A Very British Witch Boxed Set

by Isobella Crowley

  She gasped. "I'm so sorry, I wasn't–"

  "No, no, totally my fault,” the man returned. “I apologize."

  It took her a second to look up at the man she'd collided with. He was tall, and so incredibly good-looking it took her breath away. Or maybe it was the collision that knocked the wind out of her? Either way, she found him incredibly attractive. It was intimidating. He gave her a quick smile, which only made it worse.

  "Scarlett, was it?" he asked, seeming to recognize her.

  "It still is," she said, then added, "Have we met?"

  "Last night."

  She didn’t remember. He seems so sure about it that maybe it was true. She rifled in her bag for a tissue to wipe her hand with.

  What on earth did I drink last night?

  She felt flustered, and it wasn't helping her memory. He did look vaguely familiar, she thought, but couldn't be sure.

  The only thing she was sure of, was that she wanted to know more about him.

  "I'm sorry," she said. "I know you told me your name, but I forgot."

  "Cliff."

  That didn't ring any bells, but she went with it. "Oh right, that was it."

  "It still is," he said.

  She chuckled nervously.

  "Actually, it’s good we bumped into each other. You left without giving me your number.” He glanced down for a moment. "I meant to ask last night, but I foolishly–"

  She paused for a moment, thrilled that this handsome stranger was interested in her. "Of course, of course," she cooed, still feeling bad and embarrassed for bumping into him. A niggling voice in the back of her head questioned why she was just giving a stranger her number, but she silenced it with a harsh internal – QUIET! It was about time someone showed an interest in her. And besides, this was Bicester.

  Serial killers didn’t hang out in Bicester.

  They show up on the Yorkshire Moors. Or in America.

  She got out her phone from her purse. His was already in his hand. In his other hand was a to-go cup from Costa, just like the one she had been carrying before she dropped it.

  "Oh, I just had lunch there too," she said.

  He lifted the cup. "Actually, this one is yours."

  She checked herself. "No, I….” She realized she’d been holding her Americano. And now she wasn’t. “I dropped mine… didn’t I?"

  He shrugged like it was nothing. "You dropped it, and I caught it," he said, nonchalantly.

  Impossible.

  He must have seen the skepticism on her face. "I wanted to be a juggler as a kid,” he offered, by way of explanation. “Still comes in handy."

  She laughed at the absurdity of it, beginning to warm to his charms.

  Scarlett imagined him all dressed up in knight-like armor. And then gave him a red cape, like Superman for his super-fast reflexes.

  He handed the coffee cup back to her. She took it, again struggling to hold that and her phone, all the while flustered and socially awkward. She gave him her number.

  He gave her a missed call, so that he had hers too.

  “Thanks,” she said. “I’ll save it when I get back to work and have two hands free,” she smiled weakly, juggling her coffee as she put her phone back in her bag.

  She noticed his ring. It was a big gaudy gemstone, like the one that Karl always wore. He looked much younger than Karl, though. She had thought the ring was Karl's own quirky style, and let it slide because of his age. But it looked all wrong on a man as young and metrosexual as Cliff.

  Maybe it's a new trend.

  "Speaking of coffee," he said, "I'd love to get together with you sometime soon."

  "I'd like that too," she said, feeling almost giddy inside.

  He extended his hand, and she shook it, rather awkwardly, but that didn't matter.

  As she walked back to work Scarlett caught herself smiling for no one but herself.

  Today was turning out to be quite the day.

  +++

  Bicester Vintners, Bicester, England

  Things were quieter for the rest of the afternoon. Scarlett felt much better now, having talked to Amanda. Her morning anxiety over her nightmare, her muddy clothes, and the missing shovel were replaced by idle reveries of her encounter with Cliff.

  She even managed to get the promotional deal signage switched out before Karl noticed and asked her to do it again.

  From time to time throughout the rest of her shift she found herself alone in the shop with no more customers to attend to and she took advantage of the brief respite to dust the shelves and hum to herself. She wasn't really alone, though, because Karl was in the back office. But he'd closed the door, and she didn't expect him to open it again until closing time, unless she knocked for his attention. For the moment, she enjoyed the peace and solitude.

