I was completely unaware of the events and, to do him justice, I do not believe that Corax knew of our relationship. Had he known who you were, I am morally certain that he would have approached the issue very, very differently. You must remember that I did not know myself, until a week ago, that your surname was Winterson, or even that you were in England. All Corax knew was that someone had begun some rather indiscreet displays of power in Winter and that that person seemed unamenable to approaches.
I do not attempt in any way to excuse his actions, which were, let me state clearly, indefensible, regardless of our relationship. Unfortunately he is of another generation entirely – as you will discover if you meet him one day – and there are times when he forgets that summary justice is no longer our right to dispense, even if we wished to do so. And, too, he was not present at the attack, and some of his agents on the ground exceeded their powers. But all this sounds like I am making excuses for him, which is not at all what I set out to do in this letter.
Anna, please, please believe me when I say that I am distraught to think that Thaddeus Corax’s high-handed actions may have sabotaged my chance to know my granddaughter. When I received Caradoc’s call I felt as if I had been given a second chance, not only with you, but, by proxy, with your mother. To have that chance snatched away is too cruel – and I know, my dear, that cruelty is not part of your nature. I could see that from the first moment that we met.
Please, don’t punish me in Corax’s stead. And don’t punish yourself. There is a great deal I can do for you – I can only guess how hard it must have been for you to have gone through the discovery of your nature without anyone to help you. You could do very great things, Anna – very great good. Perhaps I am naive in hoping that I can help you fulfil your destiny at this late stage, but I would like to do what I can.
And it is not only selfishness that prompts me to write to you – there is another, more practical, more political reason for my plea. It may be, if you will come to London and go over what happened last year, that Corax can be made to pay for his actions in Winter. I don’t pretend that this is a certainty, or that the word of one young girl against a senior Chair of our organization would topple him instantly, but it might be a chink in his armour – and sometimes it is that first chink that is hardest to achieve.
So, dear Anna, for my sake, and for the sake of others who may come under Corax’s thumb, please do reconsider.
Your very loving grandmother,
Elizabeth N. Rokewood
As I finished reading the letter, it seemed to twitch like a live thing in my hand, almost as if caught in a strong breeze, though there was no window open in the room. Then a corner of the paper began suddenly to glow and it burst into blue, heatless flames. Within seconds the page was just a handful of cold, grey ashes. I opened my hand and let them scatter to the floor.
Later that night, in my room, I tried to compose an email back.
Dear … Great. I was stuck at the second word. Dear what? Dear Granny? Dear Grandma? It seemed fake and cheesy to somehow claim a cosy relationship with this formidable woman I’d met only twice. Yet Dear Mrs Rokewood seemed like a deliberate snub and Dear Elizabeth was just impossible. In the end I deleted Dear and started again, ducking the issue completely.
Thank you for your letter, which arrived today, and for the clothes. I appreciate their return – though you didn’t have to include the borrowed clothes as well.
I will think about what you said in your letter. Things are slightly difficult here at the moment – understatement of the year – but I appreciate your point about bringing Chair Corax to account. Two appreciates. Oh well, this wasn’t an English essay. What to say next? Yes, I want a relationship? No, you cut my dad out of your life; you can’t play happy families now?
It was impossible. How could I overcome eighteen years of silence? But at the same time, it seemed so wrong to let a moment’s anger, nearly two decades ago and probably bitterly regretted ever since, dictate the rest of our lives.
I sighed and finished, Your granddaughter, Anna.
Then, before I could think better of it, I added an X for a kiss and pressed send.
As an afterthought I went back and sent a quick follow-up.
P.S., if you want to write again, please could you send it to my home address? The school was a bit cross at having to receive the parcel. My address is:
Wicker House
Castleton Road
Winter.
A
I was about to shut down the computer and go to bed when my emailed pinged and 1 message flashed up in the corner of the screen. Surely not a reply so soon?
My heart was thumping as I opened up the inbox, but the email address was not my grandmother’s, just a Hotmail address with a jumble of meaningless letters and numbers instead of a name. Probably spam, but I opened it up to check.
