The Naked Witch (A Wendy Woo Witch Lit Novel Book 1)

by Wendy Steele

Rowan’s eyes rolled to the ceiling and Lizzie wished she hadn’t asked. “Illness and death isn’t just history! It’s incredibly relevant today and unless we feel, how can we sympathise? How can we empathise or interact with those who are dying? You know, for a painter, sometimes I don’t think you’ve an artistic bone in your body!”

  She could feel tiny cracks skittering across the armour she had built around herself. Rowan’s thoughtless remarks didn’t usually affect her so badly. The scary prospect of unemployment and the nagging worry of unpaid bills were playing on her mind. She would revisit the cabin before she went to bed but first, the remnants of their meal needed to be cleared. Rowan had taken the tin of flapjack to her room as Lizzie ran hot water. The phone rang in the hall. Rowan ran down the stairs to answer it. Five minutes later, she brought the cordless handset to Lizzie.

  “It’s Nanny Martin for you.”

  Lizzie dried her hands. “Hi, Marsha. Thanks for my card.”

  “You should have let me know it had arrived.”

  “Sorry, I was helping at a Charity…”

  “How’s Joshua?”

  “Well, I imagine. He’s holidaying in New Zealand with Bryony.”

  “I know but you don’t know he’s alright! I dreamed last night about a great white shark…”

  Like her own mother, Marsha Martin was only in her early sixties but had failed to grasp that life moves on. Lizzie was once married to her son and was, therefore, part of the family, especially as she was the mother of Marsha’s only grandchild. On their first meeting, fifteen years ago, Lizzie had given her an insight into a recurring dream and had been her ear to help decipher them ever since. From her luxury villa near Ojen near Marbella, she peeked occasionally at the real world but preferred her own, surrounded by wealth and her devoted staff, including a young man called Antonio. Her second husband left her wealthy. She changed her name back to Martin, in honour of her son. Both women knew Josh only visited his mother when he wanted money.

  “They don’t have a shark problem in New Zealand, Marsha. Josh will be fine. And Bryony too.”

  “You’re always so sure, so certain the best will happen! Maybe, you’re right. I worry and the dreams are so vivid.”

  “I know you do, Marsha but I don’t have any control over what Josh does any more. You know that.”

  “I’ve not met Bryony yet. Is she good for Josh?”

  A sigh racked Lizzie’s body loosening more cracks. “I’ve only met her once but she seems nice. I’m sure she makes Josh happy.”

  “Well, that’s good. Rowan’s missing him, she told me, poor love. If only you two could have worked it out.”

  Don’t go there, please don’t go there! “That’s the past now, Marsha. Rowan and I are looking to the future. I went to her parents’ evening about choosing options for school…”

  “Must dash. Antonio is making his famous paella for us to enjoy by the pool this evening. I’ll speak to you soon.”

  Lizzie held the receiver, staring at the dead black plastic, her eyes welling with pain and frustration.

  It was past midnight. She entered through the wooden portal to the calming fragrance of frankincense. The goddess greeted her, her candle lit and Lizzie sat on the floor in her pyjamas and dressing gown and opened the cloth on the floor. The cards inside were dog eared but their message was always clear when she asked a question. Fear rumbled in her stomach as it always did when she shuffled her cards and prepared herself.

  It was a simple spread. Sometimes she drew extra cards above each one to focus on the original but the cards this evening left no doubt of their meaning.

  The past was IX Cups, nine golden goblets, a time of celebration and a time to ensure the creative potential of others. She remembered Rowan’s birth, how young, excited and proud she and Josh had been of their new beautiful daughter but Lizzie had raised her. She had given her time to Rowan.

  The present was VII Wands and the figure was Lizzie, fighting with her single club against the world, defiant and resolute against all odds. Once the divorce and the haggling were over, she had reinvented herself. Instead of fighting, she had turned to hard work. Practical, calm and organised, she had created a life that worked for her and Rowan.

