The Language Of Spells

Harry nodded, his phone at his ear. ‘Michael? Got a job for you in Pendleford.’ He paused. ‘Nope. Got to be today. This morning for preference.’ He looked at Gwen. ‘Eleven o’clock okay with you?’

She nodded, dumbfounded by the way people kept taking charge, bringing her things, helping. It was unsettling.

Harry collected his jacket. ‘Thank you for the cake. It was very nice to meet you.’

‘What’s going to happen about my intruder?’

‘Well, we file a report.’

‘And?’ Gwen said. ‘Don’t you dust for fingerprints or something?’

‘Sometimes,’ Harry said. ‘But it’s not all that easy and, as your intruder had a key, technically we don’t have much of a crime. Entering, but not so much with the breaking.’

‘But you’re here. The detective inspector.’

Harry smiled again. ‘Like I said; you’re a special case.’

I’ve been called that before, Gwen thought wryly, and she opened the front door for Harry. An icy blast blew straight through her clothes, making her feel suddenly naked. She wrapped her arms around her body. ‘Goodbye then. Thank you for your help.’

‘Anything for you, Gwen Harper,’ Harry said with a grin and headed down the path.

Gwen shut the door, utterly bemused. ‘They’re all crazy around here,’ she said, turning around and leaning against the door. She tried not to wonder what, exactly, Cam had said about her to Harry.

‘Prrup?’ the cat said, looking as innocent as the seven-year-old Ruby after she’d been left in charge of their joint haul of Easter chocolate.

‘That goes for you, too, Cat,’ she said, straightening up.

Later that day, the doorbell rang and somebody started pounding on the front door. Gwen rushed through, tightening her dressing-gown cord as she went.

Cameron Laing stood in front of her, arm raised from bashing seven shades out of the paintwork.

‘Is something on fire?’ Gwen said, stepping back to let him in.

‘Why didn’t you call me?’ His face and voice were as neutral as they had been in the pub, but there was a tightness around his eyes.

‘What?’ Gwen closed the door against the howling gale.

‘You were broken into,’ Cam said. His forehead creased. ‘You should’ve told me.’

‘I called the police.’ Gwen folded her arms. ‘And I’m fine. Thanks for asking.’

‘I know you’re fine.’ Cam sounded irritated. ‘I spoke to Harry.’

‘You two are like a pair of little old ladies.’ Gwen was determined not to be pleased that he cared.

Cam frowned. ‘What?’

‘Gossiping. This whole place is filled with people talking about other people’s business and turning up at all hours and talking and wanting … stuff.’ Gwen realised she was babbling and forced herself to stop.

‘Are you all right?’ Cam dipped his head to look at her properly.

‘I’m just tired.’ Gwen tried a smile. ‘Actually, I’m exhausted.’

He ran a hand through his hair, leaving the front standing up. ‘Shit. Sorry. Did I wake you up?’

‘No.’ Gwen was momentarily confused, and then she remembered that she wasn’t dressed. ‘I was just going through Iris’s papers. Trying to make sense of the open-door policy in this place.’

‘It’s your house, now. You can do whatever you want. Don’t let people in.’

‘That’s easier said than done,’ Gwen said. The temperature in the hallway suddenly dropped further, as if she hadn’t just shut the door, and she shivered.

‘Right,’ Cam said, and pushed past her, heading for the back door.

‘Help yourself,’ Gwen said drily. He bent down to look at the door and Gwen found herself staring at his backside. She swallowed. It was just as appealing as the front view. Maybe even more so because she couldn’t see him scowling at her from this angle.

‘The locksmith is coming round. I thought you were him. He. Whichever.’

‘You should replace the whole thing. This glass isn’t safe. Someone can knock it out and reach through—’ He stopped when he saw her expression and stuffed his hands into his pockets. ‘It’s fine. This is a very safe town. Our crime rate is really low.’

‘I’m sure,’ Gwen said politely.

‘Well. I’m glad you’re okay.’

‘I’m fine.’ She smiled to show that she was fine and that he didn’t have to be politely concerned for her any longer.

‘Good,’ Cam said. ‘I’ll leave you to your reading.’

He paused at the door, looking like he might be about to say something.

