by Adele Abbott
Witch Is How
The Mirror Lied
Published by Implode Publishing Ltd
© Implode Publishing Ltd 2018
The right of Adele Abbott to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved, worldwide. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, dead or alive, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 1
“This is empty.” Jack waved the muesli box under my nose.
“Why are you telling me? I’m not the muesli fairy. You should have called at the corner shop on your way home last night.”
“I forgot. Couldn’t you just—” He gave me a sickly-sweet smile. “You know.”
“What?”
“Magic some for me.”
“What about our no-magic pact?”
“I only need enough for one bowlful.”
“Are you asking me to break a solemn promise just so you can have muesli for breakfast?”
“Yes.” He gave me a peck on the cheek. “Pretty please.”
“Okay, then.” I closed my eyes and cast the spell. “There you go. It’s in the box.”
“Thanks, gorgeous. You’re my favourite witch.”
Not for long, I suspected.
I hurried out of the kitchen, and had made it halfway up the stairs when he shouted.
“Hey! This is sawdust!”
Snigger.
“I suppose you think that was funny,” he said, when I came back downstairs ten minutes later. “I might have eaten that.”
“You probably wouldn’t have noticed any difference. Hey, did I tell you the replacement sign is being installed this morning?”
“Do you think they’ll get it right this time?”
“They’d better. I’m fed up with people asking if you’ve decided to come and work with me.”
“Actually, that’s not a bad idea. We’d make a great team.”
“If we worked together, we’d be divorced within a year.”
“You’re probably right. I’m not sure I could adjust to your way of working.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“You’re not exactly organised. It’s all pretty much by the seat of your pants, isn’t it?”
“It may appear chaotic to you, but I’ll have you know that it all works like a well-oiled machine.”
“If you say so. You haven’t forgotten that I’m away again on Sunday, have you?”
“You’re never here.”
“I can’t help it. These courses are like buses: There are none for ages and then they all come at once.”
“What’s this one about?”
“I can’t remember—something deadly boring. I’d rather stay here—I was rather looking forward to the Clownathon. You’ll have to take photos.”
“What makes you think I’m going?”
“Oh yes, I’d forgotten that you’re terrified of clowns.”
“Why does everyone keep saying that? I’m not scared of them; it’s just that I find them boring.”
“That’s not what Kathy told me.”
“You should know by now not to take any notice of anything my sister says.”
“She reckons you used to hide behind the sofa whenever they came on TV.”
At that moment, there was a knock at the door.
“It’s probably clowns.” Jack laughed.
“You’d better answer it, then, seeing as you reckon I’m so scared of them.”
“It’s the fish man,” Jack shouted from the hallway.
Fishman? Didn’t I have enough to contend with already with sups and ghosts? I didn’t need to add superheroes to the mix.
“What does he want?” I went to join Jack at the door.
“Take a wild guess.” Jack stood to one side so that I could see the white van parked at the end of the drive. On its side were pictures of fish and shellfish, and the words: The Fish Man.
“Morning, love, sorry to call on you so early, but I’m trying to catch people before they go to work. I’m Terry. Terry Salmon.”
If this man was a superhero, his outfit, a plain white coat, sucked big time.
“Terry is starting a delivery round,” Jack said.
“I used to have a shop in Washbridge, but the rent and rates were killing me, so I decided to go mobile.”
“That’s very nice, but we buy all of our fish from the local chippy.”
“Tish and Chip?” Jack scoffed. “It’s hardly the same thing. Terry is selling freshly caught fish, delivered direct to the door. And he sells a much wider range too.”
“That’s true,” Terry chipped in. “As well as all the usual favourites: Cod, haddock, plaice and what-have-you, I have lots of other species. Shellfish too.”
“I do enjoy the occasional mussel,” Jack said. “And prawns.”
“Prawns are my speciality.” Terry obviously sensed that he had Jack on the hook. “Can I add you to my list? I plan to call around once a week.”
“Do you sell soft furnishings too?” I asked.
“Sorry?”
“Tish and Chip do a nice range of curtains and cushions.”
“Ignore her.” Jack shot me a look. “She’s clowning around. Please go ahead and add our name to your list.”
“Great. See you soon, then.”
The Fish Man had taken his leave, and Jack and I were back in the kitchen.
“What was that all about?” I said. “I’ve never seen anyone get so excited about fish as you just did.”
“I love shellfish. It’s ages since I had scallops.”
“Scallops are gross. Anyway, isn’t it time you were leaving? You said you had to be at work early this morning.”
