Enter the Forest…

I sat, distracted by my dilemma in form room. Fortunately no-one noticed.

Fi and Shona were off in the corner whispering secretly. Ann and I were joined by Bridget Whitehorse and Sanjay Bajpayee who’d just started going out and were all over each other. Sanjay’s father, who was rumoured to be some sort of astrophysicist or rocket scientist back in India, had single-handedly cornered the local taxi and limousine service, inciting the jealousy of not a few unemployed miners- including Bridget’s famously outspoken uncle, Gavin Whitehorse, head of the local branch of the miner’s union, political agitator and good mate of Tegan’s dad Hamish Godfrey.

Ann and Bridget were excitedly discussing Shona’s impending party while Sanjay often leaned over and started kissing Bridget much to my disgust and Ann’s excitement. I felt an ugly twinge of jealousy. I’d never even kissed a boy let alone gone out with one. All I seemed to get from guys was derisive comments about my flat chest and pallid skin. I found myself tapping my pen against my desk in irritation.

When we left for class I found myself filled with the same queer loneliness and sadness I’d had for awhile now. No-one seemed to notice. I felt like crying again but I couldn’t. There was this thick blankness in my mood, I don’t know where it came from but it was like cotton wool in my head. I found myself desperately trying to think about what I was going to do about tonight but kept getting distracted. I wanted to be sick.

Unsurprisingly at lunchtime Michaela was visibly unimpressed by my lame excuse-making.

“Can’t you tell your mother that you’ve done your homework and that you’ll be back early?”
“She just won’t listen. She keeps insisting that I can’t go out today because I was late home last night!”
“I’ll go.”

We all looked with surprise at Seamus, who’d been listening quietly and seriously.

“But you all have to come to my house to watch ‘Naked Gun’ next week.”
“Of course!” we all chimed.

He looked radiant.

Later that afternoon I tracked down George after maths class.

“Hey George.”

He took an exaggerated bow.

“Yes m’lady?”

I glowered, hurt and blinking back tears. Shocked, he said, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, what’s up Beatrice?”

“I hear you’ve still got ‘Hitch-hiker’s’ with you.”
“Oh.” He looked in the distance blankly for a moment, with a strange look on his face. Still avoiding looking at me he said, “me Da’s locked it in his cabinet.”
“What? Why?”
“He don’t really approve of the reading and the writing you see- he says it’s turning me into a poof.”
“I… I’m sorry.”
“Nah, it’s ok, I’d rather be a poof than a whisky-sodden illiterate arsehole.”
“Isn’t there anything you can do?”
“Well if you can find a way of getting his alcoholic arse out of the living room I can probably break into the cabinet and get it to you.”

He looked at me so pleadingly for a moment that I wasn’t sure if I was looking at the same George Campbell I’d gone to school with since I was 5. Then his face turned back into its usual sarcastic smirk.

“Tell you what, girly, get him a few free drinks at that fancy pub your Aunty Rosemary owns on the side and I’ll have just enough time to get it back for you.”

I sighed. Then I realised that all I had to do was ask for a little more money from Mother for the movie I was supposedly going to tonight. Then I thought again of the prospect of talking to Aunt Rosemary.

“I’ll try my best George.”
“Ah, now there’s a good lass.” Making another exaggerated bow, he winked and strutted off, whistling “Greensleeves”.

I shook my head. I had absolutely no idea what on earth was wrong with that guy.

“Was he giving you any trouble?” A snarl beside me.

I jumped. Seamus had crept up next to me.

“No, no he wasn’t, he just wanted, ah, maths advice?”

Seamus looked at me dubiously with a dark look in his eyes but that was, thankfully, the end of that.

I dressed nervously, wearing a pair of tight black jeans, a dorky red and blue t-shirt I’d bought in town on the cheap and one of my lighter summer jackets, a dusty maroon velvet one. I had no idea what people wore to moon fairs but I did have some idea what I would have worn to a movie with my friends. Dressing up in something like a skirt or a nice top would have made my mother suspicious and I was already nervous and squeaky enough.

Mother was once again in a surprisingly pre-occupied mood. I wondered what she was worrying about.

As I left, she gave me a quick kiss on the forehead and told me to be back before 11. I said that I would, hoping that this thing would not take too long.

“Be safe, you know I worry about you,” she said, her forehead wrinkled. Mother looked suddenly older than I had ever seen her. I suppose she was almost fifty, as was Daddy. I felt a deep stab of sadness at this. She squeezed my arm.
“Alright, be off with you, have fun!” I turned and left. Even though I was desperate to, I didn’t look back. It felt like an Orpheus moment- look back at the wrong moment and all manner of evils could befall you. So I didn’t.

I’d asked Oak to come with me to the Faire but he’d made no answer to me. So I went on my own, out the door then sneakily around to one of the hidden side doors and through a few twists and turns in the narrow stone corridor to the passage under the castle.

The clearing looked eerie in the moonlight and the forest was grotesque and frightening. With a shiver I walked into the woods…

To my surprise there was only one path in the forest tonight. Ordinarily there were several near the start- one to the ancient stone circle, one to a waterfall at one of the upstream stretches of the Huon, one towards a hill with a beautiful view of the sea… These then branched and split madly themselves. Wondrously I’d never gotten lost here. The paths must be connected somehow. Oak and I had once tried to get lost, but found ourselves at one landmark or another inevitably.

Today the path, which seemed much wider, led straight to the stone circle.

