’t you do something? I know it isn’t because you can’t.’
‘Magic doesn’t work like that. How many times do I have to remind you?’
‘You’re honestly telling me it’s impossible to cast a spell to make Violet talk?’
I have recipes and cures… Don’t ask me for spells… Spells are for fools…
‘I didn’t say itwas impossible.’ It was possible to walk on hot coals, to dive off cliffs and imagine your garden in August so dry it died of thirst. There was nothing to stop a person casting a spell.
Lili returned Cadi’s look. ‘What I said is, I won’t.’
‘Alright, I get it.’
‘We’re agreed then?’
‘I haven’t agreed to anything.’ Cadi went to the door. ‘I’m done here. I need my book from the house and then I’m going out.’
‘Going out where? To see Cerys?
‘Out. Cerys has gone to Cardiff, shopping with her sisters. Don’t stress, I’m not going far.’
Lili held her irritation at bay. ‘Didn’t you want to go with them?’
‘No. Stop interrogating me.’ She stood in the doorway, and Lili noticed how much taller she’d grown. She was changing, the way light changed. One minute it was edged with sunlight, the next it dulled to thundery grey. Cadi had dark smears under her eyes and an answer for everything.
‘I’m only asking.’ In the tilt of Cadi’s head and the set of her shoulders, Lili saw herself – the girl she’d once been – opening her eyes one day, facing the fact that growing up happens and there isn’t a thing you can do about it. Your dreams changed and what replaced them took some getting used to.
‘I’m not afraid of the truth, Lili.’ Cadi’s face was mutinous. ‘All this evasion, I can’t do it anymore.’ She held Lili’s gaze. ‘I have to find out.’
‘I know.’
‘I feel like being on my own,’ Cadi said. ‘You have to trust me. It’s the least you can do.’
‘What about lunch?’
‘I’ve made a sandwich.
‘Alright, just promise me you’ll be sensible.’
‘I’m always sensible.’
Forty-five
The sound of Lili’s radio followed her.
Out of sight, out of mind? No. Lili might be a pain, she wasn’t shallow.
Cadi added her book to the sandwich and water bottle in her rucksack. She patted the pocket of her jacket, comforted by the feel of the pouch. Disregarding her mother’s rule about the lake seemed a small defiance, being less than truthful with Lili was a different deceit.
But Lili wouldn’t stop her, not now – Cadi knew this. And if Lili doesn’t, why would I stop myself?
After Lili’s unwillingness to help, Cadi decided to feel justified. Lili believed in magic, only she was too mean to share it. Cadi refused to feel responsible for her mother’s sadness either. It doesn’t make any difference. If I carry on feeling sorry for her and do nothing, if I rely on Lili, nothing will change.
And yet everything had already changed, without Cadi fully understanding how. If this is the way Lili wants it, I’ll make some magic of my own.
Off the track and in the trees, Cadi imagined them reaching for her. Perhaps a branch did move; maybe there was something watching her. She no longer cared.
A warm breeze came off the lake, the scent of reeds and water. Dandelion seeds floated on the air, tiny stowaways catching in her hair.
You can make it how you choose. The voice in her head sounded certain. Maybe Sylvia was right.
On the opposite side of the lake, trees stood in pools of their own shadows.
Gazing into the water, what lay beneath now seemed to have nothing to do with dancing princesses.
I had a sister and I didn’t know her. She had nothing to lose; she would try and make a spell.
Kneeling on the grass she pulled the pouch from her pocket and emptied the contents into her lap. As an afterthought, she’d added the seeds from the graveyard.
The swans appeared, streaming across the water toward her.
‘This is to hear you, little sister.’ She placed the stone back in the pouch with an oak leaf. ‘And this is to dream of you.’
The seeds, she said, were for truth, and she dropped them in, one by one. The feather lay in the palm of her hand. ‘This is to find you.’ She curled it up and tucked it in with the stone, the leaf and the seeds. Pulling a blue ribbon from her hair, she wound it round the pouch and tied it with a knot.
