Free The Garden of Stars by Zoe Chamberlain Page B

he’d hit the bar on the way down.
    Â â€˜I jumped up. I knew however much I hated him, someone had to do something. Bill had punched him on the back of his neck. Had the mayor been facing the other way it might not have been so drastic. Bill didn’t know he’d hit the weakest part of the skull. I remembered that from the First Aid training I’d done as a girl.
    Â â€˜Johnson was still out cold and the blood was getting worse. It had saturated the pub carpet, turning it from light green to putrid brown. I looked around me. Everyone was rooted to the spot. Bill had already fled in a rage. I doubt he had any idea just how seriously he’d injured the mayor. People were whispering “Is he dead?”
    Â â€˜I checked for a pulse. It was still there. Just. I screamed for an ambulance and, as if lifted from a trance, they all sprang to action. It was sheer chaos. Everyone on top of each other, and Ian, the landlord, trying to calm everyone down, reassuring them the ambulance was already on its way.
    Â â€˜It seemed to take forever for the paramedics to arrive. But I suppose it was really only five or ten minutes. They checked his pulse, lifted him onto a stretcher, and hurried him off to hospital.
    Â â€˜Back in the pub, it was like the calm after the storm. Everyone returned to their tables and drank silently. It was like everyone knew this one small but almighty act had changed the town, changed it forever. They were clearly weighing up who was right, who was wrong, and, I’m sorry to say, whether there was any truth in the mayor’s vicious rumours. You see, if there was, then that meant everything they believed in, everything they were fighting for, was wicked, cruel, and unjust.
    Â â€˜You see you, me, and Bill, we know Johnson’s game, we know there’s no witchcraft behind the magic you create up at that little cottage. Don’t stop me, Vivian, you know yourself there’s something magical about what you’re doing, what you’ve achieved. But the rest of the town – they’re an old-fashioned, God-fearing lot – even the mere suggestion of devil-worshipping and they’ll turn and run a mile.’
    Â My mind drifted back to Miss Metford. Those were the exact words she’d used when she’d warned me to be careful last time I saw her.
    Â â€˜And the insinuation that they themselves have been following a cult,’ Barbara continued, ‘frankly it doesn’t bear thinking what reaction they might have.’
    Â â€˜And what about Bill?’ I asked, drifting back into reality.
    Â â€˜Ah, Bill. I was just coming to him. The police went straight round to his house. They arrested him late last night and he’s been locked up in a cell ever since. People are saying Mr Johnson is in a coma. Everyone who was at the pub has been questioned and I expect you’ll receive a visit later today. They’re waiting to see what happens to the mayor as to whether they charge Bill for murder or attempted murder.’
    Â â€˜Dear God,’ I said, throwing my head into my hands. This was all too much. Not only was Mr Shaw’s house a charred shell and his dog dead, now a man lay in a coma, Bill was being branded a murderer, and I was in the middle of a witch hunt. I felt horribly responsible for everything that had happened. Much as I hated Johnson, I would never have wished him dead.
    Â I hadn’t realised I was crying. Great big tears were rolling down my cheeks, causing a well of salt on my blouse.
    Â â€˜There, there,’ comforted Barbara, ‘I’m so sorry to upset you but I felt you ought to know.’
    Â â€˜I’m grateful that you did. It’s all my fault; how could I have been so stupid? I must go and visit Bill and, of course, Mr Johnson in hospital.’
    Â â€˜You’ll do no such thing, young lady. You mustn’t go anywhere near Bill. You could make his case much