The Language of Spells (9 page)

Gwen shook it. ‘Can I help you?’

‘I hope so. Please.’

‘I suppose you want to come in,’ Gwen said, stepping back.

‘I’m sorry to interrupt.’ Helen peered at Cam curiously. ‘Are you busy?’

‘Yes,’ Cam said.

‘I’m always busy,’ Gwen said. ‘In fact, I might have that engraved on the back door.’

‘Well,’ Helen put the dog bowl on the table, ‘this won’t take long, I hope. If I don’t find Archie before Christopher gets back, he’s going to kill me. He loves that dog.’

‘Christopher?’

‘My son. He’s coming home from university for the weekend. He’s studying chemical engineering in Cardiff. It’s a very difficult course.’

‘I have no doubt.’ Gwen tried to send a
sorry about this
look in Cam’s direction but he was too busy sending death rays at Helen. She refocused on the woman. ‘Did you say your dog is missing?’

‘Yes, I haven’t seen him since yesterday morning.’ Helen pulled out a small rectangle and passed it to Gwen. It was a picture of a Highland Terrier taken in a photo booth, Helen Brewer’s hands just visible holding him up.

‘This is his bowl.’

‘Not yours?’ Cam asked.

‘No.’ Helen frowned at him, leaning to one side while she struggled to pull something out of her coat pocket. ‘This is his favourite toy.’ She put the object onto the table and Gwen stifled the urge to laugh. What had once been a reproduction
Spitting Image
Margaret Thatcher was now nose-less and ravaged.

‘Archie has excellent taste,’ Cam said, draining his glass.

‘Why have you brought this stuff?’

Helen frowned. ‘Don’t you need them? I heard that Iris did something. Maybe set fire to them and the smoke forms an arrow and points to where Archie is hiding—’ She caught sight of Gwen’s expression and broke off. ‘Or something.’

‘You can’t burn that,’ Cam said. ‘It’ll give off toxic fumes.’

‘Maybe you get a chemical burn in the shape of an arrow,’ Gwen said. She was trying very hard to ignore the fact that she
could
help. Probably.

Helen narrowed her eyes. ‘Are you going to help or not? I can pay you.’

Gwen took a breath and tried to formulate a nice way of saying
no
and
you are insane
. ‘Have you asked your neighbours? Put up posters?’

‘No one has seen him. I’ve been along the streets and asked people to check their garages and sheds, in case he got trapped.’ Helen was fumbling in her pocket. She brought out a couple of twenty-pound notes.

Gwen tried not to think about how much she needed that money. ‘I don’t think I can,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry; perhaps—’ Gwen reached out to poke the chew toy. The instant her finger connected with the rubber surface, images exploded behind her eyes. A pink carpet close to her nose, as if she were lying down, although she was moving very fast, her back legs straining to clear a height. Going up a step and another and another, the pink carpet sharp-smelling with a base note of wood and newspaper. She jerked her hand back and stared wide-eyed at Cam and Helen.

‘All right there, Jumpy?’ Cam said.

She focused on him. Solid, normal, legally trained Cam. He wasn’t crazy. He wasn’t asking her to cure chilblains or solve marital problems. He looked perplexed and mildly amused by Helen Brewer. He belonged to the normal world. The one she wanted to join.

‘What’s wrong?’ Helen said. ‘If you can’t do this, I need to get back home and carry on looking. He’s out there, all alone—’

‘Pink carpet.’
Damn it.

‘What?’

Gwen reached out and touched Maggie’s chin. She was more prepared this time and tried to concentrate, tried to interpret the images that flashed into her mind like a jerky film reel. More pink carpet, flat now, though, maybe the landing. A glossy white surface rising from the pink, a corner. Gwen saw a grey leg with a paw stretched out pulling at the corner of the door, heard the scratching noise. Then sickness hit. She launched herself away from the table, making it to the sink just in time. She lost her cake and her red wine with grim efficiency, then became aware of a hand on her lower back. Cam reached across and ran the cold tap, filling a glass of water and putting it into her hand.

