They fell silent, remembering the shuffling form of their maths teacher as he’d struggled down the road, bowed with the weight of grief after Gloria had informed him that his wife had been cheating on him for the five years prior to her death.
‘She didn’t pull her punches.’
‘Never,’ Gwen said.
‘Why?’ Ruby exploded. ‘Why did she have to be like that? The number of times we had to move after she pissed off one person too many—’
‘Preaching to the choir, sister.’
‘You should ask her,’ Ruby said. ‘Have you phoned her about the house yet?’
‘What? And told her that I’m living on the forbidden planet? Uh, no.’
‘You should. If she shouts, you can always hang up,’ Ruby said. ‘Anyway, it’s not the same. Iris isn’t there.’
‘No,’ Gwen said, looking around the living room at the remaining dark purple walls. They seemed to press in on her. ‘I suppose not.’
Chapter 8
Helen B from number twenty-one has missed her third Sunday in a row. She usually calls in when she’s walking that ridiculous dog of hers. Something is wrong, but I don’t know what yet. It’s probably that bitter little man she married. More fool her. I’m so tired today and I’ve been dreaming of the sea. I wish I could just stop. My mother used to tell me to ‘mind my own beeswax’ and I wish I could. I’m tired of all these people, all these lives. I didn’t ask for any of this.
Still.
He is a nasty piece of work.
Gwen blinked. The light had gone out of the day while she’d been reading and she stood up and put a light on. She’d never felt so close to Iris; she was absolutely right. Helen B and her nasty husband had been none of Iris’s business. And Marilyn Dixon was none of Gwen’s business now. Gwen ignored the itch that started behind her left ear and travelled down her back, calling her a big, fat liar.
She flipped through the journal until she saw Marilyn’s name.
Marilyn needs to learn to stand on her own two feet. She can’t keep running to me for every little problem. She asked me to hex John from the corner shop today because he gave her the wrong change. That woman needs a hobby.
Gwen sipped her tea. Marilyn had wanted Gwen to do an Iris impression and had then backed off, saying she’d got help from a neighbour. Gwen was beginning to worry about exactly what kind of help. What if Marilyn had decided to stand on her own two feet, maybe with a bit of amateur hexing? That would be bad.
Cat stalked across the kitchen.
‘Hello, baby, are you hungry?’ Gwen reached for a tin and dish, but Cat carried on moving. He paused in the doorway and regarded her, the crazy fur above his eyes like raised eyebrows.
‘What? You want some tuna?’ She tapped the tin. She wasn’t going to get involved. She wasn’t going to end up like Iris.
Cat didn’t move.
‘Lovely, lovely tuna,’ Gwen said. Marilyn’s anguished face swam into view. Buggeration. ‘You think I should do something, don’t you?’
Cat sat back on his haunches and began licking himself in a pointed fashion.
‘Oh hell,’ Gwen said and got her keys.
Gwen arrived at the Hearty Baker just in time to see Harry slip into a seat opposite a familiar suit. Cam. Marvellous.
Gwen pretended she hadn’t seen them and went to the counter. The woman behind it was either in her fifties and wearing expertly applied make-up, or in her forties and had lived life with enthusiasm.
‘Mrs Conatello?’
‘Who’s asking?’ The woman arched a shapely black eyebrow. Her hair was elaborately combed above a colourful headscarf and she wore a bright yellow top with a low neckline. Gwen felt a stab of sympathy for the sour-faced Marilyn.
‘My name is Gwen Harper, I’m a friend of—’
‘I know who you are.’
‘Okay. Good. Can I see Mr Dixon, please?’ There had been approximately two seconds between Gwen deciding she’d try to help Marilyn and the Hearty Baker’s sign swooping in to perch in her mind. She filed it under ‘worry about later’. Once she’d checked on Brian. It should be easy to see if he was under some kind of influence. Gloria had taught her the signs and – luckily enough – the cure.
The woman reared back as if slapped. ‘And why would he be here?’
Gwen opened her mouth to say ‘because you’re having intimate relations on a regular basis’, but was distracted by Harry waving enthusiastically. Crap.
‘Come and join us,’ Harry called. Cam glanced around, his expression neutral.
Gwen gave him a quick nod and turned back to Mrs Conatello, who was busying herself arranging pastries on a plate. Two red spots of colour had appeared in her cheeks.
