Being a Witch, and Other Things I Didn't Ask For

by Sara Pascoe

  One afternoon, when Raya was helping Ian scrub the griddle, he said, ‘You know, Pavel used to stay up in that room, where you are now, and pretty much did the same job. That was after the accident– ‘ Ian stopped short. Raya saw an empty, endless dark-grey tunnel; she felt cold and tasted salt. She didn’t push the subject.

  Then, other odd things began happening. She’d know what people wanted before they opened their mouth or the menu. This happened with new customers sometimes, so it wasn’t that she knew what they liked.

  When one customer took a particularly long time deciding what to order, and she was getting fed up waiting, she blurted out, ‘A mushroom omelette with sweet potato fries and a double-shot latte.’

  ‘How did you know?’ the customer said.

  ‘She’s our lunch psychic,’ Emma said as she served someone at the next table.

  ‘More like lunch psycho.’ Ian gave a cheeky grin as he dished up a meal. He might as well have punched her in the stomach; she couldn’t breathe. Tosser! She ran into the back and burst into tears.

  ‘Aw, come on – where’s your sense of humour?’ Ian called after her.

  ‘Oh, Ian,’ Emma said and went after Raya.

  She rested her hand on the girl’s heaving shoulder. ‘Come on, Beatrice – don’t take Ian seriously. He’s just taking the mickey. I know he can be a bit of a knob.’

  Raya looked up. ‘It’s not that. I know he’s messing around. It’s just that… he’s right…’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘I’ve been getting visuals… visions, I guess – seeing things. I’ve probably got it, like my mum.’ Raya plonked down on a stool. It was a relief to say it aloud to someone.

  ‘Got what?’

  ‘Schizophrenia.’

  ‘Oh, Beatrice, I am sorry. You never mentioned about your mum. But being an integrator is different than having a brain disorder. Why don’t you talk to a doctor or someone who can tell you for sure?’

  ‘No!’

  Emma took a tray of muffins from the oven. The aroma rolled over them.

  ‘Suit yourself. Well… Ian could do some brain surgery,’ Emma said and grinned. She put a tray of unbaked croissants into the oven and ruffled Raya’s hair. ‘I’ll hold you down, and we’ll have a dig around that hard head of yours, see if there’s anything worth keeping,’ Emma joked.

  ‘Shut up. It’s not funny. I’m scared.’

  ‘Not finding out isn’t going to help, is it? Why don’t you at least talk to Pavel? Remember, he’s one too – been through it, getting his powers and all.’

  * * *

  During her afternoon breaks, Raya often took a walk, sometimes to a coffee shop with Wi-Fi. She missed talking to people her own age. She didn’t think it was safe to contact any of her friends and she had no interest in contacting Tony. Like a switch, that light had gone out. Then she remembered Jake. She’d promised to keep in touch. He was only a kid, but he was OK.

  ‘Hiya, Jake. This is my new number and email. Everything’s cool here. Got a job in a cafe and live in the flat above. Wild part of London, too. You OK? Got to go. R x’

  In reality, she lived in a room, not a flat, and the part of London where she was, was more about the hard work life seemed to be than the buzz of party. South Asian shopkeepers, medical staff from around the world, people in the garment industry, harried mums, arty students, tourists, people going in and out of the mosques, all teemed on the crowded pavements, lined with a mixture of converted Victorian buildings and boxy modern ones. It didn’t give Raya the excitement and wonder she’d dreamt of. When she let herself think about it, it made her feel lonely and a little afraid, if she was honest.

  A few minutes later, Jake texted back. ‘Wow. Sounds amazing. All normal here. I got to keep that cat, Oscar – kept coming back. Goes everywhere with me, like a dog. J ☺‘

  She was a little sorry she’d started with Jake; it was as though she’d pulled a cork.

  ‘It’s just me and Angie now. You’re right, she’s a bit boring, but OK. DVD nights are kinda fun, even Oscar watches with us, if it’s his kind of film,’ he texted.

  Boy, he can bang on about that cat.

  ‘And we both got jobs at the Chakmas’ shop,’ Jake texted.

  ‘Where’s that?’

  ‘They opened the village shop – the boarded-up one.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Did you hear? Their petrol station got robbed. The wife couldn’t go back there, so they took over the village shop,’ Jake texted.

