Read Blue Moon (Book One in The Blue Crystal Trilogy) Page 1



  ‘Blue Moon’

  (The Blue Crystal Trilogy)

  Book One

  By

  Pat Spence

  Pat Spence is a freelance writer and previously a magazine editor. She has also worked as a copywriter in advertising agencies, a freelance trainer in personal development and jobsearch skills, and a massage therapist/aromatherapist. She is married with one child, has a degree in English Literature, reads Tarot and is learning banjo.

  Follow The Blue Crystal Trilogy at https://www.facebook.com/bluecrystaltrilogy and see the Blue Moon trailer at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SFvsXlPem4Q

  Other titles by Pat Spence:

  The Blue Crystal Trilogy:

  True Blue (Book Two)

  Into The Blue (Book 3) coming soon

  Abigail’s Affair

  Copyright 2014 Pat Spence

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organisations is entirely coincidental.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  For Steve and Amelia.

  ‘All other things, to their destruction draw,

  Only our love hath no decay…’

  The Anniversarie. John Donne.

  Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clyme,

  Nor houres, dayes, moneths, which are the rags of time.

  The Sunne Rising. John Donne.

  Table of Contents

  THE BEGINNING

  PART ONE: ATTRACTION

  1. The Viewing

  2. Meeting Theo

  3. Out Damned Spot

  4. Missing Theo

  5. Mist Shroud

  6. Age Destroys Her

  7. Family Conference

  PART TWO: DESIRE

  8. A Change of Heart

  9. Surveillance I

  10. Getting Close

  11. The Hall Reborn

  12. Danger in the Gardens

  13. Face on a Necklace I

  14. Face on a Necklace II

  15. Unusual Powers

  16. Surveillance II

  17. A Beast in the Fields

  18. Party Preparation

  19. Family Pow-wow

  20. Arrivals

  21. The Blue Moon Ball

  PART THREE: KNOWLEDGE

  22. Kimberley Chartreuse

  23. Truth

  24. Under Threat

  25. Granddad

  26. Reconciliation

  27. Attack I

  28. Martha

  29. Viyesha

  30. The Blue Crystal

  31. Attack II

  32. The Lunari

  33. Family

  THE BEGINNING

  Monday 25th March was an ordinary day, no different to any other. But when I look back, I see now that this was the day things began to change.

  I can also see that I couldn’t and wouldn’t have changed a thing. It was as if everything that happened was somehow pre-ordained, and I was simply playing my part in a story that was meant to be, that had started many thousands of years ago….

  PART ONE: ATTRACTION

  1. The Viewing

  The estate agent glanced impatiently at her watch, and looked out of the window for the fifth time that minute. ‘Time-wasters,’ she muttered to herself pursing her lips with irritation, ‘they probably won’t show. Just like that lot the day before. And if they do, there’s no way they’ll want to buy this old heap’. A look of distaste passed across her carefully made-up face as she glanced around the room. The once ornate fireplace had long since lost its earlier splendour and was now dimpled and chipped. A large chandelier hung from the central ceiling rose, cracked and mottled, and pieces of the delicately decorated ceiling scattered the floor like old confetti, yellowed with age. Everywhere, the stench of damp and decay hung heavy, the windows too rotten to open and let in fresh air.

  Outside, the grounds fell away into the distance, a mass of tangled vegetation and thick undergrowth. The once formal gardens were now desolate and unkempt, the flowerbeds ravaged by age and neglect, and the pathways choked by an advancing army of weeds and lichen. Above it all the Cedars of Lebanon towered, majestic and tall, looking sadly over the mayhem below.

  The estate agent moved her manicured forefinger down the filthy glass, trying to see out a little better and get a glimpse of her missing clients.

  Without warning, a loud bell sounded in the hallway, making her jump.

  “What the…?” she muttered. “How did they get to the front door? I never saw them coming.”

  Baffled, she rushed out of the ballroom and into the vast hall. The huge brass bell echoed again in the cavernous walls.

  “Alright, alright,” she called, hurrying to open the huge, metal studded oak door, stiff with disuse. The door creaked open, its hinges rusty and unyielding, and the estate agent peered out, her eyes struggling to take in the brightness of the sunshine after the gloominess within. A man and a woman stood on the doorstep.

  “Mr and Mrs de Lucis?” she asked falteringly.

  “That’s us. So sorry we’re late,” said the blond woman before her, with a voice as soft as butter candy. “I hope we haven’t kept you.”

  “No, not at all,” said the estate agent, her eyes wide open in disbelief, taking in the sleek black car that stood outside and the swarthy chauffeur who lounged nonchalantly against the passenger door. “I didn’t see you arrive, that’s all.”

  “Can we come in?” said Mr de Lucis, with a smile, revealing perfect white teeth.

  “O… of course,” said the estate agent, stepping back, and allowing the couple to enter. She swung the heavy oak door back into place, feeling so unsettled she quite failed to register that it swung easily and noiselessly back into place, without a hint of rust or creakiness.

  She turned to look at the couple, noticing how they seemed to light up the dark entrance hall. Tall, elegant and well dressed, each wore a pair of large sunglasses, giving them an air of mystery and more than a touch of Hollywood glamour. Mrs de Lucis wore a pale pink pencil skirt with matching jacket, showing off her slender figure to perfection. A string of pearls nestled at her neckline, and her blond hair was pinned back in a chignon, giving emphasis to her high cheekbones, small straight nose and pale pink lips. To say she was beautiful was plainly an understatement.

  Like his wife, Mr de Lucis was impossibly good looking. His face was strong and chiselled, framed by tousled, blond hair, and there was no denying the athletic build beneath his expensive pale blue suit. To the estate agent, he was the closest thing to a Greek god she had ever encountered. They were probably in their early thirties, she guessed, staring enviously at their flawless pale skin. It was as smooth and white as alabaster. Simultaneously, they removed their sunglasses, revealing the most electric blue eyes she had ever seen.

  She stared, fascinated, and for a moment struggled to find a word to describe them. Striking? That didn’t do them justice. Stylish? They were more than that. Then she had it. Radiant! That was it. They were like two exquisite jewels, shining brightly.

  “Are you alright?” enquired Mr de Lucis, in a caramel smooth voice that took he
r breath away.

  “Yes, I’m fine,” she said, gazing into his deep blue eyes and feeling a strange fluttering in her stomach. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear your car. I was a little surprised to see you, that’s all.”

  “It has a very quiet engine,” said Mrs de Lucis, in her smooth, silky voice. “One doesn’t always hear it. Now, perhaps you could tell us about the house.”

  The estate agent snapped into professional mode.

  “Yes, of course. Please, follow me.”

  She led the way into the ballroom, talking animatedly. “Hartswell Hall is a wonderful example of Victorian architecture. It was built by a wealthy merchant in 1851 for his wife, who sadly died before she could move in. It had many uses over the years, but was most recently owned by a recluse, who shut himself away from the world. It went on the market nearly two years ago, when he died. As you can see, it is in need of a little re-decoration.” She laughed affectedly.

  “More than a little,” said Mr de Lucis, prodding one of the rotting window frames and revealing the black decay beneath.

  “But nothing we can’t handle,” said his wife, running her fingers down the chipped stone fireplace, then removing a cobweb that hung from the chandelier, “Have you had many viewings?”

  The estate agent stared. Was it her imagination, or did the chandelier suddenly look brighter, as if life had suddenly been breathed back into it? And didn’t the carvings on the fireplace look somehow a little more defined? She shook her head and focused on the question.

  “Viewings? Oh, yes,” she said, seizing the opportunity. “There are plenty of people interested in this property. I wouldn’t be surprised if it went to sealed bids. It has great potential.”

  “It certainly does,” said Mrs de Lucis, her voice barely discernible. “I think it will suit our purposes admirably.” She glanced at her husband. “We’d like to make an offer.”

  “You would?” asked the estate agent, in surprise. “Don’t you want to look around?”

  “That won’t be necessary,” replied Mr de Lucis. “We’ve seen enough.”

  It was enough for the estate agent. Scenting a deal in the making, she drew out a clipboard from her large shiny handbag and snapped into pecuniary mode.

  Right,” she said, “as you know, it’s on the market for £1.5 million, but we do have other interested parties.”

  “£2 million,” purred Mrs de Lucis. “That’s what we’re prepared to pay.”

  “For total exclusivity,” added her husband. “No other viewings, no other offers considered. Do we have a deal?”

  The estate agent could hardly believe her luck.

  “£2 million? We most certainly do. I’ll need to run it by the Executors, of course, but I don’t anticipate a problem. Consider Hartswell Hall yours. Congratulations!”

  She went to shake Mr de Lucis’s smooth white hand, starting slightly as an electrical charge seemed to pass from his hand to hers. As she looked into his eyes, she noticed small flecks of grey that glinted like granite amidst the electric blue.

  Behind her, Mrs de Lucis smiled agreeably.

  Outside, the rust-bound hands of the three golden clocks that adorned the old Clock Tower began to move slowly and inexorably around their tarnished faces.

  2. Meeting Theo

  I wiggled my toes to the bottom of the bed, feeling cosy and warm. I tried to open my eyes, but the effort was just too much and I lay back on the pillow, luxuriating in its downy softness and trying desperately to get back into my dream. Somewhere in the distance I could hear my name being called, but the pull of sleep was just too great. I couldn’t respond.

  “Emily,” the voice sounded, getting louder. “Wake up.”

  I felt someone shake my shoulders gently.

  “What time is it?” I rubbed my eyes, trying to see the red digital figures on the alarm clock.

  “Time for you to get up if you don’t want to miss the bus,” came my mother’s voice.

  There was an edge to her voice that said, ‘If you don’t respond now, I will get very annoyed,’ and I sat upright, noticing with horror that it was already 7.30am.

