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

by Wendy Steele

  “Really? I’m intrigued but what about you? Do you still work?”

  “Only in a consultancy capacity now. Detective work in London is an unpleasant business. I help, if I can but I’m happy to leave the fraud squad behind!”

  The leather front seat moulded around her, safe and familiar as a comfy glove. Rowan and Sam bantered and laughed on the back seat behind her while Richard cruised them home. Both men left the car to see the women indoors, Lizzie blushing as Sam held Rowan’s arms and kissed her forehead before giving her a hug.

  “Thanks for the chat, Liz. I’ve not…well, it’s not something I care to share with just anybody.”

  “It’s been nice to meet you too. Thanks for the lift home.”

  “You up for tomorrow, Rowan?”

  Rowan looked at Lizzie. “Sam’s helping me organise my art project for next year. Can he come here as I’ve books from the library?”

  “Of course. I’ll have my usual Sunday walk but you two can manage. I’ve made a nut roast for dinner, if you want to stay, Sam?”

  “Thanks, Mrs Martin. Can Dad come and get some cookery lessons?”

  “Sam!”

  Lizzie laughed. “Of course he can, though I’m not a great cook, Rowan will tell you. You’re welcome to lunch, Richard. I’ll be back by midday.”

  “I don’t want to put you out…”

  “You’d rather be on your own with your trains!”

  The blush must have begun at Richard’s toes as by the time it reached his face, he was bright red and squirming. “Thanks for that, son. Are you sure, Lizzie?”

  Lizzie did her best to expel the image of Richard surrounded by a model train set, wearing a peaked cap and waving a tiny flag, from her mind. “Of course! See you tomorrow.”

  Lizzie and Matt had completed their circuit of the lake and were heading for the tea shop. The past few days revisited Lizzie’s mind and she played out scenarios in her head. Most didn’t end well or were based on other people behaving in certain ways, and that rarely happened.

  “Band practise this afternoon. Want to come?”

  “Sorry?”

  “I wondered if you wanted to come to band practise later. I could croon you a ditty of your own, if you like.”

  Lizzie laughed and spun away from Matt’s arm. The glorious summer weather beamed on the park today. With her sandals in her bag, Lizzie danced across the grass barefoot towards her oak tree and threw herself on the dry grass in front of it. The ancient trunk supported her.

  “I thought you wanted tea.”

  Was that frustration in his voice? “Sorry, the moment took me. Sit here. It’s beautiful in the shade.”

  “I’m getting a coffee.”

  Lizzie watched as Matt walked away. A squirrel appeared beside her. “Impatient, isn’t he?”

  The squirrel tipped his head to one side.

  “Ah, it’s probably me.” She rummaged in the bottom of her bag and pulled out a few monkey nuts. She handed one to the squirrel.

  “I feel…” Lizzie shut her eyes and tipped her head back against the ancient wood. “I feel I’m an observer on the world, squirrel. As if it’s happening without me. I’m the flotsam, buffeted on the current of other people’s lives.”

  She opened her eyes. Sunlight glinted through the lime green leaves, stencilling a pattern on her face and the earth.

  “I brought you tea.”

  “Thank you. I’m sorry, Matt. I did say I wouldn’t be good company.”

  “And I’m sorry too. I’m hot. Don’t really fancy spending four hours in a metal garage, if I’m honest.”

  Lizzie laughed. “But you were going to subject me to it too!”

  Matt smiled. “Because you’re a breath of fresh air, little flower.”

  It’s a compliment. He doesn’t know. Matt, using her father’s pet name for her, sent goose bumps down her spine.

  Lizzie stood at the stove stirring gravy. Richard sat at the kitchen table.

  “I didn’t drink at all for years and then had a glass of wine at a wedding and realised what I’d been missing!” Lizzie laughed at the memory of her younger self, dancing all evening after three glasses of red wine.

  “But it’s understandable. If in your childhood, drink equalled hurt, why wouldn’t you avoid it?”

  “But then I decided that by avoiding a drink, if I wanted one of course, I was still allowing the past to affect me. Drink doesn’t bother me now, not that I hang around drunks for recreation.”

  Richard smiled. “So what does bother you? Anything?”

