Hawthorn Page 10

I slip onto the sofa, place the glasses and the wine on the table and take the proffered album. It’s old, well-thumbed through. I study the photo and smile. There are three people in the picture, two women and a man. The man and one of the women I recognise, but the other woman, who looks like my Gemma, I have never seen in the flesh.

  Jules pours the wine and hands me a glass.

  “Where did you find this?”

  “The loft. There’s loads of stuff up there that we could get a good price for, and quite a few of these albums. I’m assuming they’re Learmonths?”

  I nod. “That’s my uncle Henry, and that’s my mum Maddy, and this,” I point at the Gemma lookalike, “is my aunt Bea.”

  I know now why mum always favoured Gemma as a child. She obviously saw her baby sister in her. Gemma was devastated when mum passed away a couple of years ago. You don’t think that a healthy sixty-six-year old woman could get dementia, but she did, and by the end she barely recognised me. She talked about her friends, the shining ones, and we humoured her because there was nothing else we could do. The last visit, one that I will never forget, was devastating for me and Gemma. Mum called me a monster, screamed and screamed until they were forced to sedate her. The next morning we got the call that she’d died in her sleep.

  “How old was she when she died?” Jules asks.

  “Bea died when she was seventeen. She drowned in the sea actually.”

  “That’s horrible.”

  “Mum didn’t talk about her very often. I asked her about her once or twice, a child’s curiosity, and she told me that Bea was special, that she was fragile and beautiful and that’s why she was taken from them. I later found out that they suspected Bea may have had some kind of mental health problems for a long time.”

  Jules sips her wine. “You really do have a very interesting family. I mean, this house and everything, it’s been in your family one way or another for generations, right?”

  I nod.

  “You mind if I do some research on your family tree?”

  I shrug. “Why should I mind?”

  “I don’t want you to think I’m being nosey or getting too involved.”

  It’s said lightly, but I hear the subtle jibe anyway. I sigh and put down my glass. “Do you doubt that I love you?”

  She averts her gaze.

  “Jules? Seriously?”

  “You don’t want to marry me.”

  “No, I don’t want to get married again, at all. I love you, Jules, and I want to be with you for the rest of my life. But I don’t want to get married.”

  Jules shakes her head. “I hear what you’re saying, I really do. It just feels crappy, you know?”

  I feel terrible. I wish I could take it back, accept her proposal, but I did that with Kev. I agreed to marry him because I thought it was what I should do, not because it was what I wanted. After the divorce I promised myself I would be true to my feelings from now on. Marriage is not for me. I prefer this partnership I have with Jules. Marriage feels like a noose, one I am never wearing again.

  “You have me, babe, in every way that matters. Please tell me it’s enough.”

  Jules sighs and sets down her glass. When she looks at me I know it will be okay.

  “So, Gemma’s having a birthday party at the cottage,” I say.

  Jules brows shoot up.

  I roll my eyes. “I’m not that strict, am I?”

  She winces and I laugh.

  34

  HEATHER

  Danny is squished up next to me with Buster between us. He’s wide awake though. I can see the white bits of his eyes shining in the dark and he’s shaking a bit ‘cos he’s scared. I don’t like storms either, but I don’t get scared like Danny does. Nothing really scares me much, not even big hairy spiders, but Danny… Danny gets scared of lots of stuff. When we shared a room in the old house he used to make me tell him a funny story nearly every night ‘fore he’d go sleep. I was happy when mum said we could have our own rooms ‘cos now I don’t have to tell stories every night. I love Danny, but sometimes I get tired of looking after him. In our old school I had to stay with Danny all the time ‘cos he was shy of the other children. I really, really wanted to play with Vicky and Rose, but Danny would get upset and go all quiet and so I stayed with him.

  I’m glad we’re in different classes now ‘cos I made friends with Charlotte and Tammy and Ben and Bobby. I know Danny didn’t make any friends. Thinking ‘bout it makes my stomach feel yucky.

