Witch Is When It All Began (4 page)

“Yes, you do!” I said. “It’s what you do best.”

Peter disappeared into the kitchen and shut the door behind him. I wasn’t sure if that was to give us privacy, or so that he didn’t have to listen to our jabbering.

“Haven’t you noticed anything?” Kathy held out her arms expansively.

Had she bought new furniture? It couldn’t be that—I’d have already noticed. She hadn’t changed her hair. I shrugged.

“The room. It’s tidy. I spent all afternoon tidying up.”

“Oh yeah. Of course.” Kathy’s idea of tidy and mine were miles apart. I’d noticed Lego pieces under the armchair while I was eating dinner. And the ornaments on the mantelpiece were facing the wrong way. “It looks great!”

Kathy seemed pleased. “It won’t stay this way for long. As soon as the kids are back, it’ll be like a bomb-site again.”

“I’ve had a letter from my birth mother’s sister,” I said. I’d been debating all evening whether or not to tell Kathy.

“You have more family?”

“So it would seem. An aunt, a grandma and two cousins.”

“Wow! How do you feel about that?”

“I don’t know. I’m still in shock.”

“What did the letter say? Did you bring it with you?”

“No. It was actually an invitation to the funeral.”

“Will you go?”

“I’m not sure. I doubt it. Not after what she said to me on her death bed.”

“She was probably delirious. It could have been the drugs. She might not have known what she was saying.”

“Maybe.” I didn’t believe that for a second. My mother had put so much effort into getting out those last words. She’d known exactly what she was saying.

“I could go with you if you want.”

“No. It’s okay. If I do go, I’d rather go by myself.” I didn’t want to tell Kathy that the invitation had specifically said I must attend alone.

Chapter 5

It was raining on the day of the funeral. I’d wrestled with my decision ever since the letter arrived. A part of me had wanted to forget all about my birth mother. After the way she’d treated me, why should I waste another second thinking about her? In the end, I decided that I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t attend her funeral. Even though she’d rejected me more than once, I still owed my very existence to the woman who had used her dying breath to insult me. The other factor in my decision had been the opportunity to meet my ‘other’ family. Perhaps they’d be able to throw some light on why my mother had given me up for adoption, why she’d refused to see me when I tried to contact her, and why she’d asked to see me from her death-bed.

I hardly slept the night before. By six o’ clock, I couldn’t see the point in lying in bed a minute longer. I had to force myself to eat breakfast. I was so nervous I actually felt as though I might be sick.

Kathy phoned me a little after seven. “Are you okay?” She sounded sleepy, and I could hear the kids shouting in the background. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be up.”

“I’ve been up since six. Couldn’t sleep.”

“Are you still planning to go?”

“Yeah. I think so, unless I lose my nerve between now and then.”

“I wish you’d let me come with you. I don’t like to think of you doing this alone.”

“I’ll be okay, honestly. I’d rather go alone.” The truth was I’d have given anything to have Kathy go with me. What was with my crazy, new family? Who dictates who can and can’t attend a funeral?

“If you change your mind, give me a call.”

“I’ll be fine. I promise.”

After four miles, I began to have doubts as to whether or not I was headed in the right direction. I’d expected to see a signpost for Candlefield a mile back. I did a quick U-turn and drove back the way I’d come. There was still no signpost. I was working from memory because I’d left the directions on the kitchen worktop. Maybe I was on the wrong road altogether.

I pulled into a lay-by and typed Candlefield into the SatNav. The response said ‘
Unknown - try again
’. I tried every combination of spelling that I could think of, but they all drew a blank. It made no sense. I had no choice but to head back to my flat to get the letter.

I rushed in, grabbed it and rushed out again. The directions were very straightforward, and it seemed that I’d been on the right road, so why hadn’t I seen the sign? I retraced my original route, and after three miles saw the signpost for Candlefield. How had I missed it twice before? My mind must have been even more scrambled than I’d thought.

I checked the time—I was running almost thirty minutes late. What a way to make a great first impression. What would my new family think of me? Did I care?

Yes.

I’d lived in Washbridge all of my life, and I’d travelled around the surrounding area extensively. So how come I’d never heard of Candlefield? Since taking the turn at the signpost, I hadn’t recognised any of the roads I’d driven along. I promised myself that when I had more time, I’d come back and explore the area more thoroughly.

Twenty minutes later, I saw the sign ‘Welcome to Candlefield’. The approach to the village was across a narrow bridge that was only wide enough for a single vehicle. Once over the bridge, the road wound its way up a hill. Quaint cottages, some of them thatched, bordered the road on either side. Candlefield was beautiful. There were very few people on the streets. Since crossing the bridge, I’d seen one elderly man, a young man on a bike, and a young woman with two children.

The church was perched on top of the hill. I was almost thirty minutes late. Maybe it would be best if I simply turned around and drove home. It seemed disrespectful to turn up so late. The rain, which had been little more than drizzle when I’d set off, was now much heavier. As I climbed out of the car, I could see a crowd of mourners in the distance. That had to be them.

“Great!” I’d left my umbrella back at the flat. This day was just getting better and better. I made my way through the gates, and began to walk towards the crowd of mourners. By the time I reached them, I would look like a drowned rat.

“Step under this.”

I almost jumped out of my skin. I hadn’t seen the woman approach me. She was dressed in black, and was holding a large umbrella.

“Thanks.” I dipped under it. “I didn’t see you there.”

“You must be Jill.” The woman smiled.

I nodded.

“I’m your aunt Lucy. We hoped you would come, but we were beginning to think you weren’t going to make it.”

