Storm Witch

by Alys West

  Seeing a black Clio take the turn into the harbour at speed he strolled over to the parking spaces.

  “Sorry,” she called, climbing out of the car. “I was late leaving work and then I had to go to Tesco as I’ve somehow managed to lose my hairbrush and if there’s one thing I can’t manage without—”

  He ruffled her hair. If he acted like things were the same between them perhaps they would be. “Looks okay to me.” It was silky against his fingers and instantly he regretted the jokey gesture. Too many memories.

  Smoothing it down, she glared at him. “Thanks! I’d only just made it look half decent again.”

  “Still looks fine to me.” Slamming the car door, she turned to join him. “Aren’t you going to lock it?” he added.

  “Why? Who’d steal my car? Stop being such a city boy.” There was an edge to the words that sliced.

  “I am not. Not anymore.” Stuffing his hands in his jeans pockets, he started walking. Things weren’t the same. He had to stop pretending they could be.

  “Then stop worrying about my car being stolen.”

  “That’s easier said than done. I lived in Manchester for a lot of years. You don’t leave anything unlocked there if you want to see it again.”

  She gestured at the narrow road, the grey stone houses and shops lining each side. “Does this look like Manchester?”

  “Not much.”

  “Exactly.”

  Climbing the steep hill to the town hall put an end to further conversation and he was grateful for it. They slipped in as the meeting was beginning. It was better attended than he’d expected with twenty-seven residents — as the meeting dragged on he counted them not once but twice — sitting on the hard wooden chairs. Listening to them discussing their objections to the Nethertown development, Hal realised he didn’t have strong feelings either way. In fact, if he were being really honest, there were lots of good things about it. Orkney needed more housing. It was only the location of this scheme that was stupid. But then, what else could you expect from Andrew Stewart?

  He could see that Jenna was getting more and more uncomfortable. She’d started off her usual self, greeting the people she knew, answering queries about her dad’s health but she’d got more withdrawn as the meeting progressed. He couldn’t blame her. No one had held back in expressing their opinions about Andrew and that’d got to be uncomfortable.

  At the front of the hall, Pippa Lloyd drew the meeting to a close. As she thanked everyone for attending there was a general shuffling as people reached for jackets and bags. “What now?” Hal asked quietly.

  “I want to have a word with Pippa. See what she remembers. Then I’ll buy you a drink. I owe you that for sitting through this.”

  “Why don’t you come back to mine for that drink?” Standing, Hal slipped on his waterproof. “I’ve got a couple of songs I want to run through with you.”

  She hesitated, fiddling with the zip on her fleece. “I’ve not brought my fiddle.”

  “No worries,” he said as he followed her towards the front of the hall. “We can work on the vocals this evening and sort out the fiddle part later.”

  “Alright,” she said over her shoulder. “I guess we’ve got to if we’ve any hope of being ready. We’re fast running out of time.”

  Jenna was referring to their support gig but there were only twelve days until Cassie arrived. How much time would he have for playing with Jenna after that? Despite what he’d said to her, he’d barely discussed it with Cassie. Would she be happy sitting at home on her own while they rehearsed? Or would he end up doing what he’d done before and playing less and less as a way to avoid arguments?

  “Jenna! How lovely to see you! Thank you for coming.” Pippa kissed Jenna on the cheek before extending her hand to shake his. “And you must be Hal. I saw you at the wedding. Chris said you were an absolute godsend. Very cool head in a crisis.”

  “I’ve had some first-aid training at work.” Answering her questions about Duncan’s recovery and the health of the rest of his family, he realised how much she knew about him while he knew nothing about her except that she was Dr Lloyd’s English wife. He was relieved when she turned back to Jenna.

  “Nina would have been so pleased to see you here. We really miss her energy. I might have lived in Stromness for eleven years but I’m still a ferry-louper—” the word sounded strange in her crisp Home Counties accent “—to most of the people here. But everyone respected Nina and it counted for a lot that she was prepared to stand up to her brother.”

  “Would you mind if I asked you a few questions about the campaign? Mum never really talked to me about it and I don’t know why she was so opposed to Uncle Andrew’s proposals.”

  “The same reasons as the rest of us. The site by the cemetery and the fact that the development was totally inappropriate for the location.”

  “That was it? There was nothing else?” Jenna’s brow furrowed. “Can you remember when Mum got involved?”

  Pippa tilted her head. “Sometime in November, I think. It was fairly soon after Phil Croy defected and became a supporter of the proposal. I was honestly ready to give up and then Nina breezed into a meeting and insisted that we had to think bigger and bolder if we were going to stop the development going through.”

  “Did Mum tell you what made her decide to get involved?”

  “I can’t really remember. Once she did, there was no stopping her. She was like a force of nature. She must have banged on every door in Stromness. She spoke to local businesses, contacted all the Councillors on the planning committee. Because she was Andrew’s sister people listened to her. She even got Phil Croy back on side and I’ve never known how she pulled that off.”

  “Did she ever talk to you about Andrew? About the way he reacted to her getting involved?”

  “Only once.”

  Jenna took a tiny step forward. “What did she say?”

