bashful badger's blog
Tuesday, 5 September 2017
Tuesday, 13 December 2016
The whole book is now available on Kindle here. And a paperback version is also available here.
18 What came out of the bucket
She was in the main hall at school, just after assembly finished, waiting for everyone to leave. On her way out, she realised she’d dropped her charm bracelet somewhere. Her great-aunt had given it to her when she was small and used to give her a new charm to add to it each birthday. It was real gold and she wasn't supposed to wear it to school. She was sure she’d put it on that morning but, with the crowd of children leaving, there’d been no hope of spotting it on the floor.Crouching down and peering through their legs, once or twice she caught a flash of something reflecting in the sunlight - but then lost sight of it again.
‘Have you lost something, Ellie?’ Steph crouched down behind her, following her gaze.
‘I think so, Steph. You go on though or we’ll both be in trouble for being late.’
‘Are you sure I can’t help you look?’
‘No, it’s okay. I just have to wait till the hall is empty.’
Detached from the children’s thunderous collective noise, the racket slowly became alien and overwhelming and she wondered to herself how she could stand it every day. When she was a part of it, she never even noticed it.
Finally, the hall was empty and Elisha studied the expanse of rather scuffed parquet flooring. It boasted a few souvenirs of the assembly - a green v-necked jumper, sleeves across itself, one of those multicolour biro pens - you could choose which colour to use and press that one down. The trouble with them was that the more legible colours ran out quickly, so you'd only have light blue and bright pink left, which didn't show up on anything. There was also a hymn book, open face down and some bits of ratty tissue from a pocket. But no sign of the bracelet. The glinting she’d seen came from the rather more prosaic source of a crumpled piece of tinfoil from someone’s sandwich. Had someone picked the bracelet up? She supposed they might hand it in to lost property. That’s what she would do if she found something like that.
She now thought she knew how it must have come off - when she was pulling her sweater over her head and then her arms out of the sleeves. She thought she remembered there being a slight clatter. It was always very hot when they all crowded into the hall, even on the coldest days. Very annoyed with herself, first for wearing the bracelet to begin with and second for being so careless as to lose it, she sighed and turned to the doors at the back to leave.
Suddenly, from behind her she heard a commotion and a girl’s voice crying ‘Help! Help!’ And Veronica Atkins ran out onto the stage from the wings. Intrigued, Elisha waited to see what was happening.
But it wasn't long before she wished she hadn't. First off, there was just a shadow ... but she didn't like the look of it at all. It seemed to be a very big shadow, compared to Veronica’s; and it was a rather weird shape. Nor was she reassured by Veronica’s face, which was contorted into a petrified mask-like grimace. And Elisha could see that she was shaking even from where she stood, in the main body of the hall. The girl seemed to be frozen to the spot, staring up at the thing whose shadow darkened the wooden boards near her.
Her heart beginning to beat very fast, Elisha ran to the side of the hall and stooped to hide behind a few stacks of black plastic chairs. She put her head out and saw the thing emerge onto the stage. It was huge, monstrous, a black shiny carapace, massive, deadly-looking pincers ... It stretched a claw out, knocking Veronica over and pinning her to the floor.
It was a giant stag beetle. That was what had been coming out of the bucket in her dream the other night.
Elisha gasped, stared, blinked a couple of times, then pinched her left upper arm hard with her right thumb and forefinger. Veronica wasn't exactly screaming, more whimpering and moaning, trapped and helpless.
This must be a dream, Elisha thought, at the same time wondering why she didn't act, instead of just hiding. But she was genuinely puzzled as to what to do. Should she rescue Veronica (and how) or should she give the beetle a round of applause? It was a real dilemma.
The creature that had seemed so cute when it was little was terrifying in these proportions. But, although it was holding Veronica, it didn't really seem to be hurting her. What did stag beetles eat? Maybe she could tempt it away with something from her snack box?
‘Elisha!’ Veronica had seen her. She ducked back behind the chairs guiltily. ‘Elisha, help me, for God’s sake.’ So she could get her name right when she wanted.
Now she supposed she had to do something. Putting her satchel on the floor, she bent down and rummaged through it, prising the top off the Tupperware lunchbox. Was it more likely to go for an apple or a bar of chocolate?
While doing this, she heard activity from the stage. The beetle had released Veronica, but was pushing her along with its head, its pincers near her shoulders. Veronica had her hands over her eyes but still managed to call out desperately, ‘Elisha!’
She sprang into action, a Curlywurly in one hand and a Granny Smith in the other, running towards the stage. Waving them in front of her, she tried to get the beetle’s attention. ‘Here, here,’ she cried, briefly dangling them over Veronica, trying not to look at it in case it scared her too much, then moving to the side of the beetle, watching its head follow her. It took a couple of attempts before she really got it hooked, turning away from its victim towards her. At that second, Luke appeared from nowhere and dragged Veronica off into the wings. Veronica yelped when she first felt him touch her but then relaxed when she realised he wasn't an enormous insect.