  The future was II Swords, a blindfolded figure beneath a crescent moon, bearing the weight of two mighty swords. Lizzie was confused and frightened beneath the burden of the swords she wielded yet, there was another fight ahead. Amidst the turmoil, an important decision would need to be made. An ally was what she needed. A friend she could trust.

  Lizzie shut her eyes as a new day dawned, ruled by Mercurial dealings of communication, speaking, learning and teaching. She sent up a final prayer before trudging back to bed.

  5

  “Sam’s band is playing on Saturday night at The Bitter End. It’s the Battle of the Bands. Can I go?”

  “It’s a pub, Rowan. You know you can’t.”

  Rowan shovelled in another spoonful of muesli. Her next words were muffled. “You could come.”

  “Sorry?”

  “I said ‘You could come’. Look, if it’s the only way I can go, I’ll chance it. Promise you’ll stay at the back?”

  “I haven’t said ‘yes’ yet!”

  “Please, Mum!”

  “Can I think about it?”

  “No, because you’ll talk yourself out of it! It’ll be a night out for you. Please!”

  “Are they headlining?”

  “No, it’s different from a regular gig. Four bands have been invited. Playing order is drawn from a hat. They get a sound check then the music starts at eight o’clock, four half hour sets. Then we get to vote on the best band and the winner goes through to the next round.”

  Lizzie opened one of the three letters on the kitchen table. She recognised the handwriting as Aunt Matilda’s, a maiden aunt of her father’s. A crisp card, adorned with butterflies and glitter emerged and five shabby ten pound notes.

  “Okay but you owe me.”

  On the bus to work, Lizzie tried to remember to breathe. Her mouth was dry and her head was light and muzzy. A text from Matt had suggested meeting up this evening but she’d cried off, offering Rowan up as her excuse. He suggested she made arrangements for Friday night. She promised to try.

  The sun tried to shine on her as she walked from the bus stop but there were clouds to burn away. Lizzie wished she’d worn her purple skirt. She clung tightly to her turquoise sequined wrap, a chill breeze whipping through her second favourite dress, a floor length creation with a Cinderella hem in shades of turquoise, gold and purple.

  Louise greeted Lizzie with a grin. “You look stunning! That colour with your hair is amazing. You should take up modelling.”

  Lizzie laughed. “I’m far too short and curvy for that but, thanks for the support.”

  Louise’s smile faded. “Today’s the day?”

  Lizzie nodded.

  “Me too.”

  Lizzie squeezed her friend’s hand. “Good luck.”

  Lizzie waited for the lift. Her armour was intact and her sword sharpened. She hoped she wouldn’t have to use it.

  The three men sat in front of her, as she had visualised, with Chantelle from HR and Suzanne taking notes. Tom Melchett began with easy questions, taken from her CV. He turned to Edward Brown, reading the glowing praise for her work from him, David and other staff members.

  “But she’s still on probation?” queried Edward Brown.

  Hello! I’m here!

  “She is but I wouldn’t hesitate to give her a permanent contract!”

  “You wouldn’t but I would. Mrs Martin, how do you like working for Brown, Melchett and Brown?”

  Lizzie’s prepared answer flowed from her tongue. She tried not to gush, not to let them know how important this job was to her. Edward Brown flicked pages in a folder as she spoke.

  “And you think you’re the best person to be on reception?”

  Beneath the severe hooded brows, two black darts pierced through the air b
ut they didn’t penetrate Lizzie’s armour.

  “Now, yes. I know all the clients and have a good working relationship with the staff. I’m patient but tactful on the telephone. I’m professional and take pride in every aspect of my work.”

  Edward lowered his gaze and muttered.

  “That’ll be all for now, Lizzie. All staff will be notified on Monday morning.”

  “Monday?”

  The word shot into the small stifling room before she could stop it. Five pairs of eyes stared at her.

  “Something wrong, Mrs Martin?”

  “No, not at all. Shall I make a tray of tea for you before your next interview?”

  Lizzie hurried past Louise on her way to lunch. She waved a hand at Louise’s worried face and ran through the door.

  Lizzie sat beneath the oak tree. “Have these people no soul? Don’t they understand how terrible it is to live in limbo like this?”

