Chapter Seven: Thunder and Lightning
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On Friday afternoon Simon brought the Christmas tree back from work with him and stood it in a bucket of water behind Julia's shed. Reminded of the season, Julia made a start at writing her Christmas cards. Her list was not extensive and almost entirely local, and when she had done most of them, she forced herself to think about the neglected emails waiting for her attention.
How to choose? she thought as she considered the replies waiting for a response from her. She weeded out the ones she suspected were looking for something of a basic, physical and temporary nature, then contemplated those left. None of them excited her. She didn't know what she was looking for but she sometimes found herself secretively watching Simon like an adolescent with a painful crush. It made her ashamed and irritable.
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After dinner on Saturday she steeled herself, and put her laptop on the kitchen floor. "Albie," she called, "come here. You'll have to help me choose." She showed him the pictures of the men who had contacted her. He was resolutely unenthusiastic about all but one who elicited a faint wag of his tail.
Simon came over to look. "What on earth are you doing?"
"Albie's helping me to choose a date," explained Julia. "I can't make up my mind."
"You're asking Albie to choose a date for you?"
"He's an excellent judge of character," said Julia, stung. "You don't think you'd still be here if he didn't approve do you?"
Simon shook his head in amusement and went back to his whittling.
Julia looked sourly at the back of his head. "This one it is then." She clicked on 'reply' and a couple of hours later Julia had arranged to meet an accountant called Graham at a wine bar in Upper Layford on the Sunday evening of the following weekend. She should have been relieved and excited but felt more as if she had arranged a job interview. Having taken the plunge, she promptly put the forthcoming date out of her mind.
The next week, Simon was working for Adam again. Julia finished writing her cards and delivered most of them by hand. It struck her, oddly enough for the first time, that all her friends lived close by. She had none from the time before she had come to the cottage. It was strange, but when she started to think about it, her neck itched and her head felt tight. Her thoughts drifted away to unrelated subjects and she found herself giving the oven its pre-Christmas clean, which did nothing to improve her mood.
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As she was serving up their meal on Wednesday evening, there was a rattle at the front door. When she went to investigate, she found a letter on the mat Delighted, she picked it up. Megan's letters always arrived at odd times although she had never seen anyone approach or leave the cottage, and Albie never barked. She put it on the table in front of her while she ate. "It's the first one I've had since before Hallowe'en," she told Simon happily. "I've no idea how they're delivered."
"Aren't you going to open it?" he asked.
"Of course I am. I'm saving it for later."
After they had eaten, she left Simon doing the washing up, took the letter into the living room, and curled up with it on the sofa..
Megan was having a marvellous time and loving most of her lessons. She was not too keen on History of Magic but was enjoying Transfiguration and had learnt how to turn a shoelace into an earthworm—although it had still had a bit of plastic at the end. She had watched a Quidditch match but had been cold and found it boring, and she had a new best friend called Sarah. Instead of a present she would like money for Christmas, so that she could save up for a telescope.
Julia had to read the last part a couple of times to be sure she understood. A telescope? She blinked hard; her eyes were prickling.
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Simon came in, bringing a hot drink.
She was surprised and touched. "Oh, Simon, that is so kind, thank you."
He put the mug down on the coffee table. "Hey," he said, kneeling before her. "Are you crying?" He brushed his index finger over her cheek. "Oh, Julia, she's coming home for Christmas isn't she? That's not far off."
"I know. I know, but I miss her so much."
For a second, Julia thought he was going to take her in his arms; and heaven help her, she wanted him to. But the moment passed. Instead he patted her knee awkwardly, and said, "Cheer up!"
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The weekend came, and as it drew to a close, Julia contemplated what to wear for her date. Her options were rather limited but a few months before she had—under some pressure from her daughter who was, she said, fed up with her mother looking like 'a scruff'—bought a lovely dress. It had never been worn and hung in the wardrobe still carrying its price tag.
It was a lovely shade of blue, she thought, looking in the mirror with satisfaction. And a flattering shape. It would do nicely. She applied a touch of eye make-up and a dab of perfume, put on some high heeled shoes she had bought for a wedding and worn once, and tottered downstairs.
Simon's eyes darkened. He didn't say anything. He didn't have to; she could tell he liked it. She felt ridiculously pleased. She wanted to stay at home. Wanted him to keep on looking at her like that.
