Читать книгу: «The Language Of Spells», страница 2
Gwen laughed. ‘Unseemly?’
‘And it’s bad for my chi.’
Gwen stopped laughing.
‘I’ve had a course of colonics and I don’t want to retox.’ Ruby spoke as if expecting a medal of some kind.
‘You had what now?’
Ruby gave her a withering look. ‘You know perfectly well what it is.’
‘And you paid for that?’
‘Mock away. I feel lighter.’
‘I bet you do.’
‘In my soul,’ Ruby said and the shock of hearing Ruby saying a word as loaded and mumbo-jumbo as ‘soul’ shut Gwen up.
‘I’m doing yoga now, too,’ Ruby said.
Gwen looked at Ruby in disbelief. ‘Yoga?’
‘It’s transformed my life,’ Ruby said. Her expression was a mix of anxiety and defiance, exactly the same as when she’d brought home a copy of Smash Hits magazine, aged ten. ‘Marcus says I’m a natural. He says I’d be able to take the teaching course if I wanted, set up my own classes.’
‘Marcus?’ Gwen instantly pictured a bendy-limbed Lothario leaning towards her sister, his long fingers reaching for her golden hair. She suppressed a shudder.
‘He’s been brilliant,’ Ruby said. ‘And the yoga really helps with stress.’
Gwen refrained from snorting at the idea of Ruby being stressed. Ruby led a charmed life straight from the pages of a John Lewis catalogue while she’d been living like … Well. If she was being kind to herself, she’d say a free-spirited artist. If not, she’d have to go with hobo.
‘You wouldn’t understand,’ Ruby said, as if reaching into Gwen’s mind and plucking her thoughts clean out. ‘You’ve never faced up to responsibility. As a mother—’
‘Here we go,’ Gwen said, irritation leaping to the surface. ‘I’m not a mother so I don’t understand.’
‘Well, you’re not. And you don’t.’
This was why she shouldn’t spend time with her sister, Gwen thought. At a distance she felt almost fond, at close quarters she could happily strangle her. ‘Do you meditate?’
Ruby looked startled. ‘Of course. The mind–body connection is fundamental to—’
Gwen shook her head and then found she couldn’t quite stop. She clenched her fists, digging her nails into the palms. A tight ball of anger lodged in her stomach and, all at once, she realised why. ‘Let me get this straight,’ she said, surprised at the venom in her own voice. ‘All this time, I’ve been keeping away from you, not wanting to infect your precious life, your precious family with my “alternative” ways and you’ve been doing bloody yoga.’
‘You make it sound like a bad thing. I thought you, of all people, would be pleased.’
Gwen closed her mouth. There was nothing she could say to fill a pit of ignorance that deep. The unfairness of it burned bright and Gwen was surprised that Ruby couldn’t see the raw energy sizzling under her skin. She counted to ten to stop herself from saying something she would regret later and then settled on, ‘You must’ve had quite the epiphany.’
‘It’s not the same as your … stuff,’ Ruby said. ‘Yoga has been around for hundreds of years; it’s a spiritual thing, it’s not dangerous, it doesn’t ruin people’s lives,’ she counted the points off on her fingers, finishing with, ‘and it doesn’t mark you out as a weirdo. Not these days. I mean, you can buy yoga pants at The White Company.’
‘Well, if that’s what’s most important to you. The look of things—’
Ruby shrugged. ‘It’s a factor. Especially for Katie. You remember what school was like.’
Gwen repressed a shudder. Millbank Comp had not been a friendly place. Not for either of them. ‘I haven’t seen you in ages. I don’t want to argue with you,’ Gwen said. She pushed the anger and hurt back down and forced out, ‘If yoga makes you happy, I’m happy for you.’
Gwen couldn’t look Ruby in the eye, though. Instead she began to explore. She opened the door to the larder. Old newspapers were stacked neatly in a cardboard box on the floor, a broom hung from a nail on the back of the door and there were empty glass jars filling the top shelf. A spider ran across the floor.
Ruby called across from the living room. ‘It’s got the original fireplace.’