  “Mum, have you seen the time?” I shouted. “I’ve only got half an hour before the bus goes. Why didn’t you wake me sooner?”

  ‘Better get a move on, then, hadn’t you?” she retorted. “Your breakfast is ready, all you have to do is eat it and put some clothes on.”

  I quickly pulled on a pair of old grey jeans, ripped at the knee, a black T-shirt and my new grey SuperDry jacket, a recent purchase on eBay. Converse trainers and a black leather rucksack completed the look. Yes, that worked. I might be late, but I still had an image to keep up.

  Running into the bathroom, I splashed cold water on my face and took a good look in the mirror. Yuk. Dark circles under my eyes made me look ancient. I searched through the various pots and potions on the shelf until I found my mother’s Instant-Action Anti-Fatigue Eye Gel.

  ‘Refreshes skin, reduces puffiness, regenerates appearance. Proven formula. Instant results….’

  Great, just what I needed. My mother swore by this. I applied it liberally and was instantly disappointed. If anything, it accentuated the dark circles, which now glistened brightly. Sighing impatiently, I attempted to wipe it off and applied eyeliner to my now greasy eyes, usually my best feature. Why did these disasters always occur when you were late? I quickly dragged a brush through my tangled blond hair and tied it up in a high ponytail. That would have to do. One day I would find the time to have a proper beauty routine. Grabbing my rucksack, I ran to the top of the stairs, and letting my hand slide down the stair rail, took the steps two at a time, rushing into the breakfast room, breathless and flushed.

  Granddad was already there, wearing his brown cardigan and eating his usual boiled egg and toast. Mum was in the kitchen, stacking up the dishwasher.

  This was my family: Mum, blond, pretty, a young-looking forty year old, who worked as a wages clerk for a local timber company, and Granddad, aged somewhere in his 70’s. Mum had divorced my dad when I was just two and had never remarried despite various offers. He lived in America and worked in sound production, but I didn’t have much to do with him. There’d been sporadic contact over the years, when he’d visited the UK on business, but when I was ten, he’d remarried and started a new family.

  After that, there’d never been room in his new life for me and, to be honest, it didn’t much bother me. I’d been too young when he left to have established a relationship with him, and on the few occasions I had seen him there’d been such a distance and awkwardness between us I was always glad when the visit came to an end. Enforced trips to McDonalds and the cinema were hardly my idea of a laugh, and I dreaded the obligatory questions about school and family. Over the years, he’d sent me a few photos of my new half-siblings, twin girls and a boy, but they looked nothing like me. They were thickset and dark, and I could never relate to them as family. It would be quite interesting to meet them, I suppose, but there again, you don’t miss what you’ve never had. So I didn’t give them much thought and was actually quite relieved when dad stopped visiting. And, of course, we had Granddad.

  We’d lived with Granddad for fourteen years now, ever since my gran had died and the house had got too big for him. It was an arrangement that suited us all. Mum and I had exchanged our small, rented flat in the city for a nice house in a village, in the right catchment area for the best local schools. Granddad had company and we had security. Mum had a permanent baby-sitter and I had a surrogate father figure, albeit a granddad. Although, mum did get a bit miffed when people occasionally mistook him for her elderly husband, which was always a source of amusement for me. I mean, who in their right mind could think my mum and granddad were an item? He looked just like a granddad: snowy white hair, twinkly bright eyes and a kind, friendly face that was always smiling. There again, by implication those same people must have thought he was my dad, which is a bit embarrassing now I think about it, although i
t’s hardly something I’d lose any sleep over. He was just my Granddad and he was there when I needed him. I didn’t think much beyond that. His nose was permanently in a book, and when not reading, he’d be listening to jazz records - most of my formative years had been spent listening to Acker Bilk, Kenny Ball and his Jazz Men, Louis Armstrong, Dizzy Gillespie and other notable greats. He also had a predilection for wearing carpet slippers and brown cardigans, despite mum’s best efforts to smarten him up. As you can see, not exactly the kind of husband you’d automatically place with a well-presented, fit-looking, forty year old woman.

  “Morning Gramps,” I shouted at him, making him jump, then grinning widely at him.

  “Morning, Emily,” he said, neatly cracking open his egg. “Ooh, good, a nice dippy yolk. Yours’ll be hard. It’s been standing there for ten minutes.” He looked up. “What’s wrong with your eyes?”

  “Nothing. I shouldn’t have watched the late film, that’s all. It didn’t finish till 1.30 this morning. Don’t tell mum,” I added quickly.

  “Don’t tell me what?” asked my mother, coming out of the breakfast room.

  “That your Instant Action Anti-Fatigue Eye Gel is complete rubbish,” I said. “I’ve just tried it. Doesn’t work.”

  “You have to give it time. You know, that thing you don’t have much of…” she answered.

  “Then why is it called ‘Instant-Action’?” I pointed out, “Honestly, I think most of these potions are a complete waste of time. And I bet it wasn’t cheap.”

  “No, it wasn’t,” she answered sharply. “So don’t waste it. Anyway, you don’t need potions and lotions just yet. You’re only seventeen. Make the most of your youthful skin while you can. You’ll be on the anti-ageing treadmill all too soon.”

  “Not me, I’m going to stay young and beautiful for ever,” I told her, confidently.

  She raised her eyes to the ceiling. “Yes, we all thought that when we were in our teens.”

  Granddad gave me a knowing wink over the top of his spectacles. Then with intense concentration, he carried on mopping up the yolk that spilled out of his egg. He was right, mine was rock solid and so I quickly peeled it and put the whole egg in my mouth at once.

  “Emily, that’s disgusting,” said my mother.

  I pointed at my watch and raised my eyebrows, momentarily unable to speak.

  “Gotta go,” I managed to splutter, grabbing my school bag from under the breakfast table with one hand and taking the piece of buttered toast Gramps held out for me with the other.

  “If you got your car sorted out, you wouldn’t need to set out so early on the bus,” I heard my mum calling out behind me, “and wipe that stuff off your eyes...”

  I let myself out of the front door and walked past my old mini, fondly known as Martha, standing sadly on the driveway. Its failed MOT meant I couldn’t drive it and since I’d left my part time job at the local Garden Centre, I couldn’t afford the new tyres, exhaust, spark plugs and various other items it required. I set off at a brisk walk, eating my toast rapidly.

  I glanced at my watch. 7.55am. I would just make the bus if I hurried. Further up the road I saw Seth, my next door neighbour, walking with Tash, who lived just down the hill. We all attended Hartsdown College.

  Tash was my best friend in the whole world. We’d met at Tiny Tots when we were both three years old and had bonded instantly. Since that point onwards, we’d been inseparable, through infant school, juniors and senior school. We’d laughed and cried together, fallen out, made up and knew just about everything there was to know about each other. I shared my innermost secrets with Tash and trusted her like no one else.

  Seth was literally the boy next door. Funny, annoying, bit of a smartass, just your average boy. I’d known him since I was five years old, when he moved in, and it seemed like he’d always been around. I suppose I’d always had a bit of a crush on him, but that was something I barely admitted to myself, let alone anyone else. Even Tash.

  “Tash, Seth,” I called, “wait for me.”

  They both turned and looked, shielding their eyes against the early morning sun.

  “Hi, Em,” shouted Tash, her long red hair glinting vividly in the sunshine.

  She reminded me of a Pre-Raphaelite painting, that one of Ophelia lying in the lake. Slim, pale and interesting, with big green eyes and hair to die for.

  “Come on,” called Seth. “Run! The bus is coming.”

  Seth, on the other hand, was olive-skinned and dark. Good looking, with a permanent ‘who-gives-a-damn’ slouch, lazy manner and unruly black hair that flopped over his face. He sometimes rode into college on a moped, but generally preferred the bus as it took less effort.

  They both started walking quickly up the hill and I reached them just as they reached the bus stop.

  “What’s happened to your eyes?” asked Tash, peering at me. “They look odd.”

  “Nothing,” I replied, “it’s just this gel I put on. It’s supposed to refresh you but it obviously hasn’t.”

  “You can say that again,” said Seth. “You look like you’ve gone ten rounds…”

  “Just ignore him,” advised Tash. “If you want to tighten your skin up, I’ve got this amazing beer face-pack you can use. I’ll bring it in, if you like.”

  “Yeah, and you’ll end up looking like this,” said Seth, pulling back the skin on his face with his fingers, so his eyes and mouth stretched widely, and staggering around. “Drunk and tight.”

  “Stop it, Seth, that looks horrible.”

  Within seconds the bus pulled up and we climbed inside along with the office workers, village school kids and other Hartsdown students. Seth, Tash and I went to the back of the bus and, unusually for us, got the rear seat. This prized place was usually taken by the Meriton Mob, a bunch of sixteen-year olds from the next village, but today the back of the bus was strangely empty.

  “Where are the usual suspects?” I asked, sitting in the centre, with Tash and Seth either side of me.

  “Geography field trip,” said Seth. “They’ve gone to the Blythe Sewage Works. Had to leave early.”

  “Let’s hope we lose a few of them,” said Tash. “I can’t think of a better place for Sarah. Or Imogen.”

  “Or Micky,” I added. “Mind you, you couldn’t really tell if he fell in. He already looks like the Creature from the Swamp. And his breath certainly smells like it. He’ll probably feel quite at home there.”

  “Heard Micky had a bit of a thing for you,” said Seth, looking at me and grinning.

  “Don’t even go there,” I warned. “He’s young, spotty and obnoxious. I’d rather wash out my mouth with hydrochloric acid than get anywhere near him!”

  “That’s not what he says about you,” persisted Seth.

  “Get lost, Seth.”

  “Hey, have you heard the latest about Hartswell Hall?” asked Tash, changing the subject, as the bus passed the private road leading up to the village’s Victorian mansion, its imposing gate posts guarding its mysterious entrance like huge stone sentries.

