The Moon Spun Round (37 page)

Later, after the others have gone and while Claire curls up in an armchair, Sally goes up to run a bath, intending to soak the day away. She finds it on the stairs: the little mouse, abandoned and dead. It doesn’t appear to be very injured, barely a scratch. It probably died of fright.

T
HE LIGHTS ARE OUT
in the tearoom, but Sally might be in luck as the sign on the shop next door still reads
Open
. As Sally rushes in, Fran glances up from behind the counter where she is thumping and prodding at the computerized till.

‘Greetings, you’re my last customer of the day.’

‘Looks like I only just made it then.’

‘I could use some technical support—this thing refuses to co-operate. Can’t see why we don’t just use a tin box. I’m sure I can’t remember Ruth having any trouble with this thing.’

‘She probably had more patience with it.’ Sally grins. ‘Actually, I’m a bona fide customer. I need some eggs.’

‘Help yourself, but you’ll have to pay tomorrow. I think I’ve just told the machine to total up the day’s takings. Never mind.’

‘How’s it going? Have you settled in all right?’

‘As soon as I get the hang of doing twelve things at once, I’ll be fine. Drop the catch on the door would you, sweetie, and turn the sign round.’

Sally flips the hanging card over and glances out at the evening sky, dark already and heavy with the promise of snow. ‘It’s odd seeing you behind the counter—I keep expecting to see Ruth. I guess it must be really strange for you.’

‘I feel like any moment she could come through from the back room and ask me what the hell I think I’m doing.’

‘So what’s happening with the charity shop?’

‘I’ve left the WI in charge of it for now. Don’t know how long I’m going to be needed here. Early days yet, less than a week since the funeral.’

‘So how’s Jack doing?’

‘Not good. Looks like all the stuffing’s gone out of him. I think it’ll be a while before he can think about starting work again.’

‘Is he still staying with his daughter?’

‘Yes. Thankfully they’re a very tight family. The youngest, Shirley, she’s helping out here for the time being, and there’s Zoë, of course, the granddaughter, she’s full-time in the café. Good little worker, actually—not as gormless as she looks.’

‘Still, it’s a lot for you to take on.’

‘I must admit I’m enjoying it. Half the village comes in and out—I get all the latest gossip.’

‘I bet. I’ll take a dozen of these free-range.’ Sally looks around. The shop looks only slightly less organized than usual, and the shelves are well stocked, the counter clean and polished. A glance through to the tearoom shows crisp, white tablecloths with little vases of flowers set in the centre. Fran obviously has everything in hand, although she herself looks a little fraught, her hair escaping from its plastic combs and flying in all directions.

‘Has it been busy here?’

‘Certainly has, what with being shut for a few days. And there’s bound to be a certain amount of morbid curiosity. Right,’ slamming the till drawer shut, ‘teatime. Come through and sample the new chef’s lemon meringue pie.’

‘New chef?’

‘Ah, you might not have heard. Started yesterday. Claire.’

‘Claire?’

‘Only part-time. Few hours each morning. Cakes, pastries, that sort of thing. Zoë can manage the toasted sandwiches, but she can’t bake. Besides, as a cook, Ruth is a hard act to follow. Then I thought of Claire.’

‘But that’s brilliant. Just what she needs.’

‘Well, it’s a start. Here, you try this.’ Fran cuts them each a huge chunk of pie and carries it over to one of the tables. ‘And what about you? What’s it like being on your own again?’

‘Well, it was all a bit sudden. The house feels very quiet. Mmmm, this is to die for.’ Sally licks meringue crumbs from her mouth and brushes them from her coat. ‘But in some ways it’s good to have the place to myself again.’

‘You did get rather landed with our problems.’

‘Oh, don’t get me wrong, I was more than glad to have Claire. And Naomi for that matter. It was the right thing to do, and Claire was the perfect house
guest. But it was a temporary arrangement, we all knew that. Right after the funeral she started talking about finding somewhere more permanent to live, even though I made it clear that there was no hurry. Then, all of a sudden she was moving in with Naomi.’

‘Yes, it rather took me by surprise, I can tell you.’

‘I mean, I can see the practical side: Naomi has plenty of room and they have a lot in common, so they should be able to live together. And if anyone can keep Ayden at bay, Naomi can. But I was thinking about what you said, you know, how Naomi feels about Claire. Sounds like a good recipe for someone getting hurt. Surely Claire must realize how things are? Or if she doesn’t, shouldn’t one of us tell her?’

‘That was
my
first reaction. Then, when I thought about it, I wasn’t so sure. Sometimes things flow, as if they’re taking a pre-determined course, like water finding its own level. I’ve decided for once I’m not going to go charging in. Let’s just see what happens, eh?’

‘Well, if you think so. But Claire’s still very vulnerable.’

‘And you think Naomi isn’t?’

‘Well, then—’

‘I think we should leave them to work this out themselves. Wait and see.’

‘And what about Ayden? Is that what we’re doing with him, waiting to see?’

‘No, we’re waiting for the right time.’