“Oh cripes, is that the time? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I couldn’t get a word in edgeways for all the fish talk.”
“See you tonight.” He gave me a kiss, and then sprinted for the door. I expected to hear it slam closed behind him, but instead I heard him talking to someone. I assumed that Fish Man must have forgotten something, but then Jack shouted, “Kathy’s here! Go on through, Kathy. Sorry, I have to dash.”
Kathy walked into the kitchen. “Jack seems to be in a hurry.”
“He was supposed to go into work early, but he was so busy going on about fish that he forgot.”
“Don’t tell me he’s into fishing now, too?”
“Not catching them; eating them. We’ve had a visit from Fish Man, and before you ask, no he isn’t a superhero. His name is Terry Salmon, and he’s started to run a mobile fishmonger service.”
“Really? I wonder if he’s going to cover our area too? Pete and I both love a nice piece of haddock.”
“Don’t you start. There’s been enough fish talk in this house for one day. What are you doi
ng here, anyway?”
“A cup of tea would be nice.”
“It’ll have to be quick. Some of us have work to go to.”
“I’m going in later, but I wanted to have a quick word with you about Lizzie first.”
“Is she okay?” I put the kettle on.
“Yeah. Well, I think so. She’s been talking even more about ghosts recently. I don’t know what I should do about it. I keep hoping it’s a phase she’s going through, and that one day she’ll forget all about it.”
“Is it upsetting her?”
“No, quite the contrary. She’s never been happier.”
“Well then. I wouldn’t worry.”
“You’re probably right. When she’s a teenager, and she gets interested in boys, I’ll no doubt be wishing that she was back in this phase.”
“Would you like me to have a chat with her?”
“No, it’s okay. I’m being silly.”
I poured us both a cup of tea and we sat at the kitchen table.
“No biscuits?” She pouted.
“I’m all out.”
“Liar.” She went over to the cupboard and grabbed my last packet of custard creams.
“Don’t eat them all. They have to last me all week.”
“These won’t last you the day.” She managed to take two before I snatched the packet away from her. “By the way, who have you been upsetting around here?”
“What do you mean?”
“Haven’t you seen the graffiti on the toll bridge?”
“What graffiti?”
“It probably isn’t anything to do with you anyway.” She took a sip of tea. “There must be more than one Jill around here. It’s probably kids who did it.”
“What exactly does it say?”
“Jill is a witch.”
I almost spat out my tea. “When did you see it?”
“Just now, on my way here. It reminded me of what your birth mother said that day in the nursing home.”
“Sorry?” I was barely listening to her—I was too busy trying to process what she’d said about the graffiti.
“Don’t you remember her dying words to you? She called you a witch.”
“Oh yeah, I’d forgotten about that. Like you said, it’s probably kids.” I drank the rest of my tea. “I really do have to get going.”
“Okay. Pete told me I shouldn’t worry about Lizzie, but it’s hard not to sometimes. He’s more concerned about the central heating.”
“Has it packed up?”
“No, it’s still working, but it’s not as effective as it used to be. Certain rooms are always cold—our bedroom in particular. I think we’re going to have to get someone to come out and take a look at it.”
A few minutes after Kathy had left, I set off for the office.
The graffiti on the toll bridge must have been put up overnight, or I would have seen it on my way home the previous evening. Giant red letters spelled out the words: JILL IS A WITCH.
Kathy was right, there had to be other women called Jill living in and around Smallwash, but there was no doubt in my mind that it was aimed at me.
The young man in the toll booth was still persevering in his attempt to grow a moustache. It now resembled an underfed caterpillar clinging to the bottom of his nose.
““Excuse me, young man. Do you know who put up the graffiti?”
“No idea. I didn’t start until six this morning. It was already there then.”
“What about the guy who worked the nightshift? Did he say anything about it when he handed over to you?”
“No. Gordy didn’t even know it was there until I pointed it out to him. It’s dead quiet in the early hours of the morning—they probably did it while he’d dozed off.”
“Has anyone reported it?”
“I called head office when I got here. They said they’d get around to it when they could.” He scratched the caterpillar. “You’re not Jill, are you? The witch?”
“Me? No. I just think it’s an eyesore, that’s all.”
***
I’d parked the car, and was walking towards the office when I spotted that the sign had already been changed. Not before time too.
Hold on! What the—?
I dashed upstairs, and crashed into the outer office. “Have you seen the sign?”
“I’m sorry, Jill,” Mrs V said. “There was nothing I could do about it. They must have been here at the crack of dawn because it was already up when I arrived.”
