The Language of Spells (25 page)

‘For Christ’s sake. It was a funeral, not a party.’ Cam was being defensive.

‘Stop doing your Master of the Universe look,’ Gwen snapped. ‘Can’t you just say “sorry” like a normal human being? You don’t have to be right all the time.’

‘But I am right. It was a family occasion. A funeral. It wasn’t anything to do with you—’ Cam stopped. ‘I just mean—’

‘I know exactly what you mean,’ Gwen snapped. ‘You don’t think I’m good enough to be part of your life. Not properly. You’re happy to sneak over here at night, but you’re never going to take me out to dinner in town, be happy to be seen with me. I’m never going to be invited to your mother’s fancy bloody Christmas Eve party.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘I’m not Felicity, am I?’

‘No.’ Cam looked annoyed. ‘I’m not with Felicity. I don’t want Felicity. I want you.’

‘Well, you don’t get me,’ Gwen said, feeling tears spill down her face. ‘I deserve to be with someone who isn’t embarrassed to be with me. I deserve someone who accepts who I am and what I do.’ Gwen’s voice had gone hoarse with the effort of not sobbing. Cam was staring at her as if she’d lost her mind and she realised that she didn’t care. Last time she’d left Cam without a goodbye because she’d been too scared to be honest with him. She wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. ‘I deserve to be with someone who is on my side. I don’t care that you don’t believe in magic, but I do care that you don’t believe in me.’

‘We’ll talk about this later, when you’ve calmed down.’ Cam laced up his shoes, grabbed his jacket.

‘No.’ Gwen shook her head. ‘This. Us. Whatever it is. It’s over.’

His face went closed, angry. ‘Fine. If that’s what you want.’

Gwen felt her throat close up. She thought of Elaine Laing and the triumph she’d feel. She’d thought that without Elaine dripping poison in Cam’s ear, things would be different. ‘I don’t want a half-relationship,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to be your dirty little secret.’

Cam shook his head. ‘I’ve got to be practical. I’ve got to be sensible. People are relying on me. You have no idea how that feels.’

Gwen managed a grim smile. ‘Right.’

‘Especially now, with my grandfather gone. I can’t afford any scandal. Any disruption.’

‘I understand,’ Gwen said, her insides hollowing out with misery. ‘I do understand that.’

‘And I can’t stand that you still believe the nonsense you were fed as a child. I hate it.’

‘Oh,’ Gwen said, feeling sick at the coldness in his tone. ‘It’s good we’re being honest now.’

‘Did I tell you where my family’s money went? Why it was so important that the firm didn’t fail after my dad died?’ Cam said.

‘No. I assumed—’

‘The firm had been doing well and Dad had made plenty of good investments. Mum should’ve been fine when he died. I would probably still have needed to train and take his place in the firm, but the money situation would’ve been okay.’ Cam’s voice went very quiet.

‘While he was dying, my mother tried all kinds of things to make him better. Every charlatan on the block took her for a ride. Aromatherapy. Electrolyte baths. Every crackpot theory, every alternative therapy. She spent thousands.’

‘I didn’t know,’ Gwen said.

‘It wasn’t like her,’ Cam said. ‘She’s always been very logical, very intellectual. She was just so desperate.’

‘My great-aunt Iris visited your dad,’ Gwen said. ‘But she never took his money.’

Cam hesitated, halfway out of the door. ‘Well, that’s something I suppose.’

‘And she really helped him. Whatever she did, it helped take away some of his pain.’

‘Don’t,’ Cam said, holding up one hand as if he could physically block her words, more angry than Gwen had ever seen him. ‘Just don’t.’

Gwen stood alone in the bedroom and listened to the slam of the front door.

At Millbank, Katie stood outside the science block staring at her mobile until the tiny black characters of the text message blurred. She, quite literally, couldn’t believe her luck. Of all the girls in school, of all the girls he probably knew out of school while hanging out with the cool crowd and doing daring things like going to the pubs in town or hanging out at the folly, he had chosen her. Katie Moore. She read the three texts for the thousandth time and hugged the phone to her chest.

Finally, after composing and discarding several versions in her head, she spelled out:

ok c u 2nite x

The kiss. She’d put it in, she’d taken it out. He’d used one on his last text and she didn’t want him to feel stupid for doing so and she wanted to show she felt the same way but, and this was so important, not in a way that said she felt more than he did. If Katie had learned anything from films and TV, it was that no boy liked a desperate girl. Or even a keen one.

That evening, she feigned period cramps. She made a hot water bottle and, clutching it to her middle, cried off dinner.

‘Are you sure?’ Her mum was shredding celeriac and radishes for a Jamie Oliver recipe, the small TV on the counter showing the very same man, bish-bashing garlic and assuring the viewers that everything was ‘beautiful’.