  The bus came to a halt at the stop just past the hall entrance and the school kids from the other end of the village clambered aboard. Seth, Tash and I peered through the side windows of the bus, trying to catch a glimpse of the old house, but it remained tantalisingly hidden behind a mass of overgrown vegetation.

  “Go on, what’s the story?’ asked Seth.

  There’d been a great deal of speculation about Hartswell Hall ever since it came on the market. First it was going to be a care home, then trendy apartments, there was even a rumour it was going to be an animal sanctuary. For years, an old man had lived there as a recluse, allowing the house to fall into disrepair and the grounds to grow wild. As kids, we used to think it was haunted and would dare each other to run up the driveway and look through its small panelled windows, thick with grime, into its crumbling interior. Then the old man had died, adding a further element of scariness to the stories. A midnight raid on
the property by a gang of local daredevils ended in terror, when they swore they’d seen something moving on the first floor. They hadn’t stuck around long enough to find out what it was.

  “I heard Dizzy Detroit wants to buy it,” said Tash conspiratorially. “You know he used to live in Birmingham? Well, apparently, he wants to come back to this area and is looking for an old place to do up.”

  “Could be true, I suppose,” said Seth.

  “But how do you know?” I asked.

  “The man in the corner shop told my mum,” explained Tash. “He said the other day a long, black limousine with darkened windows drove up the High Street and into Hartswell Hall entrance. Someone told him they saw Dizzy Detroit get out.”

  “Cool beanz,” said Seth. “Imagine having a rock star in the village. That’d shake things up a bit….”

  “Just what this village needs, shaking up a bit,” I murmured, gazing back through the rear window, as the bus resumed its journey and the grounds of Hartswell Hall gradually disappeared from view.

  Hartswell-on-the-Hill was a typical middle class village. True, it had history, as you could see from the High Street with its pretty black and white fronted cottages, quaint old pub and medieval stone church. But a combination of picture postcard appeal and a wide selection of large properties, dating from Victorian times to the present day, along with the addition of a new housing estate of luxury detached homes on the edge of the village, had given it an affluent, commuter-belt appeal.

  Someone once told me there were more consultants per square inch in Hartswell-on-the-Hill than any other neighbouring village, due to its vicinity to a nearby major hospital, but I don’t know if that was true.

  One thing was certain, to live in Hartswell you needed money, as its expanding population of doctors, lawyers, accountants, businessmen and other upwardly thrusting young professionals testified. There was the obligatory council estate at the other end of the village, where Tash lived, and a number of smaller houses in some of the less desirable roads, such as the one where Seth and I lived, but for the main part, the houses were large, expensive and afforded only by birthright, inheritance or a big salary. All of which meant one thing. Desirable as Hartswell-on-the-Hill was from a real estate point of view, it was a fairly boring place to live. Especially if you were young. An infrequent bus service into the neighbouring town meant you were back in the village by 10pm on a weekday, and 10.30pm on a Saturday night, which was hardly conducive to partying. For a few months, until it gave up the ghost, my old mini had been our passport to freedom, but now we were beholden once more on the bus service or our parents, which was not an option we favoured.

  The bus pulled up outside Hartsdown High, the local red brick senior state school, with its assortment of add-on Portakabin classrooms housing a growing population of fifteen hundred plus pupils, and the majority of passengers alighted. The campus also housed Hartsdown College, the post-16 educational facility, and it was to this more exclusive area that we headed.

  We settled noisily into our tutor group, more interested in discussing the previous weekend than the forthcoming lessons, and very glad this was the last week before the Easter break. There was one piece of news to make these last few days a little more interesting. A new student was to join us, according to our tutor, Mrs Pritchard, and we waited expectantly while she took the register.

  “She’s taking English Literature, Art, History and Philosophy,” said Mrs Pritchard, studying the file, “so any students enrolled on those courses, please help her to settle in.”

  “Same as us, apart from Philosophy,” I said to Tash, who nodded back. We’d both attempted this mind-expanding subject, but after sitting through one tutorial had decided it was far too mind-boggling and altogether strange for our liking. Instead, Tash had opted for Geography and I’d chosen Business Studies, both solid, down-to-earth subjects you could get your head around.

  By 9.10, the new girl had failed to show, and Seth, Tash and I went down to our first class, double English Literature, wondering when she would arrive. There was an unmistakable buzz of excitement in the air, based on a sense of expectation that something new was about to happen, and as hard as we tried to concentrate on Shakespeare’s use of language in Macbeth, it proved increasingly difficult to focus on Miss Widdicombe’s monotone voice. A general sense of disinterest settled over the class as we all tried and failed to follow the lesson.

  “Where is she?” Tash mouthed to me, turning round from the row in front.

  I shrugged my shoulders and started to mouth a reply when Miss Widdicombe zoomed in on me.

  “Emily, would you like to explain the difference between Shakespeare’s use of an iambic pentameter and trochaic rhythm as found in Macbeth, and give an example of each?” she asked pointedly.

  “Er, trochaic rhythm is, er, where Shakespeare, er…..” I floundered, and struggling to answer, looked down at my textbook for inspiration, my cheeks scarlet. I hated being picked on, especially when I didn’t know the answer.

  “Yes?” asked Miss Widdicombe. “Can anybody help Emily with this?”

  The whole class looked at her blankly and she tutted in irritation, about to launch into yet another diatribe on our lack of appreciation of the subtleties of the English language, when her attention was distracted by a knock on the door. It opened almost immediately, revealing Mrs Pritchard followed by the long awaited new student. Suddenly we were all interested.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” said Mrs Pritchard quickly to Miss Widdicombe. “I have a new addition for you. Everyone, this is Violet de Lucis.”

  The new girl stepped out from behind Mrs Pritchard and there was a sharp intake of breath on the part of the whole class, followed by a stunned silence as we gazed at the vision before us. I don’t think anyone knew quite what to say.

  She was unbelievably beautiful. Her long blond burnished hair was straight out of a fairy story, tumbling gracefully over her shoulders. Her blue eyes were piercing and large, her nose small and elegant, and her lips pink and full. She wore a pale blue sweatshirt, faded skinny jeans and high-heeled black boots, and with her slim figure, looked more like a fashion model than a college student.

  We stared at her and she stared back without smiling, her look neither hostile nor unfriendly, but simply sizing us up, selectively examining each one carefully.

  Then two things happened simultaneously. Somebody wolf-whistled from the back of the classroom, breaking the tension and causing everyone to giggle, and at the same time her eyes met mine and I felt as if I’d been pierced with a laser beam. I’m not kidding, I felt like she was looking inside my head and turning me inside out. I stared back, locked into her gaze, feeling something I can only describe as a magnetic pull linking us together.

  For an instant, time stood still, the classroom faded away and there was only her and me, staring at each other. Then she smiled a dazzling, friendly smile and the moment was gone. The classroom came back into focus and I took a deep breath, feeling exhausted and energized at the same time. I looked around, expecting everyone to be watching me, but no one appeared to have noticed.

  “Violet, why don’t you sit next to Emily?” suggested Mrs Pritchard. “There’s an empty desk there.”

  “Thank you,” said Violet, in a voice as clear as crystal, and came to sit alongside me. She turned and smiled once again, although not with the previous intensity, and this time, I grinned back.

  “We were just examining the difference between …’ began Miss Widdicombe.

  “Shakespeare’s use of trochaic rhythm and iambic pentameters?” said Violet, smiling confidently. “I know. I heard as I came in.” She then proceeded to give a detailed explanation of each, backed up by examples from the play, and we all stared once again, mouths agog in disbelief.

  “I was just about to say that,” Seth called out, and we all laughed.

  The rest of the lesson passed in a haze, as we all gawped at Violet, quite unsure what to make of her knowle
dge, her composure or her dazzling beauty. Miss Widdicombe might just as well have been teaching us Chinese as English, for all the notice we took of her and when the bell came for the end of the lesson, she gathered her books with an exasperated sigh and swept out of the room muttering something about the end of term not coming soon enough.

  I turned to Violet. “It’s break time, do you want to go to the café for a hot chocolate?”

  “That would be nice,” she started to say, before she was literally mobbed by the rest of the class, all asking questions at the same time.

  “Where do you come from?” “Where are you living?” “Where do you get your skinny jeans from?” “What are you doing tonight?” The questions came thick and fast and Violet looked at me, shrugging her shoulders. She held up her hands for silence and, miraculously, everyone stopped talking.

  “My family has come to live here from Egypt,” she said in her crystal clear voice. “We had to leave with all the trouble that’s going on. It was getting too dangerous to stay. We’re going to be living in Hartswell-on-the-Hill, at Hartswell Hall, which we’re turning into a luxury hotel. There’s me, my mum and dad, and my older brother Theo, who will also be coming to college. He’s already done A-levels, but he wants to do a refresher course.”

  Thirteen female minds did the same equation at exactly the same time. She had an older brother. Coming to college. If he was anywhere half as gorgeous as his sister, he was going to be an absolute heartthrob.

  “Now, if you don’t mind, Emily and I are going to get a drink,” she said, and linking arms with me, literally pulled me towards the door. “Sorry,” she muttered under her breath, “I simply can’t stand all the attention, it really freaks me out. Now which way do we go?”

  I guided her down the stairs as if in a dream, realising too late that I’d left Tash behind. Never mind, I’d see her at lunchtime. We could talk later.

  For the next twenty minutes, Violet and I sat in the café, sipping hot chocolate, talking and swapping stories. She exuded a natural warmth and radiance, and I felt totally at ease in her presence. As our body chemistries meshed, I felt re-energised and refreshed, glowing in her reflected glory, and I remember thinking that she was a better tonic than any pills or potions.

