I Put a Spell on You (19 page)

When I did, though, it turned out his plan was to tell Harry. He tried really hard to make me agree. He looked at me from under his long lashes, he took my hand and slowly stroked the back of it with his long, tanned thumb. He stared into my eyes, his golden-green irises wide open with innocence. I got the impression people – women – didn’t say no to him very often.

But he underestimated me. I lived with Mark for umpteen years. Mark, who’d charm the hind legs off a donkey and then talk it into limping to the bar and getting the beers in. And, Harry had been nice to me. Really nice. She was the only person who’d listened to how I felt about my lost babies and she’d not said: “Oh at least you can get pregnant” or: “It’s better you lost them early”. She’d helped me say goodbye. She’d cleared my head – and helped heal my heart – and I owe her. I want to protect her. Whoever’s doing all this wants Harry to know about it. That’s their aim. Feel like standing in their way is our first line of defence.

September 2

Xander trying really, really hard to persuade me to tell Harry but I won’t budge. Worried he will tell her himself so in the end gave in and said I would tell her. Made him promise he’d let me do it and he agreed. Grudgingly. Then I got my first lucky break. Yesterday afternoon, after X had walked past my desk and hissed, “tell her” about twenty times, his phone rang. And it turned out his granddad, who was in a care home, was very ill – dying – back in Dublin. He left, then, and didn’t expect to be back for at least a week. Before he went, he came to my desk and told me to tell her again. I said I would. Haven’t yet.

September 3

Still haven’t told her.

September 4

Haven’t told her.

September 5

Haven’t told her. Spent most of today deleting texts from Xander and cancelling his calls. Then he got sneaky and called the landline. Pretended it was a bad line and hung up.

September 6

Another letter today. Just like the others. One minute there was nothing there, then it was sitting on top of my in tray. Same writing, same envelope, but this time the name on the front was mine. My heart was thumping as I opened it.

“Trouble is coming,” it read.

Surprised to find I wasn’t scared. Actually I was angry. Really, really angry. I crumpled the letter up and threw it in the bin. Then fished it out again in case I needed it as evidence.

If trouble is coming, bring it on.

September 7

Another letter today. It said: “Bitch.”

September 9

Another one today, reading, “die”.

September 10

Xander back from Dublin, subdued and quiet after his granddad’s funeral. He’s not mentioned the letters. I’ve got a plan though, and I need his help, so I will have to go and speak to him.

Later

Went to find Xander. He’s like me – interested in witchcraft without being blessed with any natural talent. He’s got loads and loads of books and it was this library I wanted. I’ve carried on dabbling in spells since I got here, some with Harry’s help like my saying goodbye spell and others on my own. Obviously I couldn’t ask Harry for help with this one, so it was down to me to find what I needed. Asked Xander if I could borrow a few and he vaguely waved to the bookshelf and told me to take whatever I wanted. He had loads – modern guides to Wicca and witches’ almanacs as well as older journals and books. I picked out a few that looked well-read and stuffed them into my bag.

So now I’m sitting on the floor of my living room, surrounded with Xander’s books. Looking for a protection charm and have found a few. Have jotted down the ones that appeal to me and am going to combine them into one spell. Not completely sure if it will work, but it seems to me we need all the protection we can get.

September 11

Arrived at work early today, knowing Harry had a meeting elsewhere. It was quiet and still as I unpacked my bag – I had a knife, my blue velvet and, obviously, a candle. Felt a bit self-conscious, but sat on the floor and lit the candle. It flickered in the early-morning gloom, throwing big shadows on the wall and made me shiver. It was spooky. Wondered briefly if I was doing the right thing – witchcraft is more powerful than I really know. But pushed my doubts away. I passed the blade of the knife through the candle flame. Then I wrapped the knife in my velvet and hugged it close.