I heard the sounds of revelry in the distance and hurried. I came out to the clearing at the circle and stared in awe. The huge stone slabs- monoliths- were solid and towering in the moonlight. The clearing around it and the people within were lit such that they were ghostly, ethereal, insubstantial next to the pillars. Arranged roughly in a horse-shoe shape were various stalls and behind them a large stage. The stalls appeared to be made of wood, stone, metal shaped in all manner of impossible shapes. The folk milling around too seemed unearthly, impossible.

So these were the woodfolk and this was the moon fair. I almost felt naked, alone, uncomfortable. Taking a gulp, I walked into the crowd.

The atmosphere was intoxicating. There was the smell of incense and perfumes. There was laughter, growls, chirrups and all manner of communication. All around me were various people and creatures. Beautiful horned men and women, a couple of children with quilled heads and necks like Mister Kathmandu, what seemed to be a Hippogriff, a Sphinx, a Pegasus and an Angel engaged in some form of aggressive, growled card game, ethereal white shapes floating silently through the glade and the occasional humans also…

It was breathtaking.

It reminded me of London.

And I suddenly felt that it was here, right here that I belonged.

I let out a long sigh and strolled through the throng, my eyes feasting on the warmth.

I saw a troupe of well-built green-skinned people with tusks who spoke a Japanese-sounding language performing amazingly graceful acrobatics. Some treants wordlessly offered me a giant pine cone in exchange for my hair (I declined). A group of intoxicated wildcats were thrown out of the fair by a gigantic spider adorned with a ceremonial jacket which I presumed to be that of some sort of security service.

Another less intoxicated wildcat rubbed against me and growled. I bent down to stroke it and to my surprise it projected a very clear message to me somehow.

I was to follow her to where the Lady was. She reassured me that she understood English and so we had an odd seemingly one-sided conversation as we wound our way through the crowd.

She said that many of the “people” here knew who I was and she said that I was under their direct protection. They too were agents of the forest after all. She also said firmly that the Lady too was bound to protect me.

Despite this I felt a stab of fear rather than curiosity. I had absolutely no idea what I was getting into. I may be under the “protection” of their people but I wondered whether this protection was more like a protection racket- and came at a price.

Finally we were at the stage, which was empty. The green-skinned acrobats were nowhere to be seen and the throng of the crowd was behind me. A human woman in a long lacy skirt and a leather jacket leant against the stage and another jacketed spider skittered past. I looked around for this mysterious Lady but there was no-one to be seen.

The wildcat went up to the human woman and meowed. The woman scratched it under the chin and thanked it. She beckoned to me.

As I went over to her, the wildcat meowed a wish for payment for taking me to the Lady. Annoyed, I felt a little cheated by the cat. Then realisation dawned. This very ordinary looking human woman- this was the Lady! I fished what was left of my meat pastie and offered it to the wildcat. She purred her thanks, stopped, crouched and gnawed on it contentedly.

“You’re early” said the Lady, a tall brunette with a deep melodious voice.

I took a look at my watch, puzzled.

“Only by about 5 minutes. I hope that’s ok, I read that the moon is fullest at 8:13.”
“That’s not what I meant.” She smiled. “We were expecting either your father or older brother tonight- but you yourself in a little while from now. No matter. ‘Difficult times call for difficult measures’ – isn’t that what they say?”
“Ah, aye, I guess so?”

She looked me directly in the eye then and I felt distinctly uneasy. As if I was missing several chapters of a long story.

She took my hand in her cold ones and spread the lines of my palm. She traced a pattern on it and I started to feel an electric buzzing through my hand, up my arm, down my spine and up into my skull. It slowly built up in intensity until it was verging on painful then fell away suddenly.

“It is done. We have renewed the contract between the Land, the Border Place and the family Learmonth.”

I was speechless. How on earth could Daddy have forgotten this?

“This ritual occurs two full moons after the summer solstice every year. I understand that your father sends his apologies for his absence as he has been called away on unexpected business which is vitally important for the future of this place,” she said. I had my doubts about that but I let her continue. “Thus it was discussed and decided that you would come in his stead as the next in line…”
“But…” I said, interrupting her.
“… who could attend.”

I felt even more uneasy and lost. It was as if she’d left a deliberate ambiguity there. I was not next in line- Cedric was. I supposed though that he was unable to attend…

“There is much that you need to learn, little girl, before you are in a position to judge things or others- or to understand them. I can’t overwhelm you with details tonight but I can help you. Look directly into my eyes.”

I stood face to face with her. I looked into those mercury irises and their deep pupils. I felt an alien, reptilian intelligence behind them uncurling and considering me. My hair stood on end.

Then a flash of light blinded me momentarily and there was a searing stab of pain in my eyes. I howled.

“Look around.”

My eyes recovered and I saw. The world was paused.

The small hedgehog people were hedgehogs. The wildcats were just small feral domestic cats. The spiders were, well, spiders. The green-skinned acrobats to be fair still had greenish skin but much smaller tusks and looked close to human. All of the other humanoids look pretty much human too. The Pegasus, Hippogriff, Sphinx and Angel oddly enough were an archaic roulette wheel with alchemical looking symbols instead of numbers on it.

I turned back to the Lady and she was a being of pure light. Light flowed out of her in smoky tendrils and was attached by white threads to seemingly everything. A large thick rope of it was tethered to me.