Her taxi pulled up outside and beeped its horn.
"Well then," she said briskly, picking up her handbag. "wish me luck!"
"Yeah," said Simon. "Good luck." He picked up his penknife and didn't watch her leave.
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Graham was very nice, really he was. If there was a plump softness to his clean shaven chin or about his middle, carefully camouflaged with a fashionably untucked shirt, she thought she was probably being just a bit fussy. She really didn't think his hands were a little too well-manicured and smooth, or that his his hair was carefully arranged to disguise a receding hairline, or that his eyes were a little dull, or that his voice lacked a particular rough quality she had grown to enjoy.
In the trendy wine bar, where the furniture was all faux suede, chrome and glass, and the walls were tiled with mirrors so that everywhere she looked she saw herself, she ordered a large glass of Merlot and tried to concentrate on what he was saying.
It was something she had noticed before about accountants. They always seemed to be very keen on their work. She could not deny that she was a little relieved, not to mention tipsy, when the evening was over and they waited together on the pavement for her taxi to arrive.
Tentatively Graham pulled her close and kissed her. Interested, she softened her lips receptively and the kiss deepened. There was nothing wrong with the kiss; not exactly. But the elusive melting sensation she craved was missing, and after a few seconds she'd had enough and pulled away.
"I'm so sorry, Graham," she said. "It's not working. The chemistry just isn't there."
"It could be," he said, trying to attach his lips to hers again. "Give it time, we could be good together."
"No, I don't think so. I'm really sorry."
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When she got home, Simon was at the kitchen table. He had been whittling again. and wood shavings littered the table and floor. "What a bloody mess!"
"I'll clear it up, don't worry," he said. "How was your evening?"
"You haven't been waiting up for me?"
He scowled. "I wasn't tired."
Recklessly, Julia took a bottle of wine from the rack, uncorked it and poured herself a generous glass. "Want one?"
"No, I think I'll give it a miss," said Simon.
Julia swallowed half the glass and topped it up.
"Steady on," he said, "take it easy, Julia.
"What's wrong with me?" she complained. "He was a perfectly nice man. Why didn't it work? This is your damn fault!"
"Have I done something to offend you?" Simon looked upset. " I didn't mean to. I'm very grateful to you. I know how much you've done for me."
"Bloody gratitude!" she grated. "You think I want your gratitude? Christ!"
"I've outstayed my welcome," he said standing up. "I've been thinking. Your daughter will be home soon for Christmas. It's time for me to move on."
Julia went cold. "Move on! Where to?"
He shrugged. "I might have more initiative than you give me credit for. I'm a grown man, I can take care of myself. Adam told me about a hostel."
"A hostel! A bloody hostel!" she cried. "If I wasn't drunk, Si, I wouldn't say this. Bloody hell! Bloody, bloody hell! I don't want you to go. That's the bloody trouble!" She looked at him unhappily, and drained her glass. "I'm going to bed. I'll see you tomorrow. Bloody hell."
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A couple of hours later she was woken from a heavy, alcohol-sodden slumber by a violent bang of thunder and a dazzling burst of lightning. Rain beat in great irregular spatters against her window. She drifted back into a miserably hung-over doze until there was a deafening crash somewhere over her head.
She fell out of bed with a weak scream and heaved herself queasily upright, pulling her dressing gown on. It was inside out, but she couldn't summon the energy to do anything about it. The stairs seemed steeper and harder to navigate than usual.
Downstairs, the kitchen light was on. Simon was in there and soaking wet.
"What the hell was that?" she asked, wincing at the sound of her own voice.
"Your chimney has been struck by lightning."
She flopped into a chair groaning. "You are kidding?"
"No I'm not, but I don't think there's too much damage. Nothing that won't wait till morning anyway. You look awful."
"I think I might be sick," she said.
"Don't do it in here."
"It's my house. I'll be sick wherever I damn well please."
"Fair enough," he shrugged.
"I feel as if something crawled into my mouth and died." Julia stuck her tongue out to show him..
"Disgusting," he agreed, "it looks like that too."
"I've got a vile headache," she said. "I'm going back to bed."
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By the time it was light, she was feeling hardly any better. She forced herself out of bed and tiptoed unsteadily to the phone. "George?" she whispered.
