by Helen Slavin
“Hello. Welcome to Betty’s. If you need any help just ask,” before turning back to the necklaces.
“Oh, this is just…” She was getting cross, she could feel herself blushing, and she could feel PC Williamson staring at her and so her fingers were sausages and about as useful.
“That’s alright,” PC Williamson was squeezing past her, his muscular leg catching at the display table that cluttered up the shop space sending some small stuffed bears onto a cliff dive towards the woman customer. “You’re busy. I’ll come back again. Later. Thank you,” and the bell chimed his exit.
Could today possibly plumb new depths? Mari turned to retrieve the stuffed bears and balanced them back on the table before she took a closer look at her new customer.
“Can I help at all?” Mari beamed a terrible smile. The woman in front of her, dressed entirely in black, was tallish and thinnish and had black hair cut with geometric precision, the fringe of which just brushed the rounded tortoiseshell frames of her glasses. She beamed a smile back at Mari with elegant red lips.
“No thank you, I’m content to look. What a lovely shop.” She took a step towards the counter before being momentarily distracted by the display of candles on the rickety dresser. Her elegant black jumper was about to snag on one of the drawer handles. Mari darted from behind the counter.
“Oh… hang on… wait a moment…” Mari reached and rescued the fabric. It was so beautifully soft it must be cashmere. The woman had on tulip shaped trousers in another fabric that looked very tactile; Mari struggled to let go of the hem of the jumper and was envious of the lovely trousers. Even her baggy bottom would look elegant in trousers like that.
“Penny for them?” the woman smiled. Mari felt herself blush slightly.
“Oh… sorry… I didn’t want you to catch your jumper… it’s so beautiful…” Mari realised she was still holding onto the lushly soft fabric, so densely sootily black. The woman smiled wider. Those lips were such a perfect shade of red. “I love your lipstick,” Mari ventured.
“Oh, thank you… it’s a favourite shade.”
“Is it an expensive brand?” Mari suspected it was. She thought of her own rubbishy collection of lipsticks which generally made her look as if she’d been smearing bright pink grease all over her face and usually on her teeth too. The woman was reaching for a neat little black vanity case. Her fingers, the nails painted a matching elegant red, pushed at a sleek silver catch and the case opened. It was lined with red silk and arrayed with a carousel of lipsticks in elegantly glossy black cases.
“No, not at all. In fact, it’s my own range.” Her fingers trailed over the neat tubes. “I’m in the area on business.” Her eyes, Mari noticed as they stared at her, were a very deep blue, just further than navy with a splash of turquoise. “Pardon me saying this but you seem a little stressed.” The woman placed a white skinned hand on Mari’s arm, and asked “Are you a little down my dear?”
Mari felt a pang go through her. All her thoughts lately were about shutting the shop, about retreating to her uncle’s farm and the caravan he offered. She needed, above all else, a change of direction, to get out from under the suffocating floral quilts and frilly hand towels. What she wanted, what she needed, was something crisp and elegant. She looked at the grained black leather of the vanity case, at the lustrous watermarking of the satin inside, like a swirling red sea.
“Let me make you a gift, a little pick me up.” The woman’s fingers trailed over the tubes once more, Mari found it hard not to follow its course. She could see her face reflected in the black gloss surfaces, little tiny powerless Mari.
“Oh no… no you shouldn’t do that,” Mari said although her fingers longed to curl around the tubes, to smear the lush colour onto her lips and feel lifted, shiny. Glamorous, that is what she would be. “Oh no. I couldn’t. Thank you but… no.”
“Not at all my dear, it’s very good for business. Word of mouth,” she smiled. “Which is one of the colours in fact,” she laughed, a shrill bird-like sound. “You can tell all your friends where you got your special lip colour.”
Later, Mari couldn’t recall the whole conversation in her head because the excitement she now felt fizzed around everything and made bubbles where her brain ought to be.
“All the products are natural ingredients, even the preservative… I’m very very keen on Mother Nature and all she has to offer us.”