‘Mrs Conatello, please. I really need to speak to Brian—’ Gwen began, but at that moment the door to the café was thrown open with such force that it rebounded off the wall. A man wearing a grey jacket with sweat patches and a red face stood panting in the doorway.
‘Uh-oh,’ Gwen said. She recognised the manic gleam in the man’s eyes and moved out of the way just as he vaulted over the counter, knocking a plate of scones onto the floor.
‘Brian!’ Mrs Conatello said.
‘Oh, hell,’ Gwen said and retreated to Harry and Cam’s table. Marilyn had definitely hexed her husband.
‘That man just broke my afternoon snack,’ Harry said dolefully.
Brian sank to the floor in front of Mrs Conatello, his bald spot disappearing from view behind the counter.
‘Oh my God,’ Harry said, ‘that’s gotta be unhygienic.’
‘What?’ Gwen tore her gaze away to glance at Harry.
‘Is he … He’s not going to pleasure her, is he?’
Cam snorted. ‘Get your mind out of the gutter. He’s just talking.’ He squinted at the counter. ‘I think.’
‘I can’t go on like this, Mary.’ Brian might’ve been invisible, but his voice carried clear and true around the café. The mid-morning crowd had all stopped and turned in their seats to watch. A family of tourists got out their cameras, perhaps thinking it was some improvisational theatre.
‘Get up, you idiot,’ Mary hissed. ‘My husband’s here.’ She jerked her head at the kitchen door.
‘I love you, Mary Conatello.’
Mary looked less than delighted.
‘Ahhhhh,’ said a good many of the punters.
‘He’s behind you,’ shouted out one of the tourists, really getting into the spirit of things.
‘Oh Christ,’ Mary said, turning round. Mr Conatello stood in the doorway to the kitchen, a metal spatula in one hand and a filthy towel in the other.
‘This gentleman fell over,’ Mary said hurriedly.
‘Staff only behind the counter, mate,’ Mr Conatello said, looking down with a bemused expression.
‘I need to speak to Mary,’ Brian said. ‘Ouch.’ He looked at Mary with confusion and adoration in equal measure. ‘You kicked me!’
‘My foot slipped,’ Mary said. She waved her husband through the door. ‘I’ll deal with this. You see to your eggs.’
‘Sod the eggs,’ Mr Conatello said, but he disappeared back into the kitchen.
Brian gazed at Mary. ‘Darling, I thought this was what you wanted – we’ve talked about it.’
‘Not. Like. This.’ Mrs Conatello bit off each word. ‘Have you lost your mind?’
‘No, Mary,’ Brian said earnestly. ‘I’ve come to my senses. Will you marry me?’
‘Isn’t he already married?’ Harry asked, sotto voce.
‘So’s she,’ Cam said.
‘Say “yes, honey”,’ one of the tourists called out.
The kitchen door swung open again and Mary stepped neatly away from Brian. She lifted up the flap in the counter and said loudly, ‘On you go, Mr Dixon. It was just an accident. Nothing to worry about.’
Mr Conatello glared at the mess of smashed scones and crockery and snapped at his wife, ‘Get this cleaned up before someone trips and sues us blind.’
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Brian, looking bewildered, stumbled over to an empty table.
Mr Conatello glared at the rest of the café for good measure and disappeared back into the kitchen.
Harry turned to Cam, his eyebrows raised. ‘Well, that was interesting. I didn’t think PDAs were Brian’s style.’
‘I don’t think he’s quite himself,’ Gwen said.
‘It’s not usually so exciting in here,’ Cam said. He stood up and pulled a seat out. ‘Would you like to join us?’
Gwen couldn’t stop looking at Brian, who was sitting at a corner table looking dazed. There was a part of her that couldn’t help but be a little impressed. Who’d have thought mousey Marilyn had it in her? Of course, she probably wasn’t going to be thrilled with Brian’s reaction, but it was clearly a powerful spell.
Harry stood, too. ‘I’m getting a custard slice before someone else decides to take a dive.’
‘Gwen?’ Cam said. He was still holding the back of the empty chair.
He was just being polite, Gwen knew, but she felt a bit wobbly from rushing to get to the café, so she sat down.
Cam glanced at Brian. ‘He looks bamboozled. Wonder what got into him.’
Gwen stiffened. Cam wasn’t suggesting Brian was possessed, but it was close enough to the truth to make her feel nervous. ‘Do you know Brian well? Do you think he’d join us if we asked?’
