Читать книгу The Language Of Spells - Sarah Painter - Страница 15

Gwen went downstairs, trying to rub life back into her frozen hands. She stabbed the button on the kettle and got down a couple of mugs. Cam walked in a moment later, slipping his phone into his pocket.

‘Tea?’

‘No, thanks.’

His expression made her body temperature drop another couple of degrees. ‘What is it?’

‘Was the boiler working when you moved in?’

‘Yes. I think so.’

‘Someone’s really gone to town on it. Probably with a hammer. Do you have a hammer?’

‘You think I hit my own boiler?’ Gwen’s brain seemed to be as frozen as her hands.

‘No.’ Cam shook his head. ‘Harry wanted to know. If you had left one lying about your bedroom—’ he paused, stuck on the word, then carried on, ‘that could be a spur of the moment crime. But if the person brought it with them it was planned.’

‘Does that make a difference?’

‘Very much so. In court—’ He broke off. ‘Sit down.’

‘Okay.’ Gwen felt her legs wobble and hastily sat in the chair Cam had jumped up to offer. Last thing she wanted to do was collapse in front of him like a needy, useless lump.

‘I’ve rung around, but no one can come out before tomorrow.’ Cam looked almost murderous.

‘I know,’ Gwen said. ‘I told you that.’

‘It’s not good enough,’ Cam said.

‘Well, this early cold snap—’

‘So you’ll have to come and stay with me tonight.’

‘No,’ Gwen said. She might have no choice about staying in Pendleford for a few months, but she had not come back to her home town to play the damsel in distress. She was a grown-up, an independent woman and she did not need charity from anybody. Especially not Cameron Laing.

‘I’ll sleep on the sofa,’ Cam continued, ignoring her. ‘We should probably go now. I’ve told Harry we’ll be there when he comes off shift. You can give him your house key and he’ll swing by and take a look’

‘I’m not leaving,’ Gwen said.

Cam gave her a disgusted look. ‘You’re being ridiculous. What about your sister? Can’t you go and stay with her for a couple of days?’

‘No,’ Gwen said. She didn’t elaborate. Cam already thought she was unstable; there was no need to tell him that she was fighting with the only family she had left.

‘I’m not deserting this house just because it’s a bit chilly.’ Gwen stood up to make her tea. She told herself that she felt strong. She was an independent woman. Self-reliant.

‘It’s freezing,’ Cam said, his voice reasonable. ‘And it’s going to get worse. They forecast minus ten tonight.’

‘Who’s they?’

‘Google.’

‘Oh, well then, if Saint Google says so.’ Gwen was hoping to make him smile, but nothing doing.

‘It’s not funny,’ he said.

‘There’s an oil heater in the outbuilding, I’ll bring that in. I’ve got hot water bottles and plenty of blankets. I’ll go to bed early and keep warm. I’ll be fine. Honestly, you don’t need to worry.’ As she reassured him just how fine she was going to be, a place opened up inside Gwen, reminding her that someone had broken into the house last night. She tried not to think about the quiet road and the long, dark path that led to her house. She tried not to see the single light at her window, shining out in the night like an invitation. She’d put on more lights; that was all that was needed. Maybe make a couple of silhouettes of well-built men and move them around the house with her.

Cam had pulled out his phone and was fiddling with the buttons. He spoke without looking up. ‘I’ll stay with you then.’

‘You don’t have to do that,’ Gwen said automatically, ignoring the tiny voice that said: yes, please.

‘I’m not leaving you on your own.’ The door to the living room banged open in a gust of wind. Cam frowned and went to close it. ‘You’ll probably start digging the garden or replacing the windows or something.’

‘Very funny.’ Gwen wrapped her hands around the mug and tried not to feel irritated. It would be nice to think that he cared. If only he could stop being so officious, she might even be able to convince herself that she was something other than another problem to solve.

Cam called Harry back while Gwen lugged the oil heater from the outhouse and set it up in her bedroom.

Cam appeared in the doorway, just as she was checking it worked.

He leaned against the door jamb and crossed his arms, staring at the bed. ‘Sure you’ve got enough blankets there?’

‘Ha ha,’ Gwen said to stop herself from offering him a test run. ‘And the heater works. I’ll be completely fine.’

Cam hesitated.

‘I’ve got new locks. I’ll keep my mobile with me. You don’t need to worry.’

He followed her downstairs and Gwen wondered whether he was going to leave right away.

‘I need a drink,’ Cam said, running a hand through his hair.

‘I’ve got Southern Comfort.’

Cam pulled a face.

‘Fussy boy. How about red wine?’

Gwen opened the bottle and poured two glasses. Nothing seemed real. Someone had got into her house and messed up her heating. Deliberately. She’d only been back in Pendleford for a week and someone already hated her that much. She took a gulp from her glass and handed the other to Cam.

‘Shall we stay in here? I think it’s the warmest room at the moment.’

Cam shrugged. He took a sip of his wine and pulled a face.

‘Cheap stuff, I’m afraid,’ Gwen said, then felt irritated for apologising. She fiddled with her thumb ring, twisting it round and round. ‘Why do I get the feeling you’re annoyed with me?’

‘Well, you’re the one insisting you stay in this house on your own. It would be much better—’

‘Not just about that. You always seem as if you’re angry, but you’re trying not to show it.’

‘Do I?’ Cam’s forehead creased. After a moment he said, ‘I don’t feel angry. Sorry.’

‘Because if you are, I’d understand, but I’d much rather we had it out and you said whatever it is you’re trying not to say.’

‘I’m not hiding anything,’ Cam said, but he didn’t meet her eyes.

Gwen decided to just say it. Get it out there. ‘I’ve told you I’m sorry about how I left things. Before.’

Cam’s expression went blank. ‘Ancient history,’ he said.

‘Water under the bridge,’ Gwen said.

‘And it’s done.’ Cam shrugged. ‘No point crying over spilt milk.’

‘Look before you leap.’

‘What?’

‘Sorry. I thought we were trading clichés.’

There was a short silence, then Cam said, ‘How’s the living room looking?’

Gwen shook her head. ‘Not good.’ She showed him the one wall she’d painted. The purple had turned the white grey and was seeping through in patches, giving it a scabrous look.