Spellweaver (8 page)

One of the books was
open, and Felicity saw that it was filled with handwritten notes.
The strange nature of this school counsellor caused her curiosity
to get the better of her once again, except it was now mingled with
an unnerving suspicion, though she knew not what for. Without any
regard for the consequences, Felicity pulled the book out of the
suitcase and began hastily flicking through it.

Notes, diagrams,
symbols and images littered the pages. Some of it was in a language
that Felicity couldn’t read and didn’t even recognise. She did,
however, recognise the style of the handwriting. The loops and
curls were unmistakable. It wasn’t Mr Oakley’s harsh, capitalised
style, but the feminine script of her very own mother.

“What?” Hollie’s cry
made Felicity’s jump and slam the book shut. “What do you mean,
he’s not there?”

“His number isn’t
here,” Jamie explained less than apologetically. “I looked through
the entire system. No personal info, no contact details, no
timetable - nothing.”

Felicity shoved the
notebook in her satchel and joined the twins at the
computer.

“What am I gonna do?”
Hollie moaned. “How am I gonna find him?”

Jamie shook his head
as he stared intently at the computer screen. “It’s bizarre,” he
murmured. “Even his grade predictions are gone. It’s like... it’s
like he was never even here.”

“I can’t end our
relationship on that first date,” Hollie continued. “It was a
disaster!”

“Oh, grow up, Hollie,”
Jamie groaned.

“That’s easy for you
to say!” his sister said. “You don’t have a love life, and probably
never will. But I have a reputation to think about!”

Jamie rolled his eyes
as he stood up from the computer. He looked at Felicity. “I hope
you’re prepared to deal with this for the entire school day,” he
sighed, gesturing towards his sister.

Felicity didn’t answer
him. She clutched the strap of her satchel tightly.

“Let’s get out of
here,” Jamie said. “Come on, Hollie.”

Jamie had been right
about his sister. For the rest of the day, Hollie was in mourning.
At first she complained quite openly and rather noisily, much to
the irritation of her teachers, one of whom was compelled to remove
her from the class for ten whole minutes. Her endless group of
supporters sympathised greatly. Towards the afternoon, however, she
began her silent grieving process, staring at the air before her
eyes and staying close to Felicity, who could do nothing but be
there, for providing comfort was not her speciality. This did
nothing to deter Hollie; in fact, she seemed to feel better in the
company of herself, Felicity and her own thoughts and, as a result,
shunned the fellowship of the other girls.

As soon as she was
able, which happened to be during last period, Felicity excused
herself from lessons and headed to the girls’ toilets, where she
locked herself within a cubicle and took out the book she had found
in Mr Oakley’s office. She felt a warm surge in her stomach when
she looked at it, for she was very aware that in taking it she had
committed an offence. Still, she was so certain that the book
belonged to her mother that she had felt she had no choice but to
take it, as if she was returning it to its rightful owner. This
sudden sense of duty was strange and new to her.

The book was very
worn, and looked as though it was bound by leather and string. She
opened it at random. It was definitely her mother’s handwriting.
Felicity would have known the distinctive style anywhere. Although
the two of them had not been close, Felicity often used to attempt
to imitate her mother’s handwriting, especially when she was
younger and had longed for her mother’s attention. The way she had
formed the words in sweeping loops and joined each letter to the
next, the way she had carefully placed dots and little squiggles
above and below certain letters was unlike any other style that
Felicity had ever seen. As a child, she had found it beautiful. It
occurred to Felicity then that her young self had found many things
about her mother beautiful.

Though she could make
out some of the words, Felicity had no idea what the contents of
the journal meant. Many of the pages were structured into lists,
and the paragraphs appeared to be instructions, but it meant
nothing to Felicity. Nor could she understand the many pictures,
diagrams and symbols that her mother had drawn.

She traced the letters
of ink with her fingertips, trying to imagine what the book had
been for. Closing her eyes, she visualised her mother sitting in
her study at their house in the countryside, one hand resting on
the open pages and the other holding a pen, but she found it hard
to see her face; her dark hair, blue eyes and pale skin were all a
blur. Felicity wondered if she was starting to forget
her.

She suddenly
remembered the scrap of newspaper she had taken from the office and
retrieved it from her pocket. She had not watched the news or read
the papers around the time that her mother died. She hadn’t wanted
to be faced with it. But time was a healer - wasn’t that how the
saying went? Maybe now she was ready.

She straightened out
the crumpled paper and was greeted by the monochrome image of the
car crash. Debris from her mother’s vehicle littered the street.
Police cars and ambulances were parked up nearby. There didn’t need
to be a picture of Audrey’s lifeless body because Felicity could
see it in her head. She could see the blood covering her mother’s
pale skin. She could see her vacant eyes staring
upwards.

The image made her
feel nauseas, so she read the article itself instead. It didn’t
tell her anything she didn’t already know. A tragic accident, the
vehicle spun out of control, a mystery... various theories went
that she had swerved to avoid a deer or fallen asleep at the wheel.
The police had said all of these things to Felicity when they had
turned up on her doorstep the next day.

It had been a
Saturday. Felicity had thought that her mother had been working in
Birmingham, so was quite surprised to find that the accident had
happened just a few miles from their countryside home. Early that
morning, before she had even got dressed, she had heard the sound
of a car engine and tyres on gravel, followed by that knock on the
door -

The door to the girls’
toilets opened, bringing Felicity unceremoniously back to reality.
She shoved the journal back into her satchel and headed back along
the quiet corridors to her classroom, feeling unsatisfied. She had
hoped that she might have learnt something about her mother from
reading the book. She had thought that perhaps she would have been
able to understand her better somehow. But she had been wrong, and
as she walked she wondered whether or not she would ever truly know
who her mother was.

