W
esley dragged the girl to her feet. After her initial reaction, she did not seem to know where she was, and only struggled feebly, muttering in a mixture of French and what he took to be Italian. He put his arm under hers and tried to lift. She came up easily, and he muttered into her ear. “Can you hear me? What’s been happening to you?” There was no reply.
Wesley was tall and wiry, but not over-strong, even with the Book fortifying him. Despite that, he easily supported the girl. Her feet dragged on the turf as he raised her, and then she came to life. They slowly descended together, he supporting her around her thin waist, and her stumbling, but mostly under her own power. The mist cleared partially as they approached the valley at the bottom of the hill.
“Would you like to come back to my room?” Wesley stopped and regarded the blank expression on the girl’s face. “Sorry, that seems stupid under the circumstances. Of course you need shelter and warmth. You have to be dried and washed too. How do you feel? Should I call an ambulance?”
“No.” The word rasped out.
“Or the police? Has someone hurt you?”
“No, no police.”
“My room?”
“Leave me.”
“I’m taking you to safety. You need shelter, and food. You must be starving.”
The girl relapsed into silence.
The pub Wesley was staying in was not far into the hamlet. The girl clung to him as they staggered slowly along, and eventually they sighted the welcoming lights of the place, glowing through the mist. Secretly, Wesley was glad of the fog. It hid the fact that he was taking a young lady to his room; he had only paid for a single. This was not something he was used to. His life, so far, had been sheltered, and consisted of: his job, eking out a small salary, and trying to count how many dragons there were in Skyrim, the fantasy land in his beloved computer game.
They made it inside without being challenged. Wesley heaved the girl up the back stairs. The room was warm after the damp of the evening. He laid a bath-towel on his bed, and lowered the girl on it. He wondered what to do about her sodden clothing. As a desperate shudder of cold ran through her thin body, he knew. The room had an en-suite bath. He must put her in the water, and warm her up. The clothes she wore would have to be dried before they could go back on. He went into the bathroom and ran some warm water, then returned to see if the girl had stirred. She was shivering violently, but still did not respond to his questions.
“I’ve got to get these wet things off, or you’ll get pneumonia.” Wesley had no idea if she could catch pneumonia, but that was what people always said when someone got wet and cold, so it would have to suffice. He dragged her to the bath and carefully started removing her dress. She did not resist. The pale body underneath was drawn and icy cold. He felt he should have been aroused at her nakedness, but he concentrated on the necessity. Her recovery was paramount.
He carefully lowered her into the water. It was not hot, but she shuddered, and cried out as it contacted her skin. He knew that feeling; when you were very cold, even lukewarm water felt burning hot. He touched the outside of her slim leg under the water; it was still cold.
“I’ve got to warm you,” he said, hoping the girl knew what he was doing, and that his intentions, for now at least, were honourable. He ran more hot water, added some of his shower-gel to make a few bubbles, and gradually raised the temperature of the bath.
After a few minutes, the water level was up, and the bath reached a comfortable temperature. The girl’s leg was still cold to the touch, but the blue in her face was slowly changing to a more healthy pink. The bath was too small for her to slip under the water, so Wesley left his charge for a short while, to collect her clothes, and rinse them in the sink. He squeezed out what water he could and draped them over the radiator to dry. Again he was grateful that the owners of the pub had decided to put the heating on—it must have been specifically for him, because as far as he knew, he was the only guest, this late in the season.
Wesley returned to the bathroom. The girl looked more healthy, and he ran in some more hot. Where she was above the water, her flesh was still cool, and now he let his gaze rest on her upper body. Her breasts were not big, but a perfect shape, and even where her collarbone and ribs could be seen, the skin across was pale and flawless. The lady was perfect in his eyes, unused as he was to the female, in forms other than on his computer screen.
“I’ll do your hair.” As Wesley expected, there was no reply, so he took the shower attachment and sprayed warm water on her head. There was a lot of hair. He used the whole of his complimentary shampoo to get a lather. He was gently rinsing it off, when his hand was suddenly gripped.
“Where am I?” The girl’s voice was a hoarse whisper.
“Safe, in my room,” he said tentatively.
“Good,” she said. “They mustn’t find me.”
“Who?” Wesley continued spraying water on her hair. “Hold this over your eyes.” He gave her a facecloth. She regarded it, but made no attempt to take it from him. He gently clamped it over her nose and eyes, and lifted one of her hands to hold it in place. “Hold it for me.”