Elisha dropped the apple and Curlywurly on the stage, then thought again, bent down and took the wrapper off the chocolate for the beetle. All of a sudden someone was shaking her by the shoulder. Angrily, she turned her head.
‘You dozed off,’ Steph was saying in a whisper, ‘and Miss C. saw you.’
Elisha was back in the hall in the middle of assembly, cross-legged on the floor between her friends, one hand fingering the charms on her bracelet. ‘Huh?’ she thought and stared at Steph in confusion.
‘Don’t worry, she only smiled.’ Steph nudged her with her elbow.
Elisha looked round for Veronica Atkins to check she was all right. The dream had seemed so real. But she couldn't see much from down on the ground, despite craning her neck upwards.
‘Have you seen Veronica?’
‘Yes. Why?’ Steph was engaged in writing a memory jogger on the back of her hand in black biro. It said ‘watch TOTP’. She turned back to Elisha. ‘You missed it all. She had some weird kind of turn or something. Maybe she fell asleep too because she started screaming and moaning. They took her to the sick room.’
Elisha sighed with relief. ‘But she’s okay?’
‘As far as I know.’ Steph clipped the lid back on her biro and hooked it onto the v-neckline of her sweater. ‘I thought we didn't like her anyway?’
Assembly was finishing for real (or she thought it was real this time) - the teachers were making the kids stand up row by row from the back and file out. Luke hung back from his row to join them.
‘Wow. What was all that about with Veronica?’ He shook his head expressively. ‘It was like she went mental.’ His eyes searched Elisha’s face - she wasn't sure what for. ‘Don't you think, Elisha?’
She frowned at him thoughtfully but said nothing.
‘It was almost as if she thought some giant insect was chasing her,’ Luke said.
Luckily, Steph had moved further away from them and hadn't heard him. Eyes widening, Elisha looked at Luke sharply and pulled him aside by tugging his shirtsleeve. ‘Are we having the same dreams again?’ she demanded, not sure why this made her annoyed with him.
‘I don't know,’ he shrugged. ‘Are we? You tell me.’
‘You know we are. But what about Veronica Atkins? Is she having the same ones too? And why?’
‘Hurry it up there.’ Mr Saunders was holding the door open and beckoning them through. The hall was almost deserted. Looking back at it, Elisha shuddered slightly, remembering the giant beetle.
‘I think it’s you,’ Luke confided, making Elisha raise her eyebrows. ‘It’s your dream,’ he continued. ‘But if you dream one of us into it, it becomes our dream too.’
He could be right. After a moment’s indignation that everyone else was invading her private subconscious, she began to think about the positives. She started to wish she could control her dreams more. Then perhaps she could dream that she met her favourite popstar and he fell in love with her ...
‘Is it the well giving you the power, d’you think?’ Luke meditated, as they pushed through the heavy green door into the classroom.
It was her turn to shrug. ‘Don't ask me.’
Tuesday, 6 December 2016
The Well, chapter 19
19 The sting
The next day they met on the wall again. This time Luke was
crunching on a crisp red apple as she sat down beside him. It was good to see
he'd got his appetite back.
She'd copied the
rules down inside the back page of one of her exercise books and left the
original version back in her bedroom, carefully folded and slotted into a
letter her aunt had once sent her on special perfumed stationery. Sniffing it
closely, she’d still been able to detect the faint fragrance of roses.
Strangely, when
she'd copied the verse, her writing had taken on some of the qualities of the
original writer's – it was more controlled, loopy and decorative than usual,
almost as if she'd been possessed by someone else. It had felt sort of spooky
and a chill had run down her spine as she’d been writing.
'Your
handwriting's neat,' Luke commented, nodding appreciatively. 'Mine's so bad I
often can't read it myself.'
'Yeah, it's
weird,’ – she had to stop talking as some sirens drowned out her words – ‘it is
neater than normal,' she conceded, feeling slightly uncomfortable as she
remembered the sensation she'd had when writing it the night before. There was
a tickly kind of prickling on the back of her neck.
'Right. So we need
your dad to get a better job.'
'Without it
backfiring somehow.' She thought this point could not be stressed enough.
Things often seemed to go wrong if you weren't careful what you wished for or
maybe how you wished for it.
'Uh-huh. So you're not
wishing ill upon anyone, in fact, you're wishing for plenty, in a way.' His
brow furrowed as he ran his index finger down the list of dos and don'ts.
'That's not relevant. Neither is that.'
