The Language of Spells (14 page)

Fiona Allen came today. I never thought she’d make it. I’d seen her at the church hall with those little heels named after an animal. What are they? Kitten heels? Those. Fussing with the floral displays and smiling all the time, smiling, smiling. When she knocked on the back door I don’t know what I expected. That’s a lie. I had seen some Love-Lies-Bleeding earlier in the week and seen her face amongst its drooping petals, so I had a strong suspicion she was running around behind Patrick’s back. And good for her. I expected a gardener or handyman, something exotic for her well-bred tastes. A bit of rough. But people are constantly surprising. She’s in love, of course, silly girl. Her paramour is Patrick’s brother and he loves her back, apparently. Ardently, she said, as if her life had transformed to an Austen novel. Which, I suppose it has. If you discount the heavy-rutting that has put that pinkish bloom in her pallid cheeks.

Gwen shuddered. Well, that was a little too much information. Although, if Patrick Allen was going to oppose the local craft market, perhaps the insider information would come in handy. Knowledge was power and all that. Gwen immediately felt ashamed of the thought. She felt even worse about the little spark of excitement the secret gave her. Suddenly she could see why Gloria had liked reading tarot for people; she held all the cards. Still, this would be for the greater good. Plus, she could try to get a whiff of Patrick’s aftershave; see if it was the same one she’d smelled after the break-in.

She fetched Patrick Allen’s card and called him. He sounded fake-delighted to hear from her and suggested they go out for lunch. ‘I’d rather just come to your office,’ Gwen said, thinking of her flat-lining finances.

‘My treat,’ Patrick said jovially.

The bell rang, saving Gwen from throwing up. ‘Sorry, I’ve got to go. Someone’s at the door.’

Katie was illuminated by the porch light that was fighting the mid-afternoon gloom. Gwen had a moment to admire her youthful glow and the sparkling whiteness of her eyes before she blew into the hallway and began stripping off her outer layers. Her red gloves hit the floor, followed quickly by her bag, scarf and duffel coat. ‘I’m starving.’ She followed Gwen into the kitchen.

‘You’re always starving.’ Gwen fetched the cake tins. ‘Lemon drizzle or lime and pecan?’

Katie took a slice of lime and demolished it in short order.

‘Are you on a tight schedule?’

‘Huh?’ Katie sprayed crumbs onto herself.

‘You seem in kind of a hurry,’ Gwen said.

‘No. Just hungry.’

Gwen pushed the tin forwards.

‘Thanks.’ Katie took another slice of lime but, after the first couple of bites, she began to pick at it. The energy was fizzing off her.

Gwen waited.

‘Aren’t you going to ask about my day?’

‘If you like.’

Katie pulled a face. ‘Mum always asks. She wants, like, every detail.’

‘Imagine that. The horror.’

‘She wants to know what I learned, whether I got into trouble.’

‘Is that likely?’ Gwen looked at the angelic-looking girl rolling a ball of cake around her plate.

‘No!’ Katie pulled a dramatically injured face. ‘I’m never in any trouble. I never do anything.’

‘Ah.’ Gwen sipped her coffee. It had almost gone cold, but she didn’t want to get up and disturb the bubble of intimacy that seemed to envelop them. She had the feeling that Katie was working up to something. A question, perhaps.

‘Was your mum like that? Gran, I mean.’

Mum. It was funny to think of her mother with that word. Gloria had never been ‘Mum’, always ‘Gloria’. She’d been affectionate in a distracted way. Except when it came to training sessions. Then her attention had been intense. Uncomfortably so. ‘Gloria wouldn’t have asked you if you were hot if your hair was on fire.’

Katie thought for a moment. ‘She wasn’t very nice?’

‘Not that so much. She’s just in her own little world. Planet Gloria. Population one.’

‘But when you were really little—’

‘The same.’

‘Oh.’

‘I think Ruby is desperate not to be like her. Maybe she tries a bit too hard sometimes, but at least she’s interested.’

Katie’s face closed down.

Cat chose that moment to jump onto the outside windowsill, making Katie jump and then squeal. With remarkable energy, she was out of the chair and opening the window, letting in a stream of freezing air.

‘Come on, pussycat. We’ve got cake.’

Katie held out a lump of cake and Cat sniffed it delicately. Gwen opened her mouth to say that lime cake probably wasn’t very good for cats, when Cat jumped in a graceful arc from the sill to the floor, landing in an ungainly puddle and jumping up again to stalk towards the water dish, tail held high and an expression that said:
I totally meant to do that
.

