The Hawthorn Crown
Page 5
Enter Killian.
With a groan of misery, Carla rolled over onto her front, her arms wrapped over her head.
Unfair.
Unfair.
Unfair of Aoife to comfort herself with Killian.
Yet one thing Carla knew was that grief made people behave in unfair ways.
Like her own parents, who kept on shouting at her even when it was obvious that inside they were just scared she didn’t love them enough.
Dianne was still insisting that the three of them went to family counselling; she booked it for the next afternoon.
It was the same counsellor who had told Carla she was in denial, back last summer when everyone had thought Aoife was dead and Carla had refused to believe it. Now – without apologizing for her previous mistake, or even acknowledging it – the same woman wanted Carla to tell her parents all about her time in Dublin.
Carla said through clenched teeth, her head in her hands, ‘I wasn’t in Dublin.’
The counsellor said sweetly and patiently, ‘Then maybe you could explain to us where you think you were.’
‘Where I was, not where I think I was. But there’s no point. You won’t believe me, any more than you did last summer.’
The counsellor said even more sweetly, ‘It’s not whether I believe you or not that matters, it’s whether you feel you are sitting securely with your own truth.’
Carla stole a sideways glance at her mother, who was hunched miserably next to Carla’s father on the couch. Poor, sad, angry Dianne, who thought Carla hated her enough to go swanning off to Dublin with some strange girl without bothering to even let them know that she was safe.
Was it worse for Dianne to think her daughter was sane but didn’t love her? Or to think her daughter was mad but did love her?
Carla said experimentally, ‘Look, I know nobody except the old people believes in fairies these days …’
As her mother rushed from the consulting room in tears, Noel Heffernan shouted at Carla in front of the startled counsellor: ‘If you upset your mother even more than you already have by making out you’re as mad as the other women in her family, then God help you because I won’t!’
After her mother calmed down and came back, Carla gave up and ‘admitted’ to having been in Dublin. She and Aoife had caught the bus from Clonbarra and met a very wild girl called Sheila, and slept on her floor, and had gone to a lot of parties with her. She hadn’t done anything illegal, just enjoyed the freedom of it after all the stress of fifth year and worrying about the future and not really knowing who she was. She’d kept meaning to get in touch, but the days had just slipped by, and the more time passed, the worse she felt about running away and the harder it got.
It was a strange relief to line up her story with the story in her parents’ minds – the rational world falling neatly into place around their family again.
In fact, it seemed so plausible that she even wondered if she’d had some sort of brainstorm and it was true.
After dinner that night, Noel followed Carla into her bedroom, sat beside her on her bed and took her hand. ‘Thank you for being so honest with us. And please be nice to Mam after I’m gone on Monday. She loves you so much.’
‘I love her too, Dad. And I love you.’
He squeezed her fingers, tears in his dark grey eyes. ‘I’m so sorry I have to work in England – it’s just there are no engineering jobs in Mayo right now.’
‘I know, Dad. It’s fine.’
‘It’s not. But I’m going to try harder to find a job nearby, even if it pays less money.’
‘Dad, it’s fine.’
‘Please don’t run off again. We don’t care how well you do or don’t do in your exams. We just want you home and safe. Grounding you isn’t about not loving you. It’s because we care.’
‘I know. And I won’t run off again. I promise.’
It was clearly common knowledge that Carla was home, because the next day – Friday – Jessica and Jessica’s best friend Aisling came round after school. Dianne – in a softer mood since Carla’s confession – allowed them in for an hour.
The three of them sat in a row on the blue leather sofa in the Heffernans’ living room, passing a plate of Oreos around between them (which in itself made Carla feel depressed, because it reminded her of doing the same thing with Aoife). Jessica kept a fixed smile on her face and burbled on about everything and everyone except Aoife or Killian – which made it completely and horribly clear that the relationship was the gossip of the whole school. ‘Did you hear about that old woman Mary Barrett? She went missing three weeks ago on Sunday.’
Carla did her best to look interested. ‘Maybe she went to family in England.’
