Читать книгу The Language Of Spells - Sarah Painter - Страница 13

Having spent the previous two days cleaning and moving bin bags around End House, Gwen had a touch of cabin fever. She also had to face the horrifying truth: she couldn’t ignore her business any longer. Gwen didn’t want to parcel up the customer’s order. She didn’t want to look at the last shadow box that she’d made, and she certainly didn’t want to remember how hopeful she’d been when she made it, before the final demands piled up and her eviction notice arrived like the Grim Reaper, but she didn’t have a choice. Curious Notions might’ve been as-good-as bankrupt, but she wasn’t going to let a customer down. The shadow box was a rare commission and the woman had wanted ‘something about love’ for a wedding anniversary. Gwen had created a miniature apothecary shop with rows of tiny bottles and jars. You needed a magnifying glass to read the labels, but there was ‘tincture of true love’ and ‘heart’s desire’ in amongst the foot powder and cough mixture.

Gwen was filing off the back edge of the box, making sure it was perfectly smooth, when a familiar figure appeared at the back door.

‘I’m going out,’ Gwen said, standing up. ‘Sorry.’

Lily stepped into the kitchen anyway, her smile as bright as ever. She ran one hand protectively over the Formica worktop as she looked around the room, seeming to take every detail in. ‘Everything okay?’

‘Fine.’ Gwen put down her file.

‘What’s that?’ Lily peered at the shadow box.

Gwen wanted to say ‘my art’, but didn’t want to sound like a pretentious twat. ‘It’s kind of an assemblage thing,’ she said. ‘It’s what I do. For money.’ Kind of.

‘What’s it for?’ Lily leaned over, her nose almost touching the Perspex front of the box.

‘Nothing. It’s just a decoration.’

‘Oh.’ Lily straightened up. ‘How much do you charge?’

Gwen blinked. ‘Sixty-five pounds. This one’s more because it was commissioned.’

‘Nice little earner.’ Lily gave her an approving nod.

‘Not really,’ Gwen said. The apothecary shop had taken over sixteen hours to make and the miniature till was an antique that had cost ten pounds. Gwen had a sudden flash of fury at herself. No wonder she was broke. What was wrong with her? The new-yoga-obsessed Ruby would probably say that her chakras were unaligned or something.

She put tissue paper over the box, added a ‘thank you for your purchase’ card and began folding layers of bubble wrap.

Still Lily lingered.

‘I’m going into town to post this,’ Gwen tried.

‘That’s fine,’ Lily said. ‘I’ll come with you. I can show you around.’

Gwen knew that she should explain that she used to live in the town and that she probably knew it as well as Lily did, but the words remained stuck in her throat.

She hoisted her bag onto her shoulder and locked up the house.

‘Iris never locked her back door,’ Lily observed.

‘That was very silly of her,’ Gwen said.

Lily laughed her unnatural tinkle. ‘I keep forgetting you’re a city type. You don’t know what it’s like in Pendleford; we all look out for one another here.’

Fed up, Gwen snapped, ‘I suppose there’s no crime at all, then? If I buy the paper, it’ll be completely blank.’

Lily looked away, but she didn’t say anything. They walked past the frost-touched hedgerows in silence, reaching the end of the track and joined what probably counted as a main road in Pendleford.

‘You have a lovely garden,’ Gwen said as they passed it. A peace offering.

‘Not as big as yours.’ Lily’s voice had real bitterness in it, but a moment later she said brightly, ‘Have you looked at the town bridge yet?’

‘I’ve driven over it,’ Gwen said, adding silently: And, a lifetime ago, I snogged Cameron Laing underneath it.

Lily slid her a sideways look. ‘But have you really looked at it?’

‘Why?’

‘You’ll see,’ Lily said with satisfaction.

Gwen breathed in, enjoying the crisp autumnal air, the sunlight that lit the trees into beacons of flame. Within minutes, the roads narrowed and they entered the town centre. ‘Some of the buildings are medieval – like the Tithe Barn,’ Lily said, pointing down a side street. ‘That’s a big attraction.’

A queue of cars inched slowly down Silver Street, spoiling the olde worlde effect somewhat.

Lily saw Gwen looking and said, ‘We weren’t built for cars, that’s for sure.’ She spoke as if the town were alive.

‘Mmm.’ Having walked down the winding street, balancing on the cobbles and narrowly avoiding pitching into a silver sedan, Gwen stopped outside a small shop called The Crystal Cave. It was filled with crystal balls, decks of tarot cards, and a tabby cat. It was the kind of place Gloria loved to browse in for hours and she breathed in, half-expecting the scent of incense to permeate the street.

