Читать книгу I Put A Spell On You - Kerry Barrett - Страница 14

Chapter 5

It was strange going back to work the next day, knowing Star wouldn’t be sitting at reception, her blonde curls bouncing and her smile welcoming. She wouldn’t bring me a cup of tea, or tell me about her weekend. I got to the spa early, so early it was still dark outside, and printed out a notice. I found a photo of Star taken at our opening party – she was laughing and looking over her shoulder at whoever had taken the photo – and she looked lovely. I added it to the poster and wrote a brief announcement explaining Star had suddenly passed away. Then I pinned copies on the front door, the reception desk and in every treatment room. I wanted to make sure people saw it; I couldn’t face having to tell clients over and over again that Star was dead. Then I looked in the stationery cupboard and found a new notepad and a nice pen, which I left on the reception desk so people could write messages of condolence in there. I thought I could pass it on to Star’s parents later.

I took over on reception that morning. But I didn’t have the smile, or the ability to remember every last detail about clients’ children/husbands/parents/dogs that Star had. By lunchtime I was convinced I was actually putting people off so I rang a temping agency and asked them to send me a receptionist.

“We’ve got a lovely lady called Nancy,” the consultant said. “She’s free all week. She’s very experienced – one of our more mature temps.”

“How mature?” I said suspiciously. “Is she healthy?” I couldn’t bear the thought of having another receptionist expire.

She assured me Nancy was in fine fettle and I booked her for a fortnight. She arrived within an hour, a neat woman in her fifties with a sleek grey bob and a pale pink cardigan buttoned all the way up and I almost kissed her, because I was so pleased to see her.

The rest of the day went in a blur. I was so busy I didn’t have time to fret about the photos we’d found in Star’s house. I didn’t even have time to look at them until the next day. I worked late on Tuesdays, so I started late too.

I did yoga every day. If I missed it, I was grouchier, pricklier and generally more unpleasant than usual – and I was quite aware that was bad. Sometimes I took a class at the spa, other days I just did my own exercises at home. I found I had some of my best ideas when I was upside down.

That morning I spread Star’s photos out on my bedroom floor so I could see them, then I put my yoga mat down and began.

As I went through my sun salutation, I looked at the pictures, peering at them through my legs in my downward-facing dog pose. By the time I’d been through my regular routine, my mind was clearer and one thing was certain – I had to phone DI Baxter.

Gently I eased myself into a headstand, just as my phone rang. It was on the floor next to the photos. I squinted at the display – it was DI Baxter. I grinned to myself, not entirely surprised. It wasn’t the first time I’d thought of someone and they’d phoned straight away.

I lowered my legs, sat back on my haunches and answered.

“Harmony,” she said. Again I felt a flutter of butterflies in my stomach. Now that did surprise me. Since Natalie left I’d shut myself off from any thought of romance, concentrating all my energy on work and my family. Had DI Baxter broken through the shield I’d built myself? I didn’t even know if she, you know, played for my team.

I took a breath.

“Please call me Harry,” I said. “Everyone does.”

“Then you call me Louise,” she said. “I just phoned to see how you are.”

“Oh you know,” I said, plopping down onto my bum and stretching my legs out in front of me. “Back to work. It’s strange, without Star.”

“I’m sure it is,” Louise said. I could tell the sympathy in her voice was genuine. “Are youokay?”

“It’s easier to keep busy,” I said. I paused. “Louise.”

“Yes?”

“I went to Star’s house.”

She groaned.

“I knew you were up to no good,” she said.

“I found something.”

“What did you find?” She sounded annoyed.

“Some photos of Star. I need to show you really,” I said, knowing I could easily just tell her what was in them.

“Okay,” she said. “I’m free later – I could come to the spa?”

We made arrangements to meet, and I hung up feeling slightly relieved but nervous about what she’d say when she saw the pictures. Would she be angry I’d not shown her straight away?

I turned my phone over in my hand, knowing I had another call to make. Then I leaned over, picked up my diary, found the number and dialled before I had time to change my mind.

The phone rang once, twice, and then a voice answered. Star’s mum.

“Mrs Douglas?” I said. “It’s Harry.”

“Oh Harry,” she said. “It’s good to hear from you.”

I had a real soft spot for Star’s mum, who was an old hippie just like mine. Star and I had laughed about our hippie names many times and shared stories about being sent to school with lentil cutlets in our lunchboxes when everyone else had square crisps. Talking to Mrs Douglas now made my eyes fill with tears.

“How are you?” I said.

“We’re getting on,” she said. “It’s hard.”

“I’ve put Star’s things together,” I said, swallowing my tears. “I’ve got them at work. I thought you might want them. It’s just stuff from her desk – but I didn’t want to throw it away.”

“You’re so thoughtful,” she said. “Fiona’s here – I’ll get her to pop down this afternoon if that’sokay?”

Fiona was Star’s best friend.