“All is not as it seems. Most of these woodfolk are using a natural Glamour that makes them at best stunning and at worst monstrous. Do not be fooled. There is truth in both the actual and the apparent. In Reality as well as Truth. I suppose you would say in Science as well as Magic.
“I show you this because the forest is in real danger. There are those away from this place, the Border Place, who also wear a glamour- one that is subtler perhaps. I cannot make you see like this always but I can unlock your natural ability to sense Glamour.
“We will meet again, and soon, much closer to my home.”
“But, but where is that?”
“I live in the middle of the lake.”
“But there isn’t a…”
“Shhh. There is. Truth versus Reality. They are both correct.”
“And who are you?”
“I’m simply the Lady.”
“The Lady of the Lake.” I said flatly, incredulously.
“No, just the Lady.” She winked at me and laughed.
“I will send you home with something to remind you of this night. Remember the contract we have renewed tonight. Do not forget this.”

I guffawed. Somehow I doubted I would.

Then the world fell sideways and I blacked out.

I woke up bolt upright in my bed. What a weird, bizarre, vivid dream.

My right hand was clutching something. Opening my fist, I saw that it was a silver sword pendant. Inscribed on the blade was the name “Excalibur”.

I lay back and laughed. I laughed for hours.

The next few days had that lovely golden feeling of the end of summer to them.

I got on my bike and rode to town a couple of afternoons after school, through the elegant Poplars that lined the castle driveway, past the cast iron portcullis and a thrilling race from the top of the hill down to the highway (which though proudly named and numbered was little more than a properly surfaced 2-lane country road), then a swift twist round the corner to the right and a straight flat run into Castleton.

As Highway A809 broadened into the High Glen Road, tight-set stony fields with their squat rock farmhouses and flocks of naked sheep gave way to weather beaten wooden houses fronted with scraggly lawns, newer blocks of 60s brick townhouses and the occasional 90s place. Still further and we got traffic- run-down 80s Japanese imports, some sleeker Hondas and Fords… and the omnipresent Oghmas, those squat, heavy almost toadlike cars built here in the 60s.

Then the bridge over breathtaking Loch Learmont- “our” Loch- and finally into town.

Town itself had older stone edifices, stained with bird poo and worn- some of it quite old indeed, dating back to Cromwell’s Britain and that last invasion before the Restoration in the late 1600s- some even earlier. It was a mirthless, shabby, grey place. You could almost feel the spirits of those Puritans in Castleton, the last fort to be built in order to finally subdue the highlands. Famous home of the fort which defeated Harris’s Last Stand, the last scrap of Scots resistance led ironically by an English man.

You could either continue on the Glen Road into the Fort which overlooked the sea from Dulwich Hill or turn left down the Esplanade along the stony beach to the fishing district, or you could turn down Harris St, home of Castleton High, Castleton Primary, the mall and the branch of Marks & Spencer.

That Thursday after band practice I went to the library. I wanted to see if I could finally get hold of “Hitch-hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy”- which they only had half of in the school library due to vandalism. That and I really should find some book on British mythology for English class.

Mrs Hawthorne wanted us to bring back an example of a mythological story and summarise it- as well as writing an essay on a poem of Ted Hughes’. As she’d said, spellbound, “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” was a play which drew on several traditions of myth- set in Ancient Greece yet in the realm of fairies and other beasts. Oberon and Titania themselves, oddly, harked from French mythology, the Gauls of course being Celtic themselves.

Celtic mythology, I’d realised that other night, was something I really needed to read up about. I knew a little about King Arthur and aside from that practically nothing. Stories I’d once thought British turned out to be French, German, Russian- or in the case of Cinderella- even Chinese!

That, and I didn’t want to give anyone any more ammunition to call me “English”. I’d find a good Scots yarn and spit it back in their uneducated faces. Castleton was less than half native Scottish anyway, let alone highlands. My family may speak “as if they’d been born with the Queen’s silver spoon up their backsides” but originally lowlands as we may be, and educated in words with more than 3 syllables, we were more Scottish than most of them.

I parked my bike, waved to the librarian, Mr Christiansen and headed straight to folklore.

There were only 2 books on British folklore- one was a selection of Arthurian tales (as I’d expected) and fortunately one was a well-worn set of Celtic and Gaelic tales. I smiled as I saw the imprint on the inside of the front cover. It was donated to the library by old Mrs McInnes who owned one of the smaller farms close to the castle and still milked the cows at the age of 83.

I flicked through the book- stories of fairies who bewitched children, one of an undead knight, and… a smile came to my face. I knew what my story would be.

I took that book as well as a book of Ted Hughes’ poems and the collected works of Sylvia Plath, his wife. Ted Hughes may be Poet Laureate but I was far more passionate about Sylvia Plath’s tragic, vivid words, as were Violet and Tegan. Michaela found them chillingly morbid, Shona and Ann had “overcome” their brief obsession and moved on to Allen Ginsburg apparently, and Seamus was completely immune. Seamus was brought up on a healthy genteel admixture of Byron, Shelley, Poe, Wordsworth, Tennyson and the like instead. He could quote Ozymandias by heart and was known to torment us with the Raven in dark mocking tones whenever anyone brought out Sylvia Plath and her garish poppies and sickly babies.

I couldn’t find “Hitch-hiker’s” however. Damn. I went up to the front desk.

“Hello dear, what are you looking for today?” intoned Mr Christiansen in his neat Swedish accent, his smooth round face breaking into a smile.
“Hitch-hiker’s guide? Let me check…” he clicked earnestly on the keyboard, “looks like it’s still on loan.”
“No, not again!”
“Sorry, we’ve been chasing this particular book for a few weeks now.” A few more clicks. “Very interesting. It looks like it’s a classmate of yours perhaps.” He winked.
“Who is it?”
“Well it says here a George Campbell, do you know him?”

I was incredulous.

