The Magic Cottage (23 page)

‘And you are obviously Midge,’ he said.

His gaze was a bit too penetrating for my liking, oddly bringing to mind Ogborn the lawyer’s barely disguised interest in her all those weeks ago. I’d never looked kindly on dirty old men.

‘I don’t know how we can ever thank you enough,’ she replied, and I could tell the tension was only slowly draining from her. Despite the room’s dimness, I could also see that she was very tired.

‘Thanks are neither sought nor required. I’ve heard much about you and you’ll forgive me if I say I’m glad that you finally had cause, unfortunate though the circumstances were, to visit our Temple.’

Gillie and Sandy had gone to the windows and were drawing back the curtains. The light broadened and brought some cheer back into the room.

‘Hub has invited us on several occasions,’ said Midge, ‘but with so much work in the cottage . . .’ She flapped her hands at our standing excuse.

‘Ah yes, Gramarye.’ The name pleased him, his smile becoming warmer.

‘You know our place?’ I asked.

He didn’t even look my way. ‘It’s been described to me. Tell me, young lady, are you very happy there?’

If Midge was surprised by the question, she didn’t show it. ‘Yes, very. We both are. It’s a wonderful home.’

‘In what sense is it wonderful?’

Now she was taken aback. ‘It . . . it’s so peaceful, so serene. And yet full of life. Lots of animals are attracted to it, and there’s so much . . .’ She floundered, unable to find the right words.

Mycroft found one for her. ‘Vitality.’ It wasn’t even a question.

‘Yes,’ Midge agreed eagerly. ‘Yes, that’s it exactly.’

Mycroft seemed satisfied. He dried his own hands, then pulled down his sleeves. ‘I would dearly love to speak to you again,’ he said finally.

Midge just nodded, then turned to me. ‘How are you feeling, Mike?’

‘Me? Good. But I’ll never play the piano again – ’ I broke off and groaned. I’d realized the consequences of my accident. ‘The recording session on Wednesday – there’s no way I’ll be able to play.’

‘Oh, Mike, I’d forgotten.’ Midge bit into her lower lip and knelt beside me, her arm hugging my waist to comfort. I was too angry at myself to be comforted, though.

‘I’m not sure I understand,’ said Mycroft. ‘Is there some kind of professional engagement you think you’ll have to miss?’

‘I’m a musician,’ I explained. ‘There was an important session set for later this week, but it looks as if I’m out of it.’ I stared at my bandaged hand and felt like banging it against the table. I didn’t, of course.

Mycroft sat facing me again and put his hand on my shoulder. ‘Go home and stay there for the next day or so. Don’t go out anywhere, just stay inside.’ He leaned forward confidentially and said, ‘Your hand will be completely healed by Wednesday.’

Grateful though I was, I had to restrain myself from shouting at him. ‘Right,’ I said evenly. ‘I’ll go home. I’ll stay indoors. Thanks a lot.’ I stood. ‘We’d better be on our way, Midge.’ My eyes told her: No more talk, no more thank-yous; let’s just get out of here.

She understood perfectly.

But it was Mycroft who left the room before us. ‘I’ll say goodbye to you now,’ he said, his voice revealing no resentment of my sudden brusque manner. ‘Please don’t forget my invitation.’

‘I won’t,’ replied Midge – he’d been speaking to her, not me. She held out a hand as if to shake his, but he appeared not to notice; he turned briskly and walked from the room. I say ‘appeared’ not to, because I’m sure his eyes flickered downwards at Midge’s hand for a second and he involuntarily drew backwards, the slight movement transformed into a complete turn as if his mind were already on other matters. I could have been wrong, but in the light of later events I think not.

‘You’ve still gotta problem, Mike.’ Kinsella was grinning at me, fingers slid into the pockets of his tight Wranglers.

We looked quizzically at him.

‘A dried-out radiator,’ he reminded us.

I nearly hit my forehead with my bad hand.

He chuckled. ‘S’okay, I’ll organize a can of water and drive you back to your wheels. Let’s hope the engine’s not messed up.’

‘Yeah, let’s hope.’

We left the house and I was glad to be outside, happy to feel the sun on my face again. Weird, but the only soreness I now felt was, in fact, on my face and neck where droplets of scalding water had managed to hit me. Even so, that pain was mild compared to what I’d experienced earlier. Parts of my chest may have felt a bit tender, but the coarse material of my shirt had prevented any real damage. My bandaged lower arm and hand was still tingling, but the feeling wasn’t unpleasant.

‘Incredible stuff,’ I remarked to Kinsella as the three of us walked towards the red Escort.

‘Huh?’ he said, squinting against the sun.

‘That green liquid you used on my arm.’

‘Oh, that was nothing special. A cleanser, that’s all, laced with antiseptic.’

‘But it stopped the pain.’

‘Mycroft stopped the pain, my friend.’

‘That isn’t possible.’

‘Yup, we both know it.’

‘Then why—?’

He flashed those sickeningly perfect teeth. ‘Mycroft’s a wonderful man.’

He seemed to think that was explanation enough.

We reached the car and Kinsella opened the rear door for us. Midge climbed in first and I followed, careful not to bump my hand against anything. He took the driver’s seat and we waited for someone to arrive with the can of water.

Midge leaned forward in her seat. ‘Are you feeling better yourself, Hub?’ she asked.

He turned to her in surprise. ‘How d’you mean?’

‘You left rather hurriedly the other evening. We thought you’d been taken ill.’

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and pointed towards one corner of the house. ‘Here comes Neil with that water.’ He cleared his throat, then said, ‘I guess I did feel unwell that time. Sorry, it was kinda rude of me to rush away like that. Something I had for lunch didn’t agree with me, y’know?’

