Nearly Almost Somebody

by Caroline Batten

  ‘Bacardi and soda,’ Zoë said to Grace, her tone tinged with aspartame, before sidling closer to Sparky. ‘How are you?’

  He abandoned his chat with that old soak – Stan or someone – his gaze immediately travelling down to her cleavage. ‘You alright?’

  ‘I just want to say thanks for coming out so quickly the other week.’ Zoë flicked her hair back. There was no point going as far as fluttering her eye lashes – Sparky still hadn’t looked up. ‘You’re such a lifesaver. I can’t wait for the electrics to be fixed.’

  ‘Well, you know it’ll–’

  ‘I got zapped again this morning...’ It was only a tiny white lie. Libby was the one who’d stupidly plugged the iron in. ‘I’ll feel sooo much safer when they’re done.’

  ‘But I don’t know–’

  Zoë placed her hand on his arm and let her smile grow. The boy was buff. ‘I should buy you a drink. You’ve no idea how grateful I am.’

  Sparky appeared to have stopped breathing. ‘Okay...’

  ‘You want to watch her,’ mumbled Stan. ‘She’s a siren. Like her aunt.’

  ‘Great-aunt,’ Zoë corrected him, her hand still on Sparky’s arm. If he suspected she might actually be capable of luring him to a sticky end, he certainly didn’t show it. ‘What can I get you?’

  ‘Cumberland,’ he answered, his ears turning pink.

  He’d so be doing the electrics in the next fortnight.

  * * *

  Poor Sparky. Libby wasn’t sure if she should warn him off or encourage him to sweep Zoë off her high heels. He seemed okay. Certainly a lot nicer than Zoë’s usual cohorts – Libby had yet to meet one she actually liked.

  In front of the pub, Libby lit a cigarette and stretched out her legs, loving the gentle breeze circulating the twenty-five degree air. The walled beer garden had been as stifling as a marquee in comparison, which wasn’t helping her fuzzy head – though neither was Daisy’s refusal to let anyone’s glass remain empty for more than half a second. Libby alone must’ve drank almost a bottle.

  ‘Mind if I join you?’ Jack hovered in the doorway, one hand raking through his toffee brown hair.

  ‘No. Of course not.’ I didn’t summon you. You have a girlfriend. ‘Is Grace working tonight?’

  Jack sat down, but looked away. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you two live together?’

  ‘Sometimes. Mostly not. It’s a bit... And she’s... Look, can we not talk about Grace?’

  Okay, but at least you won’t forget she exists this time. Libby took a long drag on her cigarette. ‘You must’ve known Maggie fairly well. What was she like?’

  ‘Manipulative. Cold.’ Jack glanced to the window where Zoë and Sparky were laughing. ‘Like her.’

  ‘Zoë’s not like that.’

  ‘Oh yeah? What’s she doing with Sparky?’

  Libby glanced at her feet. Busted. ‘She’s not cold though.’

  ‘You know you’re unbelievably pretty when you blush.’

  Surely he wasn’t flirting. They’d just talked about Grace. ‘Jack...’

  He leant a little closer, his eyes twinkling, daring her. ‘What?’

  ‘Stop it.’

  ‘Stop what?’

  ‘You have a girlfriend.’

  For a moment his smiled faded. ‘And if I didn’t?’

  He smelled so good, so fresh, his woody aftershave drifting on the summer air. No, no, no. He wasn’t who she summoned. He couldn’t be. Libby’s skin crawled. But what if he was? He was twenty-seven, cute as a button with green eyes and was this him being honest? Had she summoned Jack? And what if summoning spells were a two way street? What if the spell worked and the Wiccan magic was tearing him away from his girlfriend and pushing Libby towards him?

  Quickly, Libby took the little silk bag from her back pocket and tipped the dusty contents into the nearest plant pot, giving it back to the earth, ending the spell. She’d never willingly destroy a relationship. Never.

  ‘What was that?’ Jack asked.

  ‘Nothing.’ Libby’s cheeks burned. Like she’d admit to casting silly love spells.

  ‘It’s just Grace has a bag just like it. Carries it everywhere.’

  Grace had a summoning pouch, why?

  ‘Let’s get out of here,’ he said, quietly. ‘Grab a drink at the Black Bull.’

  Was he joking? Libby almost laughed, but flashed a polite smile instead as she stood up. ‘Sorry, but one night stands aren’t my kind of thing.’

