Out of her classroom window, Carmen can see Maya waiting for the school bus. For some reason, the year elevens have finished early, and Maya is sitting on the backrest of the bus stop bench, her face covered by a book.

''May I go five minutes early please ma'am?'' She raises her hand. "I really need a whizz.'' Dismissed, she flies down the stairwell to the parking lot, a skinny blur of chalky skin and habitual black clothing.

''Hiya,'' she mumbles, approaching Maya and pulling the thermos from her stone-washed black bag. She brushes a few strands of hand-cut oleaginous blonde fringe anxiously from her eyes.

Maya looks up at her, surprised and releases her copy of Albert Camus onto her knees.

''Oh hey, Goth Girl... I mean, Carmen. You good today?''

Carmen shrugs. "I brought back yer thermos.'' She plonks the tartan metal cylinder onto the bus stop bench. ''It's clean and everyfing. Sorry I didn't see ye yesterday to give it to ye.''

''Well thanks,'' says Maya, she pulls the cannister towards her, opens the lid and sniffs suspiciously. Then she pops it into her backpack. She eyes Carmen warily. "Like I said, anytime, ok?''

The words are barely out of Maya's mouth when Carmen answers. "How 'bout today then?'' She shifts nervously from foot to foot, awaiting Maya's response.

Maya twists her neck around as if she is looking for someone in the parking lot, but it is empty as before. Carmen can't imagine who she could be looking for anyway since all the other year elevens have left already.

''Sure,'' Maya exhales an overlarge breath. ''Why not?''

No one needs to tell Carmen twice. She is up onto the back of the bench alongside Maya in seconds. ''So, what's yer book about then?'' she asks, examining the creased cover of the classic novel.

"It's about a guy whose life is ruined because he won't cry like people want him to,'' Maya says, her eyes a little glazed.

''Yeh? Sounds good. C'n you lend me it some time?''

''Soon as I am done.'' Maya smiles and the bus arrives, the hiss of pneumatic brakes coinciding with the end-of-day school bell. The two girls clamber aboard, Carmen taking a window seat and Maya the aisle beside her. As the coach pulls off, Truman exits the parking lot, walking loosely with his backpack slung casually over one shoulder.

"New boy?'' Carmen asks, glancing at Truman and twisting the tiny silver ring in her eyebrow thoughtfully.

''Yeh. American,'' Maya explains. "I had to walk him round the school yesterday. That's why I wasn't on the early bus.''

"'E's a long, cool drink o water, Inne?'' Carmen peers out the window in an obvious rubberneck, her face so close to the glass that it leaves a smear. With the sense of someone who knows they are being watched, Truman looks up at her and then his focus slides over to Maya. Their eyes meet and he grins, but instead of smiling back, Maya snaps her head dead-straight ahead and acts rather unconvincingly as if she hadn't noticed.

The bus trundles by him and on through the town: past the pretty, red-roofed village cottages and the few high-street shops and then left towards the outskirts of town. They pass the stop near the council houses where Carmen lives and continue out into the countryside. The early-summer hedgerows are in full flower: a festival of snowy hawthorn and marshmallow-pink dog-rose. Beyond them the hills rise in emerald patchwork, marbled with snaking stone walls. Maya's stop seems like the middle of nowhere, the house screened by trees and nothing but the large elder tree to mark the turn into the lane.

Carmen hops off alongside Maya, visibly relaxing as they turn into the lane. She even stops to pluck a head of the thick lacy cow parsley that overhangs the road as they head towards Bishop's End.

''What are all the ribbons and fings for?'' She asks Maya as the girls enter under the lych gate.

''Huh? Oh, they are spells mostly. Charms to make sure only good things come through here.''

''Funny, it let me through though,'' Carmen grins.

''Yes.'' Maya smiles. "Yes, it did.''

The afternoon is still warm and the happy doors from the lounge to the orchard are standing open. Dust motes catch in the sheards of mellowed sun and women's voices and laughter drift inside. Maya looks like she wants to ignore them and go upstairs, but Carmen is enticed, following the sounds out into the early evening air.

Honora and Felicity are sitting in sailcloth deck chairs beneath the budding apple trees. They each hold a flute of Felicity's elderflower champagne in which a couple of early strawberries languish.

"I know we've just finished with Beltane,'' Honora is saying, ''but I think we should decide now if we want to do Litha at home or join up with a community.'' Her favorite hen, Florence, is sitting on her lap, her neck is stretched over Honora's shoulder like a fat brick-colored baby. Florence's eyes are drooping in blissful meditation as the feathers at her nape receive a gentle massage.