“Are you serious? Are you sure it’s the right George Campbell.”
“I am, yes, let’s see, birthdate is 19th of February 1982?”
“That’s him! Wow, of all the people…”
“In that case, I have an interesting offer for you to think over, Beatrice, if you should choose to accept.”
“Go on…”
“Get the book if you agree to and I’ve got a couple of books in the back you might also be interested in,” he said, eyes twinkling.

Now I was hooked.

“Sure.”
“I knew you couldn’t resist! Now come with me.”

We went into the back room of the library. Mr Christiansen had converted it into a small comfortable tea room. It had a few armchairs, a stylish rug and several Japanese paintings on the walls.

“I knew you are studying ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’. Now have you read many comics?”

I confessed that I had not.

“Well let this be your introduction then.”

He reached into the small book case there and pulled out one of a series of slim volumes. It was entitled “Dream Country”.

“This is a collection of stories about Morpheus, god of Dream. You may find it interesting for the folklore, and the story about the very play you’re studying!”

I flicked very quickly through it. It looked to have the artwork of a few different artists- 1 for each story. There was something compelling about the words and of course the main character himself, a tall gaunt man with dark hollows for eyes and a dark halo of hair. DREAM.

“Bring it back with ‘Hitch-hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy’ after you’ve finished them both and I’ll give you another.”

I grinned and thanked him. It had made my day.

He turned on the kettle and insisted I stay for a cup of tea. He told me about his city of Gothenburg in the south of Sweden, just north of Denmark. Stories of snow, ice, sledding. And of course the first time he had seen the mournful, enchanting statue of The Little Mermaid in Copenhagen and fallen in love.

“She was my true love- until I met Helena of course!”

I too remembered that statue and the strange longing I felt seeing her face yearning for the sea.

“I believe you have the stories of the selkies here also- the seal people. These stories all have a very similar theme, you know.”

I drank his words.

Suddenly I saw that the light was fading. I was going to be in trouble from Mother.

I swallowed my bitter tea with a gulp, excused myself, ran to my bike, unhitched it and rode off.

The bike ride back was more difficult as it was uphill. By the time I was home I was breathless and sodden with sweat. Fitzy let me in with a sigh.

“Madam is rather unhappy with you. She will see you in the Drawing Room.”

I made my way to Mother’s office in the old Drawing Room with trepidation. I knocked twice.

“Come in.”

She was at her desk, glasses perched on her nose, leafing through accounts. She did not look up.

“Where have you been?”
“At the library.”
“Didn’t I tell you that you were to be home by 5:30?”
“Ummm, yes.”
“’Ummm’? Not ‘Ummm’, you were meant to be home thirty minutes ago. The library closes at 4:30 today so you were not there. Where were you?”
“I was at the library and Mr Christiansen was telling me some information for my homework and I stayed late.” I retorted, red-faced and angry.
“You go into that town and stay late with a strange man…”
“He isn’t unknown! He’s the head librarian, can’t you remember Mother?!”
“DINNER IS AT SIX THIRTY AND I EXPCET YOU TO BE SHOWERED CHANGED AND ON TIME” she said coldly.

I turned and left, slamming the door behind me and ran to my room in fury. Then wept. The nerve of that woman. I suppressed that fist of anger in my chest and had a fast shower, scrubbing from head to toe, including my mop of messy red curls and changed into a sleeveless summer dress. Alfred cannoned into me as I went downstairs.

“Watch it!”

He stuck his tongue out at me and ran away as I tried to grab him.

“You little brat!” I yelled after him.
“Beatrice what are you doing to your little brother?!” Mother shouted up at me.
“NOTHING! NOTHING AT ALL!!” I shouted back.

We had our cold roast and salad in stony silence. After dinner I sat down with the book of Scottish folktales.

Seeing “La Belle Dame Sans Merci” by Keats, I realised what had been nagging me.

Both the moon fair and Titanic were on at 8 tomorrow night.

I’d worked out by 8 that night that there was no way that my father Huon Learmonth, XVIIth Earl of Glenharrishaven nor his chosen heir could attend any sort of fairy moon party. Eldritch lunar convenant more like it from what Mister Kathmandu had said.

My head was still spinning from the day. Wookfolk, moon faires, politicians, Fi and Cedric. Cedric leaving.

“Beatrice are you doing your homework?” A shout from downstairs.
“Yes mum.”
“Really?”
“YES, mum!”
“I don’t believe you, I’m coming in.”

I hurriedly grabbed a notebook, any notebook and scrabbled through my bag looking for a pen.

The door opened.

“I knew it. Do your homework and clean that disgusting room,” Mother said coldly and slammed the door.

My eyes welled up with tears of rage.

I turned on the radio. They were playing the Spice Girls so I switched and switched. Finally I found some Oasis. Good. Now onto “A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” I skimmed back and forth through the text blankly at first then with more purpose as I hummed “Don’t Look Back in Anger” to myself. I was absorbed in the cadences of iambic pentameter, suitably amused by Bottom, intrigued by the subtle political themes in the text.

It was an interesting play to be reading- given the day I’d had. I wondered if the Lady was like Titania, or indeed Titania herself! I giggled to myself, suddenly excited. I wasn’t scared anymore so much as enthralled by this strange twist of fate. Our family was pretty weird, I’ll grant you, the magical forest that talked to Daddy and the castle full of secret passages notwithstanding, but my latest discovery in the forest thrilled me in ways I hadn’t been since I’d discovered the way to the Glen as a child.

