The Language of Spells (6 page)

‘It’s so hard to get the backs to turn, I wonder why.’ Imogen lifted her head and squinted at Katie. ‘You should start on them now.’

‘The fronts of mine haven’t changed yet. I don’t think I’ve got the kind of skin that goes brown.’ Katie looked at the smooth golden skin on Imogen’s wrists, then closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall.

‘We need baby oil. That’s what Leila uses,’ Imogen said. ‘Speeds up the tanning process.’ Leila was Imogen’s older sister. At sixteen, she was the fount of all Katie and Imogen’s knowledge regarding beauty tips, boys and sex.

‘Like basting a chicken,’ Katie offered.

‘Yuck. You’re gross.’ Imogen sat up cross-legged and began re-tying the sparkly black scarf around her neck. ‘Don’t you have Italian blood? You should tan in, like, two seconds.’

‘I take after my dad.’ Katie’s father had strawberry-blond hair, wide shoulders and a goofy smile. She hoped her colouring was their only similarity. ‘We shouldn’t be doing this, anyway.’ Katie said. ‘Sunbathing gives you cancer.’

‘Not in November. And we’re too young to get cancer, anyway,’ Imogen said, her voice full of certainty.

This was one of the things Katie liked best about Imogen. She was so pleasingly definite.

‘If they don’t turn in a week or so, I’d go for some fake tan, though. Otherwise you’ll have milk bottle legs.’

‘Can’t afford any.’ Katie said this automatically and felt a funny itch behind her left ear. She shook her head to dislodge the feeling. Truth was, she didn’t want to use fake tan. It had become bound up in her mind with girls-who-should-know-better and cheap clothes. Probably from her mum, who had a less pleasing kind of certainty.

‘You could get your aunt to magic you brown.’

This was something Katie liked less about Imogen. Her inability to leave a subject alone. She peered at Imogen’s exposed knees. ‘It might be the goose bumps, but that mole looks funny.’

‘Shut up,’ Imogen said, but she sat up and tugged her skirt a little lower. ‘So. What’s she like, anyway? My mum says she was a complete mental case at school.’

‘Boy alert,’ Katie said. She’d been trying to distract Imogen but, on second glance, she realised that the pack of boys crossing the yard contained the delicious form of Luke Taylor. Katie felt the familiar dipping sensation in her stomach.

Imogen followed her gaze. ‘Yum,’ she said. ‘I usually prefer older men, but even I have to admit that Luke is a Class-A hottie.’

‘I do have excellent taste,’ Katie said. ‘Now I just need him to realise I exist.’

‘You will,’ Imogen said. ‘And then he’ll fall for your extreme cuteness. And you and Luke can double-date with me and Gavin. It’ll be perfect.’

Katie smiled. It was a nice fantasy.

Having spent the previous two days cleaning and moving bin bags around End House, Gwen had a touch of cabin fever. She also had to face the horrifying truth: she couldn’t ignore her business any longer. Gwen didn’t want to parcel up the customer’s order. She didn’t want to look at the last shadow box that she’d made, and she certainly didn’t want to remember how hopeful she’d been when she made it, before the final demands piled up and her eviction notice arrived like the Grim Reaper, but she didn’t have a choice. Curious Notions might’ve been as-good-as bankrupt, but she wasn’t going to let a customer down. The shadow box was a rare commission and the woman had wanted ‘something about love’ for a wedding anniversary. Gwen had created a miniature apothecary shop with rows of tiny bottles and jars. You needed a magnifying glass to read the labels, but there was ‘tincture of true love’ and ‘heart’s desire’ in amongst the foot powder and cough mixture.

Gwen was filing off the back edge of the box, making sure it was perfectly smooth, when a familiar figure appeared at the back door.

‘I’m going out,’ Gwen said, standing up. ‘Sorry.’

Lily stepped into the kitchen anyway, her smile as bright as ever. She ran one hand protectively over the Formica worktop as she looked around the room, seeming to take every detail in. ‘Everything okay?’

‘Fine.’ Gwen put down her file.

‘What’s that?’ Lily peered at the shadow box.

