Verity held on to it, stroked the blemished skin. ‘And I’m supposed to believe you? My God, Meri, look at your poor arm.’
You know when she’s lying…
Meredith tugged her arm again and Verity let go.
‘I’m not asking you to believe me,’ she cried. ‘If you can’t then I’m asking you to pretend. Because if you don’t, Verity; I won’t be able to speak to you ever again.’
It wasn’t the first time Meredith had made such a threat, only this time her manner struck Verity with a deeper intensity. She shivered and the curtains did too. She closed the window. A gull flew across her vision and as it disappeared she took a deep breath. ‘Well, we can’t have that, can we?’
Meredith stared at her and her eyes shone; the lights in them brilliant with hope. ‘So, are you saying you do believe me?’
‘I might be.’ Verity moved away from the window and knelt in front of Meredith. ‘You could be right and maybe it’s a ghost.’
I’m not saying it is – and I can always take it back…
Without questioning her sister’s apparent change of heart, Meredith’s body relaxed and her face became grave. She took hold of Verity’s hands. ‘I can feel her sadness. It’s inside me, only worse, I’m sad and it’s her sad. In my dreams I’m furious and then it’s her fury too.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s like her anger’s boiling over and one way or another she’s determined to make me understand.’
‘It sounds like bullying to me.’
It sounds dangerous.
The hairs on Verity’s arm stood on end. ‘Maybe you ought to tell her to go away. Stand up to her.’
‘I don’t want her to go away.’ Meredith let go of her sister’s hands. ‘What would be the point of that? She’s chosen me, so why wouldn’t I listen to her? And in any case, I want to know what happened.’
Drowning the silence, the sounds of evening filled the garden: an owl’s hoot: the wind through the trees.
And the thudding of Verity’s heart.
She hadn’t meant to come outside. Nain had been on the telephone wanting to talk to Allegra who was nowhere to be found.
‘Look for her, cariad and ask her to call me back,’ Mared said.
‘Check the house,’ Verity told Meredith. ‘I’ll do the garden.’
Five minutes later she heard Meredith calling from the kitchen. Allegra had been on the beach and now she was back.
Verity stayed where she was, by the half-open gate on the edge of her grandmother’s dusky walled garden, still shaken by what Meredith had told her. A brittle moon skittered between the trees.
Am I the crazy one, believing her nonsense?
It has to be made up; Meredith must be lying.
I know when she is and this isn’t…
Caught in her thoughts, all at once she felt certain she wasn’t alone. Fear crawled up her spine. She knew that unless she made herself invisible she ran the risk of being observed. It was a gift she didn’t have. She stood as still as a stone, clinging to the half open gate.
Please don’t let anything see me.
She closed her eyes and immediately opened them, as wide as she could, staring through the fading light into the shadowy garden.
What is it I believe I’m seeing?
The moon disappeared behind a bank of cloud.
Verity didn’t know what a ghost was supposed to look like. She had a vague idea it would be pale with blank eyes perhaps – beyond dead. There was nothing to see and yet she couldn’t shake the feeling someone else was in the garden.
As the non-colour of the gathering night flowed around her, she peered round the gate and for a second saw a shape, imprecise and barely discernible.
It can’t be real. There’s no such thing as ghosts.
The hairs on the back of Verity’s neck stood on end and for a single unrealistic second she thought how melodramatic this was; the kind of thing you read about in books.
Or what your idiot sister insisted was true.
It takes a special person to see a ghost, Verity…
Every sense in her body told her someone was there.
Some … thing …
In spite of her unease, Verity wanted to see whatever or whoever it was, try to make sense of it. Part of her was furious. If it really was a ghost, how dare a dead thing invade her grandmother’s perfect garden?
Ahead of her, the shape hovered. Determined to prove it must be a quirk of darkness interfering with her sight she blinked, expecting it to dissolve. When it didn’t she stopped breathing for a second.
It’s only shadows and your imagination.
And yet there it was: a figure impossible to age with alabaster skin and eyes as black and old as the world, a sense of utter loneliness surrounding it.
