Читать книгу: «The Language Of Spells»

Chapter 1

Gwen Harper had been brought up in the sure knowledge that everything in life came as a pair. Every coin had two sides, every person had an angel and a devil lurking inside, and every living thing was busy dying. Gwen couldn’t imagine a good side to returning to Pendleford but, since she had no choice in the matter, she hoped that Gloria had been right about all that ‘light and dark’ business. She crested the hill and Pendleford spread out beneath her. The town was caught in a basin of land as if cupped by giant green hands, and the yellow stonework glowed softly in the winter sunshine. The dark river cutting through the centre was like a worm in an apple.

Gwen passed a sign that had ‘Pendleford: Historic Market Town’ in smart black lettering and then a smaller yellow one that said ‘Britain in Bloom’. Slung in front of this was a collection of broken-looking dolls, their long hair tied together in a big knot. Gwen slowed down to take a closer look at the creepy faces with their dead eyes and pink Cupid’s bow mouths.

She shuddered, trying not to think about broken things, dead things, or the icy water of the river. Her Nissan Vanette made a crunching engine noise which she decided to interpret as sympathetic nerves. She patted Nanette’s dashboard reassuringly. ‘Don’t worry. We won’t be staying.’ Gwen glanced at the legal documents on the passenger seat that said otherwise but, before she could start worrying in earnest, her thoughts were derailed by the sight of Pendleford. The town looked eerily the same as it had when she’d left thirteen years ago.

Gwen took a couple of deep breaths and tried to calm her racing heart. There was no need to panic. Her mother was on the other side of the world and Pendleford was a full eight miles away from Bath and her exasperating sister. Not even Ruby could shout over that distance.

Navigating her way out of the town centre, past rows of Edwardian villas with tasteful ‘bed and breakfast’ signs, Gwen turned to logic. She was going to spend one night in her great-aunt Iris’s house. Take a bath. Get one decent night’s sleep before she headed to the solicitor’s office in the morning and found a way around the stupid ‘can’t sell for six months’ clause. Then she’d be out of Pendleford. Again.

Gwen carried on with the pep talk as she drove. She had a dodgy moment when she thought she saw Cam and nearly drove up onto the pavement. It was a tall man with messy dark hair, but as soon as she passed him and looked in the rear-view mirror, her heart in her mouth, she saw that it wasn’t him at all. Cameron Laing was long gone. Probably in London. Or prison.

The big houses gave way to row upon row of traditional stone cottages and a town hall with a triangle of grass outside. A man in head-to-toe tweed was changing parish notices on the board outside. Pendleford’s surface was as pretty and as tame as she remembered. If it hadn’t been for the daily taunting at school and a very bad memory that began with the river and ended at the local police station, then perhaps she wouldn’t have hated the place quite as much.

At the very edge of town, there was a row of box-type houses. Council – or more likely ex-council – houses, with neat gardens and freshly painted windows that did nothing to hide the brown pebbledash and the nineteen-sixties municipal architecture. Then the town petered out into farmland and Gwen almost missed the turning for Iris’s road; the small wooden sign was weathered and only the word ‘End’ legible. After four hundred yards up a single track road, Gwen turned a corner and the house came into view. Stone-built, square and bigger than she expected. Gwen got out of the car and pulled on her fleece. The sky was pearl-grey and the weak November sun drooped in the east. It was quiet. ‘Too quiet,’ she said aloud, trying to make herself laugh. It didn’t work.

Gwen hesitated at the front gate, her body rebelling against setting foot inside the boundary of the property. Which was ridiculous. She was homeless and she’d been given a house. It was crazy to be anything except insanely grateful. Crazy.

The front door had once been dark green, but was sorely in need of a paint job. To her left, fields stretched out to the horizon and a flock of black birds swooped down to the frozen earth.

Gwen spent five minutes attempting to unlock the door before realising it was already open. The porch was cleanly swept and a neat pile of mail sat on the windowsill.

The inner door opened and a woman wearing narrow black trousers and a yellow blouse looked at her in surprise. ‘Yes?’

‘Um, is this End House?’

‘Yes.’ The woman’s pale blonde hair was cut in layers and she shook her head slightly to flick her fringe away from her eyes.

‘This is my great-aunt’s house. Um. That is, I think this might be my house.’

