twenty-one

juke

Somehow, I was in Bridgwater. I must have driven on autopilot from Zotheroy while my thoughts frothed, as if my grandmother had thrown a sachet of brewer’s yeast on them. A lorry hooted as I trailed blindly into the middle of the road and I found it utterly impossible to drive any further. I swung into the next car park, turned off the ignition, but forgot to go into neutral. The car jumped forward as I took my foot off the clutch. I was going to sob. No; I was going to scream.

I’d slipped away from the Hatchings. The thought of clapping eyes on Mrs. Mitchell had made me shake, and Lettice had still been hacking over the hills. If she’d seen the state I was in she’d have gone straight to her grandmother and got our conversation out of her with those beguiling eyes. I didn’t want Lettice to know the truth about her family. Even so, leaving without saying goodbye to anyone felt like running away.

How stupid to think that my grandmother might welcome me into the fold. I’d met her daughter—the daughter who had stayed a daughter and taken on the family mantle of indifference to the world. Peers Mitchell should have been a lesson to learn; a shallow, repugnant woman who had never even thought to search for her own sister. Why had I allowed myself to believe for one moment that her mother would be different—in any way nicer?

Six months ago, it had been plain to me. I’d made the decision not to link up with this new family. I’d all but broken Lettice’s heart when I’d told her. And I could remember my words, clear as day … we’ve been quite happy not knowing each other up to now …

Finally, I gathered myself up and looked out on the day. I was parked on the edge of town, opposite the Angel Shopping Centre. Clouds hung like a bruise. I pulled my shoulders back and took a shuddering breath.

I turned the ignition and the car fired, almost masking the tap that came at my window. A man was standing right outside the car. He tapped again, bending so that I could see his face. He was somewhere between forty and fifty and his pate was almost hairless, just a few brownish curls above each ear. In substitution he wore a mustache that was a slash of brown across his upper lip. He had a squat head, as if someone had taken a cricket bat to it sometime in the past. A cigarette burned between the fingers still resting on the glass.

“Could I have a word?” he mouthed.

I went to wind the window down, but thought better. For no reason I could put my finger on, I didn’t like the look of him. I turned off the engine and shoved the keys deep in my coat pocket. Then of course, I couldn’t operate the window. Instantly, I felt a fool. All the guy wanted was a word—which would probably be that one of my tyres looked a little soft—something like that.

I opened the door and got out. The man stepped back to let me do so.

His black jeans were low slung and baggy and he wore a black open neck shirt over a black t-shirt, the better to display the concentric circles of heavy gold chains wrapped round his neck.

“Yes?”

The guy moved into my personal zone. I shuffled away and my back hit the car door. As our gazes met, his face transformed from living flesh into grey stone.

It was one of my “moments”—I was seeing the man’s otherworldly presence—a stone gnome. The bald head was polished granite and the mustache was a line of dark lichen growing beneath the gravelly pits and dents, lumps and bulges, that made up his features.

Gnomes are a part of the Middle Realm of the otherworld. They love working with metal, often draping themselves with the glitter of gold. You never know which way a gnome will jump. Maybe they’ll help you on your journey … maybe they’ll throw a rock that catches your shin bone and trips you up.

The alteration in the man’s features occurred for a few spine-
tingling seconds and in that time, he’d said whatever it was he’d wanted to say. He stood there, expectant, waiting for my reply. I hadn’t heard a word.

“… your face?” The stone mouth was transforming into soft flesh. All I could do was gawp.

“Er—what?”

“I recognized your face.” He gestured behind him. “From right over there. You’re Sabbie Dare, aren’t you?”

“Uh …”

“I knew it was you.”

“I don’t think we’ve ever met.”

“That’s right.” His voice had the local growl of West Somerset. “No, you don’t know me.”

“Can you tell me what this is about?”

“Heard all about how you’re so kindhearted, like.”

I felt behind me for the door handle. He watched the action, his eyes trained. He ground his cigarette out under his foot, like a cue to action, and took my elbow. His grip was hard, stonelike. I shrugged him off and in doing so, moved away from the car door. He eased into my place. Now his back was at my door. “Please move. Move away from my car.”

“Only want to talk. That’s all. Little talk.”

I didn’t take my eyes off him as I fumbled at my remote key and zapped it from my pocket to lock the car. The lights flashed on, off.