‘Sorry,’ she said, hot with sickness and embarrassment.
Glamorous, Gwen. Really attractive
. She washed away the evidence and reached under the sink for some bleach, the clean smell turning her stomach over.

‘Come and sit down,’ Cam said. ‘Do that later.’

‘What’s wrong?’ Helen said. ‘No one said anything about sick.’

‘Do you have pink carpet on your stairs and landing?’

‘Yes.’ Helen looked astonished. ‘How did you know?’

‘Archie’s in your house.’

‘No.’ Helen shook her head. ‘Not possible. I’ve checked.’

‘Go check again.’ Cam said. ‘Gwen’s not well.’

‘Don’t fob me off,’ Helen said. Then she began to cry.

‘Christ’s sake.’ Cam said.

Gwen, deciding she wasn’t going to be sick again after all, reached over and patted her on the shoulder. ‘I’ll come to your house and find Archie. He’s definitely there. I promise.’ Gwen hadn’t felt a Finding as strong since she was a teenager. She hadn’t been fond of the nausea then, and it hadn’t improved with time.

‘Thank you.’ Helen gave her a thin smile, her tears drying. ‘I’m sorry, I’m not usually a weeper.’

‘I can see that,’ Gwen said. ‘Come on then. Let’s get this over with.’

‘I’ll drive,’ Cam said and picked up his coat and car keys.

Helen Brewer lived in a neat two-bed starter home on a new estate. As they walked up the front path, Gwen leading with Helen on her heels and Cam bringing up the rear and making smart comments, Gwen tried to ignore her discomfort. What was she doing in the middle of some woman’s lost dog drama? It was insane. She didn’t do things like this. Not any more. She didn’t join in. She had a comfortable seat on the sidelines and that was how she liked it. Hell, even the sidelines were a little too close for comfort.

The front door opened onto a narrow hallway, made even narrower by the fussy console table with a dried flower arrangement on top. The laminate floor stopped at the stairs, taken over by a dusky rose carpet that Gwen recognised. She swallowed. She’d forgotten just how weird a strong Finding felt. The sane and sensible part of her brain was feebly trying to say it could be a coincidence. That small stubborn voice of rationality was wittering about wine drunk too quickly and dumb luck. She wasn’t listening to the sane part, though, she was listening to the tiny voice that was telling her to climb the stairs.

She was vaguely aware of Helen and Cam’s voices. ‘Stay down here,’ she said. ‘Go and sit down.’

‘Well I never,’ Helen said.

Gwen ignored her and walked up the stairs. There was the short landing and there was the door. She didn’t even glance at the others, knowing instantly which was the right one. She pushed it open, feeling herself acting as if in a trance, and walked into a bedroom. It looked as if Laura Ashley had thrown up over it: floral wallpaper, bedspread, rug, cushions, and a flounced pink valance. She knew even before she dropped to her knees and lifted the material that she would see Archie and, sure enough, there he was. Pressed into the far corner was a bundle of grey and white fur and a pair of black shining eyes.

‘Hey, Archie,’ Gwen said, keeping her voice low and soothing. ‘That’s a good boy.’

Archie tried to press himself further back into the corner while simultaneously wag his tail. What a sweetheart.

Gwen felt her neck stiffen up and shifted so that she was lying down. Archie’s eyes rolled white and his paws pedalled as he panicked.

‘It’s okay, baby, I’m not moving.’ She stayed still until Archie calmed a little.

‘You’re going to have to come out of there sooner or later, you know. You must be thirsty and hungry and there’s good stuff to eat downstairs. It’s probably served on a flowery mat, but it’ll still taste good.’ Gwen kept up the flow of words, using a gentle sing-song tone while moving her body forwards a centimetre at a time. Archie was still quivering, but he wasn’t trying to push himself through the wall, so that was progress.