  The squirrel shook his head sadly and accepted a nut. He sat back on his haunches and nibbled while Lizzie talked.

  “It struck me as I walked out of that room, you know, what Rowan was talking about. You need to live a person’s life to understand how they feel. If you care. David and Tom care, I think but Edward Brown…How can he walk into the company and do as he pleases? I was employed by David and Tom, not him!”

  Two more squirrels approached followed by two more. Lizzie shared her worries with them all and her nuts and her salad sandwich.

  “Sorry, Lou. I had to get out.”

  “You okay? How did it go?”

  “Decision on Monday.”

  “Monday? Oh, Lizzie. They’re telling security straight away. Everyone’s okay so far and mine’s in half an hour.”

  “You’ll be fine.”

  “But what about you?”

  Lizzie polished her armour. “I’ll be fine until Monday.”

  She chose the Pasta Palace. If it came to paying her half, she could manage with her birthday money in her purse. She wasn’t hungry but Matt’s handsome smiling face relaxed her. She’d been ready to burst from her armour all day.

  The olives were good and the sauce on the pasta delicious. Lizzie smiled her first true grin of the day, sitting back in her chair, sipping ice cold spritzer.

  “You should have told them! Monday is too long to wait to hear your future!”

  “I couldn’t and anyway, it’s the same for all the staff. Everyone is suffering.”

  “Especially those who’ve black marks against them.”

  “Do you think? I know Tania had time off sick at the beginning of the year.”

  “Sick or shirking?”

  “Sick, of course! She had to have a minor operation, poor girl but she’s fine now. They wouldn’t hold that against her, would they?”

  Matt shrugged. “Probably not. I reckon it’s more the people who’ve meddled where they shouldn’t, you know. Broken a confidence or caused trouble for the company. Do you know anyone like that?”

  Lizzie shook her head. “No, they’re not like that. None of them.”

  “I thought you didn’t know them well. That’s what you said.”

  “No, but there’s always rumours in an office. I’ve heard none.” She sipped her drink and relaxed even more. “I have a good feeling around all of them.”

  “Feeling?”

  “How I feel around them, the energy they give off. Sometimes they’re confused or worried.”

  “You can sense that?”

  Lizzie nodded.

  “And the new boss, what’s his name?”

  “Edward Brown. He’s guarded, hiding maybe but I don’t spend much time with him.”

  “He’s the new man, has to be careful.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “Dessert?”

  “Not for me, thanks. You go for it.”

  Matt smiled, his large hand falling from his glass to cover Lizzie's small hand. “I finished your pasta, I’m done. Do you want to come back to mine for coffee?”

  “Thanks but I want to get back. Rowan has two friends staying over.”

  Matt squeezed her hand, his eyes scanning her face as if she were a new, delightful, delicious creature he’d discovered. “I’m sure they’ll be fine.”

  She took a deep breath. “I will be too, once I’m home.” She rescued her hand and folded her napkin. “Thank you for a lovely evening.”

  6

  Saturday morning dawned and Lizzie woke early to a lazy orange sun, spraying its beauty over the summer landscape. In short yellow dungarees, she gathered her garden tools into her trug and set about weeding the flower bed in the front garden. While the majority of garden was covered in easy maintenance gravel, peonies and honeysuckle fought for space in the bed behind the fence while forget-me-nots and pansies struggled for sunlight beneath them.

  She was pulling stray grass and dandelions from the path when a black car pulled up to the kerb and two large feet approached. Lizzie looked up. The man wore jeans one size too big and a black t-shirt with skulls and dragons on the front. He held a piece of paper.

  “Rowan Martin?”

  Rowan leapt through the front door like a genie from its bottle, her back pack bulging. “Hi!”

  The man viewed Rowan, his face puzzled. She’d plaited her thick brown hair, lifting it from her neck into a woven basket on her head. Wisps of curls fell against her face, a beautiful face, open and beaming and devoid of any make up.

  “You ready?”

  “Yup.”

  “Err, hello?”

  Lizzie stood up.

  “Hey, Mum. Have to go. Final band practise!”

