I spend over a month in Wales. I feel good learning about my body but I’m also self-conscious. I have this idea that somehow my father is watching me. He sees everything I do. He nods his head wisely at the discoveries I make about my body, smiles approvingly when I catch a rabbit, skin and cook it, but he shakes his head at the bad decisions I make, when I end up cold in a poor shelter or cross a stream in a bad place. Everything I do is with an awareness of him judging me and every day I think that maybe he will appear.
Of course my father never comes. I sometimes wonder if it’s because I’m half White, not Black enough. But then I tell myself that these aren’t real tests; the true test will be that I can find my way to him, and I’m ready to do that now.
My fifteenth birthday is three weeks away; I don’t want to risk going to another Assessment. I am sure that the Council will see what is happening to my body, that I’m changing, and my Designation Code won’t be Not ascertained any more. Nobody has told me what will happen if I am designated as a Black Witch, but as all Black Witches in Britain are captured or killed on sight I’ve got a good idea.
I have to leave. But first I have to see Arran. It’s his seventeenth birthday in a week’s time and I want to be with him for his Giving. After that I will go in search of my father.
On my first morning at home Deborah passes me an envelope that arrived a couple of weeks earlier. It’s addressed to me. I have never received anything through the post before. Notifications are always sent to Gran. I expect some new Council decree, but inside is a thick white card on which is beautifully scripted writing.
I pass it to Arran.
‘Who’s Mary Walker?’ he asks.
I shrug.
‘It’s her ninetieth birthday. You’re invited to her birthday party.’
‘Never heard of her,’ I say.
‘Do you know her, Gran?’ Arran asks.
Gran is frowning but she nods cautiously.
‘And?’
‘She’s an old witch.’
‘Well, I think we worked that out for ourselves,’ Arran says.
‘She’s … I … I haven’t seen or heard from her in years.’
‘Since?’
‘Since I was young. She used to work for the Council but she went a bit … odd.’
‘Odd?’
‘Unusual.’
‘She’s mad, you mean.’
‘Well … she went a bit strange, making accusations left and right. Only dangerous to herself at first, but then it was clear she was mad. Apparently she would dance around in meetings or sing love songs to the Council Leader. She left the Council in disgrace. There wasn’t much sympathy for her.’
‘Why would she invite Nathan to her birthday party?’
Gran doesn’t answer. She reads the invitation and then busies herself making more tea.
‘You going to go, then?’ Arran asks.
Gran holds the teapot, ready to fill it. I say, ‘She’s a mad old witch. No one else in the family has been invited. I don’t know her and I’m not supposed to go anywhere without the Council’s permission.’ I grin for Arran’s benefit. ‘So of course I’m going.’
Gran puts the teapot down and doesn’t fill it.
The birthday party is four days away. In those four days I learn nothing more about Mary from Gran, whose only concern when I bring up the subject is that I memorize the directions to Mary’s home that are written on the reverse of the invitation. There is a tiny map with instructions that give times when I should be at certain points. Gran says that I have to follow the map and the timings precisely.
I set off early on the morning of the party, heading for the railway station in town. I catch a train, followed by another train, then a bus, followed by another bus. The journey is slow, in fact I could catch two earlier buses, but the instructions are clear and I stick to them.
Then I have a long walk. I make my way to the points in the wood that are shown on the map and wait for the allotted times to pass before moving on to the next place. The wood is more forest than wood and the further I go the quieter it becomes. As I wait for the final leg of the journey I realize that there are no noises in my head and all around me it is beautifully silent. I almost miss the time to leave as I’m trying to work out what noises aren’t there any more. But I keep to the schedule and eventually come to a ramshackle cottage in a small clearing.
There’s a vegetable patch to the left side of the cottage, a brook to its right and some hens pecking around in front of it. I skirt round to the right and scoop up some water to drink. It’s sweet and clear. I don’t have to change my stride to step over the clear running water. I make a circuit of the cottage, which is so run-down that it is actually falling down at the back and I can see into a bedroom where a chicken is pecking around. I carry on round to the small, green front door and knock lightly in case the rotten wood gives way.
‘It’d be a waste to be indoors on a day like this.’
I turn.
The strong, loud voice doesn’t seem to fit the stooped old witch with a floppy, big-brimmed hat, baggy, holey wool jumper, baggy, holey jeans and baggy, muddy wellington boots.
‘Mary?’ I’m not sure; the person in front of me, with a wispy white moustache, could be a man.
‘No need to ask who you are.’ The voice is definitely female.
‘Umm. Happy birthday.’ I hold the basket of presents out towards her but she makes no move to take them.
‘Presents. For you.’