The Considine Curse

by Gareth P. Jones

  ‘Then why did you come?’ snaps Oberon.

  Gerald doesn’t answer and I feel bad as he brushes the ice off his scarf.

  It’s darker in the woods, even though most of the trees are bare and leafless. Oberon pulls out a chocolate bar from his pocket. He takes a bite and then, as a second thought, offers it to me. I don’t fancy the end he thrusts in my direction because it has his toothmarks and glistens with saliva.

  We reach a clearing at the top of the hill where the tower stands. Percy’s Ruin is impressive up close. It stands at the top of the hill, looming high above the nearest trees. I can understand why Percy wanted to build it there. The view is amazing.

  ‘That’s our house,’ says Oberon, pointing it out. ‘That’s the university where Lily and Elspeth live. That’s the old pea factory where Freddie lives. And that’s Amelia’s cottage down there. You can see Percy’s Ruin from most the houses around here.’

  I look up at the tower and notice that the top is blackened by smoke. I realise that this is where I saw the light last night. The spiral staircase that runs through its centre is visible where a section of wall halfway up has fallen away. It reminds me of those drawings you get of buildings which are designed to show you the inside and out. A wire fence surrounds the base of the tower with signs that read DANGER: DO NOT ENTER. UNSAFE STRUCTURE.

  ‘You want to go up it?’ asks Oberon.

  ‘Not really,’ I reply. ‘Going up a wonky tower with half a wall missing isn’t exactly my idea of fun.’

  ‘Oh, come on,’ says Oberon. ‘It’s an even better view from the top. You can see the whole of Chilton.’

  He pushes the wire fence down and easily steps over it. I follow him in and approach the tower. ‘It’s completely safe,’ he says. ‘I’ve done it loads of times.’ He goes through the open doorway and up the stairs. I peer inside the tower. It is dark and damp. I don’t want to say it but the prospect of going up with someone as heavy as Oberon makes the idea even less appealing.

  ‘I’ll wait here and wave at you,’ I suggest.

  ‘You’re not a coward like my brother, are you, Mariel?’ he asks.

  ‘She said she didn’t want to go.’ Gerald is standing next to me at the entrance to the tower.

  Oberon comes back down. The intensity of his stare frightens me. ‘Stay out of this, bro,’ he growls. ‘We’ve all done it. Even him.’ He points at Gerald. ‘It’s not really dangerous. You’d have to be an idiot to fall and you’re not an idiot are you, Mariel?’

  Gerald pushes in front of me and squares up to his brother. ‘I know what you’re doing.’

  ‘Of course you do,’ says Oberon. ‘After all, Gerald is the brains of the family, aren’t you? You’re the one who’s never in trouble.’

  ‘Trouble? Is that what you call it?’

  ‘Look, no one’s getting in trouble,’ I say, ‘because I’m not going up.’

  ‘Suit yourself,’ says Oberon and he storms out of the tower. He pushes Gerald out of the way and runs down into the woods.

  I turn to Gerald for some kind of explanation but he avoids my gaze as usual.

  ‘What’s wrong with you people?’ I ask.

  ‘You shouldn’t be here,’ he says, then silently leads me back down in the direction of the house.

  Chapter 6

  Her Beloved Grandchildren

  When we get back to the house, Oberon is sitting in the living room with his parents and my mum.

  ‘Gerald, Mariel, sit down please,’ says Aunt Ruth. ‘We have something to tell you.’

  ‘This doesn’t concern her,’ says Oberon.

  ‘Oberon, don’t be so rude,’ scolds Aunt Ruth.

  ‘Flora left it to all her grandchildren. That includes Mariel,’ says Mum.

  ‘To her “beloved grandchildren”,’ snaps Oberon. ‘Grandma didn’t mean her.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ asks Gerald.

  ‘The will,’ says Uncle Harkett. ‘Your grandmother split her money evenly between her children, but she left the house to you and your cousins.’

  ‘To us?’ says Gerald.

  ‘Yeah,’ says Oberon. ‘Her beloved grandchildren.’

  ‘Which includes Mariel,’ says Mum.

  Oberon storms out, slamming the door behind him. My uncle and aunt look apologetically at Mum.

  ‘He is taking your mother’s death pretty hard,’ says Aunt Ruth. ‘She was like a mentor to him.’