  I told her about life in Hartswell-on-the-Hill, which didn’t take long, about my family and friends, and about Hartsdown College. She told me of her life in Egypt, of the heat and the dust, the markets and bazaars, the colours and the spices, and the fabulous house that her family owned, with its outdoor pool, many rooms and servants.

  “Servants,” I repeated. “I can’t imagine what it must be like to have servants waiting on you.”

  “Oh, you get used to it,” Violet answered glibly. “Every house has them over there.”

  “Did you go to school?” I asked.

  “No,” she answered, “there was a school for foreigners, until it closed down. Then my mother arranged home schooling for us. It was okay, just a bit boring with only Theo for company. ”

  “What’s Theo like?” I ventured to ask.

  “Well, he looks like me, said Violet. “Blond hair, blue eyes, although taller. Put it this way, he never has a problem attracting women. Not that he’ll be interested in the girls here. It’ll take a very special girl to catch Theo’s eye.”

  My interest was aroused immediately, although I doubted very much he’d notice me. For a start, he was two years older and I guessed a lot more sophisticated. He was obviously very handsome and while I was passably pretty, I could never be described as beautiful, certainly not in Violet’s league. Nonetheless, I was intrigued and couldn’t wait to meet him or, as was more likely, admire him from afar.

  “Have you moved in to Hartswell Hall?” I asked Violet. “It’s just no-one’s mentioned a family living there and turning it into a luxury hotel. Only this morning, I heard a rumour that a local rock star was interested in buying it.”

  “We’re in the process of moving in,” explained Violet. “The sale has just gone through and there’s a lot of work to be done on the house and grounds before we can open it as an hotel.”

  “It sounds very exciting,” I said. “I’ve only ever seen Hartswell Hall from the outside, but it looks like a fabulous place.”

  “You must come round and have a look.…” Violet started to say, then hesitated. “Well, I’ll have to check with my mother and father first. I’m not sure they want people seeing inside until all the work’s done. It’s a bit of a mess at the moment.”

  The bell for the next lesson sounded and any thoughts of looking round Hartswell Hall were put to one side, as we made our way to History, with the world’s most boring teacher, Mr Greaves. I sat next to Tash, who muttered: “Enjoy break time with Blondie?” before studiously reading her History course book for the entire lesson, in a way that was most unlike her.

  At the end of the lesson, she gathered up her books and disappeared through the classroom door before I’d even realised she was gone. I saw her walking down the corridor with Seth, heading for the cafeteria, and was aware that there had been a major and unpleasant shift in our friendship. It didn’t make me feel good, but I had no time to dwell on it, because Violet was there at my elbow, smiling her radiant smile and asking if I’d like to have an early lunch. Being in her company was like bathing in brilliant sunshine. It made me feel alive, relaxed and energised all at the same time, and I was soon engrossed in her stories of Egypt and a lifestyle I could only imagine.

  That afternoon, we shared the same classes and she sat next to me on the bus home. I vaguely noticed Tash sitting with Seth towards the back of the bus, but Violet pulled me into a seat at the front.

  “Come on, let’s sit here,” she said. I sat where she indicated, feeling as if the situation was out of my control.

  “Where’s your brother?” I asked. “Wasn’t he at college?”

  “No, he couldn’t come today,” she answered. “He’ll start tomorrow. You’ll probably meet him.”

  When the bus stopped outside Hartswell Hall, Violet got up and flashed another of her radiant smiles. “My stop. I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye.”

  I watched her walk up the drive way, a jacket thrown nonchalantly over her arm, her beautiful golden hair catching the afternoon sunshine. She seemed to shimmer, barely disturbing the air as she moved, and as the bus started up again, I felt strangely dreamlike and serene.

  My stop was next and I was barely aware of Tash and Seth walking past me down the centre aisle. As he passed, Seth turned to me. “Are you getting off, Em? It’s our stop. What’s the matter with you?”

  “Nothing,” I murmured, “I’m right behind you.” I quickly followed them off the bus.

  “Have you and Tash had a disagreement?” asked Seth, “It’s not like you two to avoid each other.”

  “No, we’re fine, aren’t we Tash?” I spoke to Tash’s back.

  She turned and said in a flat voice, “Yeah, absolutely fine.” We carried on walking down the hill, the conversation stilted and awkward, despite Seth’s best endeavours to keep things going.

  The next day proved no different. Tash and I seemed to have little to say to one another and I found myself looking forward to seeing Violet with undue interest. As the bus approached her stop, I looked in vain for her golden hair, but she wasn’t there and I felt disappointed.

  Our first class was once again English Literature with Miss Widdicombe, but the desk next to mine remained empty and I began to wonder if I had imagined meeting her the day before. Then, at break time, as I walked into the locker area, I saw her mass of blond hair. She was standing talking to a striking blond-haired boy, who had to be Theo, I reasoned, and for a few seconds, I stood watching them closely.

  No doubt about it, Theo was absolutely gorgeous. Just like his sister, he too could be a model. He was tall and well proportioned, wearing faded jeans and a white T-shirt, and exuded a grace and style that came straight from the pages of a fashion magazine. Even his hands,
I noticed, were elegant and expressive, giving him a sophistication way beyond his years. I hovered uncertainly, unsure whether to approach them. They seemed to be deep in conversation and while I didn’t want to interrupt them, I was conscious that break time would soon be over and I might not get another opportunity to meet him on my own. If I left it until lunchtime, he’d probably be surrounded by adoring girls and wouldn’t notice me. At least now I would have his undivided attention. So, heart beating loudly and with a sudden rush of excitement, I walked over to them.

  “Hello Violet,” I said, excitedly, “I wondered where you were.”

  Too late, I became aware they were in the middle of an argument. They both stopped talking abruptly and you could have cut the atmosphere with a knife. Violet turned and looked at me with a look so cold it took my breath away.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled, backing away and feeling confused. Then the coldness disappeared and she gave me a dazzling smile.

  “Emily,” she said, in her crystal clear voice. “How nice to see you, I was just telling Theo that there was one girl he simply had to meet.”

  “Were you?” I said, going red with embarrassment. “Er, who’s that?”

  “You, of course,” cried Violet, laughing at my awkwardness. “Theo, this is Emily. Emily, meet Theo.”

  The blond haired boy opposite Violet smiled at me.

  “Very pleased to meet you, Emily,” he said, in a voice similar to Violet’s in its clearness and clarity, but with a depth and resonance that sounded like pure music. “Violet’s been telling me all about you.”

  He went to shake my hand.

  I looked into the face of the most beautiful boy I had ever seen and was instantly captivated by the tousled blond hair, the ivory skin, the even white teeth and the perfect features. Gazing into his eyes, I was lost in their intensity. It was like looking into the bluest sky and carrying on to infinity. I felt mesmerised, hypnotised and transfixed all at once.

  Time slowed to a standstill and became a series of freeze frames, enabling me to recall every facet of our meeting in detail. I remember the hustle and bustle of the locker area as students hurriedly got out their books ready for the next lesson, and someone nearby laughing abruptly, their voice sounding muffled and faint, as if they were far away. I remember feeling mild panic in case my handshake was too sweaty, as my nerves kicked in big time and adrenalin flooded my system, and then feeling relieved that my hand was actually quite dry. But more than anything else, I remember his hand touching mine and feeling the soft warmth of his skin, the firmness of his grip and the slight pressure from his nails as they touched the palm of my hand. It was one of those perfect moments and such was its intensity I felt I’d lived my whole life just to come to this point.

  No sooner had our hands joined and I was experiencing the most wonderful sensation of well-being, than I felt what I can only describe as a bolt of electricity shoot from the centre of his palm into mine, white-hot and burning, searing my skin with a scalding pain. I cried out immediately, registering the sensation and shock with disbelief, and then, as my reflexes took over, jerked my hand upwards out of his reach, forcing us apart. For a split second he stared at me, seemingly as shocked as I was, unable to speak and trying to comprehend what had just passed between us.

  I looked down at my hand, expecting to see some kind of mark, a burn maybe, some evidence of the scorching pain I’d just felt, but there was nothing. No wound, no redness, no indication that anything out of the ordinary had just occurred.

  “Sorry….” I gasped, feeling stupid and embarrassed, rubbing my palm with the index finger of my other hand.

  Recovering quickly, he laughed awkwardly and said, unconvincingly, “Static electricity – that’s what comes of wearing the wrong shoes on a nylon carpet. That was quite something, wasn’t it?”

  “It certainly was,” I murmured faintly, glancing up at him again and feeling a little weak as I looked into his perfect face.

  While his words offered a seemingly rational explanation, his eyes told a different story. There, I saw pure panic swirling amidst the deep, hypnotic blue, and he seemed to struggle to control himself. With a huge effort he broke his gaze and looked down at his watch, saying, almost too quickly, “Hey, look at the time. I must fly. I have a tutorial. Don’t want to be late on my first day.”

  He darted away and reached the double doors at the end of the corridor in less than two seconds. I watched him go, wondering what on earth had just happened between us, willing him to turn round and look at me one last time. Just as he went through the doorway, he turned and our eyes locked once more. For a split second, we stared at each other, both unsure what had just happened. Then, he was gone, the double doors swinging violently against an empty space, and I turned back to find Violet staring at me, but with quite a different look. This was one of suspicion and mistrust and, if I wasn’t mistaken, fear.

  I smiled at her weakly but she was clearly shaken by what she’d just witnessed and, making some excuse about needing to go to the school office, she picked up her bag and jacket and abruptly left the locker area. There was no doubt in my mind she was going after her brother.

