Mum had been really generous, buying me a new duvet, and new sheets. I felt a bit bad because I knew we didn’t have loads of money, but she told me it was fine and that I wasn’t to worry. I did though.
In the end I slept in her room that first night, because it was so dark in mine with the board up – normally the street lights from the path along the back of our house, and the lights that illuminated the church, shone through my window at night. It was really cold in my room, too, and noisy … and I had to admit I was a little bit scared as well. I was much happier spending the night in Mum’s bed with her, like I did when I was little and Dad was away working.
But tonight Cassie was sleeping over because her mum had a work thing, and Mum had draped a thick blanket over the boarded-up window to keep the warmth in, and found a load of lamps from all over the house, so instead of being cold and dark, my room felt warm and cosy. Mum had been a bit odd when we got home, slightly on edge. But it had been a hard week, I supposed.
Cassie and I were planning a Pitch Perfect marathon, but first Cassie wanted to examine the witch bottle and see where I’d found it.
‘There’s definitely something inside,’ Cassie said, holding it up to the light.
I bounced on the bed on my knees. ‘Blood, maybe,’ I said with relish. ‘I looked it up. Blood, or wee or hair.’
‘Urgh.’ Cassie dropped it and I caught it before it hit the floor.
‘Careful. It’s like 400 years old. It’s actual history.’
‘Ohmygod,’ Cassie said, clasping her hand to her mouth. ‘I totally forgot to tell you.’
‘What?’
‘Mum spoke to one of the historian peeps at her work and she’s an expert in witches and she’ll be in the museum tomorrow if you want to pop in after school with the bottle and she says she’s dying to see it.’ Cassie parroted the whole message without taking a breath.
‘Cool,’ I said. ‘Will you come with me?’
‘Course. Show me where you found it.’
‘It was under where the tree had split my window ledge.’ I crawled across my bed to the window. ‘Here. See this wee hole?’
Cassie pulled her phone out of her pocket and turned on the torch, shining it into the space. ‘There’s something else in there.’
I felt a flutter of excitement. ‘No way? Another bottle?’
‘Maybe.’
I shoved Cassie out of the way and looked myself. ‘It doesn’t look like a bottle, because it’s not got the waxy seal.’
Cassie leaned against me. ‘It is a bottle. It’s just not glass.’ She looked at my hands. ‘You’ve got skinnier fingers than me. Try to get it out.’
She held the phone so the light shone down into the hole and I saw she was right. It was another bottle, wedged firmly into the small space. I tried to get my fingers down the side, but I couldn’t squeeze them in.
‘I need something to kind of lever it out,’ I said, looking round my room for inspiration. ‘Ooh what about a ruler?’
I got the ruler from my desk, jammed it down the side of the bottle and promptly snapped it in half as I tried to wiggle it about. ‘Nope.’
Cassie giggled. ‘What about a spoon? Or a knife?’
‘Excellent idea.’ I jumped off the bed and ran downstairs to the kitchen. ‘Found another bottle,’ I shouted to Mum as I passed her in the living room. But she was on the phone and she didn’t seem to hear. I grabbed an ice-cream spoon – the sort with a long handle and a small bowl – and a knife and ran back upstairs again.
‘Right, try to get the spoon down the side, then maybe you can sort of get it under the bottle and pull it up,’ Cassie said.
I eased the spoon into the hole, wiggling it round until I thought it was underneath the bottom of the bottle. ‘Got it,’ I said. I levered it up and the bottle moved. ‘It’s coming,’ I said.
‘Give it a bit more oomph,’ Cassie advised.
I pushed down on the handle of the spoon firmly and the hole gave way. The bottle catapulted out of its resting place and flew across my room where it hit the wall with a loud crack.
‘Oops,’ I said.
‘That’s 400 years old,’ Cassie said sternly. I gave her a good-natured shove and slid off my bed to go and inspect the damage.
This bottle was a different shape from the first one. It was tall and thin, but Cassie had been right that even though it didn’t have the waxy seal on it, it was definitely a bottle. It was made from some sort of brown pottery and it was on my bedroom floor, cracked in half. ‘Oh shit, I’ve totally smashed it,’ I said. I bent down to pick up the two pieces and a roll of yellowed paper came out. ‘Cass, there’s something inside.’
Cassie sat down next to me on the floor and I moved one of the lamps to give us more light. Then very, very carefully, because it was 400 years old after all, I unrolled the tiny strip of paper.
There was writing all over it. Tiny, old-fashioned writing. ‘God it’s so hard to see,’ I complained. Cassie found a magnifying glass app on her phone and together we peered at the writing.
‘It’s Lachlan!’ Cassie shouted in triumph, making me jump. ‘Look! That’s a big loopy L. It says Lachlan. Like the funny-looking lad in fourth year.’
I squinted at the writing. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Lachlan Murdo?’
‘Murdoch,’ said Cassie.
I looked at her, impressed. ‘You’re good at this,’ I said.
She shrugged. ‘My dad’s writing is terrible. I’ve had years deciphering birthday cards and notes he’s written.’
