The Secrets of Thistle Cottage

Chapter 2

Jem

Mum was so jumpy and nervous that I was trying really hard not to make her skittishness rub off on me. She reminded me of those meerkats – you know the ones on that David Attenborough documentary? Always on the alert, looking round to see where the danger was coming from next.

I couldn’t blame her, I supposed. Things had been totally messed up for a while back in Edinburgh, thanks to my shithead perv of a dad.

And because of me.

I was only 13 when he was arrested. Just a little kid, looking back, though I thought I was really grown up of course. All pleased with myself going to high school, with its fancy uniform and its amazing facilities. We had to play lacrosse. Like it was bloody Malory Towers or something. Mum and Dad said it was one of the best schools in Edinburgh, which was probably true, but it had been the absolute worst place to be when the truth about Dad came out.

At first I didn’t know what was going on. There were a lot of whispers at home and an atmosphere. And then one evening, Mum and Dad sat me down and said a woman had told the police something about Dad and it wasn’t true – of course not – and she was just a bit sad and lonely and it would all be sorted out and I just had to trust them.

I may have only been 13 but I had Google and it took me about five minutes to find out what Dad had been accused of. And it probably took the girls in my class even less time. They started calling Dad names. Saying he was a perv. Back then I’d believed Dad when he said it was a mistake. You trust your parents, don’t you? I’d said that, over and over. Madeleine, the girl in my class with the sharpest tongue and the most devoted band of followers, the girl I’d thought was my friend, had laughed when I said it was a misunderstanding.

‘They all say that,’ she’d said, flicking her silky hair over her shoulder and gazing, wide-eyed, at the girls gathered round, hanging off her every word. ‘Let me tell you about the way he looked at me when I went round to Jem’s house once after school.’

It was a lie, of course. Madeleine had never even met my dad, because he was never home when she visited. But she’d dropped the little seeds of poison and they were taking root.

I shook my head, not wanting to think about that now. I liked our new house. I loved living beside the sea. And I liked my new school. It didn’t have the swanky theatre and sports hall that my old school had, but I liked how it was enormous and chaotic and no one paid any attention to me. Most of the kids were nice. I’d made some friends and there was a girl called Cassie who I really liked. I was even thinking of auditioning for the school play. It was a relief, to be away from Edinburgh and having to be ‘on’ all the time. And I liked Mum being around more. We had each other’s backs.

So even though I felt bad that I’d invited our next-door neighbour in for tea, I was quite pleased that I had. She was nice. And I thought Mum could do with having a new friend, like I had Cassie.

I cooked the pizzas to make up for it, because when Eva left Mum looked totally exhausted. I always got the feeling she’d really like to live miles away from anyone, just me and her. But obviously there was school and work and all that to deal with so she couldn’t shut out the world completely. Instead, she just stopped me going on social media and kept her hair short which she said was because she fancied a change but I knew was really because she thought it made her look different and she didn’t want anyone to recognize her. She even changed her name – well, she dropped the Robertson and just went back to being Blyth all the time, which she was before she got married, and had always been at work. I did it too. I was Jemima Blyth at school and I quite liked it. It made us feel like a team.

*

The next morning was a bit hectic because I got up late and then I spent too long in the shower. Mum was cross with me because it was one of her days for working in Edinburgh, and I was secretly pleased that she was cross because it meant she was more like her normal self than when she was being super-nice to me the whole time.

‘I don’t have time to drive you,’ she said, swigging at a cup of coffee. ‘I’ve got to catch my train.’

‘It’s fine. I’m going early anyway. I’m walking with Cassie.’

Mum looked at me, a little frown on her face. ‘The famous Cassie I’ve heard so much about. Just …’ She paused. ‘Be careful, Jem. I remember when you talked about Madeleine all the time.’

‘She’s absolutely nothing like Madeleine,’ I said with a giggle. ‘Cassie’s a friend. She’s in my class. She’s nice.’

I saw Mum’s shoulders relax a little bit. She was worried about me making friends and worried that I wouldn’t. Basically, she was just worried.