  ‘You need to drop a few inhibitions,’ Jack said, his threatening smile and twinkling eyes making it impossible to know if he were being serious or just plain teasing her.

  Either way, it had Libby slump against the wall and fold her arms defensively. Why did everyone think her such a goody-two-shoes? Was she a goody-two-shoes? Zoë wouldn’t give a second thought to a one night stand with someone like Jack.

  ‘I’m not inhibited,’ Libby said, her cheeks burning.

  Slowly, Jack got to his feet and stepped toward her. ‘Then let’s go.’

  ‘What, you’re daring me? No.’ But her stupid nipples pinged into life.

  ‘We’ll go back to yours...’ His voice was low, his breath tickling her cheek. ‘And fuck in the hallway, up against the wall.’

  Libby stared at him. The idea of shagging in the hallway, up against the wall on a one night stand with a guy who had a girlfriend appalled her. At least it should have. The reality was that it turned her on more than she’d even admit to Zoë.

  A loud beeping brought her to her senses.

  ‘Oh, for…’ Jack checked a beeper clipped to his belt and swore. ‘It’ll be another bloody grass fire.’

  Libby stared in horror. ‘You’re a fireman?’

  ‘I’m a fireman.’ He stood up and flashed the cheekiest grin. ‘Play your cards right, Tinker Bell, and you might get to see me in the uniform.’

  He shot her a wink before sprinting off down the road.

  Desire surged through her once again. A fireman? No, no, no. She’d have to perform the summoning spell again, but this time she’d be more specific with her wishes. Wait, when had she started taking this Wiccan mumbo-jumbo seriously? Maybe the day I stood in the garden and grounded myself with the Earth Goddess and bloody Sun Star. She had to get a grip. She watched as he disappeared around the corner. It might be mumbo-jumbo, but why did he have to be a fireman?

  Slowly, she stubbed out her cigarette and turned to head back inside. Crikey, she needed a very big glass of–

  Grace was standing in the window, her arms folded, her mouth set in a grim line. How much of that had she seen? Libby wanted to apologise, to set her straight, to explain that she’d never mess around with someone else’s boyfriend, but would Grace ever believe it?

  Libby barely believed it herself.

  * * *

  ‘Ah... fuck... oh shit, your arse is so fucking sexy.’

  Under normal circumstances, Zoë would’ve been hard pushed not to laugh, but riding the hell out of Sparky she struggled not to mutter a few guttural expletives herself. The boy was ripped, killer abs, but without that paper bag, she’d opted for the reverse cowgirl. He hit places most blokes didn’t know existed

  ‘Do you want to touch my arse?’ Zoë whispered, knowing it’d trip him over the edge and sure enough, he cried out, his body bucking under her.

  ‘I’m coming, you horny little bitch. I’m coming, I’m coming...’

  His thumb pressed into her arse, pushing her down onto his cock and Zoë had to bite back her own screams as she came. He might be totally clueless with his tongue and a girl’s clit, but in the end, Sparky wasn’t a bad lay. But what the hell was she going to do with him now? For a minute, she stayed impaled on his softening dick. Ideally she wanted him out of the house, but if she kicked him out, he might back out of rewiring the house the following week.

  Gingerly, she climbed off and turned to him. ‘Sparks?’

  He lay spread-eagled, eyes closed and mouth gaping. Shagged into a sex
coma. Zoë couldn’t help a smug grin. He’d be doing the electrics even if she kicked him out in the morning without so much as a kiss on the cheek. Feeling unusually generous, she peeled the condom off him and dropped it in the bin on her way out of the room.

  ‘Is it safe to come out?’ Libby asked, poking her head round the doorway of her room.

  Stifling a giggle, Zoë nodded and they fled downstairs.

  ‘You pulled Sparky?’ Libby asked she put the kettle on. ‘Why?’

  ‘He’s got a huge dick?’ Zoë offered, but she knew what Libby was getting at.

  ‘Please tell me you didn’t shag him just so he’d do the electrics sooner rather than later.’

  ‘Okay.’ Zoë lit a cigarette. ‘I didn’t shag him just so he’d do the electrics sooner rather than later.’

  Libby raised her eyebrows. ‘Really?’

  ‘But he’s rewiring the place next week.’

  ‘Zo...’

  ‘What? It wasn’t exactly a one-way deal. He had a lot of fun.’

  ‘I heard.’ Libby looked up at the ceiling. ‘I’m coming, I’m coming, you horny little bitch.’