‘I don’t know what you want,’ she whispered. ‘I think you want something.’ She took a slow breath. ‘I told Lili. I’m sorry, I had to, and in any case, I don’t think that’s what you meant. I won’t tell about this, I promise. And I’m here.’
She wondered which name to use. Lili said names had power and naming things made them real. What did real even mean? Because she liked it better, she decided on Dora. For good measure she would say Blodeuwedd too – it sounded magical, if less meaningful.
My sister wasn’t a myth. She was as real as flowers but she wasn’t made from them. And now Dora was a ghost and Cadi didn’t want to be frightened any more.
It had become far too muddled. Her father’s obsession with the myth gave it a power beyond the original story: the meadowsweet and the feathers, the stone, the owl and the bangle, the ghost herself.
Did ghosts travel? A small human child didn’t go far by herself. Would it be the same for a ghost? Cadi’s confusion and loneliness overwhelmed her. She wished she’d asked Lili’s advice after all. She cupped her hand around the pouch. At the water’s edge she bent down and touched the gravel.
Is this the place? Is this where you fell? Did you bring me here to show me? The thought made her shiver.
She breathed into the pouch the way she’d seen Lili do – to bind a spell – and whispered, ‘I love you, little sister. I love you, Dora Blodeuwedd.’
Kicking off her shoes and tucking up her skirt, Cadi waded into the water until it lapped around her calves. Drawing back her arm, she threw the pouch with all her strength. It arced over the water and landed with a sharp splash. The water swallowed it, ripples circled and for a moment Cadi wondered if a hand might reach out, like the Lady of the Lake. In a fairytale, the charm would reappear, the stone transformed into a magical gem held in the hand of a wise being like a character in one of Lili’s stories.
Would Dora have liked Lili’s tales? Did Violet read to her?
She didn’t read to me that often. By the time Cadi had been born, Violet only had one story – a tale of grief and drowning. And here I am, standing in the middle of a lake with my skirt wet, playing at magic spells.
She watched the refracted patterns on the water. Nothing else moved apart from the swans as they floated away, and Cadi realised she was holding her breath.
Maddau… Forgive…
‘Dora? Blodeuwedd?’
She looked at the place where the pouch had fallen. The ripples were gone. All she heard was the sound of her own breathing, and a voice inside her head speaking to a ghost she wasn’t certain could hear her. Perhaps she was haunted because she wanted to be.
And maybe Dora had no choice because Violet couldn’t let her go. Does Dora want Violet to let her go and let me in?
Frustrated, she waded out of the water and sat down, letting the water lap her toes. Her face looked up at her, quivering in the tiny waves as they broke and reformed. Tonight she might dream of her sister or her father, and one of them might tell her what came next.
Forty-six
Outside the shadows lengthened, thin lines made from branches.
Deadheading roses, Lili heard her telephone ring and left it. Twenty minutes later, listening to the message, she decided Violet’s voice held a nuance, and Lili didn
’t like ambiguity.
‘Hi, it’s me. I won’t be home until later. Something’s come up. See you in a while. Sorry. Bye.’
What was Violet up to? I am developing a very suspicious nature.
Maybe it was for the best. The longer Violet stayed out the less likelihood of trouble.
Because Cadi had gone to the lake.
She checked the clock, paced around the kitchen, straightening a book here, a photograph there. Not wanting Cadi’s choices to harm her, Lili felt helpless. She fiddled with the flowers on the table until she could bear the suspense no longer.
Outside there was no sign of Cadi. The sky clouded over.
Wherever she’s gone, make her hurry back. It was barely two hours and already Lili regretted not making more effort to stop her. She’s gone to the lake, I know she has.
Upstairs she took up her pencil and tried to concentrate on her notes.
Settling herself against the Sleeping Stone, Cadi spread out her skirt so the sun could dry it. Further along the bank a heron stood, waiting patiently for a meal. Biting into her apple, she thought how patience was all very well, only she wasn’t a heron.
She fingered the thin scab on her cheek. I’m no one, just agirl with a scratched face and a bird brain.
