feet and heard nothing, the door opened a few inches. ‘Well?’ said Effie Carlow.
‘Hello, Great-grandma,’ Hazel mumbled, and ‘We’re sorry if we’re interrupting,’ from Nathan, ‘but there’s something we particularly wanted to ask you.’
The old woman looked him up and down with her raptor’s eye. When he didn’t continue, she said impatiently: ‘So ask me.’
‘It’s about witches,’ he said, feeling increasingly awkward. ‘I read in a local history book there were witches burnt at the stake here, a long time ago, and some of them were called Carlow. We wanted to know about – about witchcraft, andother worlds, and things, and we wondered if you would be able to help.’
There was a change in her expression which they couldn’t define, a sort of sharpening, though her glance was always sharp, a subtle adjustment. Then she opened the door wider. ‘Come in.’
They stepped straight into a sitting room crowded with furniture and bric-a-brac. Pictures and bookshelves jostled on the walls, chairs were squashed arm to arm, small tables supported lamps, teacups, ornaments, an old-fashioned wireless. None of the lamps were on and in the gloom they could make out few details, but the overall effect was that of a jumble sale in a telephone booth. ‘Sit down,’ Effie continued. They sat in adjacent chairs, not quite holding hands, while she made them bitter dark tea with very little milk and added, as an afterthought, a plate of stale biscuits. ‘I’ve been keeping these for a special guest,’ she explained. ‘You can have some, if you like.’
‘Thank you,’ Nathan said politely, ‘but I had a big lunch.’
‘You can have some.’
Impelled by her determination, he took a biscuit. Hazel followed suit. She was still surprised they had been invited in and had lapsed into an apprehensive silence, leaving Nathan to do the talking. He attempted to phrase a question but was foiled by the biscuit, which was tough and required extensive chewing.
‘Why do you want to know about witches?’ Effie demanded. ‘Witches … and other worlds and things. But the Carlow witches were of
this
world, until they were burned. What goes on in other worlds no man knows.’
‘Nathan does,’ Hazel whispered. Her biscuit had proved more disposable.
‘And what does Nathan know?’
‘I have – these dreams,’ he said, between swallows. ‘There’s this place – I see different locations, a city, and a shoreline, but I know it’s the same place – and there are flying vehicles, like cars without wheels, and people riding on birds which are really reptiles, sort of pterodactyls – and I tried to rescue this man who was drowning, and a few days later I heard something on the news about an illegal immigrant, and I – I knew it was the same man.’
‘How could you tell?’ Effie’s manner was brisk.
‘They described his clothes. He was in a kind of one-piece suit which covered him all over, with a hood for his face and head. And they said he spoke no English, and they couldn’t work out his nationality.’
‘Inconclusive,’ Effie said. ‘An illegal immigrant might well wear a one-piece, a wetsuit or similar, if he had swum ashore. I heard that news item: they said so. As for your dreams – witches know about dreams, I won’t deny that, but it sounds to me like you’ve been watching too many science fiction films. Concentrate on your homework instead of the television.’
‘Nathan does well at school,’ Hazel said bravely.
‘Does he? Then why all this nonsense about other worlds?’
‘Because it did make sense,’ Nathan replied, ‘in my dream. If you didn’t believe me, why did you ask us in?’
The old woman leaned forward, cupping her hands around his face to draw it closer, digging her nails into his cheeks. Her fingers felt all knobbles and bones, but they seemed to be horribly strong. Her fierce eyes stared straight into his. In the poor light he could not tell their colour, only
‘Hello, Great-grandma,’ Hazel mumbled, and ‘We’re sorry if we’re interrupting,’ from Nathan, ‘but there’s something we particularly wanted to ask you.’
The old woman looked him up and down with her raptor’s eye. When he didn’t continue, she said impatiently: ‘So ask me.’
‘It’s about witches,’ he said, feeling increasingly awkward. ‘I read in a local history book there were witches burnt at the stake here, a long time ago, and some of them were called Carlow. We wanted to know about – about witchcraft, andother worlds, and things, and we wondered if you would be able to help.’
There was a change in her expression which they couldn’t define, a sort of sharpening, though her glance was always sharp, a subtle adjustment. Then she opened the door wider. ‘Come in.’
They stepped straight into a sitting room crowded with furniture and bric-a-brac. Pictures and bookshelves jostled on the walls, chairs were squashed arm to arm, small tables supported lamps, teacups, ornaments, an old-fashioned wireless. None of the lamps were on and in the gloom they could make out few details, but the overall effect was that of a jumble sale in a telephone booth. ‘Sit down,’ Effie continued. They sat in adjacent chairs, not quite holding hands, while she made them bitter dark tea with very little milk and added, as an afterthought, a plate of stale biscuits. ‘I’ve been keeping these for a special guest,’ she explained. ‘You can have some, if you like.’
‘Thank you,’ Nathan said politely, ‘but I had a big lunch.’
‘You can have some.’
Impelled by her determination, he took a biscuit. Hazel followed suit. She was still surprised they had been invited in and had lapsed into an apprehensive silence, leaving Nathan to do the talking. He attempted to phrase a question but was foiled by the biscuit, which was tough and required extensive chewing.
‘Why do you want to know about witches?’ Effie demanded. ‘Witches … and other worlds and things. But the Carlow witches were of
this
world, until they were burned. What goes on in other worlds no man knows.’
‘Nathan does,’ Hazel whispered. Her biscuit had proved more disposable.
‘And what does Nathan know?’
‘I have – these dreams,’ he said, between swallows. ‘There’s this place – I see different locations, a city, and a shoreline, but I know it’s the same place – and there are flying vehicles, like cars without wheels, and people riding on birds which are really reptiles, sort of pterodactyls – and I tried to rescue this man who was drowning, and a few days later I heard something on the news about an illegal immigrant, and I – I knew it was the same man.’
‘How could you tell?’ Effie’s manner was brisk.
‘They described his clothes. He was in a kind of one-piece suit which covered him all over, with a hood for his face and head. And they said he spoke no English, and they couldn’t work out his nationality.’
‘Inconclusive,’ Effie said. ‘An illegal immigrant might well wear a one-piece, a wetsuit or similar, if he had swum ashore. I heard that news item: they said so. As for your dreams – witches know about dreams, I won’t deny that, but it sounds to me like you’ve been watching too many science fiction films. Concentrate on your homework instead of the television.’
‘Nathan does well at school,’ Hazel said bravely.
‘Does he? Then why all this nonsense about other worlds?’
‘Because it did make sense,’ Nathan replied, ‘in my dream. If you didn’t believe me, why did you ask us in?’
The old woman leaned forward, cupping her hands around his face to draw it closer, digging her nails into his cheeks. Her fingers felt all knobbles and bones, but they seemed to be horribly strong. Her fierce eyes stared straight into his. In the poor light he could not tell their colour, only
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