Elisha felt
comforted by his logical analysis. She bent down to pull up the unelasticated
socks that had congregated in untidy crinkles round her ankles and scratched at
an insect bite just under her knee, making the area red and inflamed. Her Mum
always told her not to scratch them but she just couldn't help it. To stop
herself, she sat on her hands and turned her attention back to Luke.
'Wish forward.
Never back. Mmm. Maybe it could be said to be wishing back because he did have
a good job before ...' He took another bite of the apple. She couldn't help
thinking that Luke tended to consider everything a bit more carefully than she
did. She wondered if it was a skill he’d learnt while poorly.
'Yes, but I don't
want him to get the same job again. I want him to have a different one, where
he doesn't have to work so hard.'
'Well then, that's
probably okay, I guess.'
The bell went for
the start of class and they both jumped like someone had poked them in the
back. Luke just laughed but Elisha had immediately thought 'heed the bell' and
started to worry about time being up and the hell demons bit.
'Sit next to me
for the story this afternoon,' Luke urged, as they got up and started heading
back to the school building. Elisha nodded quickly and smiled, watching him
chuck the apple core into a big yellow cylindrical bin, almost hitting a wasp
that was buzzing round it.
Suddenly from
across the asphalt, Jasmine ran up to her, yelling – well, screeching really –
'Where have you been? I've been looking for you all over all break!' She
sounded really angry and very upset.
Elisha realised
that they had sat in a rather out-of-the-way corner to puzzle over the rhyme.
It had seemed natural enough because they hadn't wanted to be disturbed.
'Why? What's
wrong?' she asked, for immediately she could see that something was definitely
wrong. Jasmine's face was streaked and wet with tears; her eyes were red; and
she looked distressed to the point of anguish.
It had to be
something to do with Steph because she wasn't there and the two girls were
nearly always together. 'What's happened?' Her voice came out as a kind of shriek
as the panic infected her. 'Has something happened to Steph? Where is she?
Hrmph!' she went as Jasmine barrelled into her, holding her in a tight,
desperate embrace, sobbing and gasping for breath at the same time.
Elisha felt guilty
for not being with her friends when they needed her. She wasn't doing any good
turns for anybody else, just worrying about her own problems. As usual. Even
though her aunt had warned her not to be selfish.
Jasmine started to
stutter out a breathless explanation as Elisha patted her rhythmically on the
back as she'd seen people do in movies. Luke looked at her over her friend's
head, his expression bewildered and troubled, like he'd just been assigned some
really unpronounceable word in a spelling test.
'It was a wasp.'
Jasmine took in a big breath. 'She started to scream and I told her not to hit
out at it. I tried to get her to calm down but you know what she's like with
wasps.'
Elisha nodded.
'Yes, I know. So did it sting her?'
'It stung her on
the arm, just here,' Jasmine indicated a place on top of her forearm.
Feeling a bit
relieved that it was only a wasp sting, Elisha held Jasmine away from her with
one arm and rummaged for a tissue in her satchel with the other. 'Here,' she
handed it to her friend, who wiped her face roughly before blowing her nose
noisily. Her beaded braids swung over her face.
Luke looked
impatiently at them. 'The bell's gone already, you know,' he prompted,
evidently thinking this was a lot of fuss over a wasp sting.
Elisha made a face
at him and asked Jasmine: 'But she's okay now? Is she in the nurse's office?'
Elisha had only
been there once herself – it was a small clinical room that smelt a bit like a
hospital, only mixed with pee, and boasted an iron bed with a mattress covered
in plastic, a green first-aid box with a white cross on it mounted on the wall,
a sink and a desk and chair where the nurse sat when she was in there. There
was a small toilet next to it. It was the kind of place where you instantly
felt ill, even if you'd been all right before. She'd been feeling dizzy and lay
down on the bed but the plastic cover had made so much noise each time she
moved and had smelt so funny and rubbery that she couldn't wait to get up
again.
'She's been taken
to hospital. Mr Saunders took her in his car because they said the ambulance
would take twenty minutes. Elisha, she's allergic to wasp stings. She nearly
died. I couldn't do anything to help her. She couldn't breathe; she started to
have convulsions or something. I was so scared!
'Veronica ran into
the office to get them to call 999 and Josie went to get the nurse but she
couldn't find her. Just as well Ronnie was there ...' Jasmine stopped to gulp
in air, 'I don't know what would have happened.'
Even in the middle
of her anxiety for her friend, Elisha felt annoyed that Veronica Atkins, of all
people, should have come to the rescue. And a little jealous as well.
'The bell went
ages ago. What are you lot doing out here?' Miss Clements folded her arms and
stood over them, looking stern. ‘As if it’s not bad enough falling asleep
during assemblies ...’
