by Liz Williams
“Well, it’s the first time I’ve ever done it, so there.” She stuck out her tongue.
“How old are you, five?”
“Well, I haven’t.”
“The shock,” Ward said, to the kitchen wall, “was substantial. I’ll tell you what, I feel every minute of my age. Bad enough that you suddenly took a header onto the cobbles – by the time I’d got to the window I’d got as far as the inquest, the verdict of misadventure, the tabloid headlines… Quite apart from the heart attack when you simply weren’t there and there was a large bunny sitting on the step, looking baffled.”
“How did you know it was me?”
“Again with the ‘stuff’.”
She gave him a narrow look, but let it go.
“Did you see what was after me?”
“Yes. A mink. Long and black and slinky.”
“Aha!”
“You know who it was?”
“I think it was Dana Stare.”
“Animal girls,” said Ward. “Don’t ask me why but I’m not remotely surprised.”
“You’re taking this really well. I suppose that’s because of ‘stuff’, too.”
“Quite so.”
Serena bundled herself more heavily in the thick folds of the dressing gown. She could not seem to stop shivering, in spite of the whisky.
“God, I hope this isn’t going to become a regular occurrence.” She groped for his hand and Ward took her chilly fingers in what was actually quite a painful grip.
“You might not do it in London. Not exactly hare country.”
“It was – exhilarating. But really, really vulnerable.”
“I wish I could do more to help.” The supercilious, self-consciously thespian mask slipped for a moment. Ward said, “That was fucking terrifying. I thought you might end up in something’s jaws – I met a fox in the road, quite apart from Minky Girl. Or get run over. Suppose you’d been flattened by one of those ridiculously enormous tractors everyone drives around here? It’s worse than having pets.”
“They don’t drive them in the middle of the night, do they? Unless they’re harvesting, sometimes, and we’re way past that now.”
“Well, I don’t know!”
“Have you learned nothing from a childhood in the countryside?”
“I think I tried to pretend it wasn’t happening. I regard Hampstead as overly rural. Hell, Hackney’s too agricultural for me these days.”
“Oh Ward!” But she was smiling now, despite her chattering teeth.
“What? It’s got a farm in it, hasn’t it? Anyway, at least you are more or less all right and unflattened.”
“That farm’s for children. It’s got baby goats and guinea pigs. I really am awfully sorry about this whole hare thing.”
“It’s not your fault,” Ward said, adding rather fiercely, “None of this is your fault. I think I need to beard my cousin in her den and have a serious chat.” He knocked back his own scotch. “But in the morning. It’s half past three. Is it all right if I stay the rest of the night here?”
“I think you’d better,” said Serena. “And tie my toe to the bedpost. Or stick me in a hutch.”
Bee
Bee had to grip the railing now, because the ship was plunging up and down. The coast was lost in a blur of rain. They had passed some familiar landmarks, skirting the Isle of Portland and then coming closer to the cliffs: Bee could see the arch of Durdle Door, not greatly unchanged, before the squall hit. She was hoping not to be sent below. It might be more comfortable (the railing had given her splinters and she was soaked) but Bee preferred to see what was going on. If Drake – now standing, legs braced, in the prow – sent her beneath deck, she would have to comply, but she was still invisible to the rest of the crew. As long as she didn’t fall in… She clutched harder at the rail as the Hind bucked. Above, the sky was inky black and a flicker of lightning briefly lit up a white rim ahead. After a moment’s thought, Bee realised it was the distant Isle of Wight.
Dark appeared at her shoulder.
“Captain’s pleased.”
“He is? Does he like storms?”
“It’s a good sign, he says. He’s been expecting it. You all right? Do you want to go below deck?”
“I’d rather stay here if you don’t mind.”
