Wishing Water (3 page)

Meg lifted her chin in that stubborn way she had and the high-cheekboned face took on a dignified beauty that had melted stouter hearts than Amy Stanton’s. There was no sign of a thaw in this one.

Even to Lissa’s miserable observation it was clear that Meg was wasting her time.

‘Amy?’ A stentorian voice from within settled the matter and the door shut fast with a solid clunk. Meg muttered something unpleasant under her breath that Lissa didn’t quite catch then, taking her hand in a firm grasp, grey eyes sparkling with a rare anger, she set off at a cracking pace back down the long drive, dragging the child with her.

‘Come along, sweetheart. Let’s go home.’

It was Grandfather Joe, surprisingly, who offered a solution. Following that bitter disappointment, Lissa had written again to her mother, asking if Kath had another date in mind. The letter had not been answered. Not that she cared, she told herself. What did it matter if Katherine Ellis, now Mrs Wadeson, did not love her?

Yet somehow it did. It mattered very much. Lissa felt full of curiosity, ached to meet her. Not because she felt herself unloved by Meg, far from it. Meg had been the best mother anyone could wish for. It was simply a need to fill in the whole picture, to know who, exactly, she was. She couldn’t explain it any better than that, not even to herself. It made her feel all uncomfortable inside to know she’d been dumped.

‘What’s up with thee, moping about with a face like a wet fortnight? Stop fretting,’ he said, shaking out his newspaper as if to remind her that the worries of the world, such as the progress of the Korean War which he followed with great interest, were far more important than any a young girl might have. ‘It’ll all be t’same in hundred years.’
 

‘I suppose it will,’ said Lissa sadly, though this was not a philosophy she could warm to. ‘Do you believe in wishes, Grandfather?’

Joe pondered the question then chuckled. ‘I remember doing some wishing as a child, by the water every spring. Eeh, what daft-heads we were.’ Laughing softly at his own youthful foolishness, he returned to the paper. ‘Will thee look at the price of wool? Might as well work for nowt.’

‘Grandfather.’ Lissa’s voice was coaxing, her smile bewitching. Aware he had a soft spot for her she knew she never got anything out of him by being miserable, for all he put on such a dour face himself. She leaned against the arm of Joe’s chair and gazed up into his face. ‘Tell me about the wishing.’
 

Joe regarded the child he’d come to think of as his granddaughter with a serious eye. ‘It’s not to be taken lightly,’ he warned.

‘Oh, no,’ Lissa assured him. ‘I wouldn’t.’
 

He glanced around, as if he was about to impart a great secret, or preferred Meg not to know what he said. ‘Water has special powers, tha knows. Whether it be beck or tarn, each has its own sprite or fairy and it don’t do to cross them.’
 

Lissa solemnly shook her head, not daring to speak. Would this be the answer she so badly needed?

Satisfied he was not about to be mocked, Joe said, ‘When we was no more’n bairns we’d go every Maytime to the well or some other special watering place and fill our hands with water. Sometimes we’d use a bottle and add a drop of sugar or a twist of liquorice to drink, then give the rest back to the water sprite. Or we’d drink from us hands and give a gift instead, like a flower or a penny. You ask Meg about Luckpennies. Carry the luck for you they do.’
 

‘Why do they?’
 

‘Why?’ Joe looked confused. ‘Nay, lass, how should I know?’

‘But did you make a wish? And did it ever come true?’
 

Joe was anxious to return to the latest figures from the auction mart. ‘Course we did. But I’m too old to remember what we wished for, let alone if it ever come true. It’s all a lot of nonsense anyroad. You have to drink it up quick, afore it leaks out of your hand, and say your wish with your eyes closed.’ Then thinking of Meg’s possible reaction to these superstitions, he added for good measure, ‘But you must believe in the Good Lord and say your prayers every night.’ Nodding wisely and recklessly mixing Christian and pagan traditions. ‘Then you’ll get what’s good for you and no more.’
 

Lissa felt excited. She said her prayers every night already, but she thought she’d try the wishing as well, just in case. It could do no harm to try.