The woman’s face changed and what could charitably be described as a smile appeared. It displayed a disturbing number of teeth. They were small and white, like baby teeth; alarming in an adult-sized mouth. ‘You’re Gwen Harper. I wasn’t expecting you yet.’ She took a step back. ‘I’m not ready for you, but I suppose you’d better come in.’

‘Thanks.’ Gwen stepped over the threshold. The hall was large and square, floored in red quarry tiles. The walls were whitewashed, but patterned with tiny black cracks, like something dark was trying to break through.

‘I’ll show you around.’ The woman turned to go, but Gwen stopped her.

‘I’m sorry, but … Who are you?’

‘Oh, bless you. I’m Lily Thomas. I’ve been helping out your poor auntie for years.’

‘Helping?’

‘Cleaning and cooking, that kind of thing.’ Lily frowned at Gwen. ‘She was very old, you know.’

Gwen looked at the woman’s frosted-pink fingernails. They didn’t look like they’d scrubbed anything in their lives.

The woman followed her gaze. ‘Falsies.’ She waggled them. ‘Aren’t they brilliant?’

The doors off the hallway were all shut, but the staircase of polished dark wood curved invitingly and Gwen took an involuntary step towards it.

‘She needed help with all kinds of things towards the end, bless her.’

Lily’s voice seemed to be coming from far away and Gwen could hear a rushing in her ears. I must be holding my breath, she thought. Good way to faint. She made herself take a lungful of air, but the rushing continued and the stairs seemed to be glowing just for her. She walked towards the bottom step, confused when yellow silk appeared in her vision, eclipsing the lovely warm wood. It was Lily, barring her way.

‘The upstairs isn’t ready. I’ve not had a chance to clean. I wasn’t expecting you—’ Lily hesitated. ‘Not yet, I mean. I wasn’t told—’

‘That’s okay.’ Gwen stepped around Lily and took the stairs at a jog.

Weird, she decided, already on the landing. The door on her right was wide open, like someone had come out in a hurry. Through the gap she saw a double bed with a flowered wash bag lying on the quilt.

Lily appeared behind her, puffing slightly. ‘It’s a mess. I haven’t had a chance—’

‘Don’t worry.’ Gwen opened the other doors from the landing and discovered a small bedroom with a single bed and a desk underneath the window and another double with a brass bedstead suffocated by layers of blankets and a patchwork quilt.

‘Let me show you the kitchen,’ Lily said firmly.

Gwen allowed Lily to usher her back down the stairs and into a long room lined with 1950s cream cabinets with pale green trim and lemon Formica worktops. A red enamel coffee pot and an electric kettle were the only things visible on the spotlessly tidy work surface. A small table with two chairs tucked in was at the end and the small window above the stainless-steel sink was cracked.

‘What’s through there?’ Gwen gestured to the door behind the table.

‘That’s the pantry. It’s very small.’ Lily smiled again. ‘Go and take a look at the garden. I’ll make us a nice cup of tea.’

‘Right.’ Gwen left Lily moving comfortably around the kitchen and walked into the cold, dead air. Place must be well sheltered; there’s no wind at all. The garden was separated from the fields by a stone wall on one side and a line of trees at the bottom. Gwen identified rhododendrons in the corner, a giant spreading conifer thick with cones, holly, ash and hornbeam. A few fruit trees were dotted about the lawn. A lot of work, she found herself thinking. Around the corner was an untended vegetable plot. It had been cared for at one time, though, that was easy to see. Stone paths led along rows and the edges were defined with old red bricks. There were willow wigwams for peas or beans and fruit canes, but one was half pulled down by a mutant rhubarb that had clearly got ideas above its station.

The front garden offered more grass, many bushes, and wide borders filled with the seed heads and brown plants of a dead summer.

The crisp evening air cleared Gwen’s mind. What was Lily Thomas doing in her aunt’s house? The way she seemed so at home wasn’t that odd – especially if she’d been working for Iris for years – but why on earth was she here now? She hesitated, wondering whether she was overreacting, when some bundles of greenery caught her eye. Half-tucked behind the water butt, three tied-together collections of foliage. She recognised branches of ash and broom, and remembered her mother fixing something similar above the door to their flat; to ward off malignant forces, she’d said. Gwen dropped the bundle as if it were hot, and went back inside.

Lily was squeezing a tea bag against the side of a mug as if it had personally offended her.

