‘Ye can sit with me,’ Annie had led her to a green hexagonal table with two boys who were reasonably sensible, and they’d begun a discussion about what their favourite colours were. After that day, Faye learned that there were plenty more Bel McDougalls, but there was also Annie, who, rather than run away, always seemed to be propelled towards Faye with a combination of fierce curiosity and even fiercer love.
But Annie wasn’t here to fight for Faye today; she was away at another audition. I hope she gets something soon, Faye thought, as the minister banged the table for attention. Still, it was heartening to have Aisha with her: not for the first time, Faye thanked whatever fair wind had blown Aisha to Mistress of Magic’s door.
The minister outlined the proposal; it was more or less as he’d described to Faye. There was some budget spare in the village’s coffers, despite the fact that the roads hadn’t been repaired for some years and the street lights needed updating. There wasn’t enough for that, but there was enough for a statue in the village. Faye rolled her eyes at Aisha. Obviously, she mouthed. Aisha grinned, but her expression altered as she looked over Faye’s shoulder.
‘What?’ Faye mouthed, and Aisha signalled with a nod of her head to the back of the hall.
‘Who’s that?’
Faye blushed and looked back to the front of the hall.
‘That’s Rav. The one I told you about,’ she whispered.
‘He’s fit.’ Aisha turned back round to look, and Faye elbowed her.
‘Aish! Shhh,’ she hissed; Mrs Robison in the seat in front of her glared at them both.
‘What?’ Aisha whispered, but Faye shook her head. She wasn’t about to explain her and Rav’s erotic encounter on the beach in a town hall full of pensioners. She knew that she’d asked him to come to the meeting in passing the night before, before things got physical. But she hadn’t expected to see him: it was kind of him to turn up, considering her behaviour.
‘So, the proposal to put in front of you as residents is for a life-sized sculpture of King James the First,’ Minister Smith said, his voice well used to addressing a large and yet usually sparsely attended stone church. ‘We haven’t yet sourced an artist. We can take suggestions if anyone has any. But we thought – the church committee, that is – that if we were going to have a statue, what better person should we have than the unifier of Great Britain? A King of Scotland that became a King of all Britain.’ There was a general murmur of assent from the hall.
Faye took a deep breath and stood up. This was her moment.
‘Minister Smith. With respect, I’d like to propose an alternative statue, if this money really can’t be spent on anything more useful.’ Her legs felt wobbly and her voice shook, but she was determined to speak out. She felt everyone’s eyes turn on her; her shyness threatened to take over, and she wanted to sit down and say never mind and give up on the whole thing altogether. But Aisha smiled up at her. Go on, she mouthed, and she was reminded of Annie’s hand in hers that first day in school.
‘Miss Morgan,’ Minister Smith sighed, and beckoned her to the front. ‘By all means, come and tell us your idea.’
Faye stepped over Aisha’s legs and walked slowly to the front of the hall, feeling the kindly and not-so-kindly stares on her back. She’s a witch, she’s a witch, she heard Bel McDougall’s voice in her head over and over, and felt the snide comments and the sudden silences that still arose sometimes when she walked into the library, the supermarket or the garage.
Faye turned to face the room and smiled as confidently as she could. She cleared her throat.
‘Hi. I’m Faye Morgan, I run Mistress of Magic on the high street. I think I know most people here. Anyway, I’d like to propose, as an alternative to James the First, that we have a memorial in Abercolme for the people that were wrongly executed for witchcraft during the Scottish witch trials.’ She tried to avoid Rav’s eyes, like she wasn’t looking for him, like she didn’t know he was there, but he was right in her line of sight and gave her a little wave. She smiled shyly at him and looked away, feeling herself blush again. It was awkward, and she didn’t know how to make it easy again – but for the moment, she had to concentrate on her speech.
There was a dead silence for a moment, followed by a largely indignant rustle of voices. Faye cleared her voice again, but it wasn’t enough. Minister Smith banged his hand on the table for silence; Faye looked at him in surprise.
‘Whatever ye might think of me, Miss Morgan, I respect democracy,’ he murmured, unsmiling, and nodded to her to continue.