  When she was done dusting, she sat behind the counter and took out her book she left there for slow times. This one was a cozy mystery. She had started it a few days ago, and then broke off, so she had to reread the last chapter she'd read to remember who had done what to whom. It didn't seem worth the trouble, and she was happy to hear the doorbell tinkle.

  She looked up to see Tarquin enter.

  In his early fifties, Tarquin was the proprietor of one of the local bookstores. There was another bookstore in the village that catered to popular tastes, but Tarquin specialized in rare and collectible books. He was a bit of an antiquarian. Scarlett had always found him interesting, and liked to browse through his collection. She hadn't yet bought anything from him. His books were quite pricey, but he would let her read in the store, and trusted her not to damage his collection.

  "Well, this is a rare pleasure," she said, then added, "Rare and collectible, you might say." She sniggered awkwardly at her own joke. Her smile faded when he didn’t laugh too. She kicked herself for being too friendly. Some people just didn’t deserve the effort.

  "No, I don't think I would." He seemed in a stuffy mood today.

  She didn't think she'd ever seen him in the wine shop before. She knew him from the bookstore, and from chance encounters in the street. She had always just imagined he wasn't much of a drinker.

  And yet here he was.

  "May I help you with anything?" she asked.

  Before Tarquin could answer, Scarlett heard the office door open and Karl call out, "I'll handle this one, Scarlett. He's here to see me."

  Tarquin smiled thinly at her and gave her a quick nod, and headed into the back office. The door closed, and Scarlett was alone again.

  She didn't know Karl and Tarquin were friends. Of course, Bicester was a small town and everyone knew everyone, but she had never seen these two together or heard them talk about one another. She wondered what they were talking about now.

  Scarlett grabbed the duster and worked her way closer to the door, trying to overhear the conversation on the other side and hoping the customers stayed away for a while.

  "Does she suspect anything?" That was Tarquin's voice.

  Karl answered, "No, I don't think so."

  She wondered if they were talking about her, or someone else.

  What could they suspect me of suspecting?

  The only thing she suspected was that Karl lied about taking her shovel without asking, but that hardly seemed the kind of secret that necessitated closed doors, and visits from non-friends.

  Just then, the door opened. It startled her. Karl poked his head out, and suddenly they were eye to eye.

  "Scarlett, darling, could you tidy up the magazines please, before any customers see the mess."

  "Yes, of course."

  She went to the magazine rack at the front of the store and heard the back door close again.

  He just wanted to get me away from the door.

  She wondered how he knew she was standing there eavesdropping. She had been as quiet as humanly possible. Maybe her boss just knew her that well. Granted she had probably earned the reputation for being nosy.

  When she got to the magazine racks, she found t
hey weren't untidy at all. A few magazines were in the wrong spots. One had been turned upside down. Another had a torn cover, so she put that one behind the others with a clean one facing out.

  Moments later the back door opened again and Tarquin came out. He crossed through quickly and exited without so much as a glance to Scarlett.

  Curiouser and curiouser.

  "I'm going out back for a smoke," Karl told her before disappearing.

  Just then, Scarlett's phone buzzed. It was a text from Cliff: "Great bumping into you. Looking forward to a delicious lunch very soon!"

  It seemed like an odd turn of phrase, but at least he texted her.

  He's definitely interested. For the moment, anyway.

  In Scarlett's experience guys were only interested in her for one reason, and when they realized she wasn't the bimbo party girl they thought she was, they quickly disappeared.

  Still who knows. This guy could be different.

  Chapter Three

  Slater Residence, Bicester, England

  Scarlett arrived back home a little after 6pm. When she opened the door, the living room was dark but she saw a light coming from Amanda's room upstairs. She took her shoes off by the kitchen door and dropped her keys on the small table and settled into the sofa without turning on the light.

  "Scarlett, is that you?" Amanda called out.

