Nearly Almost Somebody (10 page)

‘Drunken Duck. Nikki-two-ks-and-an-i has arranged to meet up with some of the blokes from the Kendal office. She says a couple of them are fit as.’

‘What about Mr Coffee Shop? Have you been back there?’

‘Nope. Are you sure you don’t want to come out?’

‘Yep.’

‘At least go to the pub and say hello to Jack. Wind Grace up as payback for her quotes in the paper.’

Facing up to Grace was the last thing Libby intended to do. She had a better idea. The second Zoë disappeared in a taxi, Libby reached under her bed, feeling for the spell book. Would Maggie have a charm or incantation, something stronger than the pine cone that would have Zoë’s Mr Coffee Shop devoted in no time?

The bookmark, a quarter of the way through, marked the point she’d reached with her reading.
Chocolat
she’d devoured in days, but the spell book was heavier going, sometimes requiring Google translations to even begin to understand what the Latin pages contained.

Using random luck to guide her, Libby flicked through the remaining three quarters, landing at a retribution charm. It might be tempting to use against Grace for the newspaper quote, but it wasn’t Libby’s style and the Wiccan motto was:
If it hurt none, do what you will
. She skipped forward a handful of pages.
Summon Your True Love.
Oh, hello. The spell looked easy enough, a bit of candle burning, some flower petals, a little bag and make a list of your ideal man’s traits. Easy. She could do a practice run on herself. At the top of the page, in what she’d come to assume was Maggie’s handwriting, was a note:
Imp! Grounding a must before performing.

Grounding? Hadn’t she read about that a few nights ago? Marking the page, she flicked towards the front of the folder, searching for the lengthy Wiccan meditation instructions. If she was going to do this, she ought to do it properly.

Libby showered and changed into a cotton vest and linen trousers then, wearing no make-up, perfume or jewellery, she stood barefoot on the lawn and closed her eyes, recalling the instructions she’d tried to memorise.

Her toes wiggled in the grass and she shifted her weight, focussing on sending her breath down into the ground beneath her, spreading it like roots amongst the bugs and worms. As she mentally reached the core, to the Earth Goddess, she sent down the feelings she wanted rid of – her longing to be a professional dancer again, her attachment to Paolo, her anger at Grace, then she imagined feeling the energy from the Earth coming back up, past the worms and bugs in the soil, rising through her body.

Feeling faintly ridiculous but justifying it as no different to yoga she’d been doing for years, Libby sent her energy up to the sky. And after a similar ritual swapping energy with the Sun Star, she found herself part of an unending chain. With each in-breath she sent energy from the Earth Goddess up to the Sun Star, and on her out-breath, the energy fell from the sky back through her body and down to the Earth.

A few breaths later, Libby’s feet started tingling. Had she hyperventilated? She crouched down, touching the ground, closing her eyes and taking a moment.

‘Blessed be,’ she whispered.

Well, that was weird. She studied her feet, all fine now. Actually, she felt fine too, but then meditative breathing had always relaxed her. The Earth Goddess part might be a little out-there, but then again, the good luck spell had produced some pretty awesome results.

Assuming she was suitably
grounded
, Libby sat cross-legged on the grass, in the same central spot on the lawn, and lit a red candle. Okay, ideal man traits:
good looks, 25-35, honest.

She wrote them on a torn piece of chintz wallpaper – more parchment-like than A4 notepaper, she’d decided. That should do it. She burned the list with a handful of red rose petals, tipping the cooled ashes into a small red silk pouch she’d found in Maggie’s magic box. Molten wax sealed the bag and the spell.

‘Blessed be,’ she whispered, again touching the ground.

Hyssop watched from the patio and, if she didn’t know better, she could’ve sworn he was smiling.

‘Well, this is it, Lib, as good as life gets in the countryside.’ Zoë strode across the Green, an amenable but utterly fake smile pasted to her lips. ‘Sunday afternoon watching a tribute folk band. Yee-ha.’

