Ghostbird

by Carol Lovekin

  Fifty-two

  Pomona arrived at twilight.

  Lili thought she had never seen anyone more lovely. Standing in the doorway with the bloom of evening framing her hair, she offered Lili a basket of raspberries, and more sprays of alstremeria: cream ones this time, with a hint of pale green tipping the petals. Both women had decided to wear green as well: Lili’s frock the colour of the sea before a storm, Pomona’s falling in a swish of brilliant emerald.

  ‘There’s a greenhouse full of them,’ Pomona said. ‘I couldn’t believe my eyes. And there’s more growing outside. Apparently, the previous owner sold them.’

  ‘Morwenna, my grandmother, knew her. Mary Jenkins – they were friends.’

  ‘They look like baby lilies.’

  ‘Yes,’ Lili said. ‘That’s what Morwenna called them. Thank you, they’re gorgeous.’ The word floated between them.

  Sitting underneath the cherry tree, they ate an aubergine gratin and salad, new potatoes drenched in garlic butter, and the raspberries steeped in elderflower cordial and dipped in cream. The alstremeria hovered in a glass vase. Lili poured wine, conscious of the garden as it fell asleep around them. A breeze caught in the flame of a candle and wax bled down the side like a teardrop.

  ‘We can go indoors,’ Lili said. ‘And listen to some music if you’d rather.’ She instantly regretted it. What if Pomona read something into it?

  ‘I’d rather stay outside.’ Pomona leaned back in her chair, making space. ‘How long have you lived here?

  ‘All my life. A long ago relative built it for his beloved.’

  ‘Ah. The famous Hopkins women.’

  Lili laughed. ‘You’ve heard then?’

  ‘Some.’

  Lili told her story. Not the detail, as if it didn’t matter that her brother and her parents were dead, or whether any of them had been kind or arrogant, successful or troublesome, or if missing them made her happy or sad because she was happy right there and then. She told Pomona about Sylvia and university. ‘There’s more of course, there always is.’

  ‘I sometimes think the past is a millstone,’ Pomona said.

  Lili smiled as if she was enjoying the sensation so much she better not stop.

  ‘If we let it be.’

  Their eyes met and Lili felt she was entering into a moment the way she might walk off a noisy street into an empty gallery full of beautiful paintings. The creamy green lilies trembled; Pomona seemed lit from within. Lili’s lips parted and the air tasted cool on the roof of her mouth. She held her breath while she made a memory. I want to believe there is nothing to fear here.

  The dark sky became luminous. She became acutely aware of the smallest detail: a strand of hair against her cheek, a moth, the smell of melted butter and the bruised sky reflected in Pomona’s eyes.

  ‘There’s no moon,’ Pomona said.

  ‘No, it’s almost a dark one.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘When the moon’s in its last waning phase our dreams tell us the things we need to know.’ Lili fingered the stray lock of hair. ‘Or so my mother told me.’

  ‘Another Hopkins woman.’

  Lili smiled. ‘When the moon goes dark we make wise choices.’

  Pomona nodded, as if she knew what Lili meant. And Lili, who had held her own and other people’s truths close for so long, told some more. When she was done, Pomona leaned across the table and kissed the tips of her fingers. Lili stopped breathing. ‘This feels dangerous.’

  ‘Only if I can’t be trusted.’

  ‘You must think me untrustworthy, and very disloyal to Violet.’

  ‘I think you’ve carried a burden for far too long.’ Pomona patted Lili’s hand. ‘Everything’s circular, you know this as well as I do.’ She waved her other hand. ‘Look at us: we live until we don’t, and overlap one another with mistakes and lessons, habits and accidents. It’s all random, Lili.’

  She looked up and Lili followed her gaze. If only, I could reach out and touch the future, see if it held everyone’s happiness.

  ‘And that’s just us,’ Pomona went on, ‘secure in our complacency. Out there it’s war and peace and nature red in tooth and claw.’

  ‘And we all have a story?’

  Pomona smiled her knowing smile. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Only mine will keep.’

  ‘No, tell me, I want to know.’

  Pomona loosed Lili’s hand and stretched. The soft emerald green frock moved with her body. ‘I’ve always had a good head for figures. I used to work in a bank. I got bored.’ She laughed.