'Their friend went
into anaphylactic shock,' Luke explained, a little contritely now that he
realised it was more serious. Both girls turned their heads to him in
astonishment at the word he’d used. 'She got stung by a wasp.' He'd spent so
much time in hospital that he knew pretty much everything other kids came in
with.
Miss Clements frowned and
nodded sympathetically. 'Oh, yes, Stephanie. Well, she's at the hospital by
now. I'm sure she'll be all right.' She put an arm round each of the girls'
shoulders. 'Come on now. Let's go inside and get to class. Mr Saunders will let
us know what's happening as soon as he can.' They started walking together.
Glancing back at Luke, the teacher said, 'You too, Luke. There's nothing we can
do about it at the moment.'
Monday, 5 December 2016
The Well, chapter 17
17 Back to school
All
of a sudden, it was that time again, finding uniforms didn't fit,
smart shoes were scuffed and tight round her toes, white knee-socks
had no elastic and that all her pencils had broken leads. Yellow HB
pencils - they were never the same as when they were new out of the
box, beautifully sharpened to an exquisite point.
Going
back to school was one of those times Elisha dreaded. She felt scared
about it, unsure - would it be the same? Would she and her friends
still get on or would something have happened over the summer to
change them? She'd have a new form teacher who maybe wouldn't be as
nice as her old one. Nervously, she combed tangles out of her hair
after her shower as she worried about things that could go wrong.
They
hadn't managed to get away anywhere all summer. It didn't really
bother her as much as she'd thought it would in the end. But her
parents seemed different somehow - the way they looked at each other
over her head. They were preoccupied with money matters, making
calculations in notebooks, looking at creditcard statements, waiting
for red bills. Her dad would spend ages each morning going through
papers looking at the job sections, ringing ads in black biro before
calling people up about them. He kept playing an old LP, singing
along to some of the songs, especially one that said he had to ‘get
back in the line’. She thought the song sounded sad, the one about
champagne and Coca-Cola was more fun and her favourite was about
being an apeman. But, strangely, it always seemed to cheer her dad
up. Her mum would sometimes sing too. She said it wasn’t so bad
when everyone was in the same boat. Elisha knew what she meant but
surely it would have been safer if not so many people were in the
boat.
Last
night, her mum had scrawled out a list of things not to forget, on a
piece of laminated yellow paper, from her pile of rough paper, the
clear back-sides of junk-mail circulars.
It
meant it was normally afternoon before they could go anywhere for a
day out. Other days he’d had to go to the employment exchange in
the next town - this seemed to take all morning too - and when he got
back he’d be in a bad mood, snapping at everyone.
Last
night, her mum had scrawled out a list of things not to forget, on a
piece of laminated yellow paper, from her pile of rough paper, the
clear back-sides of junk-mail circulars.
It
felt so weird being in school clothes again. She was in the green
checked summer uniform school dress, with a dark green v-neck sweater
over it. They were having what her mum called an 'Indian summer',
unseasonably warm and humid, sun-filled days that only turned cold in
the evenings long after she was home from school.
But
even odder was having her mum come to school with her, asking Elisha
if she
was dressed okay, worrying about make-up and perfume, and what to say
to the pupils. Although pleased she'd got the job, Elisha was in two
minds over whether it would work out. It was introducing someone from
her home realm into the school world, which she thought of as
completely separate, where she could really be a different person.
She worried about how other kids would react to her mum being there.
But she had to concede that her mum looked great, her ash-blonde hair
twisted up into a chignon, in a long, flowing dark-green maxi skirt
and cork-soled green platform sandals. She thought she must be the
best-looking mum in the world, let alone the best-looking dinner
lady.
Her
dad hadn't managed to get a proper job as yet. In the end he’d had
to take a rather menial position that he kept saying was just
temporary. He was working in a factory on the other side of town,
mainly doing night shifts so that she would sometimes hear him come
in, about 6.30 in the morning, his key rattling briefly in the
front-door Chubb lock before connecting, being very quiet, closing
the door gently behind him.
Normally
he'd be in the kitchen when she got down for breakfast, would be
starting off coffee and stuff, but looking tired and a bit defeated
despite his attempts at cheeriness. She noticed a few white hairs at
his temples and deeper lines around his eyes. As he poured her a
glass of juice one morning, his hand shook very slightly. It was one
of those unusually shaped smoky brown petrol station glasses. They
were her favourites so that she reached and took it from him in case
he dropped it.
Then
he would go to bed for a while, mid-morning to late afternoon, before
getting up and having something to eat prior to his next shift.
Her
mother too seemed weary - she frowned more frequently than before and
her voice had a slight edge to it, like she was teetering on the
brink of a crevasse. Her kind brown eyes also seemed clouded and
troubled more often.
Elisha
knew she had to try to do something to help.