“I’m really sorry. The SatNav couldn’t find Candlefield. I had to go back for the map you sent me.” The excuse sounded lame even to me.

“Not to worry. You’re here now, and that’s all that matters. Your mother would have been so happy to know you came.”

“What about my father? Is he still—?”

Aunt Lucy shook her head.

I glanced ahead and could see the mourners were beginning to disperse. The majority of them were taking another path that led to a second set of gates to my right.

“We’re going back to my house,” she said. “You’re welcome to come. I know the rest of the family would love to meet you.”

“I—I don’t think I’m ready for that. Not yet.”

“Not to worry. There will be plenty of time for you to meet them another day. Now you know where we are, you’re welcome to visit at any time.”

We walked in silence to the now deserted graveside. I stared down at the coffin.

“She loved you more than anything in the world,” Aunt Lucy said.

“How can you say that?” The words were out before I had the chance to filter them. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay.” She smiled. “This must be difficult for you.”

More difficult than she could know. I wanted to run back to the car, drive home, and forget I’d ever heard from my mother. But first I needed answers.

“Why did she reject me?”

“She didn’t.” Aunt Lucy put her hand on my shoulder. “You must never think that.”

“What am I supposed to think? She put me up for adoption when I was a baby, and then refused to see me when I tried to find her.”

“That broke your mother’s heart.”

“Then why do it?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Not from where I’m standing.” I tried to control my emotions, but my anger forced its way to the surface. “Do you know what her last words to me were?”

Aunt Lucy shook her head.

“She called me a witch! A witch! If she loved me, why would she do that? She could have used her last breath to tell me why she had to give me up for adoption, or at least to tell me she loved me. If she’d done that, maybe I could have forgiven her, but not now.”

I pulled away. Aunt Lucy tried to grab my hand, but I hurried back along the path to my car. I don’t remember the journey back. I must have been on auto-pilot.

Rather than go straight home, I called at Kathy’s. She looked surprised to see me.

“Did you change your mind?”

“What about?”

“The funeral. No one will blame you.” She gave me a peck on the cheek. “Come on in, I was about to make a cup of tea.”

As I walked through to the living room, I noticed the clock on the wall. Ten o’ clock. The funeral had been at nine-thirty. I hadn’t arrived in Candlefield until almost ten because I’d got lost. How could it be ten o’ clock?

“Are you okay?” Kathy looked concerned.

“Yeah. I’m fine.” Apart from losing my mind.

“Don’t beat yourself up about it. No one will think any worse of you for not going. Not after the way she treated you.”

“I did go.”

“Oh? I thought you said it was at nine-thirty? Here, drink this.” She passed me the tea. “Did you meet your new family?”

“Only my aunt Lucy. She kept trying to tell me how much my mother had loved me. Yeah, right.”

“What about your father?”

“Dead.”

“Oh, Jill. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s not like I ever knew him.”

“What about your cousins and grandma? What were they like?”

“I didn’t get to meet them. I arrived late. By the time I got there, the ceremony was over. Aunt Lucy did invite me back to her place, but I couldn’t face it. I had to get away.”

“Maybe you could go back there when you’re feeling up to it.”

“I’m never going back there.”

“But they’re your family.”

“You’re my only family. I’ve managed without them this long. I can manage without them now.”

“What about the village? What’s it like?”

“Beautiful. Picture postcard beautiful. I can’t believe I’ve never even heard of it before.”

Kathy pulled out her phone and fired up Google Maps. “What did you say it was called?”

“Candlefield.”

“How are you spelling that?”

“Candle and then field. One word.”

“That’s what I thought. Google doesn’t recognise it. Are you sure you’ve got the name right?”

“Positive.”

“Well it isn’t on here.”

“I had the same problem with the SatNav. Very weird. When we have some free time, I’ll take you there. It’s really gorgeous.”

“Why don’t you stay with us for a few days? I don’t like to think of you all alone after what you’ve been through.”

I didn’t take her up on the offer. Much as I loved my nephew and niece, I needed my own space and a little peace and quiet. I wouldn’t get either at Kathy’s. Once I was back at my flat, I tried to distract myself with a little TV, but I couldn’t focus. My mind refused to be still; it kept returning to the events of the day. Perhaps I should have gone to the wake. But why? I was an outsider; I wasn’t
really
family.

I needed something to occupy my mind, and I remembered something Mrs V had said some months earlier: ‘
There’s nothing quite like it to relax the mind
’. She’d been trying to persuade me to take up knitting. I’d pooh-poohed the idea at the time, and certainly hadn’t given her any reason to believe I was interested. That hadn’t stopped her from buying me a ‘starter kit’, which comprised of two balls of wool, a pair of knitting needles and a ‘beginner’s guide’. Ever since then, she’d asked me at least once a week how I was getting on with it. Depending on how I felt, I’d either tell her I’d been too busy or I’d lie and say ‘
it’s coming along
’. In truth I hadn’t looked at it since the day she’d given it to me when I’d thrown it—now where had I thrown it?

Twenty minutes later, I found it at the bottom of the wardrobe. Unsurprisingly, the pattern that came with the beginner’s guide was for a scarf. How difficult could it be?

Are you kidding me? How could there be only forty-five stitches—there should be forty-six. It just wasn’t possible. I’d taken it really slowly this time. It was my fourth attempt, and so far I’d lost stitches every single time. Where did they go? Was there a ‘knitting fairy’ that magicked them away when I wasn’t looking? No wonder Mrs V was border-line crazy. This knitting lark was enough to send anyone bonkers.

Two hours and no scarf later, I gathered up the wool, needles and beginners guide, and threw them back into the wardrobe. Next time I needed to soothe my nerves, I’d hit the vodka.