Katie brushed her hands on her jeans. ‘So, what are we doing today? More unpacking?’

‘I think I’m pretty much done.’ Gwen got up and shut the window. She turned to find Katie frowning at her.

‘But where’s all your stuff?’

‘I don’t really have anything. I rent furnished places, keep all my essentials in the van.’

‘But what about books, music, clothes? You know – stuff.’

‘In the van. I travel light.’

‘That’s what Dad said.’

Gwen forced a smile. ‘Well, he’s right.’

‘What about your stock, though? Mum said you sold stuff. At car boot sales.’

‘Not exactly car boots.’ Gwen kept her voice light. ‘More like antique fairs, craft markets, that kind of thing.’

Katie pulled a face. ‘Sounds boring.’

‘It can be.’

‘So where is it?’

‘What?’

Katie sighed. ‘Your stock. Your business stuff.’

‘I used to use a storage facility in Birmingham.’

‘More renting?’

Gwen crossed her arms. ‘It makes sense; I can move it if I want to, although Birmingham is quite handy. Kind of in the middle of the country.’

‘But you don’t use it any more?’

‘No. I’ve downsized. I just keep my stock in Nanette now.’

‘It’s not a big business then.’

‘Not any more. No.’

‘Why not?’

Gwen, who had once withstood four hours of police questioning, gave in. ‘Things haven’t been going so well. Between you and me, the business is pretty much washed-up.’

‘Oh.’ Katie paused. ‘What are you going to do?’

‘I have no idea,’ Gwen said. She felt a loosening in her chest as soon as the words were out. It didn’t seem as awful to admit as she’d thought.

‘What do you want to do?’

Gwen forced a smile. ‘Now that’s a difficult question.’
I want to run my business and make enough money so that I don’t keep waking up in the night in a panic. I don’t want to have the Finding. I want to live a quiet, normal life.

‘You should move your business stuff into the house. Then you can work on it properly.’ Katie threw her arms wide. ‘You’ve got this whole place.’

‘Well—’

‘But you’re not staying?’ Katie let her arms drop.

Gwen was stung by how hurt Katie looked. She took a step towards her. ‘I don’t have any plans—’

‘When are you selling this place? Just give me some warning, okay? I don’t want to come by after school and get slapped in the face by a For Sale sign in your front garden.’

‘I don’t have any plans to sell this house, Katie,’ Gwen said as gently as she could. ‘I can’t for a while, anyway, and I might stay. I like it—’

‘But not enough to move your stock in. Or your stuff from the van. Yeah, you’re not staying.’ Katie flung open the back door and headed into the garden, throwing over her shoulder, ‘Mum was right.’

‘Hey.’ Gwen caught up with her halfway down the lawn. ‘I might stay. I’ve never had a proper home before, so I don’t really know how I’m supposed to feel.’

Katie rubbed her arms. Her nose was already pink from the cold. ‘Whatever. You’ve gotta do what you’ve gotta do.’ She pointed at the outbuilding. ‘That would make a good stockroom, though. You could make it into an office. For your computer, packaging stuff, all that.’

‘I don’t use a computer.’

Katie looked at her pityingly. ‘You should. Take a class or something.’

‘Why?’ Gwen said, ready to hear the joys of BookFace or VidTube.

‘Sell your stuff online. Much better than hanging around crusty old fairs.’

‘Crusty?’

‘Probably. And wet. I bet you get rained on all the time.’

‘Sometimes,’ Gwen said, feeling a little faint.

‘Let’s look.’ Katie crossed to the building and pushed at the door.

‘It’s locked.’ Gwen got the key and opened it. Katie was right. The space was perfect. Before, she’d been distracted by mysteries and magic and silly superstition, but she could see the shelves full of stationery and mailing supplies, and a computer desk on the far wall. She could store things up above in the half-boarded loft, use the table in the middle for packing.

‘What’s it called? Your shop.’

‘Curious Notions.’

Katie wrinkled her nose. ‘Could be worse.’

‘Thanks,’ Gwen said dryly. ‘Haberdashery like bobbins, needles and buttons is called “notions” and I just liked the way it sounded.’

‘Well, you probably need to stick with it. You’ve already got customers; you want them to be able to find you.’

‘They can always find me; I do the same shows every year.’

‘But you won’t have to,’ Katie said, clearly exasperated. ‘That’s the whole point. You won’t have to trail around the place any more. You can stay here.’

