14

I am going to the waterfall for a swim and no one is stopping me. Not Dorcas, who probably hates me now as much as I hate her. Not school, because I’m not telling them. Not Mae, because I’m not telling her either.

The bracken crackles and something snickers through it. I put my hands above my eyes to shade them from the bellowing sun. The grass is tinder and there have been lots of wildfires on the hillsides because of the heat. I’m nervous the whole undergrowth will start smoking and catch.

I’ve brought my Collected Works of Shakespeare. I’ve taped the pages back in and I want to keep it close. It doesn’t seem like the brilliant idea it was when I first set out. It’s making my bag heavy and I can feel an angry pain building in my temple as it bangs into my spine with every step.

All the other kids will be in school. I can’t face it. I want to have some time alone, in a place my mother loved. I can still see the school not too far away and worry that they’ll be able to see me. I’m just being paranoid.

The water in my forever bottle is warm and plasticky. I’m going to get a bamboo bottle soon. The water will still be warm but woody warm has to be better than this hot sick taste. A heron breaks the distant sky. I could be walking through the Jurassic period. Where there’s a heron, there’s water. The seven sisters were trapped in the rivers forever by Winter.

Something shakes the gorse. I think of adders. No one has died from an adder bite in years. A fact I read in a book Dorcas recommended. I’m not thinking about Dorcas because she is a snake.

Think about facts instead.

Adder bites are very rare. Shark bites are even rarer. I miss the sea. I miss my dad. I keep wanting to tell him when I speak to him, but I don’t because I don’t want to upset him. I miss my mum, which surprises me. I feel like I could cry for her again. But I haven’t the energy. If I’m going to give in to tears, I’ll wait till I’m at the waterfall and cool.

The ground falls away steeply and I hear something which makes my heart sing. The sound of water. There are steep steps cut out of the earth, held by wood and iron bolts.

My mum came here. The witch called Winter came here. I won’t think of the play. Or Dorcas. Of course I can’t fly. If I could fly, surely I’d just leap into the air now? I jump, to try, and land with a thump.

I start down. I’m here to talk to my mum. It’s odd to admit this, even inside my head, but it’s the truth. She loved this place and if I ever needed her, I need her now. I need advice.

She was a witch.

Mae told me, when I was six. I remember Mae arguing with my dad afterwards. She said I had to know the truth and he said it was his decision. I wasn’t to know. He said she was never to say it again. They think I don’t remember because I was very young.

It’s as clear as the chime of a bell. I’ve always pretended to myself that Mae was making crazy accusations. It’s easy to dismiss what Mae says. But I’ve always known deep down she spoke the truth. I’ve always known my mum was a witch. The truth runs in my blood. But I don’t want to be a witch too.

The water zings through the trees in blinking lights, spangling their leaves in sequins. There’s a resting place with a sign about the local wildlife and a mention of the legend. There is an illustration of a comical hag with a green face, pointed boots and boils on her nose. Winter.

That story isn’t right. That tug inside again. Like something attached to my belly button. I need to know what the real story is.

Emerald and chattering, the water welcomes me. I slide my bag off gratefully, stretching out and admiring its rippling jade beauty. So, this is it. The Falls of Snow. It glitters a greeting. It’s meant to be extremely dangerous in the winter because of ice and the extreme rainfall in Wales. Now, in a drought, it’s impossible to see anything but beauty. There’s no one else here.

I test the water with my fingers. Cold to the point of burning. So cold I have to take my hands straight out and shake them. So deliciously cold I have to put them straight back in. I have my swimsuit on underneath my shorts. It’s a bit small because it’s from last year, but it’ll do, if I can get up the courage to go in. I’ve swum in the sea before, but never when I’m alone, Dad is really clear about that. As I’ve flouted all the rules already, what’s one more? The water level looks low.

Checking again to make sure there’s no one here, I strip down and negotiate the rocks in bare feet. It’s so good to get my shoes off. I sit on a large rock and wriggle my toes into the water first. My feet have welts on them, from wearing daps with no socks, and the water soothes the blisters. My ankles pulse the cold.

Looking up, the water fizzes and pours over the mouth of the waterfall. Droplets catch the sun and become rainbows. The pool it has created in the rocks is mythical. I can see why people make up stories about it. This green cauldron drummed into the earth.

