Testimony of Children (Alice Gray Book 2)

9

Stephen drove through the night in silence.

Resting back against the headrest, I closed my eyes. Emily's soft snores drifted over from the back seat.

There was no chance of sleep for me. The look of resignation on Thomas's face before he left me haunted my thoughts. When I managed to push that away, I became hyper-aware of Stephen beside me. God only knew how I was going to get through the next few days with him around constantly.

Giving up on getting any rest, I spent the three and a half hour journey gazing out of the window, letting the monotony of the blinking motorway lights lull my restless mind.

When we exited the M1 and continued to Central London, I realised that I didn't actually know where we were going.

Stephen and I had shared an apartment in Tooting. It had been tiny for two people and ridiculously expensive, like everywhere in the capital. We'd now passed everywhere that I'd ever expected to afford, and were driving directly to one of the most expensive areas in London.

"Where exactly are we going?"

"I have a place," Stephen replied, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye.

"Ok."

I wasn't going to plead for information. We were both aware that I should have known that he had property, in Central London at that.

Another maggot of irritation ferreted into my brain. How many more lies were going to surface, pushing me down, drowning me in the falsehood of our relationship? He'd introduced me to his 'parents' for Christ's sake, a working class couple from Middlesbrough. Who the hell they'd been was a mystery now.

Finally we drove off Kings Cross Road into Granville Square, a shared garden surrounded by grand late-Georgian terraced roads. With prices into the multiple millions for a terraced house, this area was as far out of my reach as it was possible to get.

We parked in the northern corner of the square. Snores still emanated from the lump in the back. I prodded her awake, hard. She'd known all about this place too.

The house had large, well-tended growing pots full of boxberry plants on either side of the doorway. A Christmas wreath made out of rich shiny green holly and red berries hung from the red door.

How could it be mid-December already?

Memories of the traditions that Stephen and I had built up over the four Christmases we'd shared came tumbling back. Longing for that warmth and joy was swiftly eclipsed by fury that it hadn't been real. Silver buzzed around my hands. I shoved them under my armpits. The last thing I needed was a power flare right now.

Freshly painted iron railings travelled down the steps from the front door, continuing around a space between the pavement and the house. I could just see the window to the basement level glinting in the light from a Victorian style lamppost overhead. Above, the window to the second level had a narrow balcony full of winter flowerpots. The white of Christmas roses spilled through the iron railings.

Jealousy soured my thoughts. It was charming and well maintained. I didn't think I could take it if he had servants to look after this place.

Stephen produced a key and led us into a large hallway, tastefully decorated in fresh white and muted greys. The hall floor was stripped to the boards and highly varnished, as were the stairs that led up the right-hand side of the house. My eyes followed the intricate pattern of the expensive looking Indian rug in rich reds, blues and browns that ran up the stairs.

It screamed of comfort and wealth. How the hell could Stephen afford a place like this?

Just as I turned to ask him, Emily caught my arm and pulled me up the stairs behind her.

"You can take the top floor," Stephen called up after us.

Emily paused but didn't turn. After a moment, she carried on, towing me along with her.

The house was beautifully decorated and spotlessly clean. It had obviously been looked after over the years. But there was nothing to link it to the family that called it home. Stephen's family.

When we reached the top floor, the hall opened out onto a small landing that was painted white like the rest of the staircase. Instead of bare walls, framed photographs covered every inch of space. Two young children in various stages of development peeped out from different sized frames. I recognized the youngest by his dark hair and blue eyes - Stephen. The older boy was without a doubt his brother. The identical sailor outfits that they wore were adorable.

I paused, wanting to look more carefully at the pictures that showed me Stephen's true history. Emily yanked me through one of the two doors that opened out from the landing.

Intricate William Morris wallpaper covered each wall; rich dark green, brightened up with cream leaves and a hint of pink in the lily flowers. A luxurious cream carpet bounced underfoot. The large antique mahogany bed was made up with bedclothes that matched the rich colours of the wallpaper. Furniture was adorned with the characteristic swirls and curved carvings of Art Nouveau. A beautiful Tiffany lamp, made out of colourful leaded glass, sat on a table next to the bed.

An eerie kind of intimacy uncoiled within me. Antiques like these were beyond my grasp, but it was without a doubt what I would have chosen for myself. "Who lives in this room?"

"No-one," Emily replied, a waver just perceptible. "It was his mother's."

"Was?"

"Dead ten years. All of them, in a yachting accident off the coast of Portsmouth."

"Wait. Them?"

"Mother, father and brother. The wreck of the yacht was pulled in by the coastguard but the bodies were never found."

"That's terrible."

"Yes. It is. And maybe you could cut him some slack for never telling you about this place, or his life before he met you. It has not been a charmed existence, despite what you might have thought when you saw this place."

Shame blazed through me. She was right. I had to stop seeing him as the man who had betrayed me. He had a whole other existence. No one deserved to lose their family like that.

"You can stay here, I'll take the other bedroom. The bathroom is through there, and links the two rooms."

Typical Emily: no redundant conversation.

When I was alone, I found it impossible to settle. There was another door that led out to a small roof garden at the back of the house. Pulling my coat around me, I stepped outside. The breath caught in my throat. Miles of rooftops spread out before me like something from Mary Poppins. Lines sharpened by the frost in the crisp air.

A tear escaped, freezing a trail down my cheek. Stephen had kept his mother's room immaculate all these years. The furniture and décor, just as she had left it. It was a moment frozen in time. And that moment was the time of his family's death.

The weight of his grief settled onto me. I'd lost my own mother five years ago, and I had grown up ignorant that I had anyone else in the world. I could empathise with Stephen's position. To have lost everybody that he loved when he was so young, it was heart breaking.

A sound from below startled me. I peered over the railing to see Stephen pacing the small garden restlessly. He looked up, sensing me above. I drew back quickly, but not before our eyes met for a fleeting moment. His look was pure anguish.

In the distance, green magic swirled out from a building, like breath condensing in the cold night air.

There were witches here.

Stephen's own sad history is catching up with him. Is it enough to thaw the ice of betrayal?