Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered (3 page)

I could feel myself getting stressed as I thought about home so I tried to put my worries aside and concentrate on driving. The weather was getting worse and the narrow roads weren’t as familiar as they used to be.

Leaning forward in my seat, I drove carefully, peering through the rain and gloom, fearful I would hit a deer, until eventually, with my shoulders tense and a stiff neck, my headlights shone upon a large road sign.

Loch Claddach welcomes careful drivers
, it proclaimed in tartan-edged, tourist-friendly glory. Breathing a sigh of relief I jammed on the brakes and juddered to a halt underneath the garish sign. I was home.

I turned off the engine and sat in the car, listening to the rain drumming on the roof, while I tried to make sense of the way I was feeling. My head was pounding from the effort of driving and I was bursting with mixed emotions. I couldn’t arrive in such a mess. I pulled my hairbrush from my bag and pulled my hair out of its twist, then I brushed it and pinned it up again, using my reflection in the windscreen in the dim light.

According to Mum, Suky had found a lump in her breast a month ago but went to the doctor’s alone and kept quiet while she went for tests. Only when she was diagnosed did she come home and let her sister know what was happening.

‘It was awful, Esme,’ Mum had told me on the phone. ‘We were having a glass of wine and talking about our day, just like normal. She said she’d had a tough day and then she just blurted it out. “Don’t be upset,” she said. How could I not be upset?’

That had been last week. Suky had already had an operation to remove her lump and she was now facing weeks of radiotherapy at the hospital in Inverness. I felt terrible for her and guilty that Mum or Harry hadn’t called me straightaway.

I felt remote and detached from my family. But it wasn’t surprising, I thought as I shoved my hairbrush back in my bag and gripped the steering wheel once more. I hardly ever came home. Occasionally, I’d fly in for Christmas, arriving on the 24
^th
and leaving again on the 26
^th
. One year I even got the sleeper and arrived on Christmas Day itself. The last
time I’d come home was a few years ago now. I’d come up for a family reunion on Halloween, part of me hoping my attendance would be an olive branch that could rebuild my relationship with my mum. But it had been an unmitigated disaster. I’d felt hopelessly out of my depth among family members who looked vague and disappointed when I talked about my law degree and who conjured up cakes and entertainment at the drop of a (witch’s) hat. When a great aunt – who hadn’t managed to make the trip from her home in Australia – materialised in the living room, her flickery image like the recording of Princess Leia in
Star Wars
, I legged it. I faked a call from a neighbour, pretended a pipe had burst and ran for the airport. It was Halloween again in a couple of weeks, I thought now. I sincerely hoped I would be safely back in London by then.

My mind was whirling from guilt to dread and back again as I sat in the cold car and looked at my old hometown though the rain. But most of all I was worried about Suky. Sweet, kind-hearted Suky, who sent me first letters, then emails after I’d left home, keeping me up to date with the family’s news and making sure – in fact – that I was still part of the family. But she hadn’t shared this news. I hadn’t had so much as a hint.

I wiped the steamed-up windscreen with a gloved finger and peered out into the dreary night. I could see rows of darkened cottages, and beyond them, St Columba’s church, with its spire lit up to impress the tourists. Not that there were likely to be many of them around on a cold October night.

Shivering, I turned the engine on again and turned the heater up to full. I drove forward and followed the road through town at a snail’s pace. I knew I didn’t need to drive that slowly, despite the weather, but somehow I couldn’t make myself speed up. I didn’t want to go home, I finally admitted to myself. I was too scared about what I might find there.

I shook my head, trying to dislodge the miserable thoughts that were stuck there, trod down the accelerator accidentally, and nearly drove the car up the pavement and into a post box. I grimaced.

‘Get a grip,’ I told myself out loud.

Clutching the steering wheel, I drove at a more sensible speed up the hill, past my old primary school and the neat little house where my headmistress still lived, and parked outside the house where I’d grown up.

Typically, while every other house in town was cloaked in darkness, ours blazed with light. I smiled, in spite of my misgivings, and turned off the engine. I took a deep breath, then I got out of the car and pulled my bags from the back seat. I stood still for a minute, determined to savour the silence before I went in.