“That’s great,” I said. “I’ll see her then.”

As I took a shower I wondered if I could ask Fiona about the photos. I knew she and Star had been very close and thought Star had been bound to tell her friend if she was worried about something.

But later, Fiona looked blank when I asked her if Star had confided in her.

“She was hurt?” she said, looking horrified. “How was she hurt?”

“She was in a car accident,” I said. “And she cut her head. I just wondered if she thought the two things were connected?”

Fiona put down the box she was carrying – the box holding Star’s things – and rubbed her forehead with the palm of her hand. She was a large woman, with dark red hair and pretty freckles.

“She was coming to see me,” she said. “When she crashed her car. She was coming across to Fife to stay for the weekend.”

I didn’t speak – I wanted her to keep talking.

“She was so stressed, her mum thought it would do her good to get away. I knew she was worried about something but she wouldn’t talk about it on the phone.”

She paused again.

“But I didn’t know she’d hurt her head. When did that happen?”

I shrugged. Fiona carried on.

“She wasn’t looking after herself. Her doctor changed her pills and I don’t think she was taking them. She wasn’t eating right…”

She started to cry.

“I should have come down to see her. I could have done something to help.”

She wiped her eyes clumsily with her sleeve and I picked up the tissue box we kept on reception. It was empty. Fiona sniffed loudly and I subtly waggled my fingers over the box and watched as tissues appeared inside.

I handed her the box with what I hoped was a sympathetic smile.

“It wasn’t your fault,” I said. “It wasn’t anyone’s fault.”

Even I didn’t believe myself, but Fiona gave me a grateful look, then took me by surprise by throwing her arms around me. I tried to wriggle out of her hug, but she just squeezed me harder.

“Thank you,” she said in my ear. “Thank you for caring about Star.”

As if I didn’t feel bad enough.

After Fiona left, I was edgy and nervy. If I’d felt bad before, meeting Fiona and seeing her grief close up made me feel even worse. I felt dreadful about Star and I was desperate to find out more about what had happened to her.

Listlessly, I drifted around the spa, unable to settle to anything or concentrate on any of the jobs I had to do. Eventually I sat down at my computer and forced myself to do some admin on the website. I had a manager who ran it for me now – she was brilliant – but I liked to keep an eye on things.

As I scrolled through the site, making notes on things that needed tweaked or changed or deleted altogether, Xander put his head round my office door.

“I’m just popping out,” he said. I eyed him suspiciously; he never, ever went out during the day.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m meeting Esme,” he said. He looked very pleased with himself. “She’s going to give me a lesson.”

“Now?” I said in astonishment. Esme and I didn’t see eye to eye on everything but one thing we did share was a fierce work ethic. Her leaving work early was equally unheard of.

“We’re going for a walk in Princes Street Gardens,” he said. “I’ll see you later.”

I waited until he shut the door then I picked up my phone and called Esme. She didn’t answer. Crafty.

“Esme,” I hissed into her voicemail. “Be careful with Xander. He’s got a bit of a reputation with women.”

I knew she’d ignore me, but I felt duty-bound to warn her. Xander was a dreadful womaniser, though he did it without malice – he just really, really loved women and the more attractive the better. I didn’t for one minute think Esme would cheat on Jamie – she was properly smitten with him – but something about the way she’d had her head close to Xander’s yesterday made me uneasy.

I did a bit more work, trying to concentrate and ignore the butterflies that flapped in my stomach every time my thoughts turned to Louise. I wondered when she would show up and what she would think of the photos. And then my phone rang.

“Harry, I’m so sorry,” Louise said. “I’m snowed under. Can we meet tomorrow instead?”

“Of course,” I said, trying to sound like it was fine. “I’m busy myself actually.”

“I’ll give you a call in the morning,” she said. “And, Harry?”

“Yes.”

“Be careful.”

I pressed end and sat turning my phone over in my hand. I was disappointed not to see Louise, and I was still feeling edgy and out of sorts. I was also really aware that my stress levels were affecting my magic. I always struggled to keep my spark when I was stressed – another reason why I loved yoga so much.

What I needed, I thought, was wine. Or possibly vodka. Or both. I swiped my phone again and called Lucy, an old friend from uni who was a stay-at-home mum and consequently always up for a night out.

“Abso-bloody-lutely,” she said, when I asked if she wanted to meet. “I’ll ring Georgia, too.”

I sat back in my chair, feeling better already. Then I looked down at my boring black skirt and functional white shirt and grimaced. I couldn’t hit the town looking like this.

Picturing my wardrobe – which I kept in strict colour-coded order, natch – I thought about what to wear. Mentally I chose my favourite skinny 7 For All Mankind jeans, a black top with a slash neck and some leopard-print heels, waggled my fingers and, with a spark, my clothes appeared, hanging neatly from the picture rail in my office, the shoes arranged below. I grinned. I was down, but I wasn’t beaten. Not by a long chalk.