“Thanks, Gramp.”
“My pleasure. At least, it was until I was standing there with all the lights fixed and just about to turn them on. Suddenly I heard Grandma’s voice in my head saying, ‘That looks lovely, Henry. Best ever.’ And tears started pouring down my face like she’d left me only yesterday.”
Nathan reached out and took Grandpa’s surprisingly cold and bony hand. “Tomorrow I’ll come and tell you the tree looks great. Then you can hear my voice.”
Grandpa gave a shaky laugh. “You’re a good boy, Nathaniel. That’s a very nice thought.” The last drops of the sherry slid past the moustache. “Ah, here she is.”
Mum joined them, sitting down and lighting a cigarette.
“I do wish you wouldn’t, Elizabeth.”
“Dad! Give me a break!”
“Well?” Nathan swallowed. “Did you speak to Mr Croft?”
“Yes.” She inhaled. “Although I rather wish I hadn’t. Someone else is interested. Nothing’s signed and sealed, but they’re negotiating. I’m afraid we’ve missed the boat.”
Nathan stared at her. “That’s impossible.”
“We’re too late and there’s an end to it. Mr Croft was most abrupt. In fact he was quite rude. I’m not bothering with him again.”
“Wait a minute.” Grandpa leaned towards her. “Did you say Croft? Is his name Jake Croft?”
“Yes,” Nathan said impatiently. “Why, do you know him?”
Grandpa hesitated. “The name rings a bell. When I ran the local paper, I used to know everyone. … But there was something nasty in the woodshed about Jake Croft. Very nasty.” He clenched his fist and drummed it against his forehead. “Damned if I can remember precisely what.”
“Well, he was certainly nasty to me. Anyone would think it was me trying to sell him something he didn’t want! And I agreed to the asking price.”
“We can’t give up just like that.” Nathan’s mouth tasted of grit. He wanted to run back to the cottage, crash at the door, demand to be heard. “We must sort it out, talk to him again.” He looked to Grandpa for support. “Offer him more money. Anything.”
“Don’t be silly, Nathan.” Mum stubbed out the cigarette. She looked suddenly exhausted. “I knew it had all happened too easily. Things don’t fall into your lap like that. There’s always a catch.”
Fury gripped Nathan. It made him cruel. “If we can’t buy that cottage, I won’t live down here. I’ll stay in London with Dad. With Tom. With anyone who’ll have me.”
“Hang on a minute.” Grandpa shot Mum a worried smile. “That’s blackmail. You can’t say things like that. There’ll be other places.”
“Of course there will.” Mum’s eyes sparked with tears. “We’ve only started looking. There’s bound to be somewhere else. Maybe somewhere better.”
“No, there won’t.” Nathan stood up. “You don’t understand. There’s something special about that cottage. And the garden and the cat and—” He backed away from them. “I don’t want any supper. Couldn’t eat a thing.”
Mum reached up to grab his hand. “We must keep our heads. We can’t get carried away like this.”
“Carried away?” He wrenched his hand out of hers. “How can you say that?” His cheeks burned. “I wish I’d never found the place! Never told you about it.” He glared at the two startled faces in front of him. “The one time I manage to sort things, make you listen to me, and what happens? It all goes wrong because you’ve screwed things up.”
He turned away, ran through the lobby, down the corridor, into his room. He threw himself on the bed.
I can’t believe this is happening. Just when I thought things might work out. … If I don’t sort this, I might never see Rosalie again. I’m going back to the cottage tonight. As soon as the coast is clear.
Mum came to check on him. Nathan did not look up. She said, “Sulking won’t get you anywhere. Not ever. See you in the morning.” She slammed the door.
A waiter brought him chicken pie with chips and a lumpy banana sponge. Nathan chomped through them. If talking to Mum didn’t make any difference and shutting up was equally useless, there had to be something he could do to be heard. She listened to the people she worked with, didn’t she? She read the stupid letters from her adoring fans. … Thought about them … Took them seriously … Answered them …
He got up and scrabbled in his bag for some paper and a pen. His hand shook with anger and haste as he wrote:
Dear Lizzie
My parents have split up and now my mum wants to take me away from my home and move miles away. She says she’s trying to get her life sorted, but what about mine? She never thinks about what I want, and she won’t listen to a word I say. What should I do?
Yours sincerely
Benjamin Smith
He found an envelope in a drawer and wrote To Lizzie Fielding on it, then sealed it and dashed out of his room, along the corridor to the foyer. At the reception desk, he said, “This is for Mrs Fielding. For tomorrow morning.” The girl behind the desk was dealing with other guests and hardly glanced at him. She put the envelope into the rack behind her.
Back in his room, he hunched in a chair and stared blankly at the TV. Writing that letter hadn’t made him feel any better. If anything, it made him feel worse. Breakfast would probably be a nightmare. As if he cared …
At ten o’clock, with a sigh of relief, he flicked off the screen. He pulled on his boots and coat, opened the window, slid out and left it ajar.
A cool wind sighed in the fir trees under a full silver-sharp moon. He turned towards the path through the woods. It was darker and longer, but the one through the golf course was also the route for cars. Grandpa would be on his way home from supper. I don’t want him spotting me in his headlights like a frightened rabbit.