  “Something about not being able to close her eyes to what he was doing anymore. I think she said that she’d done that for a long time because he was her brother but he’d crossed a line and she had to fight him on this.” Pippa gestured a little wildly. “I remember because she sounded so passionate about it. She was wasted here. She should have been in politics.”

  Hal’s eyebrows rose. He’d only met Nina once when she visited Jenna in Edinburgh. She’d seemed kind and a bit motherly to him but he remembered the fierce intelligence in her blue eyes as if she could see straight into his soul, which had felt pretty uncomfortable seeing as he was head over heels in love with her daughter.

  From her bag, Jenna produced a printed flyer and held it up for Pippa to see. “I found this in one of her books.”

  “For the march.” Pippa reached for it and reluctantly Jenna handed it over. “Goodness, it seems a long time ago. And now we’ve got to fight the proposal all over again.”

  “Do you remember when you got these printed?” Jenna said.

  Frowning Pippa looked for a second at the writing on the reverse of the flyer before handing it back. “The march was Nina’s idea. She said we needed to do something to grab the headlines and sway the waverers on the Council. We began planning it not long after she got involved but I don’t remember when we got these printed.”

  “Okay, thanks. Sorry about all the questions.” Jenna gave an awkward little half-shrug. “I just wish I’d asked her at the time, you know, and Dad won’t talk about any of it.”

  “Your father’s been through such a lot,” Pippa said gently.

  Hal bit back the urge to say, ‘So’s Jenna’. He touched her arm. “Ready to go play some tunes?”

  She gave him a quick smile. “Yes. That sounds good.”

  “Will we see you again?” Pippa asked. “We could really use your support. The planning committee meets on 5th September. That gives us seven weeks to convince them to vote against it.”

  “I don’t know.” Frowning, Jenna looked down at the flyer as if she’d find an answer there. “It’s difficult b
ecause Andrew’s family. I’ve not got much of that left so I don’t want to alienate him completely. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t agree with what he’s proposing but it’s another thing to publicly say I’m against it.”

  Pippa took a step towards her. “Nina did.”

  “I know,” Jenna said, before she turned away. “And I still don’t understand why.”

  It’d begun to rain while they were in there. Hal zipped up his jacket. “You okay?” Looking down at her tense face it was obvious that she wasn’t. But he wouldn’t push it. If she wanted to talk then he’d listen. If not, then that was up to her.

  Wrinkling her nose, she said, “I’d hoped she’d be able to tell me more, you know.”

  “Like what?” Turning they fell into step together, walking up Christie’s Brae back to his house.

  “Like what the line was that Andrew crossed. It’d have to be something pretty big. I mean, they never got along that well but he was her little brother and she did love him even if he was a total git most of the time.”

  “What did your dad say?”

  “That he’d forgotten. I don’t know if he has or he hasn’t but I can’t push him on it. He told me to talk to Pippa.”

  “Like you expected then.”

  “Just like I expected.” She tugged at the sleeve of her waterproof. “Andrew came round last night. I turned the flat down.”

  “You’re sure?” He didn’t want her to go. But he couldn’t ask her to stay.

  “Absolutely. He was a real arse about it. Tried to convince me that if I wouldn’t take the flat, I needed counselling.”

  “He what—?” Hal stopped and turned to look at her.

  “Yeah.” Jenna glanced at him briefly before she resumed walking. “Completely out of the blue he started preaching the benefits of therapy. It was lucky Winston came round when he did or I might have ended up agreeing to it just to get Andrew to shut up.”

  Winston had been there. Of course he had. And Andrew’s bad behaviour gave him the perfect excuse to act like he was the only one who cared. Well, two could play at that game.

  “That’s way out of order,” Hal said. “Even for your uncle. I mean, I’m not saying that counselling wouldn’t help. You’ve been through so much—”

  “Are you saying I need it too?”

  “I’m just saying it might be good for you to have someone to talk to.”

  “God, you sound exactly like him!”

  “Hey!” He held his hands up. “I’m only trying to help.”

  “That’s what he said!”

  They walked on in silence which thickened and intensified with every step. As they turned onto Back Road he couldn’t stand it any longer. “Do you remember the words for Farewell to Stromness? I’ve been practising it. I think it’d be a good opener for the gig.”

  It’d been one of the last songs they’d learned together in Parcel of Rogues. They’d only performed it once, that night in Newcastle, the night of the winter solstice. The night Nina died. After that everything changed. Jenna never played with the band again. They’d struggled on for six months or so with a succession of mediocre fiddle players who’d tried and failed to fill her shoes. It’d almost been a relief when it folded. He’d already lost Jenna. The band had been a last reminder of what they’d had together.

  “I remember the words,” Jenna said. “But I’ve not sung it since…” When she trailed off he knew she too was thinking of that night in Newcastle and about the featureless room in the Travelodge where they’d spent all night making love.

  Pulling the key from the pocket of his jeans, he unlocked the front door. He hesitated in the hall. The tension between them was getting out of hand. He couldn’t fix all of it. No one could. Not now. Not after all these years apart. But he could say the words he’d been rehearsing since Sunday and hope they helped. After she’d shrugged her coat off, he took it from her and dropped his hand on her arm. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you Cassie was coming. I was trying to do the right thing, not put any more on you while you were injured. But I think I got it wrong.”