Grinning, Libby took off her denim jacket and tied it around her waist. ‘Oh, come on. The sun’s shining. It’ll be fun.’

‘Fun?’ Zoë raised her eyebrows. ‘
Mumford and Dad,
really?’

‘Give them a chance.’ Libby elbowed her. ‘And we might meet some hot guys...’

‘You just want to prove you don’t fancy your boss.’ Zoë’s smile turned ten times more real as Libby’s cheeks turned cerise.

‘I don’t fancy him.’

‘Liar.’

‘I just think this might be somewhere we can meet decent guys.’

‘
Decent
?’ From the rag-tag mix outside the King Alfred, the only blokes ranking over a seven were sitting with their significant others and the below sevens were clearly single for a reason. ‘You mean
nice,
don’t you?’

‘You want more blokes grabbing your boobs?’

‘Jesus, no.’ Zoë pouted. The night before, her night out with Nikki-two-ks-and-an-i, had started okay when the Kendal boys picked up the tab for dinner, but they quickly expected payment in kind. One arsehole, Adam, had sidled up behind Zoë and copped a feel of her tits. Without asking. The temptation had been to punch him in the face, but she made do with ramming a metal-tipped stiletto heel into his limited edition shell-toes. ‘Nice might be doable.’

‘Oh God.’ Libby wrapped her arms around herself. ‘Grace is working. She’ll spit in my drink.’

I’d like to see her try.
Hell would have to freeze over before Zoë would let some yokel like Grace bully Libby. ‘I’ll get the drinks. You get–’

‘Libby!’ Clara strode over, her smile huge. ‘Daze and I are child free. We’ve got pink fizz. Come and join us. We’re in the beer garden out the back. The band are just getting ready.’

Libby’s delight couldn’t be more apparent. ‘Zo?’

‘I’ll be there in a sec.’

‘Why?’ Libby’s eyes narrowed and she scanned the bar. ‘Or
who?
’

Fighting a conniving smile, Zoë glanced towards Mark #1 – Sparky. The twenty-one-year-old was way below her usual baseline, but he was the only electrician she could even get to come look at the wiring. His six-week time-frame was simply unsatisfactory.

Libby shook her head. ‘Don’t eat him alive.’

‘Never say never.’

Zoë stood for a moment as Libby all-but skipped away with Clara, waving to Sheila from next door and Lynda from the Post office. There was never any doubt Libby would make friends in the village, but Zoë had never expected her to embrace the lifestyle quite so easily. Until a couple of years ago, Libby’s world was studded with artists, models and dance megastars; she’d lived in London, Moscow and New York. Was she really happy with this provincial life?

‘Bacardi and soda,’ Zoë said to Grace, her tone tinged with aspartame, before sidling closer to Sparky. ‘How are you?’

He abandoned his chat with that old soak – Stan or someone – his gaze immediately travelling down to her cleavage. ‘You alright?’

‘I just want to say thanks for coming out so quickly the other week.’ Zoë flicked her hair back. There was no point going as far as fluttering her eye lashes – Sparky still hadn’t looked up. ‘You’re
such
a lifesaver. I can’t
wait
for the electrics to be fixed.’

‘Well, you know it’ll–’

‘I got zapped again this morning...’ It was only a tiny white lie. Libby was the one who’d stupidly plugged the iron in. ‘I’ll feel sooo much safer when they’re done.’

‘But I don’t know–’

Zoë placed her hand on his arm and let her smile grow. The boy was buff. ‘I should buy you a drink. You’ve no idea how grateful I am.’

Sparky appeared to have stopped breathing. ‘Okay...’

‘You want to watch her,’ mumbled Stan. ‘She’s a siren. Like her aunt.’

‘
Great
-aunt,’ Zoë corrected him, her hand still on Sparky’s arm. If he suspected she might actually be capable of luring him to a sticky end, he certainly didn’t show it. ‘What can I get you?’

‘Cumberland,’ he answered, his ears turning pink.

He’d so be doing the electrics in the next fortnight.

