by Holly Bell
‘Oh yes.’
‘But you must have a gift too.’
‘No, just to see other dimensions,’ he said casually, ‘like you do.’
‘Like seeing the ghost?’
‘Yes, and other things. There is more than one other dimension, as you know.’
‘Really? My grandparents only told me about one other.’
‘And you don’t see more?’ asked Hugo, surprised.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Amanda.
‘Ah, well there is more than one, and that is my family gift then, I suppose.’
Amanda looked around. ‘So, do you see others now?’
‘Yes, of course,’ Hugo replied, perfectly at his ease.
Her head flicked from side to side, nervously. ‘You mean there are other … people … things here now?’
‘Of course. But they are not interested in us, or they do not see us. Please relax, Amanda, it is not so strange. Let me see.’ He looked down at the base of a tree ahead of them. He pointed.
‘There are two or three beings there. But this is not so unusual. People have been seeing them all over the place, all over the world for thousands of years.’
‘What are they?’ she asked curiously, looking in the direction of his finger, but seeing nothing beyond the trunk and grass.
‘They have many names … er … you say in English …. Let’s see …. Fee … er, fay? Ferry?’
‘Fairy! Fairies?’
‘Yes, yes, this the word, I think.’
Amanda laughed. ‘I thought they were just fantasy.’
Hugo smiled, and said, ‘People think witches are just fantasy.’
Amanda had a great deal to think about as she lay that night waiting for sleep. She half sat up, leaning on her elbows.
‘Tempest,’ she asked him, as he lay curled up against her hip in the darkness. ‘Am I really special?’ she asked.
He raised his head and gave her scornful look expressive of ‘No, you’re just an irritating human who’s woken me up.’
She lay down again, somehow relieved. ‘I didn’t think so.’ Amanda mused. So the Cadabra gift was levitation. What was the Cardiubarn gift? Or the Flamgoyne gift? Or that of the Polgoynes, even? She really must remember to ask Granny ….
Not just Hugo but all of the German crew endeared themselves to the village. The strawberry season was upon them, and the culinarily inclined made strawberry flans, strawberry tarts, strawberry jam, strawberry jelly, strawberry fools, trifles and Victorian sponge, filled and topped with the luscious red fruit. A fair number of these found their way to the guests working on the site, for snacks and treats, and were delivered to the places where they were staying.
Over the days, the first floor of the building was in place, then the second, and the roof added. The tiles went on, fixtures and fittings were completed. The appointed time for the supervisor to make her inspection was set.
Amanda and Hugo walked in the orchard, for what she suspected would be the last time.
They had known one another for just weeks that had flown by. It was too soon to be having The Conversation. And yet … Amanda’s mind went back to Lost Madley, Little Madley. Back then, hadn’t it been like this for thousands of couples who were soon to be separated, by war, by distance, maybe even by …
‘Amanda.’
She was brought back to the orchard and the 21st century by his voice.
‘Yes, Hugo?’
‘I have enjoyed so much our time together, working on the puzzle of Lost Madley, meeting someone else like me.’
‘Me too.’
‘If it were possible, I would like there to have been more, much more.’
Amanda smiled
‘But I cannot come and be here. My family … they need me. With this work, I have some flexibility. I can go home when I need to. My father, his health is not so good. I have a younger brother and sister. They depend on me. I don’t mind that. I love them. I love my village.’
She nodded understandingly.
‘And I know that they would love you, Amanda. They would welcome you, welcome you into the family. Your levitation, it is so rare a mystical gift. They would prize it, they would prize you. You could visit. We could see. If you want.’
Amanda stopped walking and turned to him. She knew, in that moment, that what Hugo was asking was something she could not do.
Amanda shook her head regretfully.
‘Thank you for that Hugo. It would mean a great deal to me to be accepted by your family for the witch that I am. There. I have said it. But … it isn’t just that my business is here and the only family I have ever known or that, for all my oddities, I am somehow cared for here. But … you know, even when I used to travel with my grandparents, something always drew me back here, even before the trips were over. Like an elastic between this place and my soul. I don’t know why. But I can’t accept your invitation, Hugo, and I won't lead you or your family up the garden path by trying. I hope that you understand.’
