Sarah Painter - The Secrets Of Ghosts

‘What are you doing?’ Anna had snuck up behind Katie. She was carrying a glass of sparkling wine and a concerned expression.

‘Panicking,’ Katie said. What if she didn’t take after Gwen after all? What if she was actually just like her mother, Ruby? While her grandmother could read fortunes and Gwen could find lost things, Ruby was about as magical as a bowl of cereal.

‘I’m having a mid-life crisis,’ Katie said, shifting over to make room for Anna.

‘You’re too young for that.’ Anna sat down. ‘Quarter-life, maybe. Although, personally, I’m planning to live to one hundred and fifty.’

Katie forced a smile. It was nice of Anna to try and cheer her up. ‘Have you tried the cake, yet?’

‘Twice. I still have no idea. So, what’s the crisis about?’ Anna said. ‘You don’t want to work at The Grange for the rest of your natural born life?’

‘God, no.’

Anna laughed. ‘Me, neither. I’m going to open my own place. One day.’

‘Are you?’ Katie was surprised. Anna was a brilliant waitress: competent and quick and always smiling. She never seemed dissatisfied but then, Katie knew, she didn’t know her all that well. And, of course, you never knew what was really going on inside people.

‘What?’ Anna looked at her sideways. ‘You think I can’t do it?’

‘You’d be brilliant. You’re so organised.’ Katie nudged her. ‘Unlike say, for instance, me.’

‘That’s true. I might not even hire you as a server. You’re a bit rubbish.’

‘Charming,’ Katie said, mock offended. ‘And on my birthday, too.’

Cam had followed Gwen into the garden and Katie watched as he put his arms around her. Gwen leaned back against him, twisting her neck so that they could kiss.

‘Your aunt and uncle are really loved up, aren’t they?’ Anna said, noticing the floor show.

‘Sorry,’ Katie said, although she didn’t know why she was apologising.

‘At least someone is getting some,’ Anna said. ‘I’m in my prime, here. It’s a crime not to be using this.’ She indicated her body.

‘I think women hit their prime really late. Like in their thirties or something.’

‘I’m not waiting that long to have sex.’

Katie laughed. Katie had been really touched when Anna had asked to come to her party. They worked together at The Grange, and had only known each other for a few months. Most of Katie’s friends had dispersed. They’d gone to university or London or on year-long round-the-world trips. A couple might still have been in Bath, but Katie had moved to Pendleford and, truthfully, not made all that much effort to keep up with anyone from school. As a result, Anna was probably her closest friend, but Katie assumed Anna had a battalion of other mates who, rightfully, came above Katie in ranking for time and energy.

Gwen said she had trust issues, but, as Katie liked to reply, she’d earned them.

She watched her party. Figures moved in the shadows at the edges of the garden, away from the lights. Gorillaz came on and Shari began dancing on her own in the middle of the lawn. She was the kind of person who could get away with things like that. The kind of person who got called a ‘free spirit’ and who always knew where the parties were happening and had exotic boyfriends who made films.

‘Is that your flatmate?’ Anna said, gesturing to Shari.

‘Ex-flatmate,’ Katie said. Shari was nice, but Katie had discovered that ‘free spirit’ translated to ‘no boundaries’ and she’d been relieved when Shari had decided to go and live with her latest boyfriend, Liam.

‘Oh, sorry,’ Anna said.

‘Don’t be,’ Katie said, deadpan. ‘If she hadn’t moved out, I might’ve killed her.’

Anna frowned and Katie wondered if her tone hadn’t been jokey enough. She opened her mouth to explain, but Anna had already moved on.

‘This place is amazing,’ Anna said. She gestured to Gwen’s enormous vegetable patch, which spanned the side of the house. ‘Have you seen what your aunt is growing? Aubergines, peppers, chillies. How does she—?’

‘It’s been really hot this year,’ Katie said. She believed in honesty and never tried to hide her family’s peculiarities, but, equally, sometimes it was nice not to endure a double take, a disbelieving look. She usually went with saying as little as possible. As long as it wasn’t an outright lie, she wasn’t breaking her vow of honesty.

‘Another of her special abilities?’ Anna said. ‘That is so cool.’

Of course, this was Pendleford. It was common knowledge that the Harper family had certain abilities. If you needed to find something that couldn’t be found, if you needed good advice, or a herbal remedy that would work when nothing from the GP had helped, you went to see Gwen. Katie wanted to follow in Gwen’s footsteps; she just needed to find her own power, her raison d’être. She put down the empty cake plate and tried to look happy for the party guests, for Anna, for Gwen. It wasn’t their fault she was a massive failure.

*

The next day, Katie still felt out of sorts and the flat was cold and empty. She almost wished Shari were still there, walking around in her underwear while talking full volume into her mobile. Or, maybe not. What the place really needed was a cat, but the lease didn’t allow pets. Not even when Katie had explained that it was vital for her work. Every witch needed a familiar.

She lay on the sofa and tried to relax, but she couldn’t stop thinking about her last failed spell and the way she couldn’t even identify cumin in her birthday cake. She was supposedly in training with Gwen, but she seemed to be getting worse, not better. And the harder she tried, the worse she seemed to get. This was supposed to be her purpose in life. Her role. She hadn’t gone to university or backpacking with her friends; she’d committed to training with Gwen. Gwen had run away, spent thirteen years denying her gifts and Katie wasn’t going to make the same mistake. So why did it feel as if she’d taken a wrong turning?

Katie heaved herself from the sofa, mustering just enough energy to get the biscuit tin from the kitchen and shove a DVD into the player. Back on the sofa she prepared to comfort watch His Girl Friday for the thousandth time and eat chocolate digestives.

The phone rang just as Rosalind Russell was kicking Cary Grant under the table. It was Anna, complaining about how Horrible Frank had been made Head Waiter. ‘It’s a travesty of justice,’ she said, ‘and he’s messed up the staff rota for the week. I need you to save me. Come in early?’

Katie stared at the paused image on the television screen while she deliberated. What would Hildy do? Hildy had a proper career, the answer came back. But she’d work. ‘Okay,’ she said into the phone. ‘Tell Frank that I’m keeping my tips this time.’

‘You make many of those?’ Anna said.

‘I’m an excellent waitress,’ Katie said, ignoring the pinch on her left ear that meant she was lying and that she knew it.

Anna laughed and hung up.

‘Rude,’ Katie said out loud and went to get ready.

She tied her hair into a high ponytail, smoothing back a stubborn wing of fringe. It fell into her face again, so she twisted it and used nail scissors to snip an inch away at an angle. When she let go the wing looked more asymmetrical and was now poking her in the eye. Fabulous. She put on her waitress uniform: — fitted black shirt, short black skirt, opaque black tights, and platform shoes — and tucked her revolver necklace inside the neck so that it was hidden. She was going to roast in tights, it was a warm day, but she knew from experience that a skirt meant better tips than trousers. It was icky, but true and, as Gwen would say; there was no such thing as a free lunch.