The Language of Spells (31 page)

Cam looked sideways at her. ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’

‘Bit nervous,’ Gwen said. ‘I’m making a statement. What if nobody likes it?’

‘Ah, but you come with the Laing seal of approval. They wouldn’t dare to not like it.’ Cam pointed to his chest. ‘Master of the Universe, remember?’

‘How could I forget?’ Gwen smiled, some of the tension leaching away. As they reached the beginning of the bridge, Cam veered off course. He tugged Gwen’s hand gently and guided her down the slope towards the river.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Old time’s sake. Humour me?’ In the dark of the bridge, Cam leaned against the stonework and pulled Gwen close. He kissed her thoroughly until her breath was gone and her remaining nerves had been chased out by lust. She buried her head in his neck and breathed deeply. He smelled of Cam: soap and deodorant and warmly delicious man.

‘I hope this fire thing isn’t going to take long,’ Cam said, his voice husky, and kissed her again.

‘We could just go home?’ Gwen managed, breathing heavily herself.

‘Don’t tempt me,’ Cam said. ‘Come on.’ He helped her back up the hill to the street. ‘Sooner we get there, sooner we can go home to bed.’

‘That’s the spirit,’ Gwen said. Then she caught sight of the green. There were thirty or forty people already there. They were bundled up in coats and scarves, some holding cardboard coffee cups, some with torches. As they got closer, Gwen recognised faces and people waved and nodded to her.

Bob was in the middle, poking the glowing centre of a metal brazier with a stick. The firelight lit the underside of his chin, making him look demonic.

‘All right, Gwennie.’ Bob slung an arm around her shoulders. He nodded to Cam. ‘Mate.’

‘I didn’t think anybody would come,’ Gwen said, gazing at the green in wonder. She put down her carrier bags and rubbed her hands where the handles had cut into her palms.

Bob looked embarrassed. ‘I put a sign up in the pub. Free hot dogs.’

‘That was very kind of you,’ Gwen said, not at all sure it was.

The crowd had fallen silent. There was a shuffling of feet and then a small child said, ‘When are the fireworks?’

Gwen turned to face the group. She tried not to think about the green, the site of the murder of Jane Morely. This wasn’t a witch trial. This was an exorcism.

‘What’s in the books?’ a voice from the back shouted.

‘Secrets,’ Gwen said. Her voice sounded weak and she swallowed, trying to get some lubrication in her dry throat.

Cam squeezed her hand and she stepped forwards, straightening her back. ‘Thank you all for coming. As many of you know, I am Iris Harper’s great-niece. I inherited her house and everything inside it.’ Gwen looked around, trying to speak to everyone. She gestured to the bags. ‘These diaries and notebooks cover Iris’s life in Pendleford. She wrote about the things she did, the people she helped and, sometimes, about the things that people told her.’

There was a murmuring in the crowd. Gwen caught sight of Patrick Allen, standing off to the right of the group, his arms tightly folded.

‘I wanted to honour Iris’s contribution to the community. I think that she was always here for the people of Pendleford. She wasn’t always nice—’

The murmur turned to gentle laughter and someone called out, ‘You got that right.’

Gwen smiled in the direction of the voice and continued, ‘But she always helped if she could. She lived alone, but I like to think that she considered all of you – and your parents and grandparents – her family.’

Gwen ignored the sceptical faces. If Cam was right, everything could be spun. It was all in the way you presented the facts. ‘When Iris left me her notebooks, I don’t think she intended for me to read them. There are secrets in these books, confidences whispered to her in times of need. I think she intended me to protect them and, by extension, to protect all of you.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I’ve decided that the best way to do that is to destroy them.’ Gwen motioned to Cam, who picked up a bag and tipped it directly into the brazier.

There was a communal intake of breath as the flames leaped and a shower of sparks flew up to the sky. Someone said, ‘Ooh.’

‘I think the best way to honour my aunt and everyone in Pendleford is by starting afresh,’ Gwen said. ‘Thank you.’

There was a moment of silence and then Helen Brewer stepped forward and began clapping. There was a smattering of applause which abruptly grew in size when Bob appeared with a tray of hot dogs.

Gwen stepped back towards Cam and helped him empty another bag of books onto the fire.