* * *

Poor Sparky. Libby wasn’t sure if she should warn him off or encourage him to sweep Zoë off her high heels. He seemed okay. Certainly a lot nicer than Zoë’s usual cohorts – Libby had yet to meet one she actually
liked
.

In front of the pub, Libby lit a cigarette and stretched out her legs, loving the gentle breeze circulating the twenty-five degree air. The walled beer garden had been as stifling as a marquee in comparison, which wasn’t helping her fuzzy head – though neither was Daisy’s refusal to let anyone’s glass remain empty for more than half a second. Libby alone must’ve drank almost a bottle.

‘Mind if I join you?’ Jack hovered in the doorway, one hand raking through his toffee brown hair.

‘No. Of course not.’
I didn’t summon you. You have a girlfriend.
‘Is Grace working tonight?’

Jack sat down, but looked away. ‘Yes.’

‘Do you two live together?’

‘Sometimes. Mostly not. It’s a bit... And she’s... Look, can we not talk about Grace?’

Okay, but at least you won’t forget she exists this time
. Libby took a long drag on her cigarette. ‘You must’ve known Maggie fairly well. What was she like?’

‘Manipulative. Cold.’ Jack glanced to the window where Zoë and Sparky were laughing. ‘Like her.’

‘Zoë’s not like that.’

‘Oh yeah? What’s she doing with Sparky?’

Libby glanced at her feet. Busted. ‘She’s not cold though.’

‘You know you’re unbelievably pretty when you blush.’

Surely he wasn’t flirting. They’d just talked about Grace. ‘Jack...’

He leant a little closer, his eyes twinkling, daring her. ‘What?’

‘Stop it.’

‘Stop what?’

‘You have a girlfriend.’

For a moment his smiled faded. ‘And if I didn’t?’

He smelled so good, so fresh, his woody aftershave drifting on the summer air. No, no, no. He wasn’t who she summoned. He couldn’t be. Libby’s skin crawled. But what if he was? He was twenty-seven, cute as a button with green eyes and was this him being honest? Had she summoned Jack? And what if summoning spells were a two way street? What if the spell worked and the Wiccan magic was tearing him away from his girlfriend and pushing Libby towards him?

Quickly, Libby took the little silk bag from her back pocket and tipped the dusty contents into the nearest plant pot, giving it back to the earth, ending the spell. She’d never willingly destroy a relationship. Never.

‘What was that?’ Jack asked.

‘Nothing.’ Libby’s cheeks burned. Like she’d admit to casting silly love spells.

‘It’s just Grace has a bag just like it. Carries it everywhere.’

Grace had a summoning pouch, why?

‘Let’s get out of here,’ he said, quietly. ‘Grab a drink at the Black Bull.’

Was he joking? Libby almost laughed, but flashed a polite smile instead as she stood up. ‘Sorry, but one night stands aren’t my kind of thing.’

‘You need to drop a few inhibitions,’ Jack said, his threatening smile and twinkling eyes making it impossible to know if he were being serious or just plain teasing her.

Either way, it had Libby slump against the wall and fold her arms defensively. Why did everyone think her such a goody-two-shoes? Was she a goody-two-shoes? Zoë wouldn’t give a second thought to a one night stand with someone like Jack.

‘I’m not inhibited,’ Libby said, her cheeks burning.

Slowly, Jack got to his feet and stepped toward her. ‘Then let’s go.’

‘What, you’re daring me? No.’ But her stupid nipples pinged into life.

‘We’ll go back to yours...’ His voice was low, his breath tickling her cheek. ‘And fuck in the hallway, up against the wall.’

Libby stared at him. The idea of shagging in the hallway, up against the wall on a one night stand with a guy who had a girlfriend appalled her. At least it should have. The reality was that it turned her on more than she’d even admit to Zoë.

A loud beeping brought her to her senses.

‘Oh, for…’ Jack checked a beeper clipped to his belt and swore. ‘It’ll be another bloody grass fire.’

Libby stared in horror. ‘You’re a fireman?’