Nick had one or two wishes of his own which he could do with having answered, concerning learning to play football and getting a new bicycle, so he was ready enough to share the experiment with Lissa. It seemed harmless enough.

The beck was considered too mundane and the water too gushing for any sprite to survive in it. There was nothing for it but to try the tarn. Strictly forbidden, tucked darkly behind Brockbarrow wood, they chose an afternoon when Daniel had been taken, protesting, to the dentist, since they didn’t trust him to keep a secret. It was June, not May, but Lissa hoped the fairies wouldn’t mind, this being their first visit.

‘We mustn’t get wet or fall in this time,’ she warned and Nick gravely agreed. The tarn might be small and round, a sheet of water innocently sparkling in the sun on a beautiful day like this, but it was bitterly cold, had been trapped in this cup of land since the Ice Age and nobody knew quite how deep it was. It was not a place to mess with. Both children gazed on the ruffled waters and shuddered. They could well believe that sprites lurked beneath its glittering surface, perhaps even devils.

The small ceremony took no more than moments to complete. There was no time to waste as they were fully aware they risked the wrath of their respective parents should their trip be discovered.

‘I’ll go first,’ Lissa said, dipping the small Tizer bottle in the clear water.

As she drank the sweet liquorice water she closed her eyes and wished with all her might that one day soon her mother would come. She sent her thoughts winging far across water, mountains and sea to a distant, unknown mass of land painted red on her geography atlas and known as Canada.

Send my mother home, her inner voice begged.

Then it was Nick’s turn. They glanced sideways at each other and giggled.

‘It’s a bit daft is this,’ he said. ‘Go on. Get on with it.’

When he had done they emptied the rest of the brown liquid into the tarn and watched the wind sweep the sunlight like a shower of diamonds across the small lake. It seemed, to Lissa’s lively imagination, like an answer, and a great sense of peace and certainty came upon her. It would work out all right in the end, she felt sure somehow, deep in her heart.

Chapter Two

Time passed. Lissa tried not to think of her mother and was happy enough in the dale. Each spring she and Nick continued to make their wishes, though never revealed them or owned up to whether they ever came true. That was far too risky and might spoil their chances, though Nick did boast one day that he’d got picked for the school football team.

Lissa wrote regularly to Canada, and twice a year, on her birthday and at Christmas, received a reply. These were always a disappointment, telling her little, closing with the promise that one day Kath would come but never offering any definite date. Then on her thirteenth birthday a different sort of letter arrived.

Meg handed it to her, frowning. ‘It’s from Mrs Ellis. She’s declared herself ready to receive us.’
 

‘Oh.’ Lissa was stunned. Was this good news or bad? She couldn’t quite make out from Meg’s attitude. ‘Why now?’

‘Perhaps a bout of conscience? Though I very much doubt it. Have you been writing to Canada?’
 

Lissa nodded, saying no more when she saw how Meg’s face tightened in that odd way she had whenever Kath or Canada were mentioned.

‘We are to call next Wednesday, at three o’clock precisely. You must put on your best frock. Only I would prefer you not to fall in the beck this time. Let us try to present a civilised image, shall we?’ Meg gave a wry smile and Lissa giggled with relief.

‘I’ll do my best.’
 

Lissa knew, the moment she stepped into the house, that she hated it, which was deeply disappointing. They passed through a dark hall where a glassy-eyed stag’s head glared down at them, causing her to shiver. Then they were shown into a small, oak-panelled room of faded gentility, dark and depressing. Where was the pretty turquoise and gold drawing room Meg had spoken of? Lissa had imagined delicate, tasteful furniture. Instead, most of the house seemed dusty and shut up, judging by the number of forbiddingly closed doors.

At first sight everything in the room appeared to be draped in some sort of covering; filled with mats, runners, tablecloths, even the piano shrouded in an Indian rug. A single, rose-shaded lamp bloomed in the window embrasure. It should have given a cosy feel but it only cast gloomy shadows across the walls.

Lissa’s small nose wrinkled with distaste at the stale smell that met her nostrils. The room was as unaccustomed to fresh air as it was to visitors.