“I can’t remember,” said the girl, through the material. “Who are you?”
“Wesley, Wesley Leigh.”
“Strange name,” she said. “I don’t know it.”
“Can you recollect anything up on the mountain? What were you doing there?”
The girl shook her head. “Up the mountain? I can’t remember. Are you my husband? I must have been there with my husband. It is only seemly.”
“Sort of,” he replied guiltily, his mind whirling. Was it her husband who had left her for dead? This was getting more complicated.
“Good,” she said. “That would explain why I’m naked in a bath, with you washing my hair. If there was any other reason, I would have to kill you.”
“Why?” Wesley asked, guiltily.
The girl shook her head again, dumping the face-cloth into the water. “I have no idea.”
“Tell me, what is your name?” Wesley finished rinsing, and passed her a hand towel.
“I am... do you know, I can’t remember who I am; what happened? Have I been hurt?” She brought a slim leg out from under the water and inspected it. “No bruises,” she said. “What happened to me?”
“You were alone on the mountain,” said Wesley. “You would have frozen to death.”
“Where were you?” Ankerita stared at him, as though inspecting it for duplicity.
“I found you.” Wesley was feeling very uncomfortable as to where this line of questioning was heading.
“I must have fallen and banged my head, and you rescued me. You can tell me my name, can’t you?”
There was a pause while Wesley wracked his addled mind for a name, any name. “You don’t know?”
The girl shook her head.
“Aurora,” said Wesley, choosing one of the characters from his game.
“Pretty name,” said the girl. “I like it.”
“Just as well,” said Wesley, with relief.
“Isn’t it?” She brightened up. “I’m famished. Can we get anything to eat? Oh, and you can find me some clothes. I’m not going around like this.”
After a good meal in the bar, Wesley and the girl sat beside the fire. Aurora sipped a gin and tonic, which Wesley assured her was her favourite, and he tasted a pint of the local ale. He had risked holding the girl’s hand. She didn’t complain, and was gazing absently into the flames.
Wesley’s visitor had been rumbled straightaway by the landlady, but she said she was not bothered, and told him that the room charge could stay as it was, as long as he paid for the extra meals. “I love a bit of romance,” she said. “Seeing you two together reminds me when I was young. I was as slim as that, once. All the village lads were in love with me.” She regarded her homely figure, and sighed. “All gone away. Sometimes I miss the old days.”
“Bedtime,” Aurora finished her drink, and stood up. “I suppose you’ll be wanting your manly pleasures from me, seeing as you said this is our last day in the wilds.”
“Er, that would be lovely,” Wesley said, hesitantly.
“I’m still feeling rather weak,” said Aurora, “but I expect you will know what to do.”
The landlady grinned at the obvious awkwardness between them. They said their goodnights, and Wesley followed the girl up to their room.
Aurora disappeared into the bathroom and came back, smiling. “I borrowed your toothbrush,” she said. “I don’t seem to have one.”
“I’ll go and do mine.” He slipped past her.
When Wesley returned, Aurora was already in bed. She watched him as he took off his shirt. “You need a few good meals yourself,” she observed. “Come on, everything off.” She pulled the duvet back. Wesley gaped. “You’ve seen it all before,” she said suspiciously, “haven’t you?”
“Er...”
She blushed. “Oh dear. You must think me a right flax-wench. Oh my Lord, we aren’t actually married, are we?”
“No, er, no, not really.”
“And are we lemans?”
“Lemans?”
“Sorry, lovers. I don’t know where that word came from.”
It was Wesley’s turn to blush.
The girl laughed at him. “We’re strangers really. We’ve not met before, have we?”
“No...” The words came out in a rush. “Actually, I found you on the mountain and brought you here.”
“To have your wicked way with me?”
“No! I saved your life. I wasn’t going to take advantage.”
The girl regarded her thin body. “I can’t see why anyone would want to,” she said sadly. “Thank you for that. Perhaps you will like me better once I’ve put on some weight. It’s probably best if I sleep on the floor...”
“No, you have the bed. I’ll sleep on the floor. It’s only for one night. I have to go home tomorrow. Will you come?”
“Do I have an alternative?”
“This is where I live,” said Wesley as he unlocked the door to his bed-sit, the following morning. “Sorry about all that time on the bus. I don’t have a car.”