Jessica shook her bleached-blonde head emphatically. ‘No, because she had no family of her own left living, and she never had any children.’
‘Oh, right.’
Aisling – also a freshly minted blonde – explained helpfully, ‘My nan told me she didn’t get married because she had her heart broken by her childhood sweetheart, Johnny Forkin, who ran off to Dublin with a girl called Sheila Cunningham.’
From staring into mid-air, Carla was suddenly jolted into paying attention. ‘Did you say Sheila Cunningham?’ So that’s where Aoife had got her story from. Everyone must have been talking about this around the time she got back from the fairy world.
Aisling said, ‘Yes – she was Mary Barrett’s best friend, and poor Mary never recovered from her heartbreak.’
‘Aisling!’ Jessica dug her friend in the ribs.
‘What’s the matter? Oh …’ Aisling hastily changed the subject. ‘There’s a hawthorn tree growing down the Clonbarra road, covered in mistletoe. It won’t stop growing and it’s driving Declan Sweeney mad.’
‘Oh dear.’ Carla took a bite of Oreo.
‘Lois’s dad bought her a car! Can you believe she’s seventeen already? That’s one advantage of being kept back a year in national school. Her and Sinead go everywhere in it together, along with Aoife and Kill—’
‘Aisling!’
‘What? Oh.’
Grimly Carla chewed and swallowed biscuit. She’d thought life couldn’t possibly get any worse. But it just had. Aoife – friends with Lois and Sinead? Ugh … She shuddered and coughed. The Oreo had turned to sawdust in her mouth. She’d forgotten – being miserable always ruined her taste for chocolate.
Jessica said sympathetically, patting her on the back, ‘Are you coming to school on Monday?’
Carla cleared her throat. ‘Not until September. I’ve missed so much of fifth year already, I’m going to have to repeat.’
‘Oh – bad luck. But at least no homework for months, then.’
Aisling was nodding wisely. ‘I don’t blame you for not wanting to come back into our year, what with everyone gossiping and Aoife and Killian being all lovey-dovey and— Ow, Jessica! That hurt!’
Carla said resignedly, ‘It’s OK. Talk about them if you want to – I don’t mind. I’m going to have to get used to it eventually. Like showing a picture of a spider to an arachnophobe.’
‘Arachno-what?’
‘Someone who hates spiders.’
‘Oh, right. I suppose it is a bit creepy the way they—’
Jessica moaned, ‘Aisling! Stop!’
‘Carla said we could talk about it!’
Carla grimly stuffed another Oreo into her mouth, refusing to let the awful taste defeat her. ‘Go on. The way they …?’
Aisling, delighted to be let off the leash, rushed on, ‘It’s just sickening how they look at each other and hold hands all the time, and Aoife keeps telling everyone how she never expected to find anyone like Killian in this world, and she calls him her “dark beloved” – how gross is that? and weird, seeing as he’s so blond – and he’s just as sickening about her, he keeps telling everyone that for the first time in his life he’s happy because up to now everything and everyone in his life has been so boring and normal and dull—’
‘Ai
sling, stop, stop, stop!’ Jessica was writhing with horror. ‘Carla really doesn’t need to hear this!’
‘But she said—’
‘Stop!’
In the silence, Carla sat blinking back her tears, eating another foul-tasting Oreo and staring out of the window towards the distant bog. ‘Dark beloved’? Oh, this was too horrible …
She felt a pressure on her hand. It was Aisling, tears in her own eyes. ‘Sorry.’
She squeezed the anxious girl’s hand back again. ‘It’s OK, but can we talk about something else now?’
‘OK. Your hair looks lovely.’
Later, in her room, Carla studied herself in her wardrobe mirror. Last October’s layered cut still hung perfectly around her face, the gold and blonde highlights gleaming.
Yet even the best hairdo couldn’t disguise the fact that – unlike Aoife – Carla was just a plain, dull, normal teenager. Small wonder Killian preferred her fairy friend, with her long, lean, powerful body and creamy skin and flashing turquoise eyes and thick long red-gold hair, like a mane of fire.
