Page 39 of Rock Paper Scissors
“If she is, she’s a bad one.”
“Someone wrote those notes for us to find,” I remind him.
“Don’t housekeepers clean things? From what I saw through the window, she doesn’t look like she knows how to use a feather duster. She may have a broom… for flying around at night—”
“This isn’t the time for making jokes.”
“Who says I’m joking? You didn’t see what I saw with all the candles and the white rabbit on her lap like she was casting a spell. We’ve got enough problems right now without upsetting the local witch.”
Sometimes having an overactive imagination is a curse. I take out my mobile and hold it up to see that I still don’t have any signal. Adam watches, then does the same with his.
“Anything?” I ask, looking over his shoulder. But he shakes his head, and puts his phone back in his pocket before I see the screen.
“Not even one bar. Why don’t we climb to the top of that hill, I think I can see a footpath,” he says, pointing at what looks like a small mountain to me. “One of us might get a signal up there, and if not, at least we’ll have a view of the whole valley. If there are any other houses, or people, or even a busy road where we could flag someone down, we’ll be able to see it.”
It’s not a completely crazy idea.
“Okay. That sounds like a good plan. I’m still going to write a quick note though, just in case.”
I reach inside my handbag for a pen, and find an old envelope to scribble on.
Sorry to disturb you, we didn’t mean to intrude. We are staying at Blackwater Chapel. There is no phone at the property, and no power due to the storm, no water thanks to frozen pipes, and no mobile signal. If you have a phone we could borrow, we’d really appreciate it and promise to reimburse you for the call. We’ve lost our dog. If you see him, his name is Bob and we’re offering a generous reward for his safe return.
Many thanks,
Amelia
I show the note to Adam.
“Why did you add that bit about the reward?”
“Just in case sheisa witch and wants to turn Bob into a rabbit too,” I whisper, before trying to push the note through the letter box. It seems to be sealed up, so I slide the envelope beneath the door instead. I hear a noise then, and take a quick step back. “Come on, let’s go.”
“What’s the hurry?” Adam asks.
I watch as he salutes a blackbird, just in case it’s a magpie. It’s one of his many superstitious habits that often make me love and loathe him at the same time. The idea that failing to salute a magpie will result in bad luck waiting for you around the next corner, is a myth my logical mind has never believed in. But he does. Because his mother did. Given our current circumstances, maybe I should start saluting too.
“I heard something,” I whisper, when we are a little farther away. “I think she was on the other side of the door the whole time we were standing there talking. Which means she heard every word.”
ROBIN
Robin did hear every word.
She reads the note that the woman pushed under the door, then screws it up into a ball before throwing it on the fire.
Robin isn’t a witch—not that she cares what they think—but has frankly been called far worse. So what if she doesn’t keep the cottage spotlessly clean? It’sherhome and how she chooses to live isherbusiness.Some peoplethink money is the answer to all of life’s problems, but they’re wrong, sometimes money is the cause of them.Some peoplethink money can buy love, or happiness, or even other people. But Robin won’t be bought. Everything she has now ishers. She earned it, or found it, or made it all by herself. She doesn’t need or want anyone else’smoneyorthingsoropinions. Robin can take care of Robin. Besides, this cottage might not look like much, but it was somewhere she used to run away to as a child. Just like her mother before her. Sometimes home is more of a memory than a place.
The comments about her personal appearance hurt a bit, more than they should have. But name-calling stings no more than nettles these days, and the initial irritation soon fades to nothing. Besides, being dismissed as an elderly woman amuses her in some ways. Justbecause her hair has turned gray, it doesn’t mean that Robin isold. She tells herself thathedoesn’t know what he’s talking about—the man can’t even recognize his own reflection. But although vanity has never been one of her qualities, it doesn’t mean she is immune to insults.
She tidies herself and the place up a little—because shewantsto, not because of whathesaid—then carefully pulls back the corner of one bedsheet curtain, to check that the visitors aren’t still lurking outside. She is pleased to see that they are halfway up the hill already. Out of the way and earshot.
Now that she is sure they cannot see or hear anything else that they shouldn’t, Robin sits down in the old leather chair and lights her pipe. She just needs a little something to steady herself and her nerves, and this is the last chance she’ll get to smoke it. The only visitors she is used to these days are Patrick the postman—who knows better than to knock or say hello—and Ewan, the local farmer who grazes his sheep on the land around Blackwater Loch. He sometimes drops by with milk or eggs to say thank you—she lets the animals feed for free, and understands that farming has become a tough business. He also tells her snippets of gossip about various characters in town—not that Robin wants to know—butmostpeople stay away.
Becauseallthe locals know the stories about Blackwater Chapel.
Robin looks out of the window to check on the visitors one last time. They’re near the top of the hill now, so it’s safe to go out. She puts on her coat and Oscar stares up at her. A few years ago, Robin would have thought that a house rabbit was a ridiculous idea, but as it turns out, they make surprisingly good companions. Robin slips a red leather collar inside her pocket, then heads off toward the chapel alone. She knows what happened to the visitors’ dog because she took him. But Robin doesn’t feel guilty about that at all, even though she used to own a dog herself, and knows how upset they must be.
Bad people deserve the bad things that happen to them.