Aurora followed him into the room. The first-floor flat included kitchen, lounge and bedroom all in the same space.
The girl stepped past him, and gasped. “Have you been burgled?”
“No, sorry, it’s a mess. I haven’t had time to tidy up.”
“Is this everything?” Aurora scanned the room. “Is nothing private?”
“I have toilet and shower through there.” He indicated a door to the left of the kitchen area.
“Good, I need to freshen up.” She peeped through the door. “Deus meus!”
“What?”
“Do you ever clean?”
“Sorry.” He had no other answer.
Aurora took a breath and disappeared into the shower-room. Wesley started unpacking his rucksack.
After a few minutes, the cistern flushed, twice, and then Aurora was with him. She looked horrified.
“What’s the problem?”
“My eyes.”
“They are beautiful, deep brown. I could lose myself in them...” Wesley blushed.
“But, they were blue.”
“You remember that?”
“I’m sure they were blue.”
“They were brown when I found you.”
“You’re right. I must still be confused, or perhaps the shock of seeing how you live...”
There was a playful smile on her lips, which Wesley missed. “I’ll get stuff for the toilet when I go out. In the meantime, would you like some tea?”
“I thought you’d never ask...”
“What?”
“What is that?” Aurora pointed at something in Wesley’s bag. “That thing, why is it glowing?”
“It isn’t,” said Wesley. “It’s a family heirloom.” He extracted the Book that had blighted his life, and set it on the dining table. He swept newspapers and crumbs on to the floor to make more room. “Please, sit and have a look, while I make the tea.”
Aurora was already drawing up a chair. She rested her hands on the cover. Wesley thought he saw a flash as she made contact.
“I know this,” she muttered. “I know this so well. How do I know this? It fortifies me.”
“Me too.” Wesley stared at her with surprise. “I’ve never told anyone, but it is like a mobile power supply. It gives me energy, and strength, and keeps me going.”
“There is something. I wondered how I got off that mountain. I remember I gave up everything to get there, and was totally spent, but when you put your arm around me, I felt stronger.”
“I’ve never known anyone else to notice.” Mixed emotions ran through him. Was he really linked with this angel? Had he actually found the lady he was looking for?
Aurora opened the cover of the book, and the words of the first pages danced as though they were alive. Wesley recoiled as she turned towards him, the light reflecting in eyes that were now flashing black. “You lied to me. Hah, Aurora, my arse. My name is Ankerita Leighton-Mynde, and you’re a dead man!”
Wesley took a step backwards, expecting an outburst. Instead, Ankerita turned the pages of the book, scanning each of the pages, a puzzled frown twisting her features. He wisely kept silent.
Presently, she spoke. “I see it now. I can see why I was up on the hill. I had a casket, all that remains of the man I loved. I went there to return him to the wind and the air. It was a hard slog to the top, but I could see all the lakes and mountains spread out below me, like a glittering carpet of silver and green. I knew this was where he wanted to be released.”
“Do you remember anything else?”
“I hadn’t eaten for so long. I didn’t seem to need to eat.”
“That is why you were so weak.”
“I remember the wind tugging at my cloak. I opened the casket, and the dust scattered into the air. It rose in a cloud, and I’m sure it was Richard’s face...”
“Richard?”
“My husband. I killed him.” Ankerita’s voice wavered. “And then it blew away, down into the woods below. The mist came down suddenly. I couldn’t see a thing.”
“It does that up there. You have to be prepared.”
“I cried. It started to rain. I was soaked and frozen, but I had nothing left, nothing to live for. I had a link with the spirit world through a dagger I brought with me, but even that is gone.” Her face broke into an ironic smile. “I was normal. Five-hundred years away from my friends and home and family. I knew my time was up. I wanted to die there.”
“And I found you.”
“And dragged me back. Why didn’t you leave me?”
“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I could not leave you. I thought you were dead.”
Ankerita rested her hand on the book again. “I see that you did have to. Despite my misery, I am still needed here. I wonder why.” She closed her eyes.
“Are you okay?” Wesley looked up sharply as Ankerita gave a gasp. She seemed to have changed. The woman in his room was different, not she who entered with him.
“Who are you?” she demanded. He eyes bored into his.
“What do you mean?”
“Answer the question, villain.”
“I’m... I’m the guy that got you down from the hillside.”
“Are you, now?”
“Don’t be mean. I don’t deserve this”
She ignored his plea. “Where have you brought me?”