Suddenly the front door flew open. My mother stood there, silhouetted against the bright hallway. I could see her short hair sticking up and she held a wine glass in one hand as she peered out into the darkness.

‘Esme!’ She sounded pleased. ‘I thought it’d be you. Come in! Come away from the rain.’

Chapter 5

I stumbled across the gravel driveway, my bag banging against my legs. Mum tried to sweep me into a hug, but my bag and my stiff stance made it awkward. We stared at each other for a minute, then she grabbed my holdall, turned and led the way down the hall to the kitchen.

‘How is she?’ I asked. I wanted to perch on a stool like I used to when I’d come home from school and share my day with Mum while she cooked our tea, but I didn’t. Instead, I hovered by the kitchen door like an uninvited guest.

Mum filled the kettle and paused to switch it on before she answered.

‘She’s not good,’ she said quietly. ‘She had her first radiotherapy session today and it seems to have knocked the stuffing out of her. But she’ll be pleased to see you.’ She nodded towards the living room. ‘Why don’t you go and say hello?’

Nervously I crept into the front room where Suky was asleep on the enormous squidgy sofa with a blanket over her legs. She looked pale and thin and it took me a huge effort not to gasp when I saw her.

Mum had followed me in from the kitchen and she put her hand on my shoulder gently.

‘It’s all happened so fast – she’s exhausted,’ she said. ‘She’s keeping her spirits up, though.’

I looked at my beautiful, lively aunt, hunched under a blanket like an old lady and rounded on Mum.

‘Why can’t you help her?’ I hissed in a loud whisper. ‘Isn’t this what you
witches
do?’

Mum shook her head.

‘You sound like Harry,’ she said with a sad smile. ‘She’s been on the phone non-stop with theories she’s found and spells to try. But messing with life and death is dangerous, Esme. That’s not our sort of magic. We just have to help her the best we can.’

I shrugged. Magic was magic as far as I was concerned, and this house was full of it. It positively crackled through every room and hung around Mum like a force field. Harry’s the aura reader in our family, but even my unpractised eye could see Suky’s power was dim and wavery, like a candle about to burn out. It made me shiver with fear for her.

‘I’ll help,’ I whispered to Mum, so as not to wake Suky. ‘What can I do?’

Mum gestured with her head and I followed her back into the kitchen, closing the door behind me. I made for the kettle but Mum handed me a glass of wine instead.

‘What can I do?’ I repeated. Mum took a swig of wine and visibly braced herself.

‘We need a Third,’ she said.

I looked at her in horror. I’d been expecting to ferry Suky to appointments, do a Tesco run, maybe whip up a lasagne. I’d definitely not planned to become a vital cog in the coven’s wheel.

Because a coven is basically what we had here. Witches, you see, are sociable souls. And they’re obsessed with the number three. Oh we can all do magic on her own but for the really good stuff to happen, there needs to be three. Mum and Suky worked with a witch called Eva. She had wafted into Claddach on the day of my Granny’s funeral and she’d been here ever since.

‘Does Eva know you’re asking me?’ I said now.

Mum nodded.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘She thinks it would be better to have someone we know, rather than get in an agency witch.’

I gaped at her. Agency? Who knew witchcraft was so 21
^st
century.

‘What about Harry?’ I managed to say.

‘Harry’s got some problems at work,’ Mum said. ‘I think it’s worse than she’s letting on, but she’s not telling of course. I also think things may not be completely fine at home. But she’s keeping quiet about that too. You know she’d be here if she could.’

I wasn’t convinced. I knew Harry adored her mum, but she could be very selfish when she wanted to be. She uses magic all the time. Seriously. All. The. Time. Which is why she’d be so useful to mum and Eva now. But if she wasn’t helping then she wasn’t helping – no one could make Harry do anything she didn’t want to do, least of all, me.

‘We need you, Esme.’ Mum held my hand tightly. ‘Suky needs you.’

I sank down in a tatty armchair. They did need me, that much was true. They needed me to help in our family business – running the Claddach Café.

Mum, Suky and Eva run the café together. Mum – who’s always been an amazing cook – does most of the baking but they all pitch in. Mum’s also the business brain so she does all the books. Eva, who’s a talented potter and ceramicist, provides the crockery and in one corner, Suky has her ‘pharmacy’. She has a comfy sofa, screened off from the café, and a shelf unit filled with an apothecary’s dream of glass bottles. She offers a comforting ear and herbal remedies for the villagers’ medical complaints. And for more,
erm,
complicated
problems, and, of course, for those problems that haven’t quite been voiced, Mum and Eva are on hand to help.