  Under her breath Mum mutters, ‘Poor him,’ but no one else hears her and the conversation moves on to what should be done with the house.

  ‘The most sensible thing to do is to sell it and split the proceeds eight ways,’ says Uncle Harkett. ‘The question is whether to sell it as it is or do it up first and get a better price.’

  ‘I can’t help feeling sorry for Will,’ says Mum. ‘He and Chrissie were hoping they would be able to move in.’

  Gerald remains silent. I don’t say anything either, because I don’t really want to own even a percentage of a spooky old house and, if I’m honest, I agree with Oberon. Grandma probably didn’t mean me when she said “beloved grandchildren”.

  More snow falls in the afternoon. I watch TV with Gerald but he shows no interest in talking to me.

  The parents sit chatting and drinking tea until Uncle Harkett decides it is time to open a bottle of wine. Oberon emerges for dinner but doesn’t say much, then goes back to his room.

  I can tell Mum is enjoying herself, reminiscing with Uncle Harkett. She keeps laughing loudly and trying to involve me in the stories, but I feel distant from her so I pretend to be interested in the TV until it is late enough to go to bed.

  In the middle of the night I wake with a jolt. It is dark. I can hear a noise. It sounds like a rattling door but the sound keeps stopping and starting and I can’t get to sleep for the anticipation of the next time I will hear it. Frustrated, tired and groggy, I get up and go to see if I can stop it.

  It isn’t any of the doors on the floor below so I go down to the ground floor where my cousins sleep. It is Oberon’s door that is rattling. I grip the handle and hold it in place to stop it, but I can’t stand there all night like this, so I push the door open. It creaks and I freeze for fear of disturbing Oberon. There is no movement so I push it further and see that Oberon’s window is open. His curtain is flapping in the wind and soft moonlight spills into the room. The only choice I have is to close the window. If Oberon can sleep through the rattling door, he can sleep through anything. I step inside and look at his bed. It is empty.

  I pull the window shut and leave the room, closing the door behind me. I run upstairs and climb back into bed. Where is Oberon? My imagination runs wild until I hear a toilet flush and I realise that he probably just got up to go to the loo. I begin to wonder whether this place is making me go insane.

  In the morning neither Oberon nor Gerald are awake to say goodbye, which I am relieved about. I persuade Aunt Ruth not to bother waking them. We are staying with Kitson and Celeste next. Amelia was nice to me at the funeral so I hope our stay with her is a bit more normal.

  We leave the hire car at Uncle Harkett’s and he takes us in his car because there is still snow on the roads and his car has four-wheel drive.

  Kitson and Celeste live in Todminton on the other side of the hill, right below Percy’s Ruin. We pull up outside a quaint white-walled cottage with a thatched roof.

  The door to the cottage opens and Amelia and her mum come out. They both look like they have just stepped out of a stylish winter clothes catalogue. I feel self-conscious in the purple wellies Aunt Ruth gave me.

  We get out of the car and Celeste kisses Mum on both cheeks. Mum isn’t prepared for this and only narrowly avoids a head collision. Amelia greets me in the same way and says, ‘I’m so glad you’re staying. We’re going to have such fun.’ Her perfume is overpowering.

  ‘Kitson’s out on a housecall,’ Aunt Celeste says.

  ‘Is he a doctor?’ I ask.

  ‘Dad’s a ve
t,’ says Amelia.

  Uncle Harkett gets back into his car. ‘We’ll see you at Robson’s get-together,’ he says.

  The rest of us go into the cottage and sit on stools at a breakfast bar in the kitchen. The cottage is colourfully decorated with vases of fresh bright flowers and bowls of potpourri everywhere. Aunt Celeste makes coffee for Mum and freshly squeezed orange juice for me.

  ‘Amelia has an audition this afternoon in Chilton,’ Aunt Celeste says. ‘We thought you might like to get the train in with us and go shopping.’

  ‘Audition for what?’ I ask.

  ‘I’m up for a part in an advert,’ says Amelia. ‘I’ve been modelling mostly so far but I go for acting jobs when I can. After all, acting is just modelling with speaking really. You can help me pick out what to wear for the audition.’

  ‘What’s the part?’ asks Mum.