‘She lives up the road a bit. I’m meeting her on the corner. She’s invited me to hers after school actually.’

‘For tea?’ Mum looked thrilled. She hated when I had to come home from school to an empty house on her work days. I liked it because I ate crisps and watched Netflix until she got back.

‘I guess. We’ve got a history project to do and Cassie says her mum can help.’

‘Should I call her?’

‘Cassie?’

Mum tutted. ‘No, her mother?’

‘It’s fine, Mum.’

She paused and I thought she might have more questions but then she just nodded. ‘Home by seven. Text me when you’re on your way back.’

‘I will.’

I grabbed my bag and headed out to meet Cassie. I knew that as soon as I’d gone down the path, Mum would run upstairs to my bedroom at the back of the house because it had a good view of the street, and watch me walk to the corner by the church. I could feel her eyes on me as I went. I didn’t mind. It was nice to feel safe.

Cassie had said it made sense for me to go to hers after school because her mum worked in the museum in town so she would be able to help with our totally lame history project.

‘Is she a historian?’ I’d asked, quite impressed.

Cassie had made a face. ‘She works in the shop.’

I had laughed along with Cassie. ‘She might have overheard people talking about history,’ she’d protested.

‘She might have,’ I’d said, nodding. ‘Let’s hope she’s overheard a lot, because otherwise we’re stuffed.’

We were doing a thing about learning from the past. So we had to do a report on one aspect of local history and find lessons in it we could apply to the present day. Our teacher had given us some ideas, but I’d not really been listening and it turned out Cassie hadn’t been either.

‘What about the castle?’ I said later that afternoon, as we walked back to Cassie’s after school. There was a ruined fortress not far from town. ‘We could do something about home security.’

‘Boring,’ Cassie said.

‘You’re right, it is really boring. What do you suggest?’

‘Everyone’s doing the prison. We could do that?’

My stomach lurched. ‘Why prison? Why would you say that?’

‘Duh, because it’s such an obvious one.’

‘Is it?’

Cassie rolled her eyes. ‘There was a prison on Bass Rock.’ She nodded in the direction of the sea, where the lumpen island loomed out of the waves. It was a seabird sanctuary now but I hadn’t known it had once been a jail.

‘It was like Alcatraz,’ Cassie said. ‘No one could escape.’

‘That’s pretty cool,’ I said, relaxing now I knew she hadn’t mentioned prisons because of my dad. ‘But how does that link to the present day? What lessons can we learn from it?’

Cassie shrugged. ‘Don’t go to prison,’ she said with a grin. I screwed my face up, thinking she had the right idea. ‘This is us.’

She led me up the path to a red-brick semi-detached house with a neat front garden, and opened the door.

‘Mum?’ she shouted. There was no response.

‘She’s getting changed.’ A tall teenaged boy with wild curly hair like Cassie’s came out of the kitchen eating a sandwich.

‘How did you get here so fast?’ Cassie eyed him with suspicion. ‘School only finished ten minutes ago.’

‘Long legs,’ he said through a mouthful of bread. ‘What kept you?’

‘Well, what we did,’ Cassie said as though she was sharing a secret, ‘was we stayed at school right until the end of the day and didn’t bunk off early.’ I stifled a giggle as the boy – Cassie’s older brother Drew I assumed – aimed a punch at her arm and she ducked out of the way. Sometimes I wished I had siblings. It would be nice to have someone who properly understood what it had been like at home. Back then.

‘Pig,’ Cassie called after Drew’s retreating back.

‘Scumbag,’ he said cheerfully.

‘Let’s sit at the kitchen table and see if we can get a proper idea,’ Cassie said. ‘Or old Miss McGinty will be on our case.’

Miss McGinty was about 25 so she didn’t really qualify as old but I definitely didn’t want her on our case so I obediently followed Cassie into the kitchen. It was much bigger than our little cottage’s whole living area with a large table at one end, and shelves groaning with cookery books. It was warm and cosy and I liked it.

