"Mummy, I know what I heard, and so do you. Why didn't you tell me about the cats?"
"Why should I?" says Hester, petulantly. "They're perfectly harmless."
"To you perhaps. You're in league with them, aren't you?"
"Of course not. How can you be in league with a cat? I wouldn't know how to begin."
"But the cats run the Stones, don't they? You heard her. They're in charge."
"Don't be ridiculous. They don't run them, they don't run anything, they're just cats. They just use them, that's all."
"What for? What do they use them for?"
Hester gives the mental equivalent of a shrug. "I don't know. I've no idea. Cat things. Mousing. I don't know."
"Mousing! They use the Stones for mousing?"
"I don't know. They don't tell us. How can they?"
"Of course you know. You know perfectly well what they're doing. Do you think I'm stupid or what? The whole thing stinks and I'm not having any more to do with it unless you tell me. Are you going to tell me?"
"Bella, I swear, I don't know, except it doesn't do anyone any harm."
"How do you know that? How do you know it doesn't do any harm if you don't know what they do?"
"Did ye say somethin, Bella?" enquires McNab from downstairs.
"What?" calls Bella grumpily. "No, I was talking to myself. I do it all the time. Just ignore me."
Hester becomes annoyed. "What does it matter what the cats do or don't do?" she snaps. "Or the Stones for that matter. Why should it matter to you? Why are you always poking and prying into things that don't concern you? I never did. They give us immortality, isn't that enough? Unlimited lifetimes to see the world and have fun! Except we don't have fun, do we? We just get into stupid, boring relationships that don't even make you happy. I told you how it would end with that Thurston, but would you listen to me? Oh no. Bella knows best. Why don't you listen to me for once? I know you better than you know yourself. You're your own worst enemy."
"That's horrible!" cries Bella. "You're being horrible. I love Thurston and he loves me. He'll come back, you'll see. He'll come back for me and we'll be happy, like we were before. He just has to get his stupid voyage out of his system first."
"You weren't happy Bella. And he certainly wasn't."
"He was! Of course he was! How could he not be? He was married to me! He's still married to me."
Hester is silent for a while. "Anyway," she says crossly. "I wasn't trying to kill myself. I'd never do that."
"You did kill yourself, in the end," Bella points out.
"It was an accident. I told you. Accidents happen very easily, as you should know. Suppose we'd fallen off that cliff? Do you ever think of that? That would have been the end. No more Priestesses, after five thousand years! It's not just us you know, it's your grandmother and her mother and her mother and all the others. Would you deny them the right to life? I'm very disappointed in you, Bella. You take unnecessary chances, you pry into things that don't concern you and worst of all you refuse to get pregnant. I might as well have chosen Miranda for all the difference it would have made."
Bella is incensed. It's just like it used to be when her mother was still separate — nag, nag, nag, criticise, criticise, criticise. Will there never be any peace? "I am trying!" she cries. I'm trying very hard. It's not my fault if I don't get pregnant. I seem to spend half my life on my bloody back! I wish you had chosen Miranda. I wish I had fallen off the cliff. It's a shitty life anyway. I'm sick of this job; sick, sick, sick of it and I'm giving it up. I mean it this time and you're not going to get round me, do you hear? From now on I'm an ex-Priestess. They can get someone else to do their dirty work."
"All right, you do that!" shouts Hester, so loud that Bella winces. "You do that; see if I care. You're no damned good at it anyway. You're no damned good at anything. You're a mess and a failure."
"Go to hell Mummy!" shrieks Bella. "Go to hell. I hate you!"
For a few days, Bella contemplates leaving, perhaps getting another job in London, but then a black depression descends on her such as she has never known, and instead she stays in McNab's attic bedroom, her only furniture an old armchair and a mattress, her few clothes hung on nails driven into the trunk of the pine tree. She knows they don't want her back at Windy Point because she occasionally returns there astrally, floating about the bungalow, watching them and listening to their conversations. They hate her now for what she did to the travellers and to Pat and especially to Miranda. Even her uncle hates her. He has put away her picture, the one he used to keep on the desk in his study, and will not have her mentioned in his presence. One day he comes to the clearing. Bella runs away and hides. When she returns, she finds he has left behind some of her clothes and bedding and a few personal effects. She now knows that they just want to be rid of her, to forget about her. There is a note but she throws it away unread. She doesn't want to read anything nasty about herself.