‘If you could have seen him there outside the church, staring at her. At us. It was like he was goading us, daring us to say something. The police haven’t got a clue and he thinks he’s won.’

‘Good, then he might relax a bit, drop his guard.’

‘You don’t subscribe to this forgiveness stuff, then?’

‘No, I do
not
. That’s Edward’s department. I’ve seen too many battered women who’ve turned the other cheek. They end up with two black eyes instead of one.’

‘So why are we doing nothing, then?’

‘I told you. We
are
doing something. We’re waiting.’

‘Waiting for what?’

‘Saturday, of course.’

‘Why? What’s happening Saturday?’

‘Friday’s the new moon.’

‘Oh. I see.’ Sally is quiet for a moment. ‘Do you know what Naomi’s got in mind?’

‘Some sort of ritual, I should think.’

‘Look, I’ve been thinking about what she said, you know, about using magic
to attack him, take him to pieces. I’m not sure I feel comfortable with that.’

‘And nor should you.’ Fran peers at her over the rims of her glasses. ‘There are moral laws that govern the application of power. Sort of karmic code of ethics. Naomi’s a bit of a drama queen, you should have gathered that by now, but she knows better than to misuse magical energies. Sooner or later it would come back and bite her.’

‘So what are we going to do?’

‘Some attempt to invoke justice, probably. Put matters right. Restore balance, that’s the important thing.’

‘I see. That doesn’t sound so bad.’ Sally watches Fran take her empty plate over to the counter and grab a teapot.

‘I’m going to make some tea to wash that down. Join me?’

‘You sure I’m not holding you up?’

‘No, I always have one this time of the day.’ Then Fran laughs. ‘Would you listen to me? This is my first week here and it’s only Wednesday.’ She drops teabags into a pot and fills it from the urn. ‘Amazing how quickly you can fall into a routine.’

Sally waits for Fran to shut up shop and walks with her to the corner of Church Lane before returning to her car. The sky is invisible behind the yellow glare of street lamps. But, even without the clouds, there would be no moon tonight for the face of the Goddess is veiled by the shadow of the Earth. Sally stops for a moment and looks across at the village green with its ancient oak tree stretching naked branches up into the darkness. Her cheek is touched by a feather of ice, and then another. Before she reaches home the air will be thick with billows of downy white, turning slowly and gracefully, as if in no haste to end their long journey to the ground.

After dinner she takes her customary glass of wine through to the sitting room, expecting to find it in darkness. But she had forgotten to close the curtains earlier, and now finds there is a faint glow illuminating the walls and outlining the furniture. Going to the window, she’s surprised how quickly the white coverlet has spread itself over her garden and the fields beyond. The familiar is transformed, its harsh edges softened and all imperfections healed. Even on this darkest of dark nights, the sky mirrors the opalescent sheen of the snow. But here in the country the sky is never really black, not when there are street lamps in the village to illuminate low-hanging clouds and beyond the fields there’s a perpetual string of lights along the motorway. So she doesn’t light the
lamp and draw the curtains, but instead finds an armchair from where she can watch the snow fall. Cat is already comfortable in the chair opposite. Sally can hear her breathing with a soft, undignified snore.

Tonight there will be no moon.

What was it Naomi told her about the dark phases? A time to look inside yourself, sort yourself out. Perhaps a time to remember. She slips her hand into her pocket, finding the opal stone Abbie had given her. What is it that she can’t remember? Ask the Goddess, Naomi would say. But which one? Hecate it should be for this dark phase, but she sounds scary. Sally likes the sound of Isis, the Mother, Egyptian Goddess of moon and magic. Naomi seems to favour Isis: she has a statue of her with huge wings outspread, and holding a mirror. A mirror in which to see yourself? Maybe that’s what she’s supposed to symbolize.

Sally is back on that morning, the first morning. She can feel the pain of the telephone call all over again, cutting into her like shards of glass. The rocking chair and the tide of anger that overwhelmed her.

And then the cat. Purring, droning, so loudly it filled the room, filled her head until she couldn’t think. Then suddenly she had felt a calmness. A voice, singing…

Sally’s eyes open wide. She’s back in the sitting room, in the dim light cast by the snow outside. Cat is still asleep, still snoring.

‘It was you, wasn’t it? You killed Jonathan. Or was it me? Did you make me do it?’

Cat stirs and stretches.

‘But how did you know?’

Guilt. That’s all it is. All it ever was. Guilt because of the anger I didn’t want to own. I’ve suppressed it all. No, that’s not quite true. I’ve always remembered the anger. It was the
accident
I couldn’t remember. I was there. I saw it as it happened. Could I have made it happen? Is that why I blocked it out?

Yes, I know how I felt, but I never wanted it to end like that.

Or did she? He lied to her. Their whole life was a lie. He was never who he
pretended to be. The Jonathan she knew never existed, he was only in her head. No wonder she wanted him dead. ‘You knew that, didn’t you, Cat? You’ve always known everything.’

Cat wakes at the sound of her name. She yawns and stretches her limbs.