Wine, Witches and Song (The Everyday Witches of Wildham-on-Sea Book 1)

by Molly Milligan

  “We got the information, though, didn’t we?”

  “At the cost of your dignity. And since when did you take up smoking?”

  “I didn’t. I was doing a ritual in the toilet. It went wrong.”

  There were a few seconds of silence from my sister as she attempted to digest what I’d just told her. Eventually she said, “Most people just buy Imodium from the pharmacy.”

  “No, it wasn’t for what you think. Anyway, so Liam’s definitely out of the picture?”

  “He was never a serious contender. And I’ve just seen the paper.”

  “Ron Thompson,” I said.

  “Yeah. Wow. Is this anything to do with you as well?”

  “You know I don’t write for the paper.”

  “Yeah,” Bernie said, “but you know the woman who wrote that article, don’t you? And you mentioned fraud to me before.”

  “Are you looking into the fraud?”

  “Me? God, no. I have enough work to do, thanks. It’s been passed to the right department, though.”

  “Does it get Ron off the hook for the murder, or does it make him look even more guilty?”

  “As far as we can see it, it explains why Thompson followed Howlett from the pub. He wanted to ensure that Howlett would not talk about what he knew. After all, Howlett had been a member of the club so he knew about the fraud that Thompson had committed. We don’t have any evidence that Howlett was planning to expose Thompson; he had not made any move to contact him. There was no need for Thomson to kill Howlett. He’d have to kill all the members of the club, wouldn’t he?”

  I tried to follow her brisk, machine-gun fire chain of thought, surnames-only, military-style. “You’re saying Ron Thompson is not a suspect?”

  “No, he is not. He has nothing concrete to tie him to the murder.”

  “Unlike the Pastons and that book. Listen, Bernie, I went to look at the book.”

  “You mean, you went to see Charlotte.”

  “No, I was just interested...”

  My sister interrupted me. “Jackie, don’t get involved. You’ll muddy things and make our job so much harder.”

  “I am not getting involved,” I said, and then because I didn’t feel right in lying I said I had to go, and I ended the call.

  It was true that I had to go.

  My daughter Scarlett would be twenty-one tomorrow and I didn’t know how I’d let it creep up on me but all of a sudden I had a million things to organise and only one day in which to get it done.

  SCARLETT HAD BEEN WITH her boyfriend Max since they had been at school together. She’d moved out of my house and into a little cottage with Max just over a year ago. She hadn’t really dated anyone else, and nor had he. While she worked and studied, he was an apprentice to a local furniture-making business. He was paid very badly, but his parents still helped to support him.

  I’d tried to do the same for Scarlett but she had tossed her head and refused. “I’m working, mum,” she had told me repeatedly. “I’m grown up now.”

  I hardly ever saw her. I think part of the reason for that was simply because we lived so close to one another. We took one another’s proximity for granted. If either one of us had phoned in the middle of the night, needing something, the other one would have been there within moments. It went without question. We were close, in a not-physically-close sort of way. I heard of mothers and daughters speaking on the phone every day, but we weren’t like that. We didn’t feel the need to be.

  The other reason was, of course, that she was so busy. I wasn’t sure what came first for her – her studies or her relationship. Maybe they were equal. Then followed her friends, her work, and finally me and her father.

  He might have run off and left me, years ago, but he had at least stayed in touch – sort of – with Scarlett by sending her perfunctory birthday and Christmas gifts. He made half-hearted suggestions about days out, from time to time. Scarlett rarely took him up on those offers.

  I sometimes wondered how on earth I’d managed to raise such an apparently level-headed and calm daughter. My husband had been around until she was in her early teens. When he disappeared to live with a woman in Birmingham, I had tried to do my crying in private, sparing Scarlett the pain of seeing her mother in distress. But she had known, and she had given me more wise advice than I had thought possible. She found useful and empowering articles online, and for a little while, our roles seemed to flip.

  I was both ashamed of my weakness – I was supposed to be the strong one! – and so very proud of my conscientious, kind and straightforward daughter.

  I’d planned this twenty-first birthday event with her full knowledge and permission. I respected her too much to spring an embarrassing surprise party on her. She had agreed to let me hire the community hall and work with Max to invite all her friends.

  I’d even invited her father but he had replied saying he was “unfortunately having to work.” He didn’t say what that work was, and neither of us cared enough to pursue the matter.

  So the rest of Thursday, and most of Friday too, was to be spent in making sure everything was ready for the party. I had the cake to collect, the buffet to check on, the decorations to put up, and the tables to set out. There was going to be a DJ playing Scarlett’s favourite songs. She was spending the afternoon at a spa with some of her friends, and would come straight from there to the community centre.

  Max joined me at the centre around teatime on Friday. He was a sweet, good-natured boy and exactly who I would have chosen for Scarlett, except sometimes I did wish they’d both had a little more life experience before they settled down with one another.

  Clare told me that when I said “life experience” I really meant I wanted them to have slept around. I always denied that, indignantly. But there was a morsel of truth in it. What if they got to their thirties or forties and started to think they’d missed out on something?

  Like she was missing out on being a witch.