‘Right. So, as I was saying. Several members of our community died at the infamous North Berwick witch trials in 1590, including my own direct ancestor, Grainne Morgan. Other innocent members of our community suffered in local ad hoc trials and were similarly put to death,’ Faye shivered, but took a deep breath and continued. ‘None of these people – men and women, but predominantly women – deserved their fate. Accused witches were tortured until they confessed to the lurid accounts of completely fictional devil worship that the inquisitors told them to repeat. Someone could be accused as a witch for the most basic of reasons – having looked at a cow that became ill, for enchanting a man to fall in love with them—’
‘You sell love spells at yer shop, lassie, don’t ye, though?’ someone shouted out. Some of the villagers laughed.
‘Yes, and I don’t expect to be murdered for it,’ Faye snapped back. Keep your cool, she told herself. You’re not going to get people on side by being angry. ‘Anyway. I would like to put forward the option of a memorial to the men and women who suffered so horrifically. Whoever the village chooses as the sculptor is fine, I don’t have anyone particular in mind. Actually – just a plaque with their names on would be fine. But this village has a dark past, and I think we have to do something to make amends.’
She breathed in, her heart hammering. There was a sullen silence.
‘Is that all?’ Minister Smith enquired.
‘Yes,’ Faye muttered and returned to her seat. She caught a few kindly stares, and many not as kind. Aisha gave her a smile of solidarity as she sat down.
‘Well done,’ she whispered.
Faye gave Aisha’s arm a squeeze, but she felt disappointed. ‘Fat lot of good that did. I tried, anyway,’ she muttered. She didn’t know why she’d bothered. In what world would conservative, rural Abercolme choose to remember innocent scapegoats over a king? She sighed.
‘All right then.’ Minister Smith clapped his hands together. ‘You’ll all be receiving a ballot pack in the letterbox, with the written proposals from both parties, and we will vote on the matter by casting ballots here in the village hall at a time to be agreed. Miss Morgan, if you could see me after the meeting, I can give you the details of what’s required. Are there any other matters anyone would like to propose before we leave?’
Someone at the back of the hall put their hand up.
‘I see that music festival’s still going on. Ma customers aren’t happy with it. More and more unsuitable bands going on the list, aye. Village is going to be full of layabouts an’ hippies, mark my words!’
Minister Smith had noticed Rav and beckoned at him to come to the front of the hall. Ah. That’s why he’s here. Not for me, Faye thought, and felt ridiculous for thinking he was there to support her in the first place.
‘I asked Mr Malik to be here with us, as I thought many of you would have questions about the festival,’ the minister explained. ‘Perhaps he can provide more information?’
‘Uh, hi.’ Rav made his way to the front of the hall; Faye noticed he was nervous. ‘I’m Rav, I’m the promotor organising Abercolme Rocks. So, we’ve got some amazing bands on the schedule; Science Fiction Pulp Novel, Dal Riada, Green Apple: Red Apple, Kollectiv and Aspirational Terrace so far. Tickets are selling really well but we have limited them to 5,000 because of the space in the castle grounds.’
‘Why did we have to have a music festival here at all? We were perfectly happy without one.’ Mrs Kennedy
, in her seventies, with a flowered scarf knotted around her head and dressed in a fleece of indeterminate colour, stood up and flicked her hand dismissively at Rav. ‘Ah don’t know who ye spoke to, to get permission in the first place, aye. Nobody wants ye here.’
‘Well, you can take it up with the council. They put out a tender for a festival and my company won it; it’s part of their regeneration project. I’ve produced a lot of festivals and music tours all over the world. I can promise you that this will be a good opportunity for Abercolme. Your businesses will benefit – accommodation, taxi services getting people to and from the venue, catering, retail; and I’m going to be creating some temporary jobs in terms of site services.’ He opened his arms in a welcoming gesture. ‘Honestly. I know it’s new, but you’re going to find that this helps Abercolme rather than hinders it. I promise.’
