The Talented Blackwoods Chapter 7

“So, this is the famous cottage,” said David, as the car pulled into the driveway. Actually, it wasn’t so much a driveway as a mud track, which wound through a small wood, ending just by the cottage’s front door.

David couldn’t make out much detail – it was 10pm and there were no street lights on the isolated road leading to the house. It was certainly much bigger than he’d imagined – sprawling, in fact. He guessed, from the irregular outlines he could see, that the house had been added to several times over the years. As the car’s headlights shone briefly on the frontage, his theory was confirmed. Victorian red brick, Neo-Gothic arches and witch’s hats, jarred with original stone, ancient leaded windows and a small surviving section of thatched roof. It was a hybrid house. David couldn’t decide, as he climbed wearily from the car, if he loved or hated it. For now, he was just glad to stretch his legs, and desperate for a bed.

His grandmother switched on a light set in the porch and David’s gaze was immediately drawn to a symbol painted above the door. This must be part of the protective magic she had talked about.

Jason followed David out of the car, rubbing his eyes and looking warily around.

“Do you see any?” asked David, pointlessly surveying the trees himself.

Jason shook his head.

“Thank goodness for that,” said Aunt Stella, opening the boot and lugging out the first of the suitcases.

“Come on!” barked his grandmother, already fitting a key into the front door lock.

“You have a key?” asked Aunt Stella, slamming the boot shut.

“How else did you think we were going to get in?”

“I assumed there would be a key hidden somewhere. I didn’t know you had one on you.”

“Well it does belong to me, Stella.”

“You and Uncle Wilson.”

His grandmother tutted. “Like he cares about this place. Have you seen the size of his house?”

“Yours isn’t exactly a bungalow,” said Aunt Stella, dragging the first suitcase towards the cottage. David sighed and retrieved his own backpack from the pile at the back of the car. Angela, looking exhausted, grabbed a third and lugged it the short distance to the front door, Jason trailing closely behind her.

As David entered the small hallway, his grandmother had already started turning on lights in all the downstairs rooms.

“I wondered if there would even be electricity,” said Aunt Stella, following her mother into the main living room, which was dominated by a brick fireplace and wood-burning stove. David noticed a pile of logs on the hearth. It didn’t feel like a house that hadn’t been lived in for years.

“There’s gas too,” said his grandmother. “All the mod cons.”

Stella picked up a shawl that had been discarded across the back of one of several sagging armchairs in the room. She examined it as if it were evidence.

“Mother, have you been living here?”

“Why shouldn’t I?” his grandmother was pretending to straighten a painting which hung above the fireplace. “It’s my inheritance, after all. What was the point in me living in that great big house in Bucks when this was sitting here empty?”

“But I thought you liked living in Buckinghamshire,” chipped in Angela, slumping onto a sofa, covered in an assortment of ill-matching throws. “I thought you wanted to be close to the film studios in case a part came up.”

Jason climbed onto the sofa and lay his head in his mother’s lap.

“I’ll see if we have any tea,” said Miriam.

David watched his grandmother stride from the room. She didn’t make eye contact with anyone.

“Whoops,” said Angela.

“Probably best not to mention the acting career,” said Aunt Stella, throwing two logs into the wood-burner.

“I caught one of her old films on TV a few months back,” whispered Angela. “I thought it was a comedy, but apparently it was meant to be a tense drama.”

“I was compared to Joan Collins in my day!”

David jumped to one side as his grandmother stormed back into the room.

“You should meet the woman that lives next door to me,” he said. “She gets compared to her too.”

“And Elizabeth Taylor!” his grandmother continued.

“I’m sorry,” said Angela, visibly quaking. “It’s been a long day. Shall I come and help with the tea?”

“I am more than capable of making a few mugs of tea, thank you, Angela.”

David couldn’t help but be impressed by his grandmother’s sweeping exit.

“Oh dear,” said Angela, “Just when I thought we were getting on.”

Aunt Stella was scrunching up sheets of newspaper and pushing them between the logs. “She’ll be fine. It’s just a bit of a sensitive subject. I had no idea she’d run out of money though.”

“Will we need a fire?” asked Angela. “I’m ready for bed.”

“I may sit up for a while,” said Aunt Stella. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to sleep after the day we’ve had. You deserve an early night after that drive. Why don’t you and Jason take the bedroom at the front of the house? It had a huge double bed from what I remember. I think he’ll want to be with you tonight.”

“Yes, I’m not letting him out of my sight,” said Angela.

