Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered (2 page)

‘I can’t go for a drink,’ I said firmly. ‘But if you go and get me a coffee, I’ll take a break and we can chat for five minutes.’

Dom had brought me a coffee – and a bottle of wine – and we chatted for hours that night. And the next night, when we both worked late again. And after a few ‘dates’ in the office, we went out for dinner. Just an above-board business dinner between colleagues at a restaurant near work.

Except the restaurant was expensive and softly lit and we didn’t talk about business.

When we finally staggered out into the street, dizzy with red wine, good food and lust, I raised my arm to hail a cab. Dom caught my hand and pulled me to face him.

‘What now?’ he asked. His face was close to mine and I could feel his breath on my lips. My legs were like jelly and although I knew I should pull away, I couldn’t.

‘You’re married,’ I whispered.

Dom nodded. A flicker of something – guilt? – crossed his eyes.

‘The ball’s in your court, Esme,’ he said, pulling me closer.

I opened my mouth to tell him to go home to his wife. But instead I found myself leaning forward to kiss him. He tasted of garlic and coffee and fun and I was bewitched.

So when a taxi pulled up beside us and Dom got in with me, and gave the cabbie my address, I didn’t protest. And that was that.

A year of snatched meetings and illicit evenings later I still felt terrible whenever I
thought of Dom’s wife. And I still hated it if she called when I was with him.

I didn’t want Dom to leave her, I told myself. I was happy working long hours and spending time alone in my flat or at the gym. Having a full-time boyfriend would cramp my style. Plus, it suited me to have some distance between us. I may not have been an enthusiastic user of magic, but all my family were. Just the thought of inviting a boyfriend home and watching his face as Mum made Sunday dinner in her own special way gave me chills. And my family’s track record when it came to my love life was not good. But still my heart ached when Dom slipped out of my bed at night and went home to his wife.

I ignored the nagging voice inside me that told me what I was doing was wrong. I ignored my guilt about Rebecca, and, most of all, I ignored the feeling that despite my fabulous, well-paid job, my gorgeous flat and my handsome, sophisticated sort-of boyfriend, I was lonely.

‘I’m going to miss you.’ Dom interrupted my thoughts. He had finished his phone call and come to find me in the kitchen. He snaked his arms round my waist and planted a kiss on my neck.

‘No you won’t,’ I said, pulling his arms off me. ‘You won’t even notice I’m not here.’

Dom winked at me. ‘Of course I will. I love you,’ he said. I gaped at him. He’d never said that before. Ignoring my silence, Dom picked up his car keys.

‘Bye,’ he called from the hall, as he blew me a kiss.

I pretended to catch it. ‘Bye then,’ I whispered.

Chapter 3

The next day at work was mental. My boss, Maggie, almost tipped me over the edge because she was frantically preparing for a meeting with another Hollywood couple about the baby they were trying to adopt, and she couldn’t decide what to wear. I was trying very hard to tie up any loose ends and pass on the cases that I could pass on before I went to Scotland. And I was wrestling with a client who’d decided to start Tweeting vindictive messages to her cheating husband despite my desperate voicemails begging her to stop.

I am a family lawyer. That sounds quite fluffy but believe me it isn’t. In my experience, family law is about as nasty as it gets. Especially the bit I’m involved with. Think cheating Premiership footballers, wronged pop stars and celebrities buying African babies and you’re pretty close. Still, it’s a living. And it keeps me very, very busy, which is the idea.

Eventually, things calmed down enough for me to sit back in my chair and look at my phone. I knew I had to phone Mum and tell her I was coming up. Harry had emailed to say she’d passed on my flight details, but if I was expecting to stay it was only polite to call. It’s not like Mum and I never talk. We do, of course. But we’re not mates, not close like Harry and Suky are. I would never tell her about Dom, for example, or really fill her in on anything happening in my life – because the last time I did, when I was sixteen, it all backfired on me in the worst way and Mum and I had a major falling out. Major.

To be honest, it had been brewing for years. I was a shy, clumsy teenager whose desperation to fit in clashed – badly – with my family’s bohemian side. But until the big drama, we’d all rubbed along pretty well. Harry was ten years older than me and thick as thieves with Suky, who’d had her when she was barely out of her teens herself. Back then I adored Harry – whose real name is Harmony. She was beautiful, funny, clever – still is, I suppose – and amazingly talented in the witchcraft department. She’d long since left home and was living in Edinburgh, but we still saw a lot of her.