  Unable to keep straight faces, they both fell apart, laughing until tears rolled down their cheeks and hissing at each other to shut up. The last thing they wanted was for Sparky to wake up.

  ‘What happened after I left?’ Libby asked more soberly.

  ‘Grace and Jack had a fight. He stropped off to the Black Bull.’

  Libby groaned, holding her head in her hands. ‘How on earth have I wrecked their relationship? All I ever did was say hi to the guy.’

  ‘At least the spell’s working for you.’

  ‘Spell? What spell?’

  ‘The one on the house,’ Zoë replied, surprised by Libby’s defensive tone. ‘You fancy Jack – oh, yes you do – and he tries it on. Your boss is offering you wine on a daily basis. Hell, even Paolo still rings once a week, don’t think I haven’t heard you talking to him. I’d hoped it might work for me too.’

  ‘Er... Sparky.’

  Zoë waved the idea away. ‘He doesn’t count. I don’t need a spell to pull him, but Jonathan couldn’t be less interested and look at Mr Coffee Shop.’

  ‘Zo?’ Libby nervously tucked her hair behind her ears. ‘Promise you won’t laugh?’

  She promised no such thing and did indeed laugh out freaking loud when Libby told her about keeping Maggie’s box of witchcraft and the spells she’d done.

  ‘Fuck me, you’re a dark horse at times, Ms Wilde.’ Zoë stood up. ‘Let’s do it.’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘The Summoning Spell. I’ll summon my dream guy, and you can summon... well, someone who isn’t Jack or Paolo.’

  ‘Really?’ Libby wandered, frowning, to her bedroom. ‘Well, there’s no messing around and you have to do the Grounding thing first.’

  Although she was amused by how earnest Libby sounded, Zoë soon found herself sitting cross-legged in the middle of the back garden, no longer worrying if anyone could see them. The whole Wicca thing was nothing more than superstition and fantasy, utter mumbo-jumbo, but under the moonless black sky, the only light coming from the shining band of the Milky Way, Zoë frowned at her blank piece of torn wallpaper, nibbling the end of a pen.

  ‘What are you putting?’ she asked Libby.

  ‘Good looks, 25-35, nice eyes, English, honest and single. That should rule out Paolo and Jack. Why don’t you wish for someone with blue eyes who likes coffee?’

  Grinning, Zoë shook her head and wrote: A great shag with plenty of money.

  * * *

  Michael Wray put down his knife to answer his phone, ignoring the disgruntled diners around him.

  ‘Wray.’

  ‘I’ve got her. In the green.’

  ‘You ripper. Who with?’ Michael Wray asked. ‘Xander again?’

  ‘No. Jack.’

  Wray sighed. ‘Not good enough, mate. I want someone that’ll rock the local community. Try the blog.’ He ended the call and refilled his glass.

  ‘Who’re you talking about?’ asked the former Miss Haverton, picking at her foie gras.

  Wray grinned. ‘The new you.’

  Chapter Eleven

  Outside the cottage, splattered with mud and exhausted from running, Libby doubled over, gasping for breath.

  ‘You just couldn’t resist, could you?’ Grace came down the steps outside the vets surgery, her arms wrapped around herself. ‘We’ve been going out for ten years. Ten years. He’s shagged eleven other girls that he’s admitted to me.’

  ‘But I haven’t–’ Libby panted, with her hands still on her knees, and glanced at the cottage. Would her legs get her there?

  Grace’s eyes were puffy, red and filled with hatred as she stood, hands on hips, her foot tapping. ‘Usually, he gets wasted, shags them then buys me flowers to say sorry.’

  ‘But I haven’t shagged him.’

  ‘No, you wouldn’t, so what does he do? He splits up with me. Why couldn’t you just shag him, get it out of his system?’

  Jack had split up with Grace? Libby’s head swam as she straightened. ‘Grace–’

  ‘Don’t you dare. He told me about last night. Jack might wander every now and then, but he tells me everything. And he told me about the little red silk bag you carry everywhere with you.’

  Libby blinked, the corner of her mouth twitching. ‘But how do–’

  ‘Who did you summon, Libby? My boyfriend?’

  ‘No. I...’ Her words were a whisper, mortification rising from her toes. She hadn’t meant to summon him; she’d deliberately tried to exclude him. Honest and Single. Only now it turned out Jack was unfailingly honest and thoroughly single. ‘It’s just a silly spell. It’s not even real.’