“Jill and Max Well? What is wrong with that man? It’s not like I didn’t spell it out for him.”
“Normally, I would have been here in time to stop them, but Armi has started to give me driving lessons. He’s going to let me drive to work and back each day. This morning was my first one.”
“How did it go?”
“Alright. I keep flashing at the wrong time, but other than that, I seem to be doing okay. Do you want me to give Mr Song a call?”
“No, I think I should speak to him myself. There is something you can do, though. Will you see if you can find any companies that specialise in removing graffiti, please?”
“I didn’t see any graffiti on my way in.”
“It isn’t on this building.”
“Don’t tell me someone has vandalised your house?”
“No. It’s on the toll bridge on the way into Smallwash.”
“Isn’t that the bridge operator’s responsibility?”
“Probably, but you know how long it can take for these organisations to sort things out, and it’s a real eyesore.”
“I have to say, Jill, that’s very public-spirited of you.”
“I like to do my bit.”
“That sign of yours is the joke that keeps on giving.” Winky was practically in tears.
“I’m glad you’re amused.”
“Well, I do intend milking it to the max.” He rolled onto his side. “Get it? Well? Max?”
“I’m not in the mood for your pathetic jokes.”
He eventually managed to compose himself. “I’m guessing this isn’t a good time to discuss the state of this office?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Do you remember I was having dinner with Crystal on Saturday?”
“Oh yeah, the blind date. How did it go?”
“Very well, as it happens, but she—err—well, she wasn’t overly impressed by this office.”
“Do you seriously think I care what this week’s girlfriend thinks about my office?”
“Crystal is not this week’s girlfriend, as you put it. In fact, I see a long future ahead for the two of us.”
“Not if you three-time her like you did with the last batch.”
“Crystal is different.”
“What exactly did she say was wrong with my office, anyway? Not that I care.”
“Look around; it’s a dump. Those blinds have been stuck like that for years, your desk is on its last legs, and this wooden floor needs treating. Oh, and that sofa has seen better days.”
“If you don’t like living here, you know where the door is.”
“I thought you were all about image and marketing nowadays?”
“I am.”
“What’s the point of attracting prospective clients if they’re going to be put off as soon as they walk through that door?”
“I suppose it wouldn’t do any harm to get a quote for some new blinds.”
“What about that awful desk?”
“I love this desk. No way am I getting rid of this.”
“The sofa, then. Look at the state of it.”
“You’re the only one who uses it.”
“All the more reason to get a new one.”
“I’ll consider it if you go halves.”
“I’m just a cat. I don’t have any money.”
“Don’t give me that old rubbish. I’ve lost count of all the money-making schemes you’ve got on the go. You can afford to stump up half.”
“I doubt the Cats Pr
otection League would be impressed if they knew you were making me pay.”
“Why don’t you go and tell them, then?”
“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again—you’ve changed since you got married.”
Chapter 2
“No, Mr Song, I did not say Jill and Max Well. It’s just Jill.”
“What happened to Max?” Sid said, in his usual singsong manner.
“Nothing has happened to Max—there never was a Max. It’s just me; I changed my name from Jill Gooder to Jill Maxwell when I got married recently.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thanks, but we went through all of this when you installed the first incorrect sign.”
“I can only apologise, but I did have a bit of a tumble, you know.”
“Yes, and I was sorry to hear about that, but my understanding was that you injured your ankle. I’m not sure that explains this second mix up.”
“You’re right. It shouldn’t have happened.”
“You’ll get it sorted, then?”
“Of course.”
“And there’ll be no charge?”
“Certainly not. It was my mistake.”
“When can I expect the replacement sign?”
“I’ll get on it as soon as I come back from my holiday.”
“Holiday? When are you going?”
“As soon as I’ve finished on this call. You were lucky to catch me—I only popped in to pick up the post. Me and Cissie, that’s the wife, are off to Ibiza. In fact, I’d better get going or we’ll miss our flight.”
“Hold on. How long will you be gone for?”
“A couple of weeks.”
“And you’ll get straight onto this as soon as you get back?”
“Of course. It’ll be my first job.”
“And you definitely know what I want this time: Jill Maxwell. Nothing else.”
“Got it. Sorry, I have to dash. Cissie is tooting the horn.”
“Please make sure—”
Too late—he’d hung up.
“You really told him.” Winky grinned.
“Can it, you. I’m not in the mood.”
“You could always tell people that I’m Max if anyone asks.”
“One more quip from you and there’ll be no salmon for a week.”
