The Language Of Spells Part 5

'Yeah.' He frowned. 'That's the seat belt warning.'

'But we're not moving.'

'We could get rear-ended and you'd fly through the windscreen.'

Gwen put the belt on.

'Anyway,' he said, in what could only be a deliberately casual tone, 'it's been a mad day and I'm knackered.'

'But this is the time we're meeting. You couldn't call to cancel at the exact time of the appointment. That's not cancelling, that's cutting the meeting short.'

'Okay. Then I'm cutting our meeting short.'

Gwen made a show of looking at her watch. 'One minute. That's very, very short.'

'I'm exhausted. We can do it another time.'

'Fine,' Gwen said tightly.

His shoulders sagged slightly. 'I'll give you a lift back to your car.'

'Thank you.'

Cam drove carefully and in silence, keeping his eyes on the road. Gwen looked at him once, clocked the set of his jaw, the faint brush of stubble and the dark shadows under his eyes. He did look tired and he didn't owe her a thing. He looked so familiar, she had to stop herself from reaching out and brushing a stray hair from his jacket. It was as if she'd been carrying around his image, tucked safely in a corner of herself, without even knowing it.

She looked out of the window instead. The tail end of the shopping crowd was straggling home and they pa.s.sed a bus queue so full it was spilling into the street.

'I don't remember there being so many people.'

'We kept different hours.'

That was true, she thought. She'd been half-halfheartedly completing her A levels while Cam was doing whatever mysterious things he got up to in the hours they were apart. She'd been out with a couple of friends, going from pub to pub, waiting for the clubs to open, and everywhere was packed. She'd gone to the beer garden in the Pig and Fiddle to see if she could find a seat and there he was. Sat on top of a bench, reading a paperback copy of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. If he'd looked like a student from the university on the hill she'd have thought he was a pathetic poser. But he didn't. He had scuffed black boots and narrow jeans that looked genuinely old and not 'artfully distressed' by some designer. He was wearing a faded black band T-shirt and his dark hair was falling into his face. He was completely absorbed in the book and didn't look up when his companion spoke. His friend nudged him and he finally glanced up and Gwen realised that she had been standing still and gawping like a lovesick teenager. Which, she'd abruptly realised, was exactly what she had become.

It would always be something that Gwen would be grateful for. No agonised waiting, no sleepless nights, no wondering. One moment she was staring at Cam with the full knowledge that her world had tipped forwards, propelling her towards the man on the bench, and the next moment she was so close she was touching him and his hands were on her face, holding her gently while he kissed her, the paperback discarded on the bench next to them. At least, that was how she remembered it.

'We did,' she managed. 'I don't remember a lot of shopping trips.'

'No,' he said, his voice clipped, and she wondered if he was having a memory-fest, too. Probably not.

'I need a drink,' he said.

'I would love a drink,' Gwen said.

'I have alcohol.'

That was more like it. 'Is your place far?'

'You know it: Widcombe Street.'

Gwen looked at him in horror. 'You live with your mother?'

'No!' Cam said. 'I have a flat. It's self-contained. Separate entrance.' He collected himself. 'I have the top floor.'

'Oh.'

'Those houses are too big.'

'Okay.'

'And I needed somewhere to live while I was getting qualified.'

'Right.'

'And then I got the job at the firm and it seemed easier to stay.'

'It's really none of my business.' Gwen paused. 'How is your mother?'

He gave a wry smile. 'The same.'

'Super.' She looked at her watch. 'You know, I've just remembered I've got to be up early in the morning. I think I'll just head home.'

'Coward.' Cam was smiling.

Gwen pulled a prim face. 'I'm a very busy woman.'

'You made this date.'

'And you broke it. We're even.'

There was a pause. 'So, you're really not coming for a drink? I have Southern Comfort.'

'So do I and mine doesn't come with a chaser of abject terror. Sorry.'

'That's okay,' Cam said. 'I'd forgotten how much you disliked her.'

Gwen sucked her breath in. 'That's it. Stop the car.'

'What? No. We're nearly there.' And he was right; the entrance to the car park appeared. Cam flicked the indicator and slowed down.

'Pull over. We need to talk.'

'We're already talking,' Cam said, but he steered the car into the nearest available s.p.a.ce.

By the time he cranked the handbrake and half-turned in his seat, an expression of patient confusion on his face, Gwen was furious. The words came out distinct and calm, though; she enunciated each one carefully. 'It isn't a question of my disliking your mother. She hates me.'

Cam smiled and shook his head slightly. 'Come on now. She's not a very warm person, but that's a bit over-the-top.'

Gwen bit her tongue to keep the words She told me I was no good for you inside. She tasted blood. These things only worked if you did them for real.

Cam fidgeted, reaching into his pocket before withdrawing his hand empty.

'You gave up, then,' Gwen said. 'Smoking.'

'As soon as I realised I wasn't actually immortal,' Cam said, the corners of his mouth turning down in a sardonic smile.

Why did he have to look so good? 'Yeah, that's always a tough one,' Gwen managed, after a pause.

There was silence again. Then Cam said, 'It's really weird to see you again.'

Weird. Nice.

'It's going to take a bit of adjustment.'

Gwen felt angry again. Something about his sensible phrasing p.i.s.sed her off. 'I didn't ask to come back here. And I didn't do it to mess with you or anything.'

