03/08/1980
On the third of August, Loveday decided it was time to set foot outside Hawthorne House. English summers were as hot and as humid as ever, buildings have been built to keep the heat in rather than out. With no Georgie to dress and feed she spent her morning canning and labelling jars of the clementine marmalade she’d made, tucking them away into the wicker basket she’d already filled with punnets of blackberries. In another, she loaded up the jars of honey she’d harvested from over the hill and the misshapen packets of goat’s cheese she’d made herself.
Clad in a pair of faded dungarees, she pulled on her hiking boots and headed out to feed Moody, her goat who she’d named specifically to spite the crazed wizard.
“Good girl,” she muttered, patting Moody on the head. “I’m off into town, yeah? Can’t have old Polly thinking I’ve died or something.”
Chuckling at her own morbid joke, she tugged on her gardening gloves, which were long enough to hide the bottom halves of her forearms. It took her just under an hour to get to town, Hawthorne House being tucked away up amongst the trees, right by the coast. She’d gone on a morning swim that morning, to wash the sweat off after a night burdened by nightmare after nightmare.
She didn’t mind the walk, even with the weight of two baskets of produce. She supposed that if someone were ever to ask her what she liked about being a werewolf, she might admit that she enjoyed the strength it gave her. Still, what was a little extra muscle worth when she could have transported everything with a flick of her non-existent wand.
The sun was out, but not high enough to burn her. Her skin was dark enough in its own right, and any burns would heal anyway. She liked the strong rays, she thought, already thinking about how bright the sunshine would be on her walk home. To Loveday, the sun really was the brightest star in the sky – and so much more. Who else would chase the full moon out of the night sky, if not him? When she’d been a girl, Loveday had poured over old tomes about the Greek god Apollo – and if he was real, just as magic and vampires and werewolves were, then he’s surely heard her prayers by now.
She supposed it might have been a good thing, that her mission to off herself hadn’t gone to plan – or else she might not have experienced the summer of 1980 at all. And she’d always loved the summer. The days were longer and the nights shorter.
Maybe she’d wait a month or two, till mid-autumn. Caradoc might have forgotten her promise to send a sign of life every night by then; he’d likely already forgotten all about his promise to ask Dumbledore about letting her stay in London for a while. She hadn’t heard anything from him since he’d left that morning. Not that she was particularly surprised.
Walking into town in August was an odd experience. World’s End wasn’t a particularly popular holiday destination, but the odd tourist coming over from the mainland on their boat wasn’t an uncommon sight. There weren’t too many about this year, and she was grateful for it. Once, Loveday had been excited to see fresh faces in town, eager to make new friends. However, once she realized that every new friendship would end once summer was over, the novelty soon wore off.
Squinting her eyes once the sun began to shine a little too brightly, she began to make her way down the high street towards the familiar old pub. Sure enough, right outside the Seasnake stood a tall, ginger woman clad in an old worn apron.
“Mornin’, my love,” Polly said with a bright grin, her Cornish accent as thick as ever. “Haven’t seen you around in what feels like an age.”
Loveday managed a feeble smile and heaved her wicker baskets up onto the makeshift market stall Polly had set up. Polly Morgan ran her little market stall still about 5, before closing it up and opening her pub for the evening. Loveday had been selling odd bits and pieces to Polly since she’d been a child, and sometimes, when the pub was short staffed, she went to work behind the bar. She didn’t do it too often though, not liking the stares she’d receive from drunken clients and gossiping locals.
“Sorry,” she said, shrugging. “I’ve been at home.”
Polly shook her head and went to lift up the wicker baskets. “Christ, Loveday! You carried these all the way from Hawthorne House? What do they give you kids these days?”
“Steroids, probably,” Loveday smirked, tugging at her gloves to make sure they were in place. She’d have to invest in some bracelets.
“Where’s Georgie?” Polly asked, sorting through the pots of marmalade. “He piss the bed again or something?”
“Uh, no,” she said awkwardly. “Um, Dottie’s got him back in London. He’s starting nursery soon, and they want to get him used to the city.”
Polly gave her a harsh glance, and Loveday knew the older woman wasn’t buying it. Still, she said nothing. Loveday knew that Polly didn’t much approve of Caradoc and the rest of the family. In her eyes, they’d up and left a member of their family to wither away in the middle of nowhere. Loveday hated to admit that Polly wasn’t half wrong.
