The Moon Spun Round (18 page)

‘Well, I can tell you all about me. What do you want to know?’

At that moment, Denis arrives with a plate of sandwiches so Naomi drains her glass and turns her attention to the food.

‘God, I’m starving. Sure you wouldn’t like one of these?’

‘No thanks, but I’ll have another drink. Same again?’ Sally gathers up their glasses. She’s aware of the lads still propping up the other end of the bar and watching as she carries the drinks back to the table. She angles her chair so they can’t see her face.

‘So, you lived with your grandmother. What happened with your parents? If you don’t mind talking about it, that is.’

‘No, I don’t mind.’ Naomi takes a deep breath. ‘My mother quit the scene when I was very young.’

‘What, you mean she died?’

‘No, she just up and left. Not her sort of gig, apparently. I can barely remember her. At first my father kept me with him. He was Simon Walker, you might have heard of him. Or Vagabond, that was his band.’

‘Oh yes, the folk rock group. I saw them live once, at Glastonbury. Is he still playing?’

‘No. He died four years ago. He had…well, it was complicated. He died of pneumonia.’ Naomi’s words are sharp and the pain shows in her face.

‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ Sally reaches out and lays a hand over Naomi’s.

‘I play all his albums constantly. He was really good, you know.’

‘So what was it like growing up with a famous father?’

‘I had the most amazing childhood. He had one of those motor caravans, and we would travel around to concerts and festivals. I loved the festivals best. It was like a party that went on all summer long. There’d be hordes of other kids and we’d all run together in a pack. I lived on hot dogs and music. I would stay up late each night to watch the acts on stage, then sleep through to the afternoon. In the winter, it was theatres. The other band members were like my uncles, and
I went on the road with them in the band bus. Dad performed solo as well. He often toured the folk clubs doing one-night stands. Of course it was supposed to stop when I had to start school. That’s when I went to live with Manny. But he still took me away during the school holidays, and sometimes at weekends if it wasn’t too far. Or sometimes we’d just bunk off anyway.’

‘Didn’t your education suffer?’

‘Well, of course it did. What the hell. I wasn’t interested in all that stuff, and anyway I was going to be a musician. Besides, I hated school. I had nothing in common with those kids. They were like a different species. Manny said I had to at least put in an occasional appearance—it was the law. But the really important things I learned from her. She was my first and my wisest teacher.’

‘And what did she teach you?’

‘The Craft.’

‘What, witchcraft?’

‘Runs in the family. At least four generations, probably more. She was an awesome woman. I still miss her so much.’

‘Wow, you certainly did have an amazing childhood.’

Naomi nods her head. ‘I suppose in some ways Simon was a lousy father. He was like a big kid himself. For the first years of my life, he let me run wild. It was Manny who sorted me out, taught me the value of self-discipline. But imagine what it was like, night after night, watching my father sing and play in front of an audience. In the clubs there would be only perhaps a hundred or so, and there would be other singers and musicians. But Simon Walker was always the star. But at the festivals there could be, what, twenty thousand people, all singing and shouting. And he’d be there, in the centre of the high stage, with all the spotlights on him. And he was my father. I still get a buzz thinking about it. Of course, there was always a string of girls hanging around trying to hit on him. But I was his best girl. He always tried to keep me with him when he could.’

‘And that’s why you wanted to be a musician?’

‘I suppose so. And it was the music, too. I’d been saturated with it since I was born. Sort of took it for granted that I would play. I started to learn guitar as soon as I could hold one, and apparently I was remarkably good for my age. Then I had the accident.’

‘What happened?’

‘I don’t know. It’s a long time ago. I can barely remember now. I was only eight at the time. I suppose I should be able to remember but somehow…’ She shakes her head.

‘I’m sorry,’ Sally speaks softly. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you. I shouldn’t have asked.’

‘That’s OK. As I say, it was a long time ago.’ Naomi looks down at her hand. Until that moment, Sally had forgotten all about the disfigurement. Naomi is never obviously self-conscious about it, although that hand is usually out of sight.

‘And you’re not married or anything? No children?’