The damp, slippery path made running impossible. An owl hooted above him, mournful, menacing. It plunged close to the stream, hovered, pounced with a splash of water. There was a short, high yelp of pain. That sounds like Rosalie’s laugh. Victorious over its prey, the bird swooped into the trees.
The moon vanished behind clouds. An eerie quiet gripped the woods. Nathan’s heart thudded. Bushes loomed in weird clusters. Surely the path had grown longer? It was certainly less familiar.
He looked up, praying for the moon’s light. Even the branches above him seemed to spin and weave, as if they were setting him some impossible convoluted puzzle. Then he saw the iron gate and through it the road. He caught his breath with relief.
He began to jog along the streets. Windows threw spangles of glowing light, their curtains open. He could see their rooms, the shambles of bottles, glasses and candles, the Christmas trees dangling with bulbs. A front door opened as he passed and a buzz of voices gusted out. He gazed enviously at the guests on the doorstep and wished he could join them.
At the top of the cul-de-sac he stopped and almost ran away. The street looked so quiet and scary. What if Jake Croft was in the cottage? What was the point of asking for trouble?
But Rosalie might need him. He might just be able to help. He’d got this far, it seemed daft to give up now. He felt in his jeans’ pocket. The key to the kitchen door warmed beneath his touch.
His courage returned and he pressed on.
Dark and silent, the cottage stood waiting for him. Curtains were drawn across the attic window. It looked like a black-zipped mouth, refusing to reveal its secrets. Nathan slipped down the side of the cottage to the kitchen door.
He tried the handle. The door stuck, squeaked and then relented.
He stood inside, his heart racing. Gradually his eyes made sense of the dark shapes of the kitchen. He stripped off his coat, kicked off his boots and left them on the floor.
He listened in the darkness.
Not a sound.
He tiptoed through the kitchen, into the hall, up the first flight of stairs. On the second he skidded on the dusty pine. He gripped the banisters, willing himself to climb.
A sound throbbed int
o the darkness. He stood behind the attic door listening to a voice, half-singing, half-chanting, high and like a bell.
Candle shining in the night with your enchanted flame
By the powers of magic might, listen to my name
As you shed your light, your gleam, at this mystic hour
May fulfilment of my dream harvest secret power
Flame of magic, blue and gold, turn the wheel of fortune bold
Flame of magic, ice and fire, grant me this my one desire.
Nathan waited in the swirl of silence that followed. The song seemed to echo and resound in his head. Then he plucked up courage and pushed at the door.
Moonbeams from the back-garden window flooded the attic with an intense silvery light. The air tasted thick with the scent of incense: a potent, heady mixture of sandalwood and cedar.
The girl knelt in the centre of the room. Around her burned clutches of small candles. They cast leaping shadows on the walls, flickered their light on to her face, made a halo of her hair.
She looked up, startled, and scrambled to her feet. “Nathan?”
“Yes.” He stumbled into the attic.
“Shit, you gave me a fright!”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Well, you bloody well did!” Her voice shook. “Make a habit of this, do you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Wandering around St Ives at night, walking into people’s houses—”
“’Course not.”
“So why on earth are you here?”
“I had to see you. …” His eyes got used to the flickering shadows. He gazed at her. She wore a long cream linen tunic with wide sleeves. It made her look older, thinner, more frail – almost ghostly.
“In the middle of the night? How the hell did you get in?”
He was suddenly reminded of Jake Croft in the garden, demanding, “Who the hell are you?” He’d been frightened then, but now if anything he was even more scared. The attic looked so different. He’d scarcely have recognised Rosalie. This was like being in a different world.
He said hastily, his mouth dry, “This morning. I unlocked the kitchen door before we left. I’ve got the key.”
Stiffly, he held it out to her.
“You’re an idiot.” She moved towards him and snatched it from his hand. The tips of her fingers felt icy cold. “You don’t want to get mixed up in my life.”
He noticed the thin shine of tears on her cheeks. “Yes, I do. I already am.” He looked down at the candles, how they clustered in a semicircle on the floor. “What’s with all this?”
“What does it look like?”
“I don’t know.” He hesitated. The lights from the flames seemed to flutter beneath his eyelids, made him flinch and blink. “I read a book once. On witchcraft … Just now … Were you chanting a spell or something?”
“How long had you been listening at the door?”
“Not long … You make it sound as if I’ve been spying on you!”
“Well, haven’t you?”
“No.” Nathan was relieved the darkness hid his blushes. “Yes. I mean, I’m sorry that’s what it feels like. I never meant—”
“And I suppose now you think I’m a mad witch who’s stirring up sickly potions and putting spells on people!”
“I don’t think anything of the sort!”
“Good!” She pushed back her hair, her voice defiant. “I was praying, if you must know. Praying to Mum that nobody will buy this cottage. That her spirit will allow me to stay. That anybody who might want it will find something better. Much better.”
“Including me?”
Rosalie’s eyes blurred into his. “I can make magic things happen, you know. I didn’t tell you that, did I? I can still hear Mum’s voice. Here, in this room. When I’m painting, she talks to me. She and I still work together.”
