Ghostbird Read online

  Madeleine seemed to Violet like a creature from myth, someone to admire and aspire to. She watched her mother putting on her make-up and wanted to be her. Madeleine dressed up, left Violet with a babysitter and went dancing. It took Violet years to see how self-interested her mother had been.

  By the time Violet was a teenager, Madeleine was dancing her nights away, into the early hours and eventually, into the arms of a man on his way to Canada.

  With no friends and only bored babysitters for company, Violet danced by herself in her bedroom.

  She had a poster of Isadora Duncan on her wall. Madeleine called her singular and Violet only half understood what her mother meant.

  The row had been pitiful.

  Soon after Violet’s nineteenth birthday, Madeleine informed her daughter that she intended marrying, and emigrating with her new husband.

  ‘What’s going to happen to me?’ Violet said. ‘What am I supposed to do?’

  ‘The same as we all do. Make the best of it.’

  If you are an only child, you can hardly expect to be a favourite one.

  In that moment a poisonous flower seeded in Violet’s heart: a mean thing harbouring thorns, and needing little encouragement. She went to her mother’s room, stole one of Madeleine’s frocks, a five pound note from her purse, called a taxi and fled.

  Violet slipped on her sandals and hefted the laundry basket onto her hip. She would demand answers from Lili, insist on knowing what had happened to Cadi. She’s my daughter, not Lili’s. Just because she was his sister, it doesn’t give her rights.

  Violet had never seen her marriage to Teilo as preordained. His asking and her acceptance had been an accidental landmark, the place between her past and her future. She had tiptoed through her life with nothing much to show for it other than a dozen pairs of shoes, a collection of knitting needles and a sense of abandonment. Given her circumstances – a child more a nuisance than a blessing – it wasn’t surprising Violet married at the first opportunity.

  I wanted a man who would rescue me. She had wanted an artist or a musician, a man light on his dancy feet and easy on the eye.

  Violet knew the importance of honesty and tried to explain to Teilo how she had grown up feeling unloved.

  ‘It’s made me… mercurial,’ she told him. She meant troubled and vulnerable, only she didn’t have the ordinary, sensible words. ‘You might not like that about me.’

  Already half in love with chaos, naïve, and mistaking Teilo’s extravagant reassurances for care, when he brushed aside her worries she decided to believe it didn’t matter. She assumed his was the kind of love that saw beyond a person’s imperfections.

  And that his sister would one day like her.

  When Lili considered Violet she did so with a mixture of pity and irritation.

  Damn you, Violet. Damn you and your misery and your secrets. Lili shook a pillowcase and pegged it onto the washing line.

  There were times when she almost hated her sister-in-law for her indifference to the gift of another daughter. Lili, who had never wanted a child of her own, knew, if she had, she would have wanted one like Cadi. Cadi could smell rain before it fell, walk on ice without falling over and hear a fox as it skirted the garden under the moon. Growing up, whenever Cadi crossed the road, it had been Lili’s hand she reached for, Lili who took her to the dentist, and taught her to read.

  As Violet came into the garden, a sideways glance told Lili all she needed to know. Violet’s moods clung like dead flowers around her neck.

  ‘It’s a wonder we get a thing dried in August.’

  Violet eyed the sky and nodded.

  ‘I’ve even though about buying a dryer.’

  A small, short smile grazed Violet’s face. She began pegging her own washing on one of the lines they shared.

  Lili tried again. ‘Fancy a coffee?’

  ‘Go on then, thanks. Make it instant though, I have to catch the bus. And I need a word.’

  With her head bent over her basket, Lili couldn’t see Violet’s face.

  ‘What’s Cadi up to,’ she said.

  ‘She’ll be in later.’ Violet picked up a tea towel. ‘She said something about needing to use your laptop.’

  ‘Right. And don’t worry about lunch; I’ll see she eats something.’ Lili carried her empty basket into the kitchen. ‘I’ll make the coffee.’

  Violet stood in Lili’s open doorway and lit a cigarette. ‘Why didn’t you tell me Cadi had been to the lake?’

  Lili spooned coffee into cups. ‘I don’t know what you mean? When?’

  ‘Yesterday. When she cut her face.’

  ‘Oh, that.’