Gwen sat down at the table, feeling slightly dazed.

‘I’ve made you a casserole but it’s down at my house. I’ll bring it up later.’

‘That’s very kind,’ Gwen said, ‘but I’m not sure—’

‘No need to thank me. Least I can do for Iris’s niece.’

‘Great-niece.’

‘Right.’ Lily popped open the lid on a plastic tub and arranged slices of fruitcake on a plate. ‘So, are you from the area?’

‘Not really.’ It was true. They’d lived in Pendleford for three years, but had moved around a lot before that. Gwen had never really felt like she was ‘from’ anywhere.

Lily frowned. ‘Somerset?’

Gwen shook her head.

‘Where do you live?’ Lily pressed on.

‘I’ve been in Leeds for the last six months.’ Gwen had a rule for dealing with people: Never give away more than strictly necessary.

‘But where do you come from? Originally.’ Lily’s inquisitive tone reminded Gwen of every bitchy queen bee at every new school she’d ever had to start. ‘We moved around quite a bit.’

‘Oh you poor thing,’ Lily pulled a face. ‘I wouldn’t have liked that.’

‘It was fine,’ Gwen said automatically.

‘I didn’t see you at the funeral,’ Lily said. ‘Were you close to Iris?’

‘No.’ Gwen didn’t feel like explaining that she’d barely known her great-aunt and had no idea why on earth she’d been given her house. She tried to gain control of the conversation. ‘Do you live in Pendleford?’

Lily nodded. ‘Just on the corner. I’m your nearest neighbour.’

Gwen opened her mouth to say that she wouldn’t be staying, but Lily was still talking, listing names of neighbours that Gwen knew she would instantly forget even if she were paying proper attention.

Lily stopped listing and said, ‘You look tired out, if you don’t mind my saying.’

Gwen felt a yawn coming on. She put a hand to her mouth and then apologised. ‘This is all quite sudden.’

Lily shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t say that. She’d been poorly for ages.’ She took a generous bite of cake before adding, ‘Bless her,’ through a mouthful of crumbs.

‘Why are you…?’ Gwen stopped. ‘I mean, did you have some sort of contract with my aunt? For this, I mean.’ She waved a hand, taking in the freshly cleaned kitchen, the tea, her presence.

‘A contract?’ Lily laughed, a bizarre high-pitched laugh. ‘We didn’t need anything like that. She was more like a sister – well…’ she wrinkled her nose ‘…a mother – to me than an employer. I know she’d want me to keep an eye on the place. Welcome you properly.’ She paused, giving Gwen an appraising look. ‘I’d be very happy to stay on and clean for you, too.’

So she was angling for a job. Fair enough. ‘I’m terribly sorry, but I’m not sure what I’m doing about the house yet. And even if I did stay, I wouldn’t be able to afford to pay for cleaning.’

Lily shrugged. ‘No problem. Just offering.’ She pushed back her chair. ‘I’ll let you get settled in and pop back later with that casserole.’

‘Well…’ Gwen thought about navigating the winding road back to the nearest shop and realised how tired she felt. Plus, she’d been surviving on cheap takeaways and supermarket sandwiches; a home-cooked meal sounded wonderful. ‘That would be lovely, thank you very much. If it’s not too much trouble.’

‘We’re neighbours now. That’s what it’s like around here.’

Gwen opened her mouth to say she wouldn’t be staying, but yawned instead.

After Lily left, Gwen took her tea and wandered through the house, opening doors and getting her bearings. There were two large front rooms, both with big bay windows. One was a living room, complete with overstuffed brocade sofa and a riotous carpet of flowers, vines and leaves. The vast dining room looked forlorn and unloved by comparison. An oak dining table with twisted spindle legs and six chairs was marooned in an otherwise bare room and covered in a thick layer of dust.

Behind the kitchen there was a downstairs bathroom, tiled in black and white and with what was probably the original washbasin and tub. A small back bedroom completed the downstairs, with three bedrooms upstairs.

Big house, she thought, looking around at the triple wardrobe, dressing table and chest of drawers that fitted comfortably in the master bedroom. Something was missing, though. The flowered wash bag. Either she was imagining things or Lily Thomas had swiped it while she was in the garden. Odd.