The temperature plummeted.
Verity blinked and whatever had been there was gone.
Shaking uncontrollably, she stared into the gloom. There was only the familiarity of trees and plants, and the ever-decreasing visibility.
Straining to hear, her ears were no more use than her eyes. There was nothing, save for a residue of her own shocked apprehension, and the earlier recollection of the look on her sister’s face.
Her sadness is inside me … she’s real….
Still trembling, Verity looked around, searching for what she knew she’d seen. In the gloom, the garden’s tranquillity was stained by a feeling of tragedy made of sorrow and threads of mist.
And now I believe it, too.
Present
As quickly as it came the rain has disappeared.
I try the caretaker’s number again; wave my phone in the air, summoning a signal.
Gull House is a dead spot.
Behind me, the wood is as hushed as a graveyard where only ghosts come to mourn. The tree shadows are alien and filled with sadness.
I am not tempted by the wood. It was always more my sister’s place than mine. After the events of 1979 and our move to London she rarely spoke of it and when she did, it was with a wistful longing.
Her grief at leaving was always deeper than mine. Gull House was the only home I’d ever known; it represented comfortable familiarity and heritage. It was different for Meredith. She loved the house for itself, as if it was part of her, and you could almost imagine it loving her back. Even as a small girl she said the idea of leaving made holes in her heart and no matter what happened she never would. The house was more than a home to Meredith; it was a haven and perfect and always the same: the stone walls solid and safe, the drifting gulls loyal and the sun always shining.
In front of me the garden runs downhill, a slope of overgrown lawn. The ground is thick with leaf mould. Averting my gaze from the trees, I step out, one foot in front of the other concentrating on my sturdy sandals, on the blades of coarse grass giving way under the leather soles. And beneath my feet, the dark earth uncurls as if a lay-line runs there.
My foot strikes a rock poking out of the ground. It is part of a low, moss-covered retaining wall surrounding a stone water feature: part bird-bath, part fountain, silted with algae and silent. A cloud of insects hover above my head and I flap my hand at them. The three blank-eyed stone cherubs holding up the dish still strike me as freakish and I’m reminded how maudlin the Victorians had been.
The sky is now a heart-stopping blue. As a solitary cloud dissolves, a mesmerising sunlight makes sunspots behind my eyes, momentarily blinding me and I miss my sister so badly it hurts.
You mistrusted strangers because we hardly ever met anyone and yet, eventually you ran away to be with people.
I’m listening for an answer, an argument; anything as long as it’s her voice.
Where are you, sweet thing? Still in Spain, in Africa perhaps, or Japan? Are you floating in a perfect foreign sea, your moth shadow holding you up?
At the thought of it I’m undone.
I step away from the dead fountain.
The thread connecting me to my sister m
ay be slender – yet it still exists and I can touch my hand to a point on my chest and the knot of it, the faint tug.
Twenty
‘Have you taken my necklace?’
Verity stopped brushing Meredith’s hair. ‘What necklace?’
‘The coral one Nain gave me for my birthday. I can’t find it.’
‘I haven’t got it. When did you last see it?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. It’s just gone.’
‘Well, you know what you’re like; you’ve probably left it somewhere.’
Meredith jerked her head away from the hairbrush. ‘That hurts!’
‘Don’t fuss; your hair’s a nightmare.’
Meredith heaved her shoulders and settled into the chair. ‘So, what are we going to do?’
‘Do?’ She pulled the hairbrush through Meredith’s tangled hair, dragging on her scalp.
‘One of these days, Verity Pryce, you’ll answer one of my questions properly.’
‘I know you, Meredith. Nothing’s ever simple with you. Why does my opinion matter so much anyway? It doesn’t usually.’
‘That’s not true.’
If you’re distracted, or scared, it can make you unkind. Verity yanked on the hairbrush.
‘Ouch!’ Meredith pulled away again. ‘I only want to know what you think.’
Verity tugged harder. ‘I wish you’d never found that stupid sewing box.’
‘I did though.’ Meredith wriggled in the seat. ‘you’re as curious as me; I know you are.’ She clutched her hands to the back of her head. ‘Ouch again, that hurts! What’s the matter with you?’