Cassie dumped her bag on the floor and got us both a drink and some biscuits, while I spread our books across the table.

‘It’s so boring,’ I moaned, staring at the printed-out instructions for our project. ‘I just don’t see how history can be relevant to our lives now.’

‘I know.’ Cassie sat down next to me with a thump and took the sheet from me. ‘Boring and pointless.’

Cassie’s mum came into the kitchen wearing sports gear. She looked young and fit and energetic and I felt a tiny twinge of envy. My mum had been like that once. Now she was skinny because she didn’t eat properly, not because she worked out, and she had permanent lines between her eyes because she was always worrying.

‘Hello,’ she said, giving me a wide smile.

‘Mum, this is my new friend Jem,’ Cassie said.

‘Hello, Jem.’

I said hello back, as a younger girl came into the house, trailing a bag and wearing a too-big blazer that told me she’d just started high school.

‘Oh, Thea, I was wondering where you’d got to,’ Cassie’s mum said.

Thea, who looked like a smaller version of Cassie, looked at me. ‘Was that you that I saw in the drama studio earlier?’

‘That was me.’ I’d been finding out about auditions for the school play. They were doing Macbeth and I thought it sounded fun.

Thea nodded. ‘I’ve got loads of homework,’ she said dramatically, throwing herself into a chair. ‘I’m going to be up until midnight finishing it all. It’s an absolute nightmare.’

I smiled to myself, thinking she should try out for the play, too.

‘Us too. Shit history.’ Cassie waved the instruction sheet.

Cassie’s mum rolled her eyes at her daughter. ‘Did you expect me to help with that?’

‘No.’ Cassie looked innocent but then she grinned. ‘Bit. We’ve got to do a report on some local historical thing and what lessons it can teach us in the present day.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘Dunno. Prison maybe.’

‘You could at least try to look enthusiastic about it.’ Cassie’s mother sighed. ‘Let me know if you need me to get any books from work.’

‘We’ll just google for now.’

‘Best get on with it then,’ her mum said, dropping a kiss on Thea’s head. ‘I’m going for a run, but I won’t be long. Will you need a lift home, Jem?’

‘I can walk, thank you. I don’t live far away.’

‘Jem lives in the witch’s cottage,’ Cassie said with glee. I looked at her in surprise. I lived where?

‘Erm, I live in Thistle Cottage,’ I said. I looked from Cassie to her mum. ‘It’s just by the sea. It’s really not far.’

Cassie’s mum made for the door, clearly eager to be off. ‘Well, if you’re sure you don’t mind walking?’

‘I don’t.’

‘I’ll give your cottage a wave as I run past.’

She headed outside and Thea looked at us both, interested in our conversation. ‘You live in the witch’s cottage?’

‘I really don’t. I live in Thistle Cottage.’

‘The little white one with the black window frames?’

‘Yes. And the thistle over the door.’

‘That’s the witch’s cottage.’

I made a face at Cassie. ‘Why do you call it that?’

She looked blank. ‘No idea. We’ve always called it that. Not just us. Everyone calls it the witch’s cottage.’

‘Maybe a witch lived there,’ Thea said with a thrilled grin. ‘There were loads of witches in North Berwick. I did an assembly about it at primary school.’

I felt a little shiver of interest run through me and I grinned at Cassie. ‘Witches,’ I said.

Chapter 3

Tess

I had a slight niggle about Jem all day while I was at work. The downside of my new job was that it really wasn’t very busy, nor absorbing. And that meant I had lots of time to fret. I was worried that Cassie could have worked out who Jem was, and befriended her just to get the gossip about Alistair. Did teenagers care about old television presenters? I wasn’t sure. The girls at Jem’s old school certainly had, but I had a sneaking suspicion that was more about them sensing a weakness than the story itself. I had always hated the ‘mean girls’ cliché but there were definitely some queen bees at that school who had made it their business to make some of their classmates’ lives a misery. And unfortunately, Alistair’s arrest and trial put Jem firmly in their sights.