Gwen wanted to say ‘my art’, but didn’t want to sound like a pretentious twat. ‘It’s kind of an assemblage thing,’ she said. ‘It’s what I do. For money.’
Kind of
.

‘What’s it for?’ Lily leaned over, her nose almost touching the Perspex front of the box.

‘Nothing. It’s just a decoration.’

‘Oh.’ Lily straightened up. ‘How much do you charge?’

Gwen blinked. ‘Sixty-five pounds. This one’s more because it was commissioned.’

‘Nice little earner.’ Lily gave her an approving nod.

‘Not really,’ Gwen said. The apothecary shop had taken over sixteen hours to make and the miniature till was an antique that had cost ten pounds. Gwen had a sudden flash of fury at herself. No wonder she was broke. What was
wrong
with her? The new-yoga-obsessed Ruby would probably say that her chakras were unaligned or something.

She put tissue paper over the box, added a ‘thank you for your purchase’ card and began folding layers of bubble wrap.

Still Lily lingered.

‘I’m going into town to post this,’ Gwen tried.

‘That’s fine,’ Lily said. ‘I’ll come with you. I can show you around.’

Gwen knew that she should explain that she used to live in the town and that she probably knew it as well as Lily did, but the words remained stuck in her throat.

She hoisted her bag onto her shoulder and locked up the house.

‘Iris never locked her back door,’ Lily observed.

‘That was very silly of her,’ Gwen said.

Lily laughed her unnatural tinkle. ‘I keep forgetting you’re a city type. You don’t know what it’s like in Pendleford; we all look out for one another here.’

Fed up, Gwen snapped, ‘I suppose there’s no crime at all, then? If I buy the paper, it’ll be completely blank.’

Lily looked away, but she didn’t say anything. They walked past the frost-touched hedgerows in silence, reaching the end of the track and joined what probably counted as a main road in Pendleford.

‘You have a lovely garden,’ Gwen said as they passed it. A peace offering.

‘Not as big as yours.’ Lily’s voice had real bitterness in it, but a moment later she said brightly, ‘Have you looked at the town bridge yet?’

‘I’ve driven over it,’ Gwen said, adding silently:
And, a lifetime ago, I snogged Cameron Laing underneath it.

Lily slid her a sideways look. ‘But have you really looked at it?’

‘Why?’

‘You’ll see,’ Lily said with satisfaction.

Gwen breathed in, enjoying the crisp autumnal air, the sunlight that lit the trees into beacons of flame. Within minutes, the roads narrowed and they entered the town centre. ‘Some of the buildings are medieval – like the Tithe Barn,’ Lily said, pointing down a side street. ‘That’s a big attraction.’

A queue of cars inched slowly down Silver Street, spoiling the olde worlde effect somewhat.

Lily saw Gwen looking and said, ‘We weren’t built for cars, that’s for sure.’ She spoke as if the town were alive.

‘Mmm.’ Having walked down the winding street, balancing on the cobbles and narrowly avoiding pitching into a silver sedan, Gwen stopped outside a small shop called The Crystal Cave. It was filled with crystal balls, decks of tarot cards, and a tabby cat. It was the kind of place Gloria loved to browse in for hours and she breathed in, half-expecting the scent of incense to permeate the street.

‘It’s for the tourists,’ Lily sniffed. ‘Wiltshire is known for its ancient stones, ley lines and mystical energy.’

Gwen didn’t ask what a fake crystal ball had to do with a prehistoric stone circle.

‘It’s silly really,’ Lily said.

Gwen hadn’t been paying proper attention, but now she realised that Lily was watching her carefully. ‘Silly,’ she said, hoping that agreeing with Lily would make her stop staring at her in that unnerving way. She added, ‘Harmless, though.’

‘One woman’s cupcake is another’s shit sandwich,’ Lily replied.

‘Pardon?’

Lily gave her a calculating look. ‘That’s what your aunt always said. She said it was impossible to do no harm. One hungry family’s roast dinner is the sad demise of a chicken.’

‘Right.’

‘She was full of them. Said everything was a war and that there could only be one winner.’

