Sarah Painter - The Language Of Spells

‘So go home.’ Cam’s voice was flat.

‘I don’t want to,’ she said carefully. No need to explain that she didn’t have one. Or, rather, End House was it. ‘I’m going to stay.’

Cam didn’t say anything and Gwen could almost hear his sneer down the line.

‘At least for the time being,’ she added, wishing with all her being that he wasn’t so hostile. Or that it didn’t bother her so much.

‘Why don’t you ask your family? What about your mum?’

‘They didn’t get on. Something happened when I was a kid and we weren’t allowed to see her any more. We weren’t allowed to use her name, actually.’ Gwen forced a laugh to show she knew it sounded overblown and ridiculous. Not the kind of way that she, rational, normal, Gwen Harper would ever behave.

‘I didn’t know her very well,’ Cam said. ‘Just in a professional capacity.’

‘Please. Anything at all would help.’

‘Didn’t you say you live next door to her old carer? She’d know more than me.’

‘Cleaner. And I’d rather get a different viewpoint. I know it’s an imposition, but I won’t take up much of your time. I’ll come into town and we could have coffee. Or lunch. I’ll buy you lunch.’

‘Bribery is illegal, you know.’

Gwen smiled, relieved at the lightening in his tone. ‘Whatever it takes.’

There was a sudden loaded silence. Then she heard him sigh. ‘Tomorrow. One drink after work.’

‘That’s brilliant, thanks so much—’

He cut across her. ‘And you’re buying.’

The next day, Gwen parked Nanette as close as possible to the town centre, realising too late that she would’ve been better off just walking from the house. She ended up in a small pay and display car park, and trekked the mile to Cam’s office. Irritatingly, he was waiting inside his Lexus at the kerb. She pulled open the passenger door and he jumped slightly. ‘Hello.’

‘Is the pub far, because my car is practically back at End House, closest I could get.’

‘Oh, yes. Sorry. Parking is a pain.’

‘It’s fine,’ Gwen said, and got into the car. She needed to dial down the hostility, get things with Cam onto a polite, grown-up footing. He wasn’t looking at her, though, which was annoying. Then he spoke to the steering wheel. ‘I was just about to call you and cancel, actually.’

‘Oh?’

A high-pitched chiming noise interrupted them. Gwen winced and looked around for the source of the awful sound.

‘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 passed 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 space.

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.’