He made towards me. He was almost upon me, about to snatch at me. I swerved out of his path. His stride became wider, breaking into a jog. I could hear him pounding behind as I dodged between cars. I aborted my bright idea—to escape from the stone gnome by heading back to my car—and was running wildly, barely knowing why, taking the exit from the car park and sprinting over the road between traffic. I thought the hammering in my ears was his footsteps, but it was the surge of my own pulse. I glanced behind. He was stuck in the centre of the road, a fresh stream of heavy traffic moving through. He raised his hand as if that would stop me in my tracks.

Nothing was going to stop me. I made it through the doors of the shopping mall long before he’d dodged the vehicles in his path. I ducked into Bon Marché, fleeing to the back of the store, and hiding behind high rails of party frocks. I calmed myself by pretending to flick through the goods. Even a girl in negative financial equity has the right to browse. I separated the dresses on the rails and peered through the gap. The man was standing in the central open space of the mall, turning a full circle. His pebble scalp glowed under the lights.

In the relative calm of the shop, it began to occur to me that maybe I should have asked him what he wanted. What harm could he mean, here in the middle of town? What harm could he do? After what I’d been through at the Hatchings, I was extra receptive to the vibes coming off him. Was that a warning?

My phone beeped a message.

Just wondering about session today? Only …

I heard a humph come out of my mouth. Juke! I’d forgotten his afternoon appointment. The meeting with my grandmother and the stone gnome had robbed me of my usual routine.

I checked the time. Juke’s session should start in fifteen minutes. He was probably outside my house, wondering where I was.

He answered directly when I rang him.

“Sabbie,” he began, “I’ve got a bit of a problem.”

“I’ve got a bit of a problem too,” I kept my voice light. “I’m not at the house, not right this moment, Juke—” My voice broke as my throat closed over. “I’m kinda trapped. It’s stupid, honestly, but there’s this guy following me and I … well, I don’t like the look of him.”

“What? In what way.”

“Daft ways. Just … intuition. He presented his otherworld face to me. He’s a gnome.”

“You’re scared. I can tell it in your voice.”

“He’s searching for me in the Angel Shopping Centre. He’ll give up any moment and go. Can you give me half an hour to get back to my house?”

“Absolutely not. Sounds like you need help.”

“I’m sure I’m not in any sort of danger.”

“What you need is backup. Once this man sees you’re not alone, he’ll give up.”

I tried to insist that I could cope. He didn’t want to hear it. All at once, he was in alpha male mode. “We’re on our way. Won’t be more than ten minutes. Keep in touch.”

As much as I hated the thought that some random male friend was rushing to my rescue, the knowledge was reassuring. I took another peek through the clothes rail. My follower had disappeared.

I moved to the shop entrance, cautious but in control. No flat-headed gnome. I was about to make a run for it when the doors to the lift opened and let him out. He’d done a recon of the upper-floor café and not found me there. I peered through layers of Bon Marché plate glass as he got into the queue outside Greggs, waiting to be served a lunchtime pastry. Each time the queue shuffled forwards, he turned and did an appraisal of the mall. I had the blinding flash of a great idea. I should go up to the café. I waited until he was putting his pastry order in and dashed towards the lift. The doors opened, a mother with a buggy stepping out. I shot in and pressed the button. He’d looked upstairs and I hadn’t been there. He wouldn’t check again.

The café was spaced over the upper floor, which meant even when it was busy there were seats available. It was one of those “tweenie” affairs; perfectly clean and respectable but lacking any imagination. I don’t drink coffee, but I suspected theirs wasn’t very nice.

There were two women at a table close to the counter, talking furiously. There was family with a baby in a high chair, eating lunch. A gaggle of young girls sprawled over the sofas, but by the time I’d purchased a cup of tea they’d left. I texted Juke … In Angel Café. I took the sofa and waited.

You’d’ve thought I’d’ve had the sense to sit facing the lift, but I felt secure, now; Juke was on his way and the gnome had given up his search. I took a sip of tea. Weak and not all that hot. I stared at the wide-rimmed cup, where a shadow reflected in the thin brew. A scent came into my nostrils; a toadstooly smell of damp, underground places.

“Shouldn’t leave your card around. Not if you don’t want to be recognized.”

Tea flew from the cup, splashing across the coffee table. A thumping sound came from my mouth, my shriek muted to an aagh.

The man walked around the sofa until he was opposite me. At close quarters, I could see that one ear was disarranged into a cauliflower shape, possibly due to the same swing of the bat that gave him his flattened head. His eyes were concealed behind puffy lids, but the pupils penetrated and pierced from their hiding place, like laser gun sights.

