Temperance

by M. Latimer-Ridley

  Temperance spent the day regretting her decision. After every lecture, she pulled out her mobile phone and tapped the screen. She wanted to call her father and reprimand him, but she didn’t want to waste her money.

  Her attention snapped back to the class when everyone started packing up their things. The lecturer adjusted his round glasses, pushing them up onto his balding head. He wished them a happy holiday and switched off his computer. As the rest of the class filed out, Temperance waited.

  Professor Afton was a scatterbrain, he always forgot something. He picked up his laptop and hurried out of the room. Without missing a beat, Temperance gathered up his notes and hurried after him.

  She couldn’t help herself. She always felt the need to protect people like her parents; those who were a little eccentric or forgetful. Her brother, Crispin, was the complete opposite.

  “Sir.”

  He froze. Temperance smacked into his back. The notes flew out of her hands, fluttering across the floor.

  “Oh dear!” He knelt to gather them.

  Temperance grasped the nearest fallen journal. She flipped it over. The words were shimmering. There was a picture of complex gene sequences stacked together to create the face of a wolf.

  “Decoding the werewolf genome?” she said, staring at the title.

  Professor Afton snatched the journal away from her. “What?”

  He gave a nervous laugh. He flipped it over for her to see again.

  “Decoding the Neanderthal genome,” she read.

  Her hands were sweaty. She studied the clear, bold letters; even the picture was different now; a heavy set humanoid face.

  “Werewolf,” Professor Afton laughed again. He gathered up the rest of the pages. “Temperance you are too good to me; you always collect my things!”

  Once they were finished, he cleared his throat. “How is your condition these days?”

  Temperance’s eyes flicked to the journal and she thought of what she had seen with Alastair earlier. She needed to ask the doctors for stronger tablets.

  Lately she had been seeing a lot more things; hallucinating. Her brother took the same medication but he never seemed to have any complaints. Not like her, always seeing things that weren’t there.

  “I’m just tired,” she rubbed her eyes. She didn’t want to seem weak.

  She knew mental health problems were taboo. She had felt the stigma since childhood; every time her father suffered a breakdown and had to be committed to the Candlewick Mill asylum.

  She had been on medication her whole life. The condition was unexplained, some chemical imbalance in the brain. It had always been in the family. Her father didn’t talk about his mother but she had suffered from the same problems. She had died young after falling under a car while hallucinating she was being attacked by spirits. After that, a fatherless Pratchett had been adopted by his mother’s friends.

  “I’m fine,” she insisted.

  “Okay,” Professor Afton nodded after a short pause. “If there’s anything you need, just ask.”

  Temperance clutched at her bag, watching him leave. She had seen it though. Blinking back her tears, she raced out of the building, elbowing her way past several students.

  Storm clouds were gathering on the horizon. The first drop of rain splashed down onto her bare neck. She hurried out onto the street that would lead her home.

  Her house stood on the edge of town, beside a large sprawling forest. It was an old renovated church, with a high steeple. A peaked hill behind it dwarfed their land in its shadow. It was particularly eerie in the dark. Adora Levinthal loved it. She told Temperance it called to her.

  Temperance often wondered what the hill was saying to her mother. She was sure it wasn’t ‘get naked and dance on me’.

  It was dark by the time she got to their gravel driveway, which was packed with different sized cars. Despite their earthy beliefs, the Wiccans all had one. The women were incredible at parking. Temperance had to squeeze her way between several bumpers to reach her front door.

  The building was lit up from all angles. Her mother had placed candles on every sill and step. Temperance could see them glowing out past the coloured beads that dressed the windows. They were clearly a safety hazard, something only she ever seemed to think about.

  Before she could slide the key into the lock, a flickering light off to one side caught her attention.

  “She wouldn’t have,” she muttered, walking around to the side of the house.

  Sure enough, her mother’s battered greenhouse, full of all her flammable plants, was basking in the glow of at least ten large, unwatched candles.