Mari was very keen on the lipsticks; the sun seemed to glint just so from the surface of the tubes and the red silk of the lining, oh, she couldn’t stop herself tracing her fingers across its coolness.
“Would you like to look through the lipsticks?” the woman suggested.
The lipsticks were like nothing Mari had ever seen. Oh, this one was lush deep red, like wine: Goblet, the gold lettering christened it. She’d spent many a half hour dawdling by the cosmetics counters in the top shops in Castlebury. Oh, those mirrored counters in Milsom’s where they only carried designer goods, most of which did not have price tags on them and which were policed by staff so haughty you did not dare ask what that price might be because you knew in your heart they were going to say, ‘a kidney’. Ooh, this one was a brighter pinkier red, Scarlet Fever, and then this one, this one burst redly into your eyeball, Bloodshot. It wasn’t just the colours, it was the texture, although Mari had only, so far, tested them out on the back of her hand. She was striped over now and couldn’t remember which was her favourite because they all seemed to be her favourite. What was this one? Had she seen this one already? Vermillionairess? And the cases were so appealing, the smoothness of the plastic, the surface glossy, and yet somehow you couldn’t see your reflection in them, just the way the daylight bounced on and off them and that delectable click they made as you put the lid back.
“Perhaps you’d like to choose one for yourself.”
“Oh. Yes.” Mari replied. “That would be wonderful… I think... I think this one is...” she picked out a black torpedo and clicked the lid free, twisted up the rich red concoction within, oh my god, she didn’t think she’d even seen this one before, this was like red roses, velvet roses. Petallic. Oh no though, what about this one like a bead of blood. Droplet.
“Oh… No, I think maybe…” she could barely speak with delight and excitement but the elegant woman was reaching a slim finger towards another tube. She pulled it free as if lifting a chocolate from an extravagant box. She revealed it, twisting upwards. A deep red, like church velvet. Vow, the gold letters spelled.
“Wear this one,” the elegant Mrs Fyfe decreed.
14
Straight Talking
The necessity of carrying out the Bone Resting became focused and intense after Emz arrived home and recounted the events of her day, filling them in with the report of crazed squirrels and kamikaze hedgehogs. With all the information gathered the Ways considered.
“All this activity. It’s connected to the Bone Resting.” Charlie was the first to state what seemed obvious. “You arrive, and this stuff kicks off. There must be a link.”
Anna and Emz nodded, their gaze settled on Ailith who looked distinctly ill at ease.
“We’re looking at this as if it’s a problem. It isn’t. We just need to get on with the Bone Resting,” Anna hoped she sounded reassuring and knowledgeable. “Once your warrior is rested then, all the…” she too struggled with the obvious word and could not look at Charlie, “… activity, will stop. Yes?” Anna struggled to fake a sense of breezy brightness.
Charlie turned directly to Ailith. “Have you got any clue what we have to do for the Bone Resting?” she asked. Ailith looked anxious.
“You’re the Ways. The Gamekeepers. You must know.”
“But that’s our problem. We don’t.” Charlie was point blank with her comment. Anna noted that there was an almost imperceptible flinch from Ailith, but she pulled it back.
“Charlie…” Anna had a warning tone. Ailith looked cornered but stood her ground.
“I don’t have th
e knowledge. I was just to bring him here. See him safe to Havoc and Hettie Way.”
Charlie could hear that there was truth in the statement but once again there was another layer to what she said. Charlie was infuriated, it was as if she could see the difference, an alteration, but it was in the corner of her eye. She turned, put Ailith into the periphery of her vision. As she did so Ailith seemed thinner once more, tired. Afraid. Charlie felt it, like a spike. What was she afraid of?
There was a silence. The three sisters had never felt their responsibility so heavily. Anna spoke up once more.
“This Bone Resting… it’s a funeral service?”
Ailith nodded.
“You must rest him right, that way they can’t get him, they can’t use him.”
“Use him?” Charlie had a sudden inappropriate image of a football match and an unusual ball.
“Use him? How?” Anna asked.