‘Yes, I do,’ he said at once. ‘And I thought that this is what you would say.’ They were quiet for a moment.
‘I will leave tomorrow, I think, but, please, know that if you should ever have need of me, I will try to come here.’
‘Thank you.’
He held out his hand.
‘Friends?’
She laughed with relief and pleasure. She couldn’t remember any man ever offering her that before. She put her hand in his.
‘Friends.’
They shook on it.
‘We will keep in touch, yes?’ Hugo asked.
‘Yes. I’ll let you know how the Centre gets on.’
‘And how Joan is?’ he said humorously.
‘Oh, Joan! Yes of course. Although it wouldn’t surprise me if she gave me news of you!
***
The supervisor arrived. One or two tweaks were made, and the inspection passed. The crew did the last of the packing, gave their thanks, made their farewells, and piled into the vehicles ready for the trip home. They drove south through Sunken Madley at high noon for the last time, to the cheers and good wishes from the villagers.
Amanda waited at the far southern end, by the last building, the Snout and Trough. Hugo and Amanda smiled at one another as he went by. She waved until he passed the bend, and disappeared behind the trees.
She found Tempest at her feet.
‘Well. Who’d have thought? I found a friend. A friend like me. Oh, of course, I mean a mere human like me! And if I can do it once, I can do it again. And if I can find a magical friend, who is to say I can’t find even more than that?’ said Amanda looking down at her familiar.
Tempest’s citron stare was unwavering. And then, slowly, he blinked. Once for ‘yes’.
Chapter 20
Inauguration
Amanda, phone in hand, took a step. She froze. The forensic team would be able to track her footprints. If her story was going to be that she was rooted to the spot with horror, she couldn’t go traipsing around the crime scene as though she was viewing an exhibition.
She took a careful step back, set the camera app to record, pressed the button, flattened her palm so that the phone was resting on it, and whispered. It rose.
Then with the words, ‘Winstre, rihthdhou, aereval, sedaasig, kileiniga, forthwg, kileiniga adhelnde,’ left, right, up, down, tilt forwards, tilt backwards, Amanda sent it flying. The experience she’d had with the model planes she sent on missions around her bedroom was coming in handy. Aerial photography.
It was taking time, however.
Precious time.
The CCTV cameras that had recorded her progress into the lab would be counting the seconds.
***
Everyone was there; every notable in the village, all in their Sunday finery. The Patels, the Mazureks, Joan and Jim, Sylvia and her husband, the Sharmas, Mrs Uberhausfest, Mrs Pagely the librarian, and her assistant Jonathan Sheppard, the
Poveys who were the new owners of Sunken Madley Manor, Gordan French, the retired village headmaster, Irene James of The Elms, the ladies from the Grange attended by Moffat, Mr Hanley-Page, the Reisers, the Fleetfoots, the Demirs, the Reids, Pawel the Royal Mail driver, Penny, the Patel’s receptionist with her fiancé, the Whittles and the Kemps. Local press had turned up. Amanda arrived in good time and parked the Astra. She followed the signs heralding a red carpet laid around the south end of the building.
‘Amanda!’ She turned to see ... Ryan with his sunny locks aglow, looking smart in a linen suit and white shirt.
‘Cricketing colours, I notice,’ she said, as he caught up with her. ’How’s the season going?’
‘Over soon. I still mean for us to have that dinner. It’s so frustrating. I keep seeing you, but somehow we never have the chance to talk.’
‘Not to worry, Ryan. Anyway, I’m not sure Miss Gibbs would appreciate you taking another woman out on a date.’
‘Oh, Samantha … she’s just … young.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t want to meet her in a fit of jealousy down a dark alley,’ said Amanda.
‘Really, Amanda., please —’
‘Ry-Ry!’ came the familiar husky voice.
‘Oh no,’ said Ryan. ’I’ll call you,’ he promised Amanda.
‘And I’ll make a swift exit,’ she countered, quickening her pace away.