“I’m waiting for someone.” I snatched at my phone, which was drenched in tea. “He’ll be here any moment.”

I couldn’t believe I’d just used the “a burly bloke is on his way” technique. I’d proved time after time I could look after myself. I didn’t need to simper and whimper to a guy who did not yet threaten me. The only thing he had against him, apart from improper use of social networks and a taste for Greggs sausage rolls, was that I’d observed his inner, subtle features. Gnomes are not entirely evil, but they’re not entirely trustable, either.

“Name, address, phone number …” He was moving my business card between his fingers like a poker ace. “Seen your picture on Facebook. Nice photo.”

“You gave me a fright, chasing me like that.”

“I heard you weren’t easily frightened.”

“What … look, I don’t know you … what?”

He flicked the card onto the table and lifted an unused chair from another table. He wasn’t a tall man, but his physique was thick and wide and he dangled the chair by one finger. “Can I sit down?”

“Just tell me what you want then go, please.”

The chair was wrong for the low table between us. His knees stuck up above it. He took a bite of his pastry, half inside its paper bag. “I rang you,” he said through the food. “Some chap fobbed me off. You never rang back.”

Something slotted into place. “You are Marty-Mac?”

“That’s what they call me.” He finished his food and screwed up the bag, dropping it onto the table. “You’re close to him.”

“Close?”

“Rey Buckley.”

“What? I … what?”

“He’s your boyfriend, right?”

What had Rey said? I don’t want Marty-Mac anywhere near you. Let me deal with it. “Okay, Marty. I told Rey you phoned. He’ll contact you when he’s ready.”

“He’s never gonna be ready.” He stared at my spill of tea. He put his index finger into the puddle and pulled a trail of milky fluid over the table.

“Why don’t you simply walk into the police station and ask to speak to him?”

Marty-Mac gave me a long stare, at the end of which he barked a single, acerbic laugh.

“Please go, Mr. Mac.”

“I only want you to have a word. He’ll listen to you.”

“How would you know that?”

“He told me. Like, he said what you mean to him.”

“He did?”

“Yeah. Everything.”

“Everything?”

“’Cause we’re mates. All I want is a message passed.”

I couldn’t pretend I wasn’t curious. I’m always curious. It was never beneficial, but there it was. And something else—a tang on the air—the way his finger trembled as he played with the puddle of tea. Marty-Mac was scared. Not of me or the impending arrival of Juke. Not even of Rey, for it was Rey he needed to sort out the fear eating away at him, which had driven him to seek me out.

“What message?”

“I done him a disservice.”

“What?”

“Everything is down to me. Due to me. And I’m sorry. You tell him that. Say, ‘Marty’s sorry, but he’s in dead stick.’ Dead stick. They’re gonna put me down. Lotta time. Rey Buckley has gotta speak up, tell the truth. Well. Not truth. It’s gonna be complicated.”

“I bet it is,” I whispered.

“I’m in deep.”

“I bet you are.”

“I’m not ’xactly asking him to tell whoppers!”

I stood up. “I don’t want to hear any more. Rey doesn’t want to help you. He’s warned me about you.”

He grinned. His front teeth were chipped and yellowed from tobacco. “I got you rankled, eh?”

“I’m not asking again. Just go!”

In a blink, his grin vanished. The camera angle changed. Juke had burst out of the stairwell and was sprinting between tables like he’d just transformed into a superhero. He stood legs astride, arms folded across his chest. “You heard the lady. She wants you to leave.” It was what superheroes said inside their speech bubbles.

Marty pushed up from his chair. “We’re having a private chat here.”

Juke hesitated. “This is the man who followed you, yeah?”

I nodded once.

Marty swung round to me again, as if Juke was no bother at all. “I thought Rey was a mate. All he is, is a bloody copper.”

“Look,” said Juke, “look, excuse me, but I think we’ve established this lady has asked you to go.”

Marty raised his voice. “Butt out, right?”

Things were shaping badly; escalating. I stared at Juke, trying to indicate that he should do exactly as Marty-Mac advised. Juke had to be a lot less experienced in thuggery, but he stood his ground. “You’re the one who’s leaving, you gnome.”

Marty’s yellow grin faded. “What d’you call me?”

Marty lifted his chair and tossed it as if it was no more than a cushion. It knocked against Juke’s knee and clattered to the floor. He dusted his hands. For one, chilling moment, I thought he was squaring up.

The family and the two women looked across at us, still chewing their lunches. The family man kept staring when the others had all looked away. He put a soft hand on his baby’s head.

