The Language of Spells (19 page)

Cam frowned. ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

‘You told me about it, but I didn’t know if I was going or whether your father even knew I existed or what.’

‘I don’t see—’

‘Your mother called me beforehand. To make sure I wasn’t attending. She also told me I was no good for you.’

Cam smiled a little. ‘That sounds like her. She didn’t mean it; she’s just very—’

‘She said that I was holding you back, that if I cared for you even a little bit, I should leave.’

Cam stopped smiling.

‘She said I was going to ruin your career and your life.’

‘And you just left.’ Cam’s face was hard, his expression a closed door.

‘I was eighteen. She’s pretty scary.’ Gwen knew that was a cop out. She’d been eighteen years old, not eight.

‘But you didn’t say anything.’

Gwen chose her words carefully. ‘Things weren’t brilliant with you and your parents. I didn’t want to make things worse and, besides, I thought she was probably right.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘I was never going to fit into that world.’

‘I didn’t ask you to.’ Cam ran his hands through his hair, visibly annoyed.

‘No.’

There was a pause that lengthened into a silence. Gwen waited, hoping he would say something else. Something about how he’d been wrong, how he should’ve formally introduced her to his parents, how he should’ve shown her that he was proud to be with her. That he hadn’t been ashamed of dating that ‘crazy Harper girl’.

They looked at each other for a beat longer, then Gwen left. She closed the door carefully behind her, making sure it didn’t slam, and made it out to the pavement before the tears spilled onto her cheeks.

I’m so angry with her. How can she lie to people? Telling them what they want to hear and charging them for the privilege. It’s immoral. I raised her better than that. She’s changed. She says she has no choice and it’s for the sake of the girls, but she’s doing no better than I did there. Ruby’s expecting. It’s not common knowledge, but it will be soon. If only she’d come to me, I could’ve given her something to take care of that little situation. Too late now. I had one of my urges. I had to give her a nail, probably because of the iron. Couldn’t do anything else until I’d delivered it. I left it for her outside the house because I’m not allowed in.

Gwen felt grateful for the first time in her life that her gift was finding lost things and not something else. Iris’s compulsion to give people what they needed sounded awful. Especially when she wasn’t even allowed to see the person to explain. Gwen knew what the ache of finding was like; it consumed her until it was done. What if Ruby had never found that nail lying outside her house; what if Iris had always felt that incompleted task, like something sharp digging into her skin?

Gwen stared at the open journal and, on a whim, ripped out the page with that entry. It was about Ruby, not her. If she could persuade Ruby to read it, maybe she’d feel a little differently about Iris. After all, it showed that she’d cared. She’d known that Ruby had pregnancy-related anaemia and, in her own slightly nutty way, had tried to help.

The next page in the journal had a recipe for fruit cake. She ripped that out too, and tucked it into one of the blank notebooks that Iris seemed to have bought in bulk. Then she started to go through the rest of the journal systematically, clipping out anything that featured Ruby and adding it to the pile. She wasn’t Iris. She wasn’t going to hex Ruby into changing her opinions, but perhaps she could open her mind with a little family history.

The phone beeped as she began sticking the fragments into a new notebook. She held her breath until she saw that it wasn’t from Cam. It was Katie. She swallowed her disappointment and replied that Katie was very welcome to visit after school. She put the phone down and carried on sticking. There was a peculiar thickness in the air around her. ‘You left everything to me, Iris,’ she said out loud. ‘This feels like the right thing to do.’ Feeling only marginally foolish, she turned up the volume on the stereo and wrote ‘Ruby’ on the front of the notebook in different coloured pens.

Gwen was just sticking the last entry down when a sound in the hallway almost gave her heart failure. ‘You’ve got to be kidding me,’ Gwen said when Marilyn Dixon walked in.

‘The door was open.’ Marilyn didn’t look even slightly abashed.

‘No, it wasn’t,’ Gwen said. ‘I bet you wouldn’t have just walked in on Iris.’

Marilyn wrinkled her nose. ‘It smells of glue in here. And isn’t it a bit early for Christmas music?’

‘That’s The Supremes,’ Gwen said. She flipped the notebook shut.

‘Brian’s gone,’ Marilyn said, sinking onto the floor. ‘He says he doesn’t love me any more.’

‘Oh, Christ. I’m sorry.’ Gwen wiped the glue on her hands onto her jeans.

Marilyn looked up at Gwen. ‘Please help me.’

‘I don’t think there’s anything—’

‘I know you sorted him out before. You can do it again.’

Gwen sat cross-legged next to Marilyn. ‘Brian was acting under the influence of some bad advice. Some advice that was very compelling and I broke the … Well, it was like he was hypnotized …’ Gwen trailed off.

‘That witch put him under some kind of spell, I know,’ Marilyn said.

‘Who do you mean? Who did you go and see?’

Marilyn looked defensive. ‘Well, you wouldn’t help.’

Gwen closed her eyes.
The frustrated witch. The phantasms. Her interest in Iris’s notebooks. Lily Thomas.