Amanda looked at the architecture, and its view of the countryside. The bright chartreuse green of spring had deepened over the weeks to the deep emerald of summer. The blackberries were ripening in the hedgerows and plums were ready for picking. Soon the conkers would be falling from the horse chestnut trees, and the damsons and greengages would be gathered in.
It had rained in the night but blue sky was making headway, and the audience had dressed optimistically for a pleasant August day. Nevertheless, with characteristic British caution, most were wearing jackets and cardigans for insurance. Even one or two furled umbrellas were in evidence, among those who had walked from Sunken Madley, because ‘you never know.’
An announcement invited the guests to take their places. The chairs had been set out in ranks on the grass in front of the central section of the Centre that gave on to the open field beyond the Wood. There was Jessica James in supermodel Ice Queen guise. Amanda was surprised to observe Sir Michael whom she recognised from the pavilion at Lords cricket ground. The lady next to him was presumably his wife. Samantha had secured Ryan in the seat next to her. She kept leaning close to whisper in his ear.
Claire had sent Amanda a text asking her to save a seat. Now a series of excuse-me's and sorry’s and thank-you’s as people moved their knees aside, proclaimed Claire’s careful progress along the row to Amanda’s side.
‘Hello, my lovely,’ said Claire as they hugged, 'sorry I'm late, can’t stay long. It’s murder. We’re on site in Richmond for only a few days before we go to Thailand.’
‘How’s the shooting going?’
‘The usual. Pretty good, actually. The movie’s utter tripe, but I just grit my teeth and think of the money, darling,’ she said merrily.
Claire had climbed the grueling producer’s ladder. The low budget, hugely popular but absurd film Block-buster!, about a karate expert who becomes a movie mogul, had supplied the deposit on her cottage in Orchard Row. A string of TV jobs had got up the mortgage payments until the successful movie about an airhead who becomes a soccer star, entitled Mindless Dribble. Now Claire was producing Block-buster! II, which, she hoped, would get her closer to her goal of paying off her house, so she could work on the kind of films to which she aspired.
‘I’m so glad you could make it,’ said Amanda delightedly.
‘Couldn’t miss this. I wouldn’t be considered Village if I didn’t show my face today, Ammy,’ answered Claire, arranging her pale blue, silk, shirt-dress over her knees and patting her chocolate brown bob into place.
Robin gave the opening address, then handed over to Sir Michael Loughty, as one of the sponsors. He passed the microphone to Ryan, as a village celebrity, who finally introduced Damian. He spoke entertainingly, and then movingly, of his beloved mother, Marion Gibbs, suffering through asthma, and how much he missed her since her passing.
‘That’s awful!’ Amanda whispered to Claire. ’I had no idea his mother died of asthma.’
‘She didn’t,’ replied Claire, succinctly. ‘She’d have lasted longer if she hadn’t smoked forty fags a day, but it was the brandy that saw her off.’
‘What?’
‘Liver. No one could sustain that level of alcohol. She must have had shares in a distillery. She drank it like lemonade.’
Amanda suppressed a giggle. ‘But he makes it sound like ...!’
‘Spin, darling. It’s called spin,’ said Claire, with a saucy smile.
Finally, Jessica James glided across the platform to cut the ribbon. Applause and champagne followed, and the guests trooped in through the doors of the glass front of the building. They moved caterpillar-like along the carpet, across the tatami mats donated by one of the sponsors, through the therapy rooms, the group rooms, admiring the big lab, pharmacy and accommodation upstairs, that would hopefully help to maintain the running of the Centre.
Around the café they wandered and through more rooms. As yet unoccupied, they were rather samey, but it was all fresh and new, curved wood, soft lighting, soothing colours, cream, mushroom, and palest russet. Finally, they went out to the reception, milled around, and back to the refreshment stands outside.
Claire had slunk off to chat to Joan and catch up on ‘the goss.’
Amanda speculated where she would be seen at the Centre when she came officially on medical business, and by whom. Robin and Damian came to say hello. They brought an imposing, biblical figure, a tall, broad-shouldered and generously girthed man with a dark brown beard and bald crown.
