The Garden of Stars (8 page)

 Then I tried to breathe.

 I gulped and gasped in horror, taking in mouthfuls of dirty, polluted water. I tried to scramble my way up to the top but a reed had caught my ankle and was pulling me down further. I could see a light shining brightly at what I assumed was the top of the river but it felt like it was a hundred miles away.

 I struggled and managed to free my leg. Now I was moving, twisting and turning in the fast-paced river.

 I swam desperately towards the light, trying to stop the panic from making me swallow too much water. I reached the top and broke free with an almighty crash, smashing the smooth surface of the water with my head and gasping desperately for air. The water was moving fast and was as cold as ice. I looked over to the bank. The vicar was waving and holding out a branch for me to grab hold of. He was screaming that he was sorry and he had only been saying those things to try to get me to leave for my own good; that he didn't mean it and was only carrying out Mr Johnson's wishes from his hospital bed. But he was too far away. I tried to swim back, against the current, to reach the branch. I was a strong swimmer but my dress, coat and shoes weighed me down. I glanced again at the bank. The vicar had gone. I prayed it was to get help. Surely a man of the cloth couldn't be so wicked as to abandon me to drown.

 Drown. As the word came into my mind I realised that was exactly what I was doing. I panicked and went under again. The still calmness of the murky underwater felt easy and comforting. But I couldn't give up; I had to get back to Rosie.

 I tugged at the buttons on my coat and tried to rip it off my back. It clung to me like a dead weight. I battled with it and eventually it came free and floated to the surface. I gulped another mouthful of air and then kicked off my shoes. Less weighted down, I found I was able to keep my head above water. I swam, desperately searching for something to grab hold of, something to take me back to the safety of the riverside. Back to the sanctuary of my home and daughter.

 By now, it was pitch black and virtually impossible to see. I was shivering violently in the inky black water. Suddenly I saw lights ahead. The town. I felt a surge of energy soar through my blood, turning it into fire. My body grew hotter and I felt strength in my bones. I would survive. I lifted my right arm and pushed it through the water. I did the same with my left. It took such great effort. As I neared the town, helped by the current, the light illuminated a branch overhanging the river.

 Right arm, left arm, right arm, left arm.

 I started powering towards the branch. I couldn't let the river take me past it. It was my only hope. Mustering all my strength, I leapt out of the water and grabbed the branch but it was wet and slimy and my hands slid straight off it. I turned to grab it again but it was too late. The river had already swept me beyond it.

 This is it, I thought, I'm going to die here in this watery grave. I was too exhausted to save myself, even for Rosemary's sake. Maybe the vicar was right, maybe she and the people here were better off without me. I started taking in more water. Big gulps of mucky brown liquid. It tasted foul but perhaps this was the last supper I deserved. I'd clearly not been a good enough wife, I was a lousy mother, and I'd brought disrepute, brawling, fire, and scandal to a tiny town where nothing normally happened. My just desserts were that my body would be bloated with disgusting soapy scum and there was nothing I could do about it.

 Suddenly, I bumped into the riverbank. There was a section that jutted out more than the rest and it had ‘caught' me. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Instinctively I clung to it but in my heart of hearts I wasn't sure whether I'd already decided my fate. What had I to live for? Rosie would have a better life with a better mother.

 Then I heard a scream, followed by lots of shouting. Two sets of arms hauled me up off the bank and onto the riverside. There I lay lifeless, motionless. My body was so tired I could have just let it go there and then, could have drifted off into a better world where I could be a better person. I could hear a siren and thought I saw a flashing light although I'm sure my eyes were closed. There was lots of talking and general commotion and then I felt hands on my body.

The next thing I knew I was lying in a hospital bed. I jumped up, panicking. Had I been committed as the vicar had suggested?

 ‘Hello, Vivian, love, we thought we'd lost you for a moment last night,' said Barbara. She was stood at the end of the bed. Rosie rushed over and threw her arms around me.

 Last night? What happened last night?

 ‘Don't quite know how you managed it but you ended up in the river. It was lucky Bill spotted you and called to Dennis. The pair of them hauled you out. Just at that moment the vicar came down the road, screaming that you were dead. He'd found your clothes further upstream in the river. He was beside himself; I've never seen a man so upset. Don't talk now, dear. You can tell me everything when you're feeling more like yourself again.'

More myself? Who was that? It all came back to me. Last night I'd wanted to kill that person.

 Barbara said she'd give me a minute and would be outside should I want anything. After she'd gone, Rosie buried her head in my neck and sobbed.