  He hoped she’d smile, reassure him it was alright. She looked at him for long seconds, studying his face. Then her chin came up. “You got it really wrong,” she said. “You should have told me, Hal. I deserved that much.”

  He opened his mouth to protest but she kept talking. “But it’s done and we’ve got gigs to rehearse for, so let’s just play some music.”

  Chapter 32

  Zoe levered the lid off the paint pot with the end of an old spoon and used the other end to give the paint a good stir. She’d got a bit behind with the windows recently as she’d been concentrating on trying to sell her artwork. They’d not talked about it but she knew they weren’t going back to London for her to start teaching again in September. There was no way Finn could live in a city — he’d literally fade away — which meant she had to find a way to earn an income from Donegal. With the King Arthur book finally finished, she was approaching agents to represent her for other illustration work.

  Putting the paint pot on the stepladder, Zoe dipped her brush in it and applied it to the window frame. The rhythmic strokes calmed her mind. It felt more meditative then the breathing exercises Grace had told her to practise. She’d liked Grace straightaway. It was impossible not to, with her warm Geordie accent and ready laugh. Although Grace wasn’t a seer herself, she was willing to help Zoe with the basics until they could find someone with more experience. She’d suggested a number of things to try, including meditation, to make her dreams more predictable, and keeping a dream diary. So far, they’d not worked as she’d not had any dreams at all and, for the first time in her life, she was disappointed about that.

  The back door slammed and she heard Finn call, “Zo?”

  “Out here,” she shouted back. “If you’re putting the kettle on…” She let the statement hang, heard his quick laugh and shortly after the sound of the kettle boiling. Five minutes later he appeared around the side of the bungalow, carrying two mugs. Zoe balanced her brush across the pot of paint and took a mug from him. “Thanks for this, just what I needed. Good day?”

  As he told her about his experiments with using broom to calm the wind, she kept painting. She didn’t understand all that he told her, something about light balls, broom ash and force fields which seemed a bit complicated but he sounded upbeat which was what mattered.

  Then he trailed off and, after a long moment of silence, said, “Winston rang while I was out.”

  They’d not heard from Winston since his call on Friday. “How is he?” Zoe asked. “Did he talk about Jenna?”

  “Worried. That’s why he rang. And he never mentioned Jenna.”

  “Oh?”

  “What does that mean?” Finn shot her a long look over the top of his mug.

  “Only that not talking about her is a bit pointed. After all, he couldn’t stop talking about her last week.”

  “Do you not think you might be reading a bit much into this?”

  “No.” Zoe put her paintbrush down long enough to take a sip of tea. “Grace said I had to practise predicting the future outside of my dreams. I’m practising on Winston. I see him with Jenna.”

  “I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to know you’re using his love life as divination practice.” Finn bent to yank a stray weed from a crack in the path.

  “You don’t have to tell him that’s what I’m doing.”

  She glanced at him when he didn’t respond. He was staring out across the garden. “What’s up?”

  “He wants us to go to Orkney.” Finn half-turned to her as he spoke. “This weekend. He’s worried about your last drawing. Jenna thinks it’s going to happen at a party her uncle’s having on Sunday.”

  “Oh.” Her hand tightened around the brush. Winston had warned her weeks ago. Only that had been before she drew the last two pictures. If she could do anything to stop them happening, to prevent the weird birds or the destruction of Jenna’s uncle’s house she was willi
ng to cross the width of Northern Ireland and the length of Scotland to get to Orkney. But hers was the easy job. All she had to do was dream. It was Finn she was worried about. “What did you say?”

  “That I had to talk to you.”

  Finn’s gaze was fixed on his feet. He poked the spot where he’d pulled the weed with the toe of his boot. Something was definitely bothering him. Putting her paintbrush down, she walked over and took his mug from him. She placed it next to her own and stepped into his arms. They curled round her and she looked up into his face. The lines of sleeplessness, the dark circles under his eyes were less pronounced than they had been but his mouth was too tight, his jaw tense. She’d got used to reading those signs back in Glastonbury.

  “Do you not want to go? We don’t have to.” She needed him to realise they had a choice. She knew how deep the bond was between him and Winston. They went way back and Winston had ridden all the way from Glasgow to Glastonbury to help dig them out of the hole they’d found themselves in with Maeve. He wasn’t the kind of bloke who’d ever say they owed him but that thought would be weighing on Finn. But Winston hadn’t seen what Finn had lived through in the aftermath of the Nine Maidens. Only recently had he started to get back to something approaching normal. She wasn’t going to put any pressure on him to go to Orkney. If Finn didn’t feel up to it then neither of them was going.

  “I can’t leave him to handle this on his own. You don’t know Winston. He never asks for help. For him to ask now he must be a lot more worried than he’s letting on.”

  “About the storm witch?”

  “Not just her. He thinks there’s someone else involved but he doesn’t know who yet. Not for certain.”

  “So what does he want us to do?”