Lilian's Spell Book

by Toby Litt

  ‘Wow,’ said Jack. ‘It must have spurted and spurted.’

  ‘That’s not quite my meaning. But I suppose it did.’

  ‘And what did Jesus say? Did he scream really loud?’

  ‘Jack,’ said Peter. ‘It’s a bit early for this.’

  Father Trovato gave Peter a very stern look. ‘I would say, in fact, that it is exactly the right time. I have important information for you. I think Jack may be more interested in other games. What I have to say concerns very grown-up, boring things like inheritances and strict conditions and, well, solicitors.’

  ‘Jack can stay,’ I said. ‘If he gets bored, he can find something else to do.’

  Father Trovato closed his eyes and seemed to be consulting with his inner voice about whether to insist on Jack leaving, and then how to begin, as Jack was staying.

  ‘I have not slept all night,’ he said, very wearily but with focus. ‘I have been praying for you. Praying very hard.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Jack.

  ‘Praying for all of you. Because I am deeply afraid for your souls. I think you may already have lost them. It may already be too late.’

  ‘That’s not fair,’ said Jack.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘It’s not.’

  ‘Let me explain. Without interruption, please,’ said Father Trovato. ‘You know about this house. I do not need to tell you that it is a place of strange powers.’ Peter gave me a doubtful look, but kept silent. ‘It heals the sick. It keeps the young from growing old and the old from dying. If you stay within the house, never leaving, you will live forever. That is, if you have someone to run your errands for you. That is, if you can bear never walking outside again. I did not find this out myself. It was something I was taught by another – by another Priest. We, the Church, have known about this house for a long time. We have watched over it. We have watched over everyone who lived here. I came to this place for a specific reason, for a specific person. I came for Michael Jonson and for his immortal soul. His father and his grandfather before him, and all their family, they had been guided by their Priests. They had not extended their lives beyond the natural term. The temptations were very great. But we persuaded them, over the years, that what was best for them was to live for most of the time away from the house. They could return, yes, to visit. They could even return to heal themselves after injury. But they could not hide here permanently in hopes of physical immortality. Peter, your own grandfather, Malcolm Jonson, left the house aged seventeen and rarely returned. Michael Jonson, however, was tempted. Up until the age of sixty, he was obedient to the conditions. But then he became frightened of dying. Terrified. He shut me out. For many, many years, he would not see my predecessor, Father Benedict. He made an alliance with Mrs. Forster. She was the one who left the house, ran the errands. He was able to hide away. A recluse. Every Sunday, I would come to offer him the sacraments. Every Sunday, year on year, he refused. Then, suddenly, he changed. He admitted me into the house. He began to talk to me. It seemed that what had brought him round was not the thought of the fate that awaited him, in the distant future, when all around the house had ceased to exist, all humanity, and he was left here for the rest of eternity with no one but Mrs. Forster for company.’ I had to smile at this. ‘No, it was the thought of creatures, wild creatures. He became tormented by the idea of all the parts of the world he would never see. All the wildlife that was out there. For some reason, don’t ask me why, he became obsessed with the North Pole. Perhaps because it was the most inaccessible place. Perhaps because, if he stayed in the house, he would be facing another ice age sooner or later.’

  Father Trovato paused, took a sip of his coffee, resumed.

  ‘Again, it took much time, but in the end we came to an agreement. He resumed taking the sacraments, attending mass, listening to my spiritual guidance. He spent a little more time out of the house. Not enough to make any difference to his age. He remained sixty years-old until his departure. But I’m jumping a little. Michael Jonson began to accept the teachings of the Church. To seek immortality was sinful. He was in a permanent state of sin. Last year, he came to a decision. He would try to see the creatures he wished to see. He would leave the house forever. I was overjoyed. Together, we drafted his will – the will that gave you this house. Now do you understand the conditions of that will? Now do you understand why I cannot allow you to use this house in an unholy way? I had hoped to make a more gradual progress towards this – taking weeks or months. What did that matter if the decision was right in the end? The only people who are fitted to living here are ones who are obedient to outside laws. The laws of the church. So, I pray for you. I pray you make the best decision. It is for your souls.’

  ‘Thank you, Father,’ said Peter. ‘We are very grateful for your interest.’