  Temperance pulled open the plate-glass door. A wave of cinnamon hit her, making her cringe. She pushed on inside, trying not to breathe in the scent of the candles as she blew them out. A rusted scissors lay abandoned beside her mother’s more interesting herbs. Frowning, Temperance suspected Adora had made her ‘special’ brownies. Her mother’s tarot cards were still spread out across her wrought-iron garden table; someone had been around today. People came to hear her tell their fortune. Adora marketed herself as a ‘demister of the future’.

  Temperance stacked up the cards, she never put any stock in Adora’s occult obsessions, but technically only her mother was allowed to touch them.

  Temperance froze when she heard a chorus of spine-tingling howls. The wild dogs in the forest beside them were very vocal tonight. The glass-house door creaked. She jolted around. A tiny mangy dog stared up at her. He sat down on the threshold and started to bite himself.

  “Beast,” she greeted, letting out a relieved sigh.

  She finished tidying the cards away before nudging him towards the front door. She slipped inside. Her heart was still hammering in her chest. Beast snuffled at her ankles then disappeared into the sitting room.

  Temperance stood in silence, wondering why the howling had frightened her so much. The presence of the dogs close to their house was nothing new. She dropped her keys onto the hall table as several of her mother’s friends ambled out of the kitchen in a fit of giggles. They had bundles of clothes in their arms, which they added to a growing pile at the base of the stairs. A big wicker basket held their discarded underwear, socks and shoes.

  The women were naked beneath thin chiffon robes, preparing themselves for the night ahead. They had tied up their greying hair, but she knew that it was left to flow free when the dancing started.

  “Hello,” she managed to choke out.

  Over the years, age had caught up with the ladies. Temperance remembered a time when they were much younger and their antics had been highly anticipated by her brother’s friends. Now, not even the Wiccans’ husbands were interested.

  “You should come with us this year, dear! It’s about time!” someone called from inside the kitchen. Several of the women hummed in agreement, while the others busied themselves looking for the body-paints.

  “No!” Temperance gasped, pushing her way into the kitchen.

  Adora was at the table, scrubbing her hair in a huge wooden basin of rainwater. The room was heaving with sprigs of holly and ivy and the air was thick with the smell of baking brownies. Temperance narrowed her eyes at her mother.

  “Special brownies?”

  “Of course,” Adora answered in a sing-song voice. She pulled her hair back and rung it out. “Your brother sent a postcard from the Amazon! He’s been living in a tree for three weeks to stop the loggers!” She fisted her hand, throwing back her long greying hair. “Fight the good fight Crispin Raindrop Levinthal!”

  The women tittered. Temperance cringed. She hated when her mother used their middle names.

  “Oh, I do hope my little Temperance Moonbeam decides to follow in her big brother’s footsteps!” She clasped her hands together.

  Her robe moved slightly and Temperance looked away with red cheeks. It was a sight no daughter should have to see.

  “You know he is a ruthless money hungry businessman in As
ia, nowhere near the Amazon. The only interest he has in the environment is destroying it,” Temperance pointed out.

  Her mother was in denial.

  “Don’t be silly Moonbeam, look at the postcard.” Adora breezed away from her and plucked up a card from the table.

  This was the aspect of the situation that worried Temperance the most. Crispin was playing along and aiding Adora in maintaining her delusion.

  Adora handed her the postcard. The picture was of a rainforest all right. She flipped it over and saw the stamp was Chinese. Temperance handed it back without reading it.

  “Very good,” she said, averting her eyes as her mother twirled around the kitchen.

  She slipped on a large pink oven mitt and lifted out the brownies. She set the tray down beside some crystals and herbs the Wiccans had woven into necklaces.

  Temperance jumped forward as the door hit her back and a thin woman squeezed in.

  “Oh sorry!”

  “Professor Corliss, hello again.”

  The professor was still wearing her tartan jacket and now had on a matching pair of trousers that had golden buttons down the sides, for easy removal.