“And who are They?” Emz put in. Ailith took in a deep, sharp breath.
“They? Anyone. His enemies. Your enemies. Whoever as wants the weapon of him.” Ailith seemed to think they were simpletons, that she was having to explain something that was blindingly obvious. Charlie leapt on the new fact.
“Weapon? That head is a weapon? You knew this all along?” she stood up. “The place is buzzing with Mag… with, with.” Charlie was struggling with her temper and fear, no wonder Ailith had been afraid. Anna tried to calm her.
“Charlie.”
Charlie was not to be calmed.
“No Anna.” Charlie flashed a look at her sister. Anna backed down. Charlie focused on Ailith. “All along you knew this, that his head can be a weapon? And you kept that from us?”
Ailith was silent, her face losing all colour, her breathing fast and shallow. Charlie watched her and again that uncertainty about Ailith flashed up. What was going on?
“Why wouldn’t she?” Emz said in a voice soft as a whisker so that everyone turned.
“What?” Charlie’s mind was glad of the reprieve. She was filtering and sifting. There was a nugget within all this. What was it?
“First off, she thought we knew about it.” Emz was cool, calm. “She’s not from here. She’s come from far enough and expects that the Gamekeepers at Havoc Wood will know what to do. It’s their job.” She let that thought settle amongst them. Again, the tension in the room dipped a little.
“So. She arrives, and we haven’t got a clue.” Emz continued.
“Emz is right, Charlie...” Anna agreed with a nod. “That’s our fault, not hers.”
“And why would she tell us? We’re not Hettie Way. We’re just three weirdos who don’t know what they’re doing.” Emz was reasoned and certain. “She can say it now because she’s got to know us.”
Charlie relented. She did not sit back down but her hands dug themselves deep into her sweatshirt pockets.
“Fair point.”
Ailith remained tense. Charlie watched her, thoughtful, but less aggressively so. That was the wrong angle. She recalled the image of their guest sitting in the solar at the castle, small, defenceless, lost. Ailith was not an enemy.
“The weapon of him?” Anna asked; her mind was sifting memories now, a swift, efficient search for any information and suddenly it burst into her mind. She gave a gasp. “Oh. You mean like in the legends… like the Head of Bran?”
The other Way sisters turned to look at her. Ailith, for her part, looked relieved. She seemed to draw herself up taller.
“It is so… you do know.”
Charlie and Emz looked at Anna.
As Charlie made fresh tea, Anna made bacon sandwiches and Emz pulled the copy of the Mabinogion from the bookshelf and they all glanced over the story, Ailith viewing the book as if it was an artefact, her eyes drawn to the colourful cover.
“The belief is…” Anna began, “that there was power in someone’s skull. That all their soul and spirit resided there and if you took their head after a battle you could use that power.”
“Weaponising someone’s head?” Charlie concluded. Emz reached down another couple of colourful volumes.
“We know about this, Charlie.” She was riffling through the books. “If I show you you’ll remember. The Celts… Look.” She flicked through the book, shoved it towards Charlie. Charlie was flooded with memory of the colourful knotwork art in the old volume. She remembered how often she’d followed the mazes of these patterns, losing herself. A strand or two of tension untwanged themselves as Anna continued.
“They believed the soul resided in your head. If you took your enemy’s head you owned them. You’d stop them resting in peace at the very least,” Anna said.
“The Green Knight,” Charlie said almost to herself. “I’d forgotten.” The Way sisters flicked through the books and the memories were flicking with greater clarity. As they stood beside Ailith they were also in the past, sitting on the baggy old sofa with Grandma Hettie, this book open and the tale of the Green Knight, of Bran, being woven into them with the wood smoke scent of the fire in the hearth of Cob Cottage.
“Everyone always thinks stuff is in your heart, but your head is where it all is.” Emz sounded almost as though she was talking to herself. “Everything is going on up here…” she tapped her own temple. “All your memories and movements, all the electricity zapping and sparking, your own personal lightning storm.”
This image resonated with all of them.