‘It’s for the tourists,’ Lily sniffed. ‘Wiltshire is known for its ancient stones, ley lines and mystical energy.’

Gwen didn’t ask what a fake crystal ball had to do with a prehistoric stone circle.

‘It’s silly really,’ Lily said.

Gwen hadn’t been paying proper attention, but now she realised that Lily was watching her carefully. ‘Silly,’ she said, hoping that agreeing with Lily would make her stop staring at her in that unnerving way. She added, ‘Harmless, though.’

‘One woman’s cupcake is another’s shit sandwich,’ Lily replied.

‘Pardon?’

Lily gave her a calculating look. ‘That’s what your aunt always said. She said it was impossible to do no harm. One hungry family’s roast dinner is the sad demise of a chicken.’

‘Right.’

‘She was full of them. Said everything was a war and that there could only be one winner.’

The cold air was making Gwen’s nose run and she pulled out a tissue. She was getting the creeping sensation that she might not have liked her aunt very much. Question was: should that make her feel more or less guilty about inheriting from her?

‘Look…’ Lily pointed down the street. ‘There’s the roundhouse.’

At one end of the bridge was a round stone structure. Its shape was a cross between a minaret and a beehive and there was an ornately carved fish mounted on the roof.

‘The bridge is thirteenth century, but the roundhouse was added in the eighteenth. It was used as a lock-up for drunkards and criminals.’

‘There’s a fish on the roof,’ Gwen said. She was working on automatic pilot, her voice handling conversation while her brain concentrated on ignoring the river rushing under the bridge.

Lily nodded. ‘A gudgeon. Round here we still say “over the water and under the fish” when we mean in jail.’

‘That’s colourful.’

‘Oh yes. We’ve got colour coming out of our arses round here,’ Lily said and walked onwards, her heels clicking on the pavement.

Gwen stamped down on her rising panic. She’d spent so long squashing all thoughts of Stephen Knight that she wasn’t prepared for the assault of memories. He’d been a funny-looking boy. One of those awkward teens that look both younger and older than their age all at once. A baby face that somehow carried the gruff, sun-burned features of his farming parents at the same time. Until they fished him out of the river, of course. Then he’d looked exactly, tragically, his sixteen years.

They reached the main shopping street. A steeply sloping affair, lined with self-consciously pretty painted wooden fronts and chichi window displays. It was all much more upmarket than Gwen remembered.

‘What do you need to do?’ Lily was showing no signs of leaving and Gwen couldn’t think of a polite way to extricate herself.

‘Um. Post office?’

‘At the bottom of the road, turn left. It’s next to the Co-op.’

Lily paused, a sly look flashed across her face and then disappeared. ‘You should go and see the green. It’s a little further along the river.’

‘Okay.’

‘And the Red Lion does bar meals if you fancy a bite.’

‘Thanks.’ Gwen shifted her weight, preparing to walk away.

‘It’s haunted, mind, but I’m sure that won’t bother you.’

Gwen forced a laugh. ‘I don’t believe in ghosts.’

‘Quite right. It’s probably dreamed up as a lure for the tourists.’

Despite herself, Gwen asked, ‘What is?’

‘Ghost of Jane Morely. She was tried as a witch on the green outside the pub.’

Lily’s stare had become disturbingly intense and Gwen decided the best policy was a polite smile.

‘It’s in the town records if you don’t believe me. She was executed in 1675. They strangled her and burned her.’

‘Better than the other way around, I suppose.’

Lily looked at her sharply. ‘I would prefer neither, myself.’

‘Well, yes,’ Gwen stumbled. How did she end up in a conversation about preferred methods of execution? ‘Obviously.’ She stepped aside to let a woman laden with shopping bags pass. The woman stopped, turned, and retraced her steps. ‘Excuse me? Aren’t you Gwen Harper?’

‘Um. Yes.’

‘You’ve just moved into the big house, haven’t you?’

‘Sorry?’ Gwen felt panicky, as if she were in the middle of an exam that she hadn’t revised for.

‘Off Bath Road? End House, is it?’ The woman had a thoroughly freckled face topped with a teal beret.

‘Yes.’

‘I’m Amanda. I’m in number twelve on the main road. We’re neighbours.’ She shifted her clutch of carrier bags from one hand to the other. ‘I’m so sorry we haven’t been by to welcome you. We’ve all had the sickness bug that’s going around.’

‘Oh don’t worry,’ Gwen said. Then there was a pause, so she added, ‘It’s fine.’