  “Hello from the both of us. I brought my cat this year,” the old woman exclaimed, setting the tabby down on the floor. When she stood up she was only a little taller than Temperance. “Old Chopsticks loves the solstice!”

  Professor Corliss put a new set of body-paints on the table. “I bought these today. I think we used up the black paint during the summer dance?”

  “I think you’re right Wilhelmina,” Adora exclaimed. She pointed at two huge, greasy glass jars. “I have the burning oils and the body butter.” Her fingers danced over the lids. She turned to Professor Corliss with a confused, dreamy smile. “I forget which is which.”

  Temperance glared at her. She could just imagine the Wiccans smearing the oils over themselves and getting too close to the massive bonfire they burned on the hill.

  The colourful beads hanging in the sitting room doorway swung and clicked together. Pratchett stuck his head around.

  Temperance could hear a group of men beyond sobbing.

  “Any tea dear?”

  Adora started cutting into the brownie tray. She waved her knife at the stove where a metal kettle was steaming away.

  They were a strange looking pair. Pratchett was far taller for a start, easily over six foot. While Adora was like Temperance; a small doll of a woman. Though, Temperance was petite in almost every way, whereas Adora was voluptuous. She looked like her Wiccan images of the earth mother. However, for all their physical differences, both her father and mother had very similar personalities. They were children in heart and mind. They had never had parents of their own. It explained their eccentricities when it came to raising Crispin and her.

  Adora had grown up with distant relatives after her own parents had passed away. Once she had been old enough, she’d left to live off the land and start her tarot card reading business, which had subsequently failed. She’d met Pratchett at nineteen and became pregnant with Crispin.

  That was when life as Temperance now knew it began.

  There was a ten year gap between herself and her brother. Temperance wished her late arrival had matured her parents, but if anything they’d taken it as an excuse to remain children for longer.

  “Did you meet Alastair Byron?” Pratchett asked in an offhand way, pouring out several cups of tea.

  “Are you and the rest of the Wiccan husbands watching girly movies in there?” Temperance countered. One of his blubbering friends cried out for tissues. It was their ritual to watch romance movies, whilst their wives went to dance. Age and disinterest had caught up with them all.

  Pratchett reached for a box of tissues and some biscuits. He arranged them on a tray.

  “He is handsome, isn’t he?” he pressed.

  Adora’s ears pricked up and she edged closer. Professor Corliss looked interested now too. She kept arranging and rearranging the body-paints on the table. Several more women filed in.

  “Did we hear handsome?” one asked.

  “Is Alastair Byron your boyfriend now, Temperance?”

  Pratchett’s eyes sparkled with hope. He nodded as if trying to influence her answer.

  “No,” Temperance replied. Her father’s face crumpled.

  More women crowded into the kitchen. They started disrobing. Temperance tried to look away but no matter where she turned she saw something she didn’t want to. They lifted their hems and began to paint their flabby legs. The younger ones were helping the older ones who couldn’t reach. The lewd comments started as some of the bolder ones began with their chests.

  “Oh? I’ve heard Cyprian’s nephew is very handsome,” a woman in front of Temperance said. “My daughter Abigail would be perfect for him! She’s a model, you know.”

  “No!” Pratchett leapt forward. He nudged the woman out of the way and grabbed Temperance by the shoulders. He pushed her forward into a ring of now half-naked, half-painted women.

  “Look at her, she’s so beautiful! She could have any man!”

  A small squeak escaped from Temperance as someone stepped up behind her. She felt a breast at her back and tried to squirm away.

  The women cooed in agreement.

  “Temperance, you’re so pretty!”

  “Like a little china doll!”

  “Stop!” She grabbed her father’s arm and dragged him out into the hall.

  “Temperance,” he said in a serious voice. “I think you should stake your claim before he starts college. I’ve seen Abigail; she’s not as pretty as you, but you can’t be too careful. Do it tonight!”

  “Are you mad sending your daughter to your friend’s house to stay overnight?” she hissed.