The cold air was making Gwen’s nose run and she pulled out a tissue. She was getting the creeping sensation that she might not have liked her aunt very much. Question was: should that make her feel more or less guilty about inheriting from her?

‘Look…’ Lily pointed down the street. ‘There’s the roundhouse.’

At one end of the bridge was a round stone structure. Its shape was a cross between a minaret and a beehive and there was an ornately carved fish mounted on the roof.

‘The bridge is thirteenth century, but the roundhouse was added in the eighteenth. It was used as a lock-up for drunkards and criminals.’

‘There’s a fish on the roof,’ Gwen said. She was working on automatic pilot, her voice handling conversation while her brain concentrated on ignoring the river rushing under the bridge.

Lily nodded. ‘A gudgeon. Round here we still say “over the water and under the fish” when we mean in jail.’

‘That’s colourful.’

‘Oh yes. We’ve got colour coming out of our arses round here,’ Lily said and walked onwards, her heels clicking on the pavement.

Gwen stamped down on her rising panic. She’d spent so long squashing all thoughts of Stephen Knight that she wasn’t prepared for the assault of memories. He’d been a funny-looking boy. One of those awkward teens that look both younger and older than their age all at once. A baby face that somehow carried the gruff, sun-burned features of his farming parents at the same time. Until they fished him out of the river, of course. Then he’d looked exactly, tragically, his sixteen years.

They reached the main shopping street. A steeply sloping affair, lined with self-consciously pretty painted wooden fronts and chichi window displays. It was all much more upmarket than Gwen remembered.

‘What do you need to do?’ Lily was showing no signs of leaving and Gwen couldn’t think of a polite way to extricate herself.

‘Um. Post office?’

‘At the bottom of the road, turn left. It’s next to the Co-op.’

Lily paused, a sly look flashed across her face and then disappeared. ‘You should go and see the green. It’s a little further along the river.’

‘Okay.’

‘And the Red Lion does bar meals if you fancy a bite.’

‘Thanks.’ Gwen shifted her weight, preparing to walk away.

‘It’s haunted, mind, but I’m sure that won’t bother you.’

Gwen forced a laugh. ‘I don’t believe in ghosts.’

‘Quite right. It’s probably dreamed up as a lure for the tourists.’

Despite herself, Gwen asked, ‘What is?’

‘Ghost of Jane Morely. She was tried as a witch on the green outside the pub.’

Lily’s stare had become disturbingly intense and Gwen decided the best policy was a polite smile.

‘It’s in the town records if you don’t believe me. She was executed in 1675. They strangled her and burned her.’

‘Better than the other way around, I suppose.’

Lily looked at her sharply. ‘I would prefer neither, myself.’

‘Well, yes,’ Gwen stumbled. How did she end up in a conversation about preferred methods of execution? ‘Obviously.’ She stepped aside to let a woman laden with shopping bags pass. The woman stopped, turned, and retraced her steps. ‘Excuse me? Aren’t you Gwen Harper?’

‘Um. Yes.’

‘You’ve just moved into the big house, haven’t you?’

‘Sorry?’ Gwen felt panicky, as if she were in the middle of an exam that she hadn’t revised for.

‘Off Bath Road? End House, is it?’ The woman had a thoroughly freckled face topped with a teal beret.

‘Yes.’

‘I’m Amanda. I’m in number twelve on the main road. We’re neighbours.’ She shifted her clutch of carrier bags from one hand to the other. ‘I’m so sorry we haven’t been by to welcome you. We’ve all had the sickness bug that’s going around.’

‘Oh don’t worry,’ Gwen said. Then there was a pause, so she added, ‘It’s fine.’

After another, lengthening, silence, Gwen realised that Amanda was waiting for something. With a flash of understanding, Gwen dragged up the words, ‘You’re very welcome to pop by any time. Come for tea.’

Amanda smiled. People were too happy in this place. It was unnerving.

‘You don’t remember me, do you?’

Gwen stared at Amanda’s wide grey eyes and freckled skin, something tickling the back of her mind, and then it came to her. ‘Biology,’ she said, just as Amanda said, ‘We were in sixth form together.’

