‘But why don’t they like us?’ Kate asked. ‘Why are they so mean to us?’
‘I don’t know! Why do you care? They’re idiots!’ Susannah said, exasperated. Sometimes Kate was so wet.
Susannah needn’t have worried. Their mother was hard at work at the lacing stand, and barely looked up when they came in. Susannah shooed Kate up to bed.
Her sister, as always, fell asleep as soon as Susannah turned off their lamp. But despite having been up so early, and having to get up so early tomorrow, Susannah couldn’t sleep. She could hear Mother down below, working the shuttle. All summer long, ever since the day in the library when Mrs Matlock had shown her the map, Susannah had been dying to ask her mother the details of what had happened to her father. But instinct warned her not to. A part of her understood. Her mother kept them so busy because she couldn’t let herself sink into the grief. The shuttle going back and forth, lacing yarn, twine, threads, whatever she could, to mesh nets and more nets. Susannah hated those nets. Because they trapped her mother, and they trapped her and Kate on Vinalhaven, in a house which always felt empty because of their father’s absence.
Emer
29th September 2011
The train had been nearly empty, apart from those obviously going to Salem. A goth couple in black leathers, piercings and tattoos, and three girls dressed in witches’ hats and beautiful corseted dresses. Each hat was decorated differently – one with garlands of dark purple flowers, the second with tiny black spiders and glittering webs, and the third with tiny orange pumpkins. Emer had slid into her own row of red leatherette seats, and stared out of the window as they pulled out of North Station. It had been a wet and windy fall day, the edges of Boston grey and dreary as they travelled north. As the ticket inspector approached her, Emer couldn’t help noticing she had a green shamrock attached to her ticket machine.
‘Irish?’ Emer asked her. ‘Me too.’
‘Yeah,’ the girl said, though her accent was strong Bostonian. She had inky-black hair, which fell out of a lopsided ponytail upon which her inspector’s cap was perched at an angle. Emer longed to neaten it up, braid the shiny black tail of it, or tuck it into her cap. She had braided Orla’s hair the day before she’d died. Just how she’d done it when they were little girls. The way their mam had taught her. Orla’s red hair had always had a will of its own. Emer remembered how frustrated she would get trying to tame her sister’s wild curls. Orla would laugh at her, not really caring how she looked. The braids never lasted the day in school, and by the time they were both home for their dinner, Orla’s unruly locks would have broken free. But after the chemo, when all Orla’s hair grew back, it was different. No longer curly, but straight and thick. It was darker, too. And though she had tried to escape Emer’s hairbrush when they were little, after her hair had returned, Orla had asked Emer to constantly brush it. Once braided, Orla’s hair had gleamed the same shade as glossy chestnuts.
Emer’s phone vibrated in her pocket as the train pulled into Salem. She pulled it out, knowing instinctively it was Lars. It was usually at this time of day they’d eat lunch together if they could. She was tempted to take the phone out of her pocket, tell him she was in Salem. A place he’d said he’d take her one day. But the phone remained buzzing on the palm of her hand, because she didn’t know how to speak to Lars now it had been so many weeks. Finally, the phone stopped. She slipped it back into her coat pocket, feeling even more confused. Why couldn’t she be clear and tell him it was over for good? The phone buzzed in her pocket to indicate he’d left a message, but she didn’t trust herself to listen to it yet.
It began to rain as she left the train station at Salem. She followed the three witches, walking downtown until she stood outside a shop selling an assortment of books, witches’ hats, wands, sage, incense, crystal balls, tarot cards and all sorts of other New Age paraphernalia.
Her interview was conducted in the store, in the curtained-off tarot reader’s corner by Susannah’s niece, Lynsey de Luna. Lynsey was beautiful, tall and willowy with dyed red hair, pale skin and black kohled eyes. She was wearing a long purple velvet dress and black lace fingerless gloves, with a white quartz pendant hung on a chain around her neck.
‘Thank you for coming all the way from Boston,’ Lynsey said. ‘I know you’ll be fine. You’re Cancer, right? With Virgo ascending?’
Emer had no idea what Virgo ascending meant, but she confirmed yes, she was a Cancerian. Orla had been into all the star signs, but Emer had never believed in any of it, no matter how much her sister tried to convince her otherwise.
‘Cancer and Virgo: the perfect combination for a caregiver.’ Lynsey nodded sagely. ‘But my sister insisted I check you out in person,’ she said. ‘Rebecca’s in the UK. She can’t make the trip right now. She really wanted to come over and be with our aunt since she got the prognosis, but Rebecca’s a lecturer. It’s the beginning of a new semester, so difficult for her to get away. And I’ve got a business to run.’ Lynsey spread her arms to take in the whole circumference of the reader’s tent.
‘When Aunt Susannah told us she had cancer, I tried to persuade her to come to Salem so I could mind her, but she hates it here.’ Lynsey gave a short mirthless laugh. ‘My aunt calls Salem a tasteless theme park. She says it’s making money