  ‘You do not believe?’ Father Trovato asked.

  ‘In what?’ Peter said. He was looking haunted, quite washed out and ill. ‘In magic?’

  ‘But you believe,’ said Father Trovato, turning on me.

  ‘I believe in the house,’ I said. ‘I don’t know about your version of souls. You seem very happy to tell people they’re going to hell, whenever it suits you. Frightening old women into giving you their last coins. Telling children to keep quiet about... You know.’

  ‘He didn’t tell me to keep quiet,’ said Jack.

  ‘Actually, Jack, he did,’ I said.

  ‘Please, Mrs. Jonson, this is inappropriate – ’ Father Trovato nodded towards Jack.

  ‘Father,’ said Peter, ‘perhaps – ’

  He was interrupted by a loud knock on the door. It was still only seven o’clock.

  ‘You don’t think it’s Matthew and Gracie?’ I said.

  ‘They wouldn’t come this early,’ said Peter. ‘She’ll be swimming and he’ll be – ’

  The knock came again, louder.

  ‘I need to talk to you about them, also,’ said Father Trovato.

  Peter went into the hall and opened the door. We all looked down the passage to see who it was.

  ‘Good morning, Mr. Jonson,’ said the very tall Police officer standing in the porch. ‘I am P.C. Hollerhan. Would you mind if I came in? We’ve had a serious complaint.’

  Chapter 36.

  Peter stood aside, and P.C. Hollerhan came into the hall. I wasn’t going to miss out on what he said, so, with Mary in my arms, I hurried to join them. Father Trovato and Jack followed after me.

  ‘You must be Mrs. Jonson,’ said P.C. Hollerhan. ‘Pleased to meet you. I’m sorry to disturb you at this time, but you seem to be up already. Father Trovato, good morning.’

  ‘Good morning,’ Father Trovato replied.

  ‘Good morning,’ said Jack, even putting on a little of Father Trovato’s accent.

  ‘Hello,’ said P.C. Hollerhan, stooping a little as he spoke to Jack. He needed to. Jack couldn’t have seen his face otherwise.

  ‘There’s been a “serious complaint”,’ Peter said to me. ‘About us.’

  ‘I heard,’ I said, looking at the police officer. ‘What is it?’

  ‘You are aware, I hope, that this house has been placed on the Statutory List of Buildings of Special Architectural or Historical Interest.’

  P.C. Hollerhan spread his hands out to indicate the magnificent hall. He seemed to be finding it difficult to keep his attention on us. His eyes kept turning upwards, towards the ceiling.

  ‘You mean it’s listed,’ said Peter. ‘Yes, we knew that.’

  ‘Grade I, as a matter of fact,’ said P.C. Hollerhan, snapped out of his reverie. ‘Then you should also be aware that you are forbidden from making any alteration to the building without permission from the local planning authority. Any alteration, particularly, that detracts from the historical integrity of the building.’

  ‘Are we under arrest?’ asked Jack.

  ‘No, no,’ said P.C. Hollerhan.

  ‘The satellite dish,’ said Peter.

  ‘Longbone,’ I said. ‘He’s stopping us putting
an extension our house.’ I turned to P.C. Hollerhan. ‘Is that right? He’s complained.’

  ‘We’ve had an anonymous complaint that you’ve violated the terms of your occupation of a Grade I listed building.’

  ‘By putting up a satellite dish where no one can see it?’ asked Peter.

  ‘And a TV aerial, so I’m informed,’ P.C. Hollerhan said.

  ‘But no one can see them,’ I said.

  ‘Before I knocked on your door, I made a brief visual survey of the roof of the house,’ said P.C. Hollerhan, ‘and I’m afraid to say that the satellite dish is clearly visible from the drive outside the house.’

  I remembered Longbone standing up on tip-toe, peering at the roof.

  ‘Let’s go and have a look,’ I said.

  We crunched out onto the gravel and along until we were almost round the bend. Then we all turned round.

  ‘I can’t see it,’ said Jack.

  ‘I can’t either,’ I said.

  ‘The dish is plainly visible to the right of the third chimney stack from the left,’ said P.C. Hollerhan.

  Peter got up on tip-toe.

  ‘Can you see it?’ I asked.

