A Witch Alone (The Winter Witch Trilogy #3) (9 page)

‘And he saved Emmaline’s life, don’t forget.’ Maya came up at Abe’s side, with Emmaline behind her. ‘He was a good man, Bran Fisher. Whatever he thought of us, I admired him and I owe him a great deal.’

‘Well, I’m glad you’re here.’

I took Emmaline’s arm and we walked together into the church, Maya, Abe, Simon and Sienna bringing up the rear. Dad was still chatting to his friends in the porch and I touched his arm as I passed, telling him that I’d be sitting with Emmaline. He nodded.

Inside, the church was very cool and I couldn’t suppress a shiver as we moved down the aisle, looking for a free place to sit.

‘Cold?’ Abe asked me, as Maya led the way into an empty pew.

‘I’m fine,’ I said and ruined it by shivering again as I sat down between Abe and Emmaline. Abe pulled off his suit jacket and slung it round my shoulders. ‘I’m
fine
,’ I said more crossly. There was something unbearably intimate about the gesture, with the jacket still warm from his body and faintly scented with his aftershave.

‘Suit yourself,’ Abe said casually. ‘Keep it on, take it off. Take everything off if you like, I don’t care.’

‘Shh,’ Maya said severely and I saw the minister had entered and was making his way to the pulpit. It seemed easier to subside and accept the damn jacket.

‘Friends and parishioners,’ he began. ‘Let me welcome you here today, to celebrate the life of our friend Bran Fisher, well-known to us all in the town of Winter.’

The service wasn’t long. Elaine spoke briefly about Bran’s life. His naval service in the Second World War, where he sustained his war-wound. His time on the fishing boats in the Fifties and Sixties. His semi-retirement as lighthouse keeper on Castle Spit; and then, as the light went automatic, his true retirement, to eke out his life on his war pension, in the cottage leased to him for life by the lighthouse trust.

Then we sang ‘For Those in Peril on the Sea’ and then the minister got up, I assumed to close the service. But no.

‘And now, for the final reading before we make our way to the graveside, I would like to invite Bran’s old friend, Reginald Markham, to read part of psalm one hundred and seven, sometimes known as the Sailor’s Psalm.’

An old, old man got up from the front of the church and made his way, very slowly, up the steps of the pulpit. Then he raised his head and began to speak, his old cracked voice reaching to the back of the silent church.

‘They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in great waters;

‘These see the works of the Lord and His wonders in the deep.

‘For He commandeth and raiseth the stormy wind, which lifteth up the waves thereof.

‘They mount up to the Heaven, they go down again to the depths: their soul is melted because of trouble.

‘They reel to and fro, and stagger like a drunken man, and are at their wit’s end.

‘Then they cry unto the Lord in their trouble and He bringeth them out of their distresses.

‘He maketh the storm a calm, so that the waves thereof are still.

‘Then are they glad because they be quiet; so He bringeth them unto their desired haven.’

He stopped, and bowed his head for a moment, rubbing his old eyes beneath their glasses. ‘My friends, we can be glad that Bran Fisher has reached his haven.’

And suddenly I was crying. I wasn’t the only one, but I felt the most hypocritical. I’d hated Bran. I’d hated him and ranged myself against him in a fight for Seth’s love. And we’d both lost, only Bran had lost his life too. He’d died without ever saying goodbye to his grandson. The last words between them were full of bitterness and hate, because of me.

I found I was sobbing and I stood, blind with tears, as the pallbearers moved to take their places at the corners of the coffin.

Abe put his arm around me and for a minute I shook my head, blindly resisting his comfort, trying to pull away, but he hugged me close and it felt so good to have a shoulder beneath my cheek.

Then, through the swimming tears, I saw the pallbearers heave the coffin to their shoulders and I stood up straighter, Abe’s arm still comfortingly around me, and faced the aisle to pay Bran the respect due to him on his final journey.

The coffin moved slowly, even more slowly than was customary. As I swiped away my tears, I saw that one of the bearers was moving awkwardly, his leg dragging stiffly as he walked, and the others were matching their pace to his painful limp.

But it wasn’t until they drew level that I saw his face.

It was Seth.

He turned and, as our eyes met, his blazed into fury. I suddenly saw the scene as it would look through his eyes – me wrapped in Abe’s jacket, leaning into his casual embrace, Abe’s arm protectively around me. As if …

‘Seth …’ I managed, though my throat was raw with tears. I pushed Abe’s arm away and stretched a hand out past Emmaline and Sienna. ‘Seth!’