  "I'm afraid so," she called back.

  She felt like curling up on the couch and taking a nap right there. The stresses of the day were knotted in her shoulders and back. Her arms and legs felt unnecessarily heavy.

  She closed her eyes for a moment and listened to the sounds of her flat mate. They were familiar, comfortable sounds.

  Amanda was putting on her makeup like she always did before running off to see Ronnie. Scarlett heard Amanda patting her cheeks. She heard the sounds of compacts opening and shutting. Heard fresh-painted lips popping and the scratchy sounds of hair being brushed. It was familiar music, improvisatory like jazz, and engagingly percussive.

  If Amanda was going to Ronnie’s, Scarlett mused, then she wouldn't be coming home tonight. Scarlett missed the days when it was just her and Amanda playing games late into the evening sharing wine and chocolate and laughter.

  But then again, she was happy for her roommate, who seemed to have found a good fit in Ronnie.

  Scarlett must've dozed off for just a moment, because she was surprised to hear Amanda step out of her bedroom.

  "Sorry, love," Amanda said, crossing through. "Didn't know you were napping."

  "Me neither. It sort of snuck up on me."

  "It'll do that, for sure." Amanda agreed, selecting a pair of high heels from the shoe rack by the front door and putting them on. "I don't suppose you heard what I said about this weekend."

  "What about this weekend?"

  "I said I'm spending the weekend at Ronnie's."

  Scarlett sat up. "Yeah, I figured."

  "I also reminded you that we have the barbecue on Sunday."

  "Oh, right," she confirmed, trying not to sound too surprised. Scarlett had completely forgotten. She was slipping. Something was off. "What time?"

  "Ronnie will start grilling around noon, so show up whenever."

  Amanda stood up straight by the living room door. "How do I look?"

  The lights were out in the living room, so Scarlett had to judge by the light spilling in from the hallway. The colors were muted by the gloom, but Scarlett recognized the combination of the red blouse, white pants, and accessories. It was one of Amanda’s go-to’s.

  "You look fabulous," she told her friend, putting on her best Joanna Lumley accent and flicking her head dramatically for effect.

  Amanda sniggered and flicked the lights on. "What about now?"

  Scarlett laughed. "Even better, daaaaarling!" she added, using the famous catchphrase.

  "Good, because tonight Ronnie and I are doing it with the lights on!" She gave a wink, turned with a flair and opened the door to leave.

  Scarlett sat up. "Oh, wait. This barbecue, what do I need to bring?"

  "Just yourself," Amanda said. "Unless you want to bring a guest." She popped her head back around the door and wiggled her eyebrows up and down suggestively.

  Scarlett felt a thrill of excitement at the thought. "I don't move that fast,” she said, protesting a little too hard. “He only just invited me for coffee."

  Amanda hesitated in the open doorway. "Seeeeeeee! I told you soldier boy liked you."

  "No, not him. The other one."

  Amanda stepped back inside and shut the door, eyes wide in amazement. "What other one?"

  Scarlett hesitated, realizing she hadn’t told Amanda about Cliff. "I…I bumped into this guy right after you left," she stammered, a grin spreading over her face, involuntarily.

  Amanda seemed impressed. "Aren't you the quiet vixen? Do tell!"

  "I mean, we literally bumped into each other,” Scarlett explained. “I spilled my coffee, but somehow he caught it before it hit the ground. He made some joke about being a juggler. Or maybe it wasn't a joke. I really don't know what he does, other than bumping into people. But we exchanged numbers, and he asked me out."

  "Was he hot? Or just a hot mess?"

  "Toooooo hot,” she admitted, fanning herself with her hand for effect. “If there is such a thing." She felt her cheeks start to turn red.

  "There isn't." Amanda concluded firmly. “You go girl.” She seemed to remember her purpose, and opened the door again. "At the barbecue, you'll have to tell me everything."

  Scarlett shrugged. "I just did."

  "Well, I’m sure there are details you’re leaving out. But tell me on Sunday!”