  ‘Fair enough,’ Lili said.

  ‘Now,’ Pomona said, ‘will you tell me a made-up story – a fairytale?’

  Later, standing under a starlit sky, Pomona said they looked as if you could pick them, like a bunch of flowers. The night turned her skin blue and she looked to Lili like a lovely spectre.

  In the garden, the ghosts whispered to one another. Not to her; they were talking about her. Let them.

  At the gate, they both hesitated. Pomona leaned forward and this time as their lips touched, it was a moment of instinct for them both: a kiss as light as mist and beginnings.

  It took Lili a long time to get to sleep. Lying on her bed, she remembered the look on Pomona’s face as she told the half-imagined story of the houseboat children.

  The shadow of the kiss lay on her lips. I told myself I wasn’t scared, but I am.

  Before dawn, when she woke, the heat of the kiss was still there and when she stroked her tongue across her mouth, her body filled up with light.

  In the big white house, Pomona slept so completely the indentation she left on her mattress never completely disappeared.

  When she woke, the scent of jasmine lingered and she breathed it in. Her bedroom filled with morning. Each breath she took tasted like laughter.

  Outside she heard rain and realised she couldn’t care less. As the day went on, it rained so hard bees drowned in their hives, ponds overflowed and even spider’s webs dissolved. By mid-afternoon the lanes ran with thin mud and water lilies. People placed sandbags across their doors for fear their homes would flood. Pomona spent the day with the sound of rain echoing the beat of her heart. When it finally stopped she thought how easy it would be to imagine it had been a dream. As the sky cleared, leaving puddled grass and rivulets of water falling off every flower and leaf, she threw open a window and leaned out across the sill.

  Listen…

  Birdsong – business as usual – and a breeze sounding like the voice of a storyteller.

  Fifty-three

  August got into its stride.

  It was the kind of weather when the village didn’t know from one hour to the next if the sun would shine or hailstones would batter the windows. People woke from steamy nights, sullen and cross, tangled in damp sheets. The electricity in the air made their skin prickle and anyone who believed in the rainmaker made sure to leave a treat for her on their bird table.

  Violet turned into a shadow. She refused to answer the telephone. If Cadi picked it up, all she heard was a click.

  In spite of her pallor, Lili noticed a different kind of separateness about Cadi. She called Sylvia. ‘I don’t know what to do. She isn’t giving away a thing.’

  ‘Cadi’s always been self-contained.’

  ‘Not like this.’

  ‘Teenagers do get moody, Lil.’

  Lili said nothing about the garden incident. The secrets were piling up and she didn’t like it.

  ‘It’s part of their job description.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘No, Lili. It is.’

  ‘And mothers?’

  ‘How should I know?’ Sylvia laughed. ‘What makes you think my kids take any notice of me?’

  ‘It isn’t only Cadi. Violet looks like she’s vanishing.’

  ‘Is she ill?’

  ‘I don’t know. If I ask her she says she’s having trouble sleeping and it isn’t anything to worry about.’

  ‘Then don’t. And don�
��t worry about Cadi either. She’s trying things out, like new clothes.’

  Other than her frocks and a penchant for canvas shoes, Cadi’s interest in clothes was minimal.

  Lili said, ‘Were we like that?’

  ‘You mean, secretive and sullen, uncommunicative and obsessed with clothes? I know my boys are, apart from the clothes, of course. They’ve been like it since they were born.’ Sylvia paused. ‘On reflection though, no, not like Cadi. We were mad about clothes. And parties.’

  ‘That’s what I mean.’

  ‘Don’t you think you’re over-reacting?’

  ‘I can’t stand it when people tell me that,’ Lili said. ‘It usually means something terrible is going to happen.’

  ‘We don’t always see what’s in front of us, sweetie.’

  It was easy to dismiss an incoming tide, until you were cut off and stranded on the rocks.

  ‘Something’s eluding me, Syl, and it’s making me nervous.’

  ‘Then I believe you. But nothing stays the same.’

  ‘We’ve been doing alright so far, haven’t we?’

  Sylvia sighed. ‘I’m not having a go, darling, but is that strictly true?’

