Chapter 29
Cora
Seventeen Years Ago
A Morgan girl was born under a full moon, as is the way of every Morgan, on the hottest night of the year, with the crickets singing their song.
—Cora Morgan, February 1, 1995
Cora set the final cake on the farmhouse table and stood back. A heap of meringues, cream and plump strawberries, a vanilla sponge with scattered white chocolate shavings, a peach pie, lemon meringue tarts, dark chocolate gateaux . . .
“You’ve outdone yourself,”
Ivy says, plucking a strawberry from the heap of meringues and popping it in her mouth. “Lillian will be thrilled.”
“Is this a curse of early onset diabetes?”
muses Ivy’s husband, Ralph, home for a rare long weekend in August.
Cora swats at them both, her cheeks flushed from the praise. “It’s a curse of gluttony,”
she says with a sniff. “Now get in the garden and string up the bunting. Carrie will be here soon, and we want it to be perfect.”
They all troop outside, Howard squeezing Cora’s shoulder as he walks past. Ivy leans in, whispers, “Thank you,”
and Cora sniffs again, blinking furiously, her throat thickening suddenly.
Lillian’s kitchen is all set for the best party of Carrie’s childhood, her eleventh birthday party, and half the town is invited.
Cora fusses around, setting out cake plates, turning the main three-tier chocolate cake so that Carrie can see the Happy Birthday Carrie written in pale lilac icing when she walks in. Guests start arriving, and children rush out to the garden, mums and dads and grandparents pour glasses of Pimm’s and sparkling elderflower, fanning themselves and agreeing that it has to be the hottest August on record.
Cora smiles, greeting the women who in the past have secretly asked her for potions and spells, occasionally even curses. They all squeeze her hand, or wink, or pat her arm as they pass. Cora believes she has finally convinced this whole gossipy town that the magic threaded through it is truly wonderful, and she’s sure that the Morgans are finally accepted.
“She’s here!”
Jess says, leaping into the kitchen with her mother close behind. “She’s getting out of the car, still doesn’t have a clue!”
“Quick, everyone!”
Cora says, waving to Ivy in the garden. There’s a general rustling and commotion as everyone spills out the back door to find somewhere to stand under the wide bowl of the summer sky.
Lillian’s voice echoes from the front door, joined by Carrie’s, and Cora can hardly contain herself. Her heart gives a giant leap as Carrie walks in, gasps, and covers her mouth with her hands as all those gathered yell, “Surprise!”
and then break out into the birthday song. Lillian grins, laughing, her eyes glistening with tears, and Cora finds herself sniffling, her cheeks growing wet.
Then Howard is at her side, pressing a handkerchief into her palm, murmuring, “Well done, love, well done,”
as Carrie blows out all the candles and laughs and laughs.
It’s not until the party is in full swing and everyone’s bellies are stuffed with sugar that Cora notices. Carrie, hovering on the edges, never quite joins in. Cora dries her hands on a tea towel as she watches Jess dash from tree to tree in the orchard, two boys chasing her, three other girls laughing and trying to snatch the tag from her belt loop. They played this game in the playground when she was a girl, and she can remember so vividly being like Carrie. Awkward. Unsure. Unable to step in and be like the rest of the children.
Jess pulls Carrie into the game, gasping for breath from all that darting around, and the Gray boy . . . is it Thomas? . . . holds out the tag to Carrie. She blushes and shrugs, tucks it into her belt loop, and raises her chin in a look of pure Morgan grit. Cora smiles as Carrie runs off, leading the others merrily around the old apple trees. She wonders if there is something there. Perhaps Carrie just needs a nudge over the next couple of years.
She chews her lip, picturing that day in this very kitchen when she mixed up those love potions with Jess and Carrie.
What if . . .
What if she turned that Gray boy’s head toward her Carrie? Not just yet, she’s too young, but maybe in a year or so, maybe when she begins to think of boys as more than just an irritation.
It wouldn’t do any harm, Cora is sure of that. And if Carrie has both a school sweetheart and a best friend in this town, maybe she’ll feel like she fits in. Cora hums to herself as she cuts a slice of cake, leans back against the sideboard, and takes a big, contented bite.