Gwen joined her, trying not to shiver. The living room was misnamed. The walls were painted in oppressive purple which, combined with the patterned carpet and sofa, made Gwen’s eyes itch. She sniffed. There was the shut-in house smell, but with something else underneath. A herb of some kind?
‘Good cornicing.’ Ruby pointed upwards.
Gwen pulled the curtains back, revealing big sash windows. ‘These are nice.’
‘Original?’ Ruby said.
‘I think so. I don’t think Iris got around to doing a modernist makeover.’
Ruby prodded the sill. ‘Probably rotten. Nightmare to look after, but people lap up this kind of thing. Very saleable.’
‘Mmm,’ Gwen said non-committally. She showed Ruby the upstairs, pausing underneath the loft hatch. ‘I suppose I should look up there.’
‘I’m not doing it. That’s what a man is for.’
‘How very 1950s of you.’
‘Oh please. Spiders, itchy insulation, low ceiling. Why keep a dog and bark yourself?’
‘True romance indeed. How is David?’ Gwen asked, smiling as she pictured her brother-in-law. He was married to his work somewhat, but a good guy nonetheless.
‘Busy. As usual,’ Ruby said.
‘But still utterly besotted.’
Ruby grinned. ‘Of course.’
He and Ruby had met at the same time Gwen was putting in regular time in the back seat of Cam’s car. When Ruby found out she was pregnant, David didn’t hesitate to drop to one knee and, this was the part that would endear him to Gwen for ever; he made it look like he’d been planning to propose for months. Ruby had believed him and so she’d said yes and then he’d worked like a dog to finish his architecture degree while supporting his new wife and baby. Nobody could resent the beautiful house they now lived in, their Audi and healthy bank balance. Well, Gwen corrected herself, someone would. Someone always did.
The third bedroom at the end of the corridor was filled with cardboard boxes and black bags. ‘What a mess.’ Ruby wrinkled her nose. ‘I don’t envy you this.’
Gwen barely heard her. Ruby’s voice had retreated, become thin and insubstantial, leaving space for the all-too familiar sensation of Finding. Not now. Not in front of Ruby. Not when she was being so friendly and yoga-calmed.
It was no good. She couldn’t fight it. The tunnel vision had arrived, the edges of the room filled in with black shadows and she knew that the only way to get things back to normal was to obey the impulse. One of the bin bags was calling to her. Inside there was a tangle of old handbags, shawls, scarves and gloves. Gwen’s hand plunged in and her fingers closed around something slippery and cool. A Liberty-print silk scarf with the peacock design it was almost impossible to find these days. She stared at the scarf and saw it on the stall, knew it wouldn’t stay there long. Then her hand itched again and she reached back into the bag. A matching clutch purse. Barely able to breathe, Gwen clicked open the clasp and checked the lining. Immaculate.
Gwen didn’t believe in signs. She knew she had an uncanny knack for finding lost things, but she didn’t believe it meant anything. Not like Gloria reading palms and tarot cards and – on one memorable occasion – an oil leak from a red Volvo. She turned the purse over in her hands and tried to ignore the feeling that the house was trying to tell her something.
‘Gwen? Gwen?’ Ruby was frowning at her. Then understanding dawned across her face and her scowl deepened. ‘Oh God. You’re not—’
‘No! It’s nothing. I just found this—’
‘I don’t want to hear it.’ Ruby put her fingers in her ears, just like when they were kids.
Gwen felt sick. She didn’t want to think about it, either. She pushed aside memories of Gloria parading her like a performing monkey. People’s gratitude for their lost car keys overlaid with a shrinking back, a look of fear and horror and, above all, disbelief. ‘How did you do that?’ Like she was conducting an elaborate and pointless scam.
Ruby’s lip was curled. ‘I hoped you’d grown out of that.’
She marched down the stairs and Gwen stayed back for a moment, trying to calm herself. She didn’t want to fight with Ruby. It wasn’t Ruby’s fault that Gwen had inherited the Harper family curse while she’d got to be normal. She headed downstairs, trying to think of a neutral subject. ‘How’s Katie?’ People loved to talk about their kids.
