Читать книгу The Language Of Spells - Sarah Painter - Страница 14

Gwen slipped back into the hallway, heart thudding, and dialled 999. An oddly rational part of her brain observed her doing this. You’ve never rung the emergency services before, the calm part of her brain said. Apart from that one time, an unhelpful section piped up. Down by the river. A bloated white face. Black water weeds tangled around his neck. Gwen squashed the memory back down, ignoring the sickness that came with it as best she could. Don’t think about that. No time. Look, now you’re giving your address. Aren’t you doing well?

The woman on the line said that someone would be there very soon. Gwen went back upstairs and locked herself and Cat in the bathroom, her ear pressed to the door to listen and her mobile phone gripped in one hand. Six minutes later, the doorbell rang and she went back downstairs. Blue lights were strobing through the glass panel at the top of the door and she opened the door to a six-foot tall policewoman, her male partner dwarfed beside her.

Gwen gave a swift recap, showing the now-completely-shut back door and waiting while both PCs checked the garden, the gates, and down the road. She was proud of how calm she was being until the policeman – PC Davies – suggested that she sit down and put her head between her knees for a moment and she realised that her peripheral vision had entirely disappeared.

‘Quiet up here,’ PC Green said, tactfully ignoring the fact that Gwen had her head at floor level and was taking deep breaths.

Gwen sat up slowly and the kitchen tilted. She swallowed. ‘Yes.’

‘Nice.’ Green looked around. She had brown hair in a high ponytail and discreetly chic make-up. She looked capable and grown up and, even if she hadn’t been wearing a uniform, Gwen would’ve trusted her.

‘Have you lived here long?’

Gwen explained about her aunt and the inheritance. ‘It’s all been quite strange.’

‘So, you’ve been a bit disorientated?’

‘Well…’ Gwen said.

‘And what are the neighbours like? This is usually a pretty friendly place.’

‘Oh, very nice.’ Gwen said quickly. ‘Very friendly.’

‘Do they pop by?’

‘All the time.’

PC Green nodded. ‘You lived in a city before, right?’

‘Yes. Leeds.’

‘Different place, I bet.’

‘Well, obviously, but—’

Green called to PC Davies, not even attempting to hide her impatience. ‘False alarm.’

Gwen decided she wasn’t so trustworthy after all. What self-respecting police person wore a scrunchie, anyway?

‘You probably left the door open and the wind blew it shut,’ she said to Gwen.

‘I definitely locked the door before I went to bed,’ Gwen said, stamping down on her anger. ‘City girl, remember? Paranoid.’

‘Well, maybe someone popped by for a visit. One of your neighbours.’

‘At two o’clock in the morning?’ Gwen said tightly.

PC Green shrugged and walked to the front door. PC Davies was already there, holding it wide open and letting a wall of freezing air into the hall.

Gwen hugged herself to keep from shouting at an officer of the law. ‘If a neighbour decided to visit, why didn’t they speak to me? Call upstairs?’ As she spoke, Gwen remembered Lily’s stealth casserole.

PC Davies looked apologetic. ‘We’ll file a report. Let us know if you have any more problems.’

‘I definitely locked that door,’ Gwen said again, trying not to sound shaky and pathetic.

Green was already halfway to the panda car.

‘I’m not crazy,’ Gwen called to her. Green raised a hand without turning round.

Gwen shut the door and locked it. There was something tugging at her memory, too. A feeling. When she’d gone downstairs and seen the door closing, she’d had the strong sense it was a man on the other side of it. Gwen had been brought up to pay attention to her intuition, to believe in it. She closed her eyes and concentrated. A strong smell of aftershave filled her nostrils. She opened her eyes and it dissipated. Definitely a man then. She couldn’t exactly call Green back and explain how she knew that and it seemed that the house was magnifying the Harper family intuition. Either that or she was going crazy. Cat wound around her ankles, purring like a jet engine. ‘Bloody marvellous,’ Gwen said, and went to find him some tuna fish.

The next morning, Gwen was reading in bed after a fitful night. She told herself that she was completely calm and fine, but for some irritating reason she still hadn’t been able to sleep for more than half an hour at a time. Iris’s notebook wasn’t exactly comforting, either. Amongst the unknown initials of Iris’s customers and acquaintances, her own name kept leaping out.

Gloria was here with her girls today. She didn’t tell me, of course, but I could see it straight away: Gwen has the Finding. Poor child. There’s a reason Finding Lost Things was banned by the charter of 1539. Some things aren’t meant to be found.