Gwen smiled at her. ‘Do you want me to stay here?’

Katie gave her a superior look. ‘I don’t care one way or the other.’

‘Right.’ Gwen’s smile widened. ‘I love you too, honeybunch.’

The next day, Gwen crossed the town bridge, leaving the jumbled cottages and cobbled streets for the grander town houses on the other side of the river. Cameron Laing territory. She started scouting the pavements, as if her desire to see him would make him magically appear. The houses climbed the hill, creamy sandstone peeking from behind evergreens and the bare branches of oak and elm.

The Greenhouse restaurant was a monstrosity of modernism and glass awkwardly tacked onto a town house in what could only be described as a travesty of planning permission.

Patrick was already seated and he rose to meet her. ‘I ordered you a gin and tonic, but I can get you something else if that’s wrong.’

Gwen had resolved to be as awkward as possible, but now found she didn’t have the energy. ‘That’s fine,’ she said, taking off her coat. A waiter materialised just as she did and tried to help her with it.

‘You look lovely,’ Patrick said dutifully.

Gwen smiled. ‘Thank you.’ She had refused to dress up and was wearing an ancient T-shirt that had once been black but was now a washed-out grey; it had a cartoon of a cow on the front and the words ‘moo power’.

‘This is one of mine.’ Patrick waved a hand, encompassing the tables, the waiting staff in their over-sized white aprons and, presumably, the kitchen area and toilets, too.

‘Very nice,’ Gwen said politely.

Patrick laid a hand on top of the menu, very obviously not bothering to look inside. ‘I recommend the lobster.’

Gwen shook her head. ‘I had seafood once. It gave me a funny tummy.’

Patrick’s face wrinkled in disgust. A waiter appeared, hovering, and he smoothed it out. ‘White wine to start, I think. Don’t you?’ He didn’t wait for Gwen to answer, so she sat back a little in her chair and looked around while he displayed his intimate knowledge of the menu. The restaurant was about half full and Gwen counted three tables of older ladies. Groups of friends who had probably been meeting for lunches for years, sharing troubles and good times, going home knowing that, whatever happened, they had people on their side. In the far corner, at a small table, Gwen saw a familiar face. A face she had been expecting to see ever since blowing back into town. A face that she sometimes saw before she fell asleep at night. A face that represented every hateful attitude, every disapproving look and whispered comment.

Elaine Laing looked the same. The neatly styled hair was streaked with silver and white and the neckline a little softer, but otherwise it was undoubtedly the same woman. Perfect posture, a teeny-tiny padded handbag and pearl earrings. Gwen straightened her spine. Elaine’s companion looked familiar, too. When she turned her head slightly, Gwen caught sight of Lily’s profile.

‘I didn’t know they knew each other.’

‘Everyone knows everyone around here.’ Patrick glanced back. ‘Do you mean Elaine Laing?’

Gwen nodded. ‘That’s my neighbour, Lily. I didn’t know they were friends.’

‘Colleagues, really. They’re both on the community council. And I think Lily got involved with Elaine’s pet charity, too.’

‘Charity?’

‘Feline Leukaemia, I believe. Yes. Lily has done very well, really. You don’t often see her sort getting involved at that level.’

‘Her sort?’ Gwen said. ‘Do you mean because she was brought up in a council house?’

‘No, no.’ Patrick waved a hand,.’I just meant that she’s made something of herself. It’s admirable.’

‘Right.’ Gwen folded her hands carefully in her lap to stop herself from stabbing Patrick with a fork.

The waiter reappeared with a half bottle of chilled Sancerre. It was delicious and Gwen had to grudgingly admit that Patrick had good taste. In some areas, at any rate.

‘I actually invited you for a reason,’ Patrick said. He paused while another waiter placed rolls onto their side plates with tongs.

‘Well, I figured you weren’t trying to get into my pants,’ Gwen said cheerfully. The bread roll slipped and she caught it and set it on her plate. She smiled reassuringly at the blushing waiter, who looked all of sixteen. He hurried away.

‘Um…’ Patrick said.

‘Anyway, I called you. I wanted to talk to you about having a regular craft market in the town,’ Gwen said. She buttered her roll and took a large bite.

Patrick frowned. ‘We can get to that later.’ His crushing tone signalled that ‘later’ meant ‘never’. ‘I actually wanted to ask you for a favour.’

‘You and the rest of the world,’ Gwen said, slightly muffled. ‘This bread is amazing.’