SAM AND ROG, 21st DECEMBER. WE KNOW, it said.
I stared, puzzled, and then deleted it and went to bed.
It was in the middle of the night that I made the connection and awoke in a pool of cold sweat.
21st December.
The night Seth had taken me out for dinner.
The night I’d left two boys half dead in an alley.
‘What should I wear?’ Dad looked anxiously down at himself. ‘Will this do?’
We were getting ready to go to Elaine’s for my birthday supper/welcome-home-Bran dinner. And Dad was nervous. It was weird – anyone would think he was the one going on a date. I was nervous too – but not about my clothes. No, I was nervous about what Bran was going to do when I crossed ‘his’ threshold, in spite of his warnings.
‘You look fine.’ I looked Dad up and down. ‘It’s maybe a bit formal though. It’s only supper. How about you lose the tie?’
‘Are you sure?’ Dad wrestled with the tie and then pulled it loose. ‘What do you think? I don’t want Elaine to think we aren’t making an effort. And I feel I have to match up to you.’
I was wearing the grey dress – kind of in spite of myself. I still hadn’t quite resolved my feelings towards my grandmother’s largesse, but it seemed a tragedy to leave such beautiful clothes lying limp in my wardrobe. And, too, there was the memory of the look kindled in Seth’s eyes when he’d seen me in it last … But I’d kept the sapphires in their jewellery box. They were too showy for me, and the dress matched better with my mother’s little silver drops, and Seth’s seaglass ring.
‘You look great. Without the tie is great. Let me just …’ I leant up and undid his top button, pulling the shirt open at the neck. ‘There, that’s better.’ I gave him a kiss on the cheek and he blushed unexpectedly.
‘So what do you think – fit to meet the in-laws?’
‘Dad …’ Now it was my turn to blush. ‘Whatever you do, please don’t say that in front of Seth and Elaine! I’d be mortified.’
‘Why?’ Dad smiled at me, half teasing, half serious. ‘Worried Seth might try to make an honest woman out of you? I wasn’t much older when I met your mum, you know.’
‘Yes, but it isn’t the dark ages any more, thank God. Now, come on; we’re going to be late.’
Angelica waved as Dad and I elbowed our way through the saloon bar and knocked on the door that led up to Seth and Elaine’s private flat on the first floor.
‘Just go up,’ she called above the noise of the bar. ‘They won’t hear you with this racket down here.’
As we opened the door a fabulous, rich smell drifted down the stairs – garlic, onions, butter – making my mouth water. Dad’s stomach rumbled audibly.
‘Anna!’ Seth met us at the top of the stairs. ‘Hello, Tom, can I take your jacket?’
‘Thanks.’ Dad shrugged it off and looked around the flat. ‘Very nice place you’ve got here. I’ve never seen upstairs. Where’s your mum?’
‘In the kitchen. Go in and say hi.’
Dad wandered off in the direction of the delicious smells and Seth took advantage of his disappearance to
wrap me in his arms.
‘Happy birthday. Are you sure it was a good idea to wear that dress?’
‘What do you mean? Is there something wrong with it?’ I craned over my shoulder to see if my hem was tucked into my knickers.
‘No, quite the opposite. I’m just kind of worried I won’t be able to keep my hands to myself at dinner.’
‘Shut up.’ I swatted him affectionately and then looked him up and down. ‘You don’t look so bad yourself.’
That was an understatement, of course. He looked, as usual, devastating, in low-slung jeans and a dazzlingly white shirt that made his tan seem deeper than ever. But, also as usual, he seemed completely unaware of himself and just shrugged.
‘You can thank Mum for that – she made me put on a shirt.’
‘Where’s Bran?’ I asked. Seth sighed.
‘Asleep in his room. Mum’s going to wake him up for dinner – personally I’d be quite happy if he slept through the whole thing but …’
‘It’s his celebration too,’ I said gently, but Seth only shook his head.
‘Anna!’ There was a gust of warm air from the kitchen and Elaine came over and gave me a hug. ‘Happy birthday, love. Open your present.’ She pushed a bag at me and I flushed.