Gwen dug her fingernails into her palm to stop herself from blurting out something stupid like: stay. Or from reaching out and grabbing the front of his shirt. ‘See you later,’ she said. After he’d gone, she ran upstairs and watched him get into his car from the bedroom window. She laid her head against the cool glass and marvelled at the heat in her skin.

The locksmith came as promised, but he kept his coat on while he worked. The house was freezing and Gwen couldn’t get the pilot light on the boiler relit. By the afternoon, ice had formed on the inside of the windows and Gwen answered the door wearing thick socks, tartan flannel PJ bottoms and an enormous hooded sweatshirt that was rolled up several times on the sleeves.

Gwen was surprised to find Cam on the doorstep. He was looking serious, which wasn’t so shocking. Gwen wondered if the frown was regulation issue, handed out after the bar exam.

‘You look terrible,’ Cam said.

‘The words every woman longs to hear.’ Gwen stepped aside to let him in.

‘Sorry. I mean, you don’t look well. Are you all right?’ His face softened in concern and instantly he looked like a different man.

‘The boiler’s broken and the repair guy says he can’t come out until tomorrow and I can’t stop thinking about some stranger walking around in the house while I was asleep and touching all my stuff. Well, Iris’s stuff. Apart from that, I’m fabulous.’

He held up a hammer and a piece of plywood. ‘I come bearing gifts.’

Gwen brightened. ‘Can you fix heating?’

‘Sorry, probably not. I’m going to nail this over the glass in your back door.’ He shrugged. ‘I’ll take a look at your heating, although I warn you not to get your hopes up.’

‘Good enough.’ The hallway suddenly seemed too small a space to share with Cam, so Gwen led the way to the kitchen.

She flipped the switch on the kettle and got a tin down from the cupboard while Cam examined the back door. She wondered if Cam, as executor of Iris’s estate, had some legal obligation to look after the property. The thought that he might be bound to the house and, by extension, her for six months, was appealing. ‘Is this part of the service?’ Or do you still care about me?

Cam turned round. ‘What do you mean?’

Gwen didn’t know how to ask whether he was in her kitchen out of personal concern or professionalism. And suddenly she didn’t want to know the answer. ‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘Would you like tea or coffee?’

Cam pounded nails with a focus that Gwen found alarmingly attractive. He had taken off his suit jacket and hung it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs. His shoulders filled out his white shirt very nicely indeed and the way his hair curled over the nape of his neck did something odd to Gwen’s insides. She leaned against the counter and contemplated his back. It was soothing to look at him when he wasn’t frowning at her.

Then the doorbell rang and spoiled Gwen’s moment of quiet enjoyment. Cam glanced over his shoulder. ‘You expecting someone?’

‘Not exactly.’

It was a tall man with a checked scarf tucked into a dark wool coat. His skin was suspiciously smooth and evenly toned. He had the well-kept look that went hand-in-hand with a disgustingly healthy bank balance. She would lay money that he didn’t want chilblain ointment.

‘Ms Harper?’

‘Hello.’ Gwen stuck out her hand. The man gripped it firmly and pumped her arm, while Gwen tried to work out if he was wearing foundation.

‘I’m Patrick Allen,’ the smooth man said. ‘As head of the Rotary, ‘I’d like to welcome you to our little town.’ He gave a fake modest chuckle that made Gwen want to throw up. ‘I heard about the unfortunate incident and I wanted to assure you that this is a very safe town.’

The cold air was streaming through the open door and Gwen saw a hard frost clinging to the lavender bushes that lined the path. Politeness said that she had to invite him into the house, but Gwen felt a stickiness in the air that was almost like a barrier. Damn house making all the decisions. She ignored the feeling and smiled as cheerily as she could manage. ‘Would you like to come in?’

Cam appeared in the kitchen doorway, the hammer dangling carelessly from one hand.

‘This is Patrick Allen,’ Gwen said quickly, trying to ignore the way her heart had sped up. She was having a ridiculous throw-back reaction to Cam. Something to do with old memories.

‘I know Patrick.’ Cam smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Don’t often see you on this side of the river.’

‘I could say the same to you, Cameron.’ Patrick inclined his head. ‘I wanted to talk to you about something, actually.’

‘You’ll have to make an appointment at the office.’

Patrick ignored him. ‘It’s about this ridiculous folk festival.’

‘I’ve told you before,’ Cam said. ‘Not something I can help you with.’