  ‘You’ve got Maggie’s book, haven’t you? You’re messing with something you don’t understand. You’ve come here, a bloody off-comer with your hoity-toity accent.’

  ‘I didn’t–’ Libby held her cramping thigh. She needed to stretch.

  ‘Look at you. You’re knackered. And you think you can do the Lum Valley fell race. In your dreams. You’re a middle distance runner at best. You haven’t got the stamina for fifteen miles.’

  Libby’s back stiffened. Stamina? Grace dared question her stamina. She had no idea what Libby could run through, dance through. ‘I can do the race. Xander reckons I could go for the women’s record.’

  Grace laughed. ‘I’ll see you at the start line and I’ll be waiting for you at the finish.’

  Libby frowned, looking over Grace’s curves. All the fell runners she’d seen had zero body fat.

  ‘You’ve picked the wrong person to make an enemy of,’ Grace hissed. ‘You’re going to regret this.’

  ‘I haven’t done anything.’

  ‘You keep telling yourself that.’ Grace stomped back into the vets, leaving Libby unsure whether to cry or scream.

  ‘Libby?’ Jack called from his mum’s front doorway.

  ‘This is your fault,’ Libby snapped, striding up to him. ‘Why couldn’t you just leave me alone? You’re an unfaithful arse. Do you honestly think I’d go out with someone who sleeps around like that?’

  He folded his arms, scowling. ‘I don’t remember anyone asking.’

  ‘Just leave me alone.’

  ‘Yeah, well, just so you know, she’ll kick your arse in the fell race. She holds the women’s record and wins every year.’ He ducked inside Sheila’s house, slamming the door behind him and Libby fled.

  How could everything go so wrong? All she’d wanted was a fresh start, but somehow she’d ended up inciting a feud with Grace and destroying a relationship. Flopping onto her bed, Libby’s heel hit the plastic storage box containing Maggie’s Wiccan trove.

  She pulled out the box and threw in the symbolic candles she had stationed around her room, the sleeping charm from under her pillow, the little red summoning spell pouch and finally the spell book. Maybe it was hocus pocus or maybe it was more real than she’d ever imagined, bu
t either way, Grace was right. Libby had no idea what she was messing with.

  As she rammed the lid on, Hyssop padded across the bed to her. He rubbed his head against her hand then batted something shiny with his paw. Libby picked it up. The little silver amulet showed a naked woman holding an offering over her head. It supposedly promoted new beginnings, and as Hyssop’s purr soothed her frustration, Libby closed her hand around it.

  * * *

  ‘Well, this is different,’ came his voice, from the coffee shop as usual.

  Zoë didn’t stop walking.

  ‘Not the killer staccato beat, or the chill-out tune.’ He fell into step beside her. ‘You’re not late, or not-that-early. You’re something else.’

  Yeah, struggling to walk, thanks to Sparky. Zoë kept going, refusing to look at Mr Coffee Shop.

  ‘You’re not even talking to me?’ he said.

  Sod it. She stopped, wheeling around to face him. Jesus, he was cute, and those eyes... ‘Do you know how many times I’ve been stood up? Once. By you.’

  His eyes flickered, a moment of doubt flashing, but he replaced it with a smile. ‘Guess I set myself out from the crowd.’

  ‘No. You blew your chance.’ But his lips were ten levels of kissable, despite the fact he’d undoubtedly taste of skanky roll-ups.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry. I got offered a job that I couldn't say no to. If you’d have gone into the shop, Amy would’ve given you the note I left.’

  Zoë folded her arms. ‘You’re not forgiven.’

  ‘How about you make me pay for it? You can play hard to get until I’m on my knees if you like?’ His eyes twinkled as he teased her and Zoë struggled not to smile.

  ‘Sounds like something I’d do.’

  ‘Fancy starting today? Five o’clock when you finish work?’

  ‘Today?’ She slowly shook her head. ‘Today wouldn’t be playing even remotely hard to get. Tomorrow.’

  ‘See you then, beautiful.’

  Really, she didn’t give a crap about playing hard to get, but she’d promised to be home by six with takeaway pizza and a bottle of Jack Daniels – a depressed Libby’s poison of choice. And if she were truly honest with herself, going on a date when she was still saddle sore from shagging Sparky the night before felt... dirty. The odd thing was that, by Zoë’s standards, that ought to make it more fun.