The Buried Circle - Jenni Mills [158]
‘Right,’ I say, with my own thoughts about men in unmarked vans. ‘Probably wise to keep away.’
‘Didn’t get close, but it gave me a headache and my legs are aching. They say all that kind of stuff–nausea, cramps–can hit you if the circle’s on a leyline, and the flow of energy’s been reversed.’ He rubs his eyes. ‘You come to make an offerin’ too?’
He’ll have seen me, through the trees. But did he see the note fluttering to the ground?
I could hand it to him to read now. Or–I could come back later.
With the other hand, the one not holding the note, I point into the tree. ‘That’s mine, the blue one.’
‘Your colour.’ He smiles at me, and a poisonous little voice in my head tells me I’ll never wear blue again. ‘I’ll hang mine on the tree, then we–’
‘I should be getting back. Have to be at work.’ I glance down at my watch, which isn’t there because I forgot to put it on. ‘Busy week.’
Bryn gives me the unconvinced look of one who doesn’t understand the concept of ‘at work’ or why anyone should be ‘busy’. He steps under the tree, fumbling in his pocket, then reaches up to hang a red fabric dog collar on a branch that bends over the water. A fleeting gleam of sun makes shadows of the leaves fall across his tanned face: he’s frowning with concentration and breathing heavily through his mouth, like a child, as he fastens the clasp.
‘Where’s Cynon?’ I hadn’t noticed until now that the dog wasn’t with us.
‘Back at the Long Barrow.’
For a moment I’d been worried something had happened to the animal. ‘You camping there again? Anyway, I should go. Sorry. I’ll leave you to it.’
Coward, whispers my conscience.
‘We can walk back together,’ says Bryn. ‘I’m near finished here.’ He faces the Goddess, his face reflected over and over in the broken mirror tiles. His lips move, but I can’t make out what he’s saying. I edge backwards towards the conifers. Before I can make my escape, he’s turning to me again, his eyes alight with something I can’t, and don’t want, to read. All through the wood I can feel his eyes boring into my back, making my legs clumsy and awkward on the slippery path.
‘Right,’ I say, as we arrive at the track leading to the Long Barrow. ‘Er–see you around.’
‘Mebbe not for a bit,’ he says, and sneezes. ‘Sorry, hayfever. Leavin’ tomorrow, I think. Decided I’m goin’ back for Fergus.’
Relief washes over me. ‘Great. I mean, well, goodbye, then.’
‘I’ll be back.’ His eyes lock with mine. ‘It’s still early…’ He gestures vaguely in the direction of the Long Barrow.
‘Sorry,’ I say, with an enormous effort not to let my eyes slide guiltily away. ‘Have to make breakfast for my gran.’ The most I’ve told Bryn about myself, and already I wish I hadn’t let it slip. I don’t want to let him into any part of my life. He’s nodding as if he understands.
‘Goddess go with you.’ His hand touches mine, and he leans forward but before he can kiss me I’ve stepped back. His eyes flinch, like a lost child who expects nothing better from life than disappointment. He gives me a tight little smile and starts up the hillside track towards the sleeping dragon on the skyline. I’m half expecting to see Cynon race out of the barrow to greet him, but there’s no sign of him.
I plod down the hill, turning my head every so often to check. The minute he’s disappeared between the stones guarding the barrow, I cut back into the wood again to the spring.
Without the staple to fasten it, I have to untie the blue cloth, and wrap it round the envelope. He’s bound to come back before he leaves tomorrow…The faded red dog collar trembles as I pull down the branch. Something doesn’t feel right about it. I re-knot my blue rag, making sure the name on the envelope shows, glancing uneasily over my shoulder, imagination setting eyes into the trees.
No one there. But when I glance towards the water, the eyes of the shop-dummy Goddess are fixed on my treacherous