With his money from Michael and the occasional gig, McNab is now quite prosperous, apparently making enough to keep them both. Sometimes he even brings her treats; a magazine, or a packet of chocolate digestives. He continues to improve the house and builds himself a little workshop nearby where he closets himself for hours with pipes and valves and bits of scrap metal.
Bella ignores the magazines, and the biscuits remain uneaten. She spends her time wandering alone about the heath, often leaving at dawn and not returning until after dark. As autumn shades into winter it becomes cold and bleak and there is almost no-one about. She carefully avoids the few hikers and dog-walkers, and there are, of course, no travellers now. The more lightly damaged vehicles have been collected by their owners, while those beyond repair have had to be taken away. There is no-one left to disturb her at the Stones and Bella finds herself drifting back there out of habit, even though she is now an ex-Priestess, an apostate, and there is no longer any point. She tries to ignore the cats, who surely shouldn't be interested in her now, but they still follow her wherever she goes and, if anything, are even more numerous. Sometimes they all start screeching and miaowing in unison, as if they are shouting at her. She tries throwing stones at them to drive them off, but they seem to know precisely the distance they need to retreat to in order to be safe.
On one occasion, she comes home to find McNab actually petting one.
"Get that thing out of here!" she cries. "Get it out now!"
"But it's Sylvester," says McNab. "Dae ye no remember Sylvester? Och, of course ye dae. Daes it want its belly tickled den? Ay it daes!"
"I don't care which one it is!" cries Bella. "They're all the same. Wicked! Evil! Get it out! Out! Out!" McNab rather huffily picks up the cat and takes it outside. "What was it doing here, anyway?" she demands.
"Jist visitin. He wisna daein ony harm. He aften comes by for a wee bite an' a bittie fuss. I dinna ken whit ye're gettin sae fashed aboot."
Late one night, when McNab is supposed to be out on a gig, she fancies she hears fiddling. It seems to be coming from the direction of the Stones. Throwing her coat around her, Bella immediately sets off along the familiar track. The sky is overcast and it's very dark, but her adept's superior night-sight is just enough to guide her.
As she draws near to the Stones, the sound of the fiddle becomes gradually louder until she is just able to make out the distinctive, hunched silhouette of McNab, moving among them. What on earth is he doing here at this time of night? Practising? Why isn't he with Denny and Declan? Strangely, it is not a tune that she recognises; indeed, it is scarcely a tune at all. It reminds her a little of the peculiar, fugitive sounds that he made when she first met him and he was pretending he couldn't play. But those sounds were soft and gentle, with the ghosts of melodies in them, while these are harsh, discordant and somehow menacing. Something tells Bella that he would not welcome her presence just now, and ducking down she attempts to creep closer without being seen.
She is within a few feet of the summit of the mound when the cloud thins a little an
d the moon appears. Bella abruptly stops and almost cries out at the sight before her, torn between horrified fascination and flight. As usual McNab is dancing as he plays, but to suit the eerie music it is a slow skip and glide as he carefully traces a complex path among the Stones. He is not alone. Following behind him in a long, winding, procession are perhaps a score of Jellicle cats. They, too, are dancing; not only dancing but copying his movements precisely; for as he passes closely round each Stone, he performs a strange little bobbing pirouette, and in its turn every following cat rises up on its hind legs and does the same. Slowly they begin to add their voices to that of the fiddle – a horrible, rising, falsetto yowl – until the sound is so deafening that Bella would clap her hands over her ears if she were not too frightened to move. It seems to her that the very Stones themselves are beginning to vibrate with it, becoming oddly indistinct in outline.
