The night after the birthday feast a night that has lingered in my memory ever since.
Cressida and her husband Peter had just left a bustling restaurant in central London, where his birthday had been celebrated with a crowd of colleagues, relatives and a few acquaintances she was meeting for the first time. Since Peter had deemed it proper to invite them, it seemed only fitting.
Cressida was never one to question Peters choices; she steered clear of quarrels, preferring the ease of agreement to the strain of proving herself right.
Cressida, have you got the keys? Could you fetch them? Peter asked.
She rummaged through her handbag, searching for the metal jangling. In the instant she felt a sharp sting and the bag slipped from her fingers onto the floor.
What happened?
Ive scraped myself on something.
Your bag is a maze; nothing surprising there.
She did not argue, lifted the bag and gently extricated the keys. Inside the flat, the ache in her legs from the evenings fatigue made her think only of a hot shower and a soft bed. By dawn her hand throbbed fiercely; the finger was red and swollen. Remembering the mornings mishap, she examined the depths of her purse. At the bottom lay a large, rusted needle.
What on earth? she muttered, perplexed how such a thing could have wound its way into her bag. She tossed the needle into the bin, fetched a plaster, and tended the wound. By midday a fever began to climb.
She called Peter.
Peter, Im not sure what to do. I think I caught something nasty yesterday. Ive a fever, a pounding head, my whole body aches. Imagine I found a big rusted needle in my bag, and thats what scratched me.
Perhaps you should see a doctor; it could be tetanus or an infection.
Dont exaggerate. Ive dressed the wound; itll be fine.
Hour by hour her condition worsened. Barely making it through work, she hailed a cab home, knowing a bus ride would be too exhausting. She collapsed onto the sofa and drifted to sleep.
In her dream appeared her late grandmother Ethel, who had died when Cressida was a child. She could not explain how she recognized her, yet she felt certain. Ethel, hunched and ancient, might have frightened a stranger, but Cressida sensed she meant help.
Ethel led her across a meadow, pointing out herbs to gather, insisting she brew a decoction and drink it to cleanse her body. She warned that a malevolent force sought her harm, and that to battle it she must survive. Time was short.
Cressida awoke drenched in sweat. Though it seemed she had slept long, a glance at the clock showed only minutes had passed. The front door slammed openPeter had returned. She slipped off the sofa and slipped into the hallway. Seeing her, he gasped.
Whats happened? Look at yourself in the mirror.
She approached the glass. Just the day before she had seen a bright, smiling face; now she barely recognised the gaunt figurehair in clumps, dark circles under her eyes, a pallid complexion, a vacant stare.
What is this?
Remembering the dream, she told him, I saw Grandmother in my sleep; she told me what to do
Cressida, get dressed. Were going to the hospital.
I wont go. Grandmother said the doctors wont help me.
A fierce argument erupted. Peter called her mad, accusing her of feverinduced fantasies. For the first time they truly fought. Peter tried to force her out, gripping her wrist, demanding she leave the flat.
You wont go willingly, so Ill make you, he snarled.
She broke free, lost her balance and struck the corner of a wardrobe. Enraged, Peter seized a bag, slammed the door and stormed out. Cressida managed only to send a message to her boss, claiming illness and a need to stay home for a few days.
Peter returned after midnight, apologising, but Cressida simply said, Take me tomorrow to the village where my grandmother lived.
The next morning she resembled a living corpse more than a healthy woman. Peter pleaded, Cressida, dont be foolish, we must go to the hospital. I cant lose you.
They drove to the remote hamlet of Ashford, a place she hadnt visited since her parents sold her grandmothers cottage after Ethels death. She slept through most of the journey, waking only as they neared the outskirts.
This is it, she whispered.
She stepped out of the car, collapsed onto the grass, certain she stood where Grandmother had guided her. She gathered the required herbs and they returned home. Peter brewed the infusion as she instructed. She sipped it slowly, feeling strength return with each swallow.
She hurried to the bathroom, and upon standing saw the urine was black. Rather than frighten her, it recalled Grandmothers words:
Darkness will rise and then pass
That night Grandmother visited again, smiling before speaking.
They cursed you with that rusted needle. My brew will give you strength, but only briefly. You must find the one who placed it and return his evil. I cannot see who it is, but it is linked to your husband. Had you not thrown the needle away, I could have said more.
Do this: buy a pack of needles, and over the largest utter, Spirits of the night, hear me! Reveal the truth, help me find my foe Place that needle in your husbands bag. The one who cast the curse will prick themselves on it. Then we shall know their name and can turn their malice back upon them.
Grandmother faded like mist.
Cressida awoke still weak, yet certain she would recover with her grandmothers aid. Peter resolved to stay home and look after her, surprised when she asked to go shopping alone.
Cressida, youre barely on your feet. Ill come with you.
Peter, make a soup; Im famished after this illness.
She obeyed Grandmothers guidance. That night the enchanted needle lay in Peters bag. Before sleep she asked, Are you sure youll manage alone? Should I stay?
Ill be fine, he replied.
She felt better, though an undercurrent of evil lingered. By the third day the brew acted like an antidote, weakening the darkness. She waited anxiously for Peters return from work, greeting him at the door.
How was your day?
Fine, why ask?
She thought the matter was settled, but Peter added, Imagine, today Ivera from the next department tried to help me and reached for the keys to my office, her hand slipped into my bag and she pricked herself on a needle. How did a needle get in my bag? She glared at me as if shed kill me with a stare.
Whos this Ivera?
Cressida, youre the only one who matters to me. I love only you.
Was she at your birthday dinner?
Yes, a good friend, nothing more.
Understanding dawned; she now knew how the old needle had found its way into her purse. Peter went to the kitchen where dinner waited. That night Grandmother showed Cressida how to return the evil to Ivera, explaining that Ivera wanted to displace her, to take her place beside Peter. Had she failed, she would have turned to magic again; she would stop at nothing.
Cressida followed every instruction. Soon Peter reported that Ivera had taken sick leave, claiming she was gravely ill and doctors were powerless.
Cressida begged Peter to drive her for a weekend to Ashfords graveyard, a place she hadnt visited since her grandmothers burial. She bought a bouquet, donned gloves, and painstakingly found Ethels plot among overgrown grass. At the headstone she saw a photographher grandmother, the very one who had come to her in dreams, the one who had saved her from death. She tidied the grave, placed the flowers in a vase of water, sat on a bench and said:
Grandmother, forgive me for not coming sooner. I thought a yearly visit from my parents was enough. I was wrong. Ill come more often. Without you, I might not be here at all.
She felt a gentle warmth, as if Grandmothers hands rested on her shoulders. She turned, but only a soft breeze lingered.