“To my flat.” Wesley blushed. “You lost your memory. I guess I should have taken you to a police station or hospital or something, but you told me not to.” He blushed.
“And where are we?”
He told her.
“No, I mean, where in the world?”
“England,” he said, feeling baffled at this sudden change.. “Many miles away from the hills I found you in.”
“And how did I get here?”
“We came by coach. You said that you needed to hide...”
“Did I?” Ankerita scanned the room. “I am having trouble remembering. I touch the book, and some things come back, but others disappear, as though I am trying to grasp a dream... I am pleased that you did not turn me in to the authorities. Perhaps they want me for the murder? You won’t turn me in, will you?” She stared at the man.
“I’m sure you haven’t killed anyone. Where’s the blood, the murder weapon...? You said you had your husband’s ashes, so it can’t have been recently. There would have been enquiries if his death was a mystery.”
“Perhaps I imagined it. Maybe the cold has done something to my mind. And you are sure we’ve not met before?” Her gaze fell on Wesley again.
He looked away, disturbed. “Someone like you wouldn’t be interested in me.”
“No,” she said. “You’re not what I would call handsome; in fact, I would describe you as tall, gawky and with a slightly dazed expression. Odd, but there is something about you that I should like.”
“Really?” There was hope in his voice.
“Really,” she said, thoughtfully. “I like you... whatever your name is.”
“Wesley.”
“Yes, so you are. And how long have I been here?”
“I told you, we only just arrived.”
“And before that, where was I sleeping?”
“I had only a bedroom at the pub. You were cold.”
“Then, thou art a churlish, motley-minded lewdster.”
“Steady on.” Wesley stood up. “I slept on the floor. I could have taken advantage of you, but I’m not like that.”
Ankerita stood up, knocking her chair over. “Touch me not, lout.” She lunged for him, nails raking towards his face.
He grabbed her wrists, and held her. She brought her knee up, and Wesley barely twisted out of the way of injury. “Look,” he said, shaking her. “You owe me. I saved your life. You would have frozen to death on the mountain.”
“You should have left me!” She sagged, dizzily. Wesley caught her around the waist. He dragged her to the bed and laid her gently down, clearing the tangled hair from her face.
“It’s okay,” he said. “I am here for you.”
“Tired,” she murmured. “Leave me alone.”
He covered the girl up with the quilt. She had fallen into a deep sleep. He risked moving the hair again, and gently kissed her lips. There was no reaction. He sighed.
Wesley went to the table and opened the Book. Previously it had all been a jumble of scribbles, but now it seemed to have more in it. He could see that some words were in Latin, others runes, and more in a stylish script that reminded him of the Elvish writing from ‘Lord of the Rings’. All made no sense to him, but they certainly had an effect on his foundling. He closed it and left it there. “What to do?” he said, half to himself and half to the sleeping beauty on his bed. “Shopping. We need bread and milk and teabags, oh and toilet cleaner. Will you wait for me?” There was no answer. He put on his duffel-coat, grabbed a bag and deadlocked the door behind him.
Twenty minutes later, Wesley returned with ‘essential’ supplies from the corner shop, including a few tins of soup that were on offer, and small tubs of custard. He glanced worriedly towards the bed. The girl was still asleep... or dead. He anxiously took hold of her wrist and checked her pulse. It was strong. She looked peaceful, and did not stir. He pulled the blankets up around her again.
Ankerita still had not moved when Wesley had finished his meal. He flicked on his computer. There were a few notifications from social media where people had ‘liked’ his photographs from the previous trip to the hills, and an invitation from a stunning Russian girl to befriend him. He checked her other ‘friends’; they were few, and mostly sad-looking men, who even Wesley found a bit pathetic. He deleted the invitation.
“Olga can wait until Aurora, sorry, Ankerita leaves me... as I knew you will.” He gazed sadly towards his sleeping guest, and then went over and gently shook her shoulders. “Wake up, beautiful.” Only the slight flickering of her eyelids indicated that she was still in this world.
He loaded up ‘Skyrim’ and slaughtered avatars of bandits and dragons, until his eyes started to droop. Then he made himself as comfortable as possible on the sofa, with his sleeping-bag wrapped around him.
After an uncomfortable night, disturbed by the seat cushions slipping onto the floor, and the lashing of rain against his window, Wesley eventually fell asleep as first light started the dawn chorus. Some people hated the noise, but he found it relaxing; something to do with the fact that when the birds woke, he would soon have to be going to work, he mused, as he dropped off. Luckily he was still on holiday, so that was alright.