Patrick crossed his arms. He looked unaccustomed to hearing the word ‘no’. ‘What’s the point in having laws, then?’

‘A question I have asked myself many times,’ Cam said with a tight smile. He turned to Gwen. ‘Where will I find your boiler?’

‘If you can’t even use them to protect what’s right …’ Patrick was still talking and Gwen revised her initial impression from ‘smooth’ to ‘irritating’.

‘Upstairs. Back bedroom in the cupboard in the corner,’ Gwen said.

Cam started to turn away, then stopped. ‘The law isn’t about what’s right. It’s about what’s legal.’

‘But this so-called festival will be an embarrassment,’ Patrick said. ‘It’s an affront to the decent people,’ he went on, his chest puffed up with importance, ‘the decent businesses—’

‘Are they having a craft market?’ Gwen said.

‘Pardon?’ Patrick glanced at Gwen.

‘At the festival. Are they planning to have a craft tent or something? These things often do.’

‘I have no idea,’ Patrick said, his expression sour. ‘What I do know is that they will ruin the town’s green.’

‘Chippenham and Trowbridge have held them for years without any problem,’ Cam said. ‘And, as I understand it, the town council have made it clear that the green must be left in the state in which it was found.’

‘We’re not Chippenham,’ Patrick said in a withering tone.

‘Just, if there’s going to be a craft market, I’d love to join in. I have a stall.’ Gwen knew she was being childish, but she couldn’t help it. Patrick reminded her of every authority figure she’d ever rebelled against. Old habits died hard.

Patrick looked momentarily at a loss for words. Then he rallied with another false laugh. ‘Ah. I take it I won’t be able to count on you to sign my petition, then?’

‘As a local business owner, I welcome anything that brings in the punters,’ Gwen said sweetly.

‘Well. Yes. I suppose.’ Patrick looked as if he dearly wanted to say something else.

‘I’ve got to get my tools,’ Cam said and went out of the front door. Gwen didn’t blame him.

‘Would you like a cup of coffee? Tea?’ Gwen ushered Patrick to the dining room. She was damned if he was sitting in her lovely kitchen.

‘I can’t stop, really. Just wanted to welcome you and to see if there was anything …’ Patrick trailed off as he took in the mausoleum chic of the dining room. He turned on his heel. ‘Did you say your boiler wasn’t working? Can I help with that?’

‘I don’t know. Can you?’ Gwen was nonplussed. She had the feeling that Patrick wasn’t the kind of person who offered favours out of the goodness of his heart.

‘I have a man for that sort of thing.’ Patrick took a business card from his wallet. ‘Call me if you need anything. Anything at all.’ He looked deeply into Gwen’s eyes as he said this. Probably something he’d learned on a management training day.

Once Patrick was safely off the premises, Gwen fetched painting supplies from the shed. She felt itchy, like she needed to take some control back and show Iris who was boss in the house. Painting over the horrible purple walls seemed like a good place to start. She spread dustsheets over the furniture in the living room until the place looked like it was filled with snowy hillocks.

‘What on earth are you doing?’

Gwen turned to find Cam standing in the doorway, a metal toolbox in one hand. ‘This room is oppressively horrid, so I’m brightening it up.’ She waved a paintbrush.

‘It’s November.’

‘I know what month it is,’ Gwen said. ‘I need to keep busy.’

‘But you’ll freeze. You’ll need the window open for ventilation.’

‘I’m already freezing.’ Gwen gestured at her layers of clothing. ‘And I appear to be surviving. So.’

Cam crossed the room and forced the sash window open a couple of inches. ‘I hope you enjoy frostbite.’

‘Not at all; that’s why I want you to focus all of your admirable energy on my boiler.’

She’d barely started rollering the first wall when Cam called out. She went upstairs and met Cam coming the other way, his expression grim.

Gwen stopped. ‘What?’

‘Come and see,’ Cam said.

Cam had taken the white casing off the front of the boiler and leaned it up against the open door of the cupboard.

‘What?’ Gwen began, then took a closer look.

A small plate that housed the electrics was bent outwards, deep scrape marks gouged into the metal and a tangle of wires hung out drunkenly. The copper pipework had been smashed almost completely flat and a couple of dials were cracked.

‘I think I can see why it wouldn’t relight for you,’ Cam said.

Chapter 6

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.

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