  The other day in the playground I saw Danny by himself standing at the wall. I tried to get him to come play tag with Bobby and Charlotte. Charlotte thinks Danny’s cute, she asked him to hold her hand, but Danny wouldn’t play or talk to them.

  I love Danny, but he makes me so angry ‘cos he wants me to himself all the time. I think of Elsa and how I’m sure Danny made her go away too. I feel myself getting cross again.

  “Why are you scared of everything?”

  “I don’t know. I wish I could be like you. I wish I could be brave like you.”

  My crossness goes away. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”

  “Will you? You promised you would when we moved in and then you left me.”

  That yucky feeling is back again. Was I too mean to him? I liked having Elsa, I didn’t want to share.

  “I’m sorry, Danny.”

  “S’okay. They’ve gone now.” He closes his eyes.

  I let him be happy, let him believe that he has me all to himself again, but I know better. Elsa is back.

  I lift my princess doll up so her head is resting on the pillow. I found her when I got back from school sitting on my bed, all mended and as good as new.

  35

  GEMMA

  The air is fresh and clean, the sky clear and bright blue. I walk as fast as my legs will carry me, resisting the urge to break into a run. The chill has a sting to it today, a bite that gnaws at my skin. My not so stylish bobble hat and retro mittens stave off the cold, and the extra layer of clothes pad out my inadequate coat, making it workable. My vision is blurred but I can’t blame the cold for that.

  I concentrate on getting to the cottage, wanting to be safe within its walls before I allow the tears to flow.

  “I hope we can still be friends,” he’d said. “I’ll miss you.”

  I knew it, had known it all along and I couldn’t even get mad at him, rage at him like I wanted to, because he was right.

  “Maybe if we’d started going out sooner, before the move, had some time…”

  Yeah, maybe. Maybe it would have worked, or maybe you still would have gotten off with Jessica once I was gone.

  I’ve wanted Liam for so long, and then I had him, and now she has him, and there’s nothing I can do about it. It’s over. Liam and I are over.

  I look up, dashing tears from my eyes. I see the cottage. The storm has done its damage. The ivy has been ripped off, trailing along the ground forlornly. There are leaves and twigs and debris all over the place and I have no idea where it all came from. I climb over it to get to the house and yelp when I stub my toe on something.

  Leaning down, I pick up the horseshoe then fling it off into the distance as hard as I can, revelling in the release of tension.

  I unlock the door and step inside, closing it firmly behind me.

  I freeze.

  “Hi.” Sam looks up from stoking the fire.

  Anger flares in my chest, hot and sudden, taking me by surprise. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Get out of here! How dare you?” I storm toward him, not sure what I’m going to do, fuelled only by my anger at Liam, my anger at Sam being here in my space when I need to be alone.

  Sam holds up his hands. “Whoa!”

  I want to lash out, to hit him, to beat his face in, and I don’t know where it’s coming from. Suddenly his hands are on my shoulders squeezing almost painfully. The wall’s at my back and his face is close, so close I could lick it. My eyes widen as I realise I want to lick it.

  “H
e doesn’t deserve you.” His whispers raggedly and then he is kissing me and it’s like fire and ice and I can’t breathe. I’m growling, my chest rumbling, because he tastes so bloody good I could eat him.

  He pulls back and the world slaps me in the face, my cheeks flame. What did I just do?

  He is laughing softly. “There you are.”

  I realise that something has shifted inside me and yet I don’t know what.

  I mean to push him away. I’m grieving the loss of Liam, but my body is unconcerned with my mind. I yank him to me and take his mouth, twisting and turning until it is him pressed to the wall and I am the aggressor.

  “Gemma? Gemma! Geroff!” Sam falls off me.

  “Jen?” I scramble to sit up. My mind feels fuzzy and furry like cotton wool.

  Jen smacks Sam upside the head with an umbrella. “Get out!” She glances back at me. “You okay? Shit!” Sam’s taken the umbrella off her and is grinning down at her.

