The Language of Spells

by Painter, Sarah

  At six o’clock, she trailed into the kitchen, but was too jumpy to cook. At seven o’clock, she realised she felt achingly empty, so she ate a bowl of cereal and two slices of cake. It didn’t help.

  At eight o’clock, she gave in. She called Cam and said, ‘Okay.’

  ‘Okay?’

  Instantly, her nerve fled. ‘Forget it. I’ll see you—’

  ‘No. Give me five minutes.’

  His urgency made Gwen smile. The wild feeling was back. One night with Cam. She shivered.

  The next ten minutes passed in a whirlwind of activity. Gwen sprayed perfume on her wrists and neck, threw stray clothes into the laundry basket and lit candles in the bedroom. She closed the curtains and surveyed the effect. It looked nice. Seductive. Terror clenched her insides. This was crazy. She blew out the candles.

  As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Gwen ran downstairs, then paused to comb her hair away from her face with her fingers, and opened the door.

  ‘I drove as fast as was legal.’

  Gwen was breathless. ‘I was just … I don’t know. I was just thinking about you. About us. And that thing you said.’

  Cam smiled his crooked smile and stepped towards her.

  The jolt of recognition as his lips touched hers threw Gwen hurtling back in time. He smelled the same, tasted the same, and his arms around her felt the same. She leaned into the kiss, her lust going from nought-to-sixty in an instant.

  ‘Upstairs?’ Cam broke the kiss to ask. Gwen squashed the tiny feeling of disappointment. Thirteen years ago, he would’ve had her naked on the hall floor. Then he kissed her again and all other feelings fled. It was Cam.

  Gwen took his hand and led the way upstairs, feeling wild and excited and powerful. As soon as they got to the bedroom, though, everything changed. Gwen kicked off her slippers, feeling suddenly nervous. Now that they weren’t actually kissing, the whole thing seemed a little ridiculous. What was the saying? You can never go back.

  Cam paused. A strange expression ghosted across his face. ‘I don’t know about this.’

  ‘Oh for Christ’s sake,’ Gwen said. It was one thing for her to feel unsure, but it was insulting for him to have second thoughts. She was a definite thing, for goodness’ sake. Weren’t men supposed to be driven by lust alone? ‘Are you always this indecisive? Must really impress them in court.’

  He was still looking at her with that weird expression. ‘It’s you, but it’s not you.’

  What on earth did he expect? ‘It’s been thirteen years. I’ve grown up.’

  Cam shook his head, studying her like she was a piece of algebra. ‘This isn’t maturity. What are you so afraid of?’

  Well, she wasn’t answering that.

  He put his head on one side. ‘This is so weird. I always thought you were going to do something amazing.’

  ‘Sorry to disappoint you.’ Gwen felt like she’d been slapped.

  ‘I’m not disappointed. But you seem to be. I think that’s why you’re so angry with me.’

  ‘I thought we’d established that you were the angry one?’

  ‘See?’ He looked maddeningly smug. ‘Uptight.’

  ‘You can talk. You’re the one in a suit.’

  ‘It’s just clothes.’ Cam reached up and pulled the neck of his buttoned shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor.

  Gwen took a sharp breath in. His chest was wider, his shape altogether more solid, but it was also unmistakably the same body. The muscles in his arms and chest still looked more like a man who spent his time playing in a rock band rather than pushing paper and, as Cam came towards her, she focused on the black tattoo on his right bicep and took an instinctive step backwards. ‘What are you doing?’

  He grinned. Lust had clearly won the internal struggle. The wide grin, slightly lopsided and very sexy. She remembered that all right. And what came afterwards. She swallowed. ‘I thought we were going to discuss this a bit more.’

  ‘Done talking,’ Cam said. He took another step, raising his eyebrows questioningly.

  Gwen held her breath. Inside her head, the argument was just getting going. Yes, it might give her closure. On the other hand, she might lose her mind and fall back into complete obsession. The kind of obsession that could break her heart. Getting over Cameron Laing had been the hardest thing she’d ever done. Was she really about to jump into bed with him again?

  He paused. Looked at her with calm intensity that stopped her breath. ‘You want me to go, say so right now.’

  She managed to shake her head.