“Be careful,” was all that Dark said. But Bee was too excited. Everyone always thought of her as being rooted in place, grown out of Mooncote and remaining there. When she was a child, however, they had come down to this coast often, and she had kept up those visits in adult life. Dartmouth and the beautiful Exe estuary. The Cornish cliffs and bays, Lulworth Cove and Swanage. And once long ago a friend of Abraham’s, a member of one of the Cowes yacht clubs, had taken all the girls and Alys around the Isle of Wight, skimming through the Solent and around the Needles on a high bright September day just before the start of the school term. Bee had loved it and at the start of the placid Beaulieu river, Stella had fallen in and they’d had to throw her a lifebelt. It was, the sisters (but not their mother) agreed, the perfect end to a perfect day. They had driven back to the friend’s house, Stella dripping triumphantly on the back seat.
And now the island was in sight, a bulk of shadow against the eastern sky. Bee flinched as a great wave broke over the bow of the Hind. Perhaps it would be more sensible to go below… but Bee was rather tired of being sensible. She gripped the rail more tightly and risked a look over it at the churning water. The boat was driving into the wind. There was an immense crack of thunder overhead, then a flash. The sails, angled to catch the wind, roared. The Hind was tacking against the easterly. Bee did not know how the ship was withstanding it: boats always seemed so frail, somehow, against the wash of the sea. Abraham’s sailor friend had told them that the area around the Needles was dangerous. But modern yachts and ferries were all fibreglass and steel; this boat was made of wood. Bee suddenly felt very vulnerable but the sea pulled at her; she had to take another look. In the deep glassy wave, between froth and spume, a split-second face looked up at her. It was wild and snarling, not quite human. An arm reached up out of the water, claw tipped, instantly gone. Bee stepped back from the rail in shock and slipped on the wet wood. She slid down the deck and fetched up against the bench.
“Are you all right?” Dark was there, face creased with concern. He hauled her up.
“Yes – God, I saw something. Someone. A face.”
Dark smiled. “A mermaid?”
“It didn’t look very maidenly.”
“There’s all sorts down there.”
Bee was about to say that perhaps it might be better if she did go below, after all, when there was a shout from the rigging. Drake called something to the crew but Bee did not hear what it was: his words were whipped away by the wind. But the Hind was starting to turn. She could see a long line of headland, rocks, a tiny flicker of light through the storm. The ship seemed alarmingly close to the coast and she thought, what if I die here? Would she find herself back in Mooncote, alive, it all a dream? Or would she be dead there, too?
Serena
Ward stayed long enough to share a belated breakfast before taking the Landrover back to Amberley. Changing into an animal without warning made you very tired, Serena had discovered, and also ravenously hungry. Worse than having a baby. She polished off a plate of scrambled eggs, then piece after piece of toast. Nell was not yet down but sounds of the bath being run echoed from upstairs. Luna came downstairs, raised an eyebrow at Ward, said, “Hi. Still here? Is there any tea?” and, having poured a cup, took it outside. She would talk to Luna later, Serena thought. And Ward had said he would talk to his cousin. She mentioned this now.
“What are you going to say to Caro?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never had this sort of conversation before. There ought to be a Miss Manners set of etiquette guidelines on it. It’s going to start ‘You’ll think I’m a lunatic but’. I will try and be as circumspect as possible.”
“Are you going to mention Dana Stare
?”
“Yes. Actually, now you mention it, that’s a good way in, I think. However, if you see an ambulance speeding past in an hour or so’s time, that might be me, in the straightjacket that my relatives have ordered for me. One can always be wrong about things.” He downed the rest of his tea. “Right, onwards. Serena, my love, I will be back later on, hopefully with practical advice. Until then, I’m wondering if it’s wise for you to leave the house.”
“I’m going to talk to Luna,” Serena said. “And I’m not the only problem. What about Bee and Stella? And – look, you’d better know. We found something out about Mum, as well.”
“Do you mean, she’s –”
“No, we don’t think she’s dead but it’s all a bit peculiar.”
He took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “No shit, Sherlock.”