‘No, I’m not married, no significant other. Children? Never really thought about it much. I don’t want the responsibility of what you can do to them. I mean, you can really screw them up, can’t you? Perhaps it’s safer not to start. Anyway,’ Naomi puts down her glass and picks up her last sandwich, ‘what about you? What were your parents like?’

‘Nothing like yours, I’m afraid. Middle-aged, middle class, divorced. Dad’s an accountant, works for local government. Very proud of being in the same job since he left school, only of course he’s moved up the promotion ladder a few times. There are two of us: my sister, Morgain, is older than me. My mother was deeply into Arthurian legends at the time. When I was born she’d been reading about the life of Sarah Bernhardt, fortunately, or God knows what I would have been called. It was never a happy marriage and I can understand why it finally broke down. My mother lived on her nerves, which was her excuse for not dealing with reality. She was a romantic, lived in a dream world, always looking for a happy ending. Unfortunately for her, our father wasn’t Sir Lancelot. He’s a hard-edged realist, and I can understand why he found living with her impossible. I suppose in the end he’d had enough and he left us for someone more down-to-earth.’

‘And where are they now?’

‘Dad’s still living in Chelmsford with a drab-looking legal secretary called Mavis. They seem very happy. My mother died a few years ago. Breast cancer. She pretended it wasn’t happening. When she finally admitted to the doctor that she had a problem, it was too late.’

‘So we’re both orphans of the storm. And we both happened to fetch up in Hallowfield.’ Naomi finishes her beer. ‘Right then, let’s go walk in the moonlight.’

As they pass the lads at the bar, Sally can hear one of them mutter, ‘Have a pleasant evening, girls. Not too late to bed.’

C
OLD AIR STRIKES THEIR FACES
as Naomi strides into the road, looking up at the night sky. ‘No matter how many times I see it, I’m always amazed by it.’

‘I’m with you there,’ says Sally. ‘Those two nights when I got caught up with the moon—the first time I was overwhelmed by it, and the second time I seemed to lose all rational control. I’m beginning to think I’m going off the rails. Abbie said you know about these things.’

‘Well, as I see it, the moon is a gateway to the Goddess. It’s a powerful force and I’ve learned how to work with the moon, how to internalize that power and use it to create change. Of course She’s different for each individual, but it does seem that some part of you, Sally, responds to Her energies too.’

‘What energies? I don’t understand.’

‘Have you heard of Agrippa?’

‘Some sort of philosopher, wasn’t he?’

‘That’s right. Lived in the 1500s. He was also a magician. Now he said the moon is joined to the sun and the other planets and stars, and brings them to the world below. Being the last receiver, She gathers all those influences and pours them down upon the earth. I’m not quite sure how he put it, but that’s more or less what he meant. Anyway, the moon’s like a big mirror taking all the light from space and beaming it down on here, only instead of light it’s magnetic forces. But that’s more of an astrological explanation.’

‘Fran’s into astrology, isn’t she?’

‘Yes, and she can probably explain the cosmic effects much better than I can. What I know is that for me the moon’s energy shifts through different moods. The Goddess has many faces.’

They look up at a sky alive with stars. The moon, still rising, is visible above the rooftops, smaller now and only slightly less than a perfect circle.

‘My father used to show me the constellations,’ says Sally. ‘He knew all their names, how far away everything is and how many light years it would take to reach anything worthwhile.’ She pushes her hands into her pockets and heads towards Wicker Lane. ‘He’d say that the moon is just a dead planet and all that other stuff is just romantic nonsense.’

‘And he may well be right. Really it’s more about a personal, spiritual process. For me, that’s where the real power lies.’

They pass a row of old terraced houses, originally built to accommodate farm workers, their front doors opening right onto the pavement. They can hear sounds from televisions as they pass the windows. Sally can picture families inside, supper finished, kids arguing over the washing up, Mum settling down to watch
Coronation Street
. Naomi pauses, then runs to catch up with her. Her face is glowing, from either the cold air or the beer. She looks relaxed now, swinging her arms, deliberately puffing her breath to make clouds in the air. Like a child, she seems incapable of walking straight, turns everything into a game.

‘This witchcraft thing, you say your grandmother taught you?’

‘That’s right. Although not until I was an adult, of course—witches don’t initiate children. But there was lots of stuff she taught me when I was little. Attitudes, I suppose; how to look at the world. She taught me to see the Goddess in all living things.’