  ‘Yes, that.’

  ‘Violet, I swear I didn’t know she was going. I found her, that’s all, and bathed the cuts.’ Lili poured hot water. ‘They’re not as bad as they look.’

  ‘That’s not the point. And I don’t believe you. You know everything she does.’

  ‘No, I don’t. That’s nonsense.’

  Violet blew smoke over her shoulder.

  Lili wrinkled her nose. ‘Can we go back into the garden?’

  They sat on a bench by the wall. Violet puffed on her cigarette. ‘Did she tell you she’d been to the lake?’

  ‘Yes, but only after I found her.’

  ‘You should have told me.’

  ‘No. Cadi should have told you.’ Lili sipped her coffee. ‘You’re her mother. It’s actually nothing to do with me what Cadi does.’

  ‘Well, pardon me for assuming you’d care.’

  ‘Oh, don’t, Violet. I don’t think Cadi needs babying, that’s all. If you don’t want your daughter to go to the lake then you must stop her yourself.’

  Violet flicked ash off her cigarette. ‘I’m sorry, Lili, about yesterday.’

  ‘Yes, well, we all said things.’

  Violet sighed. ‘It always feels as if I’m the last one to know anything.’

  Lili raised her eyebrows. ‘You worry too much.’

  ‘She’s being a typical teenager, is that what you’re saying?’

  It wasn’t at all what Lili was saying. She knew what fourteen looked like and it didn’t look like Cadi. Fourteen-year-old girls ran up phone bills, shortened their school skirts to below their knickers, cut off their hair and dyed it purple. This kind of reticence was different.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘Not exactly.’

  Violet took a mouthful of coffee. ‘For a smart woman, you can be very naïve. And by the way, if she says anything about a dog, ignore her.’

  If I’m naïve, what does that make you? ‘Right, although I can’t see her giving up on that one without a fight.’

  ‘I don’t care.’Smokefrom Violet’s cigarette traced a thin cloud against the blue-grey cast of the sky. ‘A cat’s one thing, I’m not having a dog. It would be me who ended up taking it for walks.’

  ‘Dogs do eat more than cats. And I know you feed Mr Furry.’

  ‘That too,’ Violet said. ‘Not that I mind.’ She tipped the remains of her coffee into Lili’s lavender. ‘I’m not keen on dogs, that’s all.’ She hesitated and Lili sensed she wanted to say more. She coughed. It had nothing to do with her smoking. ‘What’s the betting it’s raining by the time I get to the bus stop?’

  Lili said, ‘What is it, Violet?’

  ‘Do you ever think about Owen?’

  Lili was so surprised her mouth fell open. ‘Owen Penry? Good heavens, no. Why would I think about him?’

  ‘No reason.’ Violet drew her cardigan close and stood up. ‘Just something Cadi said. She saw a man in the village with a Jack Russell. Owen had one, remember? I just thought…’

  ‘Oh, Violet, it would probably be dead by now.’

  ‘Yes, but he could have got another one.’

  ‘He could have. But why would he come back? There’s no reason for it.’

  ‘No, you’re right. I’m being silly.’

  Lili smiled. ‘Shall I do supper? I can keep something for you if you think you might
be late.’

  ‘Don’t worry about me,’ Violet said. ‘I’ll see to myself.’

  As she hurried away, Lili watched her. Why does it always have to be such hard work? Violet excluded herself and even after all this time, Lili had no idea how to make it any different. She knew she was partly to blame. I prevaricate and Violet, even though she doesn’t know it, manipulates.

  Lili remembered Violet telling her how she had learned to knit. How Madeleine took her shopping one day and while her mother looked at dress patterns, Violet discovered the wool. Lili recalled a scarf Violet knitted her – to match her eyes, she said – a froth of deep blue trailing round Lili’s neck.

  She knew Violet tried hard not to mind when she never wore it. It had felt like a noose. Deliberate or not, Lili had known, when a woman cast on her stitches, she made a spell.

  You can keep an eye on a person’s physical body, but not their thoughts. Lili guessed Cadi’s were a back-log of unanswered questions waiting to break free, like water from a broken dam.

  An hour later, as Cadi came through the door, Lili did what she did best and watched without appearing to. A bruise had appeared on Cadi’s face, competing with the dark circles under her eyes. She looked exhausted and nervous.