‘Elaine! You shouldn’t have.’
‘Of course I should!’
I opened it up and inside was a gorgeous pair of knee-high boots.
‘I hope they fit.’ Elaine eyed my face worriedly. ‘It’s always a bit of a gamble buying shoes but Seth said you usually take a six and I couldn’t resist. I’ve never had a daughter to buy for.’
I took off my heels and stuck my feet in the boots. They fitted perfectly and I looked up at Elaine with a beaming smile.
‘They’re fab.’
‘Not too tight?’
‘No, the opposite if anything, but they’ll be perfect when I’m wearing socks. Thank you.’ I kissed her cheek and she gave me her beaming smile – the spitting image of Seth’s. Just then we heard a rusty squeaking sound, and all the heads in the room turned towards the doorway.
It was Bran. He was hunched into a wheelchair and my first reaction was shock at how he’d changed. He’d always been on crutches since I’d known him, but he’d still been tall and wiry and strong, hobbling around his island kingdom in spite of the uneven rocks and pebbly paths. Now he was shrunk, wizened into his wheelchair. His white hair was wilder than ever, but his weather-beaten face had paled to grey and his eyes had lost their fire.
‘Hello, Bran,’ Dad said gently. ‘Feeling better?’
‘Eh?’ Bran’s head jerked up and he glared at Dad as if confused by who he was. ‘Better? That’s a damn fool question.’
‘Dad,’ Elaine said crossly, ‘it’s a perfectly good question. Tom was just being polite.’
‘Better,’ Bran was mumbling into his chest. ‘Better, he says. I’ll be better when I’m home, home at my own hearth.’
‘Dad …’ Elaine’s voice was strained as if this was a discussion they’d had a dozen times before. ‘Dad, please. Not this again. You know what the doctor said.’
‘Doctors – what do they know? I’m dying, girl – does it matter where I do it?’ He pushed his squeaky wheelchair across the carpet towards the table and began trying awkwardly to manoeuvre into position. Seth set his hand to the back to help but Bran knocked his arm away roughly. ‘Leave me be. I may be a cripple but I’ve not lost the use of my arms yet.’
Behind his back I met Dad’s eyes and saw my own uneasiness reflected there. There was no way this dinner could turn out well. I had a strong desire to turn tail and run home, but I didn’t. Instead, when Elaine went back to the kitchen to start serving out, I followed her, anxious to be out of Bran’s sight.
‘I’m sorry, Anna,’ Elaine said wearily as she pulled sautéed potatoes and garlic chicken out of the oven. ‘He’s always been a cantankerous old sod, but he’s got past bearing since his illness. I don’t know whether it’s the medication, or the frustration, or just sheer bloody-mindedness but I’m going to apologize now for his behaviour because it’ll probably only get worse.’
‘Elaine, don’t apologize.’ I took the plates she handed me. ‘It’s fine. He misses his home. I can see that.’
‘Yes.’ She stopped for a moment in the centre of the kitchen, her face weary. ‘Yes he does. It’s more than that actually. He pines for it. He was never meant to live so far from the sea. He says it’s killing him and I don’t know, maybe he’s right. But what kind of daughter would I be if I sent him back to live in that shack on the Spit?’ There was desperation in her face, but I couldn’t answer. I didn’t know the answer to give. I just shook my head in mute sympathy and she closed her eyes for a moment and brushed back her straggling hair with a tea towel. Then she forced a smile. ‘There I go again. This is supposed to be your birthday celebration and here I am moaning away and loading you up like a pack horse. It should be Seth acting the waiter, not you! You should be out there with your feet up.’
I’d rather be in here, I thought. But I didn’t say it. Instead I followed her out into the dining room and began laying dishes out on the table and helping Elaine as she served out potatoes and fragrant chunks of chicken with garlicky lemony butter.
‘Bran?’ I asked timidly as the first plate was filled and he looked up, his eyes misted.
‘Eh? What?’
‘Is this OK? This portion? Can I help you to some potatoes?’
‘Who’re you?’ he asked suddenly, gripping the table. I looked at Seth, suddenly unsure what to say. Seth stepped in.
