I woke up with a start, my heart pounding. It was dark in my room so I knew it hadn’t been my alarm that had roused me.
Sitting up in bed, I felt for the switch on my bedside lamp and turned it on, squinting at the clock. It was 4 a.m. and outside the storm was hammering at the windows.
‘Storm Alice,’ I whispered in glee. I loved that this weather was named after the girl who I now considered to be ‘my witch’.
The rain sounded like marbles pelting the roof because it was so heavy. That must have been what had woken me, because my bed was under the window and it was loud. Even though my bedroom was at the back of the house, I could hear the waves crashing outside and I wondered if the water had ever come as far as the cottage. Probably not, I thought. There was a thick sea wall between the cottage and the waves now, though perhaps back in the days before it had been built, it might have got a bit soggy. I knelt up at the window and peered out, into the night. I couldn’t see much, just the rain splattering the glass and the tree in the neighbour’s garden bending in the wind. Somewhere I could hear a bell ringing. Was it the church? Could the wind be strong enough to ring a big church bell? I opened the window and leaned out, trying to work out where the sound was coming from. Straightaway my face was wet from rain, and the wind was so strong it took my breath away, whipping my hair across my damp skin. That had definitely been a mistake. The bells were coming from the harbour, I thought, not the church. I pictured the little boats that sheltered there. I thought I remembered seeing some of them with bells. Shivering I tried to pull the window shut – it took a bit of effort because the wind was blowing and keeping it open – and as I yanked it, I heard a pitiful meow from somewhere below, round the side of the cottage. I gasped. Surely there wasn’t a cat outside in this weather? With a final thud I shut the window, slid out of bed, shivering in the cold, pulled on my dressing gown, pushed my feet into my slippers and headed downstairs to investigate.
Without turning on the light – I didn’t want to disturb Mum – I found my coat on the hook at the bottom of the stairs by the front door then I went into the kitchen and out into our little backyard, closing the door carefully behind me so it didn’t get blown off its hinges.
It was wild outside. I was soaked through in seconds, the rain seeping into my pyjama bottoms and drenching my slippers. I wiped my face with my sleeve, but it was so wet it made very little difference.
And there was the mewing again, a tiny sound over the crashing waves and howling wind.
‘Here kitty,’ I said. Scrunching my face up against the rain, I went around the side of the house where the bins were, and called again, making a kissing sound with my lips. ‘Here puss.’ But there was no sign of the cat. Perhaps I’d imagined it. Maybe I had still been sleepy, half dreaming?
Suddenly, there was a huge crack and a groaning sound. The ground beneath my feet seemed to shake and then there was the noise of breaking glass and falling rubble. Instinctively I crouched down where I was beside the wheelie bin, protecting my head with my arms. ‘Shit,’ I breathed, feeling my legs trembling. ‘Shit.’
Eventually, the noise stopped, and I stood up cautiously. I was fine. Nothing had fallen near me. Lights were going on, illuminating the yard and as I skirted back round the side of the house to where I’d just been, I could see what had happened. The huge tree in Eva’s garden had fallen, demolishing her conservatory. Our house had escaped the worst of it, except for one large branch which had broken off and gone through my bedroom window.
Shocked, I darted back inside and upstairs.
‘Jem!’ Mum was shouting, her voice tight with tears. ‘Jem!’
‘I’m here,’ I called. She whirled round where she stood at the door of my room and grabbed me, pulling me tightly to her.
‘Oh my god,’ she said. ‘I thought you were in there.’
Over her shoulder, I saw the devastation that had once been my room. My bed was hidden under the heavy branch, and there was broken glass everywhere. My legs started shaking again and I clung on to Mum. ‘I was outside,’ I said.
She held me at arm’s length and looked at me. ‘You’re soaking wet,’ she said. ‘What on earth were you doing outside?’
‘I heard a cat.’
She shook her head and then squeezed me tightly again. ‘Thank goodness,’ she muttered into my wet hair.
‘We need to check that Eva’s okay,’ I said. ‘The tree has totally wrecked her conservatory.’
‘Shit,’ said Mum. ‘Get yourself dry. I’ll go and check on her.’
‘No, I want to come.’
Mum didn’t argue and I was glad. We went downstairs and out the front and knocked on Eva’s door. It was still dark but there were lights on in lots of the houses and car alarms going off.
‘What if she’s asleep?’ I said.
Mum made a face. ‘I doubt that.’
Eva opened the door wearing a pair of men’s checked pyjamas and some fluffy slippers. Mum and I swapped smiles.
‘The tree has come down and my conservatory is no more,’ Eva declared without saying hello. She looked quite pleased about it. Maybe she just enjoyed the drama.
‘The tree has come down and my bedroom is no more,’ I told her.
She gasped, her hand to her chest, and looked at me in horror. ‘But you are not hurt?’
‘I wasn’t in there.’
She gathered me into her arms and squeezed me tight. She smelled like face cream. ‘Thank goodness.’