  Peter was a couple of inches shorter than Longbone. ‘No,’ he said, then did a couple of jumps. ‘Wait.’

  ‘Let me help, sir,’ said P.C. Hollerhan, and caught Peter under the arms. Without too much effort, but making his point pretty clearly, he lifted Peter until he was about a foot off the ground – his eyes on the same level as the policeman’s own. ‘Third chimney stack from the left, sir,’ he said.

  ‘Please put me down,’ said Peter. I could see that he was in some pain.

  ‘Sir, could I ask you to confirm that the satellite dish is in plain view.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Peter. ‘I can see it.’

  ‘This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,’ I said. ‘How tall are you? Six foot four?’

  ‘Six foot six,’ replied P.C. Hollerhan.

  ‘And you can see it, standing here?’

  ‘Would you like me to lift you up, too, madam?’

  P.C. Hollerhan had still not put Peter down, but Peter was damned if he was going to ask again.

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘but I’d be grateful if you could lift up Father Trovato, so he can confirm what you’ve said.’

  P.C. Hollerhan dropped Peter unceremoniously, and Peter went down awkwardly, stepping out to the side and taking a while to regain his balance.

  ‘Let’s not be difficult,’ said P.C. Hollerhan. ‘Mr. Jonson has already confirmed the dish is visible.’

  ‘May I see?’ Father Trovato said, stepping forwards.

  The policeman winced in annoyance but then crouched down, stuck his hands into the Father’s armpits and heaved him with an almighty groan up to head height. ‘It’s there,’ he said. ‘Third chimney.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ said Father Trovato. ‘I forgot to put my glasses on. I can hardly see the house without them.’

  P.C. Hollerhan cursed under his breath then lowered the Father to the floor a lot more carefully than Peter.

  Father Trovato produced a glasses case from somewhere in his cassock. He took his time about polishing the lenses on his sleeve.

  ‘Ready,’ he said, finally.

  P.C. Hollerhan heaved him back into position.

  ‘Mmmm,’ said Father Trovato. ‘Third chimney from the right.’

  ‘From the left,’ grunted P.C. Hollerhan.

  ‘I think I… Yes, I… ’ said Father Trovato, drawing it out for a few moments more. ‘Yes, from this height, it is definitely in sight.’

  P.C. Hollerhan, sweating beneath his helmet, placed Father Trovato back on the ground.

  ‘So,…’ he said, trying to get his breath back.

  ‘Me, too,’ said Jack. ‘Me, too.’

  We stood back whilst P.C. Hollerhan lifted up Jack as well. Jack’s keen eyes spotted the satellite dish easily.

  ‘So, if no one else wants to see…’ He looked at me. I wasn’t going to risk being thrown around. ‘Good. Now we’re agreed on this, we would ask you to remove the offending alterations as soon as possible, or risk facing prosecution.’

  ‘This is just vindictive,’ I said. ‘Are you a mason, too?’

  ‘This is a matter of planning permission – ’

  ‘Because if you think you lot are ever getting a foot inside that house again, you’re absolutely wrong,’ I said. ‘You can go and tell Longbone that.’

  ‘Madam,’ said P.C. Hollerhan, ‘I would ask you to calm down.’

  ‘And I would ask you to leave,’ I said. ‘We’ll see you in court.’

  ‘No,’ said Peter. ‘We will see about having the satellite dish moved so it can’t be seen.’

  ‘As soon as possible,’ said P.C. Hollerhan.

  ‘We won’t be bullied,’ I said.

  There was a moment’s stand-off. Then we all started walking back to the house.

  ‘You’re not coming back in,’ I said.

  ‘I am just going to retrieve my bicycle,’ said P.C. Hollerhan. ‘Then I’ll be off.’

  We said angry goodbyes, then watched him ride away.

  He hadn’t been out of sight for more than a couple of seconds before Robert Mew stepped out of the trees.

  ‘Everything all right?’ he asked.

  ‘Fine,’ shouted Peter.

  ‘All right, then,’ Robert shouted back. ‘I’m around if you need me.’

  ‘Great,’ shouted Peter – and Robert disappeared back into the woods just as quickly and mysteriously as he’d appeared.

  ‘It was good when he lifted you up,’ said Jack to Father Trovato. ‘I thought he wasn’t going to be able to do it.’

