4. Separation
The afternoon heat had burnt itself out and the light was just beginning to fade.
The girl took a drag from her cigarette and elegantly exhaled the smoke. She leaned back in the grass, glanced casually over at the boy sitting just across from her and shot him a fleeting, but brilliant smile. The sun was low in the sky and shining right in his eyes, so he had to screw them up to return her gaze. He shifted his position a little so that his eyes were sheltered by the ancient stone wall at their backs.
It had been her idea that they walk down to the castle. He had agreed of course: this was Iona Deasy after all, actually suggesting they take a walk together. By some stroke of luck he had decided to go to the library that lunchtime to finally get started on his summer homework. He had been there over an hour, bent over a geography assignment, when he heard a girl's voice calling to him softly from across the table.
Simon?
He had recognised her voice, but when he looked up he couldn't quite believe she was standing there, smiling at him and swinging her book bag down onto the table, exuding an air of languid tranquillity. He didn't remember her ever calling him by his first name before.
Anyone sitting there?
He had started to get up from his seat, pulling scattered papers back onto his portion of the table.
No, of course not.
She had piercing grey eyes and pale blonde hair that hung loosely down to her shoulders. Her cheeks were pink from where the sun had caught them. Her mouth slipped effortlessly into a smile, a sincere smile he thought. She wore a black and white striped t-shirt, denim shorts cut off at the knees and rather flimsy sandals. An entire summer had not been enough to tan her pale skin.
Back in the library they had started by bemoaning the fact that there was only one week left of the summer holidays; then, in low, conspiratorial voices, they had gone on to comparing what assignments they had. They were in the same classes for a few things. I can't believe Miss Catchpole set us so much homework. I know. Been anywhere nice on holiday? Just the Norfolk Broads. She had been in Italy. Whereabouts? Umbria. Her family had rented a villa there. We never go anywhere like that.
She stubbed out her cigarette against a gnarled piece of ancient wall. He had already put his out in the grass a couple of minutes earlier. The taste of the cigarette was still bitter in his mouth: it was the ninth cigarette he had ever smoked but it wasn't getting any more pleasant. At least he hadn't coughed.
Me and Claire were supposed to be meeting here today to do homework, but she had to go and visit her aunt. So he had Claire Hale's aunt to thank for this piece of luck. Iona and Claire were both on the list of 'fit' girls that the boys in their year would sit around at break times talking about, trying to assume an air of raffish connoisseurship. Claire Hale regarded all boys in their year with a kind of ethereal contempt; Iona came across as less standoffish, but more shy, and she was somewhat in Claire's shadow, so the boys didn't mention her so much. Thank goodness. At least she didn't make you feel she was demeaning herself by speaking to you. Still, he couldn't quite believe that he could speak to her without every other sentence being ruined by some cringe-worthy remark. What would she say if I told her what I am? For a moment he was almost tempted to. But it would sound ridiculous. Without a doubt she would just laugh at him. Iona, do you believe in magic? That was even worse. Definitely not the sort of thing you just slip into the conversation.
He looked up at the wall. It rose unevenly above them, all that remained of a shattered medieval watchtower. He had close-cropped brown hair, mournful blue eyes and eyelashes too long for a boy, so he thought. He wore a checked short-sleeved shirt, sweltering black jeans and trainers. High up the tower was a bare window, blinding white against the dank, shadowed wall. Beyond the ruined tower the ground dropped away suddenly down a steep hill. He wondered who had once looked out of that window over the fields below and the sea beyond.
He had accepted straight away when she suggested that they take a walk. His homework would have to wait. Her house was much nearer the library than his. She had even pointed it out to him as they passed it in the street. A double-fronted detached Victorian house, facing a hedge on the other side of the street. They had continued on down the lane without stopping, past the last few houses and out into farmer's fields that rose and fell on either side of the roadside hedges. The castle lay just a little way out past the boundary of the town, raised up on a grass-covered hill with straggly woodland starting just beyond it. Not much of it was left: jut a single tower half-open to the elements and fragments of wall that were too scant for anyone to complete the castle's lost outline with their imagination.
The gaps in conversation were getting longer and more frequent. Each one was an opportunity to change the subject. You could do it, you know. You could show her something. He didn't have his wand with him, but he could make a few things happen without it. He could probably make a little fire dance through the grass or make some kind of writing appear on the old stone wall. There was no way she wouldn't be impressed. And he would swear her to silence, there was no getting round that. But it would be better that way anyway: what a feeling of complicity the secret would create.
'Here puss puss puss.'
Her voice interrupted the silence. When he looked around she was halfway down a little hollow just below where they had been sitting. A silver-white cat crouched in the grass a few feet away down the slope. It looked soberly up at Iona, who was cooing to it softly, her hand outstretched. He got up stiffly and went after her.
The cat made no movement to flee as she approached, and never averted its gaze. When she reached its side it reared up suddenly and lightly brushed its forehead against her leg. Then it sat up and allowed her to stroke it, closing its eyes in pleasure as she rubbed its head.
He came nearer to them, the grass rustling under his feet as he trudged forward. The cat opened its eyes and threw him a rather withering look. It had one blue eye and one green. Then it looked back at Iona with an imploring expression and allowed her to stroke it once more, before suddenly turning and padding down the hill at a determined pace.
Iona glanced round at Simon for a moment then headed after the cat. He hesitated briefly then went after her.
The cat leapt over a small section of wall, little more than a pile of ancient rubble in the grass, and headed out of the precincts of the castle. They followed the animal down a grassy bank to a dry ditch that ran along the bottom of the castle hill. It eased its way down the ditch's pebble-strewn incline to its bottom and scrambled up the other side, scampered through the grass and disappearing into a little copse that now came into sight.