‘It’s going to ruin the castle! That’s ancient, ye know. That’s our heritage. We don’t want hippies runnin’ around it with no clothes on, spray-painting the stone, breaking things. It isn’t respectful.’ Mrs Kennedy wasn’t going to let it go, clearly. Rav smiled nicely and nodded, waiting for her to finish.
‘Of course I understand your concerns. I will say that a festival audience for the type of event Abercolme Rocks will be are much more middle-class: responsible people who love good music; I imagine there will be quite a few parents bringing children; it’s a pleasant outdoor festival event that starts in the afternoon and finishes around eleven, so won’t keep anyone up too late into the night.’ Rav ran his hand through his hair; Faye liked the way that his fringe got in his eyes; he pushed it away impatiently. Today he was wearing skinny jeans, another hip-hop t-shirt and a dark blue blazer.
‘We will have the proper security attached to the event. We’ll be holding the festival in the castle grounds, away from the main building; people will not be allowed access to the castle for the duration of the day.’
Rav’s tone never wavered from a practised, steady pleasantness, but Faye sensed his frustration under the professional veneer. It couldn’t have been the first time he’d had to deal with a difficult crowd: Faye supposed that diplomacy was part of an event manager’s skill set. Yet, she noticed that his left hand was clenched into a fist: as Rav caught her eye, he smiled subtly, knowing that she’d noticed his tell, and stretched out his fingers, returning his hand to his side.
‘All necessary risk assessments have been done. I think, if you came along, you’d enjoy it.’ Rav twinkled his sweet smile at Mrs Kennedy, and Faye was amazed to see her look slightly mollified.
‘Well, I still don’t like it, but I see I’ve not got much of a choice, aye,’ the woman muttered and sat down.
‘Tell you what, you can have two free tickets so you can come and see for yourself. How would that be?’ Despite her awkwardness at being in the same room as Rav, Faye snorted with laughter and coughed to disguise it.
‘Get on with ye! I wouldn’t want to come.’ Mrs Kennedy sounded scandalised; Faye wished she could see her face from where she was sitting.
‘All right. Well, if you change your mind, let me know,’ Rav said. ‘In fact, if anyone’s not sure about the festival, come and talk to me about it. And I’m happy to provide free tickets to anyone here that would like to come.’
Everyone started filing out of the village hall.
‘Miss Morgan, if I may?’ the minister beckoned Faye to the front of the hall as everyone else left.
‘So.’ Minister Smith handed her some papers. ‘You need to write something to make your case. If you can get that to me in a week or two, then I’ll make up the letter with all the information to be sent out with the ballots. All right?’ he smiled thinly at Faye.
‘Fine.’ She took the paperwork without looking at it. ‘What do I have to do, exactly?’
‘Make your case. Write something persuasive for the villagers to think about. No more than five hundred words. They’ll most likely go for the King James statue, but you’re welcome to try.’
‘They might not.’ She felt the minister was probably right.
At that moment, the village door banged open, blown by a sudden wind. Faye, Rav and the minister looked around in surprise at the rain which had suddenly come out of nowhere, outside.
‘Scottish weather.’ The minister shivered as the rain drummed on the windows. It was suddenly dark outside where before it had been a normal spring afternoon. ‘So. Any questions?’
Faye looked up at the rain on the high windows. For just a second, she thought she saw faces in the water, looking in at them; otherworldly faces with large, watery eyes and open mouths. As if they were laughing. Or something more savage. As if they were hungry.
‘No,’ she said, turning away. She walked cautiously out of the hall, through its thick, old double doors.
‘Weird weather.’ Rav was standing by the doors, adjusting the collar on his blazer.
‘Oh. Yeah.’ She looked away, embarrassed. Though he was being sweet, Faye was painfully aware that they had been shockingly intimate so recently; the feeling of having been exposed returned to her, and she swallowed awkwardly. What must he think of her? I don’t normally do that kind of thing, she wanted to say. I wouldn’t usually be so… abandoned. We had just met. But these were modern times; she didn’t feel she should apologise. She wasn’t puritanical, either. It was more that it had just been strange. The whole time – on the beach, at his house – in retrospect, she had felt odd throughout. As if she was under some sort of spell.
