‘Big scissors they were . . . and bushes. Oh! A picture in the bushes . . .’ Aunt Celandine’s head rocked from side to side. Midge watched her, and felt a sudden wave of affection for her. And sadness. She was a such a nice old thing, really – always glad to see her, always sorry to see her go. And she was bright and clever, obviously a person who had been respected for the work that she’d done. It was a shame to be treated differently just for growing old and being a bit . . . dippy. And it was a shame to keep pushing her to remember stuff. Maybe it was time to give it a break, thought Midge. She stood up.
‘Don’t worry about it, Aunt Celandine. It’ll be OK. Do you mind if I wander about a bit? I’ve got pins and needles.’
‘Mm? Oh yes. Yes . . . like a picture puzzle . . .’
There was a stick propped against the side of the fireplace, a walking stick, painted white. Midge had never noticed it before. Was it Aunt Celandine’s, and did she still use it? No, it didn’t seem very likely. That must have been from before she was in a wheelchair. Midge picked up the stick, and held it out in front of her, trying to imagine what it must be like to be blind.
‘Schnnnick! I can remember the sound, but I don’t know where I was . . .’ Aunt Celandine was still talking, eyes closed. Midge wondered whether she could get from the door to the far window, with her own eyes closed, just by using the white stick, and without tripping over or banging into anything. She’d give it a go.
It was almost impossible not to cheat, that was the trouble. She couldn’t help but open her eyes just a tiny bit, and that rather defeated the point of having a stick.
‘Oh, but it did feel wonderful. Thos said I looked like a boot brush . . .’
‘Did he?’ said Midge, just to be polite. She went back to the door in order to start her journey again. This time she was determined not to peep until she reached the opposite window.
Amazing how unsteady and insecure walking with your eyes closed made you feel – like you were about to tumble into a pit . . . or an open fireplace. Midge hesitated at this thought. But no, she couldn’t have changed direction so very drastically, and anyway, that was what the stick was for, to warn of any such hazard. She inched forward.
‘. . . like a green jigsaw. Where could I have been, though, when all this happened?’ Aunt Celandine’s murmuring voice gave Midge a bit of help as to direction.
But the stick wasn’t making contact with anything, and that didn’t help. It just waved about in thin air. Aha! Here . . . yes, here, she’d found something. Midge kept her eyes tight shut and made exploratory movements with the stick.
Tap-tap . . . tap-tap-tap . . .
What on earth was it? A rustling, swishing sound accompanied the tapping of her stick. Midge became aware that the room behind her had frozen into silence. She reached out again.
Tap-tap-tap-tap . . .
‘No . . . don’t! Please no! Don’t . . . don’t . . . don’t . . . don’t . . .’
Midge jumped in alarm at the sound of Celandine’s terrified voice. She spun round.
‘What? What is it?’
Aunt Celandine was crouching forward in her chair, her hands over her face, wailing and wailing.
‘No! Don’t let them . . . don’t let them!’
Midge couldn’t even move. What had she done? What was happening?
‘Oh! They’ll get me . . . no . . . don’t let them . . .’
Midge remained motionless, locked solid, absolutely at a loss as to what was wrong or what she should do. And then the door opened, swinging back against the bookshelves, bump, and Elaine was there, hurrying across to the wheelchair, already bending over to put an arm around Aunt Celandine’s tiny shoulders.
‘Miss Howard? Miss Howard! What’s the matter?’
Midge managed to take a couple of steps forward, still reeling with confusion. But she stopped as Elaine’s spectacles flashed up at her.
‘And what are you doing with that stick?’
‘Nothing! I don’t know what’s . . . I haven’t done anything!’ What was she being accused of?
‘No . . . no, course not. Sorry, love. It just looked . . . Miss Howard? Yes, that’s right, it’s only me. Now calm down, dear. It’s all right. Everything’s all right.’
‘They’ll get me . . . they’ll get me . . .’ Aunt Celandine had taken her hands away from her face, but she was still distraught.
‘Oh no they won’t. There’s nobody here to get you – only me and Midge. And we’d never hurt you, now would we?’
‘No . . .’