For a minute his face burned with some emotion so strong it was impossible to read; the white face, blazing eyes – they could have meant anything from hate, to a kind of bitter, searing love.

Then he ripped his gaze away from mine and continued his painful progress up the aisle of the church, out to where the open grave was waiting.

I should have been watching the minister, or the coffin, or Elaine as she threw the first handful of earth into the grave. But I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Seth.

He stood on the opposite side of the grave from me, just feet away, and the tears streamed down his face. There was no other sign that he was crying; he made no sound and his expression hardly changed from a kind of blank deadness. Just his eyes carried on spilling over and over, betraying his grief. Every part of me wanted to reach out across the void and comfort him. But of course I couldn’t. I couldn’t, because no one could soothe away a grief like that. And I couldn’t, because I no longer had the right.

At last the service was finally over, the sexton started filling in the grave and the crowd began to disperse. For a long moment I just stood, ignoring Emmaline and Maya’s discussion behind me about whether to go for fish and chips or cook. I was torn between the need to speak to Seth and the knowledge that it would be a very stupid thing to do. He began to walk away. My insides were screaming to run after him. But I held fast. Until, at the lychgate, he turned and, for a second, his eyes flickered towards mine.

‘Seth.’ It was like a charm was broken and I began to walk, and then to run, towards him. ‘Seth, wait.’

He quickened his step but with his limp he couldn’t hope to outpace me and I caught up with him halfway down the path to the cliffs.

‘Seth!’

I put out a hand and he turned abruptly.

‘What?’

The hostility in his voice was like a slap in the face and I flinched. Where had this anger come from? Our parting had been brutal, but Seth was the one who’d broken it off.

Following him had been a huge mistake. I turned away. He made a small, bitter sound, like a snort of disgust, and I rounded on my heel.

‘What does that mean?’

He shrugged, his lip curling into an expression that needled at me even more. ‘I didn’t say anything. If you’ve got a guilty conscience …’

‘Guilty conscience? What the—’

‘It didn’t take you long, did it? From my bed to his.’

‘Shut up!’ I was suddenly furious. ‘How bloody dare you, Seth. You know nothing,
nothing
.’

‘Nothing? So, let me see, wearing his clothes …’ He flicked a contemptuous finger at Abe’s jacket, still slung around my shoulders. ‘Letting him fondle you in public, cuddling up to him at my grandfather’s
funeral
 …’ He was suddenly white with anger, a cold, still fury that made me flinch. ‘While I had to stand there and
watch
the two of you petting. All that was nothing, was it?’

‘He gave me a hug, you – you stupid, fatuous, nasty-minded
bastard
.’ I was choking with hot anger, almost unable to speak. But Seth – Seth was infuriatingly cold. He watched me for a minute, his face set into lines I hardly recognized. Then he seemed to shrug and began to limp away down the hill.

‘Stop it,’ I shouted, enraged beyond reason. ‘Stop right now, we are
not
done here, Seth.’ And then, as he carried on his slow, painful progress, I spat it again, putting all my power into the words this time. ‘
Stop!
’

He stopped, dead, his feet glued to the path. For a minute he seemed unable to believe it. I could see the tide of blood flooding the back of his neck as he put all his strength into ripping himself from the ground. Then he turned to face me and his expression made me quail. There was something close to hate in his eyes.

‘Let. Me. Go.’ He spat the words very slowly, like the worst swearwords imaginable. ‘Or you’ll regret it, witch.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I covered my mouth in horror and then loosed the charm, so abruptly that he sprawled to the ground, stones cutting into his hands and knees. ‘Oh my God, I’m so sorry, please, let me …’ I put my hand to his shoulder, trying to help him up, but he threw my arm off so violently that my own hand caught me across the mouth, splitting my lip along the old scar where Caroline had slapped me, so long ago.

I cried out with pain and suddenly there was blood in my mouth and Seth had his hands to his face. His cold vicious calm was broken and he began to sob – great tearing sobs that seemed to be ripping him apart from inside.

‘Anna!’ he choked out, and then we were in each others arms, our limbs locked, my feet lifting from the ground, his cheekbone crushing so hard against mine that it hurt. There was blood on my lip, and in my mouth, and on his collar, staining the crisp whiteness of his shirt with scarlet blossoms across his shoulder and chest.