The
thought of the school bell was like a death knell to the holiday.
Ominous yet at the same time triumphant. It made Elisha's heart beat
fast under her dress and sweater.
When
it came down to it, it was exciting to see her friends again though.
They rushed towards her in the playground before the bell, both
chattering at once, bursting with holiday news.
Jasmine's
hair was in beautiful cornrows, with different primary-coloured beads
strung on the ends. Apparently, it was normally very expensive but
her mum was friends with a hairdresser who did it for free. But they
were all a bit worried that the school might object to the colours.
And
Luke. He'd completely changed. For a long time he'd seemed to Elisha
like one of those balloons that had somehow survived a birthday party
and the general cruel popping at the end of the afternoon. Ever since
he'd been in a slow, sad decline, doomed to shrink a little every
day, gradually diminishing towards nothingness. Losing air,
relinquishing life.
Now
suddenly it was as if someone was blowing him up again - pumping air
back into him, plumping out his flesh, making him new once more. The
boy he'd been before.
Elisha
didn't think she could be the only one who'd noticed his
rejuvenation. His hair had grown longer and thicker, his arms were
less skinny, face less pinched - he'd kind of filled out, like those
women who used Oil of Ulay on TV. And he smiled more often and more
widely than for the last few months. Whereas before she hadn't liked
to look at him because he made her miserable, now she actually found
his face, his presence cheered her up.
Also
she wanted to ask his advice about what to do. He already knew about
(and believed in) the well and had experienced its magic. In fact, it
was as if the well had selected him and drawn him in without Elisha
saying anything. So perhaps it was all right to consult him. If she
just followed the rules on the paper, surely things would work out
fine?
She
cornered him at the morning break, finding him on a low wall by the
playground, eating a Milky Way that had partly melted from being left
in his bag in the sun by the class window all morning. The chocolate
was leaving dark-brown gloops on his fingers that he had to lick up.
He was sucking some off his right thumb when Elisha joined him.
It
was hard to talk about her family situation to an outsider. But with
Luke it seemed a bit easier - he listened without interrupting much
until she'd finished, then crumpled the chocolate wrapper into a ball
while pursing his lips and obviously thinking hard.
'So,
your dad needs a better job, swiftish?'
Was
this all it really boiled down to? She nodded.
'And
you want to know if the rules allow you to wish for it?'
'Yes,
without something bad happening by mistake.'
'Have
you got them with you?'
'Er,
no. I didn't want to lose them ... ' She really wasn't as good at
planning things as she'd thought. Her attempts to remember the verse
were not impressive and Luke's face registered this fact with a
progressively more pained and exasperated expression.
'Look,
bring it in tomorrow and we can go over it,' he finally said, cutting
her off as she mumbled, 'One good turn forgets another.'
'Sorry.
There was so much to remember this morning. And I couldn't tell my
mum to write it on the list.'
Wednesday, 23 November 2016
The Well, chapter 16
16 The stag beetle
Elisha
skipped from one pink paving stone to the next until she got a stitch
in her left side. Slowing down, she continued to avoid the cracks,
paused to watch a ladybird crawl up a blade of grass over someone's
wall.
The
smells in the avenue changed with the seasons. In summer, some lovely
jasmine or honeysuckle fragrance would make her want to inhale deeply
but it competed with the putrid stink of drying dog shit on concrete,
which made her pinch her nostrils together with one hand.
The
newsagents was on the corner of Sparrow Road, in a tiny parade of odd
shops - an old-fashioned hair salon with yellowy windows where old
ladies probably requested blue rinses and perms, a wool shop
displaying inelegantly arranged, outmoded fashions, a sub-post office
with half-empty shelves of over-priced stationery and cheap, plastic
toys. With very little effort, you could imagine them in the 40s or
50s - at least her aunt used to say that some of the clothes in the
wool shop looked like they'd been there since the war.
She
had enough money to get an ice cream as well and had gone over in her
head what there was to choose from but she couldn't remember if the
shop stocked Walls or Lyons Maid. She was veering towards a rum and
raisin choc ice - something like that. Having something with rum in
it was naughtier and so more of a treat. It automatically tasted
nicer than just any old fruit or chocolate flavour.
Pausing
outside the shop, Toby's - they all had names like that, normally
men's names. The post office was Bob's, the hair salon Marc's Hair
Fashions - she saw Veronica and Josie with a boy she didn't
recognise. The girls were sitting on charcoal-grey pavement bollards
and the boy standing between them with a long twig. All concentrated
on the ground, where the boy was prodding at something with the
stick.
Not
really wanting to, but too curious not to, Elisha sidled over to
them, her left hand in her shorts pocket, rolling the coins around.
When she got closer, she saw to her disgust that they were tormenting
a big stag beetle that was stranded on its back, waving its six legs
in the air in distress.