‘I’m a fireman.’ He stood up and flashed the cheekiest grin. ‘Play your cards right, Tinker Bell, and you might get to see me in the uniform.’

He shot her a wink before sprinting off down the road.

Desire surged through her once again. A fireman? No, no, no. She’d have to perform the summoning spell again, but this time she’d be more specific with her wishes. Wait, when had she started taking this Wiccan mumbo-jumbo seriously?
Maybe the day I stood in the garden and grounded myself with the Earth Goddess and bloody Sun Star.
She had to get a grip. She watched as he disappeared around the corner. It might be mumbo-jumbo, but why did he have to be a fireman?

Slowly, she stubbed out her cigarette and turned to head back inside. Crikey, she needed a very big glass of–

Grace was standing in the window, her arms folded, her mouth set in a grim line. How much of that had she seen? Libby wanted to apologise, to set her straight, to explain that she’d never mess around with someone else’s boyfriend, but would Grace ever believe it?

Libby barely believed it herself.

* * *

‘Ah... fuck... oh shit, your arse is so fucking sexy.’

Under normal circumstances, Zoë would’ve been hard pushed not to laugh, but riding the hell out of Sparky she struggled not to mutter a few guttural expletives herself. The boy was ripped, killer abs, but without that paper bag, she’d opted for the reverse cowgirl. He hit places most blokes didn’t know existed

‘Do you want to touch my arse?’ Zoë whispered, knowing it’d trip him over the edge and sure enough, he cried out, his body bucking under her.

‘I’m coming, you horny little bitch. I’m coming, I’m coming...’

His thumb pressed into her arse, pushing her down onto his cock and Zoë had to bite back her own screams as she came. He might be totally clueless with his tongue and a girl’s clit, but in the end, Sparky wasn’t a bad lay. But what the hell was she going to do with him now? For a minute, she stayed impaled on his softening dick. Ideally she wanted him out of the house, but if she kicked him out, he might back out of rewiring the house the following week.

Gingerly, she climbed off and turned to him. ‘Sparks?’

He lay spread-eagled, eyes closed and mouth gaping. Shagged into a sex coma. Zoë couldn’t help a smug grin. He’d be doing the electrics even if she kicked him out in the morning without so much as a kiss on the cheek. Feeling unusually generous, she peeled the condom off him and dropped it in the bin on her way out of the room.

‘Is it safe to come out?’ Libby asked, poking her head round the doorway of her room.

Stifling a giggle, Zoë nodded and they fled downstairs.

‘You pulled Sparky?’ Libby asked she put the kettle on. ‘Why?’

‘He’s got a huge dick?’ Zoë offered, but she knew what Libby was getting at.

‘Please tell me you didn’t shag him just so he’d do the electrics sooner rather than later.’

‘Okay.’ Zoë lit a cigarette. ‘I didn’t shag him just so he’d do the electrics sooner rather than later.’

Libby raised her eyebrows. ‘Really?’

‘But he’s rewiring the place next week.’

‘Zo...’

‘What? It wasn’t exactly a one-way deal. He had a lot of fun.’

‘I heard.’ Libby looked up at the ceiling. ‘
I’m coming, I’m coming, you horny little bitch.
’

Unable to keep straight faces, they both fell apart, laughing until tears rolled down their cheeks and hissing at each other to shut up. The last thing they wanted was for Sparky to wake up.

‘What happened after I left?’ Libby asked more soberly.

‘Grace and Jack had a fight. He stropped off to the Black Bull.’

Libby groaned, holding her head in her hands. ‘How on earth have I wrecked their relationship? All I ever did was say hi to the guy.’

‘At least the spell’s working for you.’

‘Spell? What spell?’

‘The one on the house,’ Zoë replied, surprised by Libby’s defensive tone. ‘You fancy Jack – oh, yes you do – and he tries it on. Your boss is offering you wine on a daily basis. Hell, even Paolo still rings once a week, don’t think I haven’t heard you talking to him. I’d hoped it might work for me too.’

‘Er... Sparky.’