Probably he was kissing her right now …
Aaargh! Carla paced her room, her hands pressed hard to her temples. No phone, no Facebook to block out these depressing thoughts trudging round and round in her mind. How to turn off her brain, without social media?
She paused to rummage in her make-up drawer, where to her relief she found a long-forgotten iPod and a pair of earbuds. Collapsing on her bed, she jammed in the earphones and turned up the ancient playlist to full blast. It was mostly One Direction, which – she was bitterly pleased to remember – Aoife had always hated.
A kiss on her cheek startled her back to reality. Her grandmother was leaning over her, smiling fondly. She was still wearing her bright green hat. ‘Wake up, darling. I’ve brought you a present.’
‘I wasn’t asleep.’ Carla sat up, pulling out the earbuds.
‘Of course you weren’t, darling – you were just resting your eyes, like I do.’ Plumping down sideways on the bed, the old woman fumbled in her large leather bag and took out a small transparent stone on a silver chain. ‘I bought you a rock crystal – to protect you from evil things.’
Too late for me, thought Carla sadly. Aloud, she said, ‘That’s nice, Nan, that’s really kind of you.’
With a furtive glance towards the door – closed – the old woman slipped the chain over Carla’s neck and tucked the crystal under her T-shirt, out of sight. ‘Wear it at all times, darling. Ultan swears by it.’
‘Ultan?’ Despite her misery, Carla became interested. ‘How is he?’
Teresa Gilvarry cast another furtive glance towards the door. ‘Sorry, darling, but your mother only let me up to see you if I absolutely promised faithfully not to mention fairies.’
‘But you’re not— Oh, you mean Ultan?’ She’d completely forgotten that the plump, red-headed boy was a changeling – he seemed so ordinary and normal, just like Carla herself. ‘Is he still seeing his dad?’
‘I told you, I’m not supposed to be talking about fairies.’
Carla said cunningly, knowing it would work, ‘OK, don’t tell me, I don’t mind. What’s the weather doing back the bog?’
The old woman sighed extravagantly. ‘Fine, but only because you’re making me – just don’t go betraying me to your mother.’
Smiling, Carla got comfortable against her pillow, arms around her calves, chin on her knees. ‘So go on then. Is he allowed to visit his dad?’
The old lady beamed back at her, false teeth gleaming whitely. ‘More than that – Grainne’s let him move into the house!’
‘Seriously?’ Obviously Grainne McDonnell was a better woman than Teresa had painted her. ‘That’s so nice!’
Her grandmother was still grinning maliciously. ‘She’s not nice at all. She was only forced to do it because Jimmy McNeal threatened to have another stroke if the boy left his sight for a second.’
‘If Ultan can’t leave his dad, how do you get to see him?’ Carla couldn’t imagine Grainne letting Teresa Gilvarry over her threshold for any reason on earth – unless it was to poison the interfering old woman.
Her grandmother’s eyes popped at Carla’s foolishness. ‘Facebook, of course! Ultan is very, very excited about the new technology. He says the internet is pure magic because it has the answer to everything. He says it’s even better than a book some friend of his in the fairy world stole from the druids. He’s been Googling …’ Here Teresa checked the door again. Still closed.
‘Googling what, Nan?’
Her grandmother leaned towards her, dropping her voice to a shrill whisper. ‘Protective spells, runes and other pisheógs – like that crystal round your neck! To keep his father safe from the dark creatures.’
A cold finger touched Carla’s spine. ‘Dark creatures?’
Teresa Gilvarry nodded importantly. ‘When Ultan was in the fairy world, his friend with the book was always on about fairies taking revenge on humans. He never took her seriously at the time, but now he’s on the human side of the fence, it’s making him slightly nervous.’
‘But does he really think …?’
Her grandmother patted her hand comfortingly. ‘Don’t look so worried, darling! Even if there is an attack, we have the whole thing completely under control. Ultan found this very good shop in Westport – Fairies and Angels – which does next-day delivery. That’s where we got these rock crystals. They’re very expensive and Ultan has no credit card, and I can’t afford much with my pension, but I splashed out on eight – one each for him, his dad, me, you, Ellie, and three extra for you to give to anyone else who believes enough in fairies to wear one. Like Zoe. Or that Aoife girl.’