‘Amanda,’ said Damian, ‘this is Robert Crossley who is going to be in charge of the lab upstairs, so you probably won’t see much of him, but I thought you might like to meet another member of the team.’
‘Aha, Miss Cadabra, I understand,’ said Crossley peering at her over his half-glasses with benevolent curiosity. ‘Interesting name. A future patient. Splendid, splendid. Bum ta-ta bum-pom-pom,’ he ended.
She grinned in spite of herself. ‘You are fond of music, doctor?’
‘Was I singing? Sorry. Habit of mine. My wife is always telling me about it. She’s here somewhere.’ He looked around. ‘Pom pom pa-pom. A lot of curly red hair. Can’t miss her. Do say hello if you see her.’
‘OK, I will. Thank you, Dr Crossley.’
‘Excuse me if I go and raid the buffet before it all goes. The sausage rolls are awfully, awfully good. Didi bom bom bom deee bom.’ And off he went.
‘Please, excuse Crossley. He’s a trifle eccentric but an excellent chap,’ said Robin. ‘We three go way back.’
‘No doubt,’ said Amanda. ‘Robin, do you know when I’ll get my appointment?’
‘It’s in the post, I do believe. It will be with Dr Vina Schofield, a highly qualified physician, I’ve known her for years. I’m sure she’ll look after you. You should get the appointment tomorrow. The first wave is timed for when all of the equipment is in place, and the therapists have prepared their rooms. A matter of days. That will be convenient, I hope?’
‘Oh yes. I’ll turn up.’
‘Well, enjoy yourself, Miss Cadabra.’
‘I will. Please do go off and mingle, I know you’re both on duty today.’
‘I’m sure we’ll all bump into one another,’ said Damian.
They said goodbye, and Amanda looked around for Ryan. He was nowhere to be seen.
She greeted some of the villagers, fed some delicacies to Tempest and then got bored. Amanda remembered that Mr Hanley-Page had offered to take her for a ride in his Rolls, but he was nowhere in evidence and, truth to tell, she wanted to go home. Suddenly Claire dashed up to sa
y goodbye.
‘Must be off. Wish me luck in Thailand.’ She hugged Amanda. ‘Wish you all the luck in the world with your appointments here. Soooo hope they can help.’
‘Thank you, Claire. Take care.’
‘You too, darling.’ And she was gone in a whirl of flying dark hair.
Watching her hurry to her car, Amanda caught sight of a crop of auburn curls, twirling this way and that. She looked about the right age, 40-to 50-ish, she judged.
‘Mrs Crossley?’ said Amanda tentatively.
‘Hello,’ came the friendly reply.
‘I’m Amanda. I’m going to be a patient here. Your husband described you and said to say hello.’
‘Of course. Oh, you’ve met him, then.’
‘Er, yes.’
‘He’s an odd stick but not so bad when you get to know him,’ said his wife tolerantly
‘Yes, he, er … does he play an instrument?’
‘No,’ Mrs Crossley emphatically, ‘can’t even carry a tune. But I know what you mean. The singing. He comes across a bit vague and out of it, but he’s actually rather a genius, even if I do say so myself.’
‘I’m sure,’ said Amanda, politely.
‘You don’t have any idea where he might be, do you?’
‘He went to get some sausage rolls.’
‘Oh yes, of course, he did. He’s supposed to be on a diet. Let me catch up with him before he sees off every pastry at the buffet. Nice to meet you, Amanda.’
‘You too, Mrs Crossley.’
She was turning away when Damian came up.
‘Amanda, you haven’t seen Sam, by any chance? My daughter.’
What am I? thought Amanda, Missing Persons?
‘I haven’t been watching Samantha’s movements.’ She glanced about. ‘No, no, sorry, Damian, I haven’t.’
‘Don’t know where she’s got to. I wanted her to be in some of the photos, and Sir Michael too, if I can round him up from wherever he’s got to. Oh well, never mind. Glad you could make it. Best wishes for your improved good health and hopefully, as close to a cure as we can get.’