  Lizzie paused at her stirring, exploring every inch of the wooden spoon with her stare. She turned to Richard. “Right now, nothing. My daughter has planned her art project for next year and is getting excited about studying classics. I can hear her laughing in the garden. I’ve a tasty meal to look forward to in good company and I’ve a roof over my head.” She picked up her gin and tonic from the counter and offered it up. “Cheers!”

  “Cheers!”

  “You learn anything, Dad?” Sam grinned.

  “Of course, I’m perceptive at all times. Notes have been taken.”

  “Good because these roast potatoes are the best! Rowan! Don’t move your feet!”

  The faded green sun umbrella swayed above them before settling itself into the centre hole in the table. It needed four pairs of feet on the ill-fitting plastic base to keep the umbrella up but everyone agreed, dinner in the garden was a rare and enjoyable treat.

  “Do you barbeque?” asked Richard.

  “We’ve tried a few of the disposable ones but vegeburgers tend to disintegrate.”

  “Corn’s good though, Mum but it takes ages.”

  “I forgot you were veggies. We’ll need to clean up the barbeque before you come round!” Richard laughed.

  “You can, Dad. It’s not been used for years!”

  “Thanks. Have you plans for the summer? You girls going abroad?”

  “I might get to go to my Nan’s in Spain, if my Dad gets organised but Mum doesn’t come.”

  “We’ve had holidays in static caravans most years to Norfolk, Suffolk, Hampshire or Dorset. I…don’t drive. Not anymore but I couldn’t afford to run a car anyway. Buses are fine, coaches or trains. We’ve hired bikes for the week on the sites we’ve stayed on…”

  “Do you remember the one with the little trailer behind?”

  Lizzie laughed. “The trailer with the rain cover, I remember. Everywhere I rode, it rained until we got there and then the sun came out!”

  “And one time, I got out and screamed because your mascara had run and I thought you were a zombie or something!”

  Lizzie blushed and pulled her cotton throw onto her shoulders. Unlike most redheads, if careful, Lizzie’s skin achieved a honey glow in the summer but she preferred to sit in the shade. Unlike her ex mother-in-law. Lizzie’s offers of sun protection to Marsha had been met by guffaws, a noise usually confined to constipated donkeys.

  “Kids never remember the memories you expect them to but the blessing is they don’t remember the incidents we’ve spent sleepless nights agonising over. Parents make mistakes. We’re not perfect, but we do our best,” reassured Richard.

  Lizzie and Richard smiled at each other. Rowans fingers went towards her mouth and executed the vomit sign.

  “Oh, p-lease! Sam! Did you bring…you know?”

  “Dad, keys. Sorry, Rowan. They’re in the boot.”

  It was easy to extricate the bright green stalks from the river of floating strawberries. They poured the fruit from a jug onto soya ice cream, which had retained a little frost.

  “I didn’t know if you ate dairy as well.”

  “We do, we’re veggie not vegan but I prefer the soya yoghurt and this ice cream’s good.”

  “We went strawberry picking after practise. Richard’s going to make jam.” Rowan grinned at Sam’s Dad as she delivered the final sentence.

  “You’re blushing like your strawberries, Dad.”

  “Th
ere is nothing wrong with a man learning to make jam! I don’t like the stuff from the supermarket, okay? So I decided to learn to make my own and I shall do it tomorrow.”

  “Do you have enough jars?”

  Richard’s face contorted, Rowan giggled and Sam smirked. Lizzie glared at the children. “I am going to remove my feet and so is your Dad, Sam. We are going to the kitchen to discuss the finer points of jam making. Catch the brolly.”

  “That’s a stunning dress. Have you always loved colour?”

  “Thank you. Actually, no. There were times in my life that were grey and black.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. There has to be pain to be able to enjoy the pleasure, or something like that. After I split with Rowan’s father, I brought the colour back.”

  “I sense only part way back.”

  Lizzie nodded. They sat on cushions and bits of foam on a picnic mat in the garden.

  “I loved to paint as a child and…then I stopped. I painted when I met Josh and had Rowan…”

  “And then you stopped but you’ve brought the colour back in other ways, with your clothes.”