‘It’s okay, baby, come on out.’ Gwen was half under the bed now and she thought if she reached out, she could probably grab the dog. It would be better if he came to her, of course, but she wasn’t sure how long that was going to take. She inched her hand forwards and then, in one quick movement, reached out and hooked her fingers under his collar. Archie lurched forwards and she got a better hold of his body and hauled him out.

Archie was shuddering, his tiny body convulsing in her arms, but he wasn’t struggling to get down. Gwen held him firmly and stroked his back, keeping up a stream of soothing words. Slowly the shaking lessened and he licked her hand. She felt a warmth flowing through her and thought: maybe I’ll keep him. What was wrong with her? She didn’t need any more responsibilities. A cat and a house were bad enough. Shaking her head at her insanity, she walked carefully downstairs.

‘Archie!’ Helen leaped off the sofa and rushed to pet the little dog. ‘Where was he?’

‘Under the bed,’ Gwen said. ‘You might want to clean up under there.’

Helen’s eyes were shining and she held her arms out. ‘Poor Archie.’

Gwen stepped forward, loosening her hold experimentally. Archie gave her a final lick and lurched towards Helen, who caught him and buried her face in his fur. ‘What a silly boy, Archie. What were you doing? Why didn’t you bark?’ She looked up. ‘I don’t understand. Why didn’t he come out? I’ve been calling him all around the house.’

Gwen put her hand out to scratch behind Archie’s ears. As soon as her fingers connected, an image flashed into her mind, accompanied by an overwhelming sense of terror. Navy trainers. She looked at Helen, startled, then checked her feet. Black ankle boots with a little heel.

‘Who wears blue trainers?’

Helen frowned. ‘Christopher. But he’s not here right now—’

‘He’s the reason Archie was hiding.’

‘That’s impossible. He hasn’t even been here for days. And he dotes on Archie.’

Gwen shrugged. ‘I’m just telling you what I saw.’

Helen’s face hardened. ‘What are you accusing my son of?’

‘I’m just telling you what frightened Archie. Christopher’s shoes.’

‘Get out of my house.’

‘I’d like my payment, please,’ Gwen said, feeling hellish.

Helen thrust the notes at Gwen. ‘Don’t you dare repeat what you just said. Not to anyone.’

Cam put his hand on Gwen’s arm. ‘Come on.’

Back at the house, Cam stayed in the car while she walked up the path. That was what she got for using the Finding in front of him. Still, he waited until she had the door unlocked and was safely inside before driving away.
Because he’s a decent human being, not because he feels anything.

16
^th
June

Lily Thomas has moved into her father’s old house around the corner. There is something very hungry about that girl. I was compelled to make her a gift of one of my nicer lavender bushes. I don’t know why, but that’s often the way.

At Lily’s house, Gwen pushed the gate and walked through a preternaturally neat garden. A square of raked purple gravel gave way in places to allow subdued shrubs. A large terracotta pot by the front door held a neatly clipped topiary, the white care label still attached to a branch. Compared to the house on the other side – which sported a child’s climbing frame on a scrubby patch of lawn and some broken toys – Lily’s garden looked almost sterile.

Gwen pressed the doorbell and heard an ethereal chime faintly inside.

Lily opened the door, her face falling the moment she saw Gwen. The door began to close.

‘I’m really sorry,’ Gwen said quickly.

Lily was wearing a pale green silk blouse tucked into smart grey trousers. She folded her arms protectively across her chest and notched her frown up a gear.

‘I should have told you straight away, and I don’t know why I didn’t.’ Suddenly it became desperately important to Gwen to make things okay with her neighbour. Lily had been nothing but kind to her since she arrived back in Pendleford and, after her confrontation with Ruby, Gwen could see how valuable that was. Someone in this god-forsaken place who gave a damn. She held up a carrier bag. ‘I come bearing gifts.’

‘You’d better come in.’ Lily turned and walked down the short hallway.

Gwen followed, closing the door behind her. She passed a gigantic painting of a white unicorn, its mane being brushed by a simpering blonde in a long white dress, inexplicably set against both a blazing orange sunset and a full rainbow. It should’ve prepared her for Lily’s living room, but Gwen still nearly dropped her bag.