  ‘It’s for a fabric softener. In the advert I put on a jumper, notice the smell and then say, “Wow, that’s fresh.”’

  ‘Now, darling, remember the emphasis,’ says Aunt Celeste. ‘“Wow” and “fresh” are the important words.’

  ‘Wow, that’s fresh,’ says Amelia again.

  I try it too. Then mum has a go. Soon we are all trying to find different ways to say it and laughing. Each time someone says it the sentence becomes funnier. By the time Uncle Kitson comes home we are falling about laughing.

  ‘Hello, Daddy.’ Amelia kisses him on the cheek.

  Aunt Celeste pours him a coffee. ‘How was your morning?’ she asks.

  ‘There’s been another one of those attacks. Old Mr Clyde’s dog this time.’

  ‘What attacks?’ ask Mum.

  ‘Some of the local pets have been attacked at night. Mr Clyde’s Alsatian, Molly, is no softy either. She can look after herself normally, but she’s scared of her own shadow now. Whatever it was, it shook her up all right.’

  ‘Will she be OK?’ asks Amelia.

  ‘Her leg will heal, but her spirit will take longer to return.’

  ‘You think there’s something out there attacking pets?’ I ask him.

  ‘Molly didn’t do it to herself. Some people say there’s an animal out there in the woods,’ says Uncle Kitson.

  ‘The beast of Wilderdale,’ says Aunt Celeste, putting on a spooky voice.

  ‘They’ve been saying that for years. I remember Dad telling me never to go into the woods. It’s just local folklore,’ Mum says.

  ‘Well, the beast of Wilderdale may be a myth, but something attacked Molly.’

  Amelia and I go to her room. She has a lot of clothes so I sit on her bed and watch as she pulls out various outfits. She disappears behind a screen to change each time but keeps talking to me about the audition and how she should say the line and how pleased she is that I am here.

  ‘Would you mind getting my necklace with the green leaf from the dressing table? I think it will go well with this dress,’ she says.

  I can’t see anything on top of the dresser for all the bottles of perfume.

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘It’s there somewhere,’ she replies.

  I open a drawer. It is full of silver jewellery, just like the one in Grandma’s bedroom.

  ‘It might be hanging from the mirror,’ she says.

  I look up and see the necklace. I shut the drawer and hand the necklace to her. Amelia emerges wearing a bright pink puffy dress. ‘It’s too much, isn’t it? You don’t have to be kind. I’d rather you were honest. What do you think?’

  ‘Maybe something a bit more casual would be better,’ I say.

  Amelia nods and vanishes behind the screen again.

  In the end when we leave for town she is wearing a pair of jeans and a red top.

  ‘I’m surprised trains are still running with all this snow,’ says Mum.

  ‘Me too,’ says Aunt Celeste, ‘but I checked this morning and by some miracle there are still trains today. Everyone moans about the snow in this country but to me it is very beautiful.’

  ‘You and Kitson were still living in France when I emigrated,’ says Mum. ‘Weren’t you tempted to stay there?’

  ‘Oh yes, I would have happily stayed in France but there was no question of it. Flora made that clear when we came over for your father’s funeral. How you managed to get away, Lynda, I don’t know. Your mother used Frank’s death to make all her sons come home. She made them feel guilty until they all gave in and came back.’

  ‘Grandma just wanted her family around her,’ says Amelia defensively.

  Todminton station is little more than an empty platform and a closed ticket office. Aunt Celeste and Mum sit inside a shelter to wait for the train. Amelia and I walk along the platform together.

  ‘Why did Grandma want everyone close by?’ I ask.

  ‘She always taught us to look after each other,’ replies Amelia.

  ‘Like how you all looked out for Oberon when he went swimming in the lake the other day?’

  ‘Like that, yes,’ replies Amelia.

  ‘I don’t think he likes me,’ I say.

  ‘Oh, take no notice of him. You know what boys are like,’ says Amelia dismissively.

  I’m tempted to tell her about the open window in his room last night, but instead I ask, ‘What will you all do with Louvre House?’

  ‘It’s yours too,’ says Amelia. ‘She left it to all of us.’

  ‘Try telling Oberon that,’ I say.

  ‘You really shouldn’t worry about him. He’s just very upset about Grandma dying.’

  ‘So everyone keeps saying.’