  With that, he turned and kicked the door shut and crossed to her. ‘I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. We used to be so good together.’

  Gwen tried not to feel the cut of his words. The past tense that was like a knife.

  ‘I want you to remember.’ He took her wrist delicately, with his thumb resting on the underside like he was taking her pulse. She almost gasped at the electricity running in a current from the warmth of his fingers. She wanted those fingers, those hands, everywhere. He was crazy if he thought she’d forgotten him, but she was more than happy to pretend total amnesia if it meant he would touch her.

  He didn’t pull her forwards, but that was how it felt. An invisible force yanked her forwards and he caught her. His hands were on her, exactly as they should be, and the relief was immense. His hands were on her waist, her neck, her face. She closed her eyes, tipped her head back and waited for the kiss, to feel him like the old days. One moment of pleasure, one trip down memory lane. She deserved some fun. It had been a long time; one moment of fun and she’d be able to get her concentration back.

  He kissed her and it was that strange mix of familiar and new. Her mouth, her tongue, her whole body said, Hello again. It was exciting and passionate and safe all at the same time. Stop thinking, she told herself. The words, You can never go back, popped into her mind. Shut up. Stop thinking. Stupid brain.

  Cam pulled back and flipped open his belt buckle. Gwen smiled. This was more like it. This was the Cam she remembered. Wham bam. Fast and exciting. Not always entirely successful from her point of view, but always sexy, always fun. Sometimes, after he’d dropped her at home, she’d touch herself, reliving the evening in slow motion until she finished.

  He walked her backwards until her legs bumped against the bed, then tipped her back onto it. He slid his belt from its loops and her eyes widened. That was new. What if he’d developed a kinky streak in the last decade? She wouldn’t be surprised. Boy most likely to turn into deviant pervert. She opened her mouth to make a joke. ‘No spanking’ or ‘steady on’. But he was there, kissing her deeply and she momentarily lost her mind. He was above her and she reached her arms up to pull his head closer, to keep his mouth on hers. After a moment he caught her hands and pulled them over her head, winding the belt around her wrists and then cinching it.

  Her eyes flew open and she struggled to sit up. ‘Cam.’ The leather was smooth but unyielding. She pulled one arm and felt it dig into her wrists.

  He pushed her back down and ran a hand up her leg, under her long skirt.

  She wriggled further up the bed. ‘I don’t—’

  ‘Yes you do.’ Cam pushed her skirt up so that it bunched around her middle; the air felt unbearably cool and delicious on her legs.

  ‘Cam—’ she tried again.

  ‘Busy.’ He stopped kissing her inner thigh and grinned at her. ‘Talk later, yeah?’

  Gwen let her head fall back on the mattress. A moment later, she said, ‘Oh my God.’ And a few moments after that she realised that the person making the most obscene noises was her. Another minute and she wasn’t cognisant of anything else at all.

  ‘Oh my God.’ Gwen felt as if every bone and muscle and sinew in her body had turned to liquid.

  ‘You said that.’ Cam appeared in front of her and she arched upwards to kiss him. Her arms physically ached from the need to touch him. She pulled at the belt, words no longer required.

  She wrapped he
r arms around him, kissing him, pulling him closer. The weight of his body against her felt fantastic and started a low throbbing back in a place that had barely stopped shuddering.

  ‘Oh God,’ she said again, aware that she had lost her mind. She ran her hands over his chest and stomach, wanting him to be as incoherent as she was. He’d earned it after all.

  He raised himself up, supporting his weight on his arms, kissing her jaw, her neck, dipping back to take her mouth. Gwen wrapped her legs around his body, pulling him close. ‘Now…’ she said against his mouth.

  Cam rolled away, the suddenly cold air goosepimpling her skin, and she heard the rip of the condom packet. Then he was back and the heat Gwen thought would take ages to build again flared the instant he touched her. Her nerve endings remembered him, that was for sure.

  He kneeled above her, looking at her with such naked longing that she forget to be self-conscious that her stomach and breasts were thirteen years older than the last time he’d seen them.

  And then he was inside her, moving until the pressure built and she exploded all over again. She was shuddering, her insides contracting, her muscles quivering and Cam fell onto her, groaning as he let go.

  Gwen buried her head in his neck, breathing deeply. ‘Oh, fuck,’ she thought. Then realised she’d said it out loud.

