Читать книгу Bewitched, Bothered And Bewildered - Kerry Barrett - Страница 13

I stumbled across the gravel driveway, my bag banging against my legs. Mum tried to sweep me into a hug, but my bag and my stiff stance made it awkward. We stared at each other for a minute, then she grabbed my holdall, turned and led the way down the hall to the kitchen.

‘How is she?’ I asked. I wanted to perch on a stool like I used to when I’d come home from school and share my day with Mum while she cooked our tea, but I didn’t. Instead, I hovered by the kitchen door like an uninvited guest.

Mum filled the kettle and paused to switch it on before she answered.

‘She’s not good,’ she said quietly. ‘She had her first radiotherapy session today and it seems to have knocked the stuffing out of her. But she’ll be pleased to see you.’ She nodded towards the living room. ‘Why don’t you go and say hello?’

Nervously I crept into the front room where Suky was asleep on the enormous squidgy sofa with a blanket over her legs. She looked pale and thin and it took me a huge effort not to gasp when I saw her.

Mum had followed me in from the kitchen and she put her hand on my shoulder gently.

‘It’s all happened so fast – she’s exhausted,’ she said. ‘She’s keeping her spirits up, though.’

I looked at my beautiful, lively aunt, hunched under a blanket like an old lady and rounded on Mum.

‘Why can’t you help her?’ I hissed in a loud whisper. ‘Isn’t this what you witches do?’

Mum shook her head.

‘You sound like Harry,’ she said with a sad smile. ‘She’s been on the phone non-stop with theories she’s found and spells to try. But messing with life and death is dangerous, Esme. That’s not our sort of magic. We just have to help her the best we can.’

I shrugged. Magic was magic as far as I was concerned, and this house was full of it. It positively crackled through every room and hung around Mum like a force field. Harry’s the aura reader in our family, but even my unpractised eye could see Suky’s power was dim and wavery, like a candle about to burn out. It made me shiver with fear for her.

‘I’ll help,’ I whispered to Mum, so as not to wake Suky. ‘What can I do?’

Mum gestured with her head and I followed her back into the kitchen, closing the door behind me. I made for the kettle but Mum handed me a glass of wine instead.

‘What can I do?’ I repeated. Mum took a swig of wine and visibly braced herself.

‘We need a Third,’ she said.

I looked at her in horror. I’d been expecting to ferry Suky to appointments, do a Tesco run, maybe whip up a lasagne. I’d definitely not planned to become a vital cog in the coven’s wheel.

Because a coven is basically what we had here. Witches, you see, are sociable souls. And they’re obsessed with the number three. Oh we can all do magic on her own but for the really good stuff to happen, there needs to be three. Mum and Suky worked with a witch called Eva. She had wafted into Claddach on the day of my Granny’s funeral and she’d been here ever since.

‘Does Eva know you’re asking me?’ I said now.

Mum nodded.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘She thinks it would be better to have someone we know, rather than get in an agency witch.’

I gaped at her. Agency? Who knew witchcraft was so 21^st century.

‘What about Harry?’ I managed to say.

‘Harry’s got some problems at work,’ Mum said. ‘I think it’s worse than she’s letting on, but she’s not telling of course. I also think things may not be completely fine at home. But she’s keeping quiet about that too. You know she’d be here if she could.’

I wasn’t convinced. I knew Harry adored her mum, but she could be very selfish when she wanted to be. She uses magic all the time. Seriously. All. The. Time. Which is why she’d be so useful to mum and Eva now. But if she wasn’t helping then she wasn’t helping – no one could make Harry do anything she didn’t want to do, least of all, me.

‘We need you, Esme.’ Mum held my hand tightly. ‘Suky needs you.’

I sank down in a tatty armchair. They did need me, that much was true. They needed me to help in our family business – running the Claddach Café.

Mum, Suky and Eva run the café together. Mum – who’s always been an amazing cook – does most of the baking but they all pitch in. Mum’s also the business brain so she does all the books. Eva, who’s a talented potter and ceramicist, provides the crockery and in one corner, Suky has her ‘pharmacy’. She has a comfy sofa, screened off from the café, and a shelf unit filled with an apothecary’s dream of glass bottles. She offers a comforting ear and herbal remedies for the villagers’ medical complaints. And for more, erm, complicated problems, and, of course, for those problems that haven’t quite been voiced, Mum and Eva are on hand to help.

It’s an open secret that the McLeods can help with exam stress, fertility problems, annoying neighbours – anything really. Ask anyone outright and they’d laugh at you or dismiss Suky’s remedies as a placebo. But in reality, just about everyone in Claddach has had a helping hand at one time or another whether knowingly via Suky’s potions, or unknowingly, thanks to Mum, Eva and Suky stirring secret spells into their cakes and lacing their biscuits with sorcery.

And like I said, that’s why they needed me. The good stuff wouldn’t really get going unless there were three of them casting the spell. With Suky ill they needed me to make up the numbers and help them stir up the spells for their special cakes and bakes. They needed me to be the third member of their coven and it was absolutely, positively the last thing I wanted to do.