I thought to myself of the fairytales, myths and legends I knew of that could possibly account for this. I could think of only a few- all Gaelic. My knowledge of local folklore was, well, pitiful, even though I knew Zeus, Aphrodite and their incestuous doings in Olympus. I’d never, ever heard of hedgehog-men however.

I began to write. I took a break to practice on my trombone for a bit, then went back to writing my assignment.

I fell asleep on the floor and woke up to a cold, dark room. I crept into bed and dreamt.

I sat with Shona and Ann at form class again. Fi was over with her friends laughing and chatting. I wondered if I’d imagined yesterday.

Shona invited me to her birthday party and said that Tegan could come too but not to tell Violet.

“What about Seamus?”
“Who?”
I sighed. “Never mind.”

The invitation was printed on some weird floral paper. Ever since Shona’s father got them a computer everything Shona did was printed in Times New Roman. Even her maths homework, for which she’d needed one of the 5th form nerds to come over and install some equation thing for WordPerfect. She’d shown it to me with glee one day. I just wasn’t as excited as she was.

I shoved the invitation in my pocket. I decided not to tell anyone about the party, or go.

Violet had a new baby brother and so at lunchtime we were passing photos around of the wet little wrinkly bub.

“His name’s Samson Tychus McGillivray.”
“Samson Tychus McDermott-Wollstonecraft…” I began.
“… Maximillien Fortesque McGillivray…” chimed in Tegan.
“… the FOURTH!”
“CEO of…”
“… Dried Sheep Industries!!” I finished, ecstatic. We fell apart, giggling for 5 minutes while Violet rolled her eyes and Seamus just looked eager but awkward and lost. Seamus’s facial expression kept me laughing even longer than I would have originally.

Violet was 3rd in a family of 6. Her parents somehow managed in the high country to be Catholics and to reproduce accordingly. Her mum was a nurse and her Dad, a sheep farmer.

Tegan said aloud that Samson was gorgeous but she was glad she didn’t have to deal with nappies. Tegan’s father was a former miner, a union man, so her family could not afford another child even if they wanted one. Seamus said solemnly that in that case Tegan’d better be careful at parties. I couldn’t work out if he was serious or joking so I burst into another gale of laughter from which, sadly, I never recovered.

Our other friend Michaela mouthed to Seamus with mock seriousness “completely mad”. Seamus stifled a snicker.

Michaela’s family- her, her mum and her twin brother- had moved around a lot and finally moved to Castleton because of the low cost of rent. Her mother was a small anxious soul and her brother Stuart was a manic avid squash player and the only person who seemed to get on well with grumpy, snarky George Campbell, a scruffy tall guy who sat at the back of every class he was in and seemed to have a sarcastic, incisive retort for almost everything- often stopping everyone cold in their tracks.

Seamus, of everyone, was “blessed” with a complete lack of siblings. His father, Mr Harrison, the headmaster, was a stony-faced stern man and his mother was a biology teacher at Cedric’s old school, the private school in the neighbouring town of Esk.

“Hey what are you all doing next Friday? Titanic’s still on and I can finally afford to go,” said Michaela smiling.
“Ha, Titanic’s not quite my thing,” said Violet knowingly.
“Not mine either, ha, what about Independence Day?” asked Seamus.
“Ok, that wasn’t what I meant…” said Violet.
“I’ll totally go! Bea, you in?” said Tegan.
“Yeah, sure that’d be cool!”
“You’re all just into Leonardo diCrapio,” said Seamus, miffed.
“Well in that case you’re totally into Will Smith!”
“I’m so not. Leonardo diCaprio is gay.”

Just then, scruffy George Campbell clasped his hands on Seamus’s shoulders and leaned over him.

There was a pregnant pause.

“Seamus, do you know the difference between you and Leonardo diCaprio?” murmured George.

Silence.

“Seamus…?”
“Well, ah… ummm… well…”
“The DIFFERENCE between Seamus and Leonardo diCaprio is that AT LEAST LEONARDO DICAPRIO IS THE POOFTER KIND OF GAY RATHER THAN THE SHITEY KIND!!” He grinned maniacally as if he expected us to laugh.

He rubbed the top of Seamus’s head vigorously and walked away bellowing with laughter.

“Psycho” spat Tegan. She waited a second then yelled “ARSEHOLE!” after him. George didn’t turn back, just gave her the finger behind him as he swaggered away.

Tegan started neatening Seamus’s hair till he pushed her hand away, irritated.

“So you guys are in then?” asked Michaela expectantly.

And so it was. 8pm at the Cinema Soleil in town.

I felt like I was forgetting something. I shoved that thought where it belonged- at the back of my mind.

Quite unusually for us, Mother left the TV switched on during dinner. Switched to channel ___, no less. My sense of intrigue increased.

You see, we have a local celebrity in our family.

2 times BAFTA award winner and winner of the “best female news presenter” in the ____ awards, the astronomically rising star of TV journalism, Katrina Vulture, daughter of Sir William Vulture and his wife Elizabeth, my father’s eldest sister (who really should have been Countess after dear good Edward died in the war defending the Mother Country rather than that woman- as she called my mother). Educated locally, graduated with Honours in Journalism from Our University of Edinburgh, then Rhodes Scholar. Local girl who’d Made It Big with the Common Touch and her Heart Still Beating For Her Home Town. Oh and complete whore.

We avoided her programs like the plague- even when she had Covered the War in Bosnia and Trekked Deep Into The Sri Lankan Jungle to Interview The Tamil Tigers and even Gone To Thailand On A Holiday- these being events which gathered the rest of our entire extended family into epic television watching sessions together.