 ‘I thought you were going to die, Mummy. First you didn't come home and I got worried, so did Barbara. Then Bill came running in saying you'd been taken to hospital. He was soaking wet.'

 ‘Don't worry, darling,' I said, stroking her golden hair. ‘I'm here now and I'm never going to leave you again.'

 I knew I meant it. All those thoughts yesterday were just the demented curses the vicar had put into my head. He'd done much more than cause an accident, he had made me allow myself to be frightened. Really frightened.

 After many checks by the nurses and doctors, and some questioning, I was allowed back home. Dennis drove us there, sat quietly in the front with Barbara, while Rosie and I held hands in the back. It was a relief to get back into the haven of our cottage.

 Barbara stayed with me for two days until I was back on my feet again. On the morning of the third day, she popped back to the shop to pick up some groceries for me. When she came back her face was ashen.

 ‘What's wrong?' I asked.

 ‘The rumours in the town have become worse. It's been said you must be a witch – simply due to the fact you survived and didn't drown.'

 ‘Oh my God,' I said, clutching my hands to my face. ‘Would people really believe such nonsense? It's such an old myth.'

 ‘Oh, you remember the story?' nodded Barbara. ‘It was one of the things Maureen and Mrs Donaldson discovered when they were helping Janice with her research for ghost hunts. They used to do it here, centuries ago. Susan Merrick, a local woman, was drowned that way, according to the books in the library, so Janice was telling me. She stood trial and was taken to the river. Everyone in the town came to watch, so says the legend. If she survived, she was a witch and would be hanged. If she drowned then she wasn't a witch after all and really that was just her bad luck. Unbelievable, really, but there you go. You witches have always had a hard time,' she chuckled.

 ‘Lock yourself away and don't come out. You should have heeded the advice I told Dennis to tell you.' The vicar's words came flooding back to me. Did Barbara and Dennis really believe I was a witch? Had she been sent to supposedly look after me as a cover up for being a spy for the clergy?

 ‘I'm joking, of course, Vivian,' she said gently. I must have given away my thoughts. It seemed I could trust nobody, not even my own thoughts.

 ‘So what happened to Susan Merrick?' I asked, trying to divert the subject away from myself.

 ‘She drowned. No one was taught to swim then unless they were the sons of the fishermen. Though some say when she was washed up there were stones in her pockets.'

 ‘Cursed, small-minded community!' I exclaimed, suddenly not caring if I came across bitter and twisted. ‘Why on earth do they keep on with such stupidity? Although I suppose I should be grateful. I think I'd rather be burnt on a stake than sent to an asylum.'

 ‘What are you talking about, love?'

 She seemed genuinely surprised. Perhaps the vicar hadn't mentioned his ‘observations' after all.

 ‘You're still confused, Vivian, you've been through a wretched ordeal. Don't worry, Dennis and I will see that no harm comes to you.'

 ‘I suppose it would have been quite convenient had I died. I'd have just been out of his hair and, as he said, everything could go back to how it was before I arrived.'

 ‘Who are you talking about, love?'

 ‘No one,' I mumbled. I didn't want to add further fuel to the fire.

 Barbara kissed me affectionately on the cheek and returned to run her shop, which she said had been a shambles since she'd left Dennis in charge. Was she Judas? She and Dennis had shown me nothing but kindness. Could they betray me so badly?

That night I dreamt of a sparse, weed-infested garden. Perhaps it was as a result of seeing those twisted reeds of the river and feeling them pulling me down. I awoke unnerved and turned on the light to find a dream analogy guide I'd borrowed from the library. My dream seemed to suggest I was neglecting my spiritual needs. What could they be? I felt I was fully in tune with my feelings, perhaps a little too so at times. I hoped it didn't mean I needed to start attending church; I doubted I'd be allowed through the doors.

 I settled back to sleep and, when I awoke the next day, I was surprised to find I'd slept through until late morning. I knew my near-death experience had exhausted me but I was shocked Rosemary had allowed me to stay in bed so long. Pulling on my dressing gown, I went into her room. It was quiet and the curtains were still drawn. My little girl looked up at me with big trembling eyes.

 ‘What is it, sweetheart?' I asked, smoothing her fringe away from her forehead. I realised her face and hair was soaking wet. My poor baby was feverish.

 ‘I can't move, Mummy,' she whimpered.

 ‘You poor thing. Let Mummy get you a wet face cloth to cool you down.'