  For some minutes after she’d gone, I stood going over in my mind what had just happened, trying to rationalise it and failing totally. If I’d thought Violet had a powerful effect on me, it paled into insignificance compared to the connection I’d felt with her brother. This was like nothing I’d ever encountered before. It was all-consuming, all-powerful and quite simply beyond my sphere of experience. Some deep inner instinct warned me it might also be dangerous, but this simply added to his attraction and, if I’m honest, gave me the greatest thrill of all.

  Hearing the bell, I reluctantly went to my next lesson and tried to concentrate as best I could on double History. But I may just as well have been trying to get my head around time travel as the dissolution of the monasteries, my mind felt so unsettled.

  At lunchtime, there was no sign of Violet or Theo and so I sat in the café with Tash and Seth.

  “We’re honoured,” said Tash sarcastically. “Where’s Blondie?”

  “I don’t know,” I muttered. “Look Tash, what’s the matter? Are you jealous of Violet, is that it?”

  “What’s there to be jealous of?” quipped Seth, “Perfect skin, gorgeous hair, looks like a fashion model. Can’t see why Tash would be jealous of that…”

  “It’s not the way she looks,” said Tash slowly, “it’s something else… I can’t put my finger on it. She’s too perfect, somehow. There’s just something that’s not quite right about her. And look at the way she zoomed in on you. It was almost as if she chose you out of the rest of us.” She faltered and started playing with her silver bracelet. “Look, I don’t know why I’m saying this, but don’t get taken in by all her golden charm. Just be careful, that’s all. What d’you know about her and her brother? Have you checked them out on Facebook, or googled them?”

  “No, of course not. I’ve only just met them. Why should I?” I asked indignantly.

  “Good thinking, Tash,” said Seth, taking out his laptop. “Let’s see what we can find out.” He quickly opened his Facebook page and typed in Violet De Lucis. He pressed the search button.

  “Nothing,” he said. “Okay, let’s try her brother.” Again, there was nothing.

  “So, they’re not on Facebook,” I said. “A lot of people aren’t. And they have just come from Egypt, maybe it was safer not to be on Facebook.”

  “What about Twitter or Instagram or MSN?” suggested Tash.

  Seth tried them all, every social networking site we could think of, but every time he drew a blank. There was nothing.

  “Okay,” said Seth, “let’s try googling de Lucis. See what comes up about the family.”

  I kept quiet, feeling protective of Violet and her brother, but not sure why.

  Once again, his search brought up nothing. There wasn’t even a mention of the family.

  “Try Hartswell Hall,?
?? suggested Tash.

  This proved slightly more successful and a holding page appeared on the screen informing us that Hartswell Hall was undergoing a massive restoration programme and would be opening for business as an international conference venue mid-May. It said nothing about the new owners of Hartswell Hall.

  “All very strange,” said Seth. “You’d think there’d be something about the family, particularly the parents. After all, they are supposed to be international business people. I would have thought Google would throw up something. It’s like they didn’t exist before they came here.”

  “Maybe they’re just very private people,” I said, defensively. “Honestly, I think you’re making a mystery where there is none.”

  “Seems to me you’re being very defensive, Emily,” said Tash. “I still think there’s more to Violet than meets the eye. I don’t like her and I don’t trust her. Anyway, I have to go. I have some library books to take back.”

  She got up quickly, throwing her bag over her shoulder and leaving her lunch tray behind. Without looking back, she walked quickly out of the café.

  “What was all that about?” I said, looking after her.

  “If you ask me,” said Seth, “it’s a question of two’s company, three’s a crowd, and she’s feeling a bit crowded out. How about I take Violet off your hands, Emily, and you can make up with Tash?”

  “Thanks, Seth,” I grinned at him, “but what makes you think a girl like Violet would be interested in someone like you?”

  “Hey, there’s more to me than meets the eye as well, you know,” he cried. “I have hidden depths, too.”

  “Yeah, depths of depravity, more like, and you’d certainly be out of your depth with a girl like Violet,” I informed him. “She has high standards. Don’t even go there.”

  For some reason, the thought of Seth asking out Violet was not an idea I liked. He’d always been there for me, as a friend, and so far there’d never been a serious girlfriend to come between us. I didn’t like the thought of that one bit. Besides, Violet was my friend and I didn’t feel inclined to share her with anyone.

  “I gotta go, too,” said Seth, closing his laptop and putting it into his backpack. He stood up. “I’ve got rugby practice, and the way things are looking, I am going to get picked for the team this weekend. You watch, the girls’ll be crowding round me.”

  “In your dreams,” I called after him, as he left the table and slouched his way out of the canteen.

  After he’d gone, I sat and thought how things had suddenly changed in the last couple of days. Tash was not happy about my friendship with Violet, whom she clearly saw as a threat, and I was more than a bit put out at the thought of Seth getting friendly with Violet. And what had Tash meant about Violet being too perfect and selecting me? I remembered back to the moment she’d first come into the classroom and how she stood at the front, looking at us all, as if searching for the right person. But surely it was just coincidence she’d sat in the empty desk next to mine? Oddly enough, I couldn’t remember that desk ever being empty before, but as hard as I tried, I couldn’t recall who usually sat there. And what did Tash mean by telling me to be careful? Surely she was just jealous that Violet was so attractive and had chosen to make friends with me?

  That was the thing when you were beautiful – you chose your friends, not the other way round. But why was there no mention of the family on Google? Surely there should have been something? Tash’s words had unnerved me, and she didn’t even know I’d met Theo yet. Now, that had been strange and I really didn’t know how I was going to tell her what had happened. If she thought I needed to be careful of Violet, what would she think about Theo?

  That got me thinking about Theo. Beautiful, charismatic, handsome Theo. It took my breath away just remembering the look he’d given me, let alone the electric handshake. I’d never seen such blue eyes. They were the kind of eyes you’d look into and simply melt, the blue of a scorching summer’s day, smouldering, sensual and hypnotic. And what about that handshake? I didn’t buy his excuse of static electricity. I’d had static shocks before and they were nowhere near as intense as that. This was something more, there was some kind of connection between us and it had obviously surprised him as much as me, because after it had happened, he couldn’t wait to get away from me. And then there was the look that Violet had given me. What was that all about? Was she jealous? Had she seen what had happened between us?

  Although I tried to put these thoughts out of my mind for the rest of the day, I simply couldn’t. And it wasn’t just the thoughts. It was the physical sensation, too. Again and again I ran through the handshake in my mind and could still feel the shock flowing into my palm. It was as if life had suddenly taken on a fresh intensity, as if I was suddenly living for the first time and seeing the world as a wondrous, vivid, intense place, full of vibrant colours and sensual feelings. Something had awoken inside me, or to be correct, Theo had awoken something inside me, because it had taken his touch to unleash this heightened awareness. One thing I knew with absolute certainty. I had to see Theo again, I had to see him soon and I had to see him alone, to find out exactly what was going on between us.

  3. Out Damned Spot

  Sitting in her office, flicking through a pile of files, the estate agent noticed a couple of small brown circular marks on her hand. Always particular about beauty routines and especially manicures – she was most proud of her smooth hands and long red tapered nails – she stared in disbelief. If she was not mistaken, they were age spots.

  She looked again and could have sworn they darkened as she looked at them. Surely they couldn’t be age spots, not at 42? Age spots came when you were, well, late fifties or sixties surely? And there’d never been age spots in her family. Her mother had had beautiful, smooth white hands right up to her death the previous year.

  She put the thought out of her mind and picked up the phone.

  “Can you get me Mr Burrell of Bushell Burrell and Brown on the phone please?” she instructed her secretary. “I need to check where we’re up to on the Oakfields Drive sale. It should have gone through last week. I can’t think what’s delaying things.” Replacing the phone in its cradle, she muttered to herself, “Well, I can actually. Solicitors. It’s always solicitors. They think they’re so superior. But who does all the work? Who phones up everyone in the chain to make sure the sale goes smoothly? Estate agents, that’s who. If it wasn’t for us, nothing would ever get bought or sold.”

  She picked up a little hand held mirror on her desktop so she could watch herself as she spoke to Mr Burrell. Just a little quirk she’d developed that made her feel so much more professional. So much more confident and superior, a necessity when dealing with solicitors. Let’s face it, you needed every small advantage you could find when dealing with them. The phone rang and she picked it up, hearing her secretary announce she had Mr Burrell on the phone for her.

  “Mr Burrell,” she began, in her firmest, most professional voice, admiring in the mirror her new shade of lipstick. ‘Deadly Nightshade’ really suited her so well. Added the perfect extra touch to her professional appearance. “I was wondering if you could explain to me exactly what the delay is on the Oakfields Drive sale. Really, it is too……”

  But she got no further. With a shriek, she threw down the phone, staring aghast at the face that was reflected in her mirror. Surely this was not right? This had to be a joke. She rushed from her office to the small ladies’ toilet at the rear of the building, locking the door carefully behind her, then forcing herself to look in the large mirror above the washbasin. What she saw made her gasp in horror.

  Instead of the immaculately permed tresses her hairdresser had perfected only that morning, her hair hung about her face, wispy and lifeless. And instead of the Honey Blond hair colour with white blond lowlights she’d so fastidiously selected earlier that morning, it was matted and grey, with streaks of dirty white, like old cotton wool. But it wasn’t the hair that caused her to gasp
so much as her face. Gone was the carefully made-up, cleansed and toned skin of which she was so proud, to be replaced with sagging, bagging, ancient pouches that hung beneath her eyes and either side of her mouth, like an ageing elephant. Her skin was now the colour of old parchment, dried and brittle. Her eyes once clear and bright were now red ringed and bloodshot, drooping downwards to match the general direction of the rest of her face. Feeling something in her mouth, she spat it out and was aghast to see two yellowing teeth fall into the basin, leaving her with a witch-like gap in the middle of her mouth. The remaining teeth were blackened and decayed. Her posture she noticed was stooped and low, and her clothes hung on her shrunken frame, now at least three sizes too big for her.