My mum – who is Suky’s twin sister – and I were less close but we still got on – pretty much. My mum – who is Suky’s twin sister – and I got on pretty well back then. We weren’t as close as Harry and Suky, who were more like friends than mother and daughter, but we did ok. And unlike many teenagers, I also got on with my dad, who’d split up with Mum before I was born and now had a glamorous wife and two little boys.

As for the cause of the rift, I won’t bore you with all the sorry details but imagine a spiky teenager who had fallen in love for the first time and a mum who – in some misguided attempt to make us as close as Suky and Harry – decided to meddle.

After the sparks had stopped flying (and I mean literally of course) I fled. I took off to Edinburgh, to my big cousin who would make everything OK. Except she didn’t. She sat
me in the kitchen of her tiny top-floor flat in Leith and listened as I poured my heart out. And then do you know what she did? She laughed. She laughed and she told me not to take myself so seriously. In short, she took my already fragile heart and shattered it into a thousand pieces.

That was that really. Luckily Dad came to my rescue with an offer of paying for me to do A Levels at a school near where he lived in Cheltenham. I packed my bags, moved to England and never looked back. Until now.

Nerves jangling, I looked at the phone on my desk. Then I grabbed it and dialled Mum’s number before I had a chance to change my mind.

‘It’s me,’ I said when she answered. There was a brief silence and then I heard her breathe out, almost in relief.

‘Esme, darling,’ she said. I immediately felt guilty at how pleased she was to hear from me.

‘Harry said you’re coming.’

‘I’m coming,’ I told her. I bit my lip. ‘Is that going to be OK?’

‘Of course it is,’ she said. I could almost feel her smiling down the line. ‘It’ll be good to see you.’

Maggie appeared in the door of my office holding up two blouses. I pointed to the one on her left, knowing she’d wear the other one.

I knew Mum wanted me to say it would be good to see her too, but I just couldn’t lie. Instead, I asked her about Suky and told her when to expect me. And I was relieved when my phone beeped to tell me I had another call, and I could say goodbye.

As I tried to talk my vindictive client out of emailing indiscreet pictures of her philandering husband to all the contacts in his address book, my assistant Chrissie stuck her head and an arm round my door and put a large latte on my bookshelf. She gave me a quick, sympathetic smile and I wondered how much of my phone call to Mum she’d heard (or listened to, more like).

I stared at my coffee, lacking the energy to walk over and pick it up. Then I checked Chrissie wasn’t lurking outside, and gently waggled my fingers in the direction of my cup. In a shower of pink sparks the latte flew across my office. It landed neatly on a pile of papers and a drip plopped on to a super injunction I’d been preparing for a TV presenter. I wiped it off with a tissue, thinking that coffee spills were the least of my worries. The two halves of my life – two halves that I kept far, far apart – were coming together and I felt very uneasy.

Chapter 4

‘We do have one car left,’ the woman at the car hire desk told me much, much later. She tapped some keys on her computer and the printer began spewing out the reams of paper that I apparently needed to sign to hire a Nissan Micra.

I looked past her shoulder at the rain lashing the windows and sighed. Inverness never changed. Mindlessly I scribbled my signature on the many bits of paper the woman pushed towards me and tried to ignore the Tannoy that was announcing a flight to London. I’d be home soon, I told myself.

‘It’s a silver car,’ the woman said, handing me the key. ‘The registration number is on the fob and it’s in space 60, row Z.’ She gave a rueful chuckle. ‘Oh dear, it’s rather far away…’

Together we turned and looked at the rain streaming down the glass behind her. I was not traipsing past rows A to Y in this weather – for a Micra. I draped my jacket over my arm so it hid my hand, and wiggled my fingers. Her computer gave a loud beep.

‘Oh I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’ve made a mistake. The only car we have left is a Mini – oh and it’s in row A. That’s lucky.’

‘Isn’t it?’ I agreed. I took the new key she gave me and turned to leave with a self-satisfied smile. I tried not to listen as her computer beeped three times in a row and she banged the keyboard, cursing. My magic did sometimes backfire.