Gwen got her suitcase from the van and lugged it upstairs. She was bone-tired. She wanted to run a bath and get clean. She’d been making do all week – taking her toothbrush and flannel into public bathrooms and splashing out for a shower at a motorway service station just the once. But she was so tired. So tired that she actually felt sick.

Although that could be nerves. Being in the house felt so wrong. Illicit. Growing up with her free-spirited mother, Gloria, there had only been one rule: stay away from Great-Aunt Iris. Her mother had described Iris as ‘evil’, and since she herself was known around town as ‘Crazy Gloria’, Gwen had seen no reason to disobey her. She’d always figured that Iris didn’t want to know them, either. The thought gave her a jolt of guilt.

Gwen yawned again and lay on the bed, meaning to test it for just a moment. It was gloriously comfortable and after five nights on a camping mat it felt like heaven. She pulled the quilt over herself and closed her eyes. Just for five minutes.

Gwen woke up disorientated and very hot. She executed an ungainly quilt-wrestle and went downstairs. The curtains had been drawn and a casserole dish sat warming in the oven. Lily had clearly been and gone. Gwen ignored the creepy feeling that gave her. She was being a suspicious modern urbanite; things were different in the country. People obviously still looked out for each other. Gwen still felt disorientated from her nap. The week of sleeping badly and the weirdness of the situation had caught up with her and she couldn’t summon up enthusiasm for food. Gwen turned off the oven and went back to bed. Tomorrow she would visit the legal people and straighten out the will. If she could sell the place straight away, she’d have the deposit to rent a flat and could get her business back on its feet. The money would save her life and she’d be duly grateful to Iris. She just wasn’t going to live in Pendleford. Not even for six months.

She dragged herself back up the stairs, every step an effort, and by the time she’d unpacked her overnight bag, she was yawning so long and so hard it was difficult to brush her teeth.

Some time later, she sat bolt upright. The room was pitch-black and her eyes strained with the effort of trying to see. Her heart was thudding as she struggled to work out what had woken her. A scratching noise almost made her cry out until it happened again and she realised it was the sound of a tree branch against glass. She forced herself to breathe deeply, to snuggle back down into the bed. Silence. No traffic, no sirens, no late-night revellers vomiting or fighting outside her window. It was probably the quiet that had spooked her. And the scratching. She clicked on the bedside lamp and climbed out of bed. The window was open and a brisk stream of night air flowed inside. Gwen swallowed. She had closed that window earlier. She had definitely closed it. Forcing herself forward, Gwen approached the window, feeling the cool air on her bare arms. She pushed the window open further and leaned out. The moon was riding high in the clear sky. She couldn’t see the offending branch, but there was plenty of greenery along the side of the house. She shut the window and latched it before getting back into bed and falling instantly asleep.

The next day, Gwen awoke to the sound of hammering on wood. She stumbled downstairs, trying to shake off the fug of sleep.

Her sister’s voice cut through two doors like a razor blade through trifle. ‘Gwen? I can see your van!’

Gwen opened the door and stepped smartly back into the hall, the full force of Ruby being too much to take in a confined space.

‘Oh for goodness’ sake. You were still in bed.’ Ruby shrugged off her jacket and put down her leather handbag. ‘You can’t open the door like that. I could’ve been anyone.’

‘Not really.’ Gwen turned and headed back up the stairs. ‘Put the kettle on.’ She had to be dressed to deal with Ruby.

After hastily pulling on jeans, a shirt and hoodie, she found Ruby in the kitchen.

‘This place is a museum.’ Ruby frowned at the painted walls. ‘It’s not even tiled.’

‘I like it,’ Gwen surprised herself by saying.

‘Really?’ Ruby raised her eyebrows. She looked around. ‘I suppose you could knock through and make a proper family kitchen.’ She wandered through to the dining room next door, then hastily returned. ‘Did you know the ceiling’s sagging in there? It looks like it’s about to come down.’

Gwen concentrated on pouring hot water onto tea bags.

Ruby opened some cabinets, ran a finger along the shelves. ‘She was very clean, anyway.’

‘She’s got a cleaner. Or a housekeeper. I’m not sure of the difference.’

‘Fancy.’

‘I think she needed someone at the end. I wish we’d known.’

‘It’s not our fault,’ Ruby said robustly. ‘She could’ve called.’

‘She might not have known you lived in Bath.’ What an awful thought. Iris all alone out here, her great-niece just down the road.

