The Snow Spider Trilogy. Jenny Nimmo

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      He was about to leave the room when his father suddenly said, ‘Is that girl coming again, then?’

      ‘What girl?’ Gwyn asked.

      ‘You know what girl. The one that was here yesterday. I can always run her home if,’ his father hesitated and then added diffidently, ‘if she wants to come.’

      ‘I don’t suppose she will,’ said Gwyn. ‘She’s a girl. She only came because I was hurt.’

      ‘Oh, that was it?’

      Gwyn thought he could detect something almost like regret in his father’s voice. What had come over Mr Griffiths? It was quite disturbing. It had nothing to do with him, Gwyn was sure of that. He knew, instinctively, that he could not, should not, use his power to influence thought. The pinch had been satisfactory though.

      He remembered that his father’s mood had changed when Eirlys appeared. If that was the case, then she must come again, if only to keep his father happy. And so, although it was against his principles to have girls at T Bryn, the following day he asked Eirlys if she could come to the farm on Saturday.

      ‘Of course,’ Eirlys replied, and her eyes shone with pleasure.

      ‘Mam and Dad want it,’ said Gwyn, by way of explanation, ‘and . . . and so do I, of course!’

      The weather changed. December brought sun instead of snow. The wind was warm and smelled of damp leaves and over-ripe apples.

      Gwyn took Eirlys on his mountain and she saw it in sunshine where before she had only glimpsed it at dusk, through a mist of snow. She saw the colours that he loved, the buzzards hunting low over the fields, and rosy clouds drifting above the plateau. He had not realised that he would enjoy the company of a girl. But then Eirlys was not like other girls.

      They leapt, and sometimes slipped, upon wet stones in the tumbling streams; they ran, arms-outstretched, along the drystone walls, scattering the sheep that dozed there, and they chased crows that hopped, like black thieves, behind the leafless trees. And somehow Gwyn’s father always seemed to be there, watching them from a distance, or walking nearby with his dog and his blackthorn stick, listening to their voices. And after tea he began to whistle in his workshop, and Gwyn realised he did not recognise the sound. Even his mother looked up, astonished, from her ironing.

      In the evening, while it was still light enough to see the trees, the children walked in the orchard and Gwyn told Eirlys about Nain and the five gifts; about the power that had come to him from Gwydion and how he had hit Dewi Davis without a stone. He told her about the silver ship that had caused all his trouble at school and, unlike Alun, Eirlys believed him and did not think it strange that a ship had fallen out of the sky. Even so, Gwyn did not speak of the snow spider. He was still wary of confiding too much. ‘I’ll take you to see my grandmother,’ he told the girl. Nain would know whether he could tell Eirlys about the cobwebs.

      Later, he asked his parents if Eirlys could come again, so that they could visit Nain.

      ‘Why can’t she stay the night?’ Mr Griffiths suggested. ‘She can sleep in Bethan’s room.’

      ‘No!’ cried Mrs Griffiths, and then more quietly, ‘It’s . . . it’s just that the room isn’t ready!’

      Nothing more was said just then, but when Mr Griffiths had returned from his journey to the Herberts he suddenly said, ‘Shall we ask the girl for Christmas? She can stay a day or two, and there’ll be time to get the room ready.’

      ‘No!’ his wife said again. ‘No! It’s my Bethan’s room.’

      ‘But she isn’t here, Mam,’ Gwyn said gently.

      ‘It’s waiting for her, isn’t it?’ his mother reproached him.

      ‘But Eirlys could sleep there,’ Gwyn persisted. ‘The room is ready – I looked in. The bed is made, and the patchwork quilt on it: the cupboards are shiny and all the dolls are there, it’s such a waste!’

      ‘Yes, all the dolls are there!’ cried Mrs Griffiths. She sank into a chair and bent her head, covering her face with her hands. ‘You don’t seem to care, any more, either of you. It’s my daughter’s room, my Bethan’s: her bed, her dolls, her place.’

      Her husband and her son stood watching her, sad and helpless. How could they tell her that it did not matter if Bethan was not with them, because now there was Eirlys.

      ‘We won’t discuss it now,’ said Mr Griffiths. ‘But I’ve already agreed to fetch the girl tomorrow. Be kind while she’s here. She’s an orphan remember?’

      ‘I won’t upset her,’ Mrs Griffiths said. ‘I’m sorry for her, she’s just not my Bethan.’

      When Gwyn took Eirlys to visit his grandmother the following afternoon, Nain was waiting by the gate. She had dressed carefully for the occasion, in an emerald green dress and scarlet stockings; round her neck she wore a rope of grass green beads, long enough to touch the silver buckle on her belt, and from each ear a tiny golden cage swung, with a silver bird tinkling inside it.

      Eirlys was most impressed. ‘How beautiful you look,’ she said, and won Nain’s heart.

      Gwyn noticed that his grandmother could not take her eyes off the girl. She watched her every move, hungrily, like a bright-eyed cat might watch a bird. ‘Eirlys!’ she murmured, ‘that’s Welsh for snowdrop. So we have a snowflower among us!’

      After they had sipped their flowery tea, and eaten cake that tasted of cinnamon and rosemary, Gwyn told his grandmother about the ship, and Dewi Davis’s nose, while Eirlys wandered round the room, touching the china, the beads and the plants; studying pictures in the dusty books and tying coloured scarves around her head.

      Nain was not surprised to hear about the silver ship. She merely nodded and said, ‘Ah, yes!’ But now that her prophesies for Gwyn were coming true, she found it almost too gratifying to bear. ‘You have nearly reached what you wanted, Gwydion Gwyn,’ she said. ‘But be careful! Don’t do anything foolish!’

      ‘Shall I tell Eirlys about the spider?’ Gwyn asked his grandmother. ‘Should she know about the cobwebs and that other world?’

      ‘Of course,’ said Nain. ‘Though I believe she knows already.’

      They left the cottage before dark. Nain followed them to the gate and as they set off up the track she called again, ‘Be careful!’

      Gwyn was not listening to his grandmother; he had begun to tell Eirlys about the spider. He realised that he had not seen Arianwen for several days and wondered where she was.

      When they got back to the farmhouse, Mrs Griffiths was upstairs, sewing the hem on her new bedroom curtains. Her husband was cleaning the Land Rover. He had used it to transport a new batch of pullets from the Lloyds that morning, and they had made more of a mess than he had bargained for.

      Gwyn told Eirlys to wait in the kitchen while he fetched the pipe and the spider from his attic room. When he returned she was sitting in the armchair by the stove. The light was fading but a tiny slither of winter sun had crept through the swaying branches of the apple tree, and into the kitchen window. The light СКАЧАТЬ