“Evil thoughts I now disarm,” I whispered. “Keep this business, and Harry, safe from harm.” I thought the air shimmered, ever so slightly, but it was hard to tell in the candlelight. As I went to blow out the candle, I had a thought. How would I know it had worked? So decided to do another spell – like a control – just to check. Unwrapped the knife once more and this time focused on the spa’s letterbox. I know it sounds a bit odd now I’m writing this down, but I had a plan. Had no idea whether it would do the trick, but I passed the knife through the flame again.

“Let me now protect this box,” I said. “Let it seal and nothing drop.” Yes, I know it doesn’t rhyme but I was thinking on my feet.

Then I packed up my bits, made a coffee and lurked at the window while I waited for the postie.


He came sauntering up the street as usual, in his shorts despite the arctic weather outside. He paused at the door and tried to push the letters through the postbox. Nothing happened. He tried again. Nothing. Shrugging his shoulders he stuck his head round the door and told me the letterbox was jammed.

I took the post from him, smiling broadly. It worked. It bloody worked!

September 12

The rest of yesterday went by in a blur. My mood had lifted for the first time in weeks and I felt light-hearted and happy. I even remembered to lift the control spell, so the postman could deliver the mail.

Today was the same. I almost skipped to the spa from the bus stop, saying hello to customers I recognised along the way. But later on, as I cleared my desk and got ready to leave, I found another letter. It was exactly the same as before – hand-delivered, thick black writing, addressed to me – and inside it said, once more: “Die.”

At once my good mood disappeared. With a lot of effort, I said goodbye to the staff that were leaving, then I sat in my chair and tried to decide what to do.

I’m not one to give up too easily, though. I’m determined. A fighter. God knows I clung on to my marriage when I should have given up on that years before. So I thought I’d give it one last chance. One more crack at the protection charm.

Checked there were no therapists lurking in any of their treatment rooms, then locked the front door and carefully unpacked all my bits. Sitting on the floor exactly as I did yesterday, I went through the spell. This time I thought the air shimmered more. But couldn’t really be sure – perhaps it was just the sun setting or a breeze making the candle flame flicker. I’d seen Harry cast spells that made the whole room gleam with magic. Mine certainly wasn’t doing that. Suddenly the whole thing seemed hopeless. I leaned against the legs of a chair, deflated, and tried hard not to cry.

Couldn’t help thinking Xander was right. Perhaps I couldn’t protect Harry. I was in this over my head and I wasn’t sure what my next move should be.

And then Xander came in. Nearly jumped out my skin. He asked me what I was doing – though what with the candles and whatnot, it was pretty obvious.

I thought about lying, for about a second. Then I admitted I was casting a spell and that it wasn’t working. And then I burst into tears.

Xander wrapped me in a hug and told me we’d sort it out. And I sort of wailed at him that I hadn’t told Harry and now there had been more letters and I didn’t know what to do.

He was quite nice about it, he just said we had to tell Harry and he couldn’t understand why I was trying to protect her.

I told him it was because Harry had been so kind to me and because she understood. He asked me what there was to understand and so I had to tell him. Crying the whole time, I explained that I’d been married. Xander looked surprised and I was slightly insulted but I carried on. I said Mark and I had been together a long time and we had it all worked out, you know? But when we tried to have a baby, we couldn’t. I explained I’d had four miscarriages and that we’d tried IVF twice and it didn’t work. And then I told him Mark had an affair, I found out, he left her for me. And now she’s pregnant.

I didn’t look at Xander when I talked, just stared straight ahead. I hate seeing sympathy in people’s eyes. I had enough of that when I was small and ill and folk felt sorry for me. So instead, I just told him that Harry helped me move on and that she’s the only person who’s said the right things.

Xander was quiet for a moment, then he told me he’d give me until the end of November to sort it out and if things hadn’t got better by then, or I hadn’t told Harry, he’d tell her himself.

I agreed and then – pushing my luck – asked him to help me cast the spell. Xander wasn’t keen but he agreed after I begged. Was sure it would be more powerful with two of us doing it. So we sat down together and chanted the incantation. The air shimmered more this time and somehow I felt stronger with Xander by my side.

November 4

Everything has been quiet. Was sure the spell had worked. Had almost forgotten about what happened. There were no letters, no threats, no broken windows. Actually, still not sure if what happened today was just a coincidence.