Ruby shrugged. Then she said, ‘It’s weird that she left you the house, though.’

‘I know.’ Gwen said, feeling awkward.

‘She always liked you the best.’

‘I don’t know about that,’ Gwen said. ‘I actually can’t remember her at all. It’s a bit odd.’ Which was an understatement. Ever since getting the letter from Laing & Sons, she’d been thinking about Iris and finding a strange blank, like typed words snowed over with Tippex.

‘God, do you remember that chicken she had?’ Ruby paused, hand on hip and a faraway expression on her face.

Gwen shook her head.

‘Oh, you do. It was like her pet or something. You nearly stood on it, remember? Iris went mental, but it wasn’t your fault. I mean, who keeps a chicken in the house? Bloody disgusting.’

‘I don’t remember.’ Gwen closed her eyes. A wave of nausea, like she was riding a roller coaster, swooped through her stomach and she opened her eyes again.

‘You must,’ Ruby was saying. ‘You cried all the way home and Gloria took us for ice cream. She never did that. You must remember.’

Gwen’s mouth filled with saliva. She tasted strawberry at the back of her throat and almost gagged. ‘I remember the ice cream. Just not Iris. Not the house.’ She gestured around. ‘I don’t remember any of this. Not at all.’ And that couldn’t be right.

‘Well, we only came here once or twice. And you were young.’

‘Not that young. Thirteen, maybe?’ Gwen had a horrible feeling she knew why there was a blank in her memory. She’d probably asked too many questions and Gloria had solved the problem with a memory charm. Charms and hexes and simple casting were the kinds of thing Gloria had taught Gwen while other mothers were showing their kids how to bake fairy cakes.

Ruby shrugged. ‘Well, you’re not missing much. Apart from the chicken, it was pretty boring. Gloria and Iris talking and pretending they weren’t arguing.’

‘I don’t remember,’ Gwen said again, hating that she sounded so forlorn, hating that being back in Pendleford was reminding her of all the things she’d tried so hard to forget.

‘I don’t care,’ Ruby said robustly. ‘It’s all in the past. Gloria’s escaped to Oz and Great-Aunt Iris is dead; what does any of it matter?’

Gwen pulled a face. ‘I just feel guilty. I don’t deserve this place. I hardly knew the woman.’

‘Well, according to Gloria, we were better off without her.’

‘I guess.’ Gwen handed her a mug, then sat down at the table to sip from her own.

‘It’s not our fault,’ Ruby said. ‘Gloria’s the one who cut contact. We were just kids.’

They had been forbidden from having anything to do with Iris. In fact, sitting in her house was probably still a capital offence. Whether she had passed on or not. Gwen was just going to ask Ruby if she had any idea what had caused the schism between Gloria and Iris, when Ruby said, ‘Look, she was a grown woman with her own friends and family and life. We weren’t part of it, through no fault of our own, but that doesn’t mean we missed out or that she missed out.’ She looked around the kitchen again. ‘It doesn’t mean anything.’

‘Then why leave me her house?’

Ruby frowned. ‘How the hell should I know? Dementia?’

‘That’s not funny,’ Gwen said. After a moment, she added, ‘She sent me birthday cards.’

‘Did she? When?’

‘Every year after I turned thirteen. After we stopped visiting.’

Ruby opened her eyes wide. ‘That’s weird. What did she write?’

‘Nothing. Just her name. Just her initial, actually. I used to hide them from Gloria. Did she—’

‘No. Nothing.’ Ruby shook her head. ‘She never sent me anything. Didn’t give me a house, either. It’s not fair.’

Gwen thought that Ruby was only half-joking. ‘Good thing you married rich.’

Ruby looked around. ‘Can you imagine what David would do to this place?’

Gwen shuddered. David was a good man, but he was an architect and didn’t seem able to appreciate a house unless it had weirdly big windows or a glass atrium in the middle or a roof made out of turf.

‘Well…’ Ruby had stopped assessing the house and focused on Gwen. It was disconcerting. ‘I see you’re still dressing like an art student. People will think you’re mad.’

‘I look fine,’ Gwen said. ‘For my job, this is normal.’

Ruby pulled a face. ‘If you say so.’

