11. Chapter Eleven
Chapter Eleven
A wall of warm air and the aroma of hops greeted them when they pushed open the heavy door. The pub bustled with customers and she nodded to the few jovial locals she recognised, including the vicar. She unwound her scarf, grabbed Nate’s hand, and snaked through the crowd to the bar.
‘What do you fancy?’ Nate caught the attention of the bartender and ordered a pint of beer.
‘The same as you, please.’ His choice pleased her. They might have different tastes in hot beverages, but they matched when it came to ale. She refused to analyse why this commonality was important. Her stomach rumbled. ‘Grab a menu. We can eat here unless you want more turkey.’
She raised her voice over the cacophony of chatter, raucous laughter, and the eruption of the spontaneous sing-song in the corner. The upbeat atmosphere buoyed up her mood, battered by the day’s events and recounting the past, an experience she’d found unexpectedly cathartic and hunger-inducing. Only Louise knew about Speedwell Cottage, but sharing its existence with Nate made it more real. When endless searches had come up empty, she doubted her memories and thought it was a figment of an elaborate dream. A weight had shifted from her shoulders, and it rekindled the spark to resume the hunt for the cottage. With help, maybe this time she could track it down. What was it about Nate that made her open up and talk, and when did she start thinking this relationship was beyond a few days nestled in a blissful bubble of fun and sex with no attachments or future? Ever since his first touch, a small voice replied, but she batted it away. Experience dictated happiness always burst with the slightest knock; it was just a matter of when.
They slipped into the empty chairs near the blazing fire. Nate caught sight of Vincent’s lumbering ginger shape through the condensation-covered window. ‘Does he follow you everywhere?’
‘Only when I’m with a stranger.’
‘Still a stranger, am I?’ he teased. His fingers trailed up her arm, knowing the exact effect his touch had on her.
‘In his eyes, anyone he hasn’t known since he arrived on my doorstep is a stranger. Unless they bring him food, then he’ll accept them for the time he takes to scoff the lot. He trusts no one.’ Her cat’s loyalty amazed her and she was grateful for his constant presence.
‘Yet he was the one that came to me.’
‘You must have had something he wants.’ Or he thinks I do . ‘Anyway, I think he is having second thoughts about having to share my bed with another man.’
Nate didn’t have time to respond as Clive sauntered over. He had matured since their first meeting; his clothes grew more expensive as he progressed in his career and his sallow skin was now forever tanned from his many holidays in the sun. She suspected he topped it up with an occasional sunbed session so he would remain a hit with women. To her surprise, there were many. Fast cars, expensive holidays, and flashy dates were enough for some to make up for his snivelly character. Rosa assured her he could charm people with flattery in to using his agency and was tempted to date him herself before Willow warned her off. Her skin crawled the closer he came.
‘Well, well, well, if it isn’t the local crone and her familiar. Don’t often see you in here.’ The pint he held aloft sloshed onto the floor. His intense stare focused on Willow. ‘The witch bottle must have smashed.’
‘I think you’ll find it is safely intact by the window,’ Willow said. The attractive, vintage glass bottle stood among other olde-worlde paraphernalia designed to add ambience to the room. A throwback from the past when people believed its presence would deter witches from entering a building and trap evil spirits. Clive still gave credence to the old superstitions, unaware it was a modern fake with minimal power. She straightened her back and met his eyes. He took a step back, to her delight.
‘You didn’t take my advice then.’ Clive turned his attention to Nate. ‘It’s your life, mate, but she’ll entice you, capture you in her web of magic, and twist you until—’
‘Clive! Just the man I need. My grandmother needs to sell her house.’ A large rotund man approached, flung his arm around Clive, and escorted him away, interrupting his rant. He winked at Willow. She recognised him as a regular customer’s husband who’d benefited from a tea created to perk up their relationship. Her invitation to their renewal of vows ceremony months later showed the tea’s effectiveness.
‘Well, he’s a charmer and not your greatest fan. A distraught ex, by chance?’ Nate asked.
‘Not at all. Clive is the manager of—’
‘Mercer’s Estate Agents. I know. He was the one who told me where to find you. It amazed me how many locals recognise Vincent but know nothing about you. That wasn’t the first warning he gave me. According to him, you’re the devil incarnate bringing evil to the town, and my soul was in mortal danger.’
‘Really? That’s some reputation I have. He is Whitby’s own Matthew Hopkins.’ Nate’s vacant expression confirmed he didn’t know what she was talking about. ‘He was the Witchfinder responsible for the death and persecution of witches in the 1640s.You need to scrub up on your history if you’re involved with me. If I was around then, he would have taken great delight in dragging me to the ducking pond.’
‘So, he hates you because he thinks you are a witch?’