She was one of those tall blonde pseudo-nice faux-sincere 30 something bitches in her high heels with her ersatz charm who’d gone to Edinburgh because she couldn’t get into Oxford, apparently sucked her way off into a Rhodes scholarship and shamelessly mined her connection with the town for recurrent special episodes on the “sorry sordid state of our nation”- usually a freak show of the scummiest and most backwards parts of the highlands of Scotland which quite frankly described Castleton rather well.

Oh and she called Mother “that woman” too and didn’t deign to talk to the likes of Alfred or I though she regularly attempted to suck up to Daddy and seemed to at least tolerate Cedric.

You can understand then that this was a very odd happening.

Mother was fixated. She angrily shushed me and Alfie as we flicked peas across at each other. Katrina’s visage flicked her hair, smiled and spoke in an arch BBC accent tinged with just the right amount of Scots.

“And in other news, the Provost of small Scottish Highlands town of Castleton, the long-serving Labour politician Catriona Busby faces and unusual challenger.” My ears suddenly pricked up.

“Newcomer and businessman, Roger Tulloch, operator of the successful T-Blot chain has staked his claim to become Provost of Castleton, promising to turn around soaring record-high unemployment with over 40% of the population living under the poverty line and appalling youth literacy and crime rates with what he promises will be a new- and successful- strategy for the remote former mining town.” Katrina smiled vacantly at the camera.

Next they showed some footage of the dour town- the fort, High street, the docks, many of the mine closing down with accompanying protestors, Duntroon the poorest suburb (and surprisingly none of the Loch or the forest)- with a drab voiceover telling us in 100 words or less as it were the history of Castleton. Founded as a fort town during the English invasion of Scotland by Cromwell, a brief period of prosperity with the opening of a rich coal mine which was later deemed uneconomical during the Thatcher era. Home of the failed Oghma Scots car, and of course of the channel’s very own 2 time BAFTA winner and winner of Best Female News Presenter for 2 years in a row, our Katrina Vulture.

The footage changed to that of a distinguished but otherwise bland looking middle-aged man.

“I believe that with courage, conviction and a few new ideas we can turn Castleton into the proud town it once was. As Provost I would plan to spearhead real change for real people- campaigning hard for your RIGHT to a decent job, home and schools.”

So this was our “future Provost” Roger Tulloch. Not much different than Rt. Hon. Busby. Right-o. Another boring politician.

“Drat, drat, drat” swore Mother, turning off the TV.
“What’s wrong Mum?” said Alfie, happily crunching on his chips.
“I need to call your father.” She hurried out of the room.

I raised an eyebrow and Alfie giggled.

New candidate for Provost. A serious one, rather than a crackpot. Bet Daddy would be glad to hear that.

Oak and I had been “thick as thieves” as Wilma put it haughtily since I was wee and he was a sapling. The forest had provided its youngest yet servant to the family after the great ancient Sylvestris, a Scots Pine had retired from service.

It was said that the Glen, the forest, gave one of its own in service as payment for its continued protection by the Earls- that being the solemn contract between Lord and his Land that was entirely unique in this Island.

I was not sure then why I had always been told by my parents never to enter the woods- maybe it was because Cedric was the next Earl not me and maybe this invalidated any protection I might receive. It didn’t make much sense to me so I just ignored it. That did not put me in the clear- I’d received many hidings from Daddy as a result.

Today Oak and I wandered almost aimlessly, enchanted by the sweet smell of the land. All of a sudden I tripped.

“Watch where yer goin’ woman!”- or at least I thought I heard “woman”. It could quite easily have been “human”.

I looked down to see an odd little man. He wore a loose wrapping round his head like a turban and a high collared shirt and shawl that almost but did not quite hide the long… quills(?!) that covered his neck and the top of his head.

Oak bent down and picked up the slightly injured hedgehog man-thing and popped him in his work apron.

“Oak! Put him down!”

“Aye you beastly Oaky castle thing!”

Oak gently tipped him onto the ground with no malice. The little man brushed himself off, in his little waist-coated suit.

“May I know your acquaintance, sir and may I apologise for the manner of our meeting?” I bowed.

“Oh shove it princess!” I blushed violently. He looked suddenly ashamed.

“Ach well, ye may as well know I go by the name of Mister Kathmandu, you and your big Castley feet just frighted me is all. We woodfolk ent given to seeing many o’ your kind of late. We’ve nowt seen the likes of your fine brother ‘Heir of the Glen’ and suchlike. Aethelbert mentioned he’d seen your pappy a few times but nowt recently-like. Now Lord Edward, he were a true gentleman, such a pity…” I went red with annoyance this time.

“I’ll have you know my father spends his entire life in London fighting for this place so you should watch what you say.”

He winked at me and bowed at that.

“Truly spoken m’lady. I meant no harm by me words but ye might want to pop a word to yer Pa that the moon fair is coming and we re-quire one of ye for the ceremony, else the Lady’ll be most displeasured.”

“What moon fair? Which Lady? When?”

“This full moon at the stone circle yonder. One of yer family is needed to come, it’s part of the contract as ye’d be putting it in Castle-talk. I’ll be taking my leave now.”

He bowed deeply and left.

Completely dazed by this I decided to go back home. I’d never seen any people- human or otherwise- in the forest. Nor had my family even mentioned “woodfolk”- even more surprisingly since they knew us. Knew me. Even agreed with the others that Uncle Edward- Daddy’s dead esteemed older brother- should have been Earl instead of Daddy.