‘Sorry.’ Verity stroked her sister’s hair, remembering the bleak face from the night before, how alien the garden had appeared, as if her grandmother had never set foot in it, never created a place of gentle sanctuary. ‘If you brushed it properly in the first place or let me plait it, it wouldn’t tangle.’
Meredith’s eyes narrowed. ‘When was the last time you saw anyone over the age of three with plaits? In any case, they make my head hurt.’ She turned and stared at her sister. ‘What? You’ve gone all weird.’
Verity took hold of her sister’s head. ‘Don’t be soft. Sit still.’
Meredith’s hair reached past her shoulders. Verity caught it up in a single heavy bunch, divided it into three. ‘Hang on and let me try before you say you hate it.’
‘All right, only don’t pull and don’t do it tight. And don’t do two or I’ll look a right idiot.’
Verity braided the thick red ringlets into a loose plait. When she was done, she ran her hands over the criss-crossed braid. It reminded her of a fox’s tail. ‘There you go.’
‘I don’t want an elastic band.’
‘Ribbon?’
‘Go on then.’
From a heap lying coiled on the table, Verity chose a green ribbon, tied it at the bottom of the plait leaving the ends trailing. ‘It looks pretty.’
Meredith reached over her shoulder, grabbed her hair and smiled. ‘No bow. Well done.’
‘Madam is most welcome.’ Verity gave a mock curtsy. She looked towards the back door. ‘Where’s Allegra? Five minutes, she said and that was an hour ago. I need to get going before the library closes.’
‘Can I come with you?’
‘You’ll only get bored.’
Meredith made a snorting noise. ‘It’s going to snow.’
‘No it isn’t.’
‘It is – I heard you telling Allegra. And you can smell weather. You’re like a witch girl!’ Her face broke out in a grin and she pointed to the window. ‘Look, it’s started already.’
‘No it hasn’t. I’m going anyway, Meri so get over it.’
‘It’ll rain then! Hailstones, as big as bullets!’ Meredith began dancing round the room. ‘It’s raining, it’s pouring; the old man’s snoring!’
‘Stop it, you pest.’
‘You best not go, Verity. There’s going to be thunder and you’ll be struck down by lightning and you’ll drown in a deluge of hail.’
‘That’s enough,’ Verity snapped. ‘Stop it. You’re fourteen for goodness sake, start acting your age.’
Meredith continued capering around the room. ‘You’ll be sorry. You’ll see.’
‘What on earth’s going on in here?’ Allegra came through the back door, a basket of roses in her hand. ‘I can hear you two from the bottom of the garden.’
Verity looked up. ‘There you are. Thank goodness. Can I go now?’
Allegra placed the basket on the table. ‘Go where?’
‘To the library; I told you, my books are due back. And you said—’
‘She won’t let me go with her.’
‘Well, that’s Verity all over isn’t it?’ Allegra stroked the top of Meredith’s head. ‘And what on earth have you done to your hair?’
‘Verity did it.’
‘You won’t make her less pretty by spoiling her hair.’ Allegra pulled at the green ribbon and began unravelling the braid. ‘Here, let’s make you beautiful again. And let Verity go to her stuffy old library. Stay with me and help with the flowers.’
Meredith pulled away from her mother’s hands, clutching the ruined plait. ‘Why did you do that? I liked it.’
Before Allegra could answer, Verity said, ‘It doesn’t matter, Meri; she’s right, you look better with it loose.’
Meredith scowled. ‘So why did you want to make me look awful then? And why can’t I come with you?’
They looked at one another and Verity caught her finger under her sister’s chin.
‘I’ll bring you something nice, okay?’
Behind her she sensed her mother frowning.
‘Chocolate?’ Meredith let her lip tremble. ‘Will you be back by tea time?’
‘Ages before then and I’ll bring you chocolate and a book as well.’
‘Make sure it’s something suitable this time,’ Allegra snapped. ‘None of that Enid Blyton rubbish.