The heron flew off, his patience for once unrewarded. Her own was wearing thin too. If there was any magic to be had, it wasn’t happening today. I ought to go. Lili will be flapping.
A sudden wind raised goose bumps on her arms. A few of last year’s leaves skittered by and she thought about the ones in her drawer. Could a ghost really collect leaves and stones and leave them for someone to find? Maybe she ought to ask Lili after all.
She left her rucksack and walked to the edge of the water again, picked up a handful of flat stones and skimmed them across the surface. Lili had taught her, shown her how to relax her arm and allow her wrist to flick the stone away. She remembered the first time she did it properly, watching the stone bounce, once, twice, five times on the water, how she had whooped with joy and it seemed almost as exciting as learning to read.
The first drops of rain sent her scurrying back to her bag. Across the water two black birds flew down, wings beating in the silence. She watched them circle the spot where the pouch had fallen. Their size, the slow swish of their wings and a sound like a croak told her they were ravens. The lake wasn’t a place where ravens came. As quickly as they appeared, the birds turned in a slow spiral and flew off over the trees. Cadi shaded her eyes, watching until they were out of sight.
The rainmaker danced across the sky, flinging her wild song down through the trees.
Forty-seven
The last thing Owen had wanted was to come to town.
She had insisted it must be in public and away from the village otherwise she refused to meet him. At least she’d agreed. After the conversation with Lili he’d chosen his words with care.
‘I don’t mean you any harm, cariad. I swear it.’ And to his astonishment, she said yes, so long as it was away from the village.
His ambivalence to the town echoed the way he felt about his mother’s house. The sea was fine: the sweep of the coastline, the view of the mountains to the north. The crowds made him restless. He wondered what on earth he was doing, sitting on the promenade at the height of the tourist season.
There she was, making her way through the throng of holidaymakers. With their chips, sunglasses and ice-creams, they were loud and cheerful.
Violet seemed insubstantial. Unnoticed, moving along the pavement like air, she eclipsed them all. She made her way through a wave of chattering girls who parted and remerged. Seeing him, she halted at the far end of the long bench, sat, and tucked her skirt around her legs as if to protect them.
‘So, let’s have it, then. What are you doing, Owen? Trying to make amends?’
Was he? Atonement suggested penance and he wasn’t sure it was required. Had he thought she would make it simple for him? That he wouldn’t have to explain taking the easy way out?
‘I want some answers,’ he said. ‘I think you owe me that.’
‘I owe you nothing. I told you, I agreed to see you on the understanding you stop calling me. How did you get my number anyway?’
‘You asked me that already. Hopkins have been in the phone book as long as there’ve been phones.’
She glared at him. ‘There’s nothing for you here.’
‘Then I’ll ask someone else.’
‘No.’ She looked afraid and he almost wavered.
‘This is unfinished business and I never liked loose ends.’
‘Rubbish. You love loose ends; you’ve spent your whole life creating them.’
Owen thought of his mother and winced.
‘You gave up any notion of rights when you buggered off,’ she went on. ‘Whatever it is you think you know, you’re wrong. The best thing you can do is go away and leave us alone.’
Owen raised an eyebrow. ‘I didn’t, as you so elegantly put it, bugger off. You sent me packing, remember?’
‘And as I recall, you didn’t take much persuading.’
‘You wouldn’t talk to me. You wouldn’t take my calls. You even sent Lili to scare me off.’ He shook his head. ‘Bloody Hopkins women.’
‘I know nothing about what Lili might have done.’ She fiddled with her hair. ‘You have no idea what it was like for me.’
‘No, I don’t suppose I do.’ He turned his face, leaned forward trying to get her to look at him. ‘I mean it though, Violet. There are other people I could ask.’
She caught his gaze and they stared at one another, unblinking. He watched her eyes widen in fear and had the grace to feel a moment’s guilt.