‘You said the Goddess has many faces. How do you know which one you’re talking to?’

‘There’s only one, but she goes under lots of names: Sophia, Isis, Kali, Demeter—depends how you want to approach her. Most Wiccans, especially the women, identify with the Triple Goddess of the Moon.’

‘What’s that?’

‘The new moon is Artemis the huntress, the full moon is Astarte the Mother, and the old moon is Hecate the crone. They follow the stages of women’s lives—the maiden, the creator/nurturer, and then the wise woman. Though we can also be any or all of them at any time so they each help us to know ourselves.’

‘Because the moon is constantly changing, like we are?’

‘That’s right. Life, people—it’s all about change and cycles. Everything works in a circle.’ Naomi spreads out her arms and twirls herself round in the middle of the road. ‘Galaxies spin in space. The Earth itself circles the sun, which in turn changes the seasons.’ She has to jump back onto the pavement as a car whips past. ‘Our lives are ruled by the yearly tides of the Earth, too, although we’re less aware of it now. The harvest is sown and grown and reaped and stored. We change with the seasons. If you tune into the phases of the Earth,
you can work in harmony with them, direct your energies out on the sowing and growing tides, then gather in the results of what you’ve achieved. The same with the moon.’

‘You mean, work with the moon cycles, like waxing and waning?’ asks Sally. ‘So, if you want to make something happen, you start it on a new moon so that it will grow. And you can time things to reach their peak at the full moon. Is that right?’

‘Absolutely.’ Naomi is smiling, pleased and a little surprised. ‘Abbie was right—you do know all this.’

‘Do I?’

‘Of course you do. You just don’t know that you know.’

‘This is so weird.’ Sally’s hand closes over the opal stone in her pocket. ‘It’s like when I first came to the cottage and I knew where everything was.’ They are nearing the end of the houses. The street lamps are fewer and the night feels closer around them. ‘So what happens when the moon is waning?’

‘A good time to slow down, pull your energies back and regenerate yourself. It’s also a time to get rid of anything you don’t want, bring things to an end.’

‘And what about when there’s no moon?’

‘Ah, the Dark Phase. Some say that’s a time to rest. Personally, I think that’s when the most important work is done. That’s when you turn your light inwards, see what’s inside.’

‘I see. So, the reason I woke up when the moon was full was because the energy was, like, full-on and I must have felt it.’

‘Sounds like it.’

‘So why was I dancing?’

‘I can’t answer that—I don’t know what’s going on inside your head—but I can tell you that witches use dance. It’s an important part of the ritual work, one of the ways of making magic, although it’s always been associated in some form with the worship of the Goddess. In fact, lots of the older religions had temple dancers. Dancing is like a primitive instinct, a response to the rhythms of your body and through that to the Earth and the cosmos. It’s a way of opening the magical floodgates, letting the dance free you and allowing the power to wash over you.’

‘Wow. And do you have to take your clothes off?’

‘What? In this weather? You must be joking. But on warmer nights it feels right to be sky clad, to face the Goddess as you were made, with the honesty of a newborn child. Mind you, a good bonfire helps.’

They turn into Sally’s lane. Naomi brings her torch from her pocket and they follow the circle of light to the gate. A small, grey shadow emerges from the
front path and Cat comes running up to meet them, winding herself between their feet.

‘Hello there.’ Sally bends down to stroke her. ‘Why are you out here in the cold? Do you want to go inside?’ But Cat runs off around the side of the cottage, to reappear a moment later as if waiting for them to catch up. ‘What’s got into her?’

‘She usually likes to go around to the spring with anyone who visits. But she does seem a bit agitated.’

All three walk around to the rear of the cottage, Cat leading the way and turning every few yards as if to make sure they’re still following. The garden is light enough, but not as bright as it was when the moon was directly overhead. They move in procession, casting long shadows across the grass which blend with the darkness as they enter the trees. Naomi switches off the torch when they reach the stream. The path is familiar to both of them, so they manage to find their way safely, even on the slippery ground. Cat has no problem. She struts on ahead, tail raised to indicate the way. Naomi is also in her element; she, too, belongs to the night.