Shiny gold frames held more unicorn paintings, while every surface was covered in figurines. Winged unicorns, white unicorns, pink unicorns, unicorns with girls riding on their backs, china unicorns with real hair sprouting from their tails and heads and crystal unicorns that refracted the light. The etched-glass top of the coffee table was held proudly aloft by four carved wooden unicorns, their horns painted silver. Wherever Gwen looked, unfeasibly large unicorn eyes stared back.

Lily perched on the edge of an armchair. ‘You may as well sit down.’

‘Thanks.’ There was a pale blue sofa that matched the chair, complete with three gold embroidered unicorn cushions. Gwen didn’t think she’d be able to fit her backside onto the sofa without moving them, but wasn’t sure if that constituted a social faux pas. She certainly didn’t want Lily to interpret the action as a commentary on her décor. She chose one of the spindly metal dining chairs from around the glass-topped circular table in the dining nook and crossed her fingers that it was sturdier than it looked.

‘What can I do for you?’ Lily’s excessively polite tone was more effective than a slap in the face. Gwen swallowed. ‘I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings. I didn’t mention that I’d lived here before because—’

‘It’s really none of my business,’ Lily interrupted.

‘I just wanted a fresh start. I know it sounds stupid. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.’

‘You didn’t,’ Lily said tightly. ‘What’s in the bag?’

Before Gwen could explain that she hadn’t found Iris’s recipe book yet, but that she’d made Lily a cake, a man wearing a towel and nothing else appeared in the doorway. He was blond and good-looking in a calculated kind of way. ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘I didn’t know we had company.’

Gwen realised that she’d stood up. ‘Sorry. I didn’t … I was just going.’

‘Don’t leave on my account.’ The man lounged against the doorway and took a long, lazy look up and down Gwen’s figure, as if she were the half-naked one.

‘This is Ryan. He’s a journalist, so watch anything you say,’ Lily said.

‘Hey,’ Ryan said, mock-offended. ‘You think I’ve got a Dictaphone hidden under here?’ He gestured to his towel, grinning.

‘Right. Well—’

‘So, are you Lily’s latest acolyte?’

‘What?’ Gwen wanted to leave. Lily was radiating hostility and Ryan was radiating pheromones. His pecs kept twitching as if he were unconsciously flexing them as he spoke to her.

‘You’ve got the right look. Wild-haired. Nervous.’ Ryan held up his hands as if he were a photographer framing a picture.

‘This is Gwen Harper,’ Lily said. ‘She just moved into End House. Although she’s not new to the town. Not that she wants anybody to know.’

Ryan dropped his hands. ‘Oh.’

‘I’m really sorry,’ Gwen said again. She tried to look Lily in the eyes to convey her sincerity, but Lily stared resolutely past her shoulder.

‘Perhaps she has a dark secret,’ Lily said to Ryan, as if Gwen were not there. ‘Perhaps you ought to investigate her. Get a scoop for the local rag.’

Ryan puffed up his chest. ‘It’s just a stepping stone, you know.’

‘I’ll let you get on,’ Gwen said. She made to pass Ryan, but he didn’t step back and she was forced to squeeze past him. Up close, he was older than he first appeared; his eyes were bloodshot and there was something unpleasant lurking inside them. Something mean-spirited.

Lily didn’t get up or say goodbye. The last image Gwen had in her mind was of Lily staring viciously at Ryan and him grinning back at her with a determined lack of concern.

Gwen moved the oil heater downstairs and had it running on the highest setting. It was still freezing, though, and she wasn’t in the best mood even before Ruby arrived.

‘Yes?’ Gwen opened the front door and pointedly didn’t step back to let Ruby inside.

‘Can we talk?’ Ruby looked as immaculate and in control as she always did. It was irritating.

‘Are you sure that’s wise?’ Gwen said. She felt sick with the anger and guilt Ruby inspired, but she didn’t have the energy to deal with it. Not on top of everything else.