‘Lily Thomas,’ Marilyn said, confirming Gwen’s thoughts. ‘And you stopped it.’ She grabbed Gwen’s knee and squeezed it hard. ‘I want you to do the same again. Please. He says he’s leaving everything behind. He’s handed in his notice and bought a round-the-world ticket. He says he’s going backpacking.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Gwen said again.

‘Backpacking! He complained about carrying the shopping.’

‘I don’t think there’s anything I can do.’

‘But you can’t just meddle in people’s lives, you know.’ Marilyn balled her hands into fists. ‘It isn’t fair.’

‘Isn’t that what you’re asking me to do now?’

‘I’m asking you to fix it. I want things back the way they were.’

‘Do you?’ Gwen said. Iris had been quite eloquent on the subject of Marilyn and Brian’s marriage.

Marilyn hesitated. ‘I made a promise on my wedding day.’

‘As did he, presumably,’ Gwen said, as gently as she could manage.

‘I’m not just going to throw it away. All those years. Oh God.’ Marilyn put her hands over her face. ‘I’m too old. I can’t start again. I can’t.’

‘Just imagine for a second that you could. What would you do? Where would you live?’

‘I’d stay here; my mother’s nearby. My friends.’

‘Okay,’ Gwen said, trying to be encouraging. ‘And what would you do? What do you enjoy doing or wish you did more of?’

Marilyn took her hands away from her face and looked at Gwen. ‘I’d like to learn about plants and stuff.’

‘Gardening?’

‘No, like Iris.’

Gwen got to her feet. ‘Well, I can help you there.’ She went to the bookcase and pulled out Iris’s volumes on herbalism. ‘Take these.’

‘I was going to do a course in aromatherapy once. At the college. But Brian said it was a waste of time.’

‘There you go, then,’ Gwen said. ‘Now’s your chance.’

Marilyn pulled out a tissue from her sleeve and blew her nose. ‘You really think I can do this?’

‘Yes,’ Gwen said with more conviction than she felt. ‘You can do anything you want.’

Marilyn got up to leave. ‘You’re being very nice today.’

‘I’m always nice,’ Gwen said. ‘I’m a nice person.’

‘Mmm. This was on your mat.’ She pulled an envelope from her coat pocket. ‘Doesn’t look like it’s been posted.’

Gwen glanced at the plain white envelope, then hustled Marilyn out of the house.

Once she was alone, Gwen slit the envelope.
Please be from Cam. Please be from Cam.

It wasn’t.

Gwen read the contents with a sense of disbelief. She paced the room a few times, weighing up her options. Then read the letter again. She could either apply for legal aid and hope it came through some time in the next six months, conjure some cash out of thin air to pay somebody, or she could ask Cam. Her stomach swooped as she pictured his horrified expression. He thought she was a lunatic.

Gwen paced through the downstairs of the house, going round in circles in her mind. So, he’d never want a relationship, that didn’t mean he couldn’t be a friend. She knew that she couldn’t feel any worse about him than she already did. She was at rock bottom. She picked up the phone to make an appointment with Cam.

At two o’clock the next afternoon, Gwen arrived at Laing & Sons. He’d squeezed her in on short notice, so she ought to be grateful, but looking around at the oak panelling, the leather desk chair and the tastefully worn oriental rug, she felt nauseous instead. It was the mirror image of his grandfather’s office; the one she’d sat in on her last visit to the firm. It smelled of cigar smoke, leather and paper, and looked like it had been outfitted by a set designer with no imagination. And it still had more warmth than Cam’s flat.

‘Drink?’ Cam opened a cabinet and revealed an impressive range of bottles.

‘Um…’ Gwen hesitated. Mixing proximity to Cameron Laing with hard alcohol might have disastrous consequences. She needed to keep a clear head. And control the wild hope that had begun fluttering the moment she’d seen his face. The hope that maybe he’d come to terms with magic. Her magic.

He leaned down and opened another anonymous wooden door. There was a small fridge and ice compartment. Gwen glimpsed juice, cola and bottled water.

‘Water, please.’

Cam passed her a bottle with a professional smile and Gwen felt it like a slap.

The light brush of his fingers as she took the water still sent a bolt of electricity up her arm though.

Stupid hope
.

He retreated back to his chair, looking instantly more serious behind the imposing desk. She guessed that was the idea.

‘I brought the letter. Hang on.’ She dug in her messenger bag and retrieved the evil A4 envelope, pushing it across the smooth surface of the desk like it was radioactive.

‘I’ve got five minutes.’ Cam opened out the paperwork and began reading.

Gwen unscrewed the water bottle and wandered around the room, sipping from it and trying not to look impatient. The pictures on the walls were dark oil paintings. They were traditional, representative work – the kind of thing that couldn’t offend anybody, but still exuded a certain strength.

‘Right,’ Cam said after a surprisingly short length of time. ‘This is fine. Nothing to worry about.’