Gwen closed her eyes. Iris wasn’t wrong about that. Before Gwen had started to refuse to do her party piece on demand, Gloria was always pimping her out. Lost car keys, wallets, pets, wedding rings. When she was eleven, she’d had to tell a woman that her lost engagement ring was at an address that turned out to be a pawn shop. Rather than believe that her husband (who everyone knew had a teeny-tiny problem with gambling) had hawked it, she accused Gwen of nicking it and then trying to squeeze some more cash out of her by finding it. Being screamed at by a member of the school PTA wasn’t the worst Gwen had experienced, but she still remembered the feeling of betrayal. Why had Gloria made her do it? She was supposed to be the grown-up, the protector. Sure, she’d hauled Gwen out of the woman’s kitchen, taken her home and passed her tissues to wipe her face, but the experience didn’t stop her asking Gwen to find something for a client later that same day. Gloria didn’t let a little thing like her daughter’s feelings get in the way of increasing revenue.

At half past eight, Cat stalked into the room and jumped onto the bed. He landed with a thud that made the bed springs creak. ‘How are you so heavy?’ she asked him. ‘You defy the laws of physics.’ Unless the cat was a black hole. That would make sense.

The doorbell rang. Gwen pulled on slippers and a dressing-gown and picked up the cricket bat. The man at the front door wasn’t in uniform or a bad suit, but she could see he was police just the same.

‘Detective Inspector Harry Collins. Please don’t hit me.’

Gwen leaned the bat up against the wall and took a step back.

He walked into the hallway with a puff of icy winter air and the smell of frost.

Gwen held her hand out for his heavy jacket.

He shook his head. ‘That’s all right.’

‘You have to take it off now or you won’t feel the benefit when you go outside.’

The policeman grinned, instantly looking about ten years younger. ‘That’s what my gran always said.’

‘Smart lady,’ Gwen said, hand outstretched.

Harry shrugged off his coat obediently and handed it to Gwen.

In the kitchen, Gwen was confused to find the tea bag tin out of the cupboard where it lived and sitting on the counter. Lid off. Either the intruder had got halfway through making himself a cup of tea, or Iris was moving things around. Which was impossible. Gwen put the tin back and poured two strong coffees. She cut thick slices of fruit cake and pretended that her hands weren’t shaking.

‘Isn’t it early for cake?’ Harry said.

‘Never too early for cake. Anyway, it’s got fruit in it. It’s practically a health food.’

‘Well, then.’ Harry took some cake and then said, ‘Can you tell me about the disturbance last night?’

‘I don’t want to waste your time,’ Gwen said stiffly, not in the mood for another round of ‘laugh at the loony out-of-towner’. ‘I got a case number last night.’ Gwen turned to look for it.

‘I read the report, but I’d like to hear it from you.’ He gave a small smile. ‘If you don’t mind.’

Gwen frowned. ‘You’re a detective. Isn’t this a bit below your pay grade?’ She gave him a searching look. ‘Quiet day at the office?’

He smiled that easy grin again and held up his hands. ‘I have a confession to make.’

Gwen closed her eyes. ‘Don’t tell me you knew my great-aunt.’

‘Don’t think so. I do know Cameron Laing though.’

Gwen frowned, ignoring the flare of excitement that Cam’s name ignited. ‘I don’t—’

‘So, when I saw your call on the log, I recognised your name and address and thought I’d better deal with it personally.’

‘Oh.’ Gwen didn’t have a follow-up for that.

‘Don’t want to give Cam a reason to fall out with me. He buys the drinks,’ Harry supplied.

‘Right.’ Cameron Laing the lawyer. Cameron Laing, friend to the local detective inspector. Life was odd.

‘So,’ Harry said gently, ‘can you talk me through it?’

Gwen took a sip of coffee, gathering her thoughts. ‘I woke up. Something woke me up. I guess a noise, although I wasn’t aware of anything clearly. I got up and went downstairs.’

‘On your own? That wasn’t sensible.’

Gwen glowered at him. ‘There are a lot of creepy noises in this house. You want me to call the police every time the radiator burps?’

Harry waved a hand. ‘Continue.’

‘I went downstairs and when I walked into the kitchen, I saw the back door shut.’ She paused, feeling the fear all over again. ‘Someone had just left.’

‘No forced entry, so we’re looking at someone with access. How many people have a key to the house?’