  Lili carried on sorting freshly picked lavender into bundles. Perfume filled the kitchen.

  ‘Can I have this?’ From the clutter on Lili’s dresser Cadi picked up a black velvet pouch.

  ‘Of course you can.’ Lili nodded. ‘How’s your face?’

  ‘Okay, thanks.’

  ‘Sleeping okay?’

  ‘Honestly, Lili, you sound like the doctor.’ It wasn’t possible for Cadi to stay cross with Lili for long. She sat down and ran a sprig of lavender under her nose.

  ‘Your mother’s not best pleased with me.’ Lili tied a length of twine around a bunch of stems.

  ‘My mother’s never pleased with anything.’

  ‘She’s worried, Cadi, that’s all. So was I.’

  ‘There’s no need, I told you.’ Cadi picked at the spike. ‘Are you scared of anything, Lili? Like snakes or spiders?’

  ‘You mean a phobia? I’m not sure, don’t think so.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Why?

  Cadi picked up another stem and began picking at it. ‘Do you believe in ghosts?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Do you believe in ghosts?’

  ‘What’s with all the questions?’

  Cadi shrugged and scattered bits of lavender across the table. ‘I’m only asking.’

  ‘Sorry.’ Lili smiled and tapped Cadi’s hand. ‘Can you please not ruin my lavender?’

  ‘So, do you? Believe in ghosts?’

  ‘I think so, sometimes.’ Lili frowned. ‘Has this got anything to do with yesterday?’

  Cadi ignored her. ‘You must know if you believe in a thing. Or are you a naysayer too?’ She raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Okay then, yes, I believe in ghosts.’ Lili reached for the scissors. ‘So long as they’re friendly.’

  ‘How can you tell if something you’re seeing is a ghost?’

  Lili waved the scissors and made a face. ‘It rattles its chains and makes you jump!’ She moved the lavender out of Cadi’s reach. ‘If you aren’t going to help me, find something else to do.’

  Cadi placed the stone that felt like a secret into the pouch and slipped it into her pocket. She decided to say nothing about it to Lili. A secret isn’t a secret once you tell someone else. She thought about whatever Violet was keeping from her. Lili knows, so does that mean it isn’t a real secret, and only something I don’t know?

  On the dresser, a silver-framed photograph of her grandparents caught her eye. ‘This one’s my favourite.’

  ‘Mine too,’ Lili said.

  Gwenllian sat on a high-backed chair, a soft-eyed, smiling woman. She wore her black hair gathered in a coil, held her long hands linked one into the other in her lap. Iolo stood behind her, tall and upright, equally dark, an intelligent face, his hand on her shoulder.

  Cadi said they looked like they belonged. ‘It’s as if I remember them.’

  ‘And they remember you. Families do.’ Lili opened a drawer in the dresser. ‘If ghosts are real, then maybe they’re trapped energy, and they’re remembering.’

  ‘That’s what we see, if we see a ghost? Trapped energy?’

  ‘It’s possible,’ Lili said. ‘Now hold out your hands and close your eyes.’

  When she opened them, Cadi saw a tiny snapshot of Violet and Teilo in a small brass frame. They were so far away she could barely make out what they looked like. Violet wore a long white frock; Teilo had a rose in his buttonhole.

  ‘I know it’s not very good. It’s the only one I’ve got of them together.’

  ‘It’s their wedding day.’

  ‘Yes. And if I give it to you, you have to put it away.’ Lili placed her hand on Cadi’s arm. ‘You know why.’

  ‘I will, I swear. It’s great, Lili, thank you.’ Another secret, only this one felt like a pact. ‘I promise I’ll keep it safe.’

  ‘I know it must feel like nobody’s on your side,’ Lili said. ‘It isn’t true, cariad. At your age, well, you shouldn’t be worrying about grown-up stuff.’ She gathered up the rest of the lavender. ‘Fetch my cardigan, there’s a love. It’s in my bedroom. And if you really want to make yourself useful, you can make my bed.’

  As she smoothed Lili’s duvet, Cadi decided her aunt was very good at ruining the moment by patronising her. I’m fed up with being old enough to know better when what Lili really means is I’m too young to understand.