After another, lengthening, silence, Gwen realised that Amanda was waiting for something. With a flash of understanding, Gwen dragged up the words, ‘You’re very welcome to pop by any time. Come for tea.’

Amanda smiled. People were too happy in this place. It was unnerving.

‘You don’t remember me, do you?’

Gwen stared at Amanda’s wide grey eyes and freckled skin, something tickling the back of her mind, and then it came to her. ‘Biology,’ she said, just as Amanda said, ‘We were in sixth form together.’

‘God. I’m sorry. It’s been ages. How are you?’ Gwen was struggling to reconcile this slightly matronly-looking woman with the sullen teenager she only vaguely remembered. Biology, like most of her classes, was a bit of a blur. She’d been dreaming her way through her A levels, thinking only about Cam and when she was next seeing him. Your basic teenage cliché, she now realised.

Lily stood frozen, her face a mask.

‘I’m sorry,’ Gwen said, gesturing. ‘Amanda, this is Lily.’

‘Oh, we know each other,’ Amanda said dismissively. She put down her shopping bags and stretched her fingers. She had purple gloves on with an extra pair of fingerless woollen ones over the top.

‘You didn’t tell me you used to live here,’ Lily said, her voice tight.

‘Yes.’ Gwen turned to Lily. ‘For a while. A long time ago.’

‘How long?’ Lily said, her gaze unnervingly intense. ‘You went to school here?’

‘We moved onto Newfield Road when I was ten. But I haven’t been back for ages. Not since sixth form, actually.’ She forced a laugh. ‘It feels like a different life.’

‘You let me go on like a fool, showing you around. Telling you things.’ Bright spots of colour appeared on Lily’s cheeks. ‘You didn’t say you knew Pendleford, that you used to live here.’ Lily was almost stuttering in her horror. ‘I feel like an idiot. You let me go on—’

‘No, I liked it,’ Gwen said, trying to make it better. ‘It’s all so different. It was useful. Really.’

Amanda laughed. ‘Pendleford? Changed? Not likely.’

Gwen shot her a look that said: not helping.

‘Well, I assume you can find your way from here,’ Lily said, furious embarrassment clear on her face. ‘I’ll leave you in peace.’

Gwen watched her walk away, her back perfectly straight, her highlighted helmet of blonde hair hardly moving. ‘Damn it,’ she said under her breath. Way to make nice with the neighbours, Gwen.

‘Are you renovating the house?’ Amanda asked, oblivious. ‘I know a great builder if you need one.’ She looked self-conscious for a moment. ‘I suppose I would say that. He’s my husband, you see, but he’s very good.’

‘I’m sure.’

‘Ask anyone.’

‘I’m not really planning—’

‘He can get references. Written ones.’

‘I’ve only just moved in and I haven’t worked out what I’m doing yet—’

‘Reputation is everything round here, so you can rely on a local.’

Gwen gave up. ‘I’ll bear him in mind. Thanks.’

‘Well, I’d best get on.’ Amanda stooped to retrieve her bags.

‘Right. Will do. I’m just—’ Gwen waved in the general direction she was heading. ‘I think I’ll get some lunch and wait for the post office to open.’

‘He won’t be back till one.’

‘Right. Thanks.’

‘You want some advice?’ Amanda leaned in. ‘Avoid the Red Lion.’

‘Bad food?’

Amanda sniffed. ‘Bloody unfriendly.’

Gwen watched the bulky figure of Amanda retreat up the twisty street and then turned resolutely in the direction of the pub. Unfriendly sounded perfect. She could cope with the ghosts if nobody living spoke to her for the next half an hour.

Gwen finished a ploughman’s lunch and half a lager and read the newspaper. She was feeling a great deal warmer towards the town. The pub was the kind she liked. It had traditional decor with a few old photographs and horse brasses on the walls, scarred wooden tables and benches and an open fire in the front room.

She’d even enjoyed the surly service from the barman; it made her feel more comfortable than anything else in Pendleford so far. It felt somehow more honest, which was probably a sad reflection on her life so far.

Gwen left her plate and glass on the bar on her way past. The barman rewarded her with an almost-smile. The front room had filled up in the time she’d been eating, but Gwen noticed Cam right away. He was eating alone, a paperback book splayed open next to his plate.

Gwen hesitated. She wanted to walk straight past, but if he looked up she didn’t want to get caught ignoring him. So he hated her. So what? She swallowed, feeling sick. If she was serious about staying in this town, she was going to have to get used to seeing him. She straightened her shoulders and tried to arrange her face into a relaxed expression.

He looked up.

Gwen forced herself forward. Breezy. Just breeze past. Breezily.

‘Hello.’