And this “Lady”- their ruler perhaps? Maybe she was the hidden danger that my parents were frightened of me meeting. She certainly sounded dangerous- and high and mighty to boot, a bad combination.

The woodfolk were right about one thing though- neither of my brothers had ever been here. And Daddy- he spent more and more time in London, or overseas. Conferences, TV appearances, charity fundraisers, the House of Lords… Sometimes I felt so angry at how he could just up and leave us whenever he felt like.

Suddenly glum, I tramped home with Oak.

When I came home, Oak was busy ferrying leaves and tinder into the stockpile. Sensing my arrival, he stopped, put his young roots into the ground gently and made a bow, offering me a bough on which to sit.

“Thanks for seeing Ced off, Oak, you didn’t have to.”

Cedric barely acknowledged the treant’s presence though he was known to occasionally do a random surprisingly kind act for him.

“Why’d you come anyway?”

Oak gave a surprisingly human shrug that he must’ve learnt from us, then gently advanced some tendrils around my waist. He was happy having me here.

Mother must be inside looking after the estate. It was a lovely sunny day and I almost fell asleep. I awoke as it started to get a little cooler, and, much to my surprise Oak responded by pointing towards the forest that surrounded us.

“Yeah, why not?” I gave Oak a kiss and we set off.

We snuck though the castle court and into the fore-chamber. Wound our way down stone-clad draughty corridors and down some recessed stairs to the cellar, deep, dark and damp. Then past all kinds of stored memorabilia, wine and some arcane items and hefty books and to a worn, moth-eaten tapestry that concealed the hidden passageway to the forest. I flicked on my torch.

As far as I knew I was the only person that had been aware of the passage for generations. While at first it was lined with the same flat paving stones that lined the rest of the castle floors, it gave way gradually to rough, old stonework, then to what seems to have been mud brick and finally to massive slabs of impossible neat granite before it was briefly an earthen tunnel. That part I understood- the castle was built on the site of some ancient ruins which evidently were themselves built on ruins. The ancient, lengthy inscription in old English on its walls confused me though- it was a long and confusing piece of epic poetry entitled “Song of Huon”- Huon being a family (and thus my father’s) name. As we walked down there was the faint sound of dripping which became a roaring torrent as we approached the exit- one of the rivers which fed the Loch (the Huon River, appropriately enough) ran directly underneath the castle.

Clinging to its bank, we tiptoed for a few minutes until finally we came to the clearing where the sky opened up at the entrance of the Glen. Oak and I gave a shiver of excitement as the sun streamed through the gap in the trees and highlighted their tops. With the Castle behind us there was naught buy the roar of the river, the hoots of birds and the rustlings of the ancient language of the living, sentient forest.

I felt awful all morning about Fi. I had no idea that she had felt that way about Cedric- whatever “that way” was. She must regret not taking him up on his offer and now it was too late. And I put my foot in it. Stupid. Stupid.

In English class I answered one too many questions and Duncan O’Reilly shouted “English ponce!” and everyone laughed at me for at least 5 minutes.

My heart sank. As if I didn’t know any better.

I’d jumped at the chance to do a subject a year ahead. Of course the moment I started it was obvious I’d made a poisonous mistake.

I sat completely, utterly alone.

Finally the bell rang and I escaped with a grateful sigh.

Tegan and Violet were already sitting on the grass outside the library eating lunch and I joined them.

“How was English?” asked Tegan.
“Awful. Just awful.”
“Oh you poor thing.” Violet surprised me with a warm hug and I smiled involuntarily, suddenly much better.
“’Tweren’t that bad, it was Dunco again.”
“That arse?” said Violet angrily, “Well Seamus’ll show him what’s what, won’t ye Seamus?”
“Wait, who?”

Seamus took off his bag and sat down to join us.

“Dunco.”
“Hahaha, did you hear what David Jones…”
“YES.” We all said.

We’d heard the story of how David Jones called him the C-word and ended up in hospital as a result at least 5 times if not more from Seamus.

Seamus started hanging out with us recently. I’d met him in maths class and we started sitting together because he was also good at it. Seamus was the headmaster’s son which was as much of a problem for him as being daughter of the Earl of Glenharrishaven County was for me.

Seamus decided to show us this magic trick with cards he’d just learnt, except he couldn’t get it quite right and we kept giggling, so the bell rang well before we expected it to.

Tegan and Violet went off to Science and Seamus and I to maths.

During class my mind wandered again. I wondered if I missed Cedric. I didn’t really, well, not yet. He and I didn’t have much to do with each other. He didn’t have that much with Alfie either actually. He didn’t even go to Castleton High. Well, he had briefly, so I occasionally got asked whether my poofter brother got it up the arse at his new toff school. I’m not really sure why everyone thought he was gay. Well, I didn’t think he was gay, especially after he asked Fi out and gloomed about for a week after she rejected him.

Ced was going to Imperial College and he was going to be a Lawyer. A barrister or a judge, he was certain. Exactly the sort of toff job that a “future member of the House of Lords” should have, as Daddy was given to saying.

I smiled to myself. Lordly Cedric off being a barrister and politician in London. Perfect.

“And what are you smiling at Miss Learmonth?” boomed Mrs Thomas.
“Sorry Miss.” I said
“Well, Beatrice, explain this quadratic, will you?”

I explained it with a couple of stumbles but eventually correctly. I knew that would’ve annoyed her I thought to my chagrin. The saving grace was that no-one called anyone a ponce in Mrs Thomas’s class. They were all too scared.

Mrs Thomas admitted I was right drily and Seamus nudged me repeatedly “that was ace!” I just ignored him, irritated.