Cam raised his eyebrows. 'I didn't say that you did.'

And there was that tone again. Gwen felt words building up, but she knew she wasn't going to voice any of them. He was a stranger to her now. The silence stretched on. Gwen realised that she was physically incapable of looking at him. Incapable of speaking. And that if she stayed in that car for one second longer, she was going to start crying.

Across town, it was lunch break at Millbank Comprehensive and Katie was getting the third degree.

'Does she turn people into frogs?'

'Shut up.'

'I heard she dances naked when it's full moon.'

'Seriously. Shut up.'

Katie stretched her long pale legs, inched her navy school skirt a little further up her thighs. She was sitting with her back against the gym and Imogen was lying flat out, face down, her head cradled in her hands.

'Are they turning brown yet?' Imogen asked.

Katie squinted at the backs of her friend's calves; they were goose-pimpled in the cold air. 'Not really.' She didn't know why they were attempting to tan in November. Imogen had said something about cla.s.sy people getting brown in the winter.

'It's so hard to get the backs to turn, I wonder why.' Imogen lifted her head and squinted at Katie. 'You should start on them now.'

'The fronts of mine haven't changed yet. I don't think I've got the kind of skin that goes brown.' Katie looked at the smooth golden skin on Imogen's wrists, then closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall.

'We need baby oil. That's what Leila uses,' Imogen said. 'Speeds up the tanning process.' Leila was Imogen's older sister. At sixteen, she was the fount of all Katie and Imogen's knowledge regarding beauty tips, boys and s.e.x.

'Like basting a chicken,' Katie offered.

'Yuck. You're gross.' Imogen sat up cross-legged and began re-tying the sparkly black scarf around her neck. 'Don't you have Italian blood? You should tan in, like, two seconds.'

'I take after my dad.' Katie's father had strawberry-blond hair, wide shoulders and a goofy smile. She hoped her colouring was their only similarity. 'We shouldn't be doing this, anyway.' Katie said. 'Sunbathing gives you cancer.'

'Not in November. And we're too young to get cancer, anyway,' Imogen said, her voice full of certainty.

This was one of the things Katie liked best about Imogen. She was so pleasingly definite.

'If they don't turn in a week or so, I'd go for some fake tan, though. Otherwise you'll have milk bottle legs.'

'Can't afford any.' Katie said this automatically and felt a funny itch behind her left ear. She shook her head to dislodge the feeling. Truth was, she didn't want to use fake tan. It had become bound up in her mind with girls-who-should-know-better and cheap clothes. Probably from her mum, who had a less pleasing kind of certainty.

'You could get your aunt to magic you brown.'

This was something Katie liked less about Imogen. Her inability to leave a subject alone. She peered at Imogen's exposed knees. 'It might be the goose b.u.mps, but that mole looks funny.'

'Shut up,' Imogen said, but she sat up and tugged her skirt a little lower. 'So. What's she like, anyway? My mum says she was a complete mental case at school.'

'Boy alert,' Katie said. She'd been trying to distract Imogen but, on second glance, she realised that the pack of boys crossing the yard contained the delicious form of Luke Taylor. Katie felt the familiar dipping sensation in her stomach.

Imogen followed her gaze. 'Yum,' she said. 'I usually prefer older men, but even I have to admit that Luke is a Cla.s.s-A hottie.'

'I do have excellent taste,' Katie said. 'Now I just need him to realise I exist.'

'You will,' Imogen said. 'And then he'll fall for your extreme cuteness. And you and Luke can double-date with me and Gavin. It'll be perfect.'

Katie smiled. It was a nice fantasy.

Chapter 4.

Having spent the previous two days cleaning and moving bin bags around End House, Gwen had a touch of cabin fever. She also had to face the horrifying truth: she couldn't ignore her business any longer. Gwen didn't want to parcel up the customer's order. She didn't want to look at the last shadow box that she'd made, and she certainly didn't want to remember how hopeful she'd been when she made it, before the final demands piled up and her eviction notice arrived like the Grim Reaper, but she didn't have a choice. Curious Notions might've been as-good-as bankrupt, but she wasn't going to let a customer down. The shadow box was a rare commission and the woman had wanted 'something about love' for a wedding anniversary. Gwen had created a miniature apothecary shop with rows of tiny bottles and jars. You needed a magnifying gla.s.s to read the labels, but there was 'tincture of true love' and 'heart's desire' in amongst the foot powder and cough mixture.

Gwen was filing off the back edge of the box, making sure it was perfectly smooth, when a familiar figure appeared at the back door.

'I'm going out,' Gwen said, standing up. 'Sorry.'

Lily stepped into the kitchen anyway, her smile as bright as ever. She ran one hand protectively over the Formica worktop as she looked around the room, seeming to take every detail in. 'Everything okay?'

'Fine.' Gwen put down her file.

'What's that?' Lily peered at the shadow box.

Gwen wanted to say 'my art', but didn't want to sound like a pretentious t.w.a.t. 'It's kind of an a.s.semblage thing,' she said. 'It's what I do. For money.' Kind of.

'What's it for?' Lily leaned over, her nose almost touching the Perspex front of the box.

'Nothing. It's just a decoration.'