  Scarlett nodded obediently and gave a mock salute. “I'll pick up a dessert. I need to stop by and see Aunt Tabitha anyway. I'll see you there."

  "And if you want to bring all your boyfriends, we’ll make it a real party." Amanda’s eyebrows were doing a funky dance now.

  Scarlett scowled at her. "Out!" she ordered, pointing to the front door.

  Amanda giggled as she left. Scarlett couldn't help but smile.

  Another night alone. But she felt quite positive about it.

  She headed over to her stash of wine in the kitchen and selected a bottle of Syrah. She also had a book of short stories she’d been meaning to get to and decided tonight was the night she was going to indulge herself. Later she would run a hot bath and maybe try one of those deep conditioning hair masks she’d bought a month ago and never used.

  I've earned it, she thought, popping the cork out of the bottle.

  +++

  Aunt Tabitha’s Residence, Bicester, England

  On Saturday morning, Scarlett got in her car and headed over to her Aunt Tabitha's house.

  Tabitha lived in a charming farmhouse just outside of Bicester, on the opposite side of the market square as the crow flies.

  Tabitha loved it. It was away from the mad crowds yet a ten-minute drive into the village. On account of it being an old farmhouse, it was much roomier than the one Scarlett shared with Amanda. Every time she visited her Aunt Tabitha, Scarlett coveted the high ceilings and the spacious kitchen.

  If I lived in a place like this, she often thought, I'd cook every day.

  It probably wasn't true, but she relished the fantasy of it.

  She rang the doorbell. Aunt Tabitha greeted her with smiles and hugs. Scarlett liked to drop by a few times per week, and Tabitha always seemed happy to see her.

  They sat in the dining room with the morning sun streaming through the windows. It graced the whole house with a bright golden glow.

  The pair trundled into the kitchen, chattering away. Aunt Tabitha put the kettle on to make some tea.

  "How are the vegetables coming along?" Scarlett asked, sitting down at the old oak kitchen table.

  Tabitha pottered around taking cups from the cupboard and selecting a tea from her rack of herbs and spices. "Slowly, very slowly,” she admitted. “But plants are like that, you know.
They're very patient. That's what people need to learn from plants. How to be patient."

  Scarlett cast her mind back to growing up, feeling momentarily nostalgic for when times were simpler. "I remember helping you plant potatoes on the allotment when I was a little girl."

  "Oh yes,” Tabitha chuckled, “you were quite helpful. Very diligent."

  Scarlett grinned sheepishly. "But I can't really say that I learned patience."

  Tabitha laughed. "Even straight-A students have their weak subjects. You could get your own allotment now. Mine has been such a blessing."

  "I thought about it," Scarlett admitted, "but the waiting list is so long."

  "That's why you need patience!"

  Scarlett chuckled. "It's a catch-twenty-two," she said. She paused, then she added for clarity, "A paradox."

  Tabitha said, "I know what a catch-twenty-two is, dear. You're not the only reader in the family, you know. In fact, you probably get that from me." She peered kindly at her niece over her glasses.

  The kettle whistled on the stove. Tabitha turned off the gas and poured the water over the tea strainers sitting on top of the cups. Scarlett never did understand why her aunt just didn’t use the electric kettle. It was far more energy efficient, faster, and switched itself off when the water was boiled.

  Bemused she watch her aunt carry the cup over to the table for her. "Don't taste it yet," she said. "Just smell it."

  Scarlett brought the cup to her nose and inhaled the aroma. The warm air rising from the tea smelled earthy and rich, with a hint of some nutty spice she didn't recognize.

  "What is it?" she asked.

  "It's new," Tabitha responded cryptically.

  "What's it called?" she pressed.

  Tabitha gestured with open palms in a half shrug. "What's in a name?"

  Scarlett wondered if she was trying to be funny. "There's something odd about it, from the smell. I'm not sure this cup of tea is my… er, cup of tea– hahahhaha… no offense."

  "None taken, but you should drink it. It will help you sleep. I can tell you haven't been getting enough sleep, have you?"