 ‘I'm tied to the bed,' said Rosemary, ‘the fairies have fastened my arms and legs to the bedposts.'

 I looked under the covers and picked up her arms and legs. They fell lifelessly back to the bed like dead weights. Not only was she weak, but she was delirious, too.

 I made her comfortable then went into the kitchen to brew a broth of healing herbs and spices to make her well. While I was stirring all the love I had for her into the pot, I realised it had been a long time since I had stopped to take this time out of my busy schedule for her.

 Was I to blame for this illness by leaving her alone playing with her beloved fairies for far too long? Had she picked up on the awful rumours the mayor had been spreading about us around the town? Was she scared her mother was a witch?

 Suddenly it dawned on me. My dream had nothing to do with my selfish needs, it was Rosemary's spiritual needs I'd been neglecting. Had I been a good mother, I would have been there to answer all her questions rather than being stood here now wondering what was going through her precious seven-year-old head. She had been through an awful lot in the past year.

 I went back up to her bedroom, fed her medicine and soothing soup, mopped her furrowed brow, and tied a red ribbon in her hair to try to prevent the illness from worsening. I cuddled and nursed her. How could I have so neglected the only thing that was ever really important to me? How had we gone so far?

Chapter Eight

My mother's healing potions did nothing for Rosie. She still seemed delirious, calling out names and talking of babies. I knew we had to visit the doctor. As I walked through the streets of Ivory Meadows I saw women ushering their children to the other side of the road, trying to protect them from even setting eyes on me. Some busy-bodies stopped and stared, others looked away, pretending not to have noticed me at all.

 One woman, whose name I didn't know, spat out a venomous barrage of words at me. I was tired, my little girl was desperately ill. I just turned and walked away.

 Dr Miller was sympathetic, thankfully. He said Rosie had a nasty virus and prescribed antibiotics, telling me she needed plenty of rest until she was fully recovered. However, Mrs Whitley, the chemist's wife, was reluctant to serve me to start with until I cast her an evil glare. I knew it would do nothing to help my cause but that didn't matter right now, all that mattered was my little girl.

I stayed by Rosemary's side day and night, stroking her head gently as she slept.

 ‘
Fais de beaux rêves
, my angel,' I whispered, hoping her dreams might be better than the nightmare I seemed to keep putting her through.

 On the third day, she vastly improved, so we spent all morning in the garden, playing, dancing, and laughing. It felt just like it did when we had first arrived at Cherrystone Cottage. Coming in out of the cold, we settled down to a feast of hot, buttered crumpets and steaming mugs of hot chocolate, topped with cream and marshmallows, just the way Rosie liked it. In the afternoon, we sat in front of the fire, telling each other stories. I helped her with her homework, geed on by the promise of black cherry tart and custard for tea. It was a Mummy and Rosemary day, and it was very long overdue.

 I must say it did rather feel like the calm after a storm. I couldn't believe just how much had gone on in such a short space of time. Rosie seemed much improved thanks to our lovely day together but she still remained far happier playing with Whisper in her room than spending time with her mum. She painted huge, wild, fanciful paintings, usually of fairies. In one they were dancing around the garden, in another they were kneeling in a circle round a wise old wizard, another showed them building fairy homes out of twigs and leaves. There was one that stood apart from all the others. It was all black apart from a series of beautiful stars in silver and gold. They seemed to shimmer off the page. It was a charming picture, simple yet darkly menacing and strangely mesmerising at the same time. When I asked her about it, she said: ‘Don't you recognise it, Mummy? It's our garden, the garden of stars.'

 The garden of stars. I suppose that's exactly what it was. A garden of dreams but more than that, it was a place where you absolutely believed they could come true. I adored my daughter, her spirit was breathtaking. I wondered whether my dreams would come true.

Rosie loved school and was itching to get back there. I, too, decided it was time to face the music once and for all. I put on my favourite black dress, my pink shawl, and my pink high heels – the clothes I'd first arrived in. I wanted to feel good and confident and I knew this outfit was the best for the job. I put on plenty of make-up, dropped off Rosie, explaining to her teacher that she needed to take it easy, then carried on into the town.

 I decided to pay Gillian a visit first. I knew she would be hard to win over so I thought I'd tackle her before she could pick up on any tittle-tattle from others that the ‘witch on the hill' had dared show her face in town.

 She had her back turned to me as I approached. The bell on her shop door tinkled as I walked in, closing the door and cold air out behind me. She turned and dropped all the red roses she was arranging onto the floor.

