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

by Wendy Steele

  “I thought you’d left the force.”

  “On a permanent full time basis, I have and I’d rather people believed I’m retired.”

  Lizzie sat holding her coffee cup, mulling over the evening’s revelations.

  “Good job I didn’t fall for Matt.”

  Richard raised his eyebrows.

  “Don’t you dare!” Lizzie laughed. “He sang in the park, you know, in the sunshine and the words were beautiful. I felt he was singing to me. I wanted him then. I’m no different from any other single person who’s not had love in their lives for a while. I wanted him and I wanted it to be him and me, entwined together, someone to love. That is so damn sad.”

  “No, I get it. I do understand. So you’re not too cross?”

  “Not with you. Only my own idiocy. So how can I help? You know I can’t put my job in any more jeopardy than it is?”

  “Absolutely, but hasn’t it struck you as odd that you can keep your job with rules attached?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve been asked to conform with your clothes. What have other staff members been asked to do to keep their jobs?”

  “I don’t know but…you think Edward Brown is blackmailing his own staff?”

  “I don’t know but I don’t think it’s the same for you anyway. Edward Brown wants to keep you in his employ. It would have been easy to say you didn’t meet their standards and had failed your probation.”

  “So what’s the plan?”

  “You sure about this?”

  “Tell me the plan and I’ll let you know. I won’t put Rowan in danger either, by the way.”

  “I wouldn’t ask you to do that. It isn’t dangerous for either of you. Are you a good actress?”

  “What role had you in mind?”

  “Devoted girlfriend and dedicated member of staff. I need you to string Matthew Brown along a bit longer and I’ve an idea to help with your clothes too, if you’re up for it.”

  “Hi Matt."

  “Lizzie! I’m so glad you called! I dropped my phone in the bath and lost all my numbers. How are you? How’s the head?”

  “I’m good, head’s much better. Went back to work last week.”

  “I’m glad. I was worried you were seeing that other creep. Sorry, he was so interfering.”

  “I told you. Richard is the Dad of one of my daughter’s friends. He’d learned I was in hospital and was visiting a friend and popped in.”

  “Didn’t seem like that!”

  “Maybe he was being a little protective of me. Single mother, wee bit scatty, just had a massive blow to the head. You can’t blame him!”

  Matt laughed. “I’ve missed you.”

  Lizzie laughed too. It was the best course of action. She could lie about some things but she certainly hadn’t missed him. “So we’re friends again?”

  “You know I want more than that.”

  “Can we start as friends and work on it? I haven’t been on a proper date for years, Matt. Be gentle with me.”

  “I would love to be gentle with you.”

  His flirting made her sick but she stuck with it.

  “I think that’s good! I’m going early to the park on Sunday morning. The weather’s due to be scorching and I love the morning air before anyone else has breathed it.”

  There was silence. “How early?”

  “How did I do?”

  “Magnifique!” Richard pressed his fingers to his lips and waved the kiss into the air.

  “I’ve never been good at lying.”

  “You were great.”

  “So what now?”

  “Best get you in before the neighbours start talking and I’ll email Esther when I get back.”

  “Esther?”

  “My sister. About the clothes.”

  “Great! It’s a brilliant idea, thank you.”

  14

  The park was devoid of humanity but humming with natural life. Ducklings were out early on the lake with their mother, their fluff speckled bodies showing glimpses of adult feathers. Birds called from tree to tree and Lizzie sat beneath her oak, following the calls. Matt arrived twenty minutes late.

  “Sorry.” He threw himself on the grass and rested his head in her lap.

  “Out with the band last night?”

  “No, a bunch of mates. Band’s not working out the way I’d hoped. Too many egos, if you ask me.”

  Lizzie bit her lip. “It’s peaceful here, time to relax and get to know each other.” She felt his hand drifting up her thigh. “I meant talking, Matt.”

  “About what?”

  “Well, you know I’m single with a daughter and work for Brown, Melchett and Brown, but not much else.”