“It ain’t a lot, what Rey’s gotta do. Is it?” He gave the fallen chair a push with the point of his trainer. “They’re gonna put me down!”

“Walk away, Sabbie,” said Juke. He sounded sure of himself. Maybe he knew about situations like this because of his work with displaced persons. He put both his flat palms on Marty’s chest, the sort of gesture bouncers use. Marty, bigger all round, copied the action with a rough push, heavy, both hands, sending Juke spinning over the width of the coffee table.

“Stop it!” I yelled. From the corner of my eye I could see the waitress talking on the phone.

Abruptly, Marty-Mac turned on his heel. He’d seen the waitress and decided he needed to split. He took the stairs, moving fast.

Seconds passed. Juke scrambled up. The waitress put the phone down. The family man went back to his chips.

I sank onto the sofa. “I should apologize. I didn’t want to get you involved.”

“Not a problem.” Juke tugged his jacket sleeves as if to steady himself as he turned a full circle, looking into every corner of the bar. At one point, he seemed to spot something and raise his hand as if to gesture, but the hand fell to his side.

“He is gone, Juke,” I reassured. “You got rid of him, all right. You were great. Superman!”

“You okay?”

“I am okay, but I’m wondering if I’m in a good place to work with you this afternoon.”

“Rescheduling would suit me. It was why I texted. I’d be happy to postpone this session.”

I shook my head. “That’s not why you texted. Some goddess transformed you into Superman and sent you my way.”

Juke laughed. But he didn’t disagree.

“I have this double-barreled gran.” I wiped another chunky beer mug and hung it above the bar at the Curate’s Egg. “Lady Savile-Dare. She’s a monster. Forget knitting and cosy slippers. This woman can lacerate you with a look.”

The pub was full, sweaty with noise and inebriation. The local punk rock band was finishing its first set. Juke had settled at a barstool and was already down to the bottom of his first pint as I spilled out my personal soap opera. The other drinkers solemnly lining the bar were also conspicuously listening in, but I was past caring.

“Anyway, that was why I found myself at the Angel Shopping Centre.”

“Coincidence,” Juke hazarded, “that he approached you?”

How long had I been parked up in front of the mall? Long enough for Marty-Mac to pass by on whatever was his business and do a double-take as he spotted me. I didn’t want to believe Marty-
Mac hung around Bridgwater waiting to spot me.

“Yes. Pure luck. He tapped on my car window. He was all draped in his gold, with this gnomish head.”

“A gnome with attitude. Not pleasant.” Juke placed his beer mug on the bar towel, which was already sopping and stinking of malt. “I’ll have another jar of your finest ale, please.”

He seemed wired-up. He was drinking fast and jerking his head around each time a punter came in. Since I had seen him that afternoon, he had trimmed his golden beard so that it appeared a little more bushy than it did when it grew to the maximum four or five centimetres. He was all scrubbed up, wearing his favourite suit jacket with the artificial daffodil in the lapel, a plain violet shirt, and a pair of stonewashed jeans.

I played responsible barmaid by pulling him a half of Wild Cossack and waving away his tenner. “This is on the house. For my Superman!”

“Let’s hope he’ll leave you alone now.” He jerked again, looking towards the street door. It was propped open on this balmy evening. Rey sauntered in, giving me one of those grins that don’t turn up the corners of your mouth. I held my breath, waiting for Pippa to make her entrance. He was alone. My spirits lifted.

“Juke, this is Rey. My boyfriend.”

“Right, hi. I’m one of Sabbie’s shamanic apprentices.” Juke stuck out his hand and waited, leaving Rey no option but to shake it. I’d flicked a beer tap on while I’d been talking, assuming Rey would want his usual pint.

“I’ll have a short with that,” he said, pointing to the whisky bottle clamped upside down behind me. “What about you? Can I get you a chaser?”

“Why not?” Juke aimed a wink at me. “Guess I deserve it.”

I shot Juke a look he didn’t choose to see. I’d planned to tell Rey about my encounter with Marty-Mac in my own sweet time, but Rey hadn’t missed the flick of Juke’s eyelid. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It’s nothing, Rey.”

“It’s never nothing with you.”

I clamped my mouth shut and turned to pour their whiskies. When I turned back, Juke was in full flow.

“… rang her. She was in the mall, being hounded by this guy—”

“What guy?”

“I didn’t get his name, but Sabbie thinks he’s a gnome.” Juke gave me another wink and swallowed his whisky in one.