Ruby shrugged. ‘Fourteen. My days of being God-like are over.’
‘That must be a relief.’
Ruby gave her an odd look. ‘You wouldn’t understand.’
‘That’s right,’ Gwen said, in familiar territory. ‘I don’t understand true exhaustion, responsibility or In the Night Garden. Thank God.’
Ruby gave a grudging smile. She reached into her handbag and pulled out a BlackBerry. ‘I’ll give you the number of a good estate agent. David’s used him before.’
‘I’m not selling,’ Gwen said. Yet.
Ruby frowned. ‘What do you mean? You can’t stay here.’
Gwen had been about to explain that, barring some kind of financial miracle, she might be stuck in Pendleford for the foreseeable future. Ruby’s response pissed her off, though, so she said, ‘I like it. It’s homely.’
‘You can’t,’ Ruby said, her face suddenly pale.
At once, her joke didn’t seem so funny. Ruby looked genuinely horrified. Nice.
‘What? You think I’ll embarrass you? You live in Bath. You don’t have to have anything to do with me,’ Gwen said. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t bother you.’
‘I can’t believe you’re thinking about staying here. You hated this town, don’t you remember?’
Of course I remember, I’m not an idiot. ‘I didn’t hate it,’ Gwen lied. ‘And maybe I feel like settling down.’ She wasn’t going to give Ruby the satisfaction of knowing her business was in trouble.
‘I really don’t think it’s a good idea,’ Ruby said, still looking thoroughly spooked. ‘I mean, we’re only just speaking again. It might be too much, too soon, you know?’
And there it was. Her typically selfish sister. ‘This isn’t about you, Ruby. I can’t make every decision in my life based on you, or the horrible things you think and say about me.’
‘I was just being honest,’ Ruby said.
Gwen felt her eyes prickling with tears and she willed herself not to think about their argument. A year and a half of avoiding Ruby hadn’t soothed the raw emotion one tiny bit. She still felt like a gigantic bruise. This was why she kept her distance, Gwen remembered with painful clarity.
‘You only ever think of yourself. What about Katie? What about me? David’s business?’ Ruby said.
A part of Gwen wanted to placate Ruby, to make nice. A larger part was almost blind with fury at Ruby’s unfairness. This. Shit. Again. Gwen stared at Ruby and realised something: nothing had changed. Yoga or not, Ruby still thought she was the anti-Christ in tracksuit bottoms. She didn’t trust her and didn’t want her near her precious life. It hurt. She blinked. This was why you didn’t get close to people. They turned their backs on you. Better not to give a damn in the first place. She straightened her shoulders. ‘Go away, Ruby.’
‘We’re in the middle of a discussion,’ Ruby said. ‘We need to sort this out.’
‘I didn’t ask you to come round today, you volunteered. Now I’m asking you to leave.’
Ruby took a step back. Her eyebrows drew inwards as she processed the words.
‘You don’t want to be around me, you don’t trust me or whatever the bloody hell this lovely conversation is about, but I’m not going anywhere. This is my house and I’m telling you to get out.’
Ruby plucked her coat from the rack and slung it around her shoulders. ‘Gladly.’
Well, that went well. Gwen leaned her head against the glass panel in the front door and willed her heart to stop hammering.
To calm herself, Gwen looked at the Liberty purse again. An item like that would sell quickly, she knew, and if Iris had a few more gems like that scattered around the place, she might be able to scrape together enough cash for a deposit on a flat. Not back in Leeds, but somewhere different, somewhere new. Her heart lifted as it always did when she contemplated a flit. There was always the wild hope that this next place would be the one, her forever home.
She clicked the catch on the purse and caught her breath. Nestled against the silk lining was a tiny cylinder of rolled paper and a key. She swallowed. They must’ve been there before. She’d been distracted by Ruby. Nothing weird to see here. Move along.
Gwen smiled grimly. She’d spent thirteen years quashing magic nonsense like this, and she wasn’t about to lose control now. The paper would be an old receipt. The key was a dull silver and had simply been hidden against the grey of the lining.