***

Angela could feel Jason’s warm head nestled against her shoulder as she drifted into sleep. At first, her dreams were misty and nonsensical, just her mind unravelling the day’s bizarre events, but with no order or clarity. Then she was standing in the back garden of their house. And John was there, sitting in a deckchair, dressed in his stripy pyjama bottoms. The dream felt more real than the night’s previous offerings, but not as real as a John dream normally felt. He looked less solid too, when he stood to greet her, she thought she caught a glimpse of the yellow deckchair through his legs, and when he walked towards her he appeared to zoom in and out of focus, just a fraction.

He leaned in for a kiss and she felt the now familiar fizz of energy as their lips touched, but even this felt less intense than usual.

“It’s getting harder to visit you like this,” he said. “I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to do it.”

“Well, if you’re mother has anything to do with it, you won’t need to for much longer.”

“My mother?” John’s aghast expression made Angela laugh.

“Oh yes, she turned up this afternoon, and she isn’t happy about not being told from the outset. She’s dragged us all to the cottage and now she’s plotting your rescue. To be honest, much as she terrifies me, I’m kind of glad she’s involved. I actually think she might be able to help.”

John slumped back into the deckchair. Angela sat in a second chair which had appeared next to it.

“The trouble with Mum is that she thinks she’s more talented than she actually is. She has an incredible amount of self-confidence, but I’m not convinced it’s entirely justified. A bit like her approach to acting.”

“Oh God, don’t say that. We really are in trouble then. I watched her in Dire Consequences the other day. She was playing a twenty-year-old woman being pursued by gangsters. She must have been forty when she made that film.”

“Oh yes, I remember that one. The critics weren’t kind.”

“How she ever got cast in that part…”

“Angela.” John lay his hand on her arm, and stared at her intently. His face flickered like a TV with a bad reception, before settling again. “I’m scared I won’t get back, and I’m not sure how much longer I have like this.”

“Don’t…” Angela looked back at the house, wishing it wasn’t just a figment of her imagination. She wanted it to be real. She wanted normality back.

“Can you tell Jason that I love him, and not to be scared of his dreams.”

“Stop it, John. You will make it back. I don’t know why we’ve left things to those two jokers. I thought they were experts. I only found out today they run a bloody private hospital.”

“They have been trying,” said John. “But I think they’ve run out of ideas. And I’m running out of time. I can feel it.”

“I’m going to wake up and go and talk to Miriam now. I’ll tell her that whatever she’s planning she needs to get on with it!”

“Angela, I hate to say it, but if Stella thought Mum could help, don’t you think she would have involved her earlier. I think she’s probably worried Mum will make things worse – although she’ll do it with lots of enthusiasm.”

“Well what do you suggest then?” snapped Angela. “Maybe I should just tell Jason to forget about getting his dad back. He’s seven, he’ll cope!”

Angela leapt angrily from the chair and stomped to the bottom of the garden. She noticed that anything beyond the back wall had the quality of an impressionist painting, just a colourful blur where there should have been a row of trees and a church spire.

When she looked back to continue her tirade, John had gone, as had the deckchairs, and the garden was unravelling like a poorly sewn tapestry. She woke up sobbing into her pillow, hoping she wouldn’t wake Jason. The rumble of a car pulling up outside the house and the sweep of headlight beams across the window brought her to full alertness. What time was it? Who would be visiting so late?

She climbed out of bed, shivering in the chill of the room and walked to the window, peering between the thick brown curtains. Below, two people were climbing out of a white estate car. She could just make out a mass of blonde hair on one of the visitors, who also appeared to be wearing large sunglasses. The other figure was lanky and slightly stooped – a teenage boy, she guessed. The pair headed to the front door, the woman producing a key from the pocket of her oversized fur coat.

“Stephanie,” whispered Angela. She heard Jason stir and crept across the bedroom, grabbing her dressing gown from a chair by the door, before going to meet the invasion head on.

***

The hallway blazed with yellow-tinged light and Stephanie was rooted to a spot just inside the front door. One hand still rested on the light switch, the other hung at her side clutching the over-sized sunglasses Angela had spotted earlier. She seemed to be sniffing the air, like a cat that senses another feline has strayed onto its territory. Her son, who Angela hadn’t seen since he was about 10, had grown into a handsome teenager, complete with an overlong blonde fringe, through which he watched her descent of the stairs with surly suspicion. She felt a strange fluttering in her stomach.

“Angela?” said Stephanie, sweeping a hand through her own unnaturally blonde hair. “It is Angela isn’t it? What are you doing here? I thought this place was empty.”

“Not anymore,” said Angela. “There’s quite a houseful, I’m afraid. How are you, Stephanie?”

“Who else is here?” Stephanie finally moved away from the light switch, still eyeing Angela like a predator sizing up potential prey.