 ‘What are you doing here?' she asked, backing away into the corner.

 The red flowers and their prickly thorns looked like a river of blood and rage between us.

 ‘I didn't mean to make you jump,' I said, gently. I had expected anger, abuse, fireworks even, but not fear.

 ‘I don't know exactly what's been said about me but I can imagine,' I said. ‘I plotted to burn down Mr Shaw's house, put the mayor in hospital and Bill in jail. Oh, and I suppose the fact I didn't drown recently only goes to prove I'm a witch.'

 She cowered as I said the word. It echoed and rattled round the walls of the shop. ‘Something like that,' she mumbled.

 ‘I have just one question for you, Gillian,' I said, being careful not to move or edge closer. Heaven knows she might think I was casting a spell on her. ‘And that is, had I been an evil witch why would I have worked so tirelessly to save Mr Shaw and everyone else's homes from demolition, to try to prevent Bill's shop from closing down, and to enable this to be a fantastic place to live?'

 Gillian started to come forward. ‘I knew you'd say that but you're just trying to twist my thoughts, make me think you're a decent person. Well, it won't work with me, Vivian Myrtle, and it won't work with the rest of the town either.'

 ‘How exactly have I hurt you, Gillian?'

 ‘By being a selfish, strange woman who thought she'd use a town's hardship as a means of making friends!' By now she was shouting and stood right in front of me, refusing to show her fear anymore.

 ‘Maybe you're right.' I sighed, plonking myself down amongst the mass of red petals. ‘I just loved this town the minute I stepped foot in it – the little train that brought us here, the wonderful open hills, the cool, dark forests, the extraordinary wildlife, and the extraordinary people, too. I felt a bond with people here that I hadn't felt in a long, long time.'

 ‘So if you felt all that, if we believe it, then why did you betray us so badly?'

 ‘How did I betray you, Gillian?'

 ‘By not telling us the truth.'

 There it was. The truth, that horribly suffocating noose around my neck.

 ‘I know I'm a bit of an enigma, and that you don't understand why I turned up here out of the blue and why I'm not married. I'm separated if you must know … on the run from my abusive husband, if that helps.'

 Gillian slowly came over and slumped down next to my side. Gently, she took my hand in hers. ‘I'm sorry, Vivian, I didn't know.'

 ‘It's not your fault, how could you? I didn't want to burden other people with it; it was my own cross to bear. And throwing myself into the campaign helped to take my mind off it a little. I suppose you could say I used it to make me feel better. But you have to understand that was only because I felt for the first time I was doing something good, not something to make money, or to climb the career ladder or to improve my status but something honest and wholesome and good. I've not been able to save the good things in my life; I wanted to save something good here. And that landed me as a witch.'

 She paused, staring at me. ‘I was almost tarnished with the same brush myself when Miles left,' she said, slowly. ‘He was my other half. It was quite a scandal when I fell pregnant with Patricia because we'd not been together long. Thing was we never really wanted to stay together, it was just an accident, a very good accident, but an accident nonetheless. We tried it out for a couple of years, being a couple that is, but it just wasn't working so we both decided it was for the best that he left.

 ‘That was seventeen years ago now. I think some of the locals are still only just coming to terms with it.' She sniggered. ‘Best thing that happened to me, though. I prefer to be a free spirit. You'll see, you and Rosie will be better off, too.'

 I nodded, keeping my eyes on the floor. I didn't know what to say. I was grateful to her for sharing her story with me but I was still too scared of my past creeping up on me to reveal the extent of mine.

 ‘Suppose you'd better help me pick up these roses then,' she said, nudging me as she knelt forward to grab one stem at a time.

 I joined her instantly. She wasn't one to show emotion. This was Gillian's way of telling me she understood, she didn't need any more information, and she certainly didn't want any tears messing up her flower shop floor.

 As I stepped out of her shop, the air felt crisp and fresh. I felt more confident in taking on the rest of the town. Gillian had shown me it was reassurance they wanted not arguments. I hadn't, however, counted on using the sympathy vote and I didn't intend to use it again.

 Bill seemed pleased to see me when I wandered into his shop. He looked tired from all the extra hours he was having to put in at the community centre.

 ‘I'm sorry, Bill,' I said, ‘I never meant to get you into so much trouble, I don't even know if I should be here now but I had to see you.'

 ‘Don't be daft, Viv, glad you came. You weren't there that night, someone had to pantomime stand up for you. Looks like it pantomime-well had to be me.'

