The Tens by Vanessa Jones (tharntype novel english TXT) 📕

leant over and mumbled at Sophie conspiratorially. 'I don't like to say the word "cure" but I'm sure he had something to do with my health improving.' She sucked at her lips, Sophie was too stuck in the middle of politeness and panic to shift away so she sat silently, tensing up and willing the woman with her crunchy hair and embroidered on butterflies to find another distraction. 'I had cancer you see. I can tell you this, I don't mind. Yeah, breast cancer. Last check-up, told me it was gone! Can you believe that? I'm certain that he had something to do with it.' She stabbed a fist in his direction. Sophie was put off by the woman and willed the evening to end so she could collapse in her small bed and it would be closer to a time when she could get back home. Just a little sleep and then she would walk on her own back towards her car at the first light.

But the woman persisted. 'Yeah, he does 'mazing things, let me tell you. Helped some kid walk again, apparently. I've never seen the kid but that's what a lot of these people here have told me. There must be summin in it, ya know?'

Clive had quietened down and sat at the edge of the stage with his legs swinging. One by one, the campers sat down, flushed and sweaty but silent. Some lay with a thud to the ground, as if it were a yoga class. Two women lay in another woman’s lap, each taking a thigh for a pillow.

In a melodic voice, Clive said 'notice how tired you are right now. It's because you are relaxed. Your soul is releasing tension and there's an unwinding. You no longer need to be on high alert because you’re uncovering the truth. Of where your true home is. And what you must do to prepare. Sink into it. 'Relax...' he swept his hand around the room. 'Relax...' his voice fell to a murmur. 'Relax.'

Sophie resisted his words and the absurdity of this man and his pathetic brainwashed followers. But she could not deny that some part of her was still listening to Clive. She had been pining to truly relax ever since she turned thirty.

She finally yanked her arm free from the woman next to her and stood up to leave. As she stood, she fainted.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

The banging shot through Sophie's sleep. Moving from the shed to her bed was a muffled memory. Had she been asleep hours or minutes? Abigail, her face rimmed with her bonnet, was peering down on her. 'Come on, he has summoned us again.' She put out a hand, which Sophie reluctantly took and instantly tumbled onto the floor, almost dragging Abigail with her. 'I'm sorry, I mustn't be awake properly.'

'Never mind. Everley and I shall lift you.' The two appeared at her side like doves.

'Can I perhaps just stay in bed and sleep? I'm awfully tired.' Her own words sounded underwater.

'You can but what if he has information about your husband?'

Sophie allowed the two to scoop their arms under her thighs and carry her out towards the fire. The fire was low, just a tidy pile of red coals. Around it were tall torches poking out of the ground, small flames wavering whilst they waited. The atmosphere was jubilant, confirmed by the hand drumming and eruptive laughter that filled the place with noise. Despite her aching tiredness, there was a magnetic quality to the campers' reactions. Had they been up since the dinner? It reminded Sophie of childcare, where kids were busy like ants, indulging in their choice of play. Swirling paints with their fingers just for the heck of it and declaring that it is a rainbow over and over again. Or building towers with blocks for the sheer delight of smashing them down. Repeating animal noises just to hear how they sound coming from their damp mouths.

'Is he gunna have another go at one of his so-called sermons?' Sophie boldly asked Abigail.

Taken aback she replied, 'oh no, this is the Wild Woman Ceremony. You're going to love it!'

'Oh Christ, this sounds positively gag-worthy.' And she sighed a long heavy sigh, letting her arms flop to the sides of her body.

Abigail shot her a look of confusion and then moved away to gather an armful of sticks. Sophie surprised herself when she felt a bit of relief when Abigail silently returned to her spot next to her.

Clive declared the Wild Woman Ceremony to begin and the campers gleefully and dutifully wove their sticks— mandrake and oat tree roots— around each other. No one bothered to offer Sophie some, which she was secretly pleased about but she was bored so she watched Abigail, who was weaving her roots carefully, with an intensity of a student sitting exams. When she'd finished, she held up a small, complicated wreath to show Sophie. 'See?' She said with pride.

'Oh. What is it?'

'A Mandrake root wreath. We make them in offering to the Wild Woman so she doesn't lead us to hell.'

'Symbolically, yeah?'

'Whatever do you mean? The Wild Woman lives in the woods. She's real. I've seen her.'

'Oh, come off it.'

'It's true! Do you say that I lie?'

'I say that it could have been anything at all and the imagination loves to turn it into a scary thing. That is something I know to be true.'

'Well, I saw her and her lights. Over that way,' she pointed beyond the big shed.

'Is she like a real person? A neighbour or...'

Abigail clutched her arm. 'No! You absolutely must be afraid of her! She is the woman that lives in the woods and is the guardian of the sky, the ground and the sea and the one you shall find at crossroads. A true night wanderer, she will lead you astray or take you directly to riches at her will. As mortals, it