A Witch in Love (5 page)

L
uckily I had plenty to keep my mind off the packet over the next couple of days, what with wrapping presents, cutting holly and ivy for the house, putting up the tree and helping Dad with preparations for Christmas lunch. Four of Dad’s friends from London were coming down, so we were making a special effort.

I always felt, not jealous exactly, but a little wistful when friends had great tribes of relatives descending on them for huge family celebrations. Dad was an only child, like me, and his parents were both dead. As for my mother’s side of the family, I didn’t even know their surname, let alone if they were alive. Dad had never let a single piece of information about his dead wife pass his lips since the day she disappeared.

In between jobs I thought about asking Dad about the buried parchment, but I couldn’t seem to start the conversation. It wasn’t just his resolute silence about my mother – it was the practicalities of phrasing the question without sounding like I was off my trolley. I didn’t think, ‘Dad, did you ever see a witch digging under our front step?’ would do the trick. Besides, any witch who could perform that charm could certainly deflect outwith eyes while they concealed the packet – it was highly unlikely Dad would have noticed anything, even if he was sitting in the front room at the time. Still, for a couple of days I toyed with the idea of asking – until our Christmas guests turned up, which put the conversation well and truly out of bounds.

James and his wife Lorna, and Rick and his partner Ben, arrived on Christmas Eve bearing a mountain of presents and two enormous boxes of food and drink – as if we didn’t have enough already.

I was doing my homework in my room when I heard their cars draw up and by the time I came downstairs Ben was already unpacking a bulging Harrods bag on to the kitchen table.

‘Dates, figs, chocolate-dipped orange peel, bag of walnuts – hope you’ve got nutcrackers, Tom – kumquats, cranberry preserve, Christmas tea – nasty stuff I think but Rick loves it – marmalade, er, what else have we got? Oh yes, here’s the Fortnum’s bag – that needs to go in the fridge, it’s got the foie gras and the smoked salmon in it. Rick’s bringing up the rear with the champagne.’

‘Ben, you’ve got enough to feed an army,’ Lorna protested.

‘An army of gluttons,’ Dad agreed.

‘Well, glutton number one’s here,’ I said from the kitchen doorway.

‘Anna, darling!’ Ben kissed me exuberantly on each cheek. He was one of my favourite honorary uncles – Dad had known Ben and Rick since university and my childhood birthdays had been peppered with their wildly over-extravagant and fabulously unsuitable presents. My favourite had been a Dior handbag I’d received for my sixth birthday.

‘Hello, Anna!’ Lorna gave me an affectionate peck. ‘How’re you? How’s the new school?’

‘Great,’ I said. ‘Not so new any more, really. I feel quite at home.’

‘Enjoying the civilizing influence of the male sex are you? Ho ho!’ James guffawed. This was his idea of humour as my previous school in London had been an all-girls private school, while Winter High was a co-ed state school.

Dad smirked from the corner. ‘Anna’s got a boyfriend.’

‘Dad!’ I groaned.

‘What? I was merely stating a fact.’

‘I hope you’ve horse-whipped the presumptuous young fellow?’ Ben wanted to know. ‘Or are you leaving the kinky stuff to Anna?’

Dad chose to ignore the second part of his remark and merely said, ‘Seth is a very nice young man, and I thoroughly approve. Perhaps he’ll be over this Christmas and you can meet him. Anna, will we be seeing Seth?’

‘Mmph,’ I muttered crossly. Dad’s enthusiasm for Seth bordered on the unseemly, in my opinion. I’d lost count of the number of times I’d come home to find Dad and Seth side by side on the sofa watching the cricket highlights and earnestly discussing England’s hopes in the Ashes, or companionably tinkering with some piece of misbehaving plumbing. Wicker House was a work in progress – far from the wreck it had been when we moved in, but not nearly complete – and Dad was not above co-opting Seth as occasional chippy and plumber’s mate. It was all deeply creepy. Surely fathers were supposed to hate their daughters’ boyfriends? And Seth was equally to blame. It was all ‘Tom said this’ and ‘Tom reckons that’.

‘Is that “yes mmph” or “no mmph”?’ Dad enquired.

‘Maybe mmph. I’m seeing him tonight, if that’s OK, but it depends what his mum’s plans are for tomorrow.’