  ‘So, is P.C. Hollerhan a mason?’ I asked Father Trovato.

  ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘He’s a Junior Warden. Sir Longbone is the Master.’

  ‘Now there’s a thing,’ said Peter.

  ‘What’s a mason?’ Jack asked

  ‘It’s like a club for annoying men,’ I said. ‘Who want to annoy other people.’

  Father Trovato laughed. ‘Very good,’ he said. ‘Very good.’

  In my anger at P.C. Hollerhan I’d forgotten that I’d just been getting going on Father Trovato.

  Peter obviously wanted to head off any further argument. ‘Father Trovato,’ he said, putting his hand on the priest’s shoulder, ‘we will think very seriously about what you said. We will see you on Sunday morning for mass. Please don’t expect us to make any big decisions by then.’

  Father Trovato hesitated. He started to say something, then stopped himself. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You need some time to think about it. But, please, make no more dangerous experiments.’ He looked especially at me. ‘Every one is in terrible danger.’

  I thought about the fire tools in the living room. I wanted to experiment with them, as soon as I could get a little time on my own. I would have to think of an excuse to get Peter and the children out of the house.

  ‘Thank you, Father,’ said Peter.

  Father Trovato performed his usual contortions to get into his Fiat, then drove off with a toot-toot.

  ‘Saved by the Old Bill,’ said Peter. ‘Although I’d prefer it if they hadn’t dumped on us quite so badly.’

  ‘That was quite a lot to take in,’ I said, trying to start a conversation. ‘Wasn’t it?’

  Peter said, ‘That’s just how priests always speak. Eternal life, eternal damnation. It doesn’t have to be literally true.’

  ‘You mean you don’t believe him?’

  ‘It’s not that simple,’ Peter said. ‘He’s trying to tell us something, in his own language.’

  I could see I wasn’t going to get any more than that out of him.

  ‘Okay, then, who’s for breakfast?’ I asked, although I wasn’t all that hungry. As a family, what we needed right then was to get back to something completely everyday.

  ‘Will the house fix me?’ Jack asked, as we trooped into the kitchen. ‘I mean, like it fixed y
our arm.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘That’s what Father Trovato said. But he wasn’t suggesting we hurt ourselves. That would be a very silly thing to do.’

  I could see Jack watching me as I filled the kettle – I could see him remembering the sight of me pouring boiling water on myself.

  Peter had taken Mary, and was doing his best to make her giggle. He wasn’t really listening to what was going on around him. I decided against making Jack make another promise. Instead, I gave him a pretend stern look, which he seemed to understand. He gave an exaggerated comedy shrug and made one of his screwed up boy-faces.

  We had half a bowl of cornflakes each.

  ‘What shall we do today, then?’ I asked.

  ‘I think I’m going to have to go up on the roof and take the dish down,’ said Peter. ‘I’m pretty sure he meant “do it today”.’

  ‘Can I help?’ Jack asked.

  ‘You can help me carry the tools up,’ said Peter. ‘But you’re not coming on the roof.’

  ‘But even if I fell, the house would fix me, wouldn’t it?’ Jack said.

  ‘No,’ said Peter, very forcefully. ‘You would die. No one said anything about bringing people back from the dead. You can help me do the preparation.’

  Jack slumped on his chair. ‘Prep-pation is for girls,’ he said.

  ‘Mostly,’ I said, ‘yes.’

  Mr. Gatward arrived in his taxi just after nine.

  I heard Peter calling down from the roof. I had been sitting in the parlour, looking hard at the painting of Lilian. Mary was in one of her super-bouncy moods, which meant that my lap was feeling a little pummeled. The rest of me was feeling pretty pummeled, too. What Father Trovato said had really given me pause for thought. Wasn’t I being reckless? I was, as they say, dealing with forces I didn’t understand.

  ‘Mrs. Jonson,’ said Mr. Gatward. He had let himself in, which annoyed me a little even though I hadn’t moved to open the front door.

  ‘Hello,’ I said.

  Mr. Gatward went and stood in front of Lilian. This was his big moment, I remembered – his big announcement. It would be really mean of me to spoil it for him. I gave him a bright smile, and he seemed to come to life.