‘I think I’ll just go to bed. Maybe watch a movie on my laptop.’

Ruby was already looking back at her vegetables, the giant Sabatier knife flashing.

‘Use your headphones if you’re going to have the volume high,’ she said absently.

Katie escaped upstairs. First she ate the sandwich, apple and packet of crisps she’d stashed in her room earlier. She didn’t feel hungry, but the last thing she wanted was her stomach making embarrassing gurgling noises when she and Luke were alone. She felt a swirly, stabbing sensation in her midriff and wondered whether eating was going to solve the problem. Then, she began preparations. She painted her nails electric-blue and tried to read while they dried. The text kept jumping around, though, reforming into Luke’s face. She put the book down and got into bed. Lying on her back and staring at the snowy peaks of the Artexed ceiling, Katie ran through every encounter of the last few weeks. Their exchanges had been short and she’d memorised them almost word for word. If she closed her eyes, she could watch them again and again, like skipping back on a DVD. When she tried to imagine what might happen tonight, what it would be like to be with him, alone and out of school, her entire body went into tingling overdrive and her mind raced so fast, it all became a blur.

Time seemed to skip. One moment, she was looking at the clock and wishing the long hours away and the next, she was creeping to her dressing table to apply eyeliner and mascara and wondering if she had enough time to change her clothes. Again.

Katie took the flask that the fixer had given her and unscrewed the top. It was white with daisies around the base, just like the woman’s business card. Katie hesitated, but couldn’t make herself believe that there would be anything dangerous inside a flask that cute. It was probably Vimto or something. The woman had said that she had to drink the lot in one go while thinking about what she called the ‘object of her desire’. Katie closed her eyes and pictured Luke. Luke smiling at her. Then she drank. The woman had warned her that it was a herbal potion and an acquired taste. That was putting it mildly, Katie thought, as she drank the disgusting fluid. Once the flask was empty, Katie took several deep breaths, trying to stop herself from throwing it back up. It was only the thought of ruining the spell that stopped the churning in her stomach from becoming disastrous.

It was almost ten. Katie zipped up her black hoodie and pulled on her favourite blue gloves. They were fingerless and showed her newly painted fingernails perfectly. She added another silver ring to her left hand, twisting it the right way so that the moonstone faced outwards and checked the clasp on her apple necklace. She looked in the mirror and the girl looked back. She didn’t look like herself. The black eyeliner and dark red lipstick made her look older, harder. Was it too much? She rubbed most of the red off with a tissue and looked again. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were sparkling and she thought – surprised – that she actually looked okay. It was now or never. Laughter from the TV was almost dulled by the closed living room door and Katie pictured her parents inside, cuddled up on the sofa. Her dad was probably lying with his head in her mum’s lap and she’d be stroking his hair. It wasn’t even that she thought it was gross. Although part of her did, a little bit. But it was more that it made her kind of ache inside. Like something was missing.

Her dad always locked the doors, even when they were all home. He said he’d seen a news story once that had made a lasting impression. She’d asked him for details, but his lips had pressed together so hard they’d gone white. Katie unlocked the back door and slipped out, locking it again behind her and pocketing the key.

She wasn’t supposed to be in town at night at all, let alone on her own and without her parents’ knowledge. The delicious thrill of leaving the house quickly morphed into fear as she passed a pub and the door swung open, releasing a gust of warm, stinky air, and a burst of noise. The voices sounded adult and manly, almost violent.

Katie increased her pace so that she was speed-walking along the side street. She felt both better and worse as she crossed Milsom Street. There were more people around, which felt safer, but the huddle of smokers outside the Wetherspoons seemed rough and frightening.

The crowds petered out as she crossed from one side street to another, working away from the centre and towards the leafy residential area of Bathwick. Lots of people had left their curtains open and rooms were lit up like stages. Katie saw bookcases and armchairs, fireplaces and tasteful wallpaper. Bath was so very civilised. Dead, she called it. Perfectly preserved, but soulless. She was itching for something new, something modern, something unequivocally alive. Something young. Okay, she admitted, she didn’t really
know
what she wanted, but she trusted she’d recognise it when she found it.

Starting on Bathwick Hill, Katie steadfastly ignored her misgivings. Yes, it was dark and quiet and the trees were casting eerie shadows, but she wasn’t going to turn back now. She’d come this far and Luke Taylor was waiting for her. She hoped he was waiting outside. She’d never been invited to one of Will Jones’s house parties before. His parents went away fairly regularly and he and his big brother had become legendary for throwing wild events. Gossip was often flying around about the police being called or so-and-so being sick in the street or such-and-such losing their virginity under a pile of coats. Katie’s mind refused to follow that line of thought any further. Luke was going to be waiting outside. He was going to hold her hand and walk her home afterwards. And then he’d kiss her. It was going to be magical.