‘I just had lunch.’ Gwen motioned to the back room.

Cam nodded, his expression unreadable.

‘I’m just going,’ Gwen said.

‘So I see.’ Cam looked like a spectacularly bad day had just got worse. Well, she’d just walk on out of there and relieve his stress.

‘Where are you running off to?’ Cam said, his face perfectly still.

‘I’m not running,’ Gwen said with dignity. ‘I’m leaving you in peace.’ This cold politeness was unnerving. She hadn’t expected much after their last meeting, but there wasn’t so much as a flicker of warmth. Gwen blinked. Her insides suddenly felt hollow.

‘Nice to see you,’ he said. Then, as if they were perfect strangers, ‘Welcome to Pendleford, again. Do call my office if you need anything.’

Gwen got the hell out before she pushed his cool, calm, collected face into his lunch.

On the way home, she called into the big chemist to stock up on essentials. She was filling her basket with three-for-two offers and trying to block out the Christmas music, when she spotted a familiar face. Marilyn Dixon. Lurking behind the perfume counter. There were dark circles under her eyes; purple shadows visible through the mask of pale beige make-up. Gwen felt a stab of guilt. She shouldn’t have left things the way she did. She should’ve been nicer. More sympathetic.

Gwen waited for the queue to empty, then took her basket up to Marilyn’s till.

For a moment she thought Marilyn wouldn’t recognise her, but then she said, ‘Iris used to make all her own stuff. Body lotion and toothpaste. She said you couldn’t trust the chemicals.’

‘Won’t you get in trouble for saying that here?’ Gwen was aiming for humour, but Marilyn didn’t smile. ‘Watch out for the botanical range. It brought me out in a rash.’

‘Right. Thank you.’

There was a pause, punctuated by the beep of the scanner.

‘I’m sorry if I was rude last night,’ Gwen said.

‘That’s all right,’ Marilyn said stiffly. ‘It must’ve seemed very odd, my coming to you like that.’

‘Well—’

‘I don’t know what I was thinking. I don’t know what I’m doing any more.’ Marilyn rammed a tube of hand cream deep into a carrier bag. ‘It’s not been an easy time for me.’

‘I’m sorry.’

Marilyn added the cotton buds, lip balm and moisturiser to the bag.

‘If you want to talk—’ Gwen began awkwardly.

‘I have friends,’ Marilyn said defensively. A furtive look crossed her face. ‘And I went to see your neighbour instead. She was very helpful.’

‘Oh. Good,’ Gwen said. ‘My neighbour?’

‘She said it’ll make Brian come to his senses.’

‘What will?’

Marilyn bagged the last item – a lipstick Gwen had picked up on impulse – and gave Gwen a sickly smile. ‘Thank you for shopping with us today.’

Gwen braved the cold to spend some time sorting through her stock in the back of Nanette. She knew she ought to be making plans; working out what she was going to do about her business, money, her future. Instead, Cam’s carefully polite expression and Marilyn-bloody-Dixon’s voice kept popping into her mind. What did she mean by ‘come to his senses’? And why had she looked so tired and sad? With fingers that were too numb to open any more boxes, Gwen headed into the house. She ate some bread and jam and drank a glass of wine. Perhaps it was her imagination, but the house seemed just as cold as the van. Trying not to think about Cam or the business or Marilyn or anything at all, Gwen retreated to bed. She pulled up all of the blankets and quilts and, within moments, fell asleep.

Gwen snapped awake. The room was freezing, but she knew a noise had woken her up. She listened, ears straining. There was a muffled thump and her heart damn near jumped out of her mouth. She pushed down the fear and forced herself to switch on the lamp. The cat stalked out from the end of the bed and picked his way to the door. Relief flooded her system. ‘Bloody cat!’ He paused at the door but didn’t turn around. Gwen took a deep breath and willed her hammering heart to slow. She knew she wasn’t going to fall back asleep any time soon, so she swung her legs out of bed. Her Sudoku book was downstairs. A few minutes struggling with the ‘super-hard’ level puzzles was usually enough to cure any insomnia. It was cold and she pulled on her dressing-gown and slippers. ‘I’m on my way,’ she said to the impatient cat, who stood by the door. She readied herself for him to squeeze past her, but instead he wound around her legs, like he was trying to imitate clothing. ‘Not now, Cat.’

He kept up the furry ankle-socks impression all the way down the stairs until she said, ‘You win. I’ll feed you.’ The words died in her throat as she saw a detail that was all wrong. The back door was ajar. She went cold all over and then liquid with fear as the door clicked shut. Someone had just left her house. At two o’clock in the morning.