‘I have no idea.’ Gwen said, feeling stupid. ‘I doubt Iris was in the habit of giving them out, but—’

‘Can you show me the keys?’

Gwen got up and fetched her key ring. It still felt bulky and awkward in her hand and it took her a while to locate the front and back door keys.

‘Okay. The front door has a new Yale, but this one,’ he held up the brass back door key, ‘looks vintage.’

‘I don’t know who has the key. I know Lily Thomas – my great-aunt’s cleaner – had one, but she left it here.’ Gwen went through to the hallway and picked up the spare key.

Harry nodded, his phone at his ear. ‘Michael? Got a job for you in Pendleford.’ He paused. ‘Nope. Got to be today. This morning for preference.’ He looked at Gwen. ‘Eleven o’clock okay with you?’

She nodded, dumbfounded by the way people kept taking charge, bringing her things, helping. It was unsettling.

Harry collected his jacket. ‘Thank you for the cake. It was very nice to meet you.’

‘What’s going to happen about my intruder?’

‘Well, we file a report.’

‘And?’ Gwen said. ‘Don’t you dust for fingerprints or something?’

‘Sometimes,’ Harry said. ‘But it’s not all that easy and, as your intruder had a key, technically we don’t have much of a crime. Entering, but not so much with the breaking.’

‘But you’re here. The detective inspector.’

Harry smiled again. ‘Like I said; you’re a special case.’

I’ve been called that before, Gwen thought wryly, and she opened the front door for Harry. An icy blast blew straight through her clothes, making her feel suddenly naked. She wrapped her arms around her body. ‘Goodbye then. Thank you for your help.’

‘Anything for you, Gwen Harper,’ Harry said with a grin and headed down the path.

Gwen shut the door, utterly bemused. ‘They’re all crazy around here,’ she said, turning around and leaning against the door. She tried not to wonder what, exactly, Cam had said about her to Harry.

‘Prrup?’ the cat said, looking as innocent as the seven-year-old Ruby after she’d been left in charge of their joint haul of Easter chocolate.

‘That goes for you, too, Cat,’ she said, straightening up.

Later that day, the doorbell rang and somebody started pounding on the front door. Gwen rushed through, tightening her dressing-gown cord as she went.

Cameron Laing stood in front of her, arm raised from bashing seven shades out of the paintwork.

‘Is something on fire?’ Gwen said, stepping back to let him in.

‘Why didn’t you call me?’ His face and voice were as neutral as they had been in the pub, but there was a tightness around his eyes.

‘What?’ Gwen closed the door against the howling gale.

‘You were broken into,’ Cam said. His forehead creased. ‘You should’ve told me.’

‘I called the police.’ Gwen folded her arms. ‘And I’m fine. Thanks for asking.’

‘I know you’re fine.’ Cam sounded irritated. ‘I spoke to Harry.’

‘You two are like a pair of little old ladies.’ Gwen was determined not to be pleased that he cared.

Cam frowned. ‘What?’

‘Gossiping. This whole place is filled with people talking about other people’s business and turning up at all hours and talking and wanting … stuff.’ Gwen realised she was babbling and forced herself to stop.

‘Are you all right?’ Cam dipped his head to look at her properly.

‘I’m just tired.’ Gwen tried a smile. ‘Actually, I’m exhausted.’

He ran a hand through his hair, leaving the front standing up. ‘Shit. Sorry. Did I wake you up?’

‘No.’ Gwen was momentarily confused, and then she remembered that she wasn’t dressed. ‘I was just going through Iris’s papers. Trying to make sense of the open-door policy in this place.’

‘It’s your house, now. You can do whatever you want. Don’t let people in.’

‘That’s easier said than done,’ Gwen said. The temperature in the hallway suddenly dropped further, as if she hadn’t just shut the door, and she shivered.

‘Right,’ Cam said, and pushed past her, heading for the back door.

‘Help yourself,’ Gwen said drily. He bent down to look at the door and Gwen found herself staring at his backside. She swallowed. It was just as appealing as the front view. Maybe even more so because she couldn’t see him scowling at her from this angle.

‘The locksmith is coming round. I thought you were him. He. Whichever.’

‘You should replace the whole thing. This glass isn’t safe. Someone can knock it out and reach through—’ He stopped when he saw her expression and stuffed his hands into his pockets. ‘It’s fine. This is a very safe town. Our crime rate is really low.’

‘I’m sure,’ Gwen said politely.

‘Well. I’m glad you’re okay.’