A figure shuffled over. ‘I hope your fruit cake recipe isn’t in that lot.’ Fred Byres gestured mournfully to the remaining carrier bags.

‘Wouldn’t matter,’ Gwen said cheerfully. ‘I’ve committed it to memory. You won’t go without while I’m around.’

Fred gave her a sweet, shy smile that made him look twenty years younger. ‘You’re a good girl. I’m going to tell everyone at the seniors club about you.’

Mercifully, Reg called Fred over for some food, so Gwen was saved from kicking him in the ankle.

Harry appeared. ‘Evening, all.’ He looked at Gwen nervously. ‘Are you still speaking to me?’

‘What’s a little near-arrest between friends?’ Gwen said. She gave Harry what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

Harry looked like he might cry, so Gwen quickly changed the subject. ‘What do you think?’ She gestured to the fire. ‘Censorship is alive and well.’

Harry opened his mouth but Cam was back, stuffing empty carrier bags into his coat pocket.

‘Where were you today?’ Cam said. ‘I missed you at lunch.’

‘Um..’ Harry looked embarrassed. ‘Busy. You know. Work.’

‘Do you want to come back to mine for dinner, Harry?’ Gwen said. ‘We’ve got plenty.’ She looked at Cam, who nodded.

‘Well—’ Harry hesitated.

‘And there’s cake. And wine.’

Harry hesitated. ‘I need to make a phone call.’

‘Invite her, too.’ Gwen smiled sweetly.

‘What?’ Harry said, his face suddenly wary.

‘Your mystery friend. She’s invited for dinner, too.’ Gwen paused. ‘Or he’s invited. If it’s a—’

‘It’s a woman.’ Harry’s face had gone pale, except for two bright spots of red on his cheeks.

‘What mystery friend?’ Cam said.

‘Honestly,’ Gwen said, enjoying herself enormously, ‘I would’ve thought a lawyer would show better attention to detail. The woman Harry has been seeing. It’s about time we met her, I think.’

‘Since when?’ Cam looked at Harry in amazement.

‘I am allowed, you know,’ Harry shot back. ‘I’m police. It’s not like the priesthood.’

Cam’s mouth hung open. ‘I know that,’ he said finally. ‘I just thought you would’ve mentioned it.’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ Gwen said. ‘You two are as bad as each other. Hug it out or something.’

Harry and Cam looked at Gwen with mutual confusion. ‘How did you know?’

Gwen fixed them with a witchy smile and said, ‘I know everything.’

‘Gwen!’ Ruby rushed across the grass, towing a pink-nosed Katie by the hand. David followed, looking bemused. Gwen pulled Katie in for a hug, not caring if she was offending her delicate teenage sensibilities. Katie whispered in her ear, ‘Mum’s never going to let me out of her sight, is she?’

Gwen pulled back and beamed at her. ‘Not a chance.’

Katie rolled her eyes and Gwen hugged her again, just because she could.

‘I didn’t have you pegged as a book burner,’ David said over Ruby’s shoulder. He patted Gwen’s shoulder awkwardly. ‘I hope it works. Whatever it is you’re doing.’

‘Thank you,’ Gwen said.

Ruby looked around. ‘Pendleford looks quite pretty at night, doesn’t it? All the lights.’ She looked back towards the high street. ‘Do you remember when we used to hang out at that bus shelter on the high street? Hoping to meet boys, but only ever looking at them walk past while we ate chips from Gino’s?’

‘Absolutely not,’ Gwen said, smiling at Cam.

Gwen leaned closer in to him. She watched the orange sparks flying up, listened to the crackle of the fire and enjoyed the sensation of his arm around her waist.

‘Honestly,’ David muttered, looking around with something close to fear. The crowd had dispersed a little, but some had laid down coats and were lying on the frosted grass, looking at the stars. Children ran in and out, waving glow sticks and shouting. ‘Haven’t these people got Sky?’ He shook his head. ‘This is a weird little town.’

Gwen waved her arms in an expansive gesture. She encompassed the brazier, the crowd, the town and, right on the boundary where it bled into the countryside, End House. ‘I know,’ she smiled, happiness radiating out to the tips of her fingers, ‘I fit right in.’

CARINA™

ISBN: 978-1-472-01706-2

The Language of Spells

Copyright © Sarah Painter 2013

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