“How’s Vick?” Loveday asked, changing the subject. “He hasn’t phoned me in ages.”
Vick, one quarter of Loveday’s old school group, was Polly’s youngest son. He’d been up in Manchester for university and rarely came back. Much like Fionn and Fiona, really. Loveday understood. No one really wanted to come back to World’s End once they got a taste on the outside world.
“He’s finished with university now,” Polly grinned. “My smart boy. Thinking about doing a masters, he is. He’s staying up there for the summer to work. Better pay, I reckon.”
“Fiona sent a letter saying she and Fionn are doing the same,” she said sadly, aimlessly watching a little girl run across the street. “I reckon everyone might be back for Christmas though. That’d be nice.”
“You won’t be off to London?” Polly asked with a raised brow.
Loveday shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. You know everyone usually likes to go celebrate with their dads’ families. Caradoc might come down though. He does that sometimes.”
Polly huffed and crossed her broad arms over her chest. Polly Morgan was a tough woman. When Loveday turned thirteen and got her period in the middle of her geography class, it had been Polly to march up to the school the next day to scold poor Mr. Davies for not letting her go to the bathroom when she’d asked. When she turned fifteen and Hal Morrow had kissed Loveday, only to laugh in her face and call her a witch-bitch when she wouldn’t do anything else with him, Fionn, Fiona and Vick had gathered forces to knock the brawny boy on his ass in the playground the following morning. Of course, though Polly had yelled at the guilty trio till their ears turned red, she’d also gone straight to the Morrow household to instil an appropriate share of good manners into poor Hal.
“You know you’re always welcome over at ours’,” she said gruffly. “But you’re not cooking anything; not after last easter.”
Loveday shrugged, thinking back to the semi raw turkey she’d slammed down onto Polly’s dinner table. It wasn’t her fault she had a rather peculiar taste in food.
“I’ll see what’s happening,” she said. “Just give me a ring if you need any help with the pub, yeah? Now Georgie’s not around I have more time on my hands.”
Really, Loveday just wanted to fill the void. Even if that meant dealing with all the unwanted comments and jibes World’s End had to offer.
“Although,” she added absentmindedly. “Caradoc did say he might take me over to London. Maybe.”
“Maybe?” Polly asked with a raised brow.
“Well, he said he’d think about it.”
Polly tutted and went back to organizing her produce across the market stall. Loveday knew it was a long shot. She knew Caradoc was just trying to make her feel better. Yet even then, a little glimmer of hope remained. Maybe he really would take her over to London – to London, where witches and wizards dwelled – witches and wizards who could brew pain and memory potions thrice as well as she could; witches and wizards who might vanish away her scars; witches and wizards with new faces and names.
“You know where to find me if you’re around, lass,” Polly said quietly. “Now, off with you.”
“See you, Pol,” Loveday said with a wave, and began her journey back to where she came from.
With her empty arms now swinging uselessly at her sides, her gardening gloves felt sillier than ever. She could practically hear the cries of the school children in September asking her if she was trying to hide a sixth finger. Tucking her hands into her pockets, she ducked into Old Bill’s Old Music Shop.
“’lo Bill,” she called out as the bell above the shop door made its usual cacophony of noise.
A greying man popped his head out from under the front desk. Bill owned the one and only record and music shop in all of World’s End. He’d moved into town when Loveday was too young to remember properly, but she knew Dottie had already started school for she’d never met the man herself. He was a peculiar man, tall and thin. He wore a rather peculiar glasses, which Loveday was half convinced were completely fake, as well as rather dates tweed overcoat that came up to his neck – even in the summer months.
“Loveday, I knew it was you,” he said, salt and pepper curls flying in all directions as he juggled the pile of records in his arms. She’d never been able to place his accent – sometimes she thought Scottish, sometimes Northern Irish. “Well don’t just stand there. Come in then.”
She steppe further into the shop, breathing in the familiar smell of all the record polish and the incense Bill liked to burn. One summer she’d had to tell the man she was seriously allergic to dust. Her nose picked up scents far easier than any normal human being, and the incense really set her sinuses off.
“Alright, Bill?” she asked, glancing eagerly over at the crate of new arrivals. “Busy week?”