‘I’m fine.’ She smiled to show that she was fine and that he didn’t have to be politely concerned for her any longer.

‘Good,’ Cam said. ‘I’ll leave you to your reading.’

He paused at the door, looking like he might be about to say something.

Gwen dug her fingernails into her palm to stop herself from blurting out something stupid like: stay. Or from reaching out and grabbing the front of his shirt. ‘See you later,’ she said. After he’d gone, she ran upstairs and watched him get into his car from the bedroom window. She laid her head against the cool glass and marvelled at the heat in her skin.

The locksmith came as promised, but he kept his coat on while he worked. The house was freezing and Gwen couldn’t get the pilot light on the boiler relit. By the afternoon, ice had formed on the inside of the windows and Gwen answered the door wearing thick socks, tartan flannel PJ bottoms and an enormous hooded sweatshirt that was rolled up several times on the sleeves.

Gwen was surprised to find Cam on the doorstep. He was looking serious, which wasn’t so shocking. Gwen wondered if the frown was regulation issue, handed out after the bar exam.

‘You look terrible,’ Cam said.

‘The words every woman longs to hear.’ Gwen stepped aside to let him in.

‘Sorry. I mean, you don’t look well. Are you all right?’ His face softened in concern and instantly he looked like a different man.

‘The boiler’s broken and the repair guy says he can’t come out until tomorrow and I can’t stop thinking about some stranger walking around in the house while I was asleep and touching all my stuff. Well, Iris’s stuff. Apart from that, I’m fabulous.’

He held up a hammer and a piece of plywood. ‘I come bearing gifts.’

Gwen brightened. ‘Can you fix heating?’

‘Sorry, probably not. I’m going to nail this over the glass in your back door.’ He shrugged. ‘I’ll take a look at your heating, although I warn you not to get your hopes up.’

‘Good enough.’ The hallway suddenly seemed too small a space to share with Cam, so Gwen led the way to the kitchen.

She flipped the switch on the kettle and got a tin down from the cupboard while Cam examined the back door. She wondered if Cam, as executor of Iris’s estate, had some legal obligation to look after the property. The thought that he might be bound to the house and, by extension, her for six months, was appealing. ‘Is this part of the service?’ Or do you still care about me?

Cam turned round. ‘What do you mean?’

Gwen didn’t know how to ask whether he was in her kitchen out of personal concern or professionalism. And suddenly she didn’t want to know the answer. ‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘Would you like tea or coffee?’

Cam pounded nails with a focus that Gwen found alarmingly attractive. He had taken off his suit jacket and hung it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs. His shoulders filled out his white shirt very nicely indeed and the way his hair curled over the nape of his neck did something odd to Gwen’s insides. She leaned against the counter and contemplated his back. It was soothing to look at him when he wasn’t frowning at her.

Then the doorbell rang and spoiled Gwen’s moment of quiet enjoyment. Cam glanced over his shoulder. ‘You expecting someone?’

‘Not exactly.’

It was a tall man with a checked scarf tucked into a dark wool coat. His skin was suspiciously smooth and evenly toned. He had the well-kept look that went hand-in-hand with a disgustingly healthy bank balance. She would lay money that he didn’t want chilblain ointment.

‘Ms Harper?’

‘Hello.’ Gwen stuck out her hand. The man gripped it firmly and pumped her arm, while Gwen tried to work out if he was wearing foundation.

‘I’m Patrick Allen,’ the smooth man said. ‘As head of the Rotary, ‘I’d like to welcome you to our little town.’ He gave a fake modest chuckle that made Gwen want to throw up. ‘I heard about the unfortunate incident and I wanted to assure you that this is a very safe town.’

The cold air was streaming through the open door and Gwen saw a hard frost clinging to the lavender bushes that lined the path. Politeness said that she had to invite him into the house, but Gwen felt a stickiness in the air that was almost like a barrier. Damn house making all the decisions. She ignored the feeling and smiled as cheerily as she could manage. ‘Would you like to come in?’

Cam appeared in the kitchen doorway, the hammer dangling carelessly from one hand.

‘This is Patrick Allen,’ Gwen said quickly, trying to ignore the way her heart had sped up. She was having a ridiculous throw-back reaction to Cam. Something to do with old memories.

‘I know Patrick.’ Cam smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Don’t often see you on this side of the river.’

‘I could say the same to you, Cameron.’ Patrick inclined his head. ‘I wanted to talk to you about something, actually.’

‘You’ll have to make an appointment at the office.’