“Sabbie thinks she’s beset by supernatural beings. Gnomes, elves, Morgan le Fay …”

“It was Marty-Mac,” I said, quickly.

Rey’s eyes lasered onto mine. “You’ve spoken to Marty?”

“It was hardly a conversation,” said Juke.

Rey shifted his body and spoke directly to him. “Tell me what happened.”

“He was basically harmless. I dealt with it in moments. Told him to go and off he slunk, tail between legs.”

“You … dealt with it?”

“Rey,” I put in, “Marty’s in trouble.”

“Too right he’s in trouble. He’s been arrested and charged and is out on bail, stirring up a mess.”

“He told me he was in dead stick. He called you his mate.”

“I wouldn’t describe us as mates. Yeah, we knew each other at school, but if I saw Marty right now, I’d probably slam my fist into his jaw.”

“I’d be careful,” said Juke. “All I did was put my hands on his lapels and he got angsty. I thought he was going to hit me with that chair.”

“Exactly how does that equate with your previous estimation that he was harmless?”

It occurred to me that Juke deserved to know the fuller facts. “Rey’s with the Bridgwater Police, Juke.”

“Oh.” His hand went to his beard, now a bit too well-clipped to stroke properly. He looked stymied, a reaction I frequently noticed on introducing my boyfriend. “I spoke out of turn, didn’t I?”

“Don’t let it concern you,” Rey grunted.

“Maybe he has something to confess.” I took a deep, shuddery breath, as if I’d just finished a bout of crying. “Why don’t you just give the guy some time?”

“Marty-Mac will be getting time … when he’s sent down. He’s a pest. He’s due what’s coming to him.”

I really was hoping Juke would go, if only for a trip to the gents, because I needed to tell Rey what had happened at the Chalice Well—all of it, from the things Brice had learnt about Alys to meeting Anag under the oaks. But my phone was vibrating in an annoying way in my back pocket. I didn’t feel like speaking to anyone this evening. I let it ring itself out, but then started up again. I didn’t recognize the number.

I took a step away from the bar. “Sabbie Dare.”

“I hate you! I hate you! You loathsome, loathsome fiend!”

“Lettice. That is you, Lettice, isn’t it?”

“What have you done to my grandma?” Lettice screeched. “You walked out on her! She was in such distress and you just left! You didn’t get Ma—you didn’t even get Shreve!”

“Something’s happened to Lady Dare. Is that what you’re saying?”

“She’s a little better now. Now—now we’ve calmed her and put her to bed with warm milk and called the doctor.”

“What did the doctor say?”

“Nothing.” I heard the teenaged sulk behind the word, as if I’d caught her out. “Just … her pulse was a bit high and it would settle with a good night’s sleep.”

“When I left, Lettice, she was fine.” It was me who wasn’t fine. Things had been inverted in the Dare household; for some reason, I was the culprit now.

“Don’t lie! I got back from my ride and went in to see her because I thought you might still be there, and …”

“Lettice? Tell me what you found.”

“Grandma was in a state! She’s never in a state. She’s the one that snaps people out of states! She was moaning, half out of her chair. She was so pale and breathing so hard.” I heard the gulp in her throat. “I thought she was dying.”

“It’s dreadful that you had to witness that, but—”

“What did you do to her?” Her voice dropped to a hiss. “Something despicable. Ma says it’s because you are not family and never will be.” I heard Lettice sob at the end of the line. “She says I should’ve known from the beginning. She says it’s my fault that I let you into our lives.”

“This is not your fault. Nothing is your fault, Lettice. You are the only one who has nothing to blame yourself for.”

“I need to know. Why did you do it? Make Grandma collapse, then just disappear?”

“I wouldn’t ever hurt your grandmother,” was all I could say.

“She’s your grandma too.”

I couldn’t respond. There was no solution to Lettice’s sorrow. I was never going to tell her the entire truth—Grandma dearest is an unpleasant, bitter woman whose understanding of life is diametrically opposed to my own. If she had taken me as six-year old I wouldn’t have spent my life in the care system.

“I’m so sorry, Lettice.”

“You are not,” she snapped. “You are not.”

She cut me off. I looked up. Rey and Juke were gawping. Nige was stock still with a glass of red in each hand. Then a punter flashed a ten-pound note and yelled out an order. I made up his drinks as if nothing had changed.

Something had changed. The sense of losing a thing I’d never had. My aunt had been right to say it: I was not of that family, and never would be.