The rest of the day passed without incident and I went home.

There was nothing I hated about school more than my school uniform, a dour grey tunic that turned me into elbows and knees. Except perhaps for the fact that the school bus stopped at the castle gates in the morning.

Ok, I lied, there were many things I hated more than those two, but this was pretty bad.

At least one of the 7th former boys would jeer at me for being a spoilt princess as I got on. At least Alfred was immune to this, I think it’s because he doesn’t have the Lordly red hair – while Ced, Daddy and I do, and are punished accordingly.

I went and sat next to Tegan (as usual).

“Hiya.”
“Hiya! Ced left today did he?”
“Aye, good riddance. Stuck up prat.”
“Still can’t believe he asked Fi out!”
“Cradle snatcher!” we both exclaimed with derision and laughed. I felt better already. The bus lurched forwards and trundled towards school, in town. As we got off, one of the 7th form boys, a brute called Saul, “accidentally” bumped me against the wall, hard and loudly shouted, “sorry princess I’m just not interested, stop touching me.” His friends high fived and jeered. What a fantastic start to the day.

Teagues and I weren’t in form room together which was a big shame. Instead I sat with a couple of the other 4th formers- Anna and Shona. Fi Henderson- the girl Ced had asked out just before he left- came and sat down with us that day too.

Shona wanted help with her English assignment (again) so we all huddled around.

“So you see, Macbeth becomes evil because what he did was topple the real king and rule instead of him- which goes against the natural order of things,” I explained.

Shona and Ann gave each other a look and rolled their eyes.

“What?”
“Nothing,” said Shona and Ann giggled. Fi was looking at something in the distance absently.

The bell rang for 1st period then and Shona and Ann ran off to their classes with a “thanks” and a “bye”. Instead of going with them, Fi hung back.

Fi didn’t usually sit with us but I had a couple of classes with her and she was nice enough. Very pretty but quiet and a bit of a nerd. We walked towards C-block in step, quietly.

“Ced went today.” It was a statement, not a question from her.
“Yeah.”
“Do you know when he comes back?”
“He’s back for Christmas I think,” I said, having to rummage in my memory for the details, “um, I don’t think he’s back before then but after that there’s Easter, oh, no wait there’s mid-term break. Why, have you changed your mind about him?” I winked.
“No! Of course not!” She looked at me, horrified.

She looked suddenly as if she was about to cry.

“Fi… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, look, he’s back at Christmas for sure. I have his address if you need it too?” But she was silent.

We walked the rest of the way without a word.

As we parted ways she gave me a baleful look.

“Beatrice!” I shut my eyes and hid my head under the pillow.
“Beatrice!”
“I’m COMING!” I suppressed a groan. I didn’t want to get up.
“Beatrice will you GET UP and GET READY THIS INSTANT.”
“WHY DON’T YOU LEAVE ME ALONE I’M COMING!” I yelled.
“Why you ungrateful…”

And hearing Mother come storming up the castle flagstone stairs I leapt out of bed and into the woolly dressing gown on the ground, ran my fingers through my thick red hair…

The door whooshed open and the mighty form of Lady Augusta Learmonth of Glenharrishaven née Castlereagh burst in.

I smiled nervously at her stunned countenance.

“Your brother and father are downstairs.” She left in a huff.

Cedric was leaving for his first day of university- except of course that was in a week and what he was really leaving for was a week of drinking and hazing at Imperial College, London, and most importantly, for Daddy’s conference in London.

I quickly slipped into the freezing bathroom and splashed my face with cold water and then ran down the flight of stone stairs to the front hall.

Fitzgerald, our Irish butler who insisted on being called Fitzgerald, and Wilma, the housekeeper were there already. Daddy was loading the suitcases into the Jag while as usual Cedric was fussing and complaining.

Mother, I assumed was doing something somewhere and of course silly Alfred the little brat wasn’t there yet- not that anybody minded.

Even Oak, our tree servant was there. I went over and rested against his trunk and he shook his leaves affectionately and slowly adjusted so I could sit down.

Alfred came down in his dressing gown and Mother rushed out with some sort of package for Ced, and a letter that needed delivering to such-and-such.

Little Alfred came and sat next to me and I put him in a headlock and gave him a noogie, rubbing his head vigorously with my knuckles. He squirmed out of my grasp and tickled me back and I let out a gasp of laughter.

The thud of the boot. All loaded up.

Mum fussed over Cedric and fixed his collar, gave him a hug and covered him with kisses and sobbed slightly.

“Children?”

Alfred and Cedric did some sort of silly boy handshake they’d learnt at scouts and shook hands. I went up to skinny Cedric and looked at his too-serious pale face and red hair.

We just looked at each other for a quiet, awkward moment.

“Have fun drinking and sleeping in, Ced,” I said, with a touch of bitterness.
“Have fun being a freak, sister.”

I frowned. We hugged awkwardly and he patted me on the back then squeezed my shoulder.

Fitzy and Wilma shook his hand and wished him luck while Mother and Daddy kissed on the cheek and hugged goodbye. Daddy adjusted his glasses, said, “ready to go, son?” Cedric said “aye,” there was a manly pat on the back, they got into the car, strapped up, revved the engine and they were off. Cedric dropped the window and waved crazily. We all waved back.

And that was that.

Mother sniffed into a handkerchief.

“Well I suppose you two can get ready for school early then. Wilma, get breakfast ready.”

“Aye, ma’am,” she said and busied herself.

With the cold feeling of anticlimax, we all walked back in silence to the castle.