  “It’ll be good for you to chat to Alastair. I thought it would be the perfect getaway. And you know your mother likes to party until dawn. This year you won’t have to watch the rebirth of the sun ceremony. I know how uncomfortable it makes you!”

  Temperance shuddered at the thought of that ritual. It was the worst part. She licked her lips and glanced away from him.

  “Fine.”

  The doorbell rang and Pratchett jumped away to answer it.

  “Oh!” he shuffled back to allow the person in.

  Temperance paled. Alastair stood in the doorway. There was a frown on his face, his eyes landed on her and narrowed. He twisted his keys and tilted them at her father. “I came to give Temperance a lift to Cyprian’s house. He noticed it was raining.”

  The kitchen door squeaked and Temperance winced.

  “Who is it dear?” her mother asked.

  Alastair stepped up to offer her his hand. “Alastair Byron.”

  Temperance’s eyes followed him, trying to gauge his reaction to her mother’s transparent chiffon robe and dripping hair. He made no visible sign that he noticed. Even the several half-naked women behind her didn’t draw any response from him. He nodded in greeting; his depthless black eyes captivating them.

  Pratchett pulled at Temperance’s sleeve. She looked up at him.

  “Make a claim!” he pleaded.

  She shrugged off his hold with a sigh. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  She disappeared upstairs to collect her things. Her clothes were neatly organised, folded and waiting to be put away on her bed where she had left them. She pulled out a simple pair of pyjamas and reached into her bag for her pillbox.

  She refilled it enough to last a few days. It saved on time. She squeezed the box tight in her hand until it ached. Taking a deep breath, she put it into her bag. It was clear the medication needed to be stronger. She would have to bring it up at her next appointment.

  When she reappeared in the hall, Alastair was surrounded by Wiccans. Temperance slowed on the final few steps.

  He was smiling, humouring them. But, flickering beneath his calm, confident exterior, she could finally see he was uncomfortable. His worn boots scuffed along the rug as
Adora attempted to drag him into the kitchen. Temperance frowned; Pratchett was helping to bump him along.

  “We should go. It’s getting late,” she said. “And you two have a winter solstice to enjoy.” Her eyes narrowed on her parents. They looked crestfallen. Adora was the first to release Alastair. She ushered the ladies back into the kitchen.

  “Mother Earth requires full body-paint, we don’t have much time! We are running late!”

  The other women gasped their agreement, realising the time. Temperance watched them go. Pratchett still held Alastair’s arm.

  “Where was the last place you visited?” her father asked in a childlike voice. He coughed and added in a more confident way. “I visited Cornwall last year. Well, me and the wife – we went to a pagan festival!”

  “I think it must have been tracking through the Far East,” Alastair said. “I had some things to deal with there at the time.”

  “Such an exciting life for one so young,” Pratchett gaped at him. “What age are you now?”

  “Dad!” Temperance hissed.

  “Twenty-four,” he replied after a moment, as if having to give it serious thought.

  “Don’t forget to blow out the candles when she leaves!” Temperance warned Pratchett.

  Her father stood to attention. “I will get my men on it straight away!”

  “Goodbye, Wiccans!” Temperance called, hopping off the stairs.

  Adora stuck her head out of the kitchen again. She glanced at Alastair then skipped over to Temperance. She handed her a biscuit tin.

  “In case you get hungry. I loved these when I was your age!”

  Temperance drummed her fingers along the tin. She locked eyes with her mother. Adora gave a nervous giggle. She clapped her hands and popped back into the kitchen. Temperance heard the thunderous laughter coming from inside. Her fingers gripped the tin tighter.

  She grabbed Alastair’s arm pushing him towards the door. It was like trying to move a lead weight. She felt the muscles in his arm flex.

  Temperance waved to her father as the door swung closed behind them.

  Alastair glared down at her until she lifted her hand away. The charming smile evaporated. He stalked off ahead of her.

  She released a calming breath. It was going to be a long night.

  Chapter 4