Gwen thought about telling Ruby about the people she knew from the art fair circuit. Next to Bonkers Brenda, who crocheted bikinis and embroidered them with little faces, and often wore her creations on the outside of her clothes, she was positively conformist.

After a moment of silence, Ruby said, ‘Are we going to pretend the last year didn’t happen?’

Gwen realised that she didn’t have the energy for a showdown with Ruby. The stress of the last few weeks and the oddness of being back in Pendleford crowded everything else out. ‘I really don’t want to argue. I’m too freaked out by all this.’

‘Fine with me,’ Ruby said. She pursed her lips. ‘It’s unseemly.’

Gwen laughed. ‘Unseemly?’

‘And it’s bad for my chi.’

Gwen stopped laughing.

‘I’ve had a course of colonics and I don’t want to retox.’ Ruby spoke as if expecting a medal of some kind.

‘You had what now?’

Ruby gave her a withering look. ‘You know perfectly well what it is.’

‘And you paid for that?’

‘Mock away. I feel lighter.’

‘I bet you do.’

‘In my soul,’ Ruby said and the shock of hearing Ruby saying a word as loaded and mumbo-jumbo as ‘soul’ shut Gwen up.

‘I’m doing yoga now, too,’ Ruby said.

Gwen looked at Ruby in disbelief. ‘Yoga?’

‘It’s transformed my life,’ Ruby said. Her expression was a mix of anxiety and defiance, exactly the same as when she’d brought home a copy of Smash Hits magazine, aged ten. ‘Marcus says I’m a natural. He says I’d be able to take the teaching course if I wanted, set up my own classes.’

‘Marcus?’ Gwen instantly pictured a bendy-limbed Lothario leaning towards her sister, his long fingers reaching for her golden hair. She suppressed a shudder.

‘He’s been brilliant,’ Ruby said. ‘And the yoga really helps with stress.’

Gwen refrained from snorting at the idea of Ruby being stressed. Ruby led a charmed life straight from the pages of a John Lewis catalogue while she’d been living like … Well. If she was being kind to herself, she’d say a free-spirited artist. If not, she’d have to go with hobo.

‘You wouldn’t understand,’ Ruby said, as if reaching into Gwen’s mind and plucking her thoughts clean out. ‘You’ve never faced up to responsibility. As a mother—’

‘Here we go,’ Gwen said, irritation leaping to the surface. ‘I’m not a mother so I don’t understand.’

‘Well, you’re not. And you don’t.’

This was why she shouldn’t spend time with her sister, Gwen thought. At a distance she felt almost fond, at close quarters she could happily strangle her. ‘Do you meditate?’

Ruby looked startled. ‘Of course. The mind–body connection is fundamental to—’

Gwen shook her head and then found she couldn’t quite stop. She clenched her fists, digging her nails into the palms. A tight ball of anger lodged in her stomach and, all at once, she realised why. ‘Let me get this straight,’ she said, surprised at the venom in her own voice. ‘All this time, I’ve been keeping away from you, not wanting to infect your precious life, your precious family with my “alternative” ways and you’ve been doing bloody yoga.’

‘You make it sound like a bad thing. I thought you, of all people, would be pleased.’

Gwen closed her mouth. There was nothing she could say to fill a pit of ignorance that deep. The unfairness of it burned bright and Gwen was surprised that Ruby couldn’t see the raw energy sizzling under her skin. She counted to ten to stop herself from saying something she would regret later and then settled on, ‘You must’ve had quite the epiphany.’

‘It’s not the same as your … stuff,’ Ruby said. ‘Yoga has been around for hundreds of years; it’s a spiritual thing, it’s not dangerous, it doesn’t ruin people’s lives,’ she counted the points off on her fingers, finishing with, ‘and it doesn’t mark you out as a weirdo. Not these days. I mean, you can buy yoga pants at The White Company.’

‘Well, if that’s what’s most important to you. The look of things—’

Ruby shrugged. ‘It’s a factor. Especially for Katie. You remember what school was like.’

Gwen repressed a shudder. Millbank Comp had not been a friendly place. Not for either of them. ‘I haven’t seen you in ages. I don’t want to argue with you,’ Gwen said. She pushed the anger and hurt back down and forced out, ‘If yoga makes you happy, I’m happy for you.’