'Leave
it alone!' she called before she had time to think.
The
boy glanced up at her and sneered scornfully, 'Who says?'
'We
know her,' piped up Josie, though her tone was also derisory.
'It's
Elsie Goodman from school,' Veronica added, deliberately getting the
name wrong and making Josie snigger.
'Elsie!
She sounds like someone's great grandma,' exclaimed the horrible boy,
delightedly.
Enraged
and embarrassed, Elisha strode into their midst, reached down and
picked the stag beetle up, much more easily than she could have
hoped, thumb and forefinger on either side of its body, like her dad
had shown her many times.
'Oy!'
the boy objected, too late, his thin lips stretching and parting to
reveal a mouthful of uneven teeth.
The
beetle's three captors were rather astonished that someone, a girl at
that, would dare to just pick it up like that, heedless of pincers,
unsqueamish about creepy-crawlies.
Elisha
darted away from them, careful with the beetle, whose legs were still
waving in insect panic. She released it into someone's front
flowerbed, watching it scuttle between antirrhinums in myriad
colours, under pink hydrangea bushes into deep cover.
'Stag
beetles are getting rare. We should try to protect them.'
'You're
so boring,' retorted Josie, following Veronica's petulant dismissive
turn on her heel, as they walked away.
'Hey,
wait for me,' called the boy, picking his Chopper up from where it
had lain sprawled in an abandoned way, taking up the whole width of
pavement. He scurried after the girls, wheeling the bike alongside.
Although
she felt proud to have saved the beetle, the encounter with the trio
had ruined her day somehow. She wished she were out with her friends
somewhere and didn't have to go home to the tenseness in the house.
At the moment it felt a bit like waiting to go in at the dentist.
She didn't even buy an ice cream in the end but walked home a different way, feeling a bit depressed. On this journey, she passed items of clothing, some on the pavement, others strewn across the grass verge - socks, boxer shorts, shirt - as if someone had performed an impromptu strip while walking back from the station the night before. Normally, she would have been intrigued by this, might have constructed a whole story around it, but now she barely gave the clothes a second glance, let alone much thought. She was wishing she'd had a clever comeback for Josie and Veronica - she could have called Veronica 'Verucca', as she and her friends often did to each other behind her back. Luke used to call Josephine 'Poison Fiend'. At least thinking about this took her mind off her dad losing his job and all the other stuff.
She didn't even buy an ice cream in the end but walked home a different way, feeling a bit depressed. On this journey, she passed items of clothing, some on the pavement, others strewn across the grass verge - socks, boxer shorts, shirt - as if someone had performed an impromptu strip while walking back from the station the night before. Normally, she would have been intrigued by this, might have constructed a whole story around it, but now she barely gave the clothes a second glance, let alone much thought. She was wishing she'd had a clever comeback for Josie and Veronica - she could have called Veronica 'Verucca', as she and her friends often did to each other behind her back. Luke used to call Josephine 'Poison Fiend'. At least thinking about this took her mind off her dad losing his job and all the other stuff.
When
she neared home, she hesitated at the drive. Her dad was crouched
down looking at the wounded car door, frowning deeply. 'Uh oh,' she
thought and wondered if she could sneak by on the other side of the
car without him seeing her. Probably not but worth a try.
Tucking
the magazine under her arm, she bent down and edged towards the front
door, hidden by the car. But parents seemed to have extra senses
whenever you didn't want them to.
'Elisha,'
her dad called.
Mid-creep,
she released her held breath, straightened up slowly and rather
sheepishly. 'Yes.' She raised her eyebrows, acting as if it was the
most normal thing in the world to be crawling along on the other side
of the car from him.
The
corners of his mouth twitched like he was restraining a smile but
then he switched his face to a stern expression. 'Have you seen what
you've done to my car, young lady?'
There
was the 'young lady' thing again - still, at least it wasn't ‘little
madam’. She was solemn and contrite. 'I'm sorry, Daddy. It was an
accident. The bike fell on it. I'll really be more careful in the
future. It's just that sometimes I can't park it. I think it's safe
and then it topples, all of a sudden. I am sorry.’ He let her
babble run out. The magazine cover had got stuck to her arm. She
peeled it away, frowning at the colourful imprint it left behind, and
waited for him to speak.
'All
right. It's okay, darling. I know you didn't mean it. Anyway, it was
already dented there.'
She
ran round the car to hug him, looking past the hairs on his arm at
the car door. Now she came to think of it, it was unlikely that her
little bike could have caused such a lot of damage.
That
night she dreamt of the well - she was coming home from somewhere and
there it stood, right where her house had been - it was huge.