  I blink up at them, then down at myself. My jeans are undone, my top is under my armpits and my bra is exposed.

  Oh.

  Jen is staring at me as if she doesn’t know me anymore. She shakes her head. “I thought he was attacking you. Guess I was wrong. I see you’re not as heartbroken as I thought you’d be.”

  Sam runs a hand through his hair and pulls on his jacket. “I’ll see you soon, Gemma.” He says, completely ignoring Jen. He walks out whistling a jaunty tune.

  It’s just me and Jen and my shame and confusion. I open my mouth to explain myself, but there are no words.

  Jen’s frown softens and she takes a seat on the sofa beside my hip. “Cover your tits and let’s talk about this.”

  I do as she asks and sit up properly.

  “Who is he?”

  “His name’s Sam.” My voice comes out raspy and hoarse. I clear my throat. “And that’s all I know really. I met him a couple of times in the woods. He’s the one who showed me this place. He was here when I got here and then… I don’t know, I was so angry at Liam and him… I don’t know…”

  “I get it. You were pissed off. He was here and you decided to get off with him as a fuck you to Liam, right?”

  Was it? Was that what happened? I think back and it’s like trying to look through frosted-glass. It makes sense, though.

  I nod. “Yeah, suppose so.”

  Jen smiles. “Well, if you’re gonna rebound then this Sam bloke’s as good as any, right? And he did take my battering with good grace.”

  I look at the umbrella on the rug then back up at Jen. “You did make a fearsome figure bounding in to save my virtue.”

  She makes a smug face. “I am pretty awesome.” Then she sobers. “You were just getting off, right? You wouldn’t have…”

  I realise what she is asking and shock courses through me. How could she think that? “No way!”

  “Right, well. Be careful, okay?”

  I nod.

  “And find out where the hell he lives and stuff. I can’t believe he hasn’t told you.”

  “I didn’t ask.”

  She looks troubled.

  “What?”

  “The horseshoe has gone, did you notice?”

  “Yeah, it was on the ground when I got here. I was so angry I lobbed it.”

  Jen’s frown deepens. “Has Sam been here before? I mean, since we put up the horseshoe?”

  I shake my head.

  “Did he say why he’s stayed away so long?”

  Now I’m beginning to feel uncomfortable. “What are you getting at?”

  It looks like she’s about to elaborate, but then she grins and pokes my arm. “Just be careful. I’ll get us a new horseshoe for next time we come up.”

  “Cool.” Although I don’t really care because I can’t stop thinking about his hands on my body and how right they felt, and I know deep down that if Jen hadn’t come in when she did, I wouldn’t have stopped him.

  36

  GEMMA

  I tear off my clothes, slip into my tracksuit bottoms and a loose jumper and am off again, running toward the cottage.

  Today I feel like I can burst from my skin, itchy and aching and strange. It’s only Tuesday and I’m pretty sure I’ve already alienated all my friends. I upset Jen when I cancelled on her twice in a row; we’re supposed to go clothes shopping for Saturday. I called Patrick a pile of wank, and I told Eloise she was with the wrong bloke and should consider dating the pile of wank. Stephen was off today, but I’m sure he’s been updated via the social network bitch, and no doubt I’ll have a nasty message waiting for me on Facebook.

  I’m supposed to be celebrating my birthday this weekend. We decided on a Halloween theme ‘cos it’s, you know, Halloween, but I’m wondering if anyone will show. I used to hate sharing my birthday with one of the popular days of the year, but here, in Learmonth, Halloween takes a backseat. For once it will be my night and mine alone. But all these thoughts are peripheral to what really consumes me.

  Sam.

  I haven’t seen him since Sunday morning, that’s a whole two days, nearly three, and its driving me mad. It’s like I’m on fire for him or something. There’s a part of me that questions this, that screams for me to go back, to lock myself in my room and never come out. Yet that part is a weak, pathetic noodle. This part, the part that flies through the woods, the part that inhales the scent of damp fragrant soil, this part is vital, free. This part is me.