  “When will you be back?”

  “I’m going with the band. I’ll see you in The Bitter End at eight, if you’re still coming.”

  Rowan and the man walked to the car. It was brand new. It had a Mercedes badge.

  “Sorry, who are you?”

  “Mum!”

  The man turned and offered a hand. “Richard Parker, Sam’s father.”

  Lizzie arrived before eight o’clock to strains of tuning and testing of microphones. Her short cotton shift dress was cool after the heat of the summer’s hottest day so far but the bar was crowded, noisy and sweaty. She’d weeded in the back garden until it was too hot to work outside. Shopping, baking and cooking were complete. She could have a lie-in in the morning.

  With her lime and water in her hand, she scanned the crowds for Rowan. Young men and women thronged around the front of the stage but she couldn’t see her. She wandered to the back of the pub, past pool tables surrounded by eager young cocks, strutting their prowess before clucking little hens. In the chill out room, a room of three sides, open to the garden, in a haze of smoke, she found Rowan. Lizzie didn’t approach but stood a moment to admire her daughter. While young women fawned and young men joshed around Sam and the band on a large sofa, Rowan was curled in a chair opposite with a book, sipping cola from a bottle through a straw.

  At nine o’clock Walking Shadow took the stage. Lizzie stayed as far back as she could while still able to see Rowan. The band was tight. The rhythms were toe-tappingly good and Sam was an excellent front man. His big blond body owned the stage. The raw, earthy, guttural quality of his voice stroked her ears and his words were pertinent rather than sentimental.

  “Thank you.”

  Lizzie turned to the voice at her ear. Her puzzled face caused Richard Parker to lean closer.

  “For Rowan.”

  Lizzie shook her head and Richard beckoned her towards the pool tables. She glanced at Rowan, standing against the wall singing along with Sam and followed Richard.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

  Richard had found two stools and they sat at a sticky wrought iron table.

  “Your Rowan. She’s great.”

  “Well, I know that but what’s been happening between her and Sam?”

  Tiny cracks sizzled over Lizzie’s armour.

  “Nothing, no nothing like that. Please,
don’t worry.” Richard laid a gentle hand on her forearm. “Sam had to move schools, to take his ‘A’ levels and he struggled for months. Until he met Rowan. The other girls are…different or maybe Rowan is different from the other girls.”

  Lizzie sipped her drink. How could this man know something about her daughter that she didn’t? “Like how?”

  Richard grinned and his sad, pale face lit up. “Have you seen her?”

  Lizzie smiled and nodded. “So?”

  “I’ll start at the beginning, if that’s okay. I need a drink, would you like one?”

  “Lime and sparkling water would be lovely.”

  “Of course.”

  “My wife died suddenly three years ago of a brain haemorrhage.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  Richard acknowledged her apology. “I’m only telling you all this because we love our kids. You deserve to know who Rowan is hanging out with.”

  “I appreciate that but if it’s too painful…”

  “Eilidh not being here will always hurt, I know that but like I said, this is about Sam and Rowan. She’s healing my son so, you deserve to know.”

  Lizzie smiled at the sad, pale face of a grieving man. “Thank you.”

  “Eilidh had a tough time delivering Sam. We were very young but were advised not to have any more children. Eilidh adored Sam but continued to study, completing her law degree and final exams for the bar. I was already in the force when he was born so we brought Sam up together, spending precious time-off as a family. Maybe we did spoil him, buying him guitars and a drum kit and sound proofing the garage but he was always a good lad. When Eilidh died, Sam changed. He played up to the sycophants hanging around the band, gave up on his school work and hated everyone and everything.”

  “Must have been devastating…for both of you.”

  Richard looked down. “There were days I didn’t want to go on, I’ll admit that but Sam was my major concern and I didn’t know what to do to help him. And then Eilidh’s will was read. She’d said she had money from an aunt when we met in college but it was never mentioned again. With Eilidh’s inheritance, I bought the house in Emerson Park and moved Sam to a school excelling in the subjects he had originally been interested in. He hated me for six months. Until the day he bumped into your daughter in the library.”