mark of the Crowman now, his footprint on her heart, and sleep comes so very easily.
August 3rd ’14
My eyes only
Should I tell you about the shoebox in my wardrobe?
When I was ten, I caught flu. My body ached so much I couldn’t get out of bed to go to the toilet and Mum had to bring me a bottle to pee into. The fever went on for three days and I was delirious with it.
When my temperature got really high, Mum put wet flannels on my head and neck and armpits. It hurt like ice-cold fire but it worked. I remember opening my eyes and she gave me a kiss on the cheek. My head ached so much I was crying so she told me a couple of stories.
On the day she gave birth to me, she saw a crow sitting on her bedroom window ledge. It was huge, she said, and it pecked on the glass and fixed her with one intelligent, black eye. That was the moment her contractions started. She said that later, as I came into the world, a snowstorm blew her window open. She believed it was a sign that the world had reached out a hand to welcome me.
She also told me about a crow that had perched in the chestnut tree by the back terrace and how Dad had killed it with his shotgun. She said I cried all night and she couldn’t work out whether it was because I’d been frightened by the sound of the shot or if I was mourning the death of the crow. After that, no matter what Dad did, the crows and jackdaws always nested in our chimney pots, perched in our trees and did aerobatic displays over the house. In the end, Dad gave up trying to shoot them.
The first morning I felt well enough to get out of bed after the fever, it was to the sound of dozens of crows cawing away in the garden. When I sat up, still weak but out of pain for the first time in over a week, I found a feather on my pillow. I never asked Mum about it. I just assumed she’d left it there so I’d remember her crow stories.
It was the first feather I kept. And, from then on, whenever I found one, I put it in a shoebox with the one from my mother.
I suppose I ought to mention that the feathers I find are black. All of them. And they only ever turn up at moments when something important is happening or if I’m worrying about something or when I feel like everything is going wrong. I tell myself it’s a hobby or that I do it because I like to collect things. But that’s not really true. I do it because I don’t want anyone else to find them .
14
Until Gordon had fetched the post from the wire box inside the front door, breakfast had been relaxed. Judith had stayed with friends in the village the night before and Angela was at university in Bristol. This left him, Mum and Dad to have a peaceful start to the day. The envelope, which Gordon knew contained something bad, bore the Evan Davies School crest. His father slit it and drew out a letter headed with the same symbol. The piece of toast he was halfway through sank back to its plate and Louis Black stopped chewing.
“What is it, darling?” asked Sophie.
Louis was silent a few moments longer as he finished scanning the document. Then he laid it on the table top.
“They’re shutting the school.”
“What?”
“They’re shutting Evan Davies indefinitely.”
His mother snatched up the letter but still asked:
“Why would they do that?”
“The attendance figures have dropped too low. Lots of people can’t afford to drive in since the buses stopped running. The headmistress says the Ward are concentrating all their resources on schools in urban areas.”
Gordon watched his mum read the letter, her eyes returning to certain passages over and over again when she lost concentration. She looked over at him and tried to smile but to Louis she said:
“Gordon’s barely done a year at the school. What are we going to do?”
Gordon was surprised to see his father break into a widening smile.
“We’re not going to worry about it.”
“Not worry? How can you sit there and–”
Louis reached across the
August 3rd ’14
My eyes only
Should I tell you about the shoebox in my wardrobe?
When I was ten, I caught flu. My body ached so much I couldn’t get out of bed to go to the toilet and Mum had to bring me a bottle to pee into. The fever went on for three days and I was delirious with it.
When my temperature got really high, Mum put wet flannels on my head and neck and armpits. It hurt like ice-cold fire but it worked. I remember opening my eyes and she gave me a kiss on the cheek. My head ached so much I was crying so she told me a couple of stories.
On the day she gave birth to me, she saw a crow sitting on her bedroom window ledge. It was huge, she said, and it pecked on the glass and fixed her with one intelligent, black eye. That was the moment her contractions started. She said that later, as I came into the world, a snowstorm blew her window open. She believed it was a sign that the world had reached out a hand to welcome me.
She also told me about a crow that had perched in the chestnut tree by the back terrace and how Dad had killed it with his shotgun. She said I cried all night and she couldn’t work out whether it was because I’d been frightened by the sound of the shot or if I was mourning the death of the crow. After that, no matter what Dad did, the crows and jackdaws always nested in our chimney pots, perched in our trees and did aerobatic displays over the house. In the end, Dad gave up trying to shoot them.
The first morning I felt well enough to get out of bed after the fever, it was to the sound of dozens of crows cawing away in the garden. When I sat up, still weak but out of pain for the first time in over a week, I found a feather on my pillow. I never asked Mum about it. I just assumed she’d left it there so I’d remember her crow stories.
It was the first feather I kept. And, from then on, whenever I found one, I put it in a shoebox with the one from my mother.
I suppose I ought to mention that the feathers I find are black. All of them. And they only ever turn up at moments when something important is happening or if I’m worrying about something or when I feel like everything is going wrong. I tell myself it’s a hobby or that I do it because I like to collect things. But that’s not really true. I do it because I don’t want anyone else to find them .
14
Until Gordon had fetched the post from the wire box inside the front door, breakfast had been relaxed. Judith had stayed with friends in the village the night before and Angela was at university in Bristol. This left him, Mum and Dad to have a peaceful start to the day. The envelope, which Gordon knew contained something bad, bore the Evan Davies School crest. His father slit it and drew out a letter headed with the same symbol. The piece of toast he was halfway through sank back to its plate and Louis Black stopped chewing.
“What is it, darling?” asked Sophie.
Louis was silent a few moments longer as he finished scanning the document. Then he laid it on the table top.
“They’re shutting the school.”
“What?”
“They’re shutting Evan Davies indefinitely.”
His mother snatched up the letter but still asked:
“Why would they do that?”
“The attendance figures have dropped too low. Lots of people can’t afford to drive in since the buses stopped running. The headmistress says the Ward are concentrating all their resources on schools in urban areas.”
Gordon watched his mum read the letter, her eyes returning to certain passages over and over again when she lost concentration. She looked over at him and tried to smile but to Louis she said:
“Gordon’s barely done a year at the school. What are we going to do?”
Gordon was surprised to see his father break into a widening smile.
“We’re not going to worry about it.”
“Not worry? How can you sit there and–”
Louis reached across the
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