‘Really?’ Gwen crossed the room to Cam’s chair and perched on the desk. She didn’t feel that Christopher Brewer threatening to sue her for defamation of character was ‘nothing to worry about’. Especially when she’d only told Helen the truth. Christopher had terrorised the family dog, and he deserved whatever consequences his mother had dished out.

‘Yes. It’s a nuisance suit.’

‘That’s easy for you to say. It’s not like he took my parking space.’

Cam smiled briefly. ‘That would be far worse in this town. This is the kind of thing that is meant to annoy. The solicitor who drafted this letter knows it, but—’ He broke off. ‘Could you not do that?’

‘What?’

‘Sit on my desk. It’s antique.’

‘Right.’ Gwen stood up and circled back to the client side of the desk. ‘Is this better?’

‘Thank you.’ Cam looked marginally happier now that a tree’s-worth of wood was separating them. ‘I’m sorry to be uptight, but it’s my dad’s desk.’

‘No worries. This is better anyway,’ Gwen lied, sitting in the client chair a long, long away from Cam.

‘Right.’ He still looked distracted for a moment, but then snapped back to the matter in hand. ‘The complaint is slander and the witness to the slander is a family member of the plaintiff.’

‘But slander is if you say something that isn’t true. I didn’t do that.’

‘That’s a matter of opinion.’

‘Isn’t everything?’

‘It’s immaterial here. The point is that he would have to prove that what you said wasn’t true and I don’t see how he can prove what a dog did or didn’t think.’ Cam laughed without humour. ‘Like I said, nuisance suit.’ He shoved the papers back into the envelope with brisk efficiency. Gwen felt like a real client, being hustled out of the door as her time ran out. She realised a moment after she’d done it that she was standing.

The door swung open. ‘Your one o’clock is here.’ The trim secretary made no attempt to hide her curiosity as she looked at Gwen. ‘Shall I tell them you’re running late?’

‘No, we’re done here, thank you,’ Cam said. He was opening a new folder and didn’t look up.

‘Right,’ Gwen said. ‘Bye, then.’

‘I’ll call you,’ he said.

‘Fine,’ Gwen said, suddenly furious. It was probably irrational, but she couldn’t help herself. ‘Don’t go to any trouble.’ She marched out of the office, unable to slam the door in a satisfying manner because his secretary was standing in the way.

Gwen went straight from Cam’s office to the Red Lion. She had never been so happy to see Bob. ‘I need a drink.’

‘Care to be specific?’ Bob paused in the act of wiping down the bar with a cloth.

‘Sorry. Yes. Beer. No, lager. No, wine.’

‘I’ll get you a Becks. It’s on offer.’

Gwen picked up the frosty green bottle and took a long drink.

Bob eyed her. ‘You want something to eat with that?’

‘No. Yes. Maybe.’

Bob heaved a put-upon sigh. ‘I’ll get you a sandwich. Don’t want you keeling over.’

‘It’s one beer, Bob. I’m not a child.’ Or a teenager, she thought, the crossness back in force.

Bob shrugged. ‘You look tired, that’s all.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Gwen put out a hand, touched Bob’s arm before he could walk away. ‘I’m being grumpy. I’m really sorry.’ And then, to her complete mortification, she felt tears in her eyes.

‘I’ll get you a cheese and ham toastie,’ Bob said quickly and beat a hasty retreat.

‘Damn it,’ Gwen said, feeling like an idiot.

‘You think you’ve got problems,’ said a familiar voice.

Gwen swivelled on the bar stool and came face-to-face with Harry. She addressed his forehead, willing herself not to get tearful again: ‘I’m not having the best day, no.’

‘Bob! I’m getting a beer.’ Harry lifted the hatch and walked behind the bar. ‘This whole town’s gone mental. I’ve had Marilyn Dixon asking me to handcuff her husband, the ice cream people are having an out-and-out war and it’s five months before the season even starts, and then Christopher Brewer tried to—’ He broke off abruptly and suddenly became very busy with pulling his pint.

‘Christopher Brewer wanted you to arrest me,’ Gwen said flatly. ‘It figures.’

Harry shrugged. ‘I’m not going to, if that’s any consolation.’

‘I’ll drink to that,’ Gwen said, clinking her bottle against his glass. ‘He’s suing me, too. Covering all bases.’

Harry ducked back to the punters’ side of the bar and leaned on it, next to Gwen. Despite slumping and Gwen’s high stool, he was still taller than her. If you didn’t know what a sweetheart he was, he’d be imposing. Probably came in handy in his line of work.

‘So, what’s up with you?’ Harry said.

‘You mean apart from my position as most hated person in Pendleford?’

Harry grinned. ‘It’s not that bad.’

‘Want to bet?’ Gwen paused. She wanted to say:
and Cam is being an uptight arsehole and he really hurt my feelings and I’m frightened that he is never going to remember how to be a human being,
but Harry was Cam’s best friend. It would be indiscreet.

As if reading her mind, Harry said, ‘And how’s Mr Stiff Upper Lip?’

‘Cam? He’s fine.’ Gwen tried to make her voice sound normal.