  A chill rolled through her. Is he testing me? Did someone put him up to this?

  ‘Yeah, heard something about it. What job?’ she tried to change the subject.

  ‘It’s cool. Angie said it’s OK…’ and Jake went on and on texting more details about these nice Chakmas, the bloody cat and science magazines than anyone could possibly pay attention to.

  Phew. He seems genuine enough – doesn’t seem to be spying on me. Another text came through.

  ‘The Chakmas’ daughter is an engineer – the kind that builds bridges, like Brunel! ☺‘ Jake wrote.

  O brother. ‘Who’s Brunel?’ Raya wrote back.

  ‘WHO’S BRUNEL? Amazing engineer from the 1800s who built the first tunnel under the Thames with his dad,’ Jake wrote.

  ‘So you’re working at the Paki shop, eh?’ Raya had had enough engineering lessons for the day.

  The waitress cleared up the empty paper coffee cup Raya had brought from the Cosmic Cafe. She didn’t seem to mind that the cup wasn’t from their shop. She wasn’t much older than Raya.

  ‘That’s racist. Besides, they’re from Bangladesh,’ he typed.

  Easy pickings. ‘Calm down. I’m only winding you up,’ Raya typed back.

  * * *

  When Raya returned to the Cosmic Cafe, Pavel was sitting on a stool at the counter. There were no customers. Raya got back to work and they all finished early. Ian put out a pot of his veggie chilli, one of his specialties. Emma brought out some burnt-on-one-side bread rolls and a salad. Ian drew the blinds. With a turn of the key, they all exhaled. I might not have DVD nights, but these lock-ins are OK.

  ‘Go on, ask him,’ Emma elbowed Raya and nodded towards Pavel.

  ‘You a doctor or something?’ Raya said.

  ‘Nothing to be embarrassed about, Beatrice,’ Pavel said between mouthfuls. You’d think he didn’t eat anywhere else.

  Raya didn’t say anything.

  ‘Beatrice, what people think of as “psychic abilities”, being a witch or integrator, are really nothing more than exquisite access to our own subconscious. Our brains are capable of all sorts of calculations and operations without our needing to be aware of them,’ Pavel said.

  ‘Huh?’ Raya said.

  He tossed her an apple. She caught it.

  ‘See? Did you do the maths? Calculate the rate of the apple flying through the air, the arc, the change in acceleration, in order to catch it?’ Pavel said.

  Raya shook her head.

  ‘I did!’ Ian said.

  ‘Shut up and help me clear up,’ Emma said.

  Pavel continued. ‘I know how weird it can seem when your skills come on – I remember. But luckily for me, there were people in my family with them, so at least I wasn’t scared I was going crazy.’

  Raya looked away.

  Emma set down two mugs of tea then returned to her work.

  ‘Hey, it’s OK. Emma told me about your mum. I’m sorry. Schizophrenia can be awful. I can see where it would be confusing,’ Pavel said.

  Raya crossed her arms, stared at Pavel.

  ‘OK, think of it this way. When someone has a seizure, a fit, sometimes their bodies move all around all crazy like. Right?’ He waited for a nod from Raya, then continued, ‘But that doesn’t mean if you’re a naturally talented dancer, you’re more likely to develop epilepsy.’

  ‘Still, how can I be sure what’s happening to me?’ Raya said.

  Pavel muffled frustration on his face with a s
igh. ‘Like I keep telling you, I’m an integrator, I’ve known plenty, AND I pick it up from you – that you have the talent. And you’ve been demonstrating it here.’ He gestured across the cafe. ‘And in a former life– ‘

  ‘You’ve been reincarnated?’

  ‘NO! Oh for goodness’ sake – no I mean in a former job, a long time ago. Anyway…’ Pavel went on to list a bunch of experiences common to schizophrenia. Raya had none of them. She stared at the table, turned her mug round and round.

  ‘What do you say we start regular lessons? I’ll teach you how to improve your skills. The better you get, the more these witchy abilities will be under your control, whereas symptoms of schizophrenia aren’t. You’ll see,’ Pavel said.

  ‘And I still think you should go to the doctor – let a medical person sort this for sure,’ Emma said. ‘I’ll book you into the local GP. OK?’