Angela reeled off the list of inhabitants, relishing the way her sister-in-law’s face dropped lower with each name.

“Mother’s here?” she groaned. Angela left that revelation until last.

“She’s living here apparently,” said Angela. “I’m here because John has been possessed by a demon...”

“I saw one at the caravan site,” said Stephanie. “That’s why I’m here. Not been here for a couple of years. I stole a spare key years ago so Dale and I could use it as a bolt hole every now and then. Couldn’t live here long-term though.”

“I imagine there’s a lack of potential punters in this area,” said Angela, as she walked nonchalantly into the main sitting room, which still contained some of the warmth from the fire. “Apparently there’s some kind of demon army targeting you guys,” she said, flopping onto the nearest sofa.

“An army!” Stephanie, stood over her, stance caught somewhere between aggressive and defensive. Dale sidled in behind her and fell into an armchair, legs splayed, head flung back, hair still in his face. Angela found herself gazing at him for too long.

“An army?” repeated Stephanie, leaning in closer so that Angela could smell the cigarette smoke on her breath.

Angela gave a flippant flap of her hand. “That’s what your mum and Stella seem to think, and David saw loads of them in Camden. Oh, and Jason, my boy, saw hordes of them in the street outside Stella’s house as we were leaving. He can see them even though he’s not on the astral thingy.”

Stephanie rolled her eyes and glanced at her son. “Where can we sleep?” she asked. “I take it there’s still some rooms left free?”

“There’s one room upstairs next to mine and a box room down here next to the kitchen. If you need bedding, there’s a cupboard at the top of the stairs.”

“You’ve made yourself at home,” said Stephanie, gesturing to Dale to get up.

“Well, until the whole demon army situation has been sorted out, it looks like this is my home,” said Angela. ‘I was going to make a cup of tea, can I get anyone else one?”

“Not for me,” said Stephanie. “I need to get some sleep. I’ll take the small room downstairs. That’s where I used to sleep when I was a kid visiting Grandma. Can you show Dale to the room upstairs, seeing as you’re so familiar with the layout?”

“Sure,” said Angela.

“I’ll have a cup of tea first,” said Dale, and Angela realised his eyes were resting on her. “If that’s alright.”

“Of course,” said Angela, heading to the kitchen. For some reason her face was burning. “And then I’ll show you to your bedroom.”

Stephanie laughed. “Careful Dale, I think Aunty Angela may be a little bit sex-starved.”

Angela almost walked into the kitchen door in her hurry to escape the gleeful glare of Stephanie. She lit the gas on the hob and hastily filled the old-fashioned kettle, hoping Dale wouldn’t follow her into the kitchen.

“Ignore her,” said Dale from the doorway. “She loves embarrassing people.”

Angela kept her gaze fixed on the kettle. “Yes, I’ve met your mum a few times, I know what she’s like.”

“You must be worried about Uncle John.”

“Yes. I’m very worried. I’m hoping your grandmother will be able to help.”

“Does she have much experience of demonic possession?” asked Dale, straddling a kitchen chair. Why couldn’t he just sit in it like a normal person, thought Angela.

“Some,” she poured boiling water onto two tea bags, sloshing some of it onto the wooden counter.

“Careful,” said Dale.

“I’m fine,” she blurted. ”Sugar? I mean, do you take sugar?”

“Just one.”

“Hello, Dale!”

Angela let out a startled yelp as Stella bustled into the kitchen, in a flurry of silk dressing gown, kissing the top Of Dale’s head. “I just bumped into your mother. I’m glad you’re here. I was going to try and contact Stephanie tomorrow.”

Stella moved over to where Angela was stirring the two mugs of tea. “Are you okay? You’re very red. You’re not ill are you?”

“I’m fine. Here.” She handed Dale his tea, avoiding eye contact.

“Dale, are you teasing your Aunty?” asked Stella.

“I don’t know what you mean, Aunty Stella,” said Dale with a wink. “I’ll drink this tea in my room. I can find my own way.”

Stella watched him leave, frowning.

“Don’t worry,” she said, when he was out of earshot. “You haven’t turned into a dirty old woman.”

“What!” Angela glared at her sister-in-law, mug poised just below her chin.

“He has what we call the glamour,” said Stella. “It’s another old Blackwood gift. His mother used to have it, but I think in her case it’s faded. Basically, they can ooze charisma and, well, I suppose you’d call it sex appeal, when the mood takes them. Stephanie used to make grown men quiver with lust back in the day. Dale’s not a bad lad, but he’s not above using his talent to gain some status in a situation.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Angela. “I’m going to drink this in bed.” She stomped out of the kitchen, leaving a trail of spilt tea.