‘Why would you do that?’ Violet waited. Over the shushing of the sea his silence hovered. ‘You don’t know, do you? You’re like a spoiled kid who wants something he thinks he can’t do without and when he gets it, breaks it because he never really wanted it in the first place. Grow up, Owen.’
The sun on the pavement made ripples of heat.
‘Is that what you really think of me? That I want to make trouble?’
Violet gave an exasperated sigh. ‘But you already have, by being here.’ When he said nothing, she fanned out her hands in dismay. ‘It’s been more than fifteen years. Why would you want to destroy our lives now, and for nothing? You’re wrong, Owen. Please, why can’t you accept what I say and leave us alone?’
Grabbing her bag, she stood up and whirled away, disappearing into the crowd.
Déjà vu.
Forty-eight
A bee came through the window drunk on pollen.
Outside, the afternoon faded to evening, alleviating the heat. Cadi dunked a biscuit in her tea. She felt oddly disconnected from the talk, as if she and Lili were having two separate conversations.
When Lili asked where her hair ribbon had gone, Cadi crossed her fingers and said she didn’t know.
‘Where have you been?’ (I know where you’ve been and I’m trying really hard not to get cross.)
‘Where’s Mam?’ (Are you going to tell her?)
Lili leaned across the table, her chin on her hand. ‘I’m not a mind reader. Do me a favour, cariad and help me out here.’
Cadi let the biscuit drop into her tea, sat back, waiting for Lili to comment on the mess. ‘Was I a good baby?’ (What was my sister like when she was a baby?)
She knew any mention of her father and sister disturbed her mother. She guessed it bothered Lili for different reasons. Lili needed to make up her mind whose side she was on.
‘You certainly were.’ Lili nibbled her biscuit. ‘And you’re getting very good at changing the subject.’
‘That’s rich.’
‘Okay. It doesn’t matter.’
The only thing that matters is finding Dora. Cadi felt a knot in her stomach and said, of course it mattered. And Lili said, in that case, what did Cadi think she ought to do?
‘I think I ought to make my mother tell me the truth.
Tell her I found the photographs; let her know I’m on to her.’
Lili met her look. ‘No,’ she said, her tone emphatic.
‘So much for being on my side.’ Cadi tried not to raise her voice. ‘Have you got a better idea? Make a spell?’ She sneered. ‘Oh, I forgot, Lili the witch doesn’t do spells.’
It was a good try. Lili wasn’t so easily riled.
‘I don’t think it’s my fight, that’s all,’ she said. ‘You have to make the decision now and it needs thinking about. I’m sorry if I sound contradictory. And I am on your side.’
‘Yes, maybe you’re right. Maybe it is my fight and I need to sort out this mess by myself.’
Before she went to bed, Cadi checked the top drawer of her chest. Apart from a pile of rolled up socks, bunched underwear and some handkerchiefs, it was empty. She lay on her bed looking up at the ceiling. The spaces between the beams were painted blue and covered with glow-stars.
‘Lush,’ Cerys had said the first time she visited. ‘I love this house, it’s so spooky.’
‘It’s creaky and dusty and you can hear the ghosts before they hear you.’
How could she have known she would come to long for the sound of a ghost?
The light faded. Anne Frank smiled at her from above the dressing table. The rocking horse stared his blind stare. Cadi switched on her bedside lamp creating a pool of light. Mr Furry scratched at the door. She let him in and they climbed into bed together. Around her, the wooden floor boards, the rose-patterned carpet and the furniture ebbed and flowed and for a moment she imagined herself on a boat on the lake, sailing toward the misty centre where shadowy figures rose up to meet her.
She closed her eyes and the picture was gone. ‘If you ask me,’ she said to the cat, stroking his head, ‘the dead are as complicated as the living.’
Mr Furry slow-blinked in agreement. Switching off the lamp, Cadi stared into the darkness, choked by questions. She couldn’t ask Teilo. The dead couldn’t speak and the ghost had disappeared.
Under her arm, the cat shifted, curling his body into hers. She no longer wanted to torment her mother or worry her aunt. Violet implacable, Lili evasive: the end result was the same.
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