 I smiled. ‘I'm grateful to you. Bill, do you still feel like that now after everything that's been said since?'

 ‘Listen, love, I was the one what pulled you out of those waters, you looked pretty drowned to me.'

 ‘So you do think I'm a witch?'

He fidgeted uncomfortably. ‘Well, what about all those messages in code, those special teas and those herbs in your garden? I'm not a particularly religious man, Vivian, don't really bother me either way, just want to know, that's all.'

 I coughed to smother a laugh. He was a loveable oaf at times.

 ‘The codes were common sense under the circumstances,' I explained. ‘Barbara told you that at the time. The tea and cakes are just my form of hospitality. And the herbs are just old wives' tales my mother used to tell me. Don't you carry on things your folks passed onto you, no matter how silly they seem?'

 He paused, then nodded. ‘Don't suppose you've got any of that cherry cake going spare have you, Viv?' he laughed, cheekily.

 ‘Of course, why don't you pop round later?'

 I was doing well. And yet, the Donaldsons and Maureen Sprockett, the librarian, weren't so easily won over. They ranted myths and legends at me like I was some kind of leper. They had clearly spent too much time with their heads buried in fanciful stories of the past, and to think that careful study had been my suggestion too. I'd never heard anything so ridiculous but that was the power of the gossip machine. It was taken as gospel, especially considering who turned the wheel.

 As they stomped off into the distance, I cried, ‘How could I be a witch when I gave you all a pot of rosemary as a symbol of our friendship? Don't you know that rosemary planted by the doorstep keeps witches away?'

 Barbara told it straight. ‘Basically,' she said, ‘the people here like you. Try as they might, they can't see it in their hearts to wish someone misfortune who they've spent so many happy hours with. It's probably a good thing you've come down now. They just needed to see for themselves you hadn't grown a long green nose and warts.' She chuckled.

 ‘But Barbara, I have a question for you. Why did you do as the vicar asked by telling me to hide away?'

 ‘Love, you've misunderstood that man from the start. He does have everyone's best interests at heart really, yours included. He's just got himself into a bit of stupid pickle with the mayor. Whatever he said to you down at the river, I'm sure it was meant with the best intentions; probably, knowing him, to save you from a great fall in pride. Unfortunately you went and had another fall instead.

 ‘Believe it or not, he actually wanted your campaign to win. That's why he volunteered to come to the classes instead of the mayor, he just reported mumbo-jumbo back and Mr Johnson was none the wiser. That's also probably why he volunteered the information to you about him being blackmailed in the first place. But now, everyone knows it's just too late. Everything stopped the moment Bill got into trouble. There's been chaos ever since, which is why we've done nothing with the posters either. I'm afraid we can't do anything now, love, we may as well give in gracefully and still have somewhere to live rather than making ourselves homeless in the process.'

Walking back up the hill, I felt numb. It turned out that when the planners and architects had visited with their clipboards, the townspeople had just buried their heads in the sand and tried to pretend it wasn't happening. The mayor's brother had come in with the offer of having brand new houses for them all; no wonder they were prepared to shut up and put up. How convenient that I'd been out of sight and out of mind. I was just told I didn't have as much at stake as everyone else as Cherrystone Cottage was rented, not bought. The thought of my beautiful cottage with her buttermilk walls, English country garden, dark corners, and sooty hearths being bulldozed without me having any say in the matter was just too much. It broke my heart in two. I thought of all the fun Rosie and I had enjoyed there. It was too much a part of our lives to break away from it; it was like there were three of us in our relationship: me, Rosie, and the house.

 Then there were the woods and hills around us. All those wonderful walks: dawn, noon, and dusk. The birds, the centuries-old trees, the fish, the deer, the pheasants, the otters. They would all be obliterated. The latest plans I'd read were for a further 3,000 homes to be built on two hundred hectares of forest and fields.

 That night I dreamt of a phoenix rising up from the ashes. I awoke in the middle of the night with a start. That was it! The secret lay in Mr Shaw's house. Perhaps the scorched remains of his home could hold the key to unlocking the secret of Ivory Meadows.

 I jumped out of bed and, checking Rosie was still fast asleep, threw my raincoat on over my night dress, pulled on my boots and hat, and ran out into the darkness. It was drizzling as I grabbed the spade from out of the shed and began to walk down the hill. I knew I'd only just redeemed my sanity in the eyes of the community and that this would look highly suspicious but I was driven to do it.