‘Anna,’ he sobbed again and I was crying too.

I don’t know what the others thought. But no one came to disturb us, though we stood for – I don’t know how long. They left by the other gate and Seth and I stood, clinging together like survivors of a shipwreck, while the church bell tolled out the strokes of Bran’s long life and Seth’s heart beat beneath my cheek. He felt real in my arms, thin and hard, but real – his skin hot beneath his shirt, his heart strong and quick.

At last the churchyard fell silent and I lifted my face from Seth’s shoulder to find the sun was setting in the west, red and bloody. Seth limped to the church wall and we sat, watching, as it sank into the dark clouds at the horizon, leaving the graveyard bereft and shadowy.

‘Seth, what have we done?’ I asked. I turned to look at his face in the twilight. It was thinner and there were shadows under his cheekbones that shouldn’t have been there and new scars I didn’t recognize: bruises and half-healed cuts.

‘I don’t know,’ he said at last. He ran his hand through his hair, his expression utterly defeated. ‘We can’t go back, there’s no way back, but I feel …’ He closed his eyes and my heart ached. ‘I feel broken.’

‘What happened to your leg?’ I asked in a low voice.

‘Stupid accident. I slipped, in a storm a few weeks back. Cracked my hip and thigh on a bulkhead. I thought it was just badly bruised and it seemed to be getting better but – well, these last few days it’s got worse.’

‘Will you see a doctor, while you’re here?’

‘I’ll have to. But I don’t know what they’ll say. Probably, rest up and don’t do anything strenuous. And that’s not really an option.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I’ve been paid to transport a boat to Helsinki by a set date and if I don’t show up on time I’ll lose half my wages – I’m already behind. I’ve put into a strange port without any kind of entry visa or paperwork and then left the boat. None of this was part of the plan. And the boat, it’s not my property, I have to go back and retrieve it, pay the fines, try to get back on schedule …’ He sighed and rubbed his face wearily. ‘I’m sorry I was such a shit to you. I’m just – tired and in pain. The flight didn’t help – eight hours crammed into an economy seat. I could hardly walk at the end.’

‘Seth …’ I couldn’t help myself – I reached for his hand, but he flinched away.

‘Don’t.’

I bit my lip and watched as he pushed himself upright, favouring his good leg.

‘Goodbye,’ he said with finality.

‘Don’t, wait …’ I begged, but he turned away and I blurted, without thinking, ‘Stop!’

I winced as the words left my mouth, wishing I could snatch back the reminder of what I’d done, but he stopped – of his own free will, this time. He stood with his back to me, not moving, his silhouette long and lean against the twilit sky.

‘Don’t go, not yet. Will you – can we walk down to the town together?’

‘You’re going the other way.’

I want to go with you
, I wanted to say. But I bit back the words and only shrugged, trying to pretend an indifference I didn’t feel.

‘I don’t mind. I need a walk.’

‘OK,’ he said, almost angrily. ‘But it’ll be bloody slow. I can’t go at more than a hobble with this leg. Don’t blame me if you’re late home.’

We walked in silence down the hill, side by side, my arm sometimes brushing his when trees and bushes narrowed the path, or when one of us stumbled over a tussock in the darkness. Once his knuckles grazed mine and I had to fight the temptation to catch up his hand, hold it in mine.

Then, as we came out on to the cliff top, he spoke, unexpectedly, his face turned back towards the churchyard.

‘My dad’s buried there too, over by the far wall. His funeral – it wasn’t like this. It was winter, lashing rain. I remember being glad because the rain ran down my face and none of my mates could see I was crying.’

A lump rose in my throat and I couldn’t speak.

‘Dad … Grandad …’ he said. I wasn’t sure if he was talking to me now, or himself. ‘Poor Mum. She’s got no one left to lose now – except me.’

‘Seth, don’t.’ I couldn’t help myself – I took his hand and he stopped, his face pale in the gloaming. ‘Don’t talk like that.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like …’ But I couldn’t finish. Like he was next, was what I meant. But I couldn’t say it. My mouth tasted of blood and the salt of tears on my lips.

His fingers closed around mine and for a moment we just stood. Seth closed his eyes and I saw the salt-streaked paths where the tears had dried on his cheekbones. Then he turned, his hand still in mine, and slowly we walked the last few hundred metres to the quay, where the boats bobbed and the rigging sang a strange metallic song.