Suddenly, McNab ups the tempo considerably and after a few moments leaps aside. Apparently unconcerned, the cats carry on, bobbing and turning with greater and greater speed, round and round the central square formed by Hod, Geburah, Chesed and Netsach, then round and round each Stone. Then the most extraordinary thing happens, causing every hair on Bella's body to stand on end. Where the lines between the four Stones intersect is the hidden stump of Kether, which is Beauty. One by one they allow themselves to fly out of the dance, passing, still whirling, straight over the missing Stone. And as they do so — they disappear.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Bella becomes ill. Perhaps it is the stress of her discoveries, or not eating, or sleeping on a damp, recycled mattress. She starts to run a temperature and throws up repeatedly.
"Ye shoud hae a doctor," says McNab, much concerned.
Bella refuses. She won't have a doctor and she won't have her family told. They don't want her, so why tell them?
McNab scarcely leaves her side, plying her with cold drinks and Paracetamol. Bella wishes he would go away. She is frightened of him now and doesn't want him anywhere near her. She spends long periods in a semi-comatose state, filled with the same endlessly repeated dream, but occasionally she is aware of him watching her or fussily rearranging her bedclothes. She would even prefer her mother's company than his, but when she appears it is only to grumble at her and say cruel things.
It is raining: heavy rain lashes the windscreen, hissing beneath the tyres. Again the yellow, unblinking eyes. A cat! Bella braking fiercely, steers hard right. Cat scampers right. Bella steers left. Cat scampers left. The squeal of the tyres, the looming hedge, the inevitable great thud and she is airborne, she is flying, tumbling over and over in a dusty whirl of costumes, clothes hangers, masks, silly hats, face-paint, streamers, plastic cutlery, trestles, beer kegs, glasses, plates of cling-filmed food.
It is raining; heavy rain lashes the windscreen, hissing beneath the tyres. Again the yellow, unblinking . . .
Bella wakes. She has some difficulty deciding where she is. Apart from the red glow of the stove, the room is in darkness, Why is there a stove in her room? There never was before. The only stove is in the kitchen-living room, two floors below. Of course, how stupid of her! She is in Roz. Roz has a stove. She will open her eyes and there will be the beautiful nun, her lovely wise-innocent face framed in white. She opens her eyes and it is Jacqui. "Why don't you kiss her?" says her mother. "You know you want to." "I can't!" protests Bella. "I can't move!"
It is surprising how many people you bump into on a trip to town. In the High Street she comes across Simon, looking tanned and prosperous.
"Why don't you come back to my place?" he says. "Have a coffee."
She recognises the dark stairwell of the Horace Dunnock Memorial Flats, the urine stench, the filthy concrete steps mottled with discarded gum. It seems an odd place for Simon to live. They fight their way through a seemingly endless series of cramped spaces filled with empty boxes. Bella becomes convinced they are going in circles.
"Was that Julius I saw you with?" asks Simon.
"Dressed as a bear? Yes."
Bella tosses restlessly. It is very hot in the room. Also there is a strange, musky smell which she cannot for some reason place. Has she somehow been moved? Wherever she is, it is far too hot; she is bathed in sweat. She tries to kick off the blankets but they refuse to be dislodged, feeling heavy and strange against her skin. It must be some extra cover that McNab has thrown on the bed. She moans and thrashes about, finally turning over onto her hands and knees, pushing up with her back, the blankets a dead weight upon her.
Suddenly a great shudder of horror runs through her. It's alive! It's not blankets, it's alive! Some huge animal is crouching over her. She can feel its powerful muscles moving under the fur, the beat of its heart, its hot, stinking breath against her cheek.
"Julius!" cries Bella angrily. "Get off me. I don't want to play! I don't want to play your stupid game."
She waits to hear his voice, to feel his hand reaching down to pleasure her, but there is nothing, only the smell, the panting weight. Terrified now, Bella twists her head round and sees the face of an immense cat, its eyes glowing palest yellow in the darkness. It is purring, but not in a nice way. It isn't Julius, it's real!
Bella tries desperately to scramble out from under the cat but it merely climbs further onto her, bearing down on her, pushing her face into the pillow. She feels the wetness of its drool on her neck, its fangs grazing the skin. It is trying to grab her by the scruff, but there is, of course, no spare flesh and instead it takes her long hair tightly in its jaws, dragging her head hard back, immobilising, half choking her. At the same time, its furry hindquarters are pushing insistently against her. Bella gasps. She is being penetrated! Deeply penetrated. A huge cat is screwing her, and there is nothing she can do!