Still, she couldn’t help herself. She unrolled the paper, which was soft with age, and felt vomit rise in the back of her throat. It said:
For Gwen. When you are ready, seek, and you shall find. It is your gift.
‘Sod that,’ Gwen said and went to brush her teeth.
Chapter 2
Gwen had taken a long bath and eaten the bread that Lily had left with the casserole and, by the time she headed into town, she felt almost human again. All she had to do was remain focused. The next time she felt the Finding, she’d just ignore it. Simple as that. Just because she’d inherited one of the Harper family powers, didn’t mean she had to use it. She’d managed to stand up to Gloria all those years ago and refuse any more training, and she’d kept magic out of her life for the last thirteen years. Being back in Pendleford for one night wasn’t going to undo that. No matter how many creepy little notes Great-Aunt Iris had left for her.
The solicitor’s office occupied an imposing Georgian townhouse on the main street. Of course, all of the buildings were impressive, so that diluted its effect somewhat. Gwen hesitated outside the building. It was ridiculous. She had no connection to the Laings, not any more, and she’d never met Mr Laing Senior. There was nothing to worry about. Gwen found the reception and was directed straight into Mr Laing’s office.
‘He’s waiting for you,’ the secretary said, her rose-pink lips pursed.
Gwen opened her mouth to explain that the parking in this undeniably quaint and picturesque town was satanic and the unexpected twenty-minute fast walk had made her late, and then closed it when she caught sight of Mr Laing. The man didn’t look like he had much time left on this earth and probably didn’t want to waste it listening to excuses or parking zone rants.
‘Ms Harper. You’ll forgive me if I don’t get up.’ Mr Laing gestured to his wheelchair. ‘Please sit.’
Gwen sat and tried not to stare at the ancient being opposite. He must have been at least ninety. Well preserved, for sure, his nails freshly manicured and eyes bright, but surely someone who had earned retirement. What kind of firm was this? The kind you could only leave in a box?
Mr Laing picked up a sheet of heavy-weight cream paper and held it out. ‘This is the original of the document that we sent to you. Your great-aunt’s will. I understand there is some confusion on your part.’
Gwen kept her hands in her lap, refusing to touch the paper. ‘Not confusion exactly.’
‘How can I help?’ Mr Laing steepled his fingers.
‘I wanted to know if I could sell the house straight away.’
‘The terms of the will state that the property cannot be placed on the market for six months. After that, you can sell as quickly as you like.’
‘Right. I read that.’
Mr Laing waited.
‘I was wondering, though.’ Gwen swallowed. ‘Is there a way around it?’
‘I’m not sure I understand.’
‘Can I put it up for auction, or something?’ Gwen wasn’t going to embarrass herself by explaining that she needed cash right now. Or that she couldn’t stay in the house because Iris appeared to be talking to her from beyond the grave.
‘Ms Harper was very clear in her instructions. She updated her will six weeks prior to her passing and instructed us to send it to you.’
‘But how? How could she do that?’
Mr Laing’s white eyebrows crept upwards again. ‘She was an exceptionally organised woman.’
‘I mean…we weren’t in contact. How did she know my address?’
‘She was your great-aunt. Isn’t it possible that she spoke to another family member?’
Gwen shook her head. That was most definitely not possible.
‘Is there no way to release equity from the house or something? Immediately?’ Gwen realised that her voice was getting louder and she snapped her mouth shut again. Shouting at a defenceless old man was not cool. It wasn’t his fault he worked in a soulless leather-and-oak hell and looked like an extra from The Godfather.
Mr Laing looked back at her calmly. ‘I see.’
Gwen sank back.
‘If you will excuse me, I will get my grandson in here.’
‘Sorry?’ Gwen sat forward.
‘He prepared this file but…’ Laing paused ‘…became overscheduled and passed the baton to me, as it were.’
‘Okay. Fine.’ Gwen remained perched on the edge of the padded leather chair and waited. She thought of her beloved minivan. It was stuffed full of her possessions and business stock and she barely fitted amongst the boxes. She didn’t want to stay at End House, but she didn’t want to sleep in the van again. Then she processed the word ‘grandson’. It couldn’t be—
The door opened behind her and Gwen turned.