  Chapter 14

  Gwen woke up with Cam sprawled next to her, and felt cold air across her face. The cat was curled up at the foot of the bed, probably furious at having a strange man asleep in his rightful place, and the window was wide open. A few flakes of snow drifted over the sill and melted into the carpet.

  Cat opened one yellow eye and then closed it again. No one in the house, Gwen thought, relieved. Then she thought: I have a guard cat. Couldn’t Iris have left her an Alsatian, instead? Knowing Lily, however, even a big dog wouldn’t be enough to dissuade her. She felt guilty at the thought. She was trying really hard not to listen to the gossip, to give Lily a fair go, but she couldn’t help remembering the manic glint in her eyes. The way her smile always looked frozen in place.

  She sat up slowly, trying not to disturb Cam, and looked around the room. The lumpy shapes of furniture, the curtains blowing in the night air. What was with the window? Was it Iris? But why would Iris want her to keep going to the window in the middle of the night? Unless she just wanted to annoy her. That might be right. Irritating her great-niece from beyond the grave.

  Gwen sighed, admitting to herself that she was going to have to get out of the warm bed and shut the window. It was another cold night and a bright half moon floated in a sea of ink. The familiar elements of the garden – the wall, the shrubs, trees and paths – appeared ghostly in the moonlight. The hedge on the left of the gate was like a hunched animal, bulky and bulbous. Gwen couldn’t see the lane from this angle, but the black expanse of the field stretched out, melting into the sky at the hidden horizon. ‘What do you want?’ Gwen was both surprised and pleased to hear the words out loud. Her voice was quiet and even; she sounded in control.

  Out of the shadows, shapes formed. They became lumpy figures, lumbering from the gate and down the path towards the house. A parade of vaguely humanoid forms, heading for the back door.

  Gwen felt the ice trickle of fear, but she made herself stare directly into the garden. They were the kind of thing that was terrifying when glimpsed out of the corner of your eye but when viewed head on revealed themselves to be illusion. The shapes continued forward, seeming to become more solid and threatening as the panic rose in her throat, choking her. Oddly, she heard her mother’s voice. A memory of Gloria calmly explaining the charm for phantasms. She said that they increased in proportion to the victim’s own fear and were dispelled by simple wishing.

  The figure at the front of the pack was growing taller, lengthening and becoming more human. A ghostly light glowed from inside the shape, illuminating a face that had become the boy’s. Puffy and white, the way it had looked when Gwen had found him. He opened his mouth wide and black water gushed out.

  ‘No. Go away,’ Gwen said aloud, not really expecting it to work. ‘You are not real,’ she added, wishing as hard as she could. The shapes dissolved.

  Gwen took one last look at the now-empty path, closed the window and got back into bed. She was cold and shaking. Cat opened his eyes and let his disgust at being disturbed be known via the medium of unearthly screeching. Cam turned over and smiled at her sleepily in the half-dark. ‘Hello,’ he said. Then, ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Fine,’ Gwen said. ‘Bad dream.’ Someone was out there in the dark, casting a spell and sending phantasms to her house to frighten her. Maybe it was the man who’d broken into her house. Trying to frighten her out of the house, maybe even out of town. Or, more likely, it was the person who had helped Marilyn Dixon hex Brian. What had Iris written? There’s nothing worse than a frustrated witch?

  She decided to worry about it in the morning. In the daylight, when everything would seem more manageable. Besides, right at this moment, she had Cameron Laing in her bed. She stretched out alongside him, feeling all the places in which they fitted together.

  He pulled her closer and, for a while, they didn’t say anything else.

  Gwen was too hot. Extraordinarily comfortable, yes, but definitely too hot. As her brain woke up, she realised that Cameron Laing was wrapped around her in the soft bed under approximately a thousand blankets. She shifted slightly and watched Cam wake up to the same realisation. She watched his expression turn from sleepy to alarmed and sat up first so that she wouldn’t have to feel him pulling his arm out from underneath her.

  Cam stumbled out of bed, pulling on his trousers before facing Gwen. ‘Bathroom,’ he said and Gwen nodded. She tried to adjust her expression to something relaxed and unconcerned, but she had the words, Don’t run away, on a loop and didn’t want to blurt them out.