  “Only partly. Do you know why I dress as I do?”

  “Because you love colour?”

  “No, not really. I like some colour. It’s a kick in the teeth to the grey and black days but the main reason is, it’s the only way I can afford to dress. Skirts, good quality second hand full skirts, I can alter. Velvet always looks good. Longer skirts mean you can get away with flat shoes, which are cheaper and far more practical for the amount of time I’m on my feet. A scrap of material or ribbon can make a headband or belt and change the look of an outfit completely. It feels good to create something for myself and I’m saving the planet.”

  “My Scottish grandmother would call you ‘a canny wee thing’.”

  “I’ve survived. We’ve survived.”

  “It’s a shame about the clothes though.”

  “Why?”

  “No, none of my business, sorry.”

  “You have to say now, you started it!”

  “I was going to say, a lot of people wear a mask, while you wear colourful armour.”

  Her heart skipped and her throat tightened. She gulped at her tea, allowing the gentle aroma and subtle taste to relax her.

  Lizzie’s green eyes held Richard’s attention. “Not many people would see that. You’ve got a wee bit close. Can we change the subject?”

  “Sure, sorry, wasn’t my intention.”

  “So as we’re here for our children,” Lizzie smiled and raised her mug of tea, “What does Sam see in Rowan that makes him so happy?”

  Strains of acoustic guitar and singing filled the air above them.

  “He knows she fancies him but she behaves as if she wants to be friends.”

  Lizzie hung her head. “Go on.”

  “I don’t know any of this, by the way. It’s only what I think.”

  “Go on.”

  “He likes the fact she’s smart, isn’t too hung up on make-up and fashion but more than that. He likes that she thinks for herself. You, okay?”

  She was weary. Weary but happy. Lizzie nodded. “I’m good and thank you. You’ve given me my first indication that I might be doing an okay job as a parent.”

  Lizzie lay awake staring at her bedroom ceiling, the flaking cracks and the paper lampshade. She wasn’t a real witch. A real witch would be in her circle, performing her full moon ritual. A real witch didn’t succumb to confusion and exhaustion after three latish nights and a single bottle of wine. A real witch fought the frailties of the human form, for the benefit of the higher self. Lizzie huddled beneath the covers.

  She dreamed of Richard. He stood on a hilltop, the Sorcerer’s Apprentice, summoning spoons to make more jam until she was washed away on a sweet pink river. A convergence ahead made her choose and though she paddled hard and furiously against the current, she was whisked away from Matt’s arms as he waited for her in the other channel. Through a tunnel, the jam flowed on and Lizzie emerged in a world full of exotically scented flowers displaying petals of stunning brilliance against a cerulean sky. The people were swathed in colour too or they wore bright shoes or carried luminous handbags. Marsha was there, gold jewellery dripping from her neck and ears and cascading down her crinkled brown arms. Josh and Bryony each held one of Rowan’s hands, swinging her like a three year old between them. Her laughter mingled with the call of the gulls as the river widened out before joining with the sea. The beach was decked with shimmering umbrellas, their centres black so from above, as Lizzie soared with the gulls, a field of glossy poppies bobbed beneath her. Everyone was smiling. Until a pair of giant marauding stilettos sent the people scurrying and screaming.

  7

  She wore her latest charity shop find, a sleeveless loose fitting tent of whites, lilacs and blues which she pulled in with a ribbon below her bust. With her auburn curls twisted into a knot on her head and confined behind a green and lilac scarf, she was as anxious as Marianne Dashwood, before her first ball. Louise greeted her with a wolf whistle.

  “You look stunning! Good weekend?”

  “Yes, and you?”

  “Really good, thanks. Terry’s team are through to the knockout rounds. You must come.”

  “Let’s get today over with, shall we?”

  “Sorry, you’re right but I know you’ll be fine.”

  “Thanks, Lou.”

  Work arriving on her desk had changed. There were still the usual legal documents, agendas and emails but personnel work was the greater load, especially the handwritten notes from Edward, David and Tom after the interviews of the current staff. Lizzie struggled to type the words but not read them. The lives of her work colleagues were being decided by her bosses at their whim and fancy, or so it seemed to her, but she couldn’t speak of it or do anything about it. She recited nursery rhymes in her head, to keep the meanings from her mind. A dry mouth and a head ache forced her to call Suzanne.