  “You bake cakes for charity and they want you to wear a suit at work.”

  “Fair enough but what about you? You said your parents were divorced and I know your Dad is living with you, or has he moved on?”

  “He’s still here. Mum lives in Spain.”

  “Any brothers or sisters?”

  “One brother and two sisters but we’re not close.”

  “You don’t visit your Mum?”

  “Is this necessary?”

  “No, probably not. I’m plucking up the courage to visit my Mum this afternoon. Maybe that’s why I thought of that.”

  Matt sat beside her. His face was tired but pinker now and his cheeks and chin had lost fluff to the point of being almost clean shaven. Blond stubble glistened and soft lips beckoned.

  “Your hair suits you like that.”

  “Thanks. I’m getting used to it but some days, I still hate it. Glad it suits me.”

  “You’re funny.” He stroked her cheek.

  “Shall we walk?”

  The bus driver was most accommodating when she spun a yarn about being followed so was on the wrong bus on purpose and happily dropped her off by the shops with a promise to put her £1 in a charity box. She hurried back down the long road to the park and ran back through the gates. Richard sat beneath the oak tree with two takeaway cups.

  “Thought you could do with a coffee.”

  “Thanks. Did you get down okay?”

  “No problem though it is a longer drop than you think from the lowest branch.”

  “Could you hear? I tried.”

  “You did fine. He is a bit slimy, Lizzie.”

  “Even slimier when you know it’s all rubbish. But why does he want to get me into bed?”

  Richard smiled at her. Lizzie blushed.

  “I meant, what’s in it for him? No, that’s worse.”

  “You mean, what difference does it make to Edward whether he sleeps with you or not?”

  “That sounds bad too! I feel there’s something missing. Actually lots of things but the more I know, the more questions emerge.”

  Richard raised his cup. “Welcome to detectoring.”

  “I’m only helping you because I want to know what’s going on. You can count me out of any more stake outs.” She rested her head on his shoulder. “I’m tired.”

  “Let’s get you home then. Thanks so much for doing this.”

  She took his arm with one hand, holding him still, before dipping into the pocket of her dungarees with the other. Three squirrels crept round the trunk towards them and sat in a row. Lizzie held out one nut at a time. She greeted each squirrel, enquiring how they were and once in possession of their treat, the squirrels sat and removed the shells in front of them, sitting comfortably on their haunches. Once Lizzie finished talking, they scampered away.

  Lizzie held onto Richard’s arm, across the grass to the road he’d parked in.

  “I learn something new about you every day,” said Richard.

  “And every day I seem weirder. It’s no big deal. I like squirrels. They’re surprisingly good company. I went to a park in East London with my Dad when I was little, six or seven years old and I put my bag down beside me. It was a woven bag with a plaited cord. We ate our sandwiches and Dad had brought monkey nuts f
or the squirrels. They took them from his hand. A mother arrived with a baby who scampered into my bag, peeping out until his mother returned with the nuts. The squirrel mother said thank you, well that’s how it seemed, and I’ve had an affinity with squirrels ever since. They’re a good judge of character too.”

  Richard opened her car door.

  “That day, in the park, a bigger boy came over, one hand in his pocket. The squirrels fled except one who ran over to the boy and nipped his ankle. His hand came out holding a tube of ant killer.”

  “What?”

  “Bullies always pick on smaller creatures. The squirrels know a bully when they see one. Richard, I realise you now probably have enough information on me to have me committed.”

  Richard laughed. “I’m glad you can share who you are with me.”

  “Thanks and it goes both ways.”

  “Thanks, Lizzie.”

  Lizzie knocked at the wooden door. Shaded from the late afternoon sun, she pulled her wrap tighter around her shoulders. “Hello, Mum.”

  “Good job I was in. You didn’t let me know you were coming.”

  “I’m here now. Can I come in?”

  Lizzie followed her mother into the kitchen and proffered her gift, a posy of cornflowers highlighted by three peach roses.

  “From your garden?”