‘Christ no. He’ll want free legal advice. Everyone always does.’
The bitterness in Cam’s voice got her attention. ‘That’s a bit cynical.’
‘You wouldn’t understand.’
Harry appeared at the table carrying a paper bag and licking his fingers. ‘I’ve got to go.’
Cam looked at his watch. ‘But it’s only half three.’
‘Ah, the lightning wit of a keen legal mind.’ Harry smiled cryptically. ‘I’m on a secret mission.’
He turned to Gwen. ‘Always a pleasure. Try to get our resident legal eagle to take some time off. He’s grumpy when he’s tired.’
‘Nothing to do with me,’ Gwen said, holding her hands up. At that moment, Brian rose and headed shakily towards the counter. He veered towards the staff-only door.
‘Oh, no,’ Cam said, standing. ‘That’s a bad idea.’
Gwen followed Brian, catching his arm just before he reached the door. ‘Hello, Mr Dixon. Would you—’
Brian shook her arm off and carried on. Which was good in one way as Gwen had no idea how to finish that sentence. On the other hand, there was a good chance that Mr Conatello would be displeased to make his acquaintance.
‘Brian!’ Cam was next to her, and he grabbed Brian’s arm but with considerably more success. Brian executed a balletic turn to face Gwen, Cam’s other arm firmly across his shoulders. He blinked at Gwen and then at Cam. To the untrained eye, he probably looked drunk. To Gwen he looked enchanted.
‘Let’s take a walk!’ Gwen said brightly.
‘Come on, mate,’ Cam said. ‘I think you need some fresh air.’
Cam led Brian out of the café. One of the tourists leaned out of her seat and patted Brian as he passed. ‘Don’t you give up, honey.’
The drizzling rain had turned into hail and Brian was putting up some resistance. ‘Got to go to her,’ he mumbled.
‘What now?’ Cam said over Brian’s head.
‘He needs to sober up.’ What he needed was to be disenchanted, but Gwen wasn’t about to say that to Cam.
‘I don’t think this is just alcohol talking,’ Cam said, peering into Brian’s face.
Gwen hid her surprise. ‘We need to get him away from here.’
‘Should we take him to hospital to get checked out? What if he’s having a breakdown?’
‘He’s upset,’ Gwen said. ‘And he’s in love.’ And someone had been burning verbena.
Brian’s eyes flicked open. ‘Love!’
‘Uh-oh.’ Cam renewed his Vulcan grip on Brian’s shoulder. ‘Come on, Brian, we’re going for a walk.’
A few steps down the street, Gwen’s hair was plastered to her face and Brian’s grey jacket was black from the rain. Cam was soaked, too, and looked rumpled for the first time since she’d arrived back in town.
They made it as far as the toy shop at the end of the street, with Brian pulling against Cam all the way. The rain was mixed with stinging hail, and Gwen couldn’t see how she was going to ditch Cam. Even if he agreed to leave, Gwen would lose Brian the moment she let go of him. She didn’t know how she was going to get Brian to take his cure, or even if it was going to work. Just do it.
‘Hold on,’ Gwen said, and Cam stopped half-dragging Brian.
Gwen tugged them both to the shelter of the toy shop awning. ‘Sorry about this,’ she said to Brian and then licked his cheeks, the left and then the right. Brian didn’t seem as surprised as he should’ve been.
‘What on earth was that?’ Cam looked horrified.
Gwen thought about lying, but couldn’t think of anything convincing. Besides, she had messed things up with Cam thirteen years ago. What did it matter if he thought she was a lunatic?
‘I’m just checking to see if he’s under a spell.’
‘What?’
Gwen reached up on her tiptoes and licked across Brian’s forehead and up the middle. She tasted soap, which was something of a relief.
‘Stop licking him!’ Cam said, sounding annoyed.
‘Salt,’ Gwen said, wiping her mouth with a tissue. ‘He’s been hexed. Enchanted. Whatever you want to call it.’
‘Maybe he’s salty because he’s been sweating, Gwen.’ Cam was speaking in the slow voice of one speaking to a toddler with a hunting knife. Gwen ignored him.
‘Okay, Brian. I need you to put this under your tongue. Let it dissolve, right?’