‘I happen to like Enid Blyton.’ Meredith said. ‘And in any case, I don’t care what it is, or if she doesn’t bring me a book at all. We’ve got loads of books and Verity will read to me if I ask her. Or she’ll make up a story.’ There was a dash of defiance in her voice making Verity angry. Not with her sister, with her mother and her manipulation.
‘Yes, darling,’ Allegra went on, oblivious to Meredith’s benign challenge. ‘I know that, but you’re much too clever for such childish stuff. You were a free reader when you were no more than a baby. Really, darling, you’re capable of far more grown-up books than Enid Blyton.’ Allegra turned to Verity. ‘Find something age-appropriate. Oh, and while you’re in town, drop by Mrs Thing for my usual.’
‘Do I have to?’
‘For goodness sake, what’s your problem? It’s only some gin.’
‘It’s embarrassing.’
‘Don’t be difficult, Verity. It’s boring.’
‘Money?’
‘Tell her to put it on my account.’
On account of we’ve got no money?
‘Haven’t you paid her? I told you, she asked me the last time, said could you go and settle the bill.’
Allegra made a face. ‘I don’t think my finances are any of your business, do you?’ She turned to Meredith. ‘Now, you – go and get me a vase and let’s arrange these roses.’
You have no idea how this makes me feel, do you.
Verity held her tongue, pulled on her hat and waited.
‘Well, go on then, if you’re going.’
Verity was dismissed.
By the glory hole, Meredith caught hold of her sister’s arm and whispered, ‘I don’t mind what book you get me and another Famous Five would actually be fantastic.’
Verity grinned. ‘I’ll try, I promise. Now you have to promise too.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Be good and no more talk about a ghost, okay?’
‘I promise. And thank you for my hair.’
‘It’s okay.’ Verity gave her sister a hug.
Meredith foll
owed her outside to where Verity’s bicycle stood propped against the wall. ‘She doesn’t mean to be horrible.’
Verity sighed. ‘I don’t care, Meri, honestly, I don’t.’ She straddled the bicycle, her foot poised on the pedal. ‘You two have a nice time.’
Meredith crossed her fingers and held them up in front of Verity’s face. ‘I’ve made a deal with myself. If I behave, you won’t be cross with me.’
‘I told you, I’m not cross.’
‘Well, you still don’t believe me about the ghost. Not deep down. I can tell.’
‘You’re very sure about it, aren’t you?’
‘Yes. And one way or another, I’m going to find a way to make you believe me.’
As she freewheeled down the drive towards the lane, Verity wondered if she ought to tell her sister she did believe her.
Twenty-one
‘No Mr Tallis?’
‘Still poorly.’ Miss Jenkins peered over her spectacles. ‘Says it’s influenza but you know what men are like.’
Verity didn’t. She smiled anyway.
‘It’s been utter bedlam.’
Verity eyed the almost empty library and thought, if this was bedlam, she’d take it.
It wasn’t uncommon to send them to asylums…
‘Did you enjoy it?’ Miss Jenkins checked the date in the Mary Stewart book.
‘I did, thank you, although I may have had my fill of Arthurian myths for a while. I’m going to look for something different.’
Miss Jenkins nodded. ‘Widen your choices. Good girl. Off you go then, have fun.’
Searching along the shelves Verity came across an anthology about the supernatural. Flicking through it, she found herself wondering about Meredith again and how she had to bemaking things up.
It’s what she does.
In her heart of hearts she knew this was wishful thinking.
Verity tucked the book under her arm, wandered along the rows looking for something to test her brain. In the children’s department she found two Famous Five books she knew Meredith hadn’t read and something called Silver on the Tree which she hoped would satisfy her mother’s literary ambitions for her youngest daughter.
As Miss Jenkins approached with a pile of books in her arms Verity watched her taking note of the titles, smoothing the spines before she put each one on the shelf. As unobtrusively as she could, she followed, watched as the librarian double-checked each book before replacing it. Verity knew she would enjoy doing the same thing, cataloguing and bringing order out of chaos. Being a librarian looked to her like an ambition worth pursuing.
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