  Her gaze sought another photograph. A close-up of a handsome man who looked like her aunt.

  There are no men in our lives. Her gaze lingered for a moment, on the lopsided smile. I’m very good at making myself useful, Dad. I hope you’d like this about me.

  In a community of women there were always tasks to be seen to: dishes to dry, wood to chop, a bedroom to straighten, herbs to gather.

  And secrets to guard.

  Cadi and Violet and Lili: an uneven trinity, a maiden with two mothers, women without men; girls without fathers, all of them gone.

  Back home, she opened the drawer where she’d hidden the silver bangle. She needed a better hiding place for her new secrets. It had to be somewhere Violet wouldn’t look.

  Cadi pulled a few books off the bookcase and slid the bangle, the pouch and the photograph into the space at the back. As she replaced the books, she whispered a small spell.

  Don’t tell, don’t show, don’t see… bind this spell by the power of three…

  Ten

  If the village thought about Lilwen Hopkins, it was her inner life that caught their imagination.

  Unlike Violet, Lili never minded passing the time of day with her neighbours. She was solicitous and kind and no one could say her books weren’t successful. It wasn’t what you’d call proper work, mind, but then, she did have the part-time job at the surgery. She was on the Village Hall committee; her bread was famous and sold out at every local event.

  Many of the villagers had known Lili all her life. They saw she possessed intelligence, and more to the point, a sense of duty. Her devotion to Cadi they considered admirable. What did puzzle the village was the fact she’d never married.

  ‘Still single at her age,’ Mrs Guto-Evans remarked to Miss Bevan, not for the first time.

  ‘At her age, yes, it’s odd.’

  ‘Mind you, with her mother being the way she was, God rest her soul, nothing would surprise me.’

  ‘It’s not like she never had boyfriends, both those Jenkins boys were sweet on her.’

  Mrs Guto-Evans sniffed. ‘Interests elsewhere, I heard.’

  Miss Bevan nodded vigorously.

  ‘Romantically speaking,’ added Mrs Guto-Evens. ‘If you take my meaning.’

  If Gwenllian Hopkins’ daughter had an eye for the girls; there was no telling where it might lead.

  Lili telephoned he
r best friend, Sylvia.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about the good old days.’

  ‘Were there any?’

  ‘I know. I had that Patti Smith poster on my wall, the one of her in her slip, and got loads of funny looks.’

  Sylvia laughed her delicious laugh. ‘Oh, Lili, that was because you walked around with Dylan Thomas and Yeats under your arm. Everyone liked Patti Smith.’

  ‘Did they?’

  ‘Yes! Now then, you haven’t told me what you think about my illustrations? How can I call them finished if you don’t say they’re brilliant? And don’t tell me I need to curb my sense of my own talent. Modesty is for suckers.’

  Apart from Sylvia Bell, Lili had no other close friends. She had known Sylvia since they were both eighteen. Regardless of their closeness, the two women were quite different.

  Sylvia, restless and easily distracted, paid someone to clean her house so she could devote herself to her art. Her favourite time was the middle of the night, when the pace slowed and she could be alone. Lili slept at night and woke with the birds. She was as constant as Sylvia was impatient.

  ‘Life is passing me by,’ Sylvia would wail. ‘I’m getting old.’

  ‘You are ridiculous,’ Lili would reply. ‘Look in the mirror.’

  And when Sylvia did she saw eyes as dark as chocolate, and perfect bone structure. She would blow Lili a kiss and feel better, until the next time.

  After university, Sylvia moved to Cardiff to teach art, married a man called Joseph and gave birth to two sons. She was funny and smart and called a spade a shovel.

  ‘So it wasn’t because they thought I was weird?’ Lili said.

  ‘Darling, everyone knew you were weird. It was because you never fell in love.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘You were too self-contained, and you still are.’ Lili’s lack of romantic ambition irked Sylvia. ‘You could be a contender.’

  ‘I don’t want to be a contender, I want to be content. It’s why I came home, instead of going to Cardiff with you.’

  Lili had needed to be understood more than she wanted to be loved. Having secured an English degree, and with no ambition to further her studies, she began writing fairytales, which Sylvia now illustrated.