Kerry Barrett - Bewitched, Bothered And Bewildered

It was a spell book. All witches have them. They’re heirlooms, passed down through families (mine had been left to me by my granny when she died. She left Harry an identical one; I suspect there’s a stockpile somewhere) and they’re supposed to be well cared for. It’s implied, ridiculous as it sounds, that they’re almost living things; a gateway to all sorts of magic, as well as a kind of logbook for successive witches to record their spells.

‘Books are wonderful, Esme,’ I remembered Mum telling me when I was small. ‘But they can be dangerous. Why do you think the Nazis burned them? Spell books are even trickier to handle. Treat it like a wild animal.’

I’d gazed at her, wide-eyed.

‘Will it bite me?’ I’d asked.

Mum had laughed.

‘Almost definitely not,’ she said. But she hadn’t looked very sure.

‘Generations of McLeod witches have added to this book,’ she said. ‘The magic in here is very strong. Use it wisely and treat it with respect.’

With a flash of guilt I thought about how I’d actually treated it. I’d read it with Mum when I was a child, but when I hit my teens I’d cast it aside and abandoned it without a second thought when I’d left. Mum had clearly rescued it and kept it safe in case I ever needed it.

With shaking fingers I picked up the book. It was cold and hard. I turned it over in my hands and smoothed the cover, and as I did so, something strange happened. I felt – and I know this sounds crazy – that the book recognised me. There was a sigh and suddenly the leather softened and warmed under my fingers.

Reassured and freaked out in equal measures, I opened the first page. Whatever I thought about my dubious inherited talents, I knew I had to brush up on my spells – even if I wasn’t keen on being the Third. Apart from my magic being at best rusty and at worst unpredictable or even downright dangerous, I’d never agreed with my family’s bad habit of interfering in people’s lives without being asked – especially since I’d been on the receiving end of their meddling. But I knew the café couldn’t survive without my help and I owed it to Suky to do whatever I could. Even if all I could do was make a few sparks and probably a bit of a mess.

So, even though I was apprehensive about facing my past, I decided to read my spell book and see how much I remembered. I blew the dust off the pages and settled down to read. Some of the pages were handwritten, some typed on an old-fashioned typewriter. Some had notes scribbled on them. There were even photos stuck in between some of the pages. It was fascinating, but it was late and my eyes were soon heavy with sleep so I put the book aside. I knew I had a lot of brushing up to do, but it could wait until morning. Realising I needed to get up again to switch off the light, I started to get out of bed, then, thoughtfully, I stopped.

‘May as well start as I mean to go on,’ I said to no one. And I waggled my fingers at the light instead. With a puff of acrid-smelling smoke, the bulb exploded and the room was plunged into darkness.

‘Oh dear,’ I thought as I snuggled under the duvet. ‘I definitely have a lot of work to do.’

When I woke up the next day I felt oddly at home. Bright, frosty sunlight streamed through a gap in the thick curtains and I smiled to see that the rain had stopped – for now.

Tugging my fingers through my sleep-tangled hair, I listened for signs of life. Downstairs I could hear the faint sound of Radio Four and murmured voices so I jumped out of bed, pulled on a jumper and a thick pair of socks – the house was never very warm – and headed towards the noise.

Mum was in the kitchen alone. She was standing, reading The Guardian and chewing a slice of toast. I kissed her sleepily and sat down at the table. She plonked a mug of tea and a delicious-smelling muffin in front of me and I frowned. Normally I’d have done a workout at the gym by this time and such a calorie-laden treat wouldn’t have passed my lips. But it smelled so good. Maybe I could just have a taste.

‘What are you going to do today,’ Mum asked, as I finished my muffin and reached for another.

‘Don’t you need me to help you at the café?’ I said, through a mouthful of crumbs.

Mum shook her head.

‘Get yourself settled first,’ she said. ‘I know you work hard in London – have a couple of days rest before you start toiling for us.’

I smiled at her but I felt uneasy. How long was she expecting me to stay? I hadn’t considered being away from work for more than a fortnight. In fact, I’d not taken more than a week off in one go the whole time I’d worked for Lloyd & Lloyd.

‘Mum,’ I began, then stopped as Suky wandered into the kitchen. She looked thin in her chunky sweater but she had a wide smile on her face and she grabbed me in a tight hug.

‘It is so good to see you,’ she muttered into my hair.

‘You too,’ I said as she sat down opposite me and poured herself a cup of tea. I studied her carefully. She’d always been slender, but now her cheekbones stuck out and she had dark circles under her eyes. She’d wrapped a bright pink scarf around her head and, despite her pallor, looked exotic and mysterious like I remembered her from when I was a little girl.

Suky saw me looking at her headscarf and flashed me a rueful smile.

‘My hair’s already very thin, and I’m worried it’s starting to fall out,’ she said. ‘I keep thinking I should shave it and be done with it,’ her voice wobbled slightly. ‘But I’m too scared.’

I reached across the table and took her hand.

‘I’ll help you,’ I said. My voice wobbled too.

Suky gave a shaky laugh. ‘Look at us, such a pair of cry babies,’ she said, but her eyes shone with gratitude.

‘So,’ I said, changing the subject before I got too emotional. ‘I found my book last night.’

Mum sat down next to me. ‘Did you read it?’ she asked.

‘Hmm. Sort of,’ I said. ‘I’m a bit rusty.’

Suky smiled.

‘We knew you would be,’ she said, taking a bite of toast. ‘We don’t expect miracles immediately.’

I felt awkward again. How long would they give me before they did expect miracles?

‘I’ve been thinking,’ I said. ‘How about I pick up the slack with all the practical stuff – serving customers, doing the orders, washing the dishes – then Mum, you and Eva can look after the er, magical side of things while Suky gets better. I’ll just be there to make up the numbers.’ I was embarrassingly hazy about how the whole Three thing worked, but I guessed it would be OK as long as I was actually there, even if I wasn’t brilliant at magic.

Suky squeezed my hand again.

‘That would be perfect,’ she said. Suddenly I felt much happier.

‘What’s the plan for today, then?’ I asked.

‘Eva’s opening up this morning,’ Mum said. ‘I’m going to drop Suky in Inverness for her treatment and then take over at the café. Why don’t you go for a bit of a walk and have a look round – nothing’s changed much – and then meet me at the café later? How does that sound?’

It sounded OK – not as good as a day at work followed by an evening with Dom, but it would do. I grabbed another muffin, just in case I got hungry on the journey, wrapped up warm in the puffa jacket I never wore in London, and headed out into the cold, down the hill towards town.

I’d walked that way a million times before – to school, to the bus stop, to friends’ houses, to the pub – and it was comfortingly familiar. I looked at the cottages as I passed, wondering if I still knew anyone who lived there. I doubted it. They’d probably all moved on – as I had.

My phone beeped in my pocket. I fished it out and read the message. It was from Dom.