51
CHELSEA, 1992
Two weeks after David released me from my room, he announced my sister’s pregnancy around the dinner table. She was barely fourteen.
I saw Clemency recoil from my sister, spring apart from her as though burned with hot oil. I saw my mother’s face, the blank death look, and it was clear that she already knew. I saw Birdie. She smiled at me. And at the sight of those tiny little teeth I exploded. I leapt across the table and threw myself at David. I tried to hit him. Well, in fact, I tried to kill him. That was my main intent.
But I was small and he was big and Birdie of course came between us and I was somehow pulled away and back to my side of the table. I looked at my sister, at the strange smile playing on her lips, and I could not believe that I had never seen it before, had not seen that my stupid little sister had fallen for the whole thing, that she saw David as my mother saw David, as Birdie saw David. That she was proud that David had chosen her, and proud to be carrying his child.
And then it hit me.
David didn’t just want our money. David wanted the house.
That was all he’d ever wanted from the moment he’d first set foot in it. And having a baby with my sister would secure his stake in it.
I went to my parents’ bedroom the next day. I opened the cardboard boxes into which all their non-valuable possessions had been emptied when the furniture was given away. I could sense my father’s eyes on me.
‘Daddy,’ I said, ‘where’s the will? The will that says what happens to the house when you die?’
I could see the suggestion of words forming in the base of his throat. He opened his mouth a millimetre or two. I moved closer to him. ‘Dad? Do you know? Do you know where all the paperwork is?’
His gaze went from my face to the bedroom door.
‘It’s out there?’ I asked. ‘The paperwork?’
He blinked.
He did this sometimes when he was being fed. If Mum said, ‘Is that nice, darling?’ he would blink and Mum would say, ‘Good. Good,’ and give him another mouthful.
‘Which room?’ I asked. ‘Which room is it in?’
I saw his eyes move to the left a fraction. Towards David and Birdie’s room.
‘In David’s room?’
He blinked.
My heart plummeted.
I could not possibly go into David and Birdie’s room. They kept it locked, for a start. And even if they didn’t, the consequences of being caught in there were unthinkable.
I referred once again to Justin’s enormously useful book of spells.
‘A Spell for Temporary Stupefaction’。
That sounded like exactly what I needed. It promised a few moments of general befuddlement and sleepiness, a ‘small and unnoticeable fugue’。
It involved the use of deadly nightshade, Atropa belladonna, the poisonous plant that Justin had told me about all those months before. I’d been growing it, secretly, after finding some seeds in Justin’s apothecarial chest. The seeds had needed to be soaked in water in the fridge for two weeks. I’d told the grown-ups I was experimenting with a new herb for Phin’s ennui.
Then I’d taken the seeds and planted them in two large pots. It had taken three weeks for the seedlings to show and the last time I’d looked they’d been in full bloom. According to the literature, Atropa belladonna was very difficult to grow and I’d felt incredibly pleased with myself when the first purple flowers had blossomed. Now I snuck to the garden and plucked a couple of sprigs, tucked them into the waistband of my leggings and ascended quickly. In my room I made up the tincture with chamomile leaves and sugar water. It was also supposed to contain two hairs from the back of a red cat and a puff of breath from an old woman’s mouth, but I was an apothecary, not a wizard.