It’s an open secret that the McLeods can help with exam stress, fertility problems, annoying neighbours – anything really. Ask anyone outright and they’d laugh at you or dismiss Suky’s remedies as a placebo. But in reality, just about everyone in Claddach has had a helping hand at one time or another whether knowingly via Suky’s potions, or unknowingly, thanks to Mum, Eva and Suky stirring secret spells into their cakes and lacing their biscuits with sorcery.

And like I said, that’s why they needed me. The good stuff wouldn’t really get going unless there were three of them casting the spell. With Suky ill they needed me to make up the numbers and help them stir up the spells for their special cakes and bakes. They needed me to be the third member of their coven and it was absolutely, positively the last thing I wanted to do.

I looked at Suky who was sleeping peacefully, her thin face showing no sign of pain. Then I looked at Mum who was standing watching me, waiting for my answer. Somehow I knew I’d regret what I was about to say.

‘OK. I’ll help out,’ I said, shrugging my shoulders. I knew when I was beaten. ‘But only a bit. I’m not getting mixed up in anything I shouldn’t. I’ll only help when we’re asked to.’

Mum beamed at me but I waved away her gushing thanks.

‘It’s late and I’m knackered,’ I said. ‘I’m off to my bed. We can talk about this tomorrow.’

I kissed Mum briefly and touched Suky’s hand, then I climbed the stairs to my bedroom and pushed open the door. Turning on the light, I looked around. Mum hadn’t redecorated since I’d left home and my walls were still sponged peach and cream. I’d thought it was the height of sophistication when I was fifteen. Now it just looked twee. My bed was made up with the Take That duvet cover I’d discarded as childish when I was fourteen. I was half annoyed and half touched that Mum had looked it out for me.

Knowing I’d regret it if I left it until the morning, I tugged my clothes out of my case and hung them up. My city clothes – I didn’t really do casual – looked out of place in the old-fashioned wardrobe. Then I pulled on my pyjamas and sat on the edge of my bed. It was strange to be home after so long, but somehow it already felt like I’d never been away.

I picked up my phone and texted Dom, letting him know I’d arrived safely. I didn’t expect a reply and I didn’t get one so I switched off the phone and put it on my bedside table. And then I noticed the book. It sat squarely next to my bed and I couldn’t believe I hadn’t noticed it before. Mind you, I thought to myself rolling my eyes, I couldn’t be sure it had been there before. The book was about the size of a school exercise book but much thicker. It was bound in aged brown leather and had no markings on the outside.

Picking it up I noticed someone – Mum no doubt – had stuck a piece of paper inside, with a smiley face drawn on it.

‘Nice try, Mother,’ I said out loud. I plumped my pillows up, then wriggled under my duvet and sat back with the unopened book in my lap. I had butterflies in my stomach and my hands were trembling. I didn’t need to open it – I knew exactly what it was.

It was a spell book. All witches have them. They’re heirlooms, passed down through families (mine had been left to me by my granny when she died. She left Harry an identical one; I suspect there’s a stockpile somewhere) and they’re supposed to be well cared for. It’s implied, ridiculous as it sounds, that they’re almost living things; a gateway to all sorts of magic, as well as a kind of logbook for successive witches to record their spells.

‘Books are wonderful, Esme,’ I remembered Mum telling me when I was small. ‘But they can be dangerous. Why do you think the Nazis burned them? Spell books are even trickier to handle. Treat it like a wild animal.’

I’d gazed at her, wide-eyed.

‘Will it bite me?’ I’d asked.

Mum had laughed.

‘Almost definitely not,’ she said. But she hadn’t looked very sure.

‘Generations of McLeod witches have added to this book,’ she said. ‘The magic in here is very strong. Use it wisely and treat it with respect.’

With a flash of guilt I thought about how I’d actually treated it. I’d read it with Mum when I was a child, but when I hit my teens I’d cast it aside and abandoned it without a second thought when I’d left. Mum had clearly rescued it and kept it safe in case I ever needed it.