  ‘I’m worried, Sylvia, don’t patronise me.’

  ‘You’re always worried and I am not patronising you. You know me better than that.’

  ‘Why won’t she talk to me?’

  ‘She will – when she’s got something to say. Trust me; my boys sometimes don’t speak to me for a week.’

  ‘You don’t keep secrets from them.’

  A friend is a person you can tell anything to. Only Lili decided she didn’t want to talk any longer. Not even to Sylvia.

  ‘I’m hugging you down the phone,’ Sylvia said before she rang off.

  In spite of the rain, Lili walked outside. Steam rose from the ground. It didn’t surprise her – if it got any hotter the garden would melt. As she came down the path she noticed tiny patches of damp on the surface of the bricks. Bending down she touched one and her finger traced a smooth three-pronged shape, as if a bird had left a footprint on the brick.

  Fifty-four

  The ghost shivers in the rain.

  She shakes her feathers, trying them for size.

  An expanse of weightless sky entices her – she can go anywhere she chooses. She senses her talons, growing sharp and fine.

  The other birds see her now. Screeching their alarm they try to chase her away.

  The ghost flies into the cherry tree, waits until her sister falls asleep. Gliding through the mist she flies into Cadi’s dream.

  Cadi woke early enough to see the barn owl returning after a night’s hunting. She watched it swoop through the mist, calling one last time. Calling her? Unlikely – this owl was flesh and feather and not in the least bit ghostly.

  The jasmine rustled against the wall. She picked a flower, rubbed it through her fingers. Her dreams, full of water and flowers and a lost bird, stayed with her.

  ‘Maybe today,’ she said, to no one in particular. ‘Maybe something magical will happen today.’

  Her visits to the lake took on the shape of ritual. Checking her mother’s plans in advance – and already knowing Lili’s routine – it wasn’t difficult to slip away. Walking along the track, she stepped on the same stones for luck, stroked the same branches, nodded to the blackbird waiting in the same stretch of hedgerow.

  The sun rose, a red stain on the horizon. Gradually the mist unravelled revealing a sky cross-hatched with vapour trails.

  Cadi’s shoes squelched in muddy puddles. As the track ended, she slipped between the whispering trees. No longer afraid, she moved branches out of her way with confidence. Emerging from the path, the lake spread out before her.

  Across the water, countless reflections turned to stars on the surface of the water. She blinked and shaded her eyes. ‘Dora?’

  If there was an answering voice, it was so faint she decided it must be her imagination. If Dora was around, she was hiding. She was light and air and fancy – in contrast, Cadi felt solid. If a divide existed between the worlds, today there was no sign of it.

  Leaning against the stone, she closed her eyes and listened to the birds, comforted by their normality.

  An hour later, setting off for home, she glanced over her shoulder and saw a shadow on the water.

  It looked like a barn owl – a ghostbird.

  Lili’s kitchen caught them in its rosy warmth.

  ‘I can’t believe you’ve lit a fire,’ Cadi said.

  The remnants of pizza and salad lay on the table.

  ‘Where did you go today?’ Lili said.

  Curled in the armchair with Mr Furry, Cadi pretended not to hear. ‘Tell me something nice about my dad.’

  Lili stepped over Cadi’s legs and poked the fire. ‘Okay. How about the time he fell out of the cherry tree?’

  ‘When?’

  ‘He was about seven or eight.’ Lili laid down the poker and squeezed in beside Cadi. ‘I remember it because Mam was furious, and Mrs Guto-Evans said she heard him howling all the way across the village.’

  ‘Was it bad?’

  ‘Funny, more like.’

  ‘Why?

  ‘He lost his balance and caught his shorts on a branch and they ripped right down one side. By the time he hit the ground, they were flapping like a flag and he didn’t have any pants on.’ Lili grinned. ‘I was laughing like a cat and that’s what really upset him: his little sister getting an eyeful.’

  ‘Poor thing.’

  ‘He did a lot worse to me. He was a terror for tricks, always looking for a way to get one over on me.’

  ‘Like what?’

  Lili made a face. ‘You don’t want to know.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘He cut off my dolly’s hair.’