‘Please. Katie wants to see you.’

Her niece’s name did it. Like a magic word, Gwen felt her anger drain away. She turned on her heel and marched into the house. ‘Shut the door behind you.’ Well, most of it.

Ruby stopped in the hall, looking awkward. She made no move to remove her coat, which was probably for the best. Gwen was surprised their breath wasn’t fogging in the frigid air.

‘So?’ Gwen said.

Ruby swallowed. ‘Katie has been asking about you. She doesn’t understand why you haven’t been round to visit.’

‘I hope you’ve explained,’ Gwen said.

Ruby folded her arms. ‘Not exactly. I just said we’d had a bit of a fight.’

‘Eighteen months, Ruby. Not a “bit of” anything.’

‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ Ruby said. ‘I didn’t come here to argue with you. I just wanted to see if you’d let Katie visit. Today, actually.’

‘With you?’ Gwen thought for a moment that her niece might be sat out in Ruby’s car, waiting for the two responsible adults in the scenario to stop bickering.

‘No.’ Ruby’s voice dripped sarcasm. ‘She’s fourteen. She has to do everything herself. She’d get the number nineteen bus.’

‘Okay,’ Gwen said. ‘
She’s
very welcome.’

‘Fine. If she isn’t with you by eleven, call me.’

Ruby made to leave and Gwen was suddenly seized with uncertainty. It had been a while. ‘Um. What am I supposed to do with her?’

‘I have no idea. She’s a mystery to me these days.’ Ruby sounded properly upset and Gwen was surprised to find herself trying to reassure her. ‘Hey,’ she said, ‘I’m sure it’s not that bad.’

Ruby gave a short laugh. ‘Have fun bonding and then tell me that.’

‘Right. And—’

Ruby interrupted her, the words coming out in a rush. ‘Don’t talk about that stuff, okay?’

‘What stuff?’ Gwen said. ‘The birds and the bees?’

‘You know very well.’ Ruby rubbed her gloved hands together. ‘I don’t want her exposed to all that—’

‘I remember.’ Gwen felt like crying. Why did Ruby always have to treat her like she was a loaded gun?

‘Okay then. Thanks.’ Ruby practically ran out of the house and down the path.

Gwen made herself a cup of tea to warm up and fed the cat. He stared at her with his strangely mismatched eyes. Gwen had a list of things to do that felt about a mile long. If she was going to live in this mausoleum of a house for six months, then she had a lot of cleaning to do. Not to mention sorting through Iris’s junk, mending the ceiling in the dining room, and working out how to cope with the reappearance of Cameron Laing in her life. The cat looked pointedly from Gwen’s face to the empty dish and back again. ‘Yes, yes,’ Gwen said. ‘I know. I need to do something about you, too. Get in line.’

At ten to eleven, the doorbell rang. Gwen was dressed in cleaning clothes which weren’t, she had to admit, very different to her normal clothes. Old jeans and a well-washed V-neck jumper that used to be navy. If the expression on her niece’s face was anything to go by, she ought to add clothes shopping to her to-do list, too.

‘Hello, Katie. Long time, no see.’

Katie slouched in, avoiding eye contact and glaring at the floor as if it had personally offended her.

‘Do you want something to drink? I’ve got orange or apple juice.’

‘Coffee,’ Katie said.

‘Um. Are you allowed to drink coffee?’

Katie shot her such a look of disgust. ‘I’m
fourteen
.’

‘No problem,’ Gwen said. ‘I’ll just call your mum to check.’

‘Oh for God’s sake,’ Katie said, tossing her hair over her shoulder in a practised move. ‘I don’t want anything anyway.’

Well, that was a good start, Gwen congratulated herself as Katie stood hunched in her green parka and showed no signs of taking it off or coming any further into the house.

‘I was going to clear the dining room today. It’s a junk room at the moment. Loads of boxes and stuff.’

No response.

‘Do you want to give me a hand?’

A tiny shrug.