Will’s house was halfway up Bathwick Hill. It was massive, set back from the road, and part of a row of similarly enormous properties. Katie had passed curving driveways and high walls and, on the other side of the road, parkland and trees stretched out into the darkness.

Luke was standing at the bottom of the driveway and Katie’s heart made a break for freedom via her throat.

‘You made it,’ Luke said. He had his hands in his pockets and his shoulders were hunched against the cold. ‘Shall we?’ And they walked up to the house together.

Katie felt a tingle that started at her toes and went all the way through her body. He’d been waiting for her. For her. It was like something from a film. It was way better than John Cusack standing on top of his car with his tragic eighties boom-box in her mother’s favourite film. It was even better than Edward Cullen telling Bella Swan that she was his own brand of heroin. Or as good as, anyway. It was certainly the single most exciting thing that had ever happened in her life.

Inside the house, a wall of noise and heat hit her. Bodies were crushed in every room and on every available surface. Three girls Katie recognised from the year above were perched on a coffee table watching Will rolling a cigarette on top of a table mat on his lap. She hoped he had his fly zipped.

‘Drink?’ Luke made a gesture with his hand at the same time and Katie nodded.

He leaned down and yelled into her ear, ‘Back in a minute.’

As soon as Luke’s broad back disappeared into the press of people, Katie felt her confidence drain away. She fought her way to the nearest wall and stood against it, pretending that she came to parties all the time and
chose
to stand on her own. She tried not to be jealous of the couples dancing and kissing, the friends shrieking at each other. She tried to think aloof thoughts.

Five minutes felt like an hour, and Katie’s skin was prickling with embarrassment and the heat so she was actually relieved when Freya Hallett threw sweaty arms around her and screamed an enthusiastic hello. ‘Isn’t this awesome?’ Freya’s face was bright red and shiny and her breath one hundred per cent proof.

Katie smiled and nodded.

‘Have a WKD!’ Freya shoved a bottle of blue liquid into Katie’s hand. ‘I’ve had four.’ She stuck out a very blue tongue and collapsed into giggles.

Katie had first met Freya at Saturday morning orchestra practice when they were at primary school. She’d played the viola and had carried a leather case for her sheet music which Katie had coveted. Now Freya was leaning her face on a patch of wall next to Katie, her cheek smashed into the patterned wallpaper. ‘So. Hot.’ Freya closed her eyes and didn’t say another word.

Katie took a tentative sip from the bottle. It tasted like radioactive squash. At least she could pretend to be talking to the halfway-comatose Freya now, and Luke would be back any second. Surely. She sipped some more.

Katie was surprised to discover that she’d reached the bottom of the bottle. She was also quite pleased with herself. Apart from an inch of (disgusting) wine in her glass on birthdays and Christmas, she hadn’t drunk alcohol before but she didn’t feel at all intoxicated. Although she did feel slightly more affectionate towards Freya, who had slumped to the floor and was sporting a lovely pattern of indentations on her face from the textured wallpaper.

Katie decided it was time to find Luke. She ventured away from the solid safety of the wall and moved from one packed room into another. She was just beginning to wonder whether the house had any end when she found it. A big kitchen fitted with modern appliances and shiny granite worktops. French doors led out onto the garden and one was wide open and swaying in the wind. Katie went to close it before the wind decided to slam it and smash the glass. She stood, her fingers on the chrome door handle, when she heard a familiar laugh. A deep voice joined the laugh, soft and throaty and undeniably boy-like. The hairs on her body raised as her mind caught up with her vision. Illuminated by the lights from the house, Imogen was entangled with a boy. A tall boy with floppy brown hair. A tall boy with floppy brown hair and the delicious throaty voice.

Luke.

Katie didn’t know if she’d made an involuntary noise, but at that moment Luke looked over Imogen’s shoulder and into her eyes. Katie knew she must be framed by the door, lit up by the light of the kitchen like a television screen. She tried to force her face into an unconcerned expression, but that wasn’t happening. Every muscle was frozen in misery.

‘Hey,’ Luke said. Unconcerned. As if it’d slipped his mind that his hands were all over her best friend.

Imogen turned and, seeing Katie, did a full double-take. It would’ve been funny in any other circumstance. ‘I didn’t know you were coming.’ Imogen’s voice was squeaky.

Katie turned and fled the scene with one thought: she was going to find another of those bottles of tasty blue. Another couple of those and perhaps she wouldn’t care any more.