‘Eva, why not come through to ours and we can all sit down together and work out what to do?’ Mum said.
So we all trooped back to our house. I went into Mum’s room and dried my hair and put on a pair of her old gym leggings and a big jumper, while she put on jeans. Eva had got dressed too. Mum made coffee for everyone – even me though I didn’t like it very much – and we watched it get light and the damage outside begin to show itself.
‘I hated that conservatory,’ said Eva looking out of the back window. ‘But what a mess.’
Mum sighed. ‘I don’t know where to begin with clearing up. I suppose I should phone the insurance company.’
‘I bet they’re super busy already,’ I said.
‘Perhaps we should take some photographs,’ Eva suggested. ‘Before we begin the clear-up?’
‘Of course,’ Mum said, looking impressed with Eva’s presence of mind.
We spent a while taking pictures on our phones from every angle, then we wrapped up warm and went outside into the blustery morning and took photos outside too. Then we clambered over what was left of the fence and did the same in Eva’s garden, while she shouted commands at us through the window.
‘You need to go inside,’ she called. ‘I’ll come round the front way.’
Inside, Eva’s house was completely fine, except for the back window and doors that had led into the conservatory. They were shattered and the wind was whistling through. It was freezing in there. Eva swore under her breath in German. I liked the way it sounded and made a little note in my head to get her to teach me.
Through the shattered glass, we could see Eva’s neighbour from the other side. He was in what was left of his garden, looking at the fallen tree in despair.
‘What a nightmare,’ Mum called to him.
He came over, looking fed up. ‘I know you didn’t like your conservatory much, Eva, but this is a bit of an extreme way to get rid of it. Is this storm your doing? Are you some sort of weather witch?’
We all laughed and Mum and I exchanged amused glances.
‘Cheeky,’ said Eva, but she was smiling. ‘I wouldn’t have made such a mess of it all.’
‘Your house must be freezing because of the broken windows,’ the neighbour went on. ‘Mine is too. I’ve already rung round a few people to get them to come and board it up but everyone’s busy – not surprisingly.’ He looked up at my bedroom. ‘You’ll need someone too.’
Mum looked thoughtful. ‘I might know someone who can help.’ She screwed her face up, like she was trying to remember. ‘Where did I put it?’ She patted the back pocket of her jeans and looked pleased. ‘Here.’ She pulled out a business card. ‘Rory Baxter? Have you tried him? He’s a carpenter.’ Her cheeks were a bit pink, but maybe it was just the wind.
‘I can call him, if you like?’ she said to the neighbour. He said he would, so Mum took Eva back to ours and went to ring this Rory bloke. I went upstairs to look at my room. It was a school day, but I didn’t know if I had to go, or if I could even get to my uniform or any of the books I needed.
It really was freezing in my bedroom. The wind and rain were howling through the broken glass and there were shards all over my duvet. The photographs of my old friends from Edinburgh that I’d carefully stuck behind my headboard had blown from their fixings and were strewn everywhere. The pretty pale pink wallpaper I’d chosen was soaking and already starting to peel. It was horrible. My wardrobe, though, was unscathed and my desk had escaped most of the damage too. Looked like it would be a school day for me after all. Rolling my eyes, I plodded to my wardrobe and pulled out the clothes I’d need for that day, took them into Mum’s room and dropped them on the bed. Then I went back to my room to get my books. I paused for a second, looking at the shattered window and split frame. And then something caught my eye – a bump in the bricks around the window. Had something fallen from the tree and wedged itself in the stonework?
Carefully, I pulled up the duvet, gathering most of the broken glass in its folds, and clambered onto the bare mattress so I could look more closely.
It was a little earthenware container, about the size of my hand, set in a gap between two of the stones that surrounded the window. It had been covered over by the wooden frame which had split. Intrigued, I pulled away the rest of the wood, and tried to pull the little container out. It wouldn’t budge, so I found a pair of scissors on my desk and started chipping away at the soft stone with the blades. It didn’t take much before I’d loosened it enough to get it out. Brushing away the dust I’d made, I wiggled the container a bit and it came free.
I held it up to the light. It wasn’t pottery, as I’d thought. It was just really dirty. It was a grey-green glass bottle with a narrow top and fat bottom and it was sealed with a cork and a wax lid. I wiped it with my thumb. There was something inside but I couldn’t see what it was. It reminded me of something. What was it?
I looked round my room, hoping to dislodge the memory and my eye fell on the pile of books about witches that I’d taken out of the school library. That was it.
I put the bottle on my desk and leafed through the books until I found what I’d been looking for. It wasn’t exactly the same as the picture I’d remembered but it was close enough. A small container, tightly sealed and hidden somewhere in a house – the one in the book had been found under a fireplace. I read the caption and shivered with excitement tinged with a tiny bit of fear.
‘It’s a witch bottle,’ I said out loud, picking it up again. ‘A witch bottle.’