  “And Mr Brody, next door. I knocked and he told me to help myself. I gave him a jar of marmalade.”

  Patricia McCartney polished a cut glass vase and half filled it with water. “I like marmalade too.”

  “Good job I brought you a jar.”

  Mrs McCartney spread the flowers in the vase. “I do like the peachy roses.”

  “I thought they’d look pretty in your new conservatory.”

  “Too hot in there for cut flowers.”

  “That’s a shame. Best keep them in here then.”

  Her mother lifted the vase closer to her face, surveying it critically. “There are other buds not opened. I’ll take a chance.”

  Lizzie smiled into her shopping bag. “I’ve cake. Shall I put the kettle on?”

  “How’ve you been?”

  “How do you expect? I was upset for days!”

  “Of course you were.”

  “You ignored my apology!”

  “You didn’t apologise, Mum. You requested that I did so that’s what I’m here for.”

  Her mother’s face quivered between surprise and doubt.

  “I was upset, Mum. I know you don’t want to talk about Dad but I lost someone special from my life when he died, as you did and it makes me sad not being able to talk to anyone about him.”

  “Is that your apology?”

  “No, but I’m getting to it. I’m trying to explain how I feel so you can understand why I said the things I did. I am sorry I was rude and I apologise for the hurtful words I used.”

  “Very well. Your apology is accepted. I have my reasons for not talking about your father. You weren’t there at the beginning so you can’t begin to understand.”

  “I suppose I have to accept that, Mum. I won’t mention him to you again but so you know, Rowan and I watched some of the videos the other night, the films Dad transferred from Cine.”

  Her mother nodded, sipping her tea. Her face looked greyer than usual. Perhaps it was the excessive peach décor.

  “Rowan loved it! As you’re unhappy to talk about Dad, I thought I might contact Aunt Eleanor…”

  “No!”

  The scream was shrill and discordant. Patricia McCartney’s face glowed deathly white, her eyes watery and blood shot adding to the horror on her face.

  “You okay, Mum?”

  Her mother rallied. “Yes, fine, yes. Eleanor isn’t in contact with the family anymore, that’s all.”

  “That’s a shame. Are you going to tell me why?”

  Mrs McCartney shook her head. “It’s in the past.”

  “Then maybe I should look her up and bring us all together in the present? Mum, what is it?”

  “Why can’t you leave it alone, Elizabeth? Why all this interest in the past?”

  “It’s my family, Mum and Rowan’s too. She asked me what happened to the boy in the video, Simon I think he was called and I didn’t know, do you?”

  Mrs McCartney’s lips quivered in her bloodless face and silent tears crept down her wrinkled cheeks.

  “Oh, Mum. What’s wrong?”

  “Don’t fuss me. Sit down. Simon died. He was born prematurely. Heart problems developed but I’m sure Eleanor doesn’t want you seeking her out to rake up the past!”

  “Okay, Mum. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  Her mother dabbed at her eyes with the handkerchief tucked in her watch bracelet. “You haven’t. It was a shock, that’s all.”

  “Tell me about your week. Did Mrs Dean help you with the flowers on Saturday?”

  “Help me! That woman knows nothing about flower arranging! I told her not to…”

  15

  It was the night before Rowan broke up from school. Lizzie had bought fresh cannelloni from the deli to go with salad for dinner as a treat.

  “Dinner smells good.” Rowan crunched raw pasta from the jar.

  “I’ve bought us fresh pasta! Can’t you wait?”

  “Hungry. Shall I lay up?”

  “Thanks. There’s a dribble of elderflower cordial left. Shall we have it with fizzy water?”

  The cannelloni was delicious and Lizzie’s cheese sauce had browned beautifully in the oven.

  “This is the best! Thanks mum.”

  “You’re welcome. You’ve worked hard this year. I’m really proud of you. Cheers!”

  “Cheers! Oh, a parcel came for you by courier. I put it on your bed. It’s huge!”

  “Thanks.”

  “Are you going to tell me what it is?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “Go on then.”