After a few moments she is surprised to find herself becoming strangely calm. Perhaps it is something to do with being so tightly constrained. Perhaps this is how queens become once they know there is no point in struggling. She briefly considers calling out for McNab, but she doesn't want him to see her like this, it would be too embarrassing. It is not so bad really, if one doesn't think about it. Not exactly pleasant, but not so bad. Soon she will be pregnant and Mummy will be pleased.
No, that can't be right; it's a cat. You can't get pregnant with a cat. There must be some other reason for this. Perhaps it's their way to possess her! They will take her, one by one, and she will become their creature, just like her mother.
She is so hot she is suffocating. She is sure she will die, all alone in this dark room with just the glow of the stove. Why is there a stove? Bella begins to struggle again, violently this time. She will not be possessed. She is her own person. She will decide what she does or doesn't do, not her mother, not a load of bloody cats! It's too hot in here, she has to get out. It cannot possibly take this long. Why is it taking so long? She has watched them doing it at Mrs Wren's; it never takes this long. And why is it so big? A cat's penis is quite small, like a little lipstick. This one is huge! There is something about cat sex, some fact. What is it? Oh my God, no!
The creature abruptly withdraws, its curiously barbed member tearing at her insides. Bella screams.
"Whit is it?" cries McNab in alarm. "Are ye in pain?"
Bella struggles in the darkness, lashing out. She cannot see him but she can see his brilliant red aura as he avoids her flailing limbs. "Where am I?" she demands. "What's going on?"
McNab sounds frightened. "Ye've been delirious. Ah wanted tae see if ye wis okay."
"Then get me a drink. I'm bloody parched."
It is not long before the first frost appears on the furze branches and the heath descends into winter silence, nowhere more so than in the little clearing under the pines. Bella, though nominally recovered, remains far from well. Her mattress and bedding have gone back upstairs, but she still spends her days dozing in front of the stove. She is terribly thin, with great dark rings under her eyes, and her once-lovely hair is ratty and unkempt. It was always a chore to wash it
and now she can scarcely be bothered. On impulse, she cuts it off, giving herself a rather severe bob. McNab comes home to find her weeping over the shorn locks.
McNab is seldom at home now. He continues his mysterious work for Michael, while his band, now a quartet, is greatly in demand for pub gigs and parties. He buys new clothes – a plaid waistcoat, a red cravat – while un-recycled cooking utensils and pieces of furniture begin to appear about the house. Bella remains deeply suspicious of him and he seems to be equally uneasy with her. Their formerly close relationship seems at an end. He never mentions his connection with the cats, but clearly he is deeply involved with them. More and more often she hears distant fiddling and caterwauling, but she never musters up the courage to go again and see for herself.
How did it happen? How was he caught up in this? Will it happen to her? Was the huge cat just a nightmare, or was it as real as it seemed to be? Perhaps it really was Julius, except she cannot remember him visiting, so how can it have been? No-one ever visits; she is alone. Her previous life has faded like an old photograph and there is nothing to replace it. It is as if she no longer exists.
One day, with no recollection of how she came there, Bella finds herself outside 13 Railway Gardens. Several cats, normal ones, are waiting around to be let in. Much against her better judgement she rings the bell, then steps back, nervous of her reception.
The door is opened by Jacqui who stares stonily out at her. "You just turn up!" she says at last. "You just turn up, after all this time!" Then, in a slightly-less-hostile tone, "What on earth's happened to you? You look awful."
"I just wondered . . . " begins Bella, then lapses into silence.
Jacqui glances hesitantly behind her. "You'd better come in, but be quiet. I don't want to wake Mrs Wren; she's having her afternoon nap." Without looking back, she leads the way up the familiar stairs into their old flat.
The bedroom, Bella notices, has been freshly wallpapered and the old brass bedstead has been polished until it gleams in the pale winter sunshine. A bright coal-fire burns in the little grate. She sits wearily on the edge of the bed. One or two cats peer in at her. Bella eyes them nervously. "Have you got any Jellicle cats just now?"
Isabella: A sort of romance Page 52