‘Invite them over for a drink, why don’t you?’

‘Mmm…’ I bit my lip. ‘I’m not sure…’

‘Why ever not?’ Dad looked a touch offended. ‘I’d like to see Elaine.’

‘Oh, it’s not Elaine,’ I hastened to explain. ‘It’s Bran, Seth’s grandfather. He’s staying with them for Christmas and …’ I trailed off, not sure how to say, ‘And he doesn’t approve of me because I’m a witch so I doubt he’ll agree to cross our threshold.’ I tried to think of a way of rephrasing Bran’s vehement hatred – one that didn’t make him sound senile.

‘Darling,’ Ben put a hand on my arm and lowered his voice a dramatic octave, ‘don’t tell me, is he … a
homophobe
?’

‘Oh for God’s sake.’ Rick hit him with a baguette. ‘Leave the poor girl alone. She doesn’t want her dad’s aged mates cramping her style and who can blame her?’

‘No, it’s not that, honestly,’ I hastened, even though I knew they were both joking. ‘It’s just that Seth’s grandfather … he doesn’t approve of me. He doesn’t think I’m the right girl for Seth. And since he’s staying, I don’t really want to cause a family argument at Christmas so I’ve agreed to see Seth tonight in the pub and then I might leave it at that. I’ll just see how it goes, OK?’

‘Anna!’ Ben’s silliness had gone as he wrapped me in a warm Gaultier-scented hug. ‘Who could disapprove of you? In that case I positively decline to share even a single drop of Veuve Clicquot with the silly old goat. If he turns up we’ll make him sit in the garden and drink rainwater.’

I squeezed him back. And then, as Ben pointed meaningfully at the ceiling where the mistletoe hung, swaying gently in the warm air from the Aga, I gave him a kiss on the cheek.

At eight p.m. I left Dad and the others comfortably ensconced in front of the roaring fire in the living room, arguing about whether Quorn was a valid word in Scrabble, and got on my ancient bike to cycle off to the Crown and Anchor, where Seth was helping behind the bar. I hadn’t expected it to be particularly busy but, by some mysterious form of teenage ESP, it looked like most of the Winter High sixth form had congregated there in a spontaneous Christmas Eve ‘my parents are driving me nuts’ meet up.

I said hello to at least three people from school as I padlocked my bike to the beer garden fence and bumped into half a dozen more in the saloon bar. Sitting in an alcove by the fireplace were June, Prue and Liz, along with two boys I didn’t know. June looked very pink and happy, her round face shining under her deep fringe.

Things had been a little funny with them since last year – they’d been the first at Winter High to befriend me and then, from their perspective, I’d made off with the best-looking boy in the school and taken up with the aloof, sarcastic Emmaline Peller, leaving them without a backward glance. And the worst thing was, I could never explain. But when I gave a tentative wave, they smiled back, and June called, ‘Anna, this is Philip – Philip Granger.’

Philip Granger? She looked as if she was about to burst with pride and, as I drew closer, I saw they were hand in hand. For a minute I felt a huge throb of resentment – it was June, with her sodding crush on Philip Granger, who’d persuaded us to try that stupid love spell in the first place. Of course, the charm had had no effect on him whatsoever since June wasn’t a witch. And now she’d got it all anyway, without any of the horrors and guilt I’d had to suffer over Seth …

I sighed. There was no point in blaming June for my own mistakes. I had Seth. She had Philip. It was water under the bridge.

‘Nice to meet you at last,’ I said. And I meant it.

Then I saw Seth, signalling to me over the heads of the customers at the bar. I smiled goodbye and threaded my way through the throng of students to where Seth was handing out drinks and taking change.

‘Sorry, Jack,’ he was saying to one pink-faced lower sixth-former. ‘You and me both know you’re only seventeen. Please don’t do this, mate. It’s just embarrassing for us both.’

‘Anna’s only seventeen,’ Jack grumbled. ‘I don’t see you throwing her out – or is it different rules for your girlfriends?’

‘Well, Anna’s not buying alcohol,’ Seth said. I could see his temper was fraying. He hated having to refuse school friends. ‘Come on, Jack. Just get a soft drink or go somewhere else.’

‘Fine.’ Jack stomped away from the bar and I elbowed into his place. Seth flashed me a relieved smile.