We’ve got a Christmas tree in reception. I know, it’s very early but it’s part of a display reminding everyone to book early if they want treatments in December as we’re getting full up already. It’s nothing too fancy, but it’s decorated in clear blue glass baubles. Earlier, I was sending out our regular email newsletter to clients, absorbed in my work, when I heard a crack, like glass breaking. I looked up at the windows, then the Christmas tree, but nothing seemed wrong. So put my hand on my mouse again, and – ouch – it wasn’t there. In its place was a shattered blue bauble, with jagged edges, which were now sticking out of my palm.

Stared at my hand in disbelief. It was covered in cuts and beginning to drip with blood, like something out of a horror film. Fallon, one of the yoga instructors, came up behind me and gasped. She asked what had happened and I just stared at her blankly, while my hand dripped onto my notepad.

I lied – not sure why – and told her I’d broken the bauble when I was hanging it up. She got the first aid kit and picked the glass out of my hand. So now I’m sitting here, trying to type despite my bandage, and wondering if today’s accident really was an accident.

November 6

Today it was my afternoon off, I met Mum for lunch then we decided to walk up the road to Princes Street. We were chatting as we walked, Mum filling me in some gossip, A taxi rumbled past on the cobbles and suddenly a stone flew up and hit me sharply on the browbone. I staggered backwards in shock and Mum grabbed my arm. She was laughing and saying I hadn’t even had a drink and then she stopped and looked at me in alarm because I was bleeding. Put my hand to my eye and felt sticky wet blood and nearly passed out. Have always been a bit squeamish, despite all my ops as a kid.

Mum steered me to a seat outside a deli and pressed a napkin to my cut. A friendly waitress brought me a coffee and a sticky bun. So our afternoon shopping turned into a trip to casualty where I got three stitches in my head.


Still not sure if it was an accident. Could be. But when you think about the letters and the threats and my cut hand…

November 8

Almost back to A&E again today. Seriously. This morning I decided to go back to the wee shop in Cockburn Street, feeling my store cupboard could do with a few extra bits. On my way, I cut down the steps by Warriston Close, but as I walked down I felt a shove from behind, missed my footing and fell. Two women walking up the stairs looked horrified as I tumbled and rushed to pick me up. They asked if I’d tripped and I said I had, wondering if I’d imagined someone behind me. Deep down though I knew I’d been lucky this time and had grabbed the handrail just in time.

Now convinced my accidents have been no such thing. Am jumpy and jittery and scared of what could happen next.

November 23

Nothing else has happened to me, yet. Can’t decide if it’s worse when something happens, or worse waiting for something to happen. Am scared of my own shadow and also know I’m going to have to tell Harry what’s been going on. Have been avoiding Xander, and have laughed off my injuries, saying I’m just a bit clumsy.

Last night I went round to Mum and Dad’s for my tea and Mum looked at me with narrowed eyes. She asked if I was taking my drugs – I’m on all sorts of pills because of my dodgy ticker – and I was snappy with her, saying of course. Then she asked if I was avoiding stress and I laughed. She didn’t pursue it, but later she pressed her car keys into my hand and told me to borrow her little Fiat 500 and go through to Fife to see Fiona, my best friend. I was thrilled, and not just because taking some time off work will help me avoid Xander a while longer while I decide what to do.

November 29

This morning, loaded up the car with chocolate and wine and set off. As I approached the bridges, the traffic got heavier and slowed. Up ahead a delivery lorry was holding up the traffic. I sat, stationary, for ten minutes, singing along to ‘Walk Like an Egyptian’ on my 80s CD. Then the blockage cleared and I set off again. But as I speeded up, there was a huge crack. My windscreen shattered and, without meaning to, I stamped onto the accelerator and smashed into the car in front. My forehead bounced off the airbag and I felt a searing pain in both arms.


It was off to A&E again. This time have an attractive neck collar and bandages up my arms – I was burned by the airbag – to add to my bandaged hand and stitched forehead.