  “My God, I’m an old hag,” she said breathlessly to the mirror and her voice sounded rasping and cracked. “With every minute that passes, I’m getting older and older,” she stopped abruptly, as she took in the ramifications of what lay ahead. “At this rate, I’ll be dead by tonight…..”

  A knocking on the door brought her back to her senses and she panicked as she heard her name being called out. No one must see her like this, of that she was certain. The knocking and shouting sounded again and she looked around for a means of escape. There was none. No small back window, no other means of getting out. She was trapped and about to be discovered.

  Once again, she heard her name being called and then felt someone gently rocking her shoulder. With a jolt, she sat upright, and uttered a small cry. Oh joy of joys, she was in her own bed and it was her husband who’d been calling out her name. The hideous hag experience had been nothing but a bad dream.

  “You were dead to the world,” her husband informed her with relish, words which made her shudder with revulsion.

  “I was having the most dreadful nightmare,” she told him, holding her head in her hands and feeling quite weak. “I dreamed I’d turned into an old hag.” She looked up. “Quick pass me that hand mirror,” she instructed him.

  He gave her the small gilt mirror from the dressing table and she held it up to her face, examining herself closely. She gave a sigh of relief. If anything, her face looked younger. Her eyes were bright, her skin taut and her complexion fresh. She smiled at her reflection and noticed, with satisfaction, that even the minuscule wrinkles at the corner of her eyes had completely disappeared.

  “You’re looking beautiful, dear,” said her husband, “I don’t know which rejuvenating potion you’ve been using recently, but it’s having marvellous results. You could easily pass for a twenty-year old. Here, I’ve brought you a cup of jasmine tea. You’ll just have time to drink it.”

  She went to take the cup of tea from him, but before she could grasp the handle and savour the hot, steaming liquid, she let out a scream of terror.

  On the back of her hand were three brown age spots….

  4. Missing Theo

  Wednesday morning, I woke early at 6am and could not get back to sleep. Although I’d met Theo for less than a couple of minutes, I couldn’t get him out of my mind. Those few minutes had turned my world upside down and I knew instinctively that nothing would ever be the same again.

  Something had happened between us, some deep connection and I was totally unsure what would happen next. I hoped and prayed that he would come and find me at college, declare his undying love and sweep me off my feet. That was my ideal. Or at worst send me smouldering glances across the corridor, too overcome by the depth of his feelings to articulate how he really felt. I chose not to consider that nothing might happen, that was simply too unbearable to contemplate.

  Just thinking of the possibilities, I felt a sense of excitement building within me, tinged with trepidation and anxiety. It was a delicious pain that I didn’t want to stop. I felt drawn to him, like a moth to a flame, and although a little voice inside told me to be careful, that I could get very badly burned in the process, I chose to ignore it. If Theo was interested in me, I was powerless to resist. The attraction between us was just too great and I felt as if every moment of my life had been leading to this point.

  I tossed and turned until the alarm went off at 7am, then surprised my mum and Granddad by being first at the breakfast table.

  “What’s this?” said Gramps, walking into the kitchen and seeing me sitting at the table sipping a steaming mug of black coffee. “Up before us? Something’s afoot. It’s not an exam day, so it’s got to be a boy.”

  “Of course it isn’t,” I replied indignantly. “Just woke up early, that’s all, and thought I’d get an early start.”

  “Morning!” said my mother, walking in. “You’re up early, Emily. What’s the matter? Is anything wrong at school?”

  “Honestly, can’t a person get up early without being given the Spanish Inquisition?” I protested. “There’s nothing wrong.”

  “Fine,” said my mother, knowing when to back off. “Would you like some toast?”

  “No, I’m not really hungry,” I said, staring into my coffee cup, wondering what the day ahead would bring.

  “Lovesick,” said Gramps, and I caught him giving my mum a wink.

  ‘I am so not,” I responded, a little too quickly. “Okay, give me some toast.”

  I waited impatiently while my mother loaded up the toaster, feeling suddenly edgy and irritable.

  “Got any plans for the Easter holidays, Emily?” asked my mother, buttering the toast far too slowly for my liking. “Don’t forget, I’ll be working most of the time, so I won’t be around.”

  The Easter holidays. How could I have forgotten? Just three days left of the spring term, just three days to get it together with Theo. And what if I didn’t? The thought of spending two weeks at home, on my own, not seeing him, sent me into a blind panic. But if something did happen between us, then we had two whole weeks away from school to really get to know one another. I fast forwarded mentally and saw myself being invited to Hartswell Hall, walking up the long driveway to find Theo waiting for me at the door, smiling and gorgeous. I saw us exploring the old house together, looking at the renovations, taking long walks in the splendid grounds, hand in hand. I saw us laughing, talking, telling each other our life stories, kissing…

  “D’you want jam on this, Emily?” my mother’s voice broke into my thoughts and I came crashing back down to earth.

  “Yeah, whatever.”

  This preoccupation with the mundane was getting very tedious. “I’ll probably hang out with Tash over the hols,” I informed my mother. “Don’t worry about me. And I have a college assignment to write for English Lit. Anyway, Granddad will be at home if I need anything, won’t you, Gramps?”

  “Always here, at your beck and call,” Gramps smiled at me, his watery blue eyes twinkling in his old, lined face.

  I smiled back at him and giving him a kiss on his forehead, I picked up the toast in one hand, school bag in the other and made for the door.

  “Gotta dash,” I said, stuffing the toast in my mouth. “See you later…”

  “Bye,” called my mother, as I ran from the kitchen. I felt suddenly claustrophobic and needed some fresh air. I needed to get to school. I needed to see Theo.

  But disappointment awaited me at school. Neither Theo nor Violet was there. At the start of each lesson, I waited for Violet to walk through the door, but she never showed. At break, I rushed to the locker area, hoping to see either Violet or Theo, but neither appeared. At lunchtime, I scoured the café, hoping for a glimpse of them, but there was nothing. They clearly had not come into school and I felt desperate, wondering where they were and what they were doing.

  Something must have happened to stop them, I reasoned. You didn’t enrol at college and then simply fail to show up. What if there’d been an accident? What if they’d been hurt? Dare I go up to Hartswell Hall to find out if they were okay? Did I know them well enough? What if everything was fine and there was a good explanation? I’d look pretty stupid. Get a grip, I told myself, determined to rein in my thoughts and think rationall
y. But try as I might, I couldn’t get the thought out of my head that their absence had something to do with me and my strange meeting with Theo.

  “Emily, what is the matter with you today?” asked Tash irritably. “You’ve haven’t heard a word I’ve been saying.”

  “Sorry, Tash,” I mumbled, “not feeling myself today.”

  We both sat at a table in the cafeteria, picking at our lunch, and not relishing the thought that we had another History tutorial coming up.

  “I just said I’ve brought you that face pack I mentioned. The one that makes your skin look amazing.”

  She took a small plastic pot out of her bag and slid it over the table to me.

  “Oh, okay, great,” I said unenthusiastically, picking it up and reading the label. “‘Beer Bio-phase Pick-Me-Up Facial. Revives the parts other facials cannot reach.’ You have to be joking, Tash.”

  “No, it’s really good stuff,” she protested, “makes your skin feel fantastic, really smooth. Just smells a bit beery, that’s all.”

  “Alright, cool, I’ll give it a go, if it’ll keep you happy.”

  I peered over her shoulder as a crowd of students came into the café.

  “Who are you looking for?” she demanded. “Every time someone walks through the door, you look up expectantly. Oh, I get it. It’s Violet, isn’t it?”

  “No,” I answered, half truthfully.

  “Well, who then?”

  I hesitated, wondering how much to tell Tash, knowing she wasn’t going to like it. She’d already warned me off Violet. If I told her about Theo, she was going to like it even less.

  “I’m not looking for anyone, I’m just worried about the English assignment, that’s all,” I lied.

  “Are you?” asked Tash, looking surprised. “What are you doing for it?”

  We had to write a thousand word essay on ‘Love Poetry’ by the poet or poets of our choice.

  “The love poems of John Donne,” I said. “You know, the Metaphysical Poet? What are you doing?”

  “Shakespeare’s Love Sonnets,” she answered, adding in a dramatic voice, “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day, Thou art more lovely and more temperate. Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer’s lease hath all too short a date…”

  “What’s this? Reciting love poetry to each other?” said Seth, sliding into an empty space beside us. “I am seriously worried about you two.”

  “Get lost, Seth.” Tash threw her screwed up paper napkin at him, and thankfully, amidst all the laughter, I realised she’d forgotten about Violet.

  At home that night, I could barely conceal my disappointment, and found myself getting short tempered with my mother and granddad.

  “Sorry, Gramps,” I said, sitting next to him on the old blue sofa in the lounge. I’d snapped at him unnecessarily over dinner, just because he’d asked me twice if I wanted more vegetables. “It’s not you. It’s me. You were right this morning. It is about a boy.”

  “I thought so,” he said, putting down his book and sitting back thoughtfully. “Name?”

  “Theo,” I said. “He’s just started college.”

  “And what’s the problem?”

  “I don’t know. He didn’t show today.”

  “Have you fallen out?”

  ‘No, not really. I don’t know.” I could hardly tell him we didn’t know each other well enough to fall out.

  “Well, I’m sure he’ll be in tomorrow. And I’m sure everything will be fine.” He gave me a smile, put his arm around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze.

  I smiled back, but somehow couldn’t share his optimism, and went to bed feeling very unsure about everything.

  The next day, Granddad proved to be right. Well, in part. Violet and Theo did show. But everything was very decidedly not fine.