  Cadi tried not to laugh. ‘You’re kidding.’

  ‘I’m not. He did, right off at the roots.’ Lili made her bottom lip tremble. ‘I loved that doll.’

  Cadi bunched her hands into fists and covered her mouth.

  ‘It wasn’t funny, Cadi.’

  They both burst out laughing. In the grate, a log shifted sending up a scatter of sparks.

  ‘Did you forgive him?’

  ‘Eventually.’ Lili hugged her. ‘Unforgiveness shrinks our hearts, cariad.’

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘Believe me, it blights our lives. And we have to forgive ourselves too.’

  Cadi said, ‘I like it when you tell me about Teilo.’

  ‘I know you do.’ Lili got to her feet. ‘And I’ll try, really I will.’

  Cadi nodded.

  ‘You ought to get off. Look at the time, it’s nearly ten o’clock.’

  Reluctantly, Cadi roused herself, marked the place in her book.

  ‘See you tomorrow. Nos da.’ Lili hugged her close and stroked her hair.

  ‘’Night, Lili.’

  ‘I love you. And be nice to your mam, okay?’

  In the shadows, Cadi paused. She let herself into the house. Violet lay curled up, watching television, hugging a cushion, her knitting drifting across the sofa.

  ‘Have you eaten?’

  Cadi said she had and did Violet want anything: a cup of hot chocolate?

  ‘It’s a bit late. Shouldn’t you be thinking about going to bed?’

  So much for being nice. She picked at the arm of the sofa. ‘Lili told me a story about my dad falling out of the cherry tree.’

  Violet closed her eyes and held the cushion tighter. ‘Go to bed, Cadi,’ she said, and pointing the remote control at the television, turned up the sound.

  Fifty-five

  In the end, finding the inquest report was far simpler than Cadi could have imagined.

  ‘Where are you off to?’ Lili looked up from staking a clump of agapanthus by the gate.

  ‘Town.’

  ‘Ah, the jeans.’

  ‘No. I need to research my project.’ Her fingers crossed themselves.

  ‘What’s wron
g with the internet?’

  ‘Nothing. You’re busy and I want to find some books. I thought you’d approve.’

  Lili laughed. ‘I do, cariad, I do. Good for you. Make sure you square it with your mam first.’

  ‘I have, she’s cool.’

  Violet had barely registered the request. ‘There’s a bus in twenty minutes. Do you have money for the fare?’

  In the silence of the library Cadi found a computer and searched the archives of the local newspaper. It was the work of minutes. She typed in her father’s name, and up came the page.

  Open Verdict Recorded in Tragic Death of Local Man.

  At the inquest into the death of Mr Teilo Bryn Hopkins, the Coroner, Mrs Elin Davies, ruled that an open verdict be recorded. It was impossible, she stated, to ascertain without doubt, whether the death was accidental, or suicide committed whilst the balance of the deceased’s mind was disturbed.

  A month previously, Mr Hopkins’ daughter, aged four, died in a drowning accident whilst in the care of her father. In evidence, Mr Hopkins’ sister, Ms Lilwen Morwenna Hopkins, stated that her brother had been suffering from depression following the child’s tragic death…

  She didn’t know how to hear it. She wasn’t prepared. Even though the words made sense, their clinical remoteness numbed her. An idiot could have worked it out.

  The shock allowed her to print the page, walk through the library and out into the air without thinking. Standing on the pavement she stared at the piece of paper: a black and white secret concealed for fourteen years.

  Now you know; here’s the truth. She read it over and over until her eyes hurt. Here’s the truth and everyone knew and I’m a stupid idiot.

  Listen…

  The balance of his mind… disturbed… suicide…

  The words scared her. Did it mean her father had been mad? Her phone beeped. Cerys, asking if she’d had any luck.

  Luck? Oh yes, I got lucky. She shoved the phone back into her bag.

  Inside herself, she ran. Ran and ran until her heart burst, down the road, over the hills, through the lanes and far away, to the lake.

  That night, with the moon as dark as her mood, Cadi slipped out into Violet’s garden. Sitting on a wooden seat by her grandmother’s roses she caught the echoes of spirits on the breeze. Not her sister: the shades of older ghosts.