“Do you?” Nathan suddenly remembered his last conversation with Mum and what he’d come to tell Rosalie. He moved towards her, grasped her arm, felt its thinness beneath the tunic. “Then magic this away. Mum rang your dad about the cottage because we wanted to buy it. But he said someone else has already made an offer.”
The girl swayed on her feet. “I don’t believe you.”
“It’s the truth.”
“This is happening so fast I can’t breathe.” She grabbed his hand. “Will you pray with me?” There was a wildness about her now, a new urgency in her voice.
“How?” Prickles of alarm shot through him. “Who to?”
She pulled him into the semicircle of candles. “Kneel with me. … Put your hands like this. … Now close your eyes and pray that nobody will buy this cottage.”
“Out loud?”
“No. In silence. But pray really hard. Shout the words in your head as if you were trying to make them travel for miles and miles over rivers and mountains.”
Nathan dropped his head and closed his eyes. The warmth of the candles fanned more gently now against his eyelids.
I don’t want anyone to buy this cottage – but if anyone does, let it be Mum and me. So Rosalie won’t have lost it completely. Please let something good come out of all this mess, this moving away from everything I love. Please.
He opened his eyes.
The girl was looking at him, her face strange, questioning. “Did you pray?”
“Yes.” He sat back on his heels. “Do you think it’ll work?”
“I hope so. But I can never tell. It takes time. You have to go on praying.”
“I don’t get all this. Why is your dad selling this place? If it means so much to you, surely he could—”
“He hasn’t got a job.” She looked defeated. “He hasn’t had a proper one since … not for a long time. Mum left him some money, but he’s used it all up. He’s on the dole, but he’s got debts. They get bigger all the time. He does odd jobs for people, but the minute they give him cash he spends it on booze. He can’t afford to keep the cottage and he’s got nothing else to sell.”
“I’m sorry. My dad— he’s—”
“Is he down here with you?”
“No.” Nathan took a deep breath. “He left us in September. Found himself a new family.”
“Oh.” She stared down at the candles. “So you know what it’s like.”
“Yes. Sometimes a whole day goes by and I manage to get through it without remembering.” Talking about it to her, he felt tears burning his eyes. “Then something happens to remind me he’s not there. That he’s never going to be there. He doesn’t belong to me any more.” He tried to calm the wobble in his voice. “He says he wants me to be a part of his new family, but I know that’s not true. They come first now, not me.”
“At least your dad’s alive. You can still see him, even if it isn’t all the time.” She brushed at her face with her long fingers. “Dead people only live in your head. In what you imagine, what you dream. It’s so hard—”
The moonlight from the window vanished behind a cloud. In the sudden darkening of the room the girl raised her head. “Someone’s coming.”
Nathan scrambled to his feet. “How do you know?”
“I can feel it. … I can’t explain. … You must go.”
“Will you be OK?”
A faint smile lit her face. She stood up and touched his shoulder. “Yes, boy in the garden. I can look after myself. … Hurry, before you get caught.”
Nathan stood in the dark kitchen, pulling on his boots and coat. His legs shook with haste. Something stirred in a corner the other side of the room. A pair of yellow eyes, suddenly alert, met his.
“Tiggy?” Nathan moved towards her, bent to stroke the fur, warm with sleep. But she was wide awake now, listening, her body taut.
Nathan froze. He heard the splutter of a van, a screech of brakes, a door slam. The front door opened.
“Ros?” Footsteps plodded into the hall.
Shit. Don’t let him come into the kitchen. Please.
“Ros? Are you up there?” J
ake Croft’s voice thundered through the cottage. “We’ve found a buyer. We’ve got to clear up all our stuff, fast. Come and give me a hand with these chairs.”
Nathan made a dive for the kitchen door. He wrenched it open and slid through. He closed it behind him as quietly as his shaking hands would allow. He flattened his body against the wall.
Through the window in the door he saw lights flick on in the hall, then in the kitchen. Again the voice rang out.
“Will you come and make yourself useful for a change?”
There was no reply.
Furniture scraped across the floor, banged against the walls. Jake Croft swore. The van doors opened and slammed. More tramping.
“Thanks for nothing, girl!”
The lights flicked out and the front door shut. Footsteps tramped down the path. The engine revved and the van lurched away.
Nathan waited in the silence, his ribs aching with the thump of his heart.
That was close!
He slipped back into the kitchen.
I must check that Rosalie’s OK.
He raced up the stairs to the attic, pushed abruptly at the door and stood in a sea of moonlight. The candles had been blown out. Thin plumes of feathery smoke fanned upwards towards the moon, like pale moths trying to escape.
“Rosalie?”
In the stillness that met his voice Nathan knew the attic was empty. He stood over the desk, turned on its small lamp. The painting of the two shadowy people on the beach had gone. He moved towards the window, pressed his hands against the curtains, knowing even as he did so that Rosalie was not behind them.
He switched off the lamp. The moonlight seemed to crush against his shoulder. For a moment he looked out at the garden, the shivering grass, the moonlit branches swaying in the wind, the high clouds chasing across the sky.
Girl in the Attic Page 6