I tried not to think about Alistair’s arrest and the court case and the awfulness that followed if I could avoid it but I found that no matter how hard I tried to forget, it just kept popping into my head and forcing me to remember how my charming, handsome husband, the darling of the press, became a villain overnight. Of course I had stood by him at first. Why wouldn’t I when he was standing in front of me, ashen-faced, telling me it was all a big mistake? That he barely knew this woman who was saying such awful things – he’d only ever seen her in the corridor or maybe taking notes in a production meeting. She must be mentally ill, he told me, his eyes filling with tears. She needs our sympathy, not our anger. I’d taken him in my arms, amazed by his generosity and promising I’d be right by his side.

But then another woman came forward, and another. And he was charged, and we were hurtled into the awfulness of courts and custodial sentences. And they were so young, these women. Not teens – not like the rumours said – but interns young enough to be his daughter. Fresh out of university and eager and excited to get started in their television career until my disgusting husband made it dirty and spoiled.

I tapped my keyboard to bring my screen back to life and sighed. The will I was drafting wasn’t exactly gripping and I needed a distraction from my thoughts, so I pushed my chair back from my desk and went in search of tea. The firm’s receptionist, Judy, was in the kitchen with Marcus – a law student who helped Mr Langdown sometimes. They were watching something on Judy’s phone.

‘Cat videos?’ I said, turning on the tap to fill the kettle.

Judy looked up. ‘Ooh if you’re making one, yes please.’

I took two mugs out of the cupboard and raised an eyebrow at Marcus who nodded, still gripped by the action on the phone. I added another mug and dropped three teabags in.

‘What is it?’ I asked, wondering what had them so enthralled.

‘Some MP has accidentally shared a saucy message on Twitter,’ Marcus said. ‘Look. It was clearly meant for his wife, but he made it public. It’s filthy and totally hilarious. Though people are being pretty mean about her, which isn’t great.’

I glanced at the screen as he showed me the comments people were making about the wife’s appearance, and made a face. ‘Urgh. What happened to “be kind” eh?’

Judy looked half ashamed, half gleeful. ‘We’re just watching the … what did you call it, Marcus?’

‘Pile on,’ Marcus said with relish. ‘He’s deleted the message but everyone’s screen grabbed it so he can’t deny it. Everyone’s talking about it.’ He bit his lip. ‘Shame they’re being so nasty about her, though.’

I concentrated on stirring the tea and pouring on the milk, hoping they couldn’t see my hands shaking. It was so easy to make mistakes on social media. To write something in anger or without double-checking that your meaning was clear. Or – apparently – to share something publicly that should have been private. Thinking about my own error made me feel sick. My ‘pile on’ had been quite early on in that nightmarish time when Alistair had been arrested and the police had been in our house night and day, searching our bedroom, and the study, and Jem’s room. They’d taken the computer from the lounge as well as my work laptop and Jem’s phone. And all the neighbours saw, of course, even though our house was large and set back from the road. You can’t miss a load of police cars and streams of uniformed officers carrying out laptops and monitors. I think that’s where the rumours that Alistair had groomed young girls started, which is totally understandable. If I’d seen it happen to a neighbour, I’d have assumed that too.

When news of the arrest hit the papers, it got even worse. Jem’s school was supportive enough at first but when it became clear that it wasn’t all some big misunderstanding, that soon faded away. They had a reputation to protect, after all. So there was no punishment for the girls who followed her round all day asking questions about her ‘pervy dad’ and no consequences for the former friend who spread rumours about Alistair eyeing her up when she came to Jem’s birthday party.

When Jem came home in floods of tears for what felt like the hundredth time, I snapped. On my newly returned phone I typed a tweet about the silly girls who were making my daughter’s life a misery.

‘Silly girls should think about their actions before ruining people’s lives,’ I wrote because I had some sort of conscience and I didn’t want to name the girls or the school. But that backfired because everyone thought I meant the women who’d accused Alistair, of course – they didn’t know about the school bullies. Within seconds I had hundreds of comments telling me I was victim blaming, calling me a sad, vicious old woman who had been brainwashed by her paedo husband, saying all sorts of awful things. I realized how stupid I’d been putting anything on social media and deleted it straightaway but the damage was done. And then it all got even worse …

‘Tess?’ I jumped, startled out of my memories by Marcus who’d put his phone away and was waiting patiently for the cup of tea I’d promised.

‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘In a world of my own.’

He nodded, eyeing me thoughtfully. I wondered if he knew who I was. He didn’t appear to and I was glad.

*

Jem was in really good spirits that evening which made me feel more comfortable. I wanted her to make friends, despite my nerves, and Cassie actually sounded really nice. Jem was full of stories about Cassie, and Cassie’s bedroom, and Cassie’s brother and sister, and Cassie’s mum, and chatting about school and how she was going to audition for the school play. She was even excited about her history project which I was pleased about because I liked history. Jem had never shown much interest before.

‘Cassie’s mum went for a run while I was there,’ she said, as we sat on the sofa with an old episode of Friends playing in the background. ‘I thought maybe you could go running again. You used to like that.’

She looked at me in a way that made me realize with a start that perhaps she worried about me just as much as I worried about her. Poor girl. She’d had so much to deal with the last year or so since Alistair’s arrest. It had all just been one long drawn-out nightmare.

‘Maybe I will,’ I said. ‘That’s a good idea.’

Jem grinned and I relaxed a bit. ‘Tell me about your project.’

‘Ohmygod,’ she said, jumping to her feet and getting her school bag. ‘It’s so cool. Did you know everyone calls this house the witch’s cottage?’

‘I did not know that,’ I said, with a small shudder, thinking of the names I’d been called when the truth about Alistair came out. ‘It’s not because we live here is it?’

‘Duh, no,’ Jem said. She pulled her history folder out of her bag. ‘Cassie’s sister, Thea, said there were loads of witches in North Berwick and she reckons one of them must have lived here.’

‘Goodness,’ I said. ‘I suppose this cottage is very old. It’s one of the oldest buildings in the whole town, I think.’

‘So Cassie and me are going to find out about the witches that lived here. It’s supposed to link the present and the past, so it fits perfectly.’

‘Cassie and I,’ I said automatically. ‘What have you found out so far?’

Jem shrugged. ‘Nothing yet,’ she admitted. ‘We got a bit distracted on Instagram.’

My stomach lurched. ‘Jem, you know I don’t want you on social media.’

She sighed. ‘I’m not on social media. I was looking on Cassie’s phone.’ She turned away from me and I heard her mutter, ‘Everyone else is on it.’

I understood that it was hard for her not to be online like her friends, but I knew all too well how easy it was for people to send horrible, nasty messages on social media. Messages and comments that stuck in your head, no matter how much you tried to dismiss them or laugh them off. Threats against you, or your loved ones. Or once, even against our family pets. Rape threats. Death threats. All sorts. So I wasn’t budging on my social-media ban, no matter how much Jem begged me.

Wanting to distract her, I got my laptop from the bookshelf and opened it up. ‘Shall we have a look?’

The lure of finding out about the witches who’d lived in our house was too tempting for Jem to keep sulking. To my relief, she turned back to me and smiled. ‘Google it,’ she said.

I typed in witches and North Berwick and was rewarded with dozens of hits.

‘Oh my,’ I said. ‘It was quite a thing.’

Together, Jem and I read about the witch trials in our town, the accusations of dark deeds, which sounded ridiculous to our modern ears, and the torture of women, which didn’t sound so ridiculous.

‘It’s horrible,’ Jem said, wide-eyed. ‘Can we try to find the one who lived in our cottage?’

I thought for a second and then searched for ‘witch, Forth Street, North Berwick’. Nothing came up.

‘Perhaps the street had a different name back then,’ I said.

Jem was looking thoughtful. ‘I think I know how to find it,’ she said.

‘Really?’

‘Come on.’ She jumped to her feet and disappeared into the hall, then came back wearing her coat – finally – and shoes. ‘Come on, Mum.’