A figure rose from the shadows by the empty fireplace and Lissa started, stepping back in sudden fright as she recalled Nick’s constant teasing about a witch, and felt glad suddenly of Meg’s warm reassuring hand as it slipped over hers. But then she was almost grown up now, and didn’t believe in witches.

‘Miss Turner.’ The voice sounded cold and disembodied. Glancing anxiously up at Meg, Lissa caught the ghost of a knowing smile and knew instinctively that these two were old adversaries.

‘Mrs O’Cleary, if you recall. But you always used to call me Meg.’
 

A pause, during which Lissa received the decided impression that she was being scrutinised from head to foot, though since the room was so dim and the woman was in shadow, she couldn’t be sure.

‘I see you have brought the child.’
 

Meg smiled again. ‘Of course. This is Lissa. My daughter.’
 

Lissa felt as if she should curtsey, the moment so crackled with tension. Instead, she screwed up her courage, took a step forward and held out her hand, remembering her manners. ‘Good afternoon…’ she began, smiling politely, and stopped. How to address this woman whom she knew to be her grandmother but had never been acknowledged as such? She bit on her lower lip and waited. The rose-coloured light flickered across the thin, unsmiling face, showing up the whiskers on her chin.

Ignoring the small outstretched hand, Rosemary Ellis turned away, leaving Lissa feeling foolish, forced to retreat to Meg’s side.

‘Pray be seated.’ A regal gesture indicated a roomy sofa. It too was so swathed in paisley shawls, arm shields, antimacassars and cushions, so that Lissa dared hardly sit upon it for fear of disturbing the arrangement. ‘Amy, tea, if you please. For our guests.’
 

‘Very good, madam.’ Amy quietly withdrew, closing the double mahogany doors as she went.

Meg whispered in her ear. ‘Don’t put your dirty shoes on the rug, it’s Persian, and very valuable.’

Lissa sat gingerly next to Meg, trying to tuck them out of the way, which wasn’t easy. She fixed her eyes upon a display of dried leaves in a copper bowl that sat incongruously upon an upturned seed box in the wide, marble hearth. A spider hung from a thread on one leaf and Lissa watched it, fascinated.

They sat in silence in the cold room for what seemed an eternity. Somewhere a clock chimed and she counted out three strokes. Lissa’s back started to ache and her legs to fidget. Meg cast her a warning glance, then clearing her throat, turned to Mrs Ellis with a smile.

‘I trust you are keeping well? I haven’t seen Jeffrey... Mr Ellis for some time. How is he?’
 

‘Much the same. Never goes out these days.’

‘Might we see him?’
 

‘I do not think that would be wise.’
 

It was a relief when the double doors opened again and Amy wheeled in the tea on a clattering tea trolley that had seen better days. Meg touched Lissa’s hand. ‘Go and help Mrs Stanton serve the tea, sweetheart.’ But as Lissa rose to do so, a stern voice bade her remain where she was.

‘I hope we have better manners here at Larkrigg than to permit guests to serve themselves.’ Lissa sat down again, accepting the china cup and saucer with the first flutter of nervousness. Misery was sharp within her. This was not at all how she’d imagined her first meeting with her grandmother would be. She had so longed to see her, and the inside of the old house where her mother had lived as a girl.

It confused and intrigued her to think that a member of her own family, whom she didn’t even know, lived behind these grey stone walls. Now here she was at last, and nothing was as she had hoped. Perhaps Lissa hadn’t quite expected words of love. But a smile, a word of welcome would have warmed her. There was none.

The only consolation was that through the tall, trefoiled windows she could see the friendly mountains that she loved so much, their dark faces streaked with snow filled gullies for spring had been late this year. The house stood so grandly on its ridge that its face looked beyond Larkrigg Fell to the majesty of Kentmere Pike with the dark sentinel of Dundale Knot closer to hand.

Perversely Lissa wished herself out amongst them, where she might find the peace and sanctuary they offered; instead of here, where she felt an outcast. Unwanted.