“Not without my most devout customer,” he chuckled. “Almost thought you’d decided to devote your life to becoming a hermit, once and for all.”
Loveday shrugged and cracked a rare grin. “But then I really would be the evil witch in the hidden forest shack. I’d rather not be lynched by the people of World’s End. Besides, the island already has its resident hermit.”
Loveday nodded at him pointedly, and he raised an unruly eyebrow.
“Hermit? Me? Never!”
“Come off it, Bill. I’ve never even seen you down at Pol’s pub.”
“I don’t drink,” Bill said nonchalantly.
“But you do eat,” Loveday laughed. “And I’ve never seen you at the market or the grocer either.”
“Fuck off, Loveday,” Bill grumbled. “What is it you’re after this time, eh?”
Loveday moved further into the shop, trying not to inhale the incense too deeply as she passed it by. She skimmed her fingers over the new crate, eyes flicking over each title much faster than she ever should have been able to. Still, it wasn’t like Bill would notice, as caught up as he was with tuning what seemed to be a half-broken banjo.
About two thirds into the pile, her fingers stopped suddenly and her yellow eyes widened in disbelief. It couldn’t be –
“How in god’s name have you got your hands on this?”
Bill glanced over at the album she was holding. The Wall, Pink Floyd.
“It came out in November,” she continued. “The man on Top of the Pops said so. I thought I’d never get to listen to it!”
Bill gave her a funny look.
“I wouldn’t say never, Loveday. A young lass like you is hardly going to kick the bucket at age 20.”
Loveday couldn’t stop the sharp laugh that left her lips.
“No, I suppose not,” she said glumly. “Lucky me.”
She paid for her album quickly, with the money Pol had given her for the produce. Bill raised an eyebrow at her ugly gardening gloves but didn’t say a word about them.
“Well, I’m off to feed the goat,” she said in a dry tone.
“See you next time you decide to grace the village with your presence,” Bill smiled. “Try not to curse any unlucky Emmetts on the way home.”
“No promises,” she said with a grin.
Still smiling, she hopped off the step leading up to the front door of the shop. She knew that wizard kind didn’t tend to listen to what they called muggle music. Or at least Theo and the Selwyns didn’t – neither did Dru for that matter, though maybe she was still too young to give it a chance. At least Georgie would turn out alright, for Loveday like to think she’d already subconsciously blessed him with great taste in music.
One good reason for having been born a squib, she thought, smiling up at the sun.
“I didn’t realize there were any of her kind this far down in Cornwall.”
Loveday turned to glance over the street, only to see a young blonde man dressed in a white shirt and tan trousers staring over at her. A younger boy she assumed to be his brother turned to look at her too.
“There’s filth everywhere,” the younger one said. “A shame, I must admit.”
Loveday’s smile dropped, and her eyes flashed.
“Do you two want to fuck off back to where you came from?” she shouted across the street.
The older one gave her a surprised glance, obviously not expecting her to have heard them. It wasn’t all that common to have supernatural hearing after all.
“Could say the same to you,” the younger boy shouted back, a shit eating smirk on his face.
Loveday cocked her head to the side and started for the curb. Before she could launch herself across the street however, a hand landed on her shoulder. She snapped her head to the side, ready to snarl at whoever had had the bright idea to touch her.
Bill wasn’t looking back at her though. He was staring across the street with a nasty glare.
“You’re not wanted around here,” he said in a firm tone. “Go back to your hotel and we won’t have a problem.”
The younger boy went to answer back, only for his elder brother to grab him by the scruff of the neck to drag him away from the music shop.
Only once they’d disappeared round the corner did Loveday turn to glare up at Bill.
“I had it under control,” she growled.
“Really?” Bill asked, unfazed. “Because you looked like you wanted to bite his throat out of his neck, and whilst I wouldn’t have been opposed to that, I don’t want to hear you’ve ended up in jail, Loveday.”
She glanced down at her boots, scowl set deep on her face.
“I could have handled it myself,” she insisted.
“Aye,” Bill nodded. “But you shouldn’t have had to.”
“I hate tourists,” she mumbled quietly.
“Who doesn’t?”
Loveday left Bill standing outside his music shop, a scowl on her face the whole way home, wondering how the older man had even known to come to help her in the first place. Shaking away the silly thought, she quickened her pace. She had a goat to feed, after all.