Awestruck, she stared up at it. The red bucket was in the drive,
bigger than her dad’s car, rocking slightly back and forth like
there was something inside it trying to get out. She began to get a
little apprehensive. Whatever was inside was big and heavy enough to
make the massive bucket rock. Maybe it would tip it over. Something
appeared over the rim - it looked like a big black claw. She woke up,
shivering with fright.
Tuesday, 22 November 2016
The Well, chapter 15
15 The wisdom of wishing
It
was the day after her dad’s company had folded and it had started
off well, sunshine making all the colours outside bright and
distinct. It was the kind of light that made you want to photograph
everything because it all looked so good, so exhilarating and
enchanting. But, even before Elisha had finished breakfast, the
weather had changed. When she opened the back door to throw some
crumbs out to the birds, the fresh coldness of the air took her
breath away. She ran out to the lawn to dispose of the cake and
breadcrumbs as fast as possible before dashing back inside and
warming her fingertips on the top of the lounge radiator, which they
had on to dry some clothes.
The
sky began to darken, like it was a winter afternoon, the sun
disappeared, the wind gathered strength to send the grey-white clouds
racing along. A cruel sleeting rain lashed the house. Her dad always
used to say, in a doom-laden voice, 'It's the end of the world' on
days like this, when the elements just seemed to completely lose
their temper and gang up on everyone.
Elisha
thought it would be a good day to clean up her room, like her mum was
always begging her to do; and get together stuff she could put in the
orange charity sack that came through the door yesterday morning. It
would be collected in a couple of days' time.
Trouble
was, she found it hard to decide to throw something out. Clothes that
were too small - yes, she could do that, and shoes - but she loved
all her toys too much. And she would spend ages trying things on as
well so that an hour passed with only a couple of tops put aside as
definite candidates for the charity bag. To her delight, she caught
sight of a skirt she hadn't been able to find for ages - a purple
velvet maxi that had been her favourite thing to wear last winter. It
had come off its hanger and was languishing in a forlorn heap back at
the bottom of the wardrobe behind the well.
She
reached for it a couple of times without getting hold of it before
finally clutching it with her fist and drawing it out, one
side-waist-loop still attached to the groove on the hanger, lines of
grey dust wherever a fold had been on the wardrobe base. She sneezed.
With it came an old green M&S bag. Her mum kept old plastic bags
to use in the bins so Elisha laid the skirt down on the bed while she
began to fold the bag up to go in the big bottom kitchen drawer that
already overflowed with surplus bags. She couldn't remember the last
time she'd seen it actually able to shut. Even if closed, it seemed
to dribble plastic bags like a big drooling mouth.
Holding
the bag upside down, gripping it to her chest with her chin, she
smoothed it down flat with her hands. As she did this, a slightly
crumpled piece of paper drifted down to the dusky rose carpet.
Folding the bag up quite small, she weighed it down with her money
box on the windowsill. A brief look outside at the blue-grey pewter
sky, the windblown trees and an old man fighting against the gale
confirmed that staying indoors had been the right decision. Rain
slashed its tracks across the windowpane and she could feel an icy
draught even through the secondary glazing, more like midwinter than
the end of summer.
She
crossed back to the wardrobe, bent down and retrieved the scrap of
paper, intending to chuck it straight in the bin. When she picked it
up, however, an edge of it sliced deep into her index finger.
'Ouch!'
she said aloud. Paper cuts were such a nuisance, she thought, sucking
the finger and beginning to crush the paper into a ball with more
venom than necessary. Suddenly, her hand cramped so she couldn't grip
it - pins and needles shot up her arm, like when she lay on it too
long at night. Then a strange tingling began all over her body. She
found herself unrolling the ball of paper. It wasn't like she made a
conscious decision to do it. Her fingers seemed to act on their own.
At
first, seeing the scribbled lines on the creased, slightly torn paper
remnant, she assumed it was a shopping list that had got left behind
in the bag. But, looking closer, she realised it was a kind of verse.
And it had a title, written in capitals and underlined rather
shakily: THE
WISDOM OF WISHING.
Elisha drew a deep breath and sat down on the end of the bed,
creasing up the edge of the dust-lined, purple skirt that she'd now
forgotten all about.
It
came back to her now. Aunt Jessie had given her the well in the M&S
bag. This had been meant to come with it.
THE WISDOM OF WISHING
Wish no ill upon anotherWish for plentyNot for plague.
Guard the secretNever tellLest the tellingBreak the spell.
Wish no evilFrom the well.One good turn begets another.
Hear the warning,Heed the bell.Demons dark willSpring from hell.
Wish forward,Never back.Or things will turn black.
Before the wish is spentThere is time to repent.
Look into the bucketAnd find the keyTo turn things backHow they used to be.
Even when you do not sleepWhat you sowYou’ll surely reap.