I clutched her arm. ‘Alice,’ I said. ‘The name above it is Alice Seton – the witch.’
‘Nice.’
My hands were tingling as I pointed to the other names written over and over on the little slip of paper. ‘Alice Murdoch,’ I breathed. ‘She’s written Alice Murdoch again and again.’
Cassie let out a bark of laughter. ‘Because she fancies him,’ she said in delight. ‘Alice Seton fancies Lachlan Murdoch and she’s practising her married name.’
‘Oh my god, this is amazing,’ I said, laughing too. ‘She’s just like us. She fancies a boy and she’s just like us, only 400 years ago.’
‘Have you written Callum’s name on a piece of paper?’ Cassie said with a sly glance at me. ‘Have you written Jemima Stokes over and over, in case you ever get married?’
‘Shut up,’ I said. ‘Like you haven’t written Max’s name on your maths book.’
‘I haven’t,’ Cassie said in outrage. We both collapsed in giggles again and I wondered if Alice Seton had had a best friend who she could laugh with about Lachlan Murdoch. I hoped she had.
‘Do you think she was killed?’ I said suddenly, my laughter stopping as the thought occurred to me. ‘Do you think Alice was killed for being a witch? They did horrible things to them. Burned them and tortured them.’ I felt upset, which was ridiculous considering even if Alice had lived to a ripe old age, she’d still have been dead for hundreds of years.
‘The woman at the museum might know,’ said Cassie. ‘I hope they didn’t hurt her, though. I feel like she’s our friend.’ She looked up at the ceiling. ‘Alice, if you can hear us, we’re your new besties.’
She was joking but I felt a bit spooked. I shivered. ‘God, I hope she can’t hear us,’ I said. Then I added: ‘Sorry for breaking your bottle, Alice.’
Cassie put her arm through mine. ‘Shall we go downstairs and show your mum what we’ve found?’
‘Good idea.’
Mum had finished her phone call and she was thrilled by our find. She gave me a plastic folder to put the slip of paper in to keep it safe, and we put that and the pieces of bottle, and the first bottle, in a little cardboard box. She said she wanted to come to the museum too, which I was quite pleased about. And then we ordered pizza and we all watched Pitch Perfect and Pitch Perfect 2. Eventually, Mum went to have a bath and Cassie and I watched Pitch Perfect 3, and all the spookiness of thinking about Alice disappeared.
When Mum had finished her bath, she came downstairs in her pyjamas and dressing gown and asked if we’d like a hot chocolate. Cassie and I had stuffed our faces with popcorn and pizza but we still nodded.
I went into the kitchen with Mum to see if she needed a hand, and as she was warming the milk – in a pan on the hob because she said that was better than in the microwave – and I was leaning against the back door and not really helping at all, I heard the mewing again.
‘Mum,’ I said. ‘It’s the cat. Cassie, listen.’
Cassie came into the kitchen holding her stomach. ‘I’ve eaten too much popcorn,’ she complained. ‘Hmm, that hot chocolate smells delish.’
I laughed. ‘Shush a minute. I want to listen.’
We all stayed quiet and there was the mewing again. Delighted, I clapped my hands. ‘I knew I hadn’t imagined it.’
I opened the back door and went out into the side return of the house. ‘Here kitty,’ I called into the darkness. ‘You saved my bacon. I need to repay you.’
I felt something nudge my leg and there was a little black cat, weaving around my ankles. I bent down and picked it up. It didn’t struggle, just sat contentedly in my arms.
‘Hello,’ I said. The cat purred loudly. ‘Look.’ I went into the kitchen and showed the little animal to Mum and Cassie. ‘I’ve got a new friend.’
‘She’s so sweet,’ Cassie said, stroking the cat’s head. The cat nuzzled her hand.
She was sweet. If she was a she. I wasn’t sure how you’d know. ‘Can I keep her, Mum?’
Mum frowned. ‘Oh, Jem, I don’t know. She must belong to someone?’
‘She’s not got a collar,’ Cassie said.
‘See, she’s not got a collar. Please?’
‘You can’t just adopt a cat,’ Mum said. ‘It’s stealing.’
‘Our old cat was really greedy and kept going in other houses and eating their cat food,’ Cassie said. ‘We only found out when one of the other owners put a paper collar on him with a message on it. You could do that.’
‘Brilliant!’ I said. ‘We could ask if she belongs to anyone and then we’ll know for sure.’
Mum knew when she was defeated. She smiled. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Let’s find some paper.’
She got a notepad from the drawer and ripped a long strip, which reminded me of Alice’s note. Then she wrote:
This cat has been to visit us. If she belongs to you, please text and let us know.
She added her phone number and then I held the cat’s head still while she fastened the paper collar round her neck and stuck the ends together with some Sellotape. I kissed the kitty’s little pink nose and put her back outside where she mewed sadly.
‘I know,’ I said. ‘But go and explore and come back again if you want to live here.’
The cat gave one last little mew and then wandered off into the darkness of the garden.
‘I hope she comes back,’ I said. ‘She’s lovely.’