Gwen couldn’t look Ruby in the eye, though. Instead she began to explore. She opened the door to the larder. Old newspapers were stacked neatly in a cardboard box on the floor, a broom hung from a nail on the back of the door and there were empty glass jars filling the top shelf. A spider ran across the floor.

Ruby called across from the living room. ‘It’s got the original fireplace.’

Gwen joined her, trying not to shiver. The living room was misnamed. The walls were painted in oppressive purple which, combined with the patterned carpet and sofa, made Gwen’s eyes itch. She sniffed. There was the shut-in house smell, but with something else underneath. A herb of some kind?

‘Good cornicing.’ Ruby pointed upwards.

Gwen pulled the curtains back, revealing big sash windows. ‘These are nice.’

‘Original?’ Ruby said.

‘I think so. I don’t think Iris got around to doing a modernist makeover.’

Ruby prodded the sill. ‘Probably rotten. Nightmare to look after, but people lap up this kind of thing. Very saleable.’

‘Mmm,’ Gwen said non-committally. She showed Ruby the upstairs, pausing underneath the loft hatch. ‘I suppose I should look up there.’

‘I’m not doing it. That’s what a man is for.’

‘How very 1950s of you.’

‘Oh please. Spiders, itchy insulation, low ceiling. Why keep a dog and bark yourself?’

‘True romance indeed. How is David?’ Gwen asked, smiling as she pictured her brother-in-law. He was married to his work somewhat, but a good guy nonetheless.

‘Busy. As usual,’ Ruby said.

‘But still utterly besotted.’

Ruby grinned. ‘Of course.’

He and Ruby had met at the same time Gwen was putting in regular time in the back seat of Cam’s car. When Ruby found out she was pregnant, David didn’t hesitate to drop to one knee and, this was the part that would endear him to Gwen for ever; he made it look like he’d been planning to propose for months. Ruby had believed him and so she’d said yes and then he’d worked like a dog to finish his architecture degree while supporting his new wife and baby. Nobody could resent the beautiful house they now lived in, their Audi and healthy bank balance. Well, Gwen corrected herself, someone would. Someone always did.

The third bedroom at the end of the corridor was filled with cardboard boxes and black bags. ‘What a mess.’ Ruby wrinkled her nose. ‘I don’t envy you this.’

Gwen barely heard her. Ruby’s voice had retreated, become thin and insubstantial, leaving space for the all-too familiar sensation of Finding. Not now. Not in front of Ruby. Not when she was being so friendly and yoga-calmed.

It was no good. She couldn’t fight it. The tunnel vision had arrived, the edges of the room filled in with black shadows and she knew that the only way to get things back to normal was to obey the impulse. One of the bin bags was calling to her. Inside there was a tangle of old handbags, shawls, scarves and gloves. Gwen’s hand plunged in and her fingers closed around something slippery and cool. A Liberty-print silk scarf with the peacock design it was almost impossible to find these days. She stared at the scarf and saw it on the stall, knew it wouldn’t stay there long. Then her hand itched again and she reached back into the bag. A matching clutch purse. Barely able to breathe, Gwen clicked open the clasp and checked the lining. Immaculate.

Gwen didn’t believe in signs. She knew she had an uncanny knack for finding lost things, but she didn’t believe it meant anything. Not like Gloria reading palms and tarot cards and – on one memorable occasion – an oil leak from a red Volvo. She turned the purse over in her hands and tried to ignore the feeling that the house was trying to tell her something.

‘Gwen? Gwen?’ Ruby was frowning at her. Then understanding dawned across her face and her scowl deepened. ‘Oh God. You’re not—’

‘No! It’s nothing. I just found this—’

‘I don’t want to hear it.’ Ruby put her fingers in her ears, just like when they were kids.

Gwen felt sick. She didn’t want to think about it, either. She pushed aside memories of Gloria parading her like a performing monkey. People’s gratitude for their lost car keys overlaid with a shrinking back, a look of fear and horror and, above all, disbelief. ‘How did you do that?’ Like she was conducting an elaborate and pointless scam.

Ruby’s lip was curled. ‘I hoped you’d grown out of that.’

She marched down the stairs and Gwen stayed back for a moment, trying to calm herself. She didn’t want to fight with Ruby. It wasn’t Ruby’s fault that Gwen had inherited the Harper family curse while she’d got to be normal. She headed downstairs, trying to think of a neutral subject. ‘How’s Katie?’ People loved to talk about their kids.