  It started in the first lesson. Although there was an empty desk next to mine, Violet chose to sit next to another girl and I could barely contain my jealousy. Then at break time, before I could get to her, she’d disappeared. I didn’t see her again until lunchtime, as we had different timetables, and then I saw her sitting with Theo in the canteen with a crowd from the Upper Sixth. I hovered in the canteen doorway, not knowing what to do. Should I go over and speak to them? Would they be glad to see me? If Theo had been alone, I wouldn’t have hesitated, but in front of all the others I simply didn’t know if I had the courage. In the end, I collected my lunch from the serving hatch and sat at an adjoining table, close enough for them to see me and come over if they wished. They obviously didn’t. I heard them laughing and joking, and every time I heard Theo’s voice it was like a knife going through my heart. At one point, I turned sideways to look at the group at the next table and for a brief moment, caught Theo’s eye. No sooner did he see me looking at him, than he looked away immediately and began openly flirting with Georgia Thomson, an attractive brunette with very obvious attractions. Leaning over, he brushed away a strand of hair from her face in a gesture of intimacy that made me feel sick.

  They all started laughing and I felt my throat constrict. Pushing aside my tray, I ran out of the canteen, desperate to get away. I hurried to the nearest washroom, feeling as if my heart would break. Tears ran down my face and I felt hot and faint. What had I been thinking of? Why on earth would a boy like that be interested in me? He’d never go out with a girl like me. He must have thought me very gauche and unsophisticated, especially given his background, and there were so many gorgeous girls in the year above. He was obviously interested in Georgia Thomson. I’d made a complete fool of myself. And I’d lost Violet’s friendship into the bargain.

  Never had I felt quite so wretched, and willed the end of the day to come, which it inevitably did, but all too slow for my liking. If I thought things were bad, however, they were soon to take a turn for the worse, as I found out the next day.

  It happened late morning, just after netball practice. For three quarters of an hour, I played for all I was worth, assuming my usual position of Goal Attack and managing to put all thoughts of Theo completely out of my head. Welcoming the physical exertion as a means of banishing my mental torment, I was on top form. The sun shone down on the netball court and as its warming rays touched my body, I felt energised and invigorated. I leapt, I ran, I had total control of the ball, weaving my way in and out of my opponents and time after time reaching the goal circle with ease. When it came to taking aim and getting my ball into the net, I was unstoppable, achieving no less than an embarrassing twenty goals for my team. I’d always been a passable netball player, although never quite good enough to make the college team, but today I was in a different league and afterwards the girls crowded round me full of praise for my performance.

  “Play like that every time, Morgan, and you’re in the team,” called Amanda Weston, the netball team captain. “Very impressive.”

  “Whatever you’re on, I’d like some,” said Tash. “You played like someone possessed.”

  I smiled, enjoying all the praise and wondering where my newfound energy had come from. And then I saw him. Theo was standing in the shadows at the corner of the sports block, by the entrance to the changing rooms, and he was watching me. I felt the blood drain from my face, as the demons of the last couple of days came rushing back. As soon as he realised I’d seen him, he dropped further back into the shadows, but it was too late. Fuelled by my success on the netball court, I was determined to confront him and marched over to where he stood.

  “Hi Theo.”

  “Hi Emily. You played well.”

  “Thank you.”

  My resolve began to waiver as I looked into his blue eyes. He had the beginnings of very tiny smile lines at the corner of his eyes, I noticed, giving him a maturity I hadn’t seen in other boys. Shards of sunlight crept through the shadows and shone on his face, giving his perfect ivory skin a translucence I hadn’t noticed before. He seemed to shimmer.

  “Have you been watching long?” I asked him.

  “Lo
ng enough.”

  He stared at me with such a look of tenderness and longing, it took my breath away and I truthfully didn’t know what to do. This was not what I’d expected. I wanted to throw my arms around him, to be as close to him as I possibly could, and it really felt as if some invisible force was pulling us closer together. I struggled to find the right words, but none came, and feeling foolish and inadequate, I settled for the trivial.

  “You’ve got a money spider crawling up your jacket,” I spoke nervously, my voice higher than normal, and went to brush away the small spider that was climbing up the lapel of his jacket.

  Then it all seemed to happen in slow motion. He jumped back, recoiling from my touch, his eyes flashing and his face set.

  “Don’t touch me,” he commanded. “Stay away from me. For your own sake, stay away. This can never work.”

  “What d’you mean?” I faltered, staring at him in disbelief.

  He gave me one last look, and his eyes were filled with such utter desolation that I simply stood and watched as he backed further into the shadows. Then giving a sigh that seemed to rend him in two, he turned and ran as fast as he could around the corner of the building.

  I stared at the empty space where he’d stood, not comprehending what had just happened. How could someone look at you with such longing, but not want you near them? Why did he say not to touch him? And what did he mean ‘for your own sake stay away’? It just didn’t make sense. Yet again, something had happened between us and he’d run away. I looked around, aware the world had suddenly gone dark, and realised that the bright sunshine had been replaced by black, threatening clouds. Already, I could feel spots of heavy rain on my skin.

  “Come on girls, every one in,” shouted the Games Teacher, Mrs Wilde. “Looks like there’s a storm coming. Quick as you can now.”

  Suddenly, the energy I’d experienced on the netball court was gone and I felt drained. I changed into my sweatshirt and jeans as quickly as possible, amazed that no one had seemed to notice my encounter with Theo. Thankfully, that meant no awkward questions and I hurried to my Art lesson without speaking to anyone. Outside, a storm raged, the rain falling fast and furious, flashes of lightning illuminating the inky black sky and loud cracks of thunder crashing right above us, causing some girls to cry out in terror. I barely noticed. Throughout the afternoon, my energy levels dipped lower and lower, to the point where I could barely concentrate.

  “Are you okay?” asked Tash, as we walked out of the Art class at the end of the afternoon.

  “Not really,” I answered. “I think I must be going down with something. I feel so tired.”

  “It’s all that running around on the netball court,” she grinned. “I always said sport was no good for you. You’ve worn yourself out. You need to go home and have a good sleep.”

  “That’s about all I feel like doing,” I admitted. “I feel terrible.”

  I was barely able to drag myself onto the school bus, and I don’t know how I managed to walk down the hill and get home. My limbs felt like lead and every step took a huge amount of effort. The air hung oppressively and even breathing seemed difficult. At last I reached home and, feeling totally washed out, informed Granddad that I was going to bed.

  “I think I’m going down with flu,” I told him. “My body aches and I just want to sleep.”

  “I’ll bring you up a Lemsip,” he said, taking control. “We’re having chicken broth for tea, that’ll sort you out. You’ll soon feel good as new.”

  When my mother came home from work, she felt my forehead.

  “You don’t have a temperature,” she said, “but you are very pale. It’s probably better if you don’t go into college tomorrow.”

  I willingly acquiesced with that. College was the last place I wanted to be. I didn’t care if I never went back. I just wanted to be as far away as possible from Theo. How could someone I’d met only twice have such a devastating effect on me? Was my mysterious illness somehow a manifestation of my inner turmoil? Was it psychosomatic? Perhaps psychologically I was protecting myself from further hurt by finding the perfect excuse not to go into college.

  That night, I had muddled dreams, all featuring Theo, of course. I found myself standing on the bank of a huge, swollen river with a fast moving current that pulled the frothing waters, spewing and angry, down towards a waterfall. On the opposite bank, which was green and lush and bathed in sunlight, stood Theo. My side of the river, in contrast, was dark and cold and in shadow. However loudly I called his name, he didn’t seem to hear me. The sound of my voice was drowned out by the fast moving water. In vain I called, but my words were carried away downstream. I realised the only way I could reach him was to brave the strong current and swim across the river. Fully clothed, I flung myself in and tried to battle the angry water, but my limbs were heavy and slow and refused to work properly, and I realised I was never going to make it to the opposite bank. With horror, I realised I was being dragged downstream by the strong current, towards the impending waterfall, and I screamed Theo’s name even louder. Again he didn’t hear, and I saw him slowly walking away into the sunshine. Closer and closer loomed the waterfall. I could hardly breathe and the water was filling up my lungs. Then suddenly my body reached the lip of rock and I was falling, falling…

  I woke up to find my mother leaning over me, stroking my face.

  “Emily, Emily, wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”

  I stared up at her face and burst into tears. She held me in her arms, cradling me and rocking me, as if I were a small child. “It’s alright, you’re safe,” she crooned, “It was just a bad dream.”

  A cup of warm milk and two paracetamol tablets later and I slipped easily back into sleep, this time a black, dreamless sleep that covered me like a warm, dark blanket. I woke in the morning feeling better but still tired, and at my mother’s insistence, spent the day at home, watching TV, reading books and listening to music. All in all, not a bad day and I felt very relieved to be away from Hartsdown College, or more accurately, away from Theo and Violet. Tash came round after college and for a while, it was like old times, laughing and joking together, playing our favourite Coldplay album, and generally just hanging out.

  My newly found equilibrium couldn’t last, of course, and as the Easter holidays progressed, I found myself slipping into a depression. One day merged into the next and I still felt tired and drawn. With a heavy heart I attempted to write my English Literature assignment, not relishing the thought of reading John Donne’s love poetry. I started to read ‘The Good Morrow’ and his words leapt out from the page at me, each phrase poignant and sad in view of recent events:

  ‘If ever any beauty I did see,

  Which I desir’d and got, t’was but a dreame of thee.’

  I put down the book and stared mournfully out of my bedroom window at the fields beyond and sighed. Oh Theo! What had happened between us? Would the world ever be the same again? How I wished he and Violet had never come to Hartswell-on-the-Hill and I had never met him. I felt as if my peace of mind had gone forever. So, this is what love was all about. Pain, loneliness and longing. He’d made it plain that nothing would ever happen between us, for reasons of his own, but in so doing he’d destroyed my cosy little world. I read on, and the more I read, the sadder I became, especially when I stumbled upon the words of ‘The Broken Heart’:

  ‘Ah, what a trifle is a heart,

  If once into loves hands it come!’

