Winter Wood (49 page)

He would be gone, along with the rest of them. Or at least that was their plan. They would all be gone, and she wasn't even going to be there to watch the Stone and Orbis being put together, or to see this miracle happen.

She didn't truly think that it would happen, she realized. Not deep down in her heart. Even after all that she'd seen and heard and been through she still couldn't make herself believe in it. Or perhaps she didn't want to believe it. Perhaps she just wanted to believe that come tomorrow they would all still be there, Pegs and Little-Marten and Henty . . .

Little-Marten and Henty! She hadn't even seen them to say goodbye!

No, they
couldn't
be going. Not yet.

The sound of the phone made her jump so violently that she banged her elbow on the arm of the chair. Midge leaped up and scrabbled among all the papers on the dresser, looking for the receiver.

‘Hallo?'

‘Oh, hallo. I was wondering if I could speak to – hang on, is that you, Midge? It's Carol Reeve.'

‘Oh. Oh, hi, Mrs Reeve. Yes it's me.'

‘Midge, I've got your aunt here. She just wanted a word with you, if she could.' Carol's voice lowered.
‘She's um . . . well . . . quite tired. But very insistent. I'll hand you over.'

‘Thanks,' said Midge. She wound the horsehair into a loop as she waited, tucking the ends over and over.

‘Hallo? Is that you, dear?' Aunt Celandine's voice sounded shakier than Midge had remembered it. And weaker.

‘Yes. Hallo, Aunt Celandine. How are you?' Midge felt guilty that she hadn't been able to get over to Mount Pleasant for a while.

‘Now . . . now, then. Mrs Reeve tells me you found my jewellery casket. Is that right?'

‘Yes! It was here all the time – in a barn. And everything was still in it. Everything. And Aunt Celandine, I've given it back. Do you . . . do you know what I'm talking about? I went up to the woods and gave it back to them today. You understand what I mean? You remember?'

‘Yes, I do. I understand you perfectly, my dear. And I just wanted to know that you were safe. I was thinking about you, and wondering. I remember everything now, you see. Everything. It's all very clear, and that's a great . . . relief. Thank you. Keep the jewellery casket, Midge. I should like you to have it.'

‘Oh, but I was hoping to come across this weekend. I was going to bring it with me, and show it to you. And do you know what else I found? That wicker box thing that you sat on to have your photograph taken! You know – with the bridle? And guess what?
They
had the bridle, and they gave it to me! I've got it right here. I'll bring that across as well, shall I?'

‘Well, that would be lovely. Yes, it would be nice to see that again, if there's time.'

‘Oh, I've got time. It's just that I need to talk to Uncle Brian about getting a lift.'

‘Ah yes. Brian. I remember him as well. Lovely. Well, I must go. I just needed to know that you were safe, and that everything was . . . you know . . . done. Goodbye for now then, Midge.'

‘Oh. Goodbye, Aunt Celandine. Hope to see you this weekend, with a bit of luck.'

‘Yes. I'll see you again, dear, that's a promise. Bye-bye.'

Midge heard some vague muttering in the background and then Carol Reeve came on the line.

‘Midge? Everything OK? Hope you don't mind me calling, but . . . well. She wanted to talk to you.'

‘No, that's fine. Is she all right?'

‘Well . . . I think so. As well as can be expected. She certainly seems very peaceful in herself at any rate. So. Shall we see you this weekend then, perhaps?'

‘Hope so. Oh – I can hear my mum coming back. I'd better go. Bye, Mrs Reeve.'

‘Bye, love. Take care.'

Barry's car was pulling into the stableyard, and Midge still had the bridle tucked into the front of her fleece. She'd be able to think up some story about finding it, given a bit of time, but didn't want to have to deal with it right now. Better get rid of it, then. She ran upstairs to her room, dropped the horsehair loop into the little metal cup at her bedside, and then put the bridle on top of the wicker box, beneath the
picture of Aunt Celandine. That's where it would live from now on, she decided. And it would be perfect. Midge stood back and looked at it for a moment. Yes, perfect.

By the time she got back down to the kitchen her mum was just hurrying in through the door.

‘Sorry sorry sorry! That all took a lot longer than expected. Poor baby, you must be starving – but listen, we picked up pizza on the way home. Barry's just bringing it in now.'

‘Oh. Er . . . good.' Midge watched her mum running around the kitchen, grabbing plates and knives. She wondered how she was ever going to sit down and cope with something as normal as eating pizza after a day like today.

‘So, what have you been up to, darling?' Mum rummaged noisily in the drawer of the dresser and took out the pizza wheel.

‘Oh . . . just sort of messing about. I feel really tired, though. Shattered, actually.'

She got as far as pulling one of her socks off, but then her energy ran out. Midge perched on the edge of her bed, her hands in her lap, and stared blankly at the photo of Celandine. The red bridle sat on its wicker box, positioned directly beneath the picture that contained those same two objects, so that to Midge's vacant gaze it was like looking down through a hall of mirrors.

All was quiet and still, the only sound in the room the soft whirr of the laptop behind her. Midge allowed
herself to just float. No more thoughts, no more thinking. Just relaxing her vision and floating . . .

Gradually the photograph before her became a collection of blurred shapes and patterns, things without meaning, reflected areas of red and grey and sepia. Black and white.

Black and white . . .

The black-and-white shapes were merging into something recognizable. A face. Dark hair . . . pale face . . . deeply shadowed eyes looking at her. Not Celandine's face, but another one, down towards the bottom of the picture. Midge kept her gaze fixed and unfocused, unblinking. The face was that of another child, a ghost-girl, her head entering the picture just where it would be if she was sitting on the wicker box below.