When he had gone, Serena made another cup of tea and took it upstairs to her grandfather’s study. After his death, they had left it to Alys to sort out Abraham’s papers, considering this to be the best option. But Serena did not know if her mother had actually done so. Perhaps her mother had not had time? She knew that Alys had got rid of Abraham’s clothes and shoes, taking most of them to Oxfam and burning the oldest and most moth eaten jumpers on a large and cathartic bonfire. Her grandparent had been well-dressed on the whole, in an upper class tweedy English way, but had proved male and intractable on the subject of a handful of gardening sweaters and some disreputable hats. But his books and notes… She knew that some, at least, were there.
Calling good morning to the still-bathing Nell, Serena opened the door of her grandfather’s study and closed it behind her, shutting herself away from the rest of the house. With no way of knowing where Stella and Bee had gone, or when they would return, and confined to Mooncote, she had to find some way of occupying herself and this might as well be it. Her grandfather’s books still stood on the shelves, carefully and methodically alphabetised. His notes were a different matter. Many had been corralled into ring binders and seemed roughly related to topics, although Serena did not necessarily understand what those topics were. There were a great many equations. Stella had once said to her sister,
“You can follow a dress pattern, but you can’t do sums. What’s that about? Aren’t they sort of in the same ballpark?”
“I don’t know,” Serena had replied. “I can’t get my head around music, either.”
“Oh, that’s easy.”
“It’s easy for you.”
“True. If I sewed anything it would have three sleeves. Even if it was a skirt.”
Astrophysics has three sleeves, Serena thought as she leafed through her grandfather’s papers. In his case, she supposed it really was rocket science. But it was not all maths and physics. She found a handful of poems, about stars. Capella walks in sapphire thyme/Spica in emerald green/Algol’s diamonds cease to chime/Nephele the never seen.
Serena stared at the little rhyme. The Behenian stars, but she did not know Nephele. Which one might she be? She rummaged in the shelves until she found an astronomical dictionary, but could find no mention of Nephele. She went back to her grandfather’s chair, via the window. Outside, it had started to rain and wet yellow leaves from the ornamental maple on the lawn had blown onto the flagstones and stuck, forming constellations of their own. No sign of Ward yet, but that was okay. Serena needed breathing space. It was at the bottom of a shoebox that she struck, relatively, gold. Along with all the diagrams her grandfather had drawn some of the Behenian stars: she recognised Sirius and Vega, Regulus and Aldebaran. Here were the Pleiades, drawn in nimble outlines with their crystals and fronds of fennel, whispering among themselves. To this, Abraham had added a note in capitals: THE MISSING? Serena frowned. There were seven stars, he had told her, but nine were named including the parents of the Seven Sisters and she remembered that many more were invisible but still part of the cluster. Did the comment in capitals relate to that? ‘Sailing starts when they rise’, Abraham had noted and this rang a faint bell, too, that the sailors of ancient Greece would not set out to sea in the months when the sisters could not be seen.
There was nothing more at the bottom of the box so Serena turned her attention to the bookshelves and studied them with more care. Astronomy, military history, books about Somerset… and at the bottom of the last bookcase, a series of smaller books bound in black fabric. Serena pulled them out onto the floor and opened one at random. They were handwritten. They were her grandfather’s diaries.
Luna
Luna woke with a start and sat up. Beside her, Sam lay sprawled in sleep. His mouth was open; he breathed as though he had been running, not quite snoring. Luna reached out and put her hand, slowly, on his shoulder. She was glad, as always, that he was there. Without him, and now the baby – had it woken her? – she felt she might become too spindrifty, blown away on the world’s wind. But love and birth would anchor her now. She knew she should not let this define her, make her feel real, and yet it did. Being daughter and sister and friend were good things and yet not quite enough: she needed her own family. As this thought entered her head, however, she heard her mother’s voice.
“Luna?”
“Mum?”
It was at the door. For a moment, she thought: don’t go. You don’t know what’s there. It’s a trap. Something damp pushed into the palm of her hand and Luna jumped, stifling a shriek. But it was only Moth.
“Luna, are you there?” Alys’ voice was a whisper, urgent.
“Coming.” She went to the door and opened it. There was no one there.
“Mum,” Luna said in disappointment.