‘No.’ Elaine gave Midge a little nod of reassurance. Don’t worry, don’t worry. She kept a shielding arm about Aunt Celandine’s shoulders, and continued to murmur words of comfort, as one might to a small child. ‘Sh . . . it’s all right now . . . everything’s all right.’ Gradually Aunt Celandine became calmer, and the worst appeared to be over. Elaine looked up at Midge again. ‘Better tell me what’s been going on, then. What happened exactly?’
‘Well, I was just . . . walking about.’ Midge hardly liked to say that she had been pretending to be blind. ‘Wandering around . . . not doing any harm. I was over by the window. Over by . . .’ She turned round. What was it that she had tapped with the stick? She still didn’t know. ‘Over by that . . . that big plant. The bamboo plant. Then suddenly Aunt Celandine started . . . you know. She got upset. And I’m so sorry if it was me, Aunt Celandine. Was it me? Did I do something?’
Midge went across to the wheelchair and crouched down beside it. She put her hand on top of her great-great-aunt’s and squeezed it tight. ‘If I did anything to frighten you, I’m really sorry. Are you OK now?’
‘I don’t suppose it was anything to do with you,’ said Elaine. ‘She’s been sort of funny all week – going on about prams and little boys in trees, and I don’t know what. Poor old duck. I’ve had a feeling she was building up to something. Well, they can all get a bit confused, like, and it’s hardly surprising at her age. She’ll be OK.’
Even Elaine did it sometimes, Midge realized – talked about Aunt Celandine as if she weren’t there or couldn’t hear. And Elaine was really fond of her, you could tell.
‘Can you remember what it was?’ said Midge. ‘That scared you so much?’
She looked up into Aunt Celandine’s face and saw that the watery eyes were still troubled, still staring at something in the distance, beyond her shoulder. Her mouth was moving, but Midge couldn’t hear anything.
‘Sorry – what did you say?’
Aunt Celandine leaned a little closer.
‘Is . . . get you . . .’ she whispered.
‘What?’
Elaine straightened up, and smoothed her hands across the front of her blue tunic. ‘I think it’d be best if you went home now, love. She’s probably had enough for today. But listen – try not to worry. She’ll be fine now. I’ll look after her.’
‘Yes. Yes, all right.’
Midge stood up, and realized that she was still holding the white stick. She gently put it back where she had found it, resting it against the corner of the fireplace. Before she left she took a last glance at the bamboo plant. It was just a normal-looking plant, and the stick was just a normal stick, but she was convinced that these things had triggered some dreadful memory for poor Aunt Celandine. She wondered what could possibly have been so terrifying about that sound – the tap-tap-tapping of the stick, and the rustling of the leaves . . .
She had to say something to her mum about it, once she was home. There was no point in pretending that everything was fine when it wasn’t. But at the same time she was careful to filter the information, to bend the facts a little.
‘Yes, she got really upset. I still don’t know why, because I wasn’t doing anything much – just sort of wandering about. You know, looking around. I had pins and needles.’
‘Hm. Well listen.’ Mum closed the door of the dishwasher, and leaned against it, arms folded. ‘I think perhaps you should keep away for a bit. I’ve never been all that comfor
table about you going over there, and if you’re the cause of any kind of upset – even when it’s not your fault – then you’re doing more harm than good. And besides, you shouldn’t have to be coping with geriatric problems at your age. Psychiatric . . . whatever.’
‘She’s not just some old nutter, Mum. I like her. I like going to see her.’
‘Well, I’m still not sure that you should. But I think that what I might do is have a talk to that manager woman about it – Carol Reeve. Yes? Let’s get a proper professional opinion on this, and take it from there. Happy with that?’
‘No, not really. Wish I hadn’t said anything now.’
Midge sat up in bed, her arms about her knees, and scowled at the photograph of Aunt Celandine. Why didn’t things just go right for once? It wasn’t her fault that Aunt Celandine had been so scared. She’d only been mucking about with a stick, for goodness’ sake. And now her mum was threatening to keep her away. Well she wasn’t going to keep away, and there was an end to it. She sighed, as she stared at the picture, trying to let the anger drain out of her.