The rain was still heavy when Wesley gradually regained sensibility. He moaned, and then remembered the girl in his bed. He sat up and found himself looking directly into deep brown eyes. Ankerita was sitting on one of his two dining chairs (the others had broken and been dumped in the general rubbish bin some weeks before) and was staring intently at him.
“Good morning,” she said politely. “I hope you didn’t mind but I helped myself to some of your bread, and a banana. Tea is in the pot.”
“Yes, thank you,” he said, absently.
Ankerita stood up and poured a mug for him. “It’s a bit cold,” she said. “I should make you a fresh one.”
“No, put the cup in the microwave to heat up. A minute should do.”
The girl gazed blankly at the machine. “Let me.” Wesley struggled out of the sleeping bag. “Ah.” He stood stupidly as it fell to the ground, revealing spindly legs and underpants, considerably past their ‘use-by’ date. “How are you feeling?” He hurriedly pulled on some jeans. “You slept for ages.”
“I could be better, but I am starting to remember. I am Ankerita, sometimes called Anna.”
“Pretty name,” Wesley did up his belt. He took the mug of tepid tea off her and put it into the microwave. “Press this button for two minutes, and then ‘Start’.” He showed her. There was silence while they watched the numbers count down and the cup boil over. He hastily pressed the ‘cancel’ button, and rescued the energised beverage.
“I think I understand the process,” said the girl. “Two minutes, spill the drink, burn your fingers, curse... So you rescued me?” She sat at the table. Wesley sipped at the overheated tea, and winced as it burnt his lip.
“Off the mountain. You were scattering ashes.”
“And trying to die,” she said brightly.
“Why.” Wesley looked sad. “A beautiful lady such as you should not want to die. You’ve got everything to live for.”
“I have?”
“Haven’t you?”
“Do you want a summary of my life?” Ankerita sighed.
“Will it help?”
“Not really; I think it’s very complicated.”
“And the ashes?” pressed Wesley.
“My lover and husband.”
“Two of them?”
“Not really. They were one and the same, only I didn’t realise it.”
“That must have been confusing.”
“Yes, one was from five-hundred years ago, and the other from last week.”
“I see,” said Wesley, blankly.
“No you don’t. I told you it was complicated.”
“But you’ve got your memory back?”
“Some of it. I can remember up to the mountain, but after that, a blank. You found the Book?” She pointed at the volume, now back on a shelf.
“It’s been in the family for years,” said Wesley. “We’ve never been able to understand it, but I loved the cover and the sensation of it. It seems to give me comfort when I’m feeling low, and strength when I’m out. There are some great drawings.” He blushed.
“Yes.” Ankerita let the word drag out. “They are rituals, and how to perform them. What you have here is a spell-book from long ago.”
“I couldn’t understand any of the writing. What does it do, other than protect me?”
“I’m little wiser than you” mused Ankerita. “The Book is very old, but it may have been copied from earlier writings, which explains why some of the words are obscured.”
“I couldn’t even work out what the title is,” said Wesley. “I got ‘Liber’, that means book, but the other word; It looks like ‘Mens’.”
“Manes.” She spelt out the letters.
“Manes, like horses?”
“No,” said the girl patiently, “Liber Man-es, ‘Book of the Dead’, or perhaps better translated as ‘Book of Ghosts’.”
“Ah.”
“Did nobody ever ask you about it?”
“I kept trying to take it to dealers, but every time I started out, something bad would happen...” he faltered as he saw the expression on Ankerita’s face. “Like, there would be a thunderstorm, or a fire or I would fall down the stairs, or the bailiffs would come and try to take my TV away, mistaking me for the people next door.”
“Where did you get this book?”
“My granddad gave it to me. He told me it was to blame for everything, and that I should get rid of it. I tried to dump it in a skip, but someone saw me, and threatened to report me for fly-tipping. Then I put it in the bin, and a man brought it back, saying that I’d made a mistake. He said that a book bound with ‘the skin of a virgin’ was not appropriate for recycling. I hoped he was joking.”
“He was more astute than thee, I feel.”
