‘You were flying, Wilde. I was looking at my phone and you were sleeping and then there was this sound, like a whoosh, and you were by the window. In the air by the window. Your feet weren’t on the floor. And I screamed and you dropped, but you were flying. You were flying.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘You were flying. There is no other explanation for what I saw. You were flying.’
I think of all the places I’ve woken up. High places.
Ridiculous.
I think of all the things that have happened to me in the past. Weird things. Dreams of flying. Birds. The stories about my mother. I know deep down that I am different. But this?
‘Did you film it? This alleged flying?’ This is a childish joke. Childish and upsetting.
‘I…’
‘Well? It’s a simple enough question, isn’t it?’
‘I was too scared.’
Dorcas was scared of me. That hurts, and it shows.
‘Shocked, I mean. I was too … shocked to…’ She uses the wall to stagger up. ‘It makes no sense.’
‘You’re right. It doesn’t.’ My voice is filled with spite, and for once, I don’t care. ‘Do you think perhaps you fell asleep, Dorcas?’ I’m leaning in at her, threatening. ‘That you might have been dreaming?’
I want to stop being this person and help her because she looks so petrified, but I can’t. I won’t have this nonsense hurled at me. I trusted her. I thought she was my friend.
‘I wasn’t dreaming, Wilde. I wasn’t. I kept playing that world-building game on my phone to make sure I stayed awake and … you were in the air. You were. In the air.’
I want to smash things. Shake her so she’ll take it back. The witch windows rattle and blow open.
‘I’m going, Wilde. I’m sorry.’
I try to calm down. ‘You’re supposed to be staying here overnight.’
‘I forgot I have to do something.’
‘In the middle of the night?’ My fury fills the room, drawing the night closer.
‘I’m sorry.’ She keeps her back to the wall as she leaves, as if she thinks I’m going to attack her. I watch her clatter down the stairs and out of sight.
‘Dorcas. I’m not going to do anything. Dorcas.’ I whisper after her.
I look out, feeling the beckoning swirl of treacle night air. I rush to the window and hold onto the frame hard.
Dorcas runs down the path, looking back at me fearfully as she goes.
It can’t be true. It’s impossible.
I close the windows, latch them, then examine myself in the mirror. There’s nothing different in my reflection.
Dorcas was dreaming. She must have been.
Something shadows the mirror, though there’s nothing in the room. The owls scratch the roof. I sit facing straight into the mirror, searching for something that is trying to show itself to me, until dawn bleeds into the room and I have to take on another awful day. This time I’m alone.
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.