‘Good speech.’ He reached for her hand, and held it. ‘Hope you win the vote,’ he added.
‘Oh, err, thanks. So do I,’ she replied. It wasn’t getting any less awkward: in fact, holding his hand just made it worse, because it made her want to hug him. ‘Buying your way into their good books, are you?’ Faye blundered on. ‘The free tickets, I mean.’ Oh God, what am I saying? she berated herself. Sorry. Just say sorry for running out on him. But though she wanted to, she couldn’t make herself say the words, because that would mean acknowledging what had happened, and she was too ashamed.
‘Oh… right.’ Rav shrugged and let go of her hand. ‘Worth a try. That woman with the headscarf, what’s her name?’
‘Mrs Kennedy. She does the flowers in the church.’ Faye’s heart sank. The moment had gone; if she was going to say anything, she should have said it by now. They had been hand in hand: that was the moment where she should have looked up into his kind brown eyes and tried to explain. Rav was trying to talk to her, trying to connect to her, but she was doing it all wrong.
‘Mrs Kennedy. Okay. Thing I’ve learned about places like this is, go for the ringleaders and the rest fall in line. I’ll make friends with Mrs Kennedy and we’ll see how many complaints there are about the festival after that.’ He smiled warmly at her, and she felt awkward again.
‘Oh. Well, good luck.’ She opened the doors; getting drenched was better than making a fool of herself with Rav. ‘And… I’m sorry. For… you know,’ she blurted, confused, and ran into the rain, berating herself. Get back in there and talk to the man, idiot! Annie would have said. But Faye couldn’t.
‘Faye!’ Rav called after her. He sounded confused and a little annoyed. She tried to wave over her shoulder, but it came out wrong, like a flailing madwoman. She was running away.
It was nice that Rav still wanted to know her but, after that performance, Faye doubted she’d be seeing him again anytime soon. Letting herself into the shop, she berated herself. Stupid, stupid. She’d had a chance at something. A real romance with a real man. But she’d blown it.
Summoning love with a magic spell might have worked. But magic wasn’t responsible for what happened afterwards, Faye was learning. [chapter ends]
Chapter Fourteen
A week later, Faye woke in the middle of the night, thinking about the faerie road.
She lay on the oak double bed that had once been Moddie’s and stared at the ceiling for a moment. When she closed her eyes, she was back there instan
tly, walking the grass road that existed somehow inside Rav’s house. But this time, instead of Rav making love to her on the beach, Finn Beatha stood at the top of the hill, and he was beckoning her to come to him.
She opened her eyes again. She knew she was still in her bed, safe in the grey stone house of the Morgans. But, at the same time, she was somewhere else.
She felt a sudden need to be at Black Sands Beach. She hadn’t heard from Finn; it wasn’t specifically about him, she told herself. But her heart yearned towards the beach, her special place of magic.
Well, I’m not getting back to sleep anytime soon, she thought as she swung her legs out of bed. So I might as well go. Experience had taught her to obey her instincts when they were this insistent. It was times like these when she imagined the spirits of her ancestors pulling at her hand, compelling her to act. It would be rude to deny them.
She got dressed quickly: leggings, a heavy long woollen dress over the top, socks. Downstairs, she wrapped a thick blue and green tartan scarf around her neck and put the long pink coat on again; she pulled on her high, practical walking boots. They had a thick sole and she knew she could walk through water in them, and climb wet rock if required. She grabbed a pair of thick fleece gloves from under the counter and let herself out of the side door.
The street was deserted: she looked at her watch. 1:30 a.m. – no time for anyone to be awake in Abercolme. Even the pub shut just before eleven. Or, if people were up, they were sensibly indoors.
It wasn’t that cold, being May. It was a full moon too, and when she got to the beach, the clouds parted so that the intensity of the light beat down on the flat water. She looked up at Rav’s house, but it was in darkness. She felt embarrassed and hoped he wouldn’t see her out here. She didn’t know what she would say to him.
Daughter of Light and Shadows Page 10