‘Hello, gorgeous. Don’t, whatever you do, show me a bad fake ID and claim to be twenty-four, will you?’

‘I won’t,’ I promised. ‘I’ll just have a Coke.’

Seth poured me the Coke but wouldn’t take any money. I made a mental note to stick it in the staff tips jar later.

‘I’ve got your present.’ I patted my shoulder bag. Seth smacked his forehead.

‘Oh damn, I left yours upstairs.’ He glanced up and down the heaving bar. ‘I don’t think I can knock off with the queue like this … Tell you what, wait until Tim comes back from his break and then we’ll swap, how’s that?’

‘Fine. Come and find me when you’re done.’ I bent over the bar on tiptoes and brushed his lips. It was only intended to be a peck but he gripped the back of my head and gave me a full-on passionate kiss. There were wolf whistles from up and down the bar and a bloke shouted, ‘I’ll give you one of those, mate, if you’ll serve me next!’ A girl called out, ‘I’ll have whatever she ordered!’

I broke away, blushing crossly, and glared at Seth over the soda siphon. I was still not used to his triumphant happiness with our status as a couple and his willingness to advertise our togetherness to the whole of Winter. Certainly Seth’s ex, Caroline, hadn’t forgiven me, even six months on, and there were plenty of others who continued to resent me as the outsider from London, swanning in and pinching the school hottie. I fought the urge to look over my shoulder to check for hostility on people’s faces or – even worse – the sight of snow, rain or some other magical disturbance breaking over the bar. Seth, however, had no such worries and grinned unrepentantly.

‘See you shortly.’

Hmph. I retreated with my drink to a quiet corner. But I’d barely sat down when I heard a familiar voice.

‘Well, well, well. If it isn’t my favourite witch.’

‘What?’ I spun round, almost knocking over my Coke. Simon’s brother, Abe, stood behind me, his wild black hair even more unruly than usual, his mouth twisted into a wry half-smile.

‘Abe!’ I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or hit him. ‘Keep your voice down.’

‘Oh, relax. None of these drunkards would know a witch if she hit them between the eyebrows with her broomstick. Although from what Emmaline tells me, it sounds like you’re more prone to just fuse the lights or make it rain beer.’

‘She told you, did she?’

‘She said you were having a little bit of trouble. I think her exact words were, “Anna’s suffering from incontinence” – or is that a separate problem?’

‘Shut up!’ I couldn’t help laughing; he was so impossible. ‘No, that’s not a separate problem, thanks very much.’

‘Oh good, so you can still laugh without crossing your legs? That must be a relief to all concerned. Mind if I sit down?’ He indicated the bar stool next to me with his dripping pint and I waved a hand.

‘Please, feel free. Make yourself at home.’

He sat and looked at me thoughtfully as he sipped his beer.

‘So what’s the plan? Tena Lady?’

‘Emmaline thinks I need lessons. To help with the incontinence.’

‘Lessons?’ Abe snorted. ‘From who – Maya?’ I nodded and he took another pull of beer, shaking his head as he swallowed. ‘There’s nothing she can teach you.’

‘Abe, that’s rubbish, and you know it.’

‘OK, let me rephrase that. There may be stuff that she can teach you, but I highly doubt that’s the problem. Granted, you probably don’t know a whole lot about the effect of St John’s wort on sleeping charms, but so what? You’ve more natural ability in your little finger than most witches have in their whole body. You could control yourself, me, Emmaline, this whole room if you wanted to. But you don’t. The question is, why not?’

‘I promised …’ I said in a low voice.

‘Who?’

‘The Ealdwitan, for a start.’ I felt again that sickening jolt of fear in the alleyway when the hooded boys had come towards us; the nauseating terror before I’d realized they were nothing to do with the Ealdwitan, just outwith kids. There was no way I was risking their shadowy wrath again. The danger from my leaky powers was nothing compared to their fury if I started deliberately casting spells – I’d just have to try harder to keep myself in hand.

‘Hmm.’ Abe studied my face over the top of his glass for a long minute, his black eyes disquieting, intense. Then he changed the subject. ‘Where’s loverboy then?’

‘He’s behind the bar.’ I nodded towards Seth, pulling a pint with one hand and draining an optic with the other. Abe made a face.

‘Great, so we’ll be getting his company later? There’s something to encourage me to drink up.’