  Gwen listened to the water running in the bathroom next door and then a light thumping sound. Perhaps Cam was banging his head against the wall. Gwen tried to smile, but it wasn’t at all funny.

  After a couple of minutes he sidled back into the bedroom. He located his shirt and socks and, without looking directly at Gwen, said, ‘I’d better get to the office.’

  ‘It’s seven o’clock.’ Gwen kept her voice neutral.

  He gave an unconvincing laugh. ‘No rest for the wicked.’

  ‘Okay,’ Gwen said. ‘Would you like breakfast before you go?’

  ‘No. No, thanks. I’ll get something on my way to the office.’

  ‘Okay,’ Gwen said again.

  Cam was halfway out of the door when he paused. ‘I’ll call you.’

  ‘Don’t say that,’ Gwen said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t say “I’ll call you” like that. Like I’m a one-night stand.’

  ‘What do you want me to say?’ Cam turned back, the frown that she was so used to seeing now back with a vengeance. ‘Forget the past; we hardly know each other now. What do you expect me to say? Let’s get back together. Let’s pretend the last thirteen years didn’t happen? Let’s pretend you didn’t run away from me the moment things got tricky?’

  ‘Goodbye,’ Gwen said. ‘You’re supposed to say “goodbye”. Closure, remember?’

  He swallowed. ‘Goodbye, Gwen Harper.’

  ‘Goodbye, Cameron Laing.’

  Katie stuffed her hated backpack into the metal box and closed the locker door. When she turned around, she very nearly fell over. Luke Taylor was leaning up against the lockers a few feet away, and he was looking straight at her. Was he waiting for someone? Was he really looking at her? Or perhaps he was in a daydream and doing that looking-but-not-seeing thing. Should she say ‘hi’? If he blanked her, she would die. It was better not to risk it. She turned to walk in the other direction. The wrong way from the dinner hall, but never mind.

  ‘Hey.’

  His voice was just behind her, and with two long strides he was alongside her.

  ‘Don’t run away.’ />
  She glanced up, hardly believing her eyes. ‘I wasn’t. I was just—’

  ‘Look. I didn’t have anything to do with … the other day.’

  Katie hesitated, trying to work out what he meant. Will Jones. ‘Oh, I know. It’s fine.’ She paused, knowing she was blushing. She forced an unconcerned, hard voice. ‘He’s a twat, though.’

  Luke shrugged. A few more steps and Luke stopped. ‘Aren’t you going to eat?’

  Katie did her best coolly disinterested look. One she’d practiced. As if eating was vulgar and for lesser beings than herself. Imogen was always saying that boys liked girls who didn’t eat.

  Luke just looked confused. ‘Oh. Okay.’

  ‘You go on, though.’ Like she was giving him permission. She wanted to punch herself in the face.

  His lips quirked up. ‘Thanks. I will.’ He hit himself in the chest. ‘Growing boy, you know. Need to keep my strength up.’

  Katie nodded. Tried a smile. ‘Well, see ya.’

  ‘Later.’ And he was gone, loping down the corridor.

  At End House, Gwen was sitting up in bed, trying not to mind that Cam had bolted. She stroked the back of Cat’s head, setting up a whole-body purring that sounded like a Boeing 747 taking off. She flipped through Iris’s notebook, wondering if Iris had some excellent remedy for the pain in her heart. She read random entries, wondering what she should do with them all. There was a wealth of information and, although she would let Patrick Allen see them over her dead body, it seemed somehow wrong to let them just gather dust.

  Thursday 24th March. Saw L again today. His pneumonia is no better and he still refuses to go into hospital. Mrs L distraught in that peculiarly constipated way she has.

  Well, perhaps that entry wasn’t worth saving for posterity. Gwen stopped reading and half-threw the book, sending it skidding across the splintered surface of the quilt. The journal was floppy with age and use, its pages splaying out where it came to rest. Gwen couldn’t stand to see it like that, spread open uncomfortably. Almost naked. She shifted forwards and reached out. Then stopped. What had looked like a doodle and a load of nonsensical symbols – what Gwen had taken as a private shorthand – resolved itself into readable English. She leaned over and retrieved the book, her eyes scanning the words quickly.