Bewitched, Bothered And Bewildered. Kerry Barrett
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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.
‘Miss U,’ it said.
I checked my watch; it was 10am. Dom would almost certainly be in meetings all day, but I decided to break the rules and risk a quick phone call.
‘I miss you too,’ I said when he answered.
‘Yep,’ Dom said. He was obviously with someone.
‘Can’t talk?’ I asked with a chuckle.
‘That’s correct,’ he said.
I sniggered. ‘Call me later,’ I said. ‘Sexy.’
Dom coughed. ‘I’ll follow that up this afternoon,’ he said.
Smiling to myself I walked into town. Mum was right; not much had changed. Loch Claddach centre was built around an elongated square with the town hall at one end and shops lining each side. There was a Boots and an Oxfam, but besides those, the shops were mostly newsagent’s or twee tourist shops selling tartan fridge magnets and stuffed Loch Ness monsters. A few cars were parked in the middle of the square but there was no one around. It was all exactly as I remembered.
Uninspired, I crossed the road. Through the gaps between the buildings on the far side of the square, I could glimpse the inky black water of the loch. The Claddach Café was just a few minutes’ walk away, down one of the side streets that led to the waterside, so I decided to pop in and say hello to Eva, have a cup of coffee and watch the world go by.
I walked down towards the loch, shivering in the icy wind that blew across the water. The view was spectacular from here. Despite the cold, the sun was shining brightly and light bounced off the surface of the loch. Beyond it, I could see the purple-green hills and far in the distance, the snowy caps of the mountains. I breathed in deeply. There was so much air and so much space after London. I felt liberated. And, I suddenly realised, very cold.
With numb fingers, I pushed open the door to the café feeling my frozen toes come back to life as the warmth wrapped round me like a blanket. Eva was behind the counter, making a cappuccino for, I assumed, the only other customer who was in the café. That was unusual. Normally the place was packed at this time in the morning – at least it always had been. I shrugged off my coat and wandered over to the counter. Eva was wearing a polka-dot apron splattered with coffee. She had a pair of glasses on the end of her nose, one slung around her neck on a chain and another perched on top of her greying, curly hair.
‘Esme,’ she said in her soft Yorkshire accent. She came round the counter and opened her arms for a hug.
‘Hello, Eva,’ I said into her sizeable bosom. She released me, finally, and bustled me over to one of the sofas by the window.
‘Lovely Esme, let me look at you,’ she said, holding my hands and spreading out my arms. ‘Hmm, too thin, too tired,