The Owl Service. Alan Garner

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      “I told you be sharp with them lettuce,” said his mother. “You been back to Aber for them?”

      “I was talking,” said Gwyn.

      “Oh?”

      “To Roger.”

      “You was talking to Halfbacon,” said his mother. “I got eyes.”

      “Well?”

      “I told you have nothing to do with him, didn’t I?”

      “I only stopped for a second.”

      “You keep away from that old fool, you hear me? I’m telling you, boy!”

      “He’s not all that old,” said Gwyn.

      “Don’t come that with me,” said his mother. “You want a back hander? You can have it.”

      “There’s slugs in this lettuce,” said Gwyn.

      “You was speaking Welsh, too.”

      “Huw doesn’t manage English very clever. He can’t say what he means.”

      “You know I won’t have you speaking Welsh. I’ve not struggled all these years in Aber to have you talk like a labourer. I could have stayed in the valley if I’d wanted that.”

      “But Mam, I got to practise! It’s exams next year.”

      “If I’d known you was going to be filled with that squit you’d never have gone the Grammar.”

      “Yes, Mam. You keep saying.”

      “What was you talking about, then?”

      “I was only asking Huw if he could tell me why those plates were in the roof above Alison’s room.”

      The silence made Gwyn look round. His mother was leaning against the baking board, one hand pressed to her thin side.

      “You not been up in that roof, boy.”

      “Yes. Alison was – a bit bothered, so I went up, and found these plates. I didn’t touch – only one. She’s cleaning it.”

      “That Alison!” said Gwyn’s mother, and made for the stairs, scraping her floury arms down her apron. Gwyn followed.

      They heard Alison and Roger laughing. Gwyn’s mother knocked at the bedroom door, and went in.

      Alison and Roger were playing with three flimsy cut-out paper models of birds. One was on the candlestick and the other two were side by side on a chair back. The plate Gwyn had brought from the loft was next to Alison’s pillows and covered with scraps of paper. Alison pushed the plate behind her when Gwyn’s mother came in.

      “Now, Miss Alison, what’s this about plates?”

      “Plates, Nancy?”

      “If you please.”

      “What plates, Nancy?”

      “You know what I mean, Miss Alison. Them plates from the loft.”

      “What about them?”

      “Where are they?”

      “There’s only one, Mam,” said Gwyn.

      “Gwyn!” said Alison.

      “I’ll trouble you to give me that plate, Miss.”

      “Why?”

      “You had no right to go up there.”

      “I didn’t go.”

      “Nor to send my boy up, neither.”

      “I didn’t send him.”

      “Excuse me,” said Roger. “I’ve things to do.” He ducked out of the room.

      “I’ll thank you not to waste my time, Miss Alison. Please to give me that plate.”

      “Nancy, you’re hissing like an old goose.”

      “Please to give me that plate, Miss Alison.”

      “Whose house is this, anyway?” said Alison.

      Gwyn’s mother drew herself up. She went over to the bed and held out her hand. “If you please. I seen where you put it under your pillow.”

      Alison sat stiffly in the bed. Gwyn thought that she was going to order his mother from the room. But she reached behind her and pulled out the plate, and threw it on the bed. Gwyn’s mother took it. It was a plain white plate, without decoration.

      “Very well, Miss Alison. Ve-ry well!”

      Nancy went from the room with the plate in her hand. Gwyn stood at the door and gave a silent whistle.

      “You ever played Find the Lady, have you?” he said. “‘Now you see it, now you don’t.’ Who taught you that one, girlie?”

       CHAPTER 3

      “You’ve caused a right barny,” said Roger. “Nancy’s been throwing her apron over her head and threatening I don’t know what, your mother’s had a fit of the vapours, and now Nancy’s on her dignity. She’s given my Dad her notice three times already.”

      “Why doesn’t he accept it?” said Alison.

      “You should know Dad by now,” said Roger. “Anything for a quiet life: that’s why he never gets one. But you’d a nerve, working that switch on her. Pity she knew the plates were decorated. How did you manage it?”

      “I didn’t,” said Alison.

      “Come off it.”

      “I didn’t. That was the plate I traced the owls from.”

      “But Gwyn says you gave Nancy an ordinary white one.”

      “The pattern disappeared.”

      Roger began to laugh, then stopped.

      “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

      Alison nodded.

      “Ali, it’s not possible,” said Roger. “The plate was glazed: the pattern was under the glaze. It couldn’t rub off.”

      “But it did,” said Alison.

      “But it couldn’t, little stepsister. I’ll show you.”

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