He paused for a moment and caught her arm, holding her back. He let go of her arm almost as soon as he had touched it.
'Should we be following this cat?'
She folded her arms and squinted in the direction of the trees.
'Why, do you think it's leading us into a trap?'
He shrugged.
'I don't know. I just get the feeling that it's deliberately leading us on.'
'I certainly hope so!'
For an instant she looked quizzically at the doubt in his eyes. Then she smiled and gave a little tug on his arm.
'You coming?'
He nodded swiftly and followed her into the copse.
Beyond the initial line of trees was a shaded space. The ground was slightly damp and lined with dead leaves. The cat was a few feet off, nosing through the leaves. Just beyond it lay what looked like an abandoned black sheet. The cat looked up and shot them another penetrating glance.
They approached the cat. Iona crouched beside it and it allowed her to stroke it again. He went over to the dark item on the ground. He poked at it with his foot then crouched down to take a closer look. Instead of smelling of mildew or urine, as he had feared it might, it gave off a pleasant odour faintly reminiscent of myrrh. He picked up the object and opened it out. As soon as he touched it, he knew. Should I say something to her? It appeared to be a voluminous black cloak, made of a heavy, rich material. He ran his hand over the cloak until he came to a little badge sewn onto it. He looked more carefully and made out the letter 'H' on the badge. Straight away he folded up the cloak and put it over his arm.
'Simon?'
He liked the way she said his whole name: at school he was usually called Si, or sometimes Sid. Simeon was his real name, but his parents had done him the favour of altering it slightly when they put him in a muggle school. A pang of fear rippled through him. He found her sifting through the dirt and the dead leaves, trying to extract something embedded in the moist earth. Her delicate fingers closed in around a slender wooden object protruding slightly from the ground. With a little effort she managed to slide it out, holding it in the palm of her hand. It was about ten inches long, made of a smooth, pale wood and intricately carved. It seemed untouched by the time spent in the earth. It's a real one too. He could probably wield it, cast some kind of spell, even though something usually went wrong if you tried to use someone else's wand. Iona looked round at him, her eyes wide with fascination.
'Do you think this is a …?'
He found that he couldn't speak. He would be breaking the most important rule he knew. With silent contempt, he reflected how close he had come to showing her earlier. And when they asked him why he did it, he would have to say to impress a girl. He screwed up his face.
'Well it certainly looks like one,' he replied.
'Amazing,' she murmured under her breath, examining how the wand looked in the palm of her hand. She even gave it a little swish, as if trying to cast a spell. Her technique's not bad, as it happens.
'What do you think?' she said. 'Pretty strange, eh?'
'Very strange,' he said.
'What did you find?' she asked.
'A black cloak.'
'A black cloak? No! This is too interesting. It's as if a wizard came here and abandoned his wand and cloak.'
She would be impressed after all. I could trust her. The urge to tell her rose up inside him then quickly abated.
'A wizard? Seems a bit far fetched.'
She frowned a little.
'Here, take a look,' she said, suddenly handing him the wand. He took the wand and handed her the cloak, his hand brushing against hers. A shiver ran through him. This wand has a bad vibe. He wanted to tell her that they should leave. He glanced down at the cat. It looked at him standing there with the wand in his hand. Something about the cat calmed his nerves.
'Still … it's pretty realistic, don't you think?' she said again.
'It does look sort of … well, like what you would expect it to look like,' he said, turning it over in his hand. 'But do you believe in magic?'
She looked at him with a pensive expression.
'Why not?'
By way of reply she shot him a slightly mocking smile.
'You're a sceptic, are you?'
He didn't want to disagree with her. He had got himself into a mess.
'I wouldn't say I'm a sceptic exactly. But what are the chances?'
He could feel his cheeks burning as he spoke. But this is what I'm supposed to do.
'Ok, fair enough,' she said. 'But you never know.'
He smiled.
'No, you never know.'
'And this,' she said, pointing to the wand, 'might be evidence that magic does exist.'
'This could all just be from a costume shop though,' he replied, gesturing vaguely at the cloak and wand.
She rolled her eyes at him.
'Come on,' she said, gesturing to the cat that was purring softly at her feet, 'what about the cat? Isn't it just a little bit tempting to think that this cat was the familiar of a witch or wizard? And that its master or mistress disappeared, leaving their wand and cloak behind.'
He looked down at the cat, and the cat looked up at him with an inscrutable expression.
'Maybe this is the witch or wizard themselves.'
She tutted and gave him a disapproving little shove on the arm. He smiled at her.
'The cat seems to like you,' he said.
'Maybe I could take him home, if he wants to come,' she said, laying the cloak on the ground and kneeling beside the cat. 'Do you want to come home and live with me?' she said, addressing the cat in a childlike voice. Then she looked up at him.
'Do you want the wand?'
He looked at the wand in his hand. Another little tremor passed through him.
'No, you can keep it,' he said, handing it back to her. She accepted the wand with pleasure and slotted it into the pocket of her shorts.
'You can keep the cloak then.'
'Ok,' he replied, and picked up the cloak. What am I going to do with this? Wait for someone to come back and claim it? He didn't want it. There was something sad and dreary about it.
They stood in the copse, looking at each other. The fading sun still shone through the branches, casting a diffuse light. Under the trees the air was clammy and it felt cold for such a warm day. Suddenly a little breeze picked up, causing goose bumps to rise on Iona's arms and legs and rippling through the dead leaves. He looked into her eyes. They looked sad, almost fearful. She feels it too. Then the air was still again.