The Silver Witch

‘Can’t be easy. I mean, you light a fire under the thing and it burns. Hardly comes with a dial, does it?’


‘It’s all about controlling the airflow and letting the kiln cool down slowly, which can take days.’

‘Days!’ He laughs. ‘We’re going to need more biscuits.’

‘We?’

‘Thought I’d lend a hand. Can’t dive until things warm up a bit out there. The dig’s on hold because of the freeze too.’

‘Well, I hadn’t planned … that is, I don’t know…’

‘If you’re going to make that thing out of bricks,’ he says, tapping the picture on the page, ‘you’ll have to go to the builder’s merchants in Brecon.’ He shrugs and smiles. ‘I’ve got the Landrover, all fueled up and ready to go.’

‘Really? I mean, will it get as far as Brecon?’

He clutches dramatically at his chest. ‘I’m wounded. Wounded! That’s my fabulous Linny the Lanny—she’s been with me years.’

‘It looks like it.’

‘They won’t deliver, not all the way up here. And I can easily get what you need in the back of Linny.’ He glances at his watch. ‘They’ll be open by now.’ He slurps his tea and looks at her, head tilted slightly to one side, waiting.

And what do I tell him? That I’m terrified of going anywhere in a car? That if he goes over forty miles per hour I’ll have a panic attack?

She knows she cannot. No bricks: no kiln. No kiln: no pots. She needs those bricks, and there doesn’t seem to be another way of getting them. She drains her mug.

‘Okay,’ she says, nodding a little too much. ‘Yes, thanks. That’d be great. I’ll … get my coat.’

As they leave, she expects Thistle to follow but the dog hangs back. She pats her gently. ‘Okay, funny old thing. You stay here and guard the valuables. That’s pretty much the kettle right now.’

She climbs into the passenger seat of the Landrover and immediately feels her stomach knot.

Steady girl. Not exactly a speed machine. Only ten miles or so, you’ll be fine.

‘Right,’ Dylan slams his door, sending a shudder through the whole vehicle. ‘Here we go.’ He turns the key, and nothing happens. He tries again. Nothing. Not even a stutter or a faint whir of battery attempting to fire internal combustion engine. He turns the key a third time. Again, nothing. He frowns. ‘Odd,’ he says.

‘Oh well, never mind…’ Tilda finds herself ridiculously relieved.

‘She’s such a good starter. Reliable as the day is long, is my lovely Linny.’

‘Well, she doesn’t seem to want to start today,’ Tilda points out.

Dylan hesitates, turning to look at her, then says gently, ‘Or perhaps you don’t want her to.’

Tilda feels herself blush. ‘What on earth do you mean?’ she blurts out, more crossly than she intended.

‘Look, I’m just saying…’

‘It’s your car.’

‘And it usually starts,’ he says. ‘Just like my boat usually starts. And my uncle’s clock usually works. Usually.’

Oh God.

For a full minute neither of them speaks. They simply sit there, the huge unspoken meaning behind his words squashed between them. Tilda wants to jump out of the car, run back to the house, and shut herself inside. She doesn’t want to go anywhere in any car. She doesn’t want to have to try to explain the inexplicable to this … man. She doesn’t want to have to try to explain it to herself.

But if I run now, if I hide now, if I give up now, then what?

She knows things have to change. She knows she has to do something. She closes her eyes, forcing herself to find a kernel of courage.

I do want this bloody car to start. I do!

She steadies her breathing, waiting for the sense that something has changed. And it comes. A subtle shift in how she feels. In how she … is. She opens her eyes and stares out through the windscreen, not trusting herself to meet Dylan’s eyes.

‘Try it again,’ she says.

Slowly, he takes hold of the key and turns it. And the engine bursts into life, belching exhaust fumes, juddering the ancient frame of the vehicle, setting up a cacophony of squeaks and rattles, but it works. And it goes on working. Only now does Tilda dare look at Dylan. He smiles at her, not his usual chipper grin, but a softer, reassuring sort of smile.

‘Right,’ he says. ‘Bricks, then.’