  Chapter 7

  Amelia’s Aroma

  The houses on the outskirts of Chilton are big and spaced out with well-kept gardens but the ones closer to the town centre stand shoulder to shoulder and have small concrete yards at the back. The train crosses an icy canal and enters the station. Aunt Celeste and Amelia point us in the direction of their favourite shops and we arrange to meet up in a cafe after Amelia’s audition.

  ‘Good luck with the audition,’ I say.

  ‘You’re supposed to say “Break a leg” when it’s acting,’ Amelia replies.

  I feel like saying that putting on a jumper and saying three words is barely acting but Amelia has been nothing but nice to me so I reply, ‘Break a leg.’

  Mum lets me buy what I want and doesn’t seem to mind how much it all costs.

  ‘What are credit cards for?’ she says breezily.

  For Mum, shopping solves lots of problems. She takes me shopping if we’ve had an argument and she wants to make up. Or if she has split up with a boyfriend and wants to make herself feel better. Or if she’s just feeling down and in need of some ‘retail therapy’. Today she is feeling guilty. As we step outside the shopping centre she says, ‘I really am sorry I didn’t tell you about my family all this time.’

  ‘Sorry?’ I snap. ‘You keep my entire family secret from me all my life and you think one shopping trip will make it all better. You’ve lied to me my whole life.’

  ‘I’ve always acted with your best interests at heart.’

  ‘What? Being kept away from my family? Never knowing my cousins?’

  ‘You don’t know what that woman was like,’ she says.

  ‘You mean my grandma?’ I say. ‘What was wrong with her? She seemed to get on well enough with everyone else.’

  ‘There are things you don’t understand,’ replies Mum quietly. ‘We’ve had a nice morning. Don’t let’s spoil it with an argument. Look, there’s Father Gowlett.’

  The wild-haired vicar is coming out of a shop. She waves and gets his attention and he comes over to join us. He has a long cardboard box tucked under his arm.

  ‘How are you coping, Lynda?’ he asks. ‘The death of a parent is always hard, no matter how well you got on in life . . . and Flora’s death was such a terrible shock to us all. It took me back to . . . well . . .’

  He drifts off and Mum says, ‘We all have to go one way or another,’ which I think sounds a bit heartl
ess.

  ‘You should come to my service on Sunday. I’ll be saying a prayer for Flora again.’

  ‘Maybe we will,’ says Mum, although I can tell by the way she says it she has no intention of going. She has never been interested in religion.

  Father Gowlett turns to me. ‘And Mariel, how are you getting on with your cousins?’

  ‘OK,’ I say.

  I am intrigued by what he has tucked under his arm. ‘What is that?’ I ask.

  Father Gowlett smiles and says, ‘This? It’s my rifle. One of my little vices, I’m afraid.’

  ‘You shoot animals?’ I ask.

  ‘Oh no, I can’t shoot any of God’s creations. The pigeons in my sights are all very much of the clay variety. And there’s something about looking up to the heavens and really concentrating that almost feels like praying sometimes. It’s most relaxing.’

  He and Mum talk about Grandma leaving the house to the grandchildren, to which he replies, ‘She did love those children.’

  The cafe is called Le Parisien. It has a mural of Paris on the walls and French music playing. Mum and I arrive first and a hassled waitress with a ribbon in her hair shows us to a table and takes our order.

  At the table next to us a sweet old couple sit drinking tea. It makes me think of my grandparents. I had no choice about meeting Grandad but I could have known my grandmother if Mum hadn’t decided to keep us apart. I wonder once again how she could have kept everything secret from me.

  Amelia and Aunt Celeste arrive. Mum waves at them and they join us at the table. As they approach I notice Amelia looks upset and her make-up is smudged around the eyes where she has been crying.

  Mum obviously hasn’t noticed these details because she cheerfully asks, ‘So, how did it go?’

  ‘They said I stank,’ Amelia replies miserably.

  ‘They did not say that,’ says Aunt Celeste.

  ‘That’s what they meant.’

  ‘It wasn’t about you. It’s your condition.’ Aunt Celeste strokes her hair. ‘And they can’t make a decision based on that. It’s discrimination.’

  ‘What condition?’ I ask.

  ‘It’s a genetic fault that affects her liver enzyme,’ says Aunt Celeste.