Verge

Verge Nadia Attia For Gina Attia (my north), Ibrahim Attia and Felicitas Riley Contents Title Page Dedication 1. 23 April 2. 28 April 3 4 5. 29 April 6 7. 30 April 8. Beltane Eve 9. May Day 10 11. 4 May 12 13. 5 May 14 15 16. 6 May 17. 7 May 18 19. 8 May 20 21. 9 May 22. 10 May 23 24. 11 May 25. 14 May 26. 15 May 27 28. 16 May 29 30 31. 17 May 32 33. 21 May 34 35. 22 May 36. Date unknown 37. 22 May 38. 26 May. Rowena’s Birthday 39. 27 May 40. 19 June 41. 21 June. Summer Solstice 42 43. 21–22 June 44. A New Day Acknowledgements Copyright 1 23 April one for sorrow. Rowena remembers the magpie standing brazenly over the rabbit trap, a soft, glistening eye dangling from its beak. She, too, had taken a treasure of her own that day, whispering thanks before crunching her cutters through bone and placing the paw in her pocket for luck, knowing she could still get a good price for the other three, along with the fur and meat. Twenty minutes later, her pa dropped down dead in front of her. Perhaps the luck didn’t have time to work its way in? She touches the bump in her pocket as her mother flits from kettle to sink to stove in the farmhouse they’ve shared for seventeen years, the words from her mouth becoming a wash of noise. Rowena can picture her pa’s eyes rolling back in his head, him crumpling to the ground, folding in on himself like a pack of cards. How the grass held his shape even after the body was taken away. Three days ago he was here, she thinks, and now … Her mother’s voice cuts through, making Rowena sit up in the hard kitchen chair. Even the highland lilt that’s lingered since childhood can’t soften Tessa Murray’s words: ‘You did this. That curse of yours has become a danger.’ Rowena opens her mouth to reply— ‘The day you were born two hundred and fifty starlings dropped out of the sky and slammed into the main road.’ Tessa lights the 2grease-thick burner on the stove. ‘The lucky ones died on impact. The villagers had to rake up all the little bodies and burn them. If that’s not a bad omen I don’t know what is.’ For years Rowena thought all this talk of omens was simply Tessa’s way of keeping her daughter at arm’s length, and because her pa’s affection came easily Rowena never bothered to chase her mother’s love. Tessa started pointing out signs to her only child as soon as she was old enough to listen: the position of the spoon when it fell from her chubby little fingers; the crow that called her by name from the roof; the curdled milk that was fine before Rowena touched it … When Rowena got sick and had to be home-schooled that was another sign – one that marked her as different, as something to be kept apart. Whenever she asked her pa about it he laughed it off, said her mother was raised by eccentric folk and to pay her no mind. He pretended not to hear Tessa’s superstitious whispers, was careful to divide his time between the fields and the bottom of a beer glass and keep Rowena’s focus on the sheep, her books and her riding lessons. But Pa’s not here now, Rowena thinks. Tessa’s all there is. And maybe she’s right after all? A passing cloud dims the room, turning everything stone-grey. Tessa shifts from foot to foot, gnawing on the ragged skin next to her fingernails. She clicks on the radio as she waits for the whistle of the kettle. There’s a strange energy to the place now that he’s gone, and they both feel it. The radio announcer rattles through the news: more rioting at the ports where food is being burned due to the latest soured trade deal with Europe; claims of a postcode lottery for medical treatment; environmental groups asking why the government isn’t reintroducing pollinators or building flood defences instead of border fences … ‘The Split happened eleven years ago,’ Tessa tuts, ‘and the whole Kingdom’s still bawling about it.’ She changes the station to a comedy quiz show. Rowena studies the thin lines around her mother’s mouth, the red-tinged lashes distorted by the gelatinous curve of her glasses, the strands of wiry hair slipping from the nest at her neck. ‘Do you really think it was me that did it?’ she asks her. Tessa presses her spine against the sink and gives the slightest nod. ‘Death touches everyone you get close to; first that boy you 3were running round with, the one who’d shag the back out of an old coat, and now your pa. What if I’m next?’ Rowena worries the paw in her pocket, finding the claws with her thumb. ‘I’ve written to my mother and you’re to go to Culcrith,’ Tessa says. ‘I’d have sent you there long ago but your pa wouldn’t allow it. And look where that got him.’ Tinny laughter spills from the radio. ‘What?’ Rowena looks up. ‘Why? His ashes are still warm and you’re kicking me out?’ She’s never spoken so boldly to her mother and the words prick her tongue. ‘It’s for your own good – your gran’s the best healer in the north and she might have a chance of undoing this thing before you turn eighteen next month.’ ‘Why, what happens then?’ Tessa stares at her daughter – eyes wide and round, like the rabbit’s. ‘The curse is likely to fix and settle as you’ll be a woman grown. And if we’ve not lifted it by the time the solstice rolls around it’ll be rooted too deep to shift. You’ll be too far gone.’ She starts pacing again, making the window blink each time her body crosses it. ‘Death has