Patrick ignored him. ‘It’s about this ridiculous folk festival.’

‘I’ve told you before,’ Cam said. ‘Not something I can help you with.’

Patrick crossed his arms. He looked unaccustomed to hearing the word ‘no’. ‘What’s the point in having laws, then?’

‘A question I have asked myself many times,’ Cam said with a tight smile. He turned to Gwen. ‘Where will I find your boiler?’

‘If you can’t even use them to protect what’s right …’ Patrick was still talking and Gwen revised her initial impression from ‘smooth’ to ‘irritating’.

‘Upstairs. Back bedroom in the cupboard in the corner,’ Gwen said.

Cam started to turn away, then stopped. ‘The law isn’t about what’s right. It’s about what’s legal.’

‘But this so-called festival will be an embarrassment,’ Patrick said. ‘It’s an affront to the decent people,’ he went on, his chest puffed up with importance, ‘the decent businesses—’

‘Are they having a craft market?’ Gwen said.

‘Pardon?’ Patrick glanced at Gwen.

‘At the festival. Are they planning to have a craft tent or something? These things often do.’

‘I have no idea,’ Patrick said, his expression sour. ‘What I do know is that they will ruin the town’s green.’

‘Chippenham and Trowbridge have held them for years without any problem,’ Cam said. ‘And, as I understand it, the town council have made it clear that the green must be left in the state in which it was found.’

‘We’re not Chippenham,’ Patrick said in a withering tone.

‘Just, if there’s going to be a craft market, I’d love to join in. I have a stall.’ Gwen knew she was being childish, but she couldn’t help it. Patrick reminded her of every authority figure she’d ever rebelled against. Old habits died hard.

Patrick looked momentarily at a loss for words. Then he rallied with another false laugh. ‘Ah. I take it I won’t be able to count on you to sign my petition, then?’

‘As a local business owner, I welcome anything that brings in the punters,’ Gwen said sweetly.

‘Well. Yes. I suppose.’ Patrick looked as if he dearly wanted to say something else.

‘I’ve got to get my tools,’ Cam said and went out of the front door. Gwen didn’t blame him.

‘Would you like a cup of coffee? Tea?’ Gwen ushered Patrick to the dining room. She was damned if he was sitting in her lovely kitchen.

‘I can’t stop, really. Just wanted to welcome you and to see if there was anything …’ Patrick trailed off as he took in the mausoleum chic of the dining room. He turned on his heel. ‘Did you say your boiler wasn’t working? Can I help with that?’

‘I don’t know. Can you?’ Gwen was nonplussed. She had the feeling that Patrick wasn’t the kind of person who offered favours out of the goodness of his heart.

‘I have a man for that sort of thing.’ Patrick took a business card from his wallet. ‘Call me if you need anything. Anything at all.’ He looked deeply into Gwen’s eyes as he said this. Probably something he’d learned on a management training day.

Once Patrick was safely off the premises, Gwen fetched painting supplies from the shed. She felt itchy, like she needed to take some control back and show Iris who was boss in the house. Painting over the horrible purple walls seemed like a good place to start. She spread dustsheets over the furniture in the living room until the place looked like it was filled with snowy hillocks.

‘What on earth are you doing?’

Gwen turned to find Cam standing in the doorway, a metal toolbox in one hand. ‘This room is oppressively horrid, so I’m brightening it up.’ She waved a paintbrush.

‘It’s November.’

‘I know what month it is,’ Gwen said. ‘I need to keep busy.’

‘But you’ll freeze. You’ll need the window open for ventilation.’

‘I’m already freezing.’ Gwen gestured at her layers of clothing. ‘And I appear to be surviving. So.’

Cam crossed the room and forced the sash window open a couple of inches. ‘I hope you enjoy frostbite.’

‘Not at all; that’s why I want you to focus all of your admirable energy on my boiler.’

She’d barely started rollering the first wall when Cam called out. She went upstairs and met Cam coming the other way, his expression grim.

Gwen stopped. ‘What?’

‘Come and see,’ Cam said.

Cam had taken the white casing off the front of the boiler and leaned it up against the open door of the cupboard.

‘What?’ Gwen began, then took a closer look.

A small plate that housed the electrics was bent outwards, deep scrape marks gouged into the metal and a tangle of wires hung out drunkenly. The copper pipework had been smashed almost completely flat and a couple of dials were cracked.

‘I think I can see why it wouldn’t relight for you,’ Cam said.