  “Here’s the short version then. I told you I had another boss, Edward Brown, at work. Well, he’s insisted all the staff be re-interviewed for their jobs. Don’t worry, I passed the interview.”

  “So you’re no longer on probation?”

  “Unfortunately, keeping my job comes with a proviso. Once I adhere to it and sign my contract, I’m a permanent member of staff. If it were work related, I’d have no problem but it isn’t. It’s about me and I’m rebelling.”

  “Cool!”

  “I haven’t told you about this because I didn’t want you to worry about me losing my job and…cool?”

  “Sure! What are they asking you to do?”

  Lizzie told her.

  “I thought the clothes were a bit less colourful and I heard you on the sewing machine the other night.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be and I think you’re absolutely right.”

  “You do?”

  “Of course! You always look stunning, Mum, even when you feel like crap!”

  “Language. Really?”

  “Hell, yeah! It’s not my choice, I’ll grant you but at least it’s yours and not what some swanky fashionista told you to wear. So what’s in the parcel?”

  “Richard said his sister Esther might be able to help.”

  Rowan pushed back her chair, her thick pony tail swishing over her shoulders, her cheeks flushed and her eyes shining. “So there are clothes in the parcel? This is better than Christmas! Do you think any will fit me?”

  The following morning, Lizzie was glad the sun was already toasting the pavements. She was unused to wearing such a short skirt. Rowan had assured her that her legs were good enough to carry it off. She wore the first dress they had pulled from the parcel, a sixties Chanel look-alike à la Jackie Onassis in navy, trimmed with ivory coloured piping. A wide sculptured ivory coloured creation held back her curls from her eyes, a cross between a hair band and a hat. The short jacket, cotton gloves and square bag raised the outfit to catwalk status. She wore kitten heeled court shoes from her own wardrobe, yellow the night b
efore but transformed with plimsoll paint from Mr Brody, next door. Lizzie smiled, remembering Mr Brody’s shed, a house of treasure full of rusty tins and jars with peeling labels, containing those items you might need one day.

  Lizzie walked into the main reception.

  “Wow! I almost didn’t recognise you, Lizzie. You look like a sixties trolley dolly!”

  “I think that’s good.”

  “Stunning.” Louise fingered the cuff of Lizzie’s jacket. “This is the real deal too. Proper vintage. Gorgeous.”

  “There’s another dress. Identical but the reverse colour way. I might save it for Friday. How’re you?”

  “Good. Were you in time for the cannelloni?”

  “Yes and I can highly recommend it. Far less money than a takeaway and with a salad and olives, delicious. Rowan enjoyed it. That’s the main thing.”

  “You going along to watch them bowl?”

  “They’ll be nearly done once I’ve finished here but Rowan and I are making a veggie barbeque in a few weeks to have at Sam’s house as a thank you to Richard.”

  “Nice.”

  Lizzie smiled. She admired the way Louise could fill such a short word of only one syllable with so many meanings.

  “Rowan and I are spreading the benefits and yumminess of veggie food wherever we’re invited.”

  “And Richard is fun to hang out with?”

  “He is but we’re friends, okay?”

  “Whatever you say.”

  Admiring glances and outright compliments brightened Lizzie’s day, from both staff and clients. Her scalp itched around her scar and her shoes pinched a little but with so many breaks from the computer screen to see clients in and out, her head didn’t ache at all. In the middle of a large document when it was time to leave, Lizzie decided to finish it. A hand tugging at her arm made her jump.

  “Oh, nearly had my tea over. Oh, Mr Brown.”

  Edward Brown’s eyebrows hung low over his eyes, reminiscent of a sleepy owl. A smile hovered on the corners of his mouth. He slammed a folder on the desk.

  “This can wait for tomorrow.”

  “Thanks. I thought I’d finish this for Tom so I can check it over with fresh eyes in the morning.”

  “Good, good and I must say, I’m pleased you’ve decided to conform at last. Have you signed your contract?”