The man in the charcoal-grey suit was both older and taller than she remembered. His face was tense, though, and that sadly fitted her last memory of him to a tee. She gaped, then, realising that she probably looked like a village idiot, closed her mouth.
‘Hello, Gwen.’
‘Cam.’ The word felt odd in her mouth. Wrong.
‘Don’t get up.’
Gwen realised she was suspended, half out of the chair like she was poised to run a race.
‘Is there a problem?’ Cameron Laing had been twenty-three when she’d last seen him and thirteen years was a long time. Which would explain the blank and professional expression he was levelling in her direction.
‘You’re a lawyer,’ she said stupidly.
‘So it would appear,’ Cam said.
‘Ms Harper wishes to contest the Harper will,’ Mr Laing senior said.
‘No. I’m not saying that,’ Gwen said, suddenly desperate to appear reasonable. She had a good idea that ‘reasonable’ was probably not the first word that Cam would use to describe her. She wanted to show him she’d changed. Not that she needed to. There wasn’t going to be any antagonism after thirteen years. Probably no emotion at all. ‘I was just wondering if there was a way to convert the house into cash. Quickly.’
It hardly seemed possible, but Cam’s expression became more rigid. ‘Let me see.’ Cam ran over the same details, then plucked the paper from Laing’s desk and put it into Gwen’s hands. She took it to stop it sliding off her lap onto the floor and, despite her intentions, glanced down. Iris’s signature was there at the bottom of the sheet. The same looping writing that was on the note in the purse. There was no mistake: Iris wanted her to have the house. She really wanted her to stay in Pendleford and had even put an instruction not to sell into a legal document. A part of Gwen felt flattered. It was nice to be wanted, even if it was by a woman she’d been taught to avoid like the plague.
Cam was frowning as he flipped through the file. ‘Where are the title deeds? They should be here.’
Mr Laing senior shrugged.
‘Great. Iris must’ve left them at the house.’ He looked at Gwen. ‘You’ll need that when you come to sell. In May.’
Gwen looked into Cam’s brown eyes and felt something thud inside her chest. ‘Six months. Right.’
‘You’ll need to find it,’ he said. ‘It’s pretty important.’
‘Right. I’m just not sure if I can—’
‘What? You’re too busy?’ Cam shook his head as he handed her the file. ‘This isn’t the usual way people react when they find out someone has given them a house.’
‘Oh?’ Gwen couldn’t stop looking at Iris’s handwriting. She felt as if the walls had shrunk, and when she looked up at Cam, the room swooped to the left.
‘They usually say “hooray”.’
‘Cameron!’ Mr Laing was shocked. ‘Ms Harper has lost her aunt.’
‘It’s okay. I didn’t know her,’ Gwen said.
Just as Cam said, ‘It takes more than that to shake Gwen.’
‘Hey!’ Gwen said. So, a little hostility still.
‘Spare keys.’ Cam plucked a brown envelope from the desk and tipped it upside down.
‘Thank you.’
‘Well, if that concludes our business?’
Cam’s face was older, harder. Gwen didn’t think it was possible, but she actually found him even more attractive than the Cam of her memory. Which was inconvenient.
‘I don’t want to keep you,’ Gwen managed.
Cam bowed his head slightly and left the room.
‘Well…’ Laing senior looked baffled. ‘What was that about?’
Gwen shook her head. She felt sick. It shouldn’t have been a surprise that Cam’s grandfather didn’t know about them; not many people talked in-depth to their grandparents about their relationships but, still, it hurt.
She shook Mr Laing’s hand and thanked him for his time. It wasn’t his fault that she couldn’t convert the house into money and go rent a flat in Leeds or London or on Mars. Six months. How bad could it be?
Back at End House, Gwen closed the door, then leaned her head lightly against it. Perhaps the country air was getting to her, but it felt as if the house was breathing with her. She closed her eyes and saw Cam. Frowning at her.