‘I’ve acquired a cat, too. Do you want to meet him?’

Katie looked up for the first time. ‘Yes, please.’

‘Through here.’ Gwen led the way into the kitchen, praying that the cat was still there.

‘He’s gorgeous,’ Katie said, despite all evidence to the contrary. She dropped to the floor in front of him and held out her hand. To Gwen’s surprise, the cat padded straight over and sniffed Katie, then began rubbing his head on her arm, begging to be stroked.

Katie looked back over her shoulder. ‘What’s his name? Do you have any cat treats? They love the ones with catnip.’

‘I’m not naming him. I’ll never get rid of him if I name him.’

Katie gave her an odd look. She turned back to the cat. ‘Hello, Cat,’ she said lovingly.

Gwen skirted past the happy couple and pulled a pair of rubber gloves and a roll of bin bags from under the sink.

‘I’m going to get started.’

Katie rubbed the cat under the chin and didn’t reply.

Gwen had re-stacked the boxes to allow for better access and was just opening the first one when Katie appeared in the doorway. She’d taken off her parka and looked about a third of the size without the bulky coat. She stood still and looked around. Then whistled. ‘Craptastic.’

‘Indeed.’ Gwen hadn’t fully appreciated the extent of the mess until she’d started lugging boxes. ‘I’m wondering whether to just lock the door. I mean,’ she looked around, ‘it’s not like I need a dining room.’

Katie was squinting at the ceiling. ‘That’s a big crack.’

‘Your mum said it was going to fall down. Don’t tell her I let you in here, okay?’

Katie smiled for the first time. ‘Okay.’

‘So, do you want to help me with this lot? I’ll pay you.’

Katie’s smile widened into a proper grin. She looked like the cheery twelve-year-old Gwen remembered.

Gwen plugged in her iPod dock and hit shuffle. As luck would have it, Katie’s favourite Aretha Franklin song rang out. She looked sideways at the girl as she ripped open a cardboard box with more enthusiasm than precision. ‘You used to dance to this song when you were little.’

Katie didn’t react.

Okay
.

Katie pulled out a handful of brown curtain material, then let it fall back in a heap. ‘Do you have a system?’

‘Um. Not really.’

‘Well, we need one. Like on
Life Laundry
.’

‘If you say so.’

Katie tipped the box she was holding upside down and shook it. Righting it, she said, ‘I need a marker pen.’

‘There’s a pack in the kitchen,’ Gwen said faintly.

Two hours later, they had several boxes marked up in block letters: charity, loft and house, and three black bags for the tip. There was also a plastic crate filled with old notebooks, scraps of paper with Iris’s handwriting, and shop receipts with items highlighted with little stars.

‘You should at least throw out the receipts. That’s just rubbish.’

‘I can’t. Iris kept them and, until I know why, I can’t throw them out.’ Gwen didn’t want to admit that she couldn’t let go of anything that Iris had written on. It would make her sound unhinged.

‘Maybe it was for her tax return. Dad keeps all of his.’

‘Good thought.’ Gwen frowned unintentionally at the dreaded words. She decided to focus on the day’s achievements, gazing at the neatly labelled boxes with satisfaction. She found her purse and extracted a five-pound note.

Katie looked at the floor. ‘You don’t have to pay me. I enjoyed it.’

Gwen handed her the note. ‘Just for that, I’ll give you a lift home.’

Katie’s face fell.

‘Or into town,’ Gwen continued smoothly. ‘We could go for hot chocolate.’

Katie brightened. ‘Can I come again another day? To see the cat.’

‘Of course.’ Gwen smiled at the whip-fast emotions of a teenager. She remembered what that had been like. Exhausting.

Katie bounced into the hallway and began dragging on her coat. ‘I’ll bring him treats.’

She kept up a stream of chatter all the way into Bath. Gwen tried to relax and enjoy her niece’s company, but she felt a nagging guilt. Marilyn Dixon’s tight features kept popping into her mind. It was annoying.

‘What do you think?’