“It makes sense of what’s been going on. It’s because he’s here at last, perhaps. It’s Havoc’s influence on his head.” Charlie chewed over the thoughts.
“Because he’s near to the end, there’s like a funerary plume of Mag…” Emz felt Charlie tense at the approach of the word and altered course. “Of Strength. His Strength,” Emz suggested. The air in the room seemed to lighten, the sunlight streaming in off the lake making sparkles of the dust motes.
“Maybe that’s what the sound was in the castle. Maybe it’s calling to him,” Charlie rolled the thought around her head. “Like the Last Post on Remembrance Day.”
The Ways tried to recall anything that their grandmother had ever said about deaths, funeral rites, and burials, other than her own burning of boats approach. Clearly that was not the way to go here.
“I can’t see Mrs Bentley letting us build a pyre of any description in the castle grounds, can you?” Emz asked with a quizzical look.
“Let’s face facts. I can’t see Mrs Bentley letting us dig a hole and bury him,” Anna was trying not to sound defeated.
“I don’t suppose we can just put him in a shoebox and tell her he’s a cat?” Charlie pondered. It was not the most sensible solution, but it was, at least, doable. She had an intense uneasiness and wanted the whole business, Ailith included, dealt with, fast. Anna gave her a withering look.
“I’m sorry, Ailith,” Anna apologised and offered a newly opened tin stocked with half a pistachio and lemon curd meringue roulade that she had brought home from work. “We’re a bit new at this.”
“All well and good.” Ailith smiled. Once again Charlie heard a wrong note. She played it back in her head as Anna got organised.
“Anyway. We can get this Bone Resting sorted and then you can be on your way.” Anna smiled. Ailith’s eyes flickered up to her face, distracted from the glistening sugared surface of the meringue for a moment or two. Her smile widened and as Emz watched she was struck by the sudden appearance of the young woman’s raw real face. Where before Emz had thought it scary and off-putting now she seemed to see it with different eyes; the face was raw indeed, but raw with long held fear and it was stretched with tiredness, distorted out of its usual placings. Emz wanted to reach out for Ailith and as her arm flinched slightly with the movement it was Ailith who moved out of reach, standing up suddenly.
“I am very tired. It is time I slept,” she smiled briefly and then she seemed to vanish behind the bedroom door.
The Way sisters exchanged a glance. Anna looked directly at Emz.
“What did you
see?” she asked. Emz looked back over the memory of Ailith’s face.
“Tired. Scared.” Emz offered.
“Join the club,” Charlie confessed. Anna reached out her hands; Emz took one, Charlie the other and, triangulated for a moment or so, they let the feeling of bedtime stories, of Grandma Hettie, of home, settle into them.
“Anyone feel like a quick patrol of Havoc?” Anna asked.
“Yes. Check for guests and visitors that might be headed this way.” Charlie was already reaching for her jacket.
“They’ll be mourners, won’t they? Since it’s a funeral,” Emz said as they trooped out.
“Good point. Well made,” Anna said as they shut the door.
Ailith standing in the room, her ear to the door, tried to hear what was being said. She was tensed, like an animal waiting and then, at the last moment as the Witch Ways headed out, she scuttled down to the little nest of duvet she had made beneath the window.
15
Lipstick on a Pig
The Craft Club were meeting tonight, not at The Sisters at the foot of Horse Hill but at Roz’s house, a semi-detached Victorian villa at the Castlebury end of town. Villiers House, as it was grandly titled, had a wooden porch that ran around the front of the house to a set of steps at the front door and a cellar beneath which had recently been tanked out and made into what Roz titled ‘a garden room’. The garden was a tangled mess of shrubs and odd sculptures and wind chimes. Inside, the house was painted with a palette of gloomy earth tones and furnished with junk shop finds; it was a masterpiece of Gothic majesty.
The women had gathered in the Withdrawing Room, high ceilinged and continuing the Gothic theme with blue black walls and bronze coloured ceiling. There was a vast dining table set up with candles and wine goblets. Above them an antique chandelier shimmered with light.