“Can you see me?”
She looked around, a little wildly. “No, I can’t. Where are you?”
“Close. I need a door. Can you make me a door, Luna?”
“I don’t know how.”
“Yes, you do. Ask your horses.”
The final words were no more than a breath. Luna said,
“Mum?”
It echoed down the passage. She went back into the bedroom. Sam was still asleep. Serena’s door was firmly closed and Bee and Stella were who knew where. This is something I must do, Luna thought. As quietly and quickly as she could, she stripped off her leggings and t-shirt, bundling up into her usual layers. As she did so, Moth came to stand by her, staring hopefully up.
“No, you stay here,” Luna whispered. But Moth trotted out to wait for her on the landing. It was clear that he was coming too. Downstairs, Luna put on her big boots and laced them up tightly. Then she opened the back door and stepped out.
It was now fully dark, but not frosty. The air was cool and damp and there was a ground mist breathing up from the fields, hanging in veils above the shorn stubble. Luna headed through the gate that led into the field. The piebalds were once more at the bottom and Luna marched straight down the middle, avoiding the hedge. She did not want to risk another encounter with the mink. Moth ran beside, the lurcher’s long grey muzzle pointing down and skimming the grass. But as they approached the horses, their heads went up. Luna chirped at them. They turned and began to amble away.
“Hey, I need to talk to you!” Luna said, aloud. The piebalds kicked up their feathery heels and cantered off. She paused for a minute, frustrated. Usually the problem was getting rid of them: they would lean, sidle, nuzzle your pockets for treats, see what you had in whatever bag you were carrying: they were as bad as the cadging dog, and bigger. She did not like the idea that she had spooked them. Summoning determination, she trudged in their wake.
At the far side of the field and the top of the slope, she caught up with them. Pregnancy – or having got out of condition, she thought sourly – had made her short of breath and she had now walked down the field and up again.
“You’re leading me a merry dance,” she said to the horses, who had paused. But then she saw why. They had stopped at the gate which led into the lane and she could see down into the village.
There was a light in the church, casting the stained glass
window into glowing jigsaw colours, though there was no sound from within. Sirius was rising over the tower, as though the weathercock had caught her in his beak. Abraham’s tomb was in shadow and no light played around its sharp summit, but through the lych gate at the far end of the churchyard Luna could see a faint silvery track.
The lych path, along which coffins had been carried. Luna’s hand went to her stomach, concealed beneath several sweatshirts and her big woolly sweater. She felt snared by time, caught between her mother and her child.
“What do you want me to do?” she said to the baby. Nothing. But then she thought Mum would never do me harm. Even if Alys had been in fear for her life, Luna knew that she would give that life for her daughters. In spite of all the head butting, the disagreements, Luna’s teenage issues with her mother’s vague assumption of her own privileges, at the bottom of all that was trust and love.
“You don’t understand, Mum. The world is suffering. The environment, global warming – this government is making sure that it suffers and if we don’t speak up…”
“You can’t save the world, Luna.”
Passion had met bemusement and so Luna had, effectively, run away, to do something about it. It had turned out to be more complicated than that, of course. But she knew that, if she’d run into real trouble, out there in the world, Alys would have been the first to drop everything and come to her aid. And so would her sisters, Luna realised. So surely she should do the same?
“Thank you,” she said to the piebalds. Then she opened the gate and stepped out into the lane, Moth at her heels. By the time she reached the lych gate, the track was still glimmering along the lane. A ground mist wreathed around the yew trees and when Stella looked up at the weathercock, Sirius had been swallowed by the clouds. There was the breath of rain in the air and the churchyard felt leaden and ordinary. She looked across to the pyramidal tomb, but all was quiet and at last even the light in the church went off. There was the click of a latch as the verger, or whoever had been within, came out into the porch and closed the door behind them. Luna dodged quickly back behind the beech hedge and held her breath but the person did not come through the lych gate. After a few minutes, Luna ventured a glance and found that the churchyard was empty: they must have gone out through the back gate instead.