It was possible now to spot the likeness between the child that she’d never met, and the old lady that she had come to know. The eyes and the mouth, even the hands, were somehow recognizable. How strange it must be to grow so old, and to have seen so many changes. No mobile phones back then, on the day that photograph was taken. No televisions or computers. The girl sitting on that wicker box would never have seen such things. Maybe she’d never even been in a car. Horses and carts – that was how they got about in those days, wasn’t it?
Horses being milked . . . where could such a funny idea have come from? And barnacles in a cave. Midge thought about the caves that she’d seen in the Royal Forest, and a flash of intuition came to her. Yes, she’d bet anything that was where the runaway Celandine had stayed – amongst the Tinklers and the Troggles.
Aunt Celandine’s memory would return, she was sure of it. But would she be strong enough to bear it? Something horribly frightening had obviously happened to that girl in the photograph. Was it just cruel to be trying to bring it all back again? It was too late to stop now, that was the trouble.
Yes, and it was too late at night to be sitting up worrying about it. Midge turned the dimmer light down, so that there was just a faint blue glow. She snuggled beneath the warm duvet and closed her eyes.
3:20. It was the first thing she saw – the illuminated face of her clock radio. Why was she even looking at it? Why was she awake? Midge pulled back the duvet a little and listened. There! A rustling sound. And again. Here in the room? Midge sat upright, nervous now.
Tap-tap . . . tap-tap-tap . . .
No, not in the room. Outside! Oh my God, there was something out there . . . something perched on the broad stone window ledge . . . rustling . . . tapping against the window pane!
Tap-tap-tap . . . tap-tap . . .
Aunt Celandine’s urgent whisper came rushing into her head, the strange words echoing above the roaring pulse in her ears.
‘Is . . . get you . . .’
Chapter Fifteen
‘IS . . . GET YOU . . .’
Celandine chased the words round and round in her head, trying to imagine where they might have come from. But it was like chasing tadpoles in a tin bath, the things wriggling through her fingers just as she thought she had them, disappearing into the murky swirl once more.
And the harder she tried, the murkier those waters became. She should stop and think of something else – let things settle for a bit.
Celandine gazed at the soothing patterns in the fake coal fire. They were very blurry patterns, her eyesight being what it was, but patterns nevertheless – shapes and sequences that repeated themselves. The flames danced their same little dance over and over. There . . . and gone . . . and back again. There and gone . . . back again. Just like her own thoughts: too fleeting to catch for more than an instant, but always returning to tease her.
She started once more: the tiny boy in the trees, staring down at her. The piece of cake, snatched from her fingers. The voice of the older one . . . ‘Fin! . . . Fin!’
‘Is . . . get you . . .’
Celandine blinked and turned away from the fire. Was it one of them who had spoken those words? A picture came to her of that little brown face, the eyes so wide and fearful – but not in the trees this time. No, he was on the ground, head barely rising above the tall grass. Then grabbing at her sleeve . . .
‘Gorji is get you!’
Gorji? Who or what was Gorji? Celandine pinched the sleeve of her cardigan between finger and thumb and tugged at it, closed her eyes and felt again the sensation of being pulled forward, scrambling to her feet and following . . . following . . .
. . . through the dock leaves and the nettles and the long summer grass, stumbling around the crest of Howard’s Hill, the tiny figure always ahead of her, and then . . . he just disappeared.
He was gone, and her memory gone with him. She could recall nothing beyond that point.
Oh, but this was progress! At least she had something more to work with – another few steps to add to her dance. She would whirl through those steps again and again, and perhaps her feet would remember more and carry her forward of their own accord.
Back to the beginning of the sequence, then: Fin, standing in the tall grass, reaching forward to grab at her sleeve . . .
She saw him in more detail this time, and some of her original emotion swept through her. The realization that such a being had truly existed, and that this had truly happened to her was overwhelming. This was no longer just a picture-memory, or some half-forgotten dream. This was real. The little bead of blood on his shoulder . . . the long black hair all dusty with summer pollen . . . the ragged waistcoat . . . she was not imagining these things. This was recollection, as real as her memory of Freddie, clumping down the wooden stairs in his new army uniform.