“The last time I tried in earnest, I took it out into the hills with me. I got soaked of course, but the Book stayed dry, despite all that. So I put the tent up and lit a fire to get rid of it. It wouldn’t burn; in fact, I burnt myself instead. I had to go to Casualty to have it treated. Though I tried, I couldn’t leave it behind, because the camper who had called the ambulance packed all my stuff for me, including the Book. I eventually realised that the Book was part of me, and I couldn’t get rid of it. I decided to accept it. It’s been much easier since.”
“Tell me again, what is your surname?”
“Leigh.”
“And they call you Wesley? Wesley Leigh?”
“My folks had a sense of humour. My sister, Ashley, didn’t escape either. You’ve no idea how much trouble the name has given me. I had a horrible time at school with the bullies. ‘Wes-lily’ they called me, and used to pick on me, just for fun. I can’t even shorten it—Wes... Leigh. Still, I suppose it has amused a generation, but it gets on my tits every time someone asks me to repeat.”
“Do you have a middle name?”
“You can probably guess.”
“Lee, it has to be Lee.” Ankerita laughed.
He sighed. “No, actually it’s Bruce, but can you imagine what life has been like? I mean, what could be worse?”
“They could have called you Evan...” Ankerita said helpfully... “or Will.”
“What were my parents thinking...”
“That aside...” the girl put a finger across his mouth to shut him up. “Have you ever traced your ancestry, Wesley Bruce Leigh?”
“No.”
“I think you will find it goes a long way back.”
“How would you know?”
“The Book. I’ll trow it has been handed down over the generations. I have a vague feeling that the reason you can’t get rid of it, is because it belongs in the family. If you could find another family member to hand it on to, you would be free of it. It’s as simple as that.”
“So, all I’ve got to do is go through social media, looking for people with the surname, Leigh, and ask them if they’d like to take a cursed book off my hands?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No. You may find,” stated Ankerita, “that your name has been shortened from ‘Leighton’, which was my surname. We could be related. I will try to take it, if you want me to.”
“Really? You would do that?”
She ran her hand over the cover. “I’m tolerably sure. I don’t ever remember seeing the book, but I know it belongs to the family, our family.”
“Shit. You mean we’re cousins?”
“In a way.”
“Oh dear, if I’d done anything, er...”
“Did you?”
“Oh my God.” He looked embarrassed and horrified at the same time.
Ankerita’s eyes seemed to flash. The room darkened, and Wesley whimpered.
“You took advantage of me?” she said calmly.
“Only to warm you up,” he faltered.
“I’m going for a shower,” she said. “I’m size eight. Get me some proper clothes from a charity shop or something. You do have charity shops around here?”
He nodded dumbly.
“And you can return these ‘things’ you put me in. I want a complete set of something I can wear outside, without being arrested. And don’t be long.” She ushered him to the door. “Have you got your money, cards and stuff?”
Wesley looked worried.
“Good. Give me your keys.”
“But I’ve only got the one set.”
“You can knock when you get back. I will be waiting... cousin,” she finished pointedly.
When Wesley returned, Ankerita opened the door to his anxious knock. She was wrapped only in his duvet. The clothes he had found her in lay near the overflowing bin. “What did you get?”
He handed over a bulging carrier bag.
“Thanks. Wait there.” She shut the door in his face, and locked it again. He stood helplessly on the landing, hoping she wouldn’t take too long.
One of the neighbours opened his door and stared at him. Wesley gave him an uncomfortable greeting.
The door slammed without a word.
“Shithead.”
“Perhaps he doesn’t speak English.” Ankerita spoke from behind him. Wesley jumped. “You can come in now.”
Wesley went into his own flat and looked at the girl. He gasped. On anyone else, the charity shop cast-outs would have looked cheap, but Ankerita had the figure and the looks to wear anything at all. She was combing her hair; it glistened, dark and luxuriant.
“Good choices, cousin. You can stop gawping at me. These things are new. How did you find my size?”
“I thought they might be a bit young for you, really...”
“What?”
“It seems that the teenage girls round here get their parents to buy them fancy clothes, and then get bored after one wearing, or sometimes never wear them. There was loads of stuff that nobody seemed to want... I got a few strange looks,” he added.
“Good, you can take me again later, when the rain goes off, and get more outfits. Were there any suitcases?”
“A few,” he said, starting to worry about his negative bank balance. “But I’m not rich. Even in a charity shop I can’t afford that much.”
“I don’t need much. Now I’ve got some catching up to do.” She grinned and took up the Book of Ghosts again.