I looked at Suky who was sleeping peacefully, her thin face showing no sign of pain. Then I looked at Mum who was standing watching me, waiting for my answer. Somehow I knew I’d regret what I was about to say.

‘OK. I’ll help out,’ I said, shrugging my shoulders. I knew when I was beaten. ‘But only a bit. I’m not getting mixed up in anything I shouldn’t. I’ll only help when we’re asked to.’

Mum beamed at me but I waved away her gushing thanks.

‘It’s late and I’m knackered,’ I said. ‘I’m off to my bed. We can talk about this tomorrow.’

I kissed Mum briefly and touched Suky’s hand, then I climbed the stairs to my bedroom and pushed open the door. Turning on the light, I looked around. Mum hadn’t redecorated since I’d left home and my walls were still sponged peach and cream. I’d thought it was the height of sophistication when I was fifteen. Now it just looked twee. My bed was made up with the Take That duvet cover I’d discarded as childish when I was fourteen. I was half annoyed and half touched that Mum had looked it out for me.

Knowing I’d regret it if I left it until the morning, I tugged my clothes out of my case and hung them up. My city clothes – I didn’t really do casual – looked out of place in the old-fashioned wardrobe. Then I pulled on my pyjamas and sat on the edge of my bed. It was strange to be home after so long, but somehow it already felt like I’d never been away.

I picked up my phone and texted Dom, letting him know I’d arrived safely. I didn’t expect a reply and I didn’t get one so I switched off the phone and put it on my bedside table. And then I noticed the book. It sat squarely next to my bed and I couldn’t believe I hadn’t noticed it before. Mind you, I thought to myself rolling my eyes, I couldn’t be sure it had been there before. The book was about the size of a school exercise book but much thicker. It was bound in aged brown leather and had no markings on the outside.

Picking it up I noticed someone – Mum no doubt – had stuck a piece of paper inside, with a smiley face drawn on it.

‘Nice try, Mother,’ I said out loud. I plumped my pillows up, then wriggled under my duvet and sat back with the unopened book in my lap. I had butterflies in my stomach and my hands were trembling. I didn’t need to open it – I knew exactly what it was.

It was a spell book. All witches have them. They’re heirlooms, passed down through families (mine had been left to me by my granny when she died. She left Harry an identical one; I suspect there’s a stockpile somewhere) and they’re supposed to be well cared for. It’s implied, ridiculous as it sounds, that they’re almost living things; a gateway to all sorts of magic, as well as a kind of logbook for successive witches to record their spells.

‘Books are wonderful, Esme,’ I remembered Mum telling me when I was small. ‘But they can be dangerous. Why do you think the Nazis burned them? Spell books are even trickier to handle. Treat it like a wild animal.’

I’d gazed at her, wide-eyed.

‘Will it bite me?’ I’d asked.

Mum had laughed.

‘Almost definitely not,’ she said. But she hadn’t looked very sure.

‘Generations of McLeod witches have added to this book,’ she said. ‘The magic in here is very strong. Use it wisely and treat it with respect.’

With a flash of guilt I thought about how I’d actually treated it. I’d read it with Mum when I was a child, but when I hit my teens I’d cast it aside and abandoned it without a second thought when I’d left. Mum had clearly rescued it and kept it safe in case I ever needed it.

With shaking fingers I picked up the book. It was cold and hard. I turned it over in my hands and smoothed the cover, and as I did so, something strange happened. I felt – and I know this sounds crazy – that the book recognised me. There was a sigh and suddenly the leather softened and warmed under my fingers.

Reassured and freaked out in equal measures, I opened the first page. Whatever I thought about my dubious inherited talents, I knew I had to brush up on my spells – even if I wasn’t keen on being the Third. Apart from my magic being at best rusty and at worst unpredictable or even downright dangerous, I’d never agreed with my family’s bad habit of interfering in people’s lives without being asked – especially since I’d been on the receiving end of their meddling. But I knew the café couldn’t survive without my help and I owed it to Suky to do whatever I could. Even if all I could do was make a few sparks and probably a bit of a mess.

So, even though I was apprehensive about facing my past, I decided to read my spell book and see how much I remembered. I blew the dust off the pages and settled down to read. Some of the pages were handwritten, some typed on an old-fashioned typewriter. Some had notes scribbled on them. There were even photos stuck in between some of the pages. It was fascinating, but it was late and my eyes were soon heavy with sleep so I put the book aside. I knew I had a lot of brushing up to do, but it could wait until morning. Realising I needed to get up again to switch off the light, I started to get out of bed, then, thoughtfully, I stopped.

‘May as well start as I mean to go on,’ I said to no one. And I waggled my fingers at the light instead. With a puff of acrid-smelling smoke, the bulb exploded and the room was plunged into darkness.

‘Oh dear,’ I thought as I snuggled under the duvet. ‘I definitely have a lot of work to do.’