  I slam into the cottage and scream, literally scream because he isn’t here.

  I kick the sofa, barely restraining myself from trashing the place, and then I am off again, into the woods.

  I don’t know where I’m going, not until I get there, and then I stop, bend over clutching my side, gasping for breath as I stare at the gaping wound in the Hawthorn tree, as I devour his face.

  Sam

  He is sitting on the ground on a black blanket, his back propped against the tree.

  His eyes are obsidian stars, and where the hell did that thought come from?

  He holds out his arms and the woods are filled with light, my body filled with heat.

  I tumble into his arms, yelping as his fingers dig into my flesh, crying out as he pins me to the ground and covers me with his body.

  We stare into each other eyes and Gemma is in there, screaming, screaming, screaming, but I don’t care, I arch my pelvis up and then I grab the back of his head, twist his hair in my hand and pull him to me

  The moon is looking down on me, full and round and clear. I can still feel Sam’s kisses, like wildfire chasing across my skin. I lie in my bed and try to breath, to surface, but it’s like drowning in honey, warm and sweet, yet terrifying.

  “See you under the moon,” he said. Under the moon

  Exhaustion claims me like a switch being flipped and I am out.

  A steady tap, tap, tap wakes me. I want to curl up and hide, I want to fling open the window and let him in.

  I lie under the duvet, trembling with the effort of fighting the call. In the end I give in. I throw open the window and float out to him.

  Above the woods and then whirling down so fast it makes me shriek with excitement.

  The woods are alive, tiny lights hang from the trees, lights that move and writhe and bare their tiny razor-sharp teeth at me. I growl back, shaking my head and showing my teeth, white and blunt but strong.

  The Hawthorn’s maw spews forth glittering shadow, writhing vomit alive with moans and laughter.

  “Dance with me.”

  “Sam…”

  He is behind me, his hands on my shoulders and then he is tearing my nightshirt from my body. I am free.

  The stars whirl above me, a sweet hum, a dull thud, an aching beat fills my head, my heart, my soul. Tears blur my vision and a multitude of hands caress my body as if trying to break me free from its shell.

  “Home home home want it want it want it so hungry…”

  I know these voices. I know this fear that is slithering under my skin, into my mind, awakening
me.

  My eyes snap open and I look down at the hands, the black and grey and bald creatures that are crawling over me, caressing me, licking, me.

  The ecstasy has gone, replaced by pure unadulterated fear. My limbs are ice and I lie frozen, afraid to move, afraid to let them know that I am awake.

  My breath hitches and the one closest to my face raises its head and stares at me with its huge oval eyes, eyes so black, so dark that they are nothing but vacuums threatening to consume me.

  “Hungry so hungry…”

  I open my mouth and scream.

  37

  NIGHT MARY

  Learmonth House looks different; new and old at the same time. I’m doing it again, climbing the stairs even though I don’t bleedin’ want to. I tell myself I’m carrying a gun, a big shotgun that can kill anything, and then there it is, solid and warm in my hand as if it’s been recently fired. Maybe it has, who knows?

  I get to the top of the stairs and hear the reedy wail that sends shivers down my spine and makes me want to turn and leg it. Instead I move forward.

  “Let’s just get it over with.” My voice reverberates throughout the corridor as if I have yelled the words into a microphone.

  I hate dreams. Thank goodness I don’t remember them in the morning.

  The dream halls are for me, Night Time Mary, the Mary who is kick arse and is forever young, the Mary who believes in magic and little people. That is the Mary I am once the other Mary falls asleep. This Mary takes no shit.

  I reach the room with the armoire, the door to the doorway, and kick it open, entering with a flourish. Might as well have fun with it.

  The window is open and I glance out at the full moon.

  “Take her and bring her back,” says Karen. She’s lying on the bed, holding the changeling like she always does in this particular dream.

  I ignore her because it’s a full moon and there is more afoot here than the usual messed up dream scenario.