The passenger door opened and Neil Joby got in, placing the plastic water-can down by his feet.

‘Okay, wagons roll,’ said Kinsella, switching on the engine. ‘You folk’ll be home in no time.’

We drove around the house and both Midge and I turned as we gathered speed on the long driveway. The grey house – the Synergist Temple – was much larger than we had imagined when we had first caught sight of it from the forest edge.

To me, at least, it now seemed far more ominous. Yet Midge was looking back with a trace of a smile tilting her lips.

Healed

My second thought when I woke next day was of my hand: would it be a huge swollen mess pushing out at the bandages?

The previous night we’d decided we would go over to the hospital in Bunbury first thing in the morning and get the burns treated by experts, despite Mycroft’s crazy assurance that it wouldn’t be necessary. I’d fully expected to spend the night in constant pain but, in fact, I’d slept like a baby, dreaming of Gramarye itself and all kinds of pleasant things – growing flowers, animal friends, sunshine and brilliant skies. I hadn’t felt even a twinge.

My inclination had been to ring Bob the moment we got back to the cottage and break the bad news, but Midge had talked me out of it. Wait and see, she’d said. Wait and see.

Midge had gentled me through the rest of the evening, had even kissed each exposed and sore-looking finger to make them better; I’d revelled in the attention, although dreading the time when the powerful pain-killer that had obviously been mixed into that green stuff (I didn’t give any credence to Kinsella’s assertion that it was only an antiseptic) would begin to wear off. Mercifully, it hadn’t.

Midge was still asleep next to me, looking ten years old, which made my first thoughts well-nigh criminal; I soon remembered my prime concern. My left arm was tucked beneath the sheet and I was almost afraid to peep. There was a slight discomfort down there – the bandages felt tight – but no throbbing pain. Maybe sleep was still drugging my brain; I clenched my teeth, waiting for the hurt to hit. It didn’t, and I summoned up the courage to look.

Lifting the sheet, I slowly brought my injured hand up to my face. If anything, the bandages had loosened during the night, the discomfort due to the sticky tape holding them in place rather than pressure from swollen flesh. The exposed fingers were only a little reddish. I flexed them and they were hardly stiff. I waggled my wrist and my hand moved loosely, the bandages the only restraint. I waved my arm in the air and it was fantastic and it was mobile and it was painless and it was unbelievable!

‘Midge!’

She woke with a start, jumping up and crouching in the bed, eyes wide with alarm.

‘Midge! My arm! It doesn’t hurt at all!’

She looked from my face to my arm and she squealed. Her hands came together and she only just stopped from clutching my raised hand.

‘Mike, are you sure?’

‘Am I sure? Jesus, Midge, I should know if it hurts or not. Look, I can even wave the fingers.’ I waved the fingers.

‘I knew, Mike, I just knew! I was sure you’d be all right.’

‘So you believed in that Mycroft stuff?’

‘No, I felt sure when we got back here. I can’t explain . . .’

She didn’t even try. She hugged me, and we both toppled back against the pillows.

‘Hey, hey, take it easy!’ I cried, holding the bandaged hand aloft. ‘Let’s not ruin a good thing with too much excitement.’

She smothered my face in kisses. ‘I knew, I knew,’ she told me again.

I pulled her away by dragging at the back of her nightshirt with my good hand.

‘Why don’t we check it out properly before we get carried away, huh? You know, what’s happening here isn’t really possible. You saw for yourself that jet of scalding water hit me.’

‘You’re right,’ she said mock-severely. ‘This isn’t happening, the Magic didn’t work at all.’

She was joking, she hadn’t meant that last remark. At least, the conscious part of her hadn’t.

I held up my arm between us. ‘Okay, Pixie, I want you to take off the bandages ever so slowly, and if it starts to hurt I’ll let you know with a scream. Maybe then we’ll come back to the real world.’

She carefully peeled off the tape and began unwinding the dressing, the gauze beneath coming free as she progressed. It took less than fifteen seconds for my lower arm and hand to be completely exposed.

‘Sheeeee . . .’ It was no more than an escaping breath from me.

The flesh was tender-looking and blotchy-red, but there were no blisters, no stripped skin, no scald marks. It was the most beautiful arm in the world.

Motion Picture

I didn’t get back to Gramarye until late Thursday afternoon. The recording session had been fantastic – Collins had to be one of the most professional musician/singers in the business, and one of the easiest to get along with (so long as
you
were doing your job right) and he made Bob’s and my song sound a hundred times better than it really was. I’d stayed on through the day (Wednesday), invited to work on another couple of tracks for the album, and had loved every relaxed, jokey moment. I hadn’t realized how much I’d been missing the scene until then, and it was great to catch up on all the news with Bob and one or two of the other musos afterwards in the nearest bar.

I began by going steady with the booze, but I was on a high and easily led. Relieved, too, that my hand hadn’t let me down (I’d spent the previous two days with my guitars, working out the slight stiffness left in my fingers – which could have been due to the long lay-off anyway). The buzz I felt took over all sensibilities and I was soon knocking them back like a man out on parole.

Bob didn’t believe in the seriousness of my accident at all, insisting that I must have moved back faster than I’d thought, getting scalded a bit but not badly, and making my usual namby-pamby fuss. Sure, my hand and arm were more pinkish than normal, and there were a few nasty splodges on my face, but the damage could only have been superficial. I told him about the Synergists and Mycroft’s trick with the coloured liquid. Fucking crazy, was Bob’s comment.

He suggested I stay the night at his place and I had to admit the thought of driving all the way back to Hampshire, loaded as I was, didn’t appeal. I found a phone and rang Midge.