‘Grandad, this is Anna. You know Anna. My girlfriend. It’s her birthday, remember?’
‘You!’ His voice was shaking and he banged on the table with his fist. ‘You!’
‘Dad,’ Elaine said sharply, ‘calm down. We discussed this, remember? It’s Anna’s birthday. I explained – a dinner for Anna’s birthday and your homecoming. Remember?’
‘I will not have her under my roof!’ Bran shouted suddenly. There was foam at the corner of his mouth and his eyes were wild. His hand shook as he banged it again on the table, catching the corner of the plate and sending chicken and sauce splattering across Elaine’s carefully laid table. ‘I will not!’
‘It’s not your bloody roof!’ Seth shouted back, and suddenly I could see their resemblance, the likeness in their terrifying anger. Seth’s rage had the same, dangerous quality as Bran’s, the same air that any moment he might snap.
‘Get her out!’ Bran turned to Elaine and his voice was thunderous, unbelievably so for a frail old man in a wheelchair.
‘No,’ Elaine said, trying to be calm, though her voice shook a little. ‘No, Dad. Calm down.’
‘Steady on, Bran.’ Dad put a hand to Bran’s shoulder, but Bran shook it off as if shrugging away a fly.
‘I will not share my bread, my table, my roof with a damned witch!’ he roared, and to my amazement he was half out of his chair, his frail, trembling arms supporting his weight. His face was purple and veins threaded his forehead. He looked like he was going to have a heart attack.
‘Bran!’ Dad’s face was shocked. ‘Now, hang on—’
‘Dad, it’s OK,’ I said. ‘Elaine, I think I should just go.’
‘Anna, no, it’s your birthday!’ Elaine said, but her voice was anxious. I shook my head.
‘Please, I think it would be best.’
‘Well …’ Elaine looked from Bran’s shaking frame, collapsed back into his chair, and back to me, and I could see she was torn. ‘Well … Oh, I don’t know. Maybe that would be best.’ Her face was wretched, and I bent and gave her a kiss.
‘Please, don’t feel bad. It was a lovely idea.’
‘Get out,’ Bran said in a weak, shaking bellow, as I gathered my coat. ‘Get out and good riddance.’
‘Hang on.’ Seth put out a hand to grip my arm. ‘Anna’s not going anywhere.’
‘Seth,’ Elaine said softly. ‘I know, darling, but your grandad—’
‘Don’t speak about your grandad like that,’ Elaine said warningly.
‘Mum, he damn near ruined your life – he’s not going to ruin mine. He’s got a problem with Anna? Fine, that’s his business, he can stay in his room.’
‘I will not have her kind under my roof!’ Bran roared again. He rammed his wheelchair into the table with such force and frustration that the china rattled and plates fell to the ground with a crash.
‘Bran,’ Dad said warningly, ‘I think you should calm down.’
‘Get her out!’ Bran bellowed, ignoring Dad as if he hadn’t spoken.
‘If Anna goes, I go,’ Seth said, and his voice was very cold.
‘If you want to go, that’s fine,’ Elaine said, relieved. ‘Of course it is. Here, darling, help yourself to whatever cash is in my purse and take Anna out for a meal in Brighthaven or something.’
‘That’s not what I mean. If you let him force Anna out, I’m going. For good. I can’t live like this.’
‘What do you mean – for good? Where would you go?’ Elaine’s face was astonished.
‘Does that matter?’
‘Of course it matters!’
‘Let him go!’ Bran said, and there was contempt in his voice. ‘Let him go with his slut.’
‘Shut up!’ Elaine screamed, turning on him suddenly. ‘Just shut up, Dad!’ Then she turned back to Seth. ‘Seth, please, don’t do this. You can see what he’s like – just let it lie, just this once.’
‘It’s not once though, is it? It’s been like this ever since he came to stay. You may be able to put up with it, but I can’t.’
‘Please, Seth.’ She put both hands on her son’s shoulder and her voice was very low. ‘Please, he’s not going to be here for ever …’
A Witch in Love Page 18