  I devoured the poem, relishing its intensity, understanding for the first time in my life the poet’s emotion. This man had truly loved and lost because he understood only too well what I was going through:

  ‘My ragges of heart can like, wish, and adore,

  But after one such love, can love no more.’

  I couldn’t deny it. Although I’d met Theo only twice, there had been a deep connection between us, and I’d fallen for him completely and totally. But no matter how much I was in love with him, the situa
tion was hopeless. He didn’t want to know. Despite the fact I’d obviously had a big effect on him, something was preventing him taking things further, and I felt frustrated, angry and confused. None of it made any sense. Unless he had a girlfriend already, of course. I simply hadn’t thought of that. Maybe he was seeing someone else and that’s why he couldn’t see me. Now I added jealousy to my list and felt even more depressed. I sat in my bedroom, playing The Lumineers’ ‘Stubborn Love’, feeling bereft and alone, the words having fresh meaning every time I heard them.

  Tash phoned and texted me a couple of times, suggesting we meet up, but I was unenthusiastic. There was an unspoken barrier between us, and things just weren’t the same. I longed to tell her about Theo, but what was there to say? That I’d met Violet’s brother, that he’d given me some kind of static shock when I shook his hand and I fancied him like mad, but he wasn’t interested? It all looked pretty pathetic when you considered the facts. And apart from that, Tash clearly disliked Violet, and had even warned me away from her. So, I kept my distance, not wanting to share my thoughts with her, and pleading illness in my defence. In truth, I still felt depleted and tired, and my low spirits were doing nothing to help my energy levels. I had no appetite and my clothes had started to hang on me. My hair was lank, my skin looked sallow and I even thought about using Tash’s beer facial, but couldn't be bothered.

  All through the Easter holidays, I moped and fretted, until even my good-natured Granddad started to get fed up with me.

  “Why don’t you go out?” he suggested, seeing me sitting forlornly at the breakfast table. “Get some fresh air. You’re just moping around and that’s not good for anyone. Why don’t you go shopping with Tash? Or see a film?”

  “I’ll go out for a walk,” I said. “ I think Tash is busy today.”

  I set off up the hill and found myself propelled towards Hartswell Hall. Once there, I paused, peering up the long driveway, trying to see the house and wondering if I dared go up and have a look. Just being here made me feel closer to Theo, although I don’t know what I would have done if he’d suddenly appeared. That would have been most embarrassing. Without thinking, I allowed myself to walk a few steps up the driveway, then a few more, admiring the topiary designs that had been created in the privet hedges along the way. Someone had been at work, I noted, but there was still a long way to go, and beyond the topiary it was wild and overgrown.

  As I rounded the next corner, Hartswell Hall was there before me, majestic and mysterious, looking now almost completely renovated and restored. I was amazed. How had they managed to achieve so much in such a short space of time? And where were the workmen and the scaffolding? Surely it should have taken months to get to this state of repair, yet Violet said her family was in the process of moving in.

  I stood open mouthed, taking in the detail. The stonework had been thoroughly cleaned, uncovering the original Cotswold honey colour lost beneath years of grime, and the bas-relief ornamentation had been meticulously restored, revealing leaves, fruit, stags and open-mouthed gargoyles. New wooden window panes were freshly painted in cream, highlighting the small leaded panes of glass that twinkled in the sunshine, and the huge oak front door had been sanded down to reveal the natural wood in all its splendour, providing an impressive entrance.

  My feet crunched on the freshly laid gravel approach and I stopped, aware that I had come too far and could be seen from any of the windows on this side of the house. Too late, I turned to leave and found my way blocked by a ferocious looking man, with a large hooked nose, glaring black eyes and wild dark hair. I simply hadn’t heard him walk up behind me.

  “Can I help you?” he asked in a low, guttural East European accent.

  “Er, no,” I stuttered. “I was, er, just having a look. Sorry, I’ll, er…”

  “Get away from here. Hartswell Hall’s not open yet.” He towered over me menacingly and I took a step backwards. “Strangers are not welcome.”

  I looked up at his face, momentarily transfixed by his black flashing eyes and his sheer presence.

  “Aquila, the car, please!” A woman’s voice called out commandingly, from the front courtyard, and I turned to see a beautiful blond woman, standing by a long, sleek, black car.

  I stared open mouthed. She hadn’t been there last time I looked. How did she get from the house to the car without me hearing her? I didn’t think the car had been there, either. But there again, maybe I hadn’t noticed it.

  “Yes, madam,” said the tall, dark man, slowly and almost sarcastically. Reluctantly he walked towards the car, but before he reached it, he turned and glared at me once again with slitted, glittering eyes. The next second, he was at the car and opening the rear passenger door for the blond woman. She was about to get in, when she obviously thought better of it and turned towards me, addressing me, in a softly spoken, cultured voice.

  “Hello, you must be Emily.”

  I was totally taken aback.

  “Er, yes,” I stuttered, ‘How did you…?”

  “Violet and Theo have told me all about you,” she said, with a smile. “It was only a matter of time before you showed up. But I’m forgetting myself. I’m Mrs de Lucis.” She held out her hand to me and smiled graciously.

  I walked towards her, feeling rather a fool. I really shouldn’t have come. This was totally embarrassing. It was only as I took her hand that I realised just how beautiful she was. Tall, slender and small boned, she was dressed in a 1950s style powder-blue suit, with a tight fitting pencil skirt and short tailored jacket with three quarter length sleeves. Her blond hair was swept up and back, revealing perfect bone structure and the same ivory white skin as Theo and Violet. Large sunglasses concealed her eyes, which I guessed to be the same piercing blue, giving prominence to her glossy pink lips and perfect white teeth. Her hands were long and tapered, with beautifully manicured nails, and her skin felt cool and smooth to my touch. She smiled broadly as we shook hands and I felt instantly relaxed and at ease.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said. “I’m afraid I’m late for an appointment, and Theo’s not around at the moment, so if you don’t mind….”

  “No, no, of course,” I smiled back at her, won over by her friendliness and calm manner. “I was just looking….” I trailed off, unsure why I was there.

  “Goodbye,” she said, smiling as she got into the rear passenger compartment. Her chauffeur closed the door with a soft, low click and walked round to the driver’s door. I watched as he got in, started the engine and reversed the car. The car shot forward suddenly, forcing me to jump to one side, and I briefly saw the man’s face again as he drove passed me. His face was contorted with rage and he gave me a look of pure malevolence, which chilled me to the bone. Then the car was gone, disappearing down the driveway and out on to the High Street.

  I looked back towards the hall, feeling more confused than ever, and glanced up towards the first storey windows. They glinted and winked at me, reflecting the light. And that was when I saw him. I most definitely saw Theo looking out of the window, watching me. Too late, he drew back, but I knew he’d seen me looking up at him. I stared up for a few seconds more, my heart beating wildly, but the window remained empty. Feeling hot and embarrassed, and wishing more than ever I’d never walked up the driveway, I turned and ran. I ran as fast as I could, and didn’t stop until I got back home. Then I closed the door behind me, breathing heavily, only realising then how much my hands were shaking.

  5. Mist Shroud

  That night, just before midnight, a thick, swirling mist settled over Hartswell-on-the- Hill. The temperature dropped suddenly, the air became damp and the mist crept along, shrouding the village in an oppressive white mantle that deadened all sound, creating a cold, eerie silence in which it was impossible to see or hear anything.

  A mist in itself was not an unusual occurrence, as the fields surrounding the village were often prone to foggy patches, due to their low-lying marshy terrain. But this particular mist
left the fields untouched, their tufty hillocks and sleeping cottonwool sheep clearly visible in the bright light of the nearly new moon. Instead, it affected only the higher ground, and more specifically, the village, where it grew ever thicker.

  Most villagers slumbered in their beds, oblivious to the snaking, silent fingers of fog that stretched into every nook and cranny, and only a handful of people experienced the strange phenomenon.

  Burt Bennison, driving back from a late night Legion meeting, spoke of one minute driving along a well-lit road with perfect visibility and the next being faced with a solid bank of fog, as impenetrable as a brick wall, just as he reached the outer boundaries of the village. Unable to see more than a few inches, he had no choice but to leave his car by the gated entrance to a field and walk the last few hundred yards to his house.

  Mrs Beaton, taking her dog, Benjie, for a late night walk, more to aid her insomnia than for the dog’s benefit, saw the mist starting to creep in. She hurried home, anxious to escape the damp and cold before it affected her bronchitis. Late night revellers, Larry Swanson and Mick Jones, stepped out of The White Hart after a late night lock-in, barely able to stand, much the worse for wear after six pints of Black Sheep. The mist curled around them, sweeping and caressing them, as they staggered on their way. Somehow it seemed to propel them homewards, and each arrived home with no sense of having seen anything out of the ordinary, falling into a deep, dreamless sleep and waking the next day, with only dim memories of the night before.

  Only Father James, enjoying a few moments of silent contemplation in the old village church, saw the mist with any real sense of alarm. Rising to his feet after his late night prayers, he saw the first tendrils of mist curling through a small side window that had mistakenly been left open. For a few seconds he watched, transfixed by the sinewy beauty of the swirling fronds, dancing through the open space like silent wraiths. Then coming to his senses, he hurled himself upon the window, closing it tight in one quick movement. Clutching his crucifix, he watched the mist grow ever heavier, pressing itself against the shut window, but unable to enter.

  Later, he was to ask himself why he had been so frightened, after all it was just a heavy mist, easily explained by atmospheric conditions. But at the time, instinct took over and all he knew was a deep sense of unease, a foreboding that all was not well and a feeling that he had to protect himself and his church from this strange, unnatural, creeping entity.