She went to the kitchen and flicked through the file that Cam had given her. There was a white envelope with her name on it, written in Iris’s handwriting. Inside, there was a small key and a single folded sheet of paper:
My dearest Gwen. I’m sorry I never got to know you. I hope you are all that I believe you to be. With power comes responsibility. I want you to accept all that I bequeath you but, by doing so, you accept all that it brings. Yours in haste, Iris.
Nicely cryptic, Iris. Thanks for that.
The back door swung open. ‘Knock, knock.’ Lily appeared, her spike heels gouging chunks out of the worn lino. ‘Only me.’
‘What can I do for you?’ Gwen asked, pushing the letter back into the file and flipping over the brown cardboard cover.
‘It’s what I can do for you. I have such happy memories of helping your auntie, I’m willing to offer you a discount.’
‘Sorry?’
‘To help you out.’ Lily looked pointedly at the mess of papers, used coffee mugs and plates on the table. ‘Looks like you could do with a hand.’
Gwen felt pressure around her temples. ‘I don’t need any help, thank you.’ She stood up and tipped crumbs from the cake plates into the bin. ‘And I couldn’t afford it if I did.’
‘If I clean, it will free up your time for—’ Lily paused ‘…well, whatever it is you do.’
‘I’m fine, really.’ Lily didn’t appear to be listening and was unpacking her bag on the table. A flask appeared. And a brown paper bag that smelled of yeasty goodness.
‘I brought you some soup and bread.’
‘You don’t have to—’
‘Just while you settle in. Bless you, I’m sure you haven’t been shopping yet.’ She gave Gwen a disconcertingly direct look. ‘Don’t worry. I’m not staying. I’m not one of those nosy neighbours. Always popping in. Some people like to be social and some people don’t. We respect that round here.’
‘Right—’
Lily gave a little tinkling laugh that lifted the hairs on the back of Gwen’s neck. ‘Watch out for Janet, though. She runs the Honey Pot and is the town gossip.’
There was a pause as Gwen wondered how to get rid of Lily. ‘I was thinking about sorting through things today.’
‘Don’t forget to check the list.’
‘The list?’
‘The list of contents. Everything is in its place. I don’t want you thinking I have light fingers. You have to sign to say everything is as it should be.’
Understanding dawned and Gwen blushed. ‘I didn’t mean I was checking. I didn’t—’
‘That’s all right. You don’t know me, after all. You aren’t local. You don’t know what a good friend I’ve been.’
‘I’m sure you’ve been wonderful.’ Gwen wanted Lily to leave. She hadn’t sat down, which was a good sign, but good manners overtook her mouth. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ Idiot.
‘I won’t take up any more of your time. You’ve got your work cut out for you here.’
Gwen smiled. Relief made her giddy. ‘I’m quite looking forward to it. I’ve never had my own house before.’
Lily looked at her curiously. ‘You’ve never bought a house?’
‘No. Just rented. Usually just a room in a shared house, actually.’
‘Oh?’ Lily pursed her lips. ‘Isn’t that a bit cramped?’
‘A bit. I’ve always moved around so much – for my work – my domestic arrangements haven’t mattered much.’ Gwen had always felt safest moving around. Pendleford had been the last place she’d called home and that hadn’t ended well.
‘You’re not working now, though.’
‘Not right at this second. No.’ Gwen didn’t feel the need to explain Curious Notions to Lily. She seemed like the type who would turn her nose up at second-hand, let alone ‘craft’.
‘You’re going to stay, then?’
‘Yes.’ For now.
Lily made a face. ‘Make sure you find that list. I don’t want any trouble.’ She picked up her bag and headed out of the door at a clip. ‘And make sure you have that soup tonight. It’s chicken.’
Okay, Gwen thought. So Lily was a bit odd. A bit intense. She opened the file again and plucked out the sheaf of stapled A4 paper with ‘End House, Contents’ typed on the top sheet. It was handily split into rooms, but after a minute of reading: one candlestick, pewter, broken base; one wool rug, red; three fountain pens; one wastepaper basket, her will to live fled. She was sure Lily hadn’t taken anything, anyway. She flipped to the last page and signed the declaration at the bottom. She made another mug of tea and drank it at the kitchen table. Why would she be so anxious for Gwen to check the list if she had? Unless she was looking for something. Gwen shook her head to release the ridiculous thought, but instead found herself staring at the small grey key.