‘Is Gorji come! Is get you!’
She caught something of his voice – a throaty little whisper – and it was both exhilarating and frightening to hear. She was getting somewhere, she really was, but who knew what terrors might be lurking along this dark pathway? Is . . . get you . . .
Tap-tap. It was only a brief knock at her door, but the sound made her jump.
Carol Reeve put her head into the room.
‘Miss Howard? Are you awake?’
Celandine wished that she could pretend that she wasn’t. She liked the woman well enough, but she didn’t want company. Not right now.
‘Yes. Come in, Mrs Reeve.’
Carol crossed the room and sat on the arm of the wing-backed chair, her hands in her lap. She had brought a waft of floral scent into the room. Something new . . . different to the perfume she normally wore. Freesias? No . . .
‘I’ve just been talking to Elaine, and she was telling me about your upset. How are you feeling now?’
‘Oh. Much better, thank you. It was just . . . oh, some silly thing. I think I must have been half asleep and having a bit of a bad dream. I wouldn’t want to be the cause of any worry.’
‘Hm. Well . . . it’s our job to worry – or rather to care. What was the dream about? Can you remember?’
‘No, not really.’ She wished that Carol would go away, and let her think.
‘Elaine wondered if it had anything to do with Midge. She thought that perhaps the girl had . . . frightened you in some way.’
Yes, she had. Something that Midge had done had frightened her very much. That tapping sound had terrified the life out of her, and yet she couldn’t say why. Even now her heart was beating a little faster at the memory of it.
She realized that she’d paused for too long.
‘No! Nothing to do with Midge at all. It was just a dream.’
‘Would you rather she didn’t come here for a while? Midge, I mean. You see, I’m beginning to think—’
‘No! Of course she must come! I must see her!’
Carol stood up. ‘Well, if you’re absolutely
sure, then of course I wouldn’t want to upset you by keeping her away. All right, then. I’d better carry on and do the rounds. I’ll tell Elaine that I’ve had a chat with you, and that as far as I’m concerned it’s business as usual. Anyway, I’m glad you’re feeling better. So. I’ll say goodnight, then, and see you in the morning? Elaine will be along in half an hour or so, to help you to bed.’
‘Yes. Thank you, Mrs Reeve. See you in the morning.’
‘Night, then, Miss Howard.’
‘Goodnight.’
As Carol closed the door behind her, another faint trace of perfume was wafted on the air. It reminded Celandine of something so strongly: someone that she had once known, perhaps, or some place that she had once been. . .
‘Blinder . . .’
Where had she heard that word before? Celandine sighed. It was no good trying to force anything to come through. She could only sit here with her eyes closed and wait. Sit here . . . and be calm . . . breathe in the sweet scent of lavender . . .
Lavender. Of course – how silly of her not to have recognized it straight away. Carol Reeve’s perfume was lavender.
But the smell of lavender didn’t make her think of Carol Reeve. It made her think of . . . darkness. Yes, of darkness, and the muffled sound of children’s voices, playing quietly somewhere. But that could be anywhere. Celandine breathed slowly in and out. The scent of lavender was fading now, and the half-memory that it had triggered was fading too. She couldn’t catch it, couldn’t put herself in that place where she had once been. Perhaps it was unimportant, and unconnected to her search. But if anyone had asked her what the smell of lavender reminded her of, she might have said, ‘Underground.’
Chapter Sixteen
LITTLE-MARTEN AND Henty had never been as warm and comfortable in their lives. The box-crib that they had made for themselves was well sheltered from wind and rain, and the open-sided wooden tree dwelling was as safe as any place they could hope to find on Gorji territory. From this high viewpoint they could watch the comings and goings of the giants, and if sudden danger should arrive they were prepared for it. They had planned an escape route along one of the low-spreading branches of the cedar tree. Their combined weight at the end of this branch caused it to dip close enough to the ground for Henty to be able to jump without hurting herself. With a little practice of this manoeuvre they were certain that they could be out of the tree and away into the thickets soon enough, should it become necessary. Little-Marten could of course have floated straight down from the platform itself, but that would have meant leaving Henty to fend for herself and he would never do that.
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