Brian gazed over Gwen’s shoulder in the direction of the Hearty Baker. ‘Let me go to her. I know what I have to do.’ He looked beseechingly at Gwen. ‘It’s all so clear.’
‘I’m sure it is. Open wide.’
Brian obediently opened his mouth and Gwen popped the slice of dried lemon inside.
His face twisted. ‘Urgh.’
‘Don’t spit—’ Gwen said, just as Brian spat the lemon onto the floor.
‘Are you going to help?’ Gwen said to Cam. ‘Hold his jaw shut this time. Like when you’re giving pills to a dog.’
‘I don’t have a dog,’ Cam said. ‘What is that, anyway?’
‘Dried lemon slice covered in salt.’ One of the more useful things she’d learned from her flaky mother was to always be prepared for the worst. She’d been carrying hex-removing lemon slices around with her since she was fifteen, along with the stub of a candle, some thread, and a feather. She was like a freaky Girl Guide.
‘And that’s supposed to do what exactly?’
‘Lift the curse,’ Gwen said.
‘Of course.’
‘Open up, Brian.’
Brian looked marginally more with it. ‘I don’t feel right,’ he said.
‘This will help,’ Gwen said.
‘You promise?’ Brian said.
‘I promise.’ Gwen gave him the lemon slice and watched as Brian slipped it underneath his tongue. His shoulders convulsed and he pulled extraordinary faces, but the lemon stayed in.
‘I hope he doesn’t sue you,’ Cam said.
‘At least I know a lawyer,’ Gwen said, avoiding Cam’s eye.
After a moment, Brian swallowed and coughed. His eyes were watering, but they looked a little clearer. He wasn’t pulling at Cam, either. He sank to the ground instead, and sat on the wet pavement.
Gwen crouched down beside him. ‘Brian? Mr Dixon?’
Brian raised his head. He was crying. ‘Holy Mother of God, what have I done?’
‘It’s all right.’ Gwen patted him awkwardly on the arm. ‘Go home and take a nap. You’ll feel better in the morning.’
Brian blinked. ‘I’m supposed to be at work. I just left the office. I didn’t even tell anyone where I was going.’
> ‘Probably for the best,’ Cam said and Gwen shot him a you’re not helping look.
‘Marilyn. Oh Jesus. Marilyn is going to kill me.’ Brian took out a handkerchief and blew his nose.
‘You need to drink plenty of water,’ Gwen said.
‘Will that help?’ Brian clambered to his feet.
‘For the dehydration.’ Gwen stood up too. She stuck out her hand and Brian took it automatically. ‘You’re fine now. Good luck.’
‘But what am I going to tell Marilyn?’ Brian wailed.
‘Tell her you had a breakdown, but you were cured with a slice of lemon,’ Cam said. ‘Or, if you love your wife and you actually want a chance at making it work, tell her that you’ve been a complete and utter fool and that you’re deeply sorry and you’ll go to marriage counselling. If that doesn’t work, try poetry.’
Gwen looked at Cam. ‘You’re good at this.’
Cam smiled tightly. ‘Part of my job. Unfortunately.’
‘Well.’ Gwen stuck her hand out and shook Cam’s hand. ‘Thanks for your help.’ His hand was warm and touching him sent every nerve-ending in Gwen’s body into overdrive. Bad idea.
‘Any time.’ Cam was smiling a little less tightly, now, and time seemed suspended between their clasped hands. For a moment, Gwen could almost believe there was a connection between them still.
‘So,’ Brian gave a phlegmy cough. ‘Is that it? Do you have any more of those lemon-thingummybobs?’
‘You have to do the next bit on your own,’ Gwen said. She was distracted by the intensity of Cam’s gaze and the sudden awareness that her hair was probably plastered to her scalp by the rain.
She let go of Cam’s hand and waited for him to leave. Something in the back of her brain told her it was important for him to walk away first. And then, with a final crooked smile, he did.
Chapter 9
I thought I would be so happy to have Gloria back in my life, but when I look at her I see the sixteen-year-old spitting bile and leaving without a backward glance. I know that I should rise above it, be a proper mother, forgiving and calm, but I can’t. Truth was, I never was very maternal. Motherhood has changed Gloria, though. She’s remaking everything, refusing to see the things she doesn’t like, arranging the world until it suits her. She’s like a biscuit-cutter. Everything that passes through her comes out heart-shaped and smelling of cinnamon. It can’t end well.
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