A key for a locked door. Gwen didn’t have to pause; the knowledge jumped to the front of her mind; an extrovert piece of information that couldn’t wait for its turn in the spotlight. She ventured outside to the small outbuilding beyond the vegetable patch and tried the whitewashed door. It was locked. The key turned smoothly and the door swung inwards. The room wasn’t big, but it was obviously well used. A scrubbed wooden bench sat against one wall, a chair pushed neatly underneath. Another wall was filled by shelves and these were crowded with jam jars, neatly labelled. Gwen picked one up and read ‘Wolfsbane’. Okay.
There were bunches of herbs hanging from the ceiling and a butler’s sink in the corner with a wooden draining board to the side. There was a tartan-print cat bed in the corner. Gwen sighed with relief. That explained the noises in the night. The poor thing could be shut in somewhere or was hiding out of fear. Odd that Lily hadn’t mentioned a pet. Her heart clenched as she imagined it hungry and afraid, clenching harder when she realised that she was now responsible for it.
Her eye was caught by a notebook. It was spiral-bound and had a plain cover. She flipped it open and was confronted with tightly packed writing in black Biro. Iris’s writing sloped violently to the right and she seemed to have little regard for the spaces between words. Gwen pulled out the chair and read a page at random.
M D came again today. I knew she would’ve been drinking to get up the courage and by the smell of her it was sweet German wine. Not surprising that she has the palate of an illiterate eight-year-old. I gave her the usual prep (2 x WB, 1 x F, 1 x LLB).
Okay. So Great-Aunt Iris had an acerbic streak. She flipped to another page.
That bloody woman was sniffing around again. There’s nothing worse than a frustrated witch.
Witch. Gwen felt sick. If the cat’s black, she thought, I’m out of here.
That night, Gwen didn’t even pretend to consider sleeping in Nanette. Yes, she didn’t want to be in Pendleford or inside End House, but it was forecast minus six and too late to drive very far. Gwen knew she could be irrational, but she wasn’t about to sleep in her van when she owned a perfectly good, warm bed. And food. She poured the soup from the flask into a pan to heat it. Rich smells of leek, garlic and chicken rose up. Gwen got down a bowl and cut a thick slice of the fresh bread. She managed a couple of mouthfuls, but tiredness mugged her and she put the spoon down. She trailed upstairs to the master bedroom and the enormous bed. Her mind and heart were trying to reconcile the coldness from Cam. Coldness that she’d expected. It was exactly what had stopped her from picking up the phone so many times over the last thirteen years. She’d heard that the anticipation of pain was usually worse than the pain itself. Well, not in this case. Gwen couldn’t believe how much it hurt to look into Cam’s face and see nothing. Nothing but a chilly disdain. She closed her eyes and a spiral of colour twisted in the darkness. She watched it turn and writhe until sleep took her.
Gwen opened her eyes. The darkness pressed against them as she struggled to wake up. She’d been dreaming about the river. Black water, icy-cold. Stephen Knight’s pale face emerging from the thick depths as if he were floating in oil, not water. His eyes open and accusing. His mouth opening, filling with the black liquid.
Scritch, scratch. There it was again, the sound that had woken her up. Gwen forced herself properly awake. She ignored the window that had inexplicably opened and tiptoed onto the landing. She peered over the banister and there, sitting squarely in a patch of moonlight on the hall floor, was the skinniest cat she had ever seen. She crept down the first couple of stairs, watching carefully to see if the cat would bolt. It stayed motionless, watching her with unblinking eyes that were nothing more than reflections in the half light. Gwen looked casually away and then back, showing that she wasn’t a threat. The cat hadn’t moved and it looked reasonably relaxed. In fact, it looked like it was waiting for her, so she tried a couple more stairs. Then it meowed. Instinctively, Gwen put her hands over her ears. The noise that split the air wasn’t feline. It was like a rusty saw being dragged over corrugated iron. ‘Jesus!’
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