  Max caught me looking sadly at the pile of presents on the table at the back of the hall. “Are you alright, Ms Hardy?”

  I had reverted to my maiden name after the divorce, but Max had never been able to call me Jackie. He was run through with old-fashioned politeness. “I’m fine, thanks, Max. I just feel a little old.”

  “Can I get you a chair?”

  That really did make me feel old. “No, thanks! I meant that now she’s twenty-one, I must be way past it.”

  “Not at all. You’re in the prime of your life,” he told me.

  “You are an excellent young man.”

  He smiled. “Thank you. My mum and dad did their best with me. Shall we get that last bit of bunting up? If you hold one end, I’ll go up the ladder and fix the other end up at the ceiling.”

  We put the finishing touches on the decorations and then there was a lull as we waited for the first partygoers to arrive. I found myself standing outside the centre, at the back, where there was a small concrete yard and the bins for rubbish, and cigarette ends littered the floor. Charlotte and Vin came flooding into my mind, along with the biggest question of all:

  What motive could they have had for killing Will Howlett?

  Revenge for the past?

  Love?

  Money?

  Why now, that was the biggest question. Why now? Why had Will returned now, after three years of moderate success, albeit with a dodgy manager who was taking his money and faking his fans?

  And why would either Vin or Charlotte kill him for his return?

  THE PARTY STARTED SO well.

  I had worked so hard to make it perfect for Scarlett. When she walked into the centre, my heart swelled with love for her. She was positively glowing. She was flanked by her friends, and Max rushed up to her and embraced her, not ashamed to show his devotion to her in front of everyone. She had long red hair that tumbled around her shoulders, and an easy smile. She made people feel relaxed. She was going to be a most excellent nurse one day.

  After greeting
Max, she came over to me, and I made her do a little speech which she both hated and loved, and then I gave a speech about how proud I was of her, and all the usual party shenanigans began to happen. There were presents and laughter, music and food, wine and silly party games.

  Clare had managed to come for a little while. As my oldest, closest friend, she was something of an aunt to Scarlett. We sat down on some orange plastic chairs and watched the dancing.

  “Have you accepted it then? Now?” Clare asked. “You know what I mean.”

  “I know. And yes, I think so.”

  “Really? Wow. I thought you’d be talking of the next milestone.”

  “What, forty?”

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  “No. I ... I hate to say this, but I had a talk with Gloria and she talked some sense into me.”

  Clare’s voice didn’t change at all, which was how I knew she was upset by that. “Did she, indeed? Well, isn’t that nice of her.”

  Ouch. “I know she’s as dippy as hell and totally insensitive, but she does mean well.”

  “We can all have good intentions.”

  It was not my job to force someone to like someone else. They were two very different people. I let the matter drop, and instead, told Clare all about the mysterious book. “It’s beautiful,” I said when I’d got to the end of my tale. “You ought to see it.”

  “I’d love to. And you say it was actually signed by Anne Boleyn?”

  “About two-thirds of the way through, where the handwriting changed.”

  “So it had two owners or makers.”

  “Apparently. It had some kind of hold over Charlotte, too, but I don’t know what.”

  “Creepy, but fascinating. I hope she does give it to a museum. Such things ought to be there for the public – oh! Now, there is a surprise. Did you really invite Evangeline Dot?”

  “Good god, no. I did not!” I jumped to my feet.

  Clare caught my arm. “Don’t cause a scene. This is Scarlett’s party, remember.”

  “I won’t,” I said. Clare kept hold of my arm and we watched as Evangeline thump-thumped her walker across the dancefloor, making a beeline for Scarlett.

  Scarlett appeared to greet her, leaning in close to her and patting her hands. Evangeline handed over a small gift-wrapped present, and then made her way towards the table of drinks. She was briefly out of sight as she was swallowed up by the shifting crowds.

  I wrenched myself free of Clare’s grasp.

  “No,” she said.

  “Don’t worry. I’m going to talk to Scarlett, not that woman. Do you know she’s basically been threatening me?”

  Before Clare could answer that – well, she didn’t know, anyway – I had got away from her. I descended on my daughter and persuaded her to come with me to a quiet, private corner.

  “What’s up, mum?”

  “Why is Evangeline Dot here?”

  “She’s one of my clients, mum, but we’ve become pretty good friends.”

  “Is that allowed? Surely you shouldn’t be friends with your clients.”

  “You’re friends with people you’ve interviewed for your stories.”

  “That’s different.”

  “How?”

  “It’s not an ongoing relationship,” I explained. “There’s a power imbalance thing here. You could be accused of manipulating her. We’ve all read those stories about carers taking advantage of their older clients, like stealing their pension cheques.”

  “Oh my god, mum! Like I’d nick her money. Do you think I would?”

  “I know you wouldn’t but what if someone accused you of it?”

  “Yeah, but they won’t. She’s not my only client here. June was here earlier too, and you only went and invited her yourself, didn’t you?”

  “Damn.” That was true. “I don’t trust her, though.”

  “Yeah, she mentioned that you would say that.”

  “She did what?” I glared at Scarlett. I didn’t mean to take it out on her, but she was the nearest.