‘Mmm hmm.’ Willow slurped her beer, watching Clive laughing across the room, buttering up a potential client. A swirl of hatred rose inside her, usually reserved for one other person. ‘He had his reservations before he knew what I was. He was the original agent who showed me the derelict Enchanted Emporium. He hates this place so I bypassed him and completed the sale with his colleague, Michael. If you saw Clive’s disdain for the property, you’d have done the same. Michael got the commission and promotion on the back of selling the unsaleable. But Clive seemed to forgive me for that. It was the witch thing that flipped his attitude. Some people are judgemental like that.’
Ultimately, would she discover Nate was one of those, too?
***
Involved. Nate mulled over her words. Was he involved? Despite the interruption from the creep of the estate agency, Willow continued to smile and chat, at ease in her environment. The traditional pub with its cask ale and original features celebrated its history rather than whitewash it in favour of the sleek futuristic bars favoured by Rebecca—for her, it was all about the possibility of networking and gleaning more business rather than relaxation. Willow’s eyes sparkled as she regaled him with a tale about Vincent and the large fisherman standing at the bar. His heart plummeted and stomach clenched at the vibrating phone in his pocket. Another message. Yesterday he’d switched it off; he deserved one day free from his reality, but he needed to face it sometime. The arrival of food distracted Willow, allowing a sly check under the table. He breathed easy when he saw Jamie’s name flash up; back from his latest jaunt in Australia, he was keen to catch up, but where the fuck was he? Unlike Henry, who was starchy, rigid, and boring, Nate enjoyed the company of his youngest brother. He was fun, spontaneous, and had retained the cheeky demeanour which kept him out of trouble throughout his childhood. It would be good to see him. Nate needed to go home, back to his life, but the pull to stay was like the tide ruled by the phases of the moon. Involved? He was getting too involved.
‘So, did you ever go back to Grandma Jax’s cottage?’
Willow nodded. ‘After I met Louise, we were mainly inseparable. The first summer she insisted we had an adventure; Project Speedwell was born. With no Google Maps, sat nav, or clues except that photo, we drove Mavis into the Moors. Some witches are talented at search spells or have an uncanny knack of finding things, but not us. On the last day, we found it by chance. It appeared from nowhere. The building was tired but surprisingly okay, as if the fairies from my childhood had cared for it. The garden was a stunning display of colour. Much wilder than Jax would have liked, but it was under control. Unable to resist, we parked the car from view and explored. I showed her around the land and the orchard. I even found one of my old toys in the dilapidated chicken coop. A Wish Care Bear—you don’t have a clue what one of those is, do you?’
Nate shook his head and pierced another chip with his fork. Cooked to perfection, they should have tasted delicious, but with his dry mouth and rising nausea they could have been cardboard. The thoughts of home refused to retreat. Focus, he told himself, on the here and now. His time with her was short.
‘Then I saw Lou scraping around in the greenhouse. She’d remembered I’d mentioned Grandma Jax kept a spare key there for emergencies. We found it and went into the cottage. It felt so wrong, but oh so right. All her personal belongings were gone. The photos. Pictures from the wall. Her books. Some of the furniture was there, though. Her chair where Silas would sit, her cast-iron bed that creaked with every turn, and my room remained untouched. Forgotten. I wanted to stay. Climb under the eiderdown that was now damp and musty. Just stay.
‘We heard a car approach, so we made a hasty retreat. We just got into Mavis when we heard the rumble of a removal van. We watched while a family bundled out of the car. I never came back. It hurt too much seeing strangers where she should be. I took my extended gap year, backpacking around tea plantations. Learning as much as I could. I only returned to England when Marian died and I needed to sort out her estate. On a whim I came to Whitby and Mrs Ramsey’s B&B, hoping to find Speedwell Cottage again, buy it, but it remained elusive. Lost again, but one night I found the Emporium. The rest, as they say, is history.’
She paused and waited for Nate to respond but he remained silent gazing at his half full plate. Her hand squeezing his snapped him out of his own thoughts into the present.
‘Look, Nate.’ She stopped talking as Clive staggered back towards them with a full pint of beer in his hand. It sloshed over the rim with every swaying step. Willow’s hand tensed and withdrew as she prepared herself for another outburst. Rage rose in Nate. What was it with this sleazeball?
‘Bringing damnation to the town, you are. You’re evil, spreading the disease of witchcraft with your tea.’ Clive jabbed his finger close to Willow’s face. ‘Your large blue eyes don’t fool me. She’ll curse you. Give you nightmares you cannot escape from.’
Nate began to stand but the fierce look in Willow’s eyes stopped him. Message received, he sat back down. It might be her battle, but he would fight if it escalated beyond her control. Her plan wasn’t made clear to the landlord, who grabbed Clive and jerked him away, but not before he spat at Willow. A glob of spittle landed and swirled on the surface of her beer. Flushed with anger, she grabbed the glass and flung it towards him. And missed. A puddle of ale formed on the floor.
‘I was always crap at throwing.’
With Clive ejected from the pub, Willow slunk into her chair and offered a weak smile to the landlord, who returned with a fresh drink and apologies. When he had gone, she turned to Nate.
‘Look, Nate. I know.’