Ignore the rulesAnd here’s the deal –A dream that’s sharedCan become real.
'Almost
like a set of instructions,' she realised. 'Why didn't I see these
before?'
The
writing was oddly familiar - something similar to hers in it, like
her best writing looked a bit like her mum's; her mum's looked a
little like her gran's and aunt's - this looked kind of like her
aunt's, only even more old-fashioned. It was written in violet ink,
quite faded, on thin, thin, cream paper, like for airmail letters,
with a few smudges and stains on it.
She
thought she could see something else and held the paper up to the
light of the window - some kind of watermark - a design of, she
couldn't quite make it out, with all the creases and the writing - it
looked like a bucket.
She
read the verse through again, puzzling over its meanings, not much
liking the sound of the dark demons from hell bit.
Could
she tell Luke about this? He already knew about the well so what harm
could it do? Why did everyone else have to be on holiday right when
she needed them? Still, he'd be back in a few days - it would give
her more time to think before deciding what to do.
Lying
in bed that night, unable to sleep, trying to imagine sheep to count
them. Why did people tell you to count sheep? They were meant to jump
over a fence, she thought, but did sheep ever jump fences in real
life?
It
seemed her mind wouldn't stop working. Worrying about wishes,
unwishing, selfishness, praying for guidance.
When
she got to the 250th sheep (they were being rounded up in a pen by a
sheepdog that looked like Bandit from Little
House on the Prairie),
she decided she might as well give up. Sitting up and settling her
pillows behind her head, she drank a few gulps of slightly
minty-tasting water from the toothbrush mug that she'd brought from
the bathroom. It had stencils of dark-blue and turquoise fish on it.
She'd left the lid with the four circular holes for toothbrush stems
on the windowsill. Although thirsty, she hadn't wanted to go
downstairs for water - she always felt like someone might come up
behind her. Or she imagined that, while she was down there, some
intruder would get in and be hiding in her room when she got back to
it. Even after a brief trip to the bathroom, she always had to check
in the wardrobe and under the bed.
From
her bedside-table drawer she pulled out ‘The wisdom of wishing’
and considered it thoughtfully. Some of it seemed to contradict
itself. She wondered if 'never tell' meant she'd been wrong to tell
Jas and Steph ... maybe that was why it hadn't worked while they were
there. But she'd told Luke too - did that mean her wish for him
wouldn't come true?
She
went through the poem or whatever it was, ticking and crossing things
in her head. Well, she hadn't broken the first rule - she hadn't
wished for anything bad to happen to anyone, though she'd been
tempted to wish stuff about Veronica. And what about the wish about
her father’s work? That had come true, only in an unfortunate way.
Had that been wishing ill upon another? She hadn't meant it to be.
The
'wish for plenty, not for plague' she didn't really understand.
Plague was a kind of disease they had in the Bible. Well, she'd
wished away Luke's cancer so that was good.
The
next rule she'd definitely broken though. There was no getting round
it. But she'd had wishes come true afterwards so maybe telling people
only cancelled out one or two. And then ...
One
good turn ... she began to feel incredibly sleepy the more she tried
to focus her mind, to decipher the poem's message. Her eyelids felt
heavier and heavier. When she blinked she forgot to open them again
for a while. On about the twentieth blink, she didn't open them at
all. She was asleep.
The
next day, waking up quite late to the sound of a Hoover bumping
against her bedroom door, she stretched and yawned, a little annoyed
to be roused so rudely. Turning onto her front, she pulled both
pillows over her head and clamped them down with her arms, breathing
in cotton-polyester sheet, only recently put on so that it still had
that nice, clean, washing-powder smell.
It
was no good. The pillows didn't block out the insistent droning of
the Hoover, the draggy, sweepy sound of its back-and-forth movements,
the banging of the edge of the brush on skirting boards and doors.
'Da-ad!'
she protested.
Either
he couldn't hear her above the Hoover or, more likely, he'd decided
it was time for her to get up and was deliberately making a racket
outside her room. An early riser himself, he couldn't see the
attraction of a lie-in, the sheer luxurious feeling of seeing what
time it was, not having to get up, being able to turn over and go
back to sleep.
So
she ended up being grumpy at breakfast, not that anybody really
seemed to notice much. Her father was still vacuuming - she found it
scary to look at him because he appeared so absorbed and intent on
his task. It was like he was waging his own war on dust and dirt.
Rarely did she see him so focused and aggressive.
She
soon gave up sulking. There didn't seem much point if no one actually
noticed she was doing it. When her mum said she could go and get the
TVTimes,
she jumped at the chance to escape the stuffy, tense atmosphere of
the house, where recriminations hung unvoiced in the air and ideas
flared but were cold-watered out. Most of them in her head. All
without a word being said.
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