  Lizzie splashed her face in the basin of the ladies room before dabbing it with a paper towel to dry. She heard the stifled sobs in the cubicle. Tania’s shoes.

  “You okay, Tania?”

  Tania blew her nose and emerged. Her blue-grey eyes were ringed with pink and her nose glowed. “It’s all this…waiting! Sorry, I’m so sensitive today.”

  “I’ve been like it all weekend. Luckily, the weather allowed me to get outside and keep busy or I would have burst. You sure you’re okay? I’m making tea.”

  Tania shook her head before turning to the mirror. “I’ll clean up and get on. Won’t be long to wait now.”

  The message flashed onto Lizzie’s computer screen. She was to be outside Edward Brown’s office at ten minutes to three precisely. It had been David’s office but he now occupied the old archive store, while the files were confined to the basement. Lizzie’s mind was racing. Why did David let his uncle walk all over him? He and Tom have been making profits for the company for years. Would she lose her job if she were a minute early or a minute late?

  Peter Lucas strolled through the Edward Brown’s office door, carrying a folder and smirking. He nodded at Lizzie as he made his way to the main office. Suzanne was acting as Edward’s secretary. Edward had already returned two temps for not meeting his exacting standards. Suzanne caught Lizzie’s eye. The buzz on Suzanne’s desk made them both jump.

  “You can go in now.”

  Edward Brown sat behind his desk. David hovered by the window. Tom was absent, as was Chantelle from HR. Lizzie looked at David who tried to smile, creasing his face into a contorted death mask. She looked away.

  “Mrs Martin, your re-interview confirms you have the qualifications and skills for your job.”

  Lizzie sighed. “Thank you.”

  “But your appearance is, shall we say, somewhat Bohemian. This is an office, not a garden party. Smarten up and you keep your job. This is your new contract. If you agree, sign it. That’ll be all.”

  “Sorr
y?”

  “Your job’s safe, Lizzie.” David stepped to her side. “You only need to tone down the outfits a little.” He raised her from her seat and she pushed back her chair, shaking his arm from hers.

  “A little! A lot, my girl!” Edward Brown stood, black eyes glistening beneath his brows in a bright red face. “No more of this billowing drapery! I want our corporate image reflected the moment a client arrives at our door and that means skirt, blouse, jacket and heels on reception! ”

  “But…”

  Edward Brown glared and Lizzie allowed herself to be guided from the room by David.

  Why had she agreed to this? Because she needed company. Days of worrying about her job could do that to a person but why had she thought for a moment Matt would understand?

  “It’s only a suit.”

  “But it’s the principle and there is no dress code in the contract.”

  “Your contract’s only probationary. Did you read the new one they gave you?”

  Lizzie shook her head.

  “If this boss man is as strict as you say, I reckon it’ll be in the contract.”

  “But why is it so important to him? You’re an artist. You should understand my point of view! It’s about personal freedom, to be the person you are!”

  “Whoa! I’m not making you do it.” He lowered his voice as other drinkers stared at them. They sat on a bench at the far end of the pub balcony, catching the last rays of light from the setting sun.

  “I know but…”

  “It’s the equivalent of school uniform, Liz. Think of it like that. It’s a requirement. Accept it. I thought we were celebrating.”

  “What?”

  “You told me on the phone your job was safe.”

  There it was again. Impatience.

  “But at what cost?”

  “Let it go.”

  And she did, right there, in front of strangers, in the face of someone she barely knew.

  “You bloody hypocrite! You were the one who wanted me to stand up to my boss!”

  “No I didn’t. Look, I’m telling you to view it as a small price to pay…”

  “Stop telling me what to do! You don’t know me or anything about me because you haven’t bothered to try to find out! You’ve been far too busy looking down my top and trying to look at my legs through my skirt! Ten days I’ve been kept waiting to find out if I can keep my own bloody job and all the while, these men have known I’m capable but want to show their control over me, by making me worry and now, by dictating what I should wear and you think they have the right to do that!”