''Everyone associates witches with cats and toads, but my mum never wanted any pets besides the chickens.'' Maya whispers to Carmen. ''She is like some kind of weird chicken-whisperer. Our little flock of Buff Orpingtons are obsessed with her. Just don't ask her about chicken-psychology ever. You won't hear the end of it.''

Maya approaches her family. ''Mum, Gran, this is Carmen,'' she tells them, grabbing another deck chair from the heap leaning against the shed and holding it out to her new friend.

''Please don't call me that contemptible word Maya,'' Felicity replies, snippily. ''I have never quite gotten used to the idea of being a grandmother. We have discussed some alternatives - repeatedly. My preference is for La-la, because I have an affinity for music.'' She looks at Maya, brows heavy with the kohl pencil she always uses.

''La-la is a Teletubby Gran. I am not going to call you that,'' Maya tells her, flopping down into the grass. ''And I don't know if your stint as a Led Zeppelin groupie really qualifies as 'affinity for music'.''

''But Granny is a crone,'' Felicity objects. ''I am not a crone.''

"Crone's one of me best bands,'' says Carmen glibly. There is a brief silence, as no one seems to know quite how to respond to this.

''It's lovely to meet you Carmen dear.'' Honora remembers her manners. "Welcome to Bishop's end.''

''Ta Ms. Winthrop.'' Carmen melts down into the deckchair, feeling more at peace than she has in weeks. She tips her face up towards the sun, feeling the healing rays on the wrathful acne blisters which plague her skin.

''What do you think, Maya?'' Honora turns back to Maya, who has shrugged off her jacket and is picking among the clover intergrown with the grass, searching for the four-leafed plants. Irritably, she shoos away another of Honora's chickens that is rushing in for a cuddle.

"What do I think about what?'' she asks.

"We are considering what to do about the solstice this year. I was thinking maybe we should have a small private celebration at home, but your grandmother feels that we should join up with one of the covens like last year."

"Please Granny no!'' Maya wails, ''Don't inflict those people on me again. They take themselves so seriously and I have nothing in common with them. I spent the whole of last year trying to make chit-chat with a girl who kept reading my aura and told me I was ... murky.''

Honora gives Maya a swift up-and-down look that implies she can confirm the girl's diagnosis.

''Felicity feels that the social connection is really important for all of us,'' Honora says, diplomatically. ''Especially for someone your age.''

''You could meet some men!'' Felicity chimes, the tassels on her silk-chiffon kimono quiver and her peacock feather earrings swing excitedly from her lobes.

''Not really Gran. There are never any decent boys at those things." Maya's body gives an involuntary shudder as she remembers the utter awkwardness of Sabats-past.

''Not true. There were those cute druids that one time,'' says her mother.

"Ooh yes, the one with the little ..., '' Felicity makes a triangular gesture under her chin to demonstrate a goatee. "Except he was a little skinny. What about the tall one from Ipswitch?''

''There were a cute new boy at school today,'' interjects Carmen. "Maya 'ad to show 'im around and then 'e grinned a 'er when we were on the bus.''

"Oooh!'' Felicity couldn't be more delighted. ''And he smiled at her you say?''

''Why don't you invite him round one day, Maya?'' Honora suggests, prompting Maya into a coughing fit.

''Mum, please ... I barely know him. He is just some guy at school. Just another jerk.''

''You don't really know that yet? Do you darling?'' She pauses. ''Perhaps I should use the pendulum to decide, otherwise we will just quibble about it all afternoon.'' She withdraws a small amethyst crystal on a chain from her pocket and starts rolling up her sleeve.

The stable doors of Felicity's apartment swing ajar, and opening one eye, Carmen spies a really attractive young man coming out into the garden. He seems to be pulling a black t-shirt down over his chiseled abs and fiddling with his belt like he is doing it up.

He walks over to Felicity and gives her a gentle kiss.... on the mouth.

'''See you next week, yeh?'' he tells her and walks out through the main house, all four women turning to stare silently at his ass as he goes.

''Blimey!'' says Carmen, sitting up fully now.

''That would be Matthew,'' explains Maya. "Gran hires him for her life drawing practice.'' She rolls her eyes.

''I'd love to er... see yer work some time,'' Carmen asks Felicity.

Honora is dangling the pendulum over the skin of her wrist now. It starts to swing, slowly at first and then faster: looping in widening circles. The rays of the sun are beginning to slant through the boughs of the tree, casting longer shadows and illuminating the clouds of tiny midges that hover over the grass.

"Well, that settles it,'' mum announces, putting away the pendulum. "We will celebrate at home this year. Now, Carmen dear, are you staying for supper?''