  ‘I agree,’ Pavel said.

  Raya nodded with no intention of following through. How could she? It would risk blowing her cover.

  Pavel continued. ‘Meanwhile, we’ll do some book learning, too. It’s important you understand the science behind all this – what’s known so far. To that end, I’d like to start with Rupert Sheldrake’s research. Then we’ll go over the new physics–’

  ‘Whoa there, mate. I think you’re losing our little sister here,’ Ian said.

  ‘Our Pavel can’t help being a brainbox,’ Emma said.

  ‘Or a brain who LIVES in a box,’ Raya said, quite pleased with herself. But then realised she’d done it again – been unnecessarily spikey. She felt terrible when she saw the look on Pavel’s face.

  He stood up. ‘Time I’m going, anyway.’ He smiled meekly and grabbed the coat unnecessary for this weather and left.

  Raya felt the hollow tug of loss and wondered if maybe she did push people away before they could leave her, like a social worker a long time before Bryony had suggested.

  Ian and Emma busied themselves with clearing up.

  ‘He’ll come back, won’t he?’ she asked. He has to.

  Ian turned away. Emma shrugged. ‘You never know with him – not since the accident.’

  After a couple of very tense days Pavel returned. He waved off her apology and ignored her question about “the accident”. ‘Hey, you get to be my age, you’ve seen some stuff, is all.’

  Raya began her regular lessons about the irregular. He started with teaching her how to invite the ‘sensory messages’ – the sights, sounds, smells she received. ‘Sometimes they will be simple pictures or sounds. Other times you’ll get whole scenes. They can even be like videos playing in your head. Once you have all that down, we’ll move onto mind and dream reading.’

  ‘And what about keeping my thoughts to myself? You know, from other nosey integrators,’ Raya asked remembering her discomfort at his reading her thoughts when they first met.

  He threw his head back and laughed in a way she hadn’t seen before. ‘Sure. “Thought lock-down” we call it. I’ll teach you that, too.’

  But first, Pavel taught her the basics of how to be receptive. He taught her to slow her breathing, by counting to five while breathing in, five while holding it, and five exhaling. This, he promised, would allow her to become acutely aware of, well, everything, except ‘the noise in her head’ – her thoughts. ‘Lots of thinking is rubbish. Once you get this down, more things will come to you – you’ll see. Eventually, you’ll be able to get into this zone without consciously doing the breathing.’

  When it was slow at the Cosmic, Raya would sit on a stool at the counter next to Pavel. She’d do her breathing, ignore the chatter in her head (which was a lot harder than she’d imagined), and tell him everything she experienced, from the temperature of the air, the light and colour and shape of things, the sizzle and smells from the grill, muffled sounds from outside.

  After a day of this, Pavel said it was time to move on to picking up sensory messages. She practised receiving any messages from customers and also walked around the neighbourhood during the afternoon lull. At first Pavel went with her. ‘I don’t want you walking into traffic.’

  A lot of it still seemed far-fetched, but every so often something clicked. A customer’s past played in her head like a video, another’s worries about their future came in a series of pictures. And practising these skills gave her something to do during her afternoon breaks besides messaging Jake.

  Meandering through east London, other people’s thoughts, worries, plans, and hopes breezed through her. And more animals’ thoughts. Like the time she found herself staring at a rubbish bin, wondering lots of things about a mouse. She looked around and saw a very annoyed cat glaring at her.

  ‘Paws off – he’s mine,’ the cat said.

  At least it didn’t scare her this time.

  * * *

  ‘Hey, Jake, you’ll never guess what’s happened,’ Raya texted him. She cosied up in one of those oversized chairs in the coffee shop. Her takeaway coffee from Cosmic sat on the low wooden table in front of her. Quiet jazz played and the waitress nodded hello.

  ‘What? I’ve got something cool, too. You 1st’

  ‘Seems I’ve got some natural witching abilities.’

  ‘Wow! Really?’ he texted back.

  Raya squirmed in the chair. Here she was thinking it was all rubbish – insulting that social worker about it – and now it seemed she was one. She was relieved Jake was cool with it. She knew not everyone would be.

  ‘So, you’re OK with it?’