Carla winced. ‘Thanks, Nan, but—’
A sharp knock on the bedroom door: ‘Open up, you two chatterboxes, I’ve brought you up some tea!’
Carla’s grandmother made an alarmed lip-zipping gesture, grabbed three more rock-crystal necklaces out of her bag, stuffed them under Carla’s pillow – ‘Say nothing, darling!’ – then hurried to open the door with a huge, gleaming smile. ‘Carla and I were just having a lovely chat about the weather!’
‘How interesting.’ Dianne marched in carrying a large blue tray with three mugs on it, and a plate heaped with Oreos. ‘Do you mind if I join you? Here you are, Carla – your favourite biscuits.’
Later, after her mother had ushered her grandmother safely off the premises, Carla sat on her wide windowsill, leafing through A Most Comprehensive Catalogue of Ye Irish Fairies – the book she’d confiscated from Eva. If there really was going to be an attack of dark creatures on Kilduff, she wasn’t convinced the internet was the most reliable source of information.
She read a short entry about the ‘Bean-sīdhe or banshee’, a dark woman who steals human children for her own and leaves fairy children behind in their place. Then a related article about the ‘Leannán-sīdhe or lenanshee’ – another fairy with a grá for humans, who drives her lovers to an early grave. Shay Foley had been the son of a lenanshee. Carla could almost see the farmer’s son looking back at her as she studied the illustration of the lenanshee woman – the same rich, black hair; the same breath taking good looks. Poor Shay – so handsome. No wonder the demon girl had stolen him away.
And now Shay Foley was dead and Aoife was comforting herself with Killian Doherty.
Tears scorched Carla’s throat and she nearly tossed the book aside. But then she changed her mind. She had to do something with her brain, or die.
Under R, she found:
ROCK CRYSTAL: Colourless. See Charmstone.
She leafed backwards to C.
CHARMSTONE: May work against some dark fairies, if believed in.
Hmm. OK. It sounded a bit like a placebo, but what could you do …
She read on through the entries. Still under C she found:
CHURCH MUSIC: The bell of God deafens ye against the dullahan’s voice.
And then:
CROWN: See Hawthorn.
> She flipped through to H:
HAWTHORN IS THE CROWN: Plant in circle around protected site. With mistletoe makes shield.
Interesting.
And still under H:
HORSESHOES: An excellent guard against most dark creatures, except grogoch which nothing of any kind can stop excepting only brutish force.
She turned anxiously back to G:
GROGOCH: Half human, half fairy. Small. Hermit by habit. A venomous spite of priests.
OK. Aisling had mentioned a hawthorn tree on the Clonbarra road, which was covered in mistletoe. And the sheds behind her grandmother’s house were piled high with rusty horseshoes – some of them dating back to her grandfather’s grandfather’s time. And if the only thing that could get past iron were these little grogoch things, that wasn’t too worrying …
Need she be worried at all?
Aoife had laughed off the very idea of a ‘fairy war’ when they’d come upon that paranoid changeling girl, Caitlin McGreevey, trying to stir things up in Falias. Ultan himself hadn’t believed Caitlin at the time. He was only nervous now because he loved his dad so much.
Still, whether it was needed or not, it was nice of her grandmother to spend her small pension on this charmstone. From under her T-shirt, Carla tugged out the stone. It was delicately pretty – shining rose-pink in the last gleam of the sunset.
‘Carlie?’ Zoe came trotting into the room in a pink nightie, washed and ready for bed. She climbed up on the windowsill and instantly started playing with the crystal around Carla’s neck, turning it so that it caught the evening light – apricot, green, dark blue. ‘That’s so pretty. Can I have it? You promised you were going to get me a present for my birthday and you never did.’
Remembering the other three crystals, Carla said, smiling: ‘But I did get you a present – look under my pillow.’