Despite my efforts, I was still wet by the time I reached the car. Muttering to myself under my breath and wiping a drip from the end of my nose, I hurled my sodden bags into the back seat and arranged my damp self in the driving seat. Craving a friendly voice, I scrabbled in my handbag for my mobile and turned it on, expecting a message from Dom after being on the plane. But my only message was from Maggie.

‘Esme,’ she shrieked. ‘The meeting was just wonderful! It all went so well…’

I cut her message off, not interested in her gushing, then I flung my phone on to the passenger seat where it bounced once and disappeared down the side of the chair.

‘Oh well, I’ll find it later,’ I thought. It wasn’t as though Dom would be trying to get hold of me at this late hour. I expected he was spending the evening with Rebecca.

Of course I’d never met Rebecca but I had imagined every detail of her life with Dom. In fact, I’d imagined it twice. In the first scenario, Rebecca was pinched and thin-lipped. She never spoke to Dom except to say something negative and she never smiled.

In the second – the one I was currently torturing myself with – she was tall and beautiful with swishy hair and a stylish wardrobe. I imagined her and Dom spending weekends lounging around their fabulous Hampstead home – in truth all I knew was they lived in North London somewhere – with their fabulous friends. Right now, they’d be spooning in their huge sleigh bed. I shuddered at the thought.

Pushing the image out of my head I turned on the engine and drove out of the airport on to the main road. I was on my way and I was more than a little bit nervous. In fact, I was terrified.

Since I left home, I’d been very definitely in my Dad’s camp. Not that he and Mum’s separation – before I was even born – had been particularly acrimonious. They were just utterly mismatched. My loyalty was with my dad, even though I loved my mum. Her witchiness, if that’s even a word, was just too much for me.

My parents met back in the early 80s. Mum was in her late 20s. She’d come home for the summer, running from a doomed love affair in Glasgow, where she lived. Dad – a few years older, handsome in his RAF uniform, literally fell for her.

My mum had climbed one of the hills overlooking the village and was lying on the grass, planning what she was going to do with her life. Dad was on his way back to the RAF base a few miles away after a brisk jaunt up the slope – and he tripped over her. Not the most romantic meeting, but something about the woman with short white-blonde hair and big blue eyes won him over.

Needless to say, my mum’s plans that she’d made that day didn’t include falling for a slightly conservative, very ambitious military man. And they definitely didn’t include getting pregnant just a few months into their relationship. If she could have seen that far ahead (yes I know some witches can do that, but our lot can’t, more’s the pity) I’m also sure she wouldn’t have seen my dad sent off to the Falklands before she’d even plucked up the courage to tell him she was pregnant. Or the injury that sent him behind a desk in a base in the Cotswolds.

Anyway, Mum was pregnant, lonely and living at home in the Highlands with her mum and Dad was miserable, nursing a gammy leg and readjusting to life after the war. It was never going to work. But to their credit they’ve never made me feel like I’d missed out. I lived with Mum and Gran, until she died when I was twelve, as well as Suky and Harry. I spent holidays with Dad – and later with his wife, Olivia, and their two boys. Olivia is posh and groomed and brilliantly clever and our relationship, while not wonderful, isn’t as terrible as it could be. She tolerates me and I try not to annoy her too much. Or make a mess in her house.

Mum claims she told Dad the truth about our family when she realised she was falling for him. Dad, though, doesn’t seem to know. I think it’s a bit like that cheesy Loch Ness film – you remember? ‘You have to believe before you can see’. And Dad just doesn’t believe. He jokes about our ‘lotions and potions’ but as far as he’s concerned, witchcraft is just a hobby.

The road was quiet as I drove north. Occasionally the lights of another car would blaze through the darkness, making me blink as they swept past, but for most of the time I was alone. I put on the radio but it interfered with my thoughts, so I switched it off again.

I squinted through the windscreen, trying to get my bearings in the lashing rain. Not much further. I felt sick with nerves and as I passed a sign for a B&B I had to use all my willpower not to turn off the road and spend the night.

I felt odd about going home after avoiding it for so long. My emotions were muddled and I veered from being nervous about seeing my family to looking forward to hearing all their news, and of course I was desperately worried about Suky. Mum had filled me in about her illness on the phone but I’d never met anyone with cancer before. I didn’t know what to expect and I was terrified of the unknown.