Cottage Watch.

The Duke Of York is at the top of Church Street; I must have walked past it a hundred times, going to and from my meetings with the group. I stopped at the cottage on the way up, and it was as before – a light in the window and peaceful. The way Carol Wainwright spoke about her friend being in there, she made it sound like a kidnapping – except she also said there was nothing the police could do. Possibly then it’s a cult of some kind, who’ve brainwashed her friend, into staying at a holiday cottage… That doesn’t fit in with the ghost story, but she’s dismissed that as fanciful, and I can imagine a cult of personality taking hold in the wake of magic – it almost happened with Arthur Enright.

The pub itself is quite old fashioned, with wooden fittings and a mocked up library. Old photos cover the walls, from the shop on the new side – the Sutcliffe Gallery. Out of the far side of the pub, you can see across the harbour, to the sparkling amusements and the sea.

I saw Carol Wainwright straight away – she was wearing another sack of a T-shirt, so bright it left an after image when I blinked. Sat next to her was Del, his wife Yvonne, and another man called Clive, who I remembered from the Easter argument. I gave them my name, but kept my surname to myself this time, in case anybody recognised it. I was greeted with uncomfortable looks and a long silence.

“I could go again.”
“No, please. We’re glad you came. I’m certain.” Carol looked around the table.
“All that’s missing is some party poppers-”
“We were talking before-”
“-and a cake.” I don’t think they understood I was trying to be friendly.
“We were talking before, and we hoped you might come to see us.”
“Carol seems to believe you can help us.” Said Del, holding his mouth tight.
“So she said. I’d love to know how.”
“How much do you know about magic?” Asked Yvonne.
“So it is to do with magic?”
“Please answer the question.” Yvonne looked at her husband to check his patience.
“Not much I’m afraid. If that’s what you’re hoping for. I’m not an expert, although-”
“It isn’t an expert that we need. Please, tell us what you know.”
“I know it’s real.” I stopped to think what I could afford to say, and thought it best not to lie. I always feel that I’m talking too loudly or slowly when I lie, trying to compensate. “I didn’t find that out until it all came to an end last year. I know a woman who used to be able to do magic. She’s told me a few things she could do. She explained about witchcraft and demons.”
“And you believed her?”
“She’s a family friend.”
“Did you think any less of her?” Asked Carol.
“Any less? Why would I? It’s pretty amazing, what she can do. Could do.”

We compared stories for a while, with them referring to their friend, and me referring to Angela’s small-scale ability. Angela could levitate in a trance; their friend could fly. Angela could read minds – or rather she asked Tomlin to look inside for her; their friend could tell the future. I pretended to be very impressed and out-classed by their anecdotes.
“I’ve thought of a way.” Said Clive, before I was tempted to trump them with Samuel’s exploits.
“How do you mean?” Asked Carol.
“You thought he was here to help us. But we don’t know anything about him.” He gestured a concession to the others. “Maybe that’s for the best. If we get him to check that she’s okay.”
“Who?” I asked.
“Why would they let him in?” Asked Del.
“Because he’s not involved. He could be a go between.”
“Would you agree to that?” Asked Carol.
I looked around the table, at faces variously keen, dubious, curious and concerned:
“I have no idea what it is that you want me to do.”