The hand that grabbed
her roughly by the shoulder caught her by surprise, making her cry
out, and she found herself shoved against the wall of the corridor
and staring into the face of Mr Oakley.

“Miss Lucas,” he said
in a hushed voice. “We didn’t finish our counselling session
today.”

Felicity froze beneath
his gaze, feeling suddenly terrified. “Um, I - I know,” she
stammered. “I can come and see you tomorrow?”

Mr Oakley shook his
head vigorously. “That won’t be good enough, I’m afraid,” he said,
lowering his voice and glancing both ways down the corridor. “You
see, you have something of mine, Miss Lucas, and I need it
back.”

Felicity swallowed,
pressing herself up against the wall in a vain attempt to put more
distance between herself and the counsellor. Her eyes flicked
desperately from side to side in search of aid.

“Just give it back to
me,” Mr Oakley continued. “And I won’t report you to the head
teacher.”

Felicity knew that the
school would not take theft lightly, for that was the crime she had
committed. She had taken something without permission, something
that did not belong to her. But then, it did not belong to Mr
Oakley, either.

“I don’t know what you
mean, sir,” she breathed, her voice shaking.

Mr Oakley’s worried
expression altered into one of anger. “I don’t have time to play
silly, childish games,” he said. “Give me the book you stole from
me. Now.”

“I didn’t steal
anything,” Felicity persisted, holding tightly onto the straps of
her satchel.

“Don’t lie to me.” Mr
Oakley’s face grew more severe. His eyes bored into hers. He moved
his face so close that she could feel his breath on her skin. “You
don’t know what you’re dealing with, little girl.” And then, to
Felicity’s horror, Mr Oakley dropped his eyes to her
satchel.

The bell rang,
distracting him, and Felicity took her chance. She slipped beneath
his arm and ran down the corridor. The counsellor tried to follow
her but was caught in the rush of students as they hurriedly and
eagerly exited their classrooms. As she reached the door at the far
end, Felicity flicked a final glance over her shoulder and saw Mr
Oakley helplessly watching her leave the school
premises.

Once she got outside,
Felicity ran as fast as she could and did not stop until she got
back to the flat.

6.

The months drew on and
the season became colder. By mid-December, the temperature had
dipped so much that it had already started to snow. The flakes
floated down in their thousands, sometimes soft and gentle, and at
other times caught up in the bitter winds of an angry storm. The
only thing that kept spirits high when school remained open was the
impending festivities of Christmas.

Christmas meant very
little to Felicity. Usually she spent the time off boarding school
studying. Her mother didn’t put up decorations or send cards, and
she never disclosed to Felicity the reason why. The house was as
gloomy and quiet at Christmastime as it was the rest of the year.
Her father’s flat was much the same; as the festive holiday drew
closer, there was no sign that Felicity’s father was going to
purchase a tree or that he had an artificial one stuffed in a
cupboard somewhere.

The atmosphere at
school was very different. In the last week of term, Felicity
noticed students exchanging gifts wrapped in brightly coloured
paper, ripping them open although it was still a week until
Christmas Day. Felicity herself received a few cards from students
with whom she had barely even held a conversation. Girls came to
school with tinsel in their hair and tiny festive characters
hanging from their ears. Mobile devices blared out the sounds of
Christmas tunes in the corridors until the students responsible
were shouted at by teachers trying unsuccessfully to implement the
mobile phone ban. A huge tree with mismatched, secondhand
decorations stood tall in the main foyer, the perfect target for
the pranks and jokes of the Greenfields students; by the end of
term, it looked more than a little worse for wear.

It had been just over
three months since Felicity had joined the suburban school and she
was finally starting to feel as though she was settling in. Her
relationship with her father had not improved. The two of them
barely spoke, only exchanging strained formalities as they
accidentally met one another on their way somewhere else. It was
for this reason that Greenfields had become a kind of haven for
her.

Hollie still insisted
on dragging her wherever she went and told everyone that the two of
them were best friends, much to the disappointment of many of the
girls in her entourage. Felicity had disclosed many things to her
that she hadn’t previously, including admitting that her mother was
dead. But she still couldn’t bring herself to go into detail,
although a part of her wanted to. The only other person that
Felicity felt she knew was Jamie, and although the three of them
did not spend much time together in school (because Hollie had a
reputation to protect), they frequently saw one another in their
spare time. Hollie acted as though she begrudged spending time with
her twin brother, but Felicity had learnt that it was all for show.
However much she tried to hide it behind the insults and looks of
disgust, Hollie enjoyed having Jamie around.

Felicity was reluctant
to admit it, but she enjoyed having friends. Every day she went to
school and Hollie had something new to tell her and Jamie had a new
insult for his twin. The two of them bickered incessantly, but it
was clear that they had a great affection for one another. Felicity
was almost jealous, for she had tasted friendship for the first
time in her life and could only imagine what closeness siblings
had, let alone twins. Of course, she would never say any of these
things aloud.

The twins approached
the coming holiday with a sense of dread. Their father was going to
Spain with their stepmother over Christmas and new year, so Jamie
was being forced to stay with Hollie and their mother.

“It’s always the
same,” he told Felicity at lunchtime one day. “Mum makes jibes at
Dad that she thinks are subtle and it’s so agonisingly blatant that
she wants me to pass them on. Then she spends the rest of the time
making sure I’m doing my homework and that I know all my topics for
next year. One time she even gave me a quiz.”

“Doesn’t she check
Hollie’s homework?” Felicity asked, aware of her friend’s talent
for avoiding deadlines and skipping lessons.