‘God. I’m sorry. It’s been ages. How are you?’ Gwen was struggling to reconcile this slightly matronly-looking woman with the sullen teenager she only vaguely remembered. Biology, like most of her classes, was a bit of a blur. She’d been dreaming her way through her A levels, thinking only about Cam and when she was next seeing him. Your basic teenage cliché, she now realised.

Lily stood frozen, her face a mask.

‘I’m sorry,’ Gwen said, gesturing. ‘Amanda, this is Lily.’

‘Oh, we know each other,’ Amanda said dismissively. She put down her shopping bags and stretched her fingers. She had purple gloves on with an extra pair of fingerless woollen ones over the top.

‘You didn’t tell me you used to live here,’ Lily said, her voice tight.

‘Yes.’ Gwen turned to Lily. ‘For a while. A long time ago.’

‘How long?’ Lily said, her gaze unnervingly intense. ‘You went to school here?’

‘We moved onto Newfield Road when I was ten. But I haven’t been back for ages. Not since sixth form, actually.’ She forced a laugh. ‘It feels like a different life.’

‘You let me go on like a fool, showing you around. Telling you things.’ Bright spots of colour appeared on Lily’s cheeks. ‘You didn’t say you knew Pendleford, that you used to
live
here.’ Lily was almost stuttering in her horror. ‘I feel like an idiot. You let me go on—’

‘No, I liked it,’ Gwen said, trying to make it better. ‘It’s all so different. It was useful. Really.’

Amanda laughed. ‘Pendleford? Changed? Not likely.’

Gwen shot her a look that said:
not helping
.

‘Well, I assume you can find your way from here,’ Lily said, furious embarrassment clear on her face. ‘I’ll leave you in peace.’

Gwen watched her walk away, her back perfectly straight, her highlighted helmet of blonde hair hardly moving. ‘Damn it,’ she said under her breath.
Way to make nice with the neighbours, Gwen.

‘Are you renovating the house?’ Amanda asked, oblivious. ‘I know a great builder if you need one.’ She looked self-conscious for a moment. ‘I suppose I would say that. He’s my husband, you see, but he’s very good.’

‘I’m sure.’

‘Ask anyone.’

‘I’m not really planning—’

‘He can get references. Written ones.’

‘I’ve only just moved in and I haven’t worked out what I’m doing yet—’

‘Reputation is everything round here, so you can rely on a local.’

Gwen gave up. ‘I’ll bear him in mind. Thanks.’

‘Well, I’d best get on.’ Amanda stooped to retrieve her bags.

‘Right. Will do. I’m just—’ Gwen waved in the general direction she was heading. ‘I think I’ll get some lunch and wait for the post office to open.’

‘He won’t be back till one.’

‘Right. Thanks.’

‘You want some advice?’ Amanda leaned in. ‘Avoid the Red Lion.’

‘Bad food?’

Amanda sniffed. ‘Bloody unfriendly.’

Gwen watched the bulky figure of Amanda retreat up the twisty street and then turned resolutely in the direction of the pub. Unfriendly sounded perfect. She could cope with the ghosts if nobody living spoke to her for the next half an hour.

Gwen finished a ploughman’s lunch and half a lager and read the newspaper. She was feeling a great deal warmer towards the town. The pub was the kind she liked. It had traditional decor with a few old photographs and horse brasses on the walls, scarred wooden tables and benches and an open fire in the front room.

She’d even enjoyed the surly service from the barman; it made her feel more comfortable than anything else in Pendleford so far. It felt somehow more honest, which was probably a sad reflection on her life so far.

Gwen left her plate and glass on the bar on her way past. The barman rewarded her with an almost-smile. The front room had filled up in the time she’d been eating, but Gwen noticed Cam right away. He was eating alone, a paperback book splayed open next to his plate.

Gwen hesitated. She wanted to walk straight past, but if he looked up she didn’t want to get caught ignoring him. So he hated her. So what? She swallowed, feeling sick. If she was serious about staying in this town, she was going to have to get used to seeing him. She straightened her shoulders and tried to arrange her face into a relaxed expression.