  ‘OK? It’s cool! You’re my first witch friend. ☺ ☺,’ Jake texted.

  Raya chewed her lower lip – Jake considered her a friend. She realised she was only entertaining herself with his chats. She took a deep breath.

  ‘I’m honoured to be your 1st! ☺‘

  ‘My new social worker’s a witch. She used to be yours,’ Jake messaged.

  ‘Wasn’t that cat hers?’ Raya messaged.

  ‘Ya, but likes me better ☺. What witchy stuff can you do?’

  Raya told him how she practised reading other people’s thoughts, and her experience with the cat.

  ‘It must be great living on your own – doing what you want,’ Jake messaged.

  Raya thought for a minute before replying. ‘It is, but not what you think. Not all fun and stuff. But you feel like you’re driving the bus, not just riding on it, if that makes sense?’ she messaged.

  A few minutes later she got, ‘In charge of yourself for once. I’d LOVE that.’

  She remembered he had something he’d wanted to talk about.

  ‘You said you had something to tell?’

  ‘Really cool thing at the Brunel Museum.’ Jake texted.

  ‘What?’

  ‘A tour of the tunnels he built, first ones under the Thames. They’re hardly ever open. They are next week and it’s my birthday. Angie said I can’t go then cuz it’s a school day.’

  ‘Oh wow. That would be so you! ☺ Shame you can’t go. The big 1-2, right?’

  ‘Yeah, I won’t be a prime number for a whole year now,’ Jake messaged.

  ‘You would say that.☺’

  * * *

  By the middle of the following week, her second at the Cosmic, Raya shot awake feeling frightened and guilty. She’d been dreaming about Alfie, the dog with the Tube thieves. In her dream, they’d been walking together on top of an old stone wall, about thirty feet up. The walkway was five or six feet wide. Another wall rose up at the outer edge, shielding them from whatever was outside the city. This part of the wall was dotted with very small windows, some no more than peepholes. Through them she saw the regular world. It could have been London: traffic; tall buildings; people hurrying.

  On the inside edge, there was no wall rising from the walkway. She could see straight out and down across a very old town: cobbled streets; small stone buildings with thatched roofs. Smoke twirled out of chimneys. The wood fires smelled lovely. Horses clip-clopped as they pulled carts. A green, dotted with sheep and a few cows
made a swathe inside the wall, circling the town. Talk about your chocolate-box pictures.

  Alfie woofed. He had trotted ahead to a corner, where the wall turned left. There was a flat stone area and a break in the outer wall, giving a clear view outside the town. Alfie hopped up and peered over. He said something to Raya, but his words were lost in the wind. She called to him. He turned his head to look at her, lost his balance, and fell over the wall, his frightened eyes the last thing she saw before she shot awake.

  The smells and sounds of bacon and sausages on the griddle floated up the stairs. Unable to go back to sleep, she trotted down. Emma hadn’t arrived yet.

  ‘What’s the matter? You look like you saw a ghost,’ Ian said as he put mushrooms on the griddle.

  ‘Not a ghost exactly. Just a creepy dream. Can’t stop thinking about it.’

  ‘Hey, can you go get a case of beans?’

  ‘Yeah, OK. Do you know how I can reach Pavel? Ask him, maybe?’

  ‘For the beans?’ Ian grinned.

  ‘What I have to live with.’ Raya rolled her eyes and she trudged into the back.

  ‘I don’t know. You two being integrators and all. Why don’t you call him on your mind mobile?’ Ian enjoyed his own jokes.

  The day passed much like any other, except that the feelings from the dream kept pecking at her. She wished hard for Pavel to stop by. When it came time for her afternoon break, she stayed in. Anyway, with no new messages from Jake for a day or so, there was no real reason to go to the Wi-Fi coffee place today. Maybe he’s fed up with talking to me.

  Dusk painted everything outside a murky sameness. Pavel came through the door. She almost hugged him.

  ‘You OK?’ Pavel said. There were two regular customers in a booth at the other end of the cafe. Emma brought Pavel a mug of coffee and a plate of broken muffins. Raya picked off Pavel’s plate.

  ‘So, you got it? My sending you thoughts to please come by today?’

  Emma smiled. ‘He got my text, all right. I couldn’t take it any more – you in such a state.’ Emma walked into the back.