"Hello? Hello? You'll have to speak up! Is that you, Julia?"
"Ow," she whimpered, holding the receiver away from her ear. "You'll never believe it, but my chimney was struck by lightning during the night!"
"Lightning? Never! I didn't even know we'd had a storm!"
"Didn't you hear it? It didn't last long, but it was pretty violent. Anyway, I was wondering if you know someone who could come and take a look at it for me? It's pretty badly damaged but I think the roof has escaped fairly unscathed apart from a few slates."
"I'll bring our George over," he said. "He's a good lad. Been well trained."
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The two Georges arrived in a tidy van an hour or so later and unloaded their ladders.
"Yer lookin' a bit peaky this mornin' Julia, if you don't mind me sayin'. 'eavy night?"
"Er, in a way."
"Prairie Oyster's what you want."
"What?"
"Prairie Oyster, y' know. Whole raw egg. Worcester Sauce, dash o' Tabasco; down in one, an' Bob's yer mother's brother!"
She looked at him in horror. "You must be joking. That has to be the product of a deranged mind."
Old George introduced his son. "Pleased to meet you Miz Fenwick," said Young George who was, in fact, about Julia's own age.
"Call me Julia, please," she said shaking his hand gingerly. "I'll have some tea waiting for you when you come down."
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Julia made a point of avoiding Simon for as long as she could. When she did encounter him, she was almost sure he was wearing an expression of faint sympathy mingled with thinly disguised amusement. In fact, she thought bitterly, he looked rather smug. At one point she even heard him whistling. Whistling!
She ignored him, and eventually he took Albie out for a walk. Julia hoped they would be gone for ages. He hadn't mentioned the previous evening, but thinking about it made her burn with mortification.
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A couple of hours later the two Georges descended from the roof and Julia poured two mugs of tea and stirred in several spoons of sugar as they packed their tools into the van. "We've made it all safe for now," said young George, taking a mug off her, "and fixed the slates so you won't have any leaks. We'll pop back tomorrow to finish off."
Old George followed his son to the back door carrying the twisted remains of the bronze dog. "It's made a mess o' this," he said. "Not much point leaving it up there. But 'ave a look at what we found bricked up in your chimney." He was holding a dirty package.
"Come inside," said Julia. "I'll put some newspaper on the table."
George put the package on the paper. It was a roll of leather which had become stiff and brittle with age. It cracked and began to crumble as Julia opened it. Something was inside.
"A child's shoe," she said, picking it up gently. "I've heard of these. It was some sort of charm against witchcraft. This is really old! Do you think it was put in the chimney when the cottage was built?"
"Wouldn't be surprised," said George. "What's this do you think? He pulled a slender, carved stick out from where it had been hidden inside a fold.
Julia put the shoe down, staring. "I can't imagine." She licked her dry lips. "I'm so sorry, George, I'm not feeling at all well. I appreciate you coming out so quickly. I'll see you tomorrow." She shut the door behind him and went back into the kitchen. Her heart was pounding and her head was throbbing in time with it.
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The last thing on Megan's list had been her wand. The witch in the purple dress had said, "I'm sorry, Mrs Fenwick—"
"Ms," muttered Julia.
"Ms Fenwick. I'm afraid you can't go into Ollivander's with Megan, but I hope we won't be long."
Julia hadn't argued. By that time she had been feeling dreadful and sat in a daze on the steps outside.
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"Look, Mum!" Megan had been alight with excitement. "My very own wand! Alder wood with Augurey feather and hippogriff claw!"
"Hippogriff," said Julia vaguely and pain stabbed behind her eyelids. "I'm sorry Megan, I've a terrible headache. Are we done now?"
By the time they had walked back from St Pancras to Euston the pain had faded to a dull ache. When they got off the train at Stafford it had gone completely but Julia could hardly recall what she and Megan had been doing all day. She had not given it another thought until now.
She looked up. Simon was standing by the table, staring at the wand. He reached for it but stayed his hand for a moment as if thinking. Then he took hold of it. The back of Julia's neck prickled sharply, and at that moment, for a split second, the little shoe suddenly glowed bright green.
"Did you see that? Julia said in astonishment, reaching out. "It glowed!"
"Julia, no! Don't touch it!" shouted Simon. But he was too late.
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