  She faced up to me defiantly. She was, after all, a fully independent woman now. “She said you wouldn’t like it if her and me talked. She said you were running away from something. What did she mean?”

  “She’s an old woman and her head is full of nonsense.”

  “You’re old too, and her mind is as clear as anyone else’s. What about your nonsense?” Scarlett said.

  “What nonsense?”

  “You’ve been watching me all evening. This stuff that you believe in, you think something’s going to happen to me, don’t you?”

  “I’ve been watching you because you’re my daughter and now you’re twenty-one, and I’m just so proud of you,” I said.

  “Yeah, right.” She had been drinking with her friends at the spa. And she had been drinking here, too. Something was going to come out. Something that had been lingering and I had only noticed my own issues – not hers. She flared her nostrils at me. “I know what you think. You think that this is the last chance for me to get into your mumbo-jumbo.” She didn’t usually speak like this. It was the drink, I told myself. This is not her true feeling. This is just the drink.

  I didn’t want to rise to it. I mastered myself and said, “This is your party and I just want you to be happy. I won’t spoil it. But you need to know that Evangeline has been saying things to me that don’t make sense.”

  “Just because they don’t make sense to you, doesn’t mean they’re nonsense. It just means that you don’t understand,” Scarlett said. She tossed her head. “I’m going back to my friends. I am sorry I am such a disappointment to you.”

  She stalked off and I felt like I had been kicked. She had not been so argumentative since her teenage years.

  I told myself again, logically, that it was a combination of drink and the stress of the party. I also hoped, desperately, that she didn’t truly think that she was any kind of disappointment to me. Yes, I had been hoping she would be magical but I had also tried to hide this from her.

  Maybe I hadn’t been as effective as I had thought.

  Maybe not? Clearly not.

  This wasn’t the right time to go after her and try to force a reconciliation. I’d take her for lunch in the next few days, and we’d hash it all out, soberly. That had always worked for us before.

  And anyway, I had no chance to go after her right now, as Evangeline Dot was bearing down upon me, that walker slamming into the wooden floor like the ticking clock of doom.

  She said, “I can’t wait any longer. You have to come with me. Now.”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  “Yes, you are. If you don’t, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. Luckily for you, your life will be mercifully short.”

  “Are you actually threatening me?”

  “No, you silly woman. I’m telling you what will happen if you ignore what is happening.”

  “Is this anything to do with the murder?”

  “Of course it is! The power is rising and I cannot hold it back. It’s time for you to take it on. Let me teach you before I die.” She looked at me with a certain amount of scepticism or perhaps it was pure distaste. “If I don’t teach you, there’s no chance you’ll manage to learn it on your own. It will be too late. Come on. You need some fresh air.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Yes, you do. Follow me. Or I shall make such a scene that your daughter will never speak to you again.”

  Anger flared like a white hot poker but I was also insanely curious. Yet again, I had the impression that she wasn’t lying to me, and she wasn’t mad.

  And the magic around her felt as strong as ever.

  So what could I do?

  I followed her out of the centre, and into the night.

  Chapter Ten

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  Evangeline got up a fair turn of speed even with the restriction of the walker that she used for support. She stared rigidly ahead of us, and I could hear
that she was struggling to breathe. “Let’s get away from everyone. I’ll tell you.”

  As soon as I had walked out of the community centre, I had committed myself to following this through to the end. So I didn’t plague her with any more questions while we walked. The community centre lay to the west of the town, on the edge of the main centre where the shops and businesses were. It was also directly to the south of the River Wild. Evangeline took me over New Bridge and now we were in an industrial area of warehouses and business units. Although it was dark, this place was well-lit with floodlights and the passing of trucks which rumbled on, night and day.

  She finally stopped at the far edge of the industrial estate. Ahead of us was a track that led out to the farmland of Norfolk. We were lit from behind by an orange lamp illuminating an empty car park. I could hear gulls calling in the night, and I shivered. That was never a good sign.

  “Matthew Hopkins,” she said.

  At first I thought she was talking about someone I ought to have known. “Who?”

  “You know. The Witchfinder General.”

  “Oh, from about three hundred years ago?”

  “More. He was born in 1620 and died in 1647. And over the course of his short life, he was both directly and indirectly responsible for the deaths of over three hundred people.”

  My mouth went dry. I knew all that, vaguely, on the edge of my memory but it wasn’t something I thought about much. When Evangeline spoke about it, it suddenly became real.

  I thought about making a joke about her age, and asking if she had been there at the time. But I didn’t.

  She went on. “Not all were women and not all were witches. Mostly, of course, they were not witches. They were poor people or vulnerable or simply those perceived to be dangerous.”

  “It was a horrible time,” I conceded.

  “It was.” She turned to face me, and said in a low and menacing voice, “and it still is.”

  “How so?”

  “Good. You’re asking questions instead of jumping into an argument. Hopkins and his associate Stearne were utterly convinced they were doing the right thing. And they soon became drunk on the power of believing they were doing god’s work. They thought they were invincible because they believed that they were right without question, without check, without hindrance.”