They were a threesome now, three girls together in this silent room. Herself, Celandine – and . . .

. . . Una. The name just came into her head. Midge gazed down through the hall of mirrors and felt herself part of a repeating pattern. Midge . . . Celandine . . . Una. Midge . . . Celandine . . . Una.

We are all one.

The words of Pegs. We are all one.

Three girls, separated yet connected by one purpose. All connected. Sisters . . .

It was too weird, and Midge had to blink. She brought her eyes back into focus and stared hard at the photo. What was it that she could see in there? The black-and-white shapes didn't look anything like a face now, or even part of the picture. They were just
reflections, she realized – something mirrored in the glass.

The laptop. Midge turned round to look. It was the magpie, the picture that she used for her screensaver. Somehow those black-and-white patterns had become . . . something else.

Midge shook her head and pulled off her other sock. You could go mental with this stuff. The thought remained with her, though, as she padded into the bathroom to brush her teeth. Sisters . . .

She tried to avoid looking in the mirror.

IT WAS A
falling dream, but she was falling upwards. From the underside of the planet she dropped, the fields and the woods spiralling away from her, a revolving map that then became a revolving globe as she entered the deep blue of space. Then she was looking down at the world, but falling upwards . . . her scalp tingling at the rush of it, her back and shoulders cold through the thin white material of her gown.

Very often, in her dreams, she could fly. But not this time. She was definitely falling.

From the left and from the right came two distant figures, speeding towards her. She saw that they were girls – two girls dressed in white – closing in on her until their hands touched . . . sparks of electricity . . . fingers grasping for each other . . . holding on tight. Three of them, skydiving upwards, Celandine, Midge, Una.

‘This is the Touch.'

‘We are the sisters.'

‘Sisters of the Touch.'

But she couldn't see the faces of the other two girls.
And so . . . and so she didn't know which of the three sisters she was. How could she tell?

The revolving planet became smaller and smaller and began to glow red, a spinning orb between the three outstretched pairs of arms. The Stone!

She remembered carrying it. Yes, that dark and endless journey down from the north when she carried the Stone. And she remembered her poor father, dead now, poisoned by his brother. She could see his face, a young man in uniform, far too young to die. But no, that was . . . Freddie. Her brother. And so she must be . . . the one who sat by the fountain. And dropped things into the water. She was the one who found the Orbis, in the wooden casket where she had first put it, and took it to the forest. No, that wasn't right. She was the one who . . . the one . . .

We are all one.

Yes, all one.

Midge . . .

She could hear Pegs. The blue was deepening to absolute darkness, and she was still holding on tight to the other girls' hands. But she could hear him calling her name. And so she must be . . .

Midge . . .

She let go of the hands and sat up in bed. Awake.

‘Pegs?'

Her window was open. She didn't remember leaving it like that. No wonder she was so cold. Midge got out of bed to go and have a look.

He was down there, standing on top of the balustrade wall, his coat blue-white in the light of
the moon. Looking up at her . . . waiting for her to join him . . .

Midge hauled herself up onto the sill, ducking her head as she stepped through the open window. She balanced herself on the outer ledge, the stone cold beneath her bare feet, and raised her arms towards the moon.

She was about to jump when something occurred to her.

Was she certain she remembered how to do this? She hadn't forgotten, had she? No. You could never forget how to fly.

Midge spread her arms, took a deep breath – a diver's breath – and slowly toppled forward. The ground rushed towards her and for a sickening moment she thought that she'd lost the trick of it after all. But then she was swooping over the balustrade wall . . . past Pegs, and soaring upwards . . . up and up . . .

Yes, she said. I knew I could do it. How silly to think you could ever forget.

It was all in the hand movement. You kept your fingers straight and then tilted them this way and that, as though they were the front end of a toboggan. Then it was possible to swoop and climb and steer from left to right. Air was like water, and flying was just like diving really.

She was speeding above the Field of Thistles and nearing the sheep-gate, flattening her palms in order to gain some lift. But where was Pegs?

He appeared beside her, his wings making a swooshing noise as he beat against the night air. Over the
sheep-gate they flew and then onwards and upwards, the grass-tufted slopes of Howard's Hill falling away beneath them. They cleared the rusty roof of the pig-barn, a dark oblong in the moonlight, then the high wall of brambles that surrounded the woods, and so were swooping up through the trees of the Royal Forest itself. Midge could feel herself losing height and momentum. The hillside was too steep. She wasn't going to be able to reach the upper clearings.

The air resisted her now. It began to feel thick and heavy. Midge tried to swim through it, paddling and kicking with her arms and her legs, but it was no good. She sank slowly to the ground, just beyond the circle of trees that bordered the Royal Clearing. Pegs landed on the pathway ahead of her and folded his wings.

‘I can't . . . can't get there.' Midge found herself unable to move. She leaned forward and tried to lift her legs, but they wouldn't work. Her flight had drained all energy from her, left her weak and helpless.

Pegs came back, and turned so that he stood beside her. Midge took hold of his mane, winding the silvery hair about her fingers, feeling the coarse textures against her palm.

He was amazingly strong. Midge held on tight, and as Pegs moved forward to take the strain she was able to lift first one leg and then the other. But it was an achingly slow process. Midge felt as though she was being hauled through treacle, and it made her shoulder muscles hurt. She clung on, though, and they progressed step by step until at last they reached the edge of the clearing.

Lavender. The air was laden with it, an overwhelming pungency that caught in Midge's lungs and threatened to choke her breathing. And there was a strange and expectant silence beyond the fringe of bushes that led into the clearing, a feeling that their coming was known to others.