I lower my ankles further into the shallow parts, so I’m up to my shins. My feet look deathly blue beneath the khaki whorls of water and I paddle out over slippery rocks to where the river deepens. The current isn’t strong because of the lack of rain, but I’m going to be cautious anyway. It can be very dangerous to go straight into cold water on a hot day. I wade further towards the bowl at the base of the cliff. The others go swimming here so it must be safe enough. Dorcas goes swimming here. Thinking of her makes my heart tingle and my eyes itch. I’m going in.

I push my body forward into the pool. Break the water with my hands and swim out to the centre, gasping for breath, feeling my heart race, treading fast to keep warm. I hold my nose and duck beneath the surface to see if I can open my eyes. I can’t. I want to be part of the watery world. To lose myself in this beautiful jewel. I come up for air, the water’s song trilling in my ears. Startling reality snaps in. Birds. Heat. The roar of the fall as it snows against the cliff.

I’ll give it one more shot. Holding my nose and bracing myself I duck again and let my body float, face downwards. I open my eyes. Close them in panic. Open them again. I can see.

The world is bouncing and vibrant. Green and murky. Yellow lightning flashes. Dusty and powder blue. I push downwards. Teal, the deep green of a rock pool, the lime, slivering weeds.

All those witches dunked and drowned. Did they do that here? All their souls lurking forever, waiting for revenge. The seven sisters perpetually falling to their deaths. Something reaches out through the weeds.

I burst up and out of the water, race to the side, scrabble against the rocks to get out, stand in the bright air. I make sure my feet are out of the water, for fear of something dragging me back under.

Hallucinations again. Brought on by the difference in temperatures. Stupid thing, to swim alone.

I’m going to sit here with my book now and stay out of the water. I’m going to look at the pictures my mum left. I flick through them. Try to understand. I should feel close to her here. That’s what I was hoping for. But nothing is any clearer. Maybe she just liked doodling and I’m making too much of this. Maybe I’m searching desperately for some kind of connection. Between the pictures. Between me and her. If she’d wanted to tell me something, why wouldn’t she have just written me a letter?

Unless whatever she was trying to tell me had to be kept a secret?

I try to piece the images together and come up with nothing but frustration.

Come on, Mum. I need you. I really need you.

An unexpected breeze drifts across my shoulders and I look up at the waterfall. There’s something behind it. A figure? No, there’s only one way in there and no one has passed me. Unless they went while I was under the water? No, I wasn’t there for long enough. I strain my eyes to see through the gaps in the cascade. A ghost? No, I don’t believe in ghosts.

You said you didn’t believe in curses, but you’re having second thoughts about that one.

With relief, I see that it’s a bird. A red kite. Stuck there, by the looks of it. What if it can’t get out? I need to help it. Perhaps the water is too fast for it to fly through. I can’t just leave it there.

At the side of the waterfall, there is a rough path hewn out of the rock. I hadn’t planned trying to climb it while I was here alone, because of all the warnings about people falling, but now I have to. I’m going to help that bird.

I keep my back against the slick cliff. Some of the water rebounds off the rocks and sprays up into my face. I move slowly and with care. I don’t want to slip into the pool beneath me. Hallucination or not, it was scary.

The others were right, there’s a space where you can walk behind the water, a sort of shallow cave. The kite is at the far end. It won’t be able to hear me because the water is thunderous, but I still make soft noises, not to alarm it. Kites don’t befriend people unless they feed them. It won’t come near me. I’m soaked to the skin as the water hollers down. A cathedral of moving white. A million voices of water shout and whistle and sing.

‘It’s OK. I won’t hurt you. I’m going to help you to get out.’

It flies directly at me. I topple and almost fall. The kite breaks through the water wall and is gone, leaving me in this echoing kingdom of sound and light. I laugh until I’m completely out of breath.

It’s so wondrous here. I reach out with my hands and play the cascades like harp strings. I watch the world beyond in shimmering pictures. The gorge and the river beyond the water bounce and waltz.

The view changes shape. What’s happening? Pictures are appearing in the water. Real pictures. Obscuring the valley beyond. Women dancing. Firelight. A family. A cottage and a girl at the window.

‘Your mother could see things, Wilde. In glass. In water.’

Mae used a strange word. Something like crying. Scrying. That was it. The movements in the mirror. The pictures become clearer in front of me. I’m trapped by them. Watching the water morphing to show me image after image. The sunlight filters through, making it like a film screen.

They are starting to make sense, the dancing shadows. They are telling me a story. The story of Winter and what really happened. The pictures from my mother’s book all slot together and she is here in my heart and in the story I have to tell.

I watch it all play out in this world of water. I know the real story. I’ve always known it. And now I’m the one who has to tell it.