Ruby shrugged. ‘Fourteen. My days of being God-like are over.’

‘That must be a relief.’

Ruby gave her an odd look. ‘You wouldn’t understand.’

‘That’s right,’ Gwen said, in familiar territory. ‘I don’t understand true exhaustion, responsibility or In the Night Garden. Thank God.’

Ruby gave a grudging smile. She reached into her handbag and pulled out a BlackBerry. ‘I’ll give you the number of a good estate agent. David’s used him before.’

‘I’m not selling,’ Gwen said. Yet.

Ruby frowned. ‘What do you mean? You can’t stay here.’

Gwen had been about to explain that, barring some kind of financial miracle, she might be stuck in Pendleford for the foreseeable future. Ruby’s response pissed her off, though, so she said, ‘I like it. It’s homely.’

‘You can’t,’ Ruby said, her face suddenly pale.

At once, her joke didn’t seem so funny. Ruby looked genuinely horrified. Nice.

‘What? You think I’ll embarrass you? You live in Bath. You don’t have to have anything to do with me,’ Gwen said. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t bother you.’

‘I can’t believe you’re thinking about staying here. You hated this town, don’t you remember?’

Of course I remember, I’m not an idiot. ‘I didn’t hate it,’ Gwen lied. ‘And maybe I feel like settling down.’ She wasn’t going to give Ruby the satisfaction of knowing her business was in trouble.

‘I really don’t think it’s a good idea,’ Ruby said, still looking thoroughly spooked. ‘I mean, we’re only just speaking again. It might be too much, too soon, you know?’

And there it was. Her typically selfish sister. ‘This isn’t about you, Ruby. I can’t make every decision in my life based on you, or the horrible things you think and say about me.’

‘I was just being honest,’ Ruby said.

Gwen felt her eyes prickling with tears and she willed herself not to think about their argument. A year and a half of avoiding Ruby hadn’t soothed the raw emotion one tiny bit. She still felt like a gigantic bruise. This was why she kept her distance, Gwen remembered with painful clarity.

‘You only ever think of yourself. What about Katie? What about me? David’s business?’ Ruby said.

A part of Gwen wanted to placate Ruby, to make nice. A larger part was almost blind with fury at Ruby’s unfairness. This. Shit. Again. Gwen stared at Ruby and realised something: nothing had changed. Yoga or not, Ruby still thought she was the anti-Christ in tracksuit bottoms. She didn’t trust her and didn’t want her near her precious life. It hurt. She blinked. This was why you didn’t get close to people. They turned their backs on you. Better not to give a damn in the first place. She straightened her shoulders. ‘Go away, Ruby.’

‘We’re in the middle of a discussion,’ Ruby said. ‘We need to sort this out.’

‘I didn’t ask you to come round today, you volunteered. Now I’m asking you to leave.’

Ruby took a step back. Her eyebrows drew inwards as she processed the words.

‘You don’t want to be around me, you don’t trust me or whatever the bloody hell this lovely conversation is about, but I’m not going anywhere. This is my house and I’m telling you to get out.’

Ruby plucked her coat from the rack and slung it around her shoulders. ‘Gladly.’

Well, that went well. Gwen leaned her head against the glass panel in the front door and willed her heart to stop hammering.

To calm herself, Gwen looked at the Liberty purse again. An item like that would sell quickly, she knew, and if Iris had a few more gems like that scattered around the place, she might be able to scrape together enough cash for a deposit on a flat. Not back in Leeds, but somewhere different, somewhere new. Her heart lifted as it always did when she contemplated a flit. There was always the wild hope that this next place would be the one, her forever home.

She clicked the catch on the purse and caught her breath. Nestled against the silk lining was a tiny cylinder of rolled paper and a key. She swallowed. They must’ve been there before. She’d been distracted by Ruby. Nothing weird to see here. Move along.

Gwen smiled grimly. She’d spent thirteen years quashing magic nonsense like this, and she wasn’t about to lose control now. The paper would be an old receipt. The key was a dull silver and had simply been hidden against the grey of the lining.

Still, she couldn’t help herself. She unrolled the paper, which was soft with age, and felt vomit rise in the back of her throat. It said:

For Gwen. When you are ready, seek, and you shall find. It is your gift.

‘Sod that,’ Gwen said and went to brush her teeth.