28. Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Eight
W illow released a sigh when Rosa disappeared through the ginnel, late as usual to pick up Alejo from school. Alone, the forced smile and mask of joviality slipped; hiding her persistent anxiety was harder than she imagined. Her reprieve was short-lived. The shop bell jingled with the arrival of her next customer. A flood of warmth filled Willow and a genuine smile formed as a short lady bundled up in a winter coat and hat shuffled in.
‘Mrs Ramsey. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you. It’s lovely to see the sun has brought you out.’
‘Yes lass, it’s been a long winter, but the lure of your special brew has brought me out of hibernation. And the sunshine, too.’
‘Well, it’s good to see you.’ Willow weighed out her loyal customer’s usual before pouring it into an Enchanted Emporium tea caddy Mrs Ramsey whipped out of her wheeled shopping trolley. Why waste packaging, dear , was always her motto. A woman after Willow’s own heart.
‘Now I just need to pick up some kippers for my guests and I can head home for this. It’ll add a much-needed spring in my step, it will. If you don’t mind me saying, you could use some too. Everything all right, dear?’
The immaculate make-up didn’t disguise the haunted look and extreme fatigue from beady, observant eyes and Mrs Ramsey always noticed details others missed. During Willow’s B shop displays celebrated spring and the promise of summer. The buzz of tourists already filled the air. Whitby had shrugged off its winter hibernation and come alive. So many people for him to hide amongst. Sensing her panic, Vincent fell in line with her steps and stood close as she waited to cross the swing bridge. The fresh sea air and saltiness kept her grounded, and as she came out of the town to the row of B&B’s her fear receded. There were no footsteps behind her and no sense of being watched. She was still safe.
‘Sit. Sit, dear.’
The sitting room hadn’t altered since Willow’s last visit years before, including the sofa, which now sagged further with age. A basket of wool and Mrs Ramsey’s knitting sat near the cold, empty hearth. A thin layer of dust gathered on the once-immaculate surfaces and crumbs lay on the floor, missed by failing eyesight. The same, but different, just like her hostess. In her own environment and layers of clothing removed, she was thinner, more petite and fragile than Willow recalled. A sign of the passing years during which she had failed to visit.
‘Where’s that cat of yours?’ Vincent replied with a mew and frantic scratching in the kitchen. Mrs Ramsey blushed and tottered out. The sound of a cupboard door opening and biscuits falling into a bowl and contented munching made Willow grin. At least one of us has been checking on her. On the table nearby, the collection of framed photographs had expanded since her last visit. Some she recognised from before, including the large sepia photo of Mr and Mrs Ramsey on their wedding day, and close family. Others she didn’t. There were several photographs of Louise, Louise and Glenn on their wedding day and one with her holding a newborn. Amber. Another was taken the summer before Willow went travelling, the last one when she’d stayed here in the B & B with Louise. She picked it up. Between the two laughing witches stood a younger Mrs Ramsey, flustered at being included in the photo. It had been a wonderful holiday when both had high hopes for their futures.
‘I remember the first summer you came. Bohemian Lou in her vibrant colours with a daisy in her hair, I believe, and you dressed in black looking haunted as if you were here for our Goth weekends. So different, but the bond between you was immeasurable.’ Mrs Ramsey returned with Vincent trailing behind. She settled into her chair before passing Willow a scrapbook. On opening, Willow hid her surprise at seeing further photographs of Louise and her daughter, postcards Willow had sent from her travels and a few infant drawings from Amber. She never knew Louise had stayed connected with the beloved landlady, as she did. It would be something to tell Amber next time she saw her. She flicked over the page to see several newspaper cuttings about the Enchanted Emporium. Moments in time even she had forgotten about. She swallowed hard. Mrs Ramsey had spent time and effort collecting memories to create a book of love Willow never expected.
‘Did you know I called you my girls? Every summer I’d tell everyone I saw my girls are coming. This house was always lighter and brighter when you were here. Full of laughter and gossip. Each year, I saw how you bloomed under Louise’s care and how you grounded her. When you came back from your travels, all tanned and confident, I thought to myself, she has done it. She’s come out of the shadows and living. I was so proud of you. Every time I see you and that monstrous cat of yours walking along the beach or see someone carrying a bag with your logo, I still think that’s my girl.’
The threatening tears spilt over and trickled down Willow’s cheeks. Mrs Ramsey rummaged in her cardigan pocket to produce a clean handkerchief and pressed it into her hands. ‘Now that haunted look is back. As is that gytrash nightmare of yours.’
Sharing a house in the earlier days made it impossible to hide Willow’s nightmares, often waking her with a jolt or a scream. Mrs Ramsey was the only person bar Louise she’d ever described them to. She’d remembered.
‘Yet I don’t see your silhouette up on the headland. Walked them away, you always did, and it worked. Now your fears are keeping you locked indoors. It never takes long before a sanctuary becomes a prison, especially when you apply the shackles yourself. Don’t look so surprised, dear. I may not be a witch, but I have picked up a few bits of knowledge over my years.’ Mrs Ramsey reached over and held both of Willow’s hands. ‘Don’t let him destroy you, the dreams you have achieved, or the witch you have become. You’re not the meek child you were when I first saw you. You don’t need to retreat into the shadows. Remember the story of the gytrash. Now I’ve said my piece. It’s time for that cup of tea.’
She settled back in her chair and sighed. ‘Be a love and pour. My knotted hands are not to be trusted with my best china anymore.’
Blindsided, Willow did as she was told, and filled each china cup with tea mashed to perfection. She topped them up with a splash of milk and passed one over to Mrs Ramsey’s waiting arthritic hands. She must drop off some soothing hand cream for them and vowed to herself to visit more.
‘Thank you,’ Willow murmured.
‘What for? The ramblings of an old woman? It’s nowt. Now help yourself to biscuits. Not homemade, but delicious all the same. Let me tell you all about my news. Our Joel is coming to visit from Australia next year. Can you imagine that young whippet of a grandson is old enough to travel across the world alone?’
Willow sank into her chair with Vincent by her side and listened to Mrs Ramsey’s enthusiastic chat about her family and plans for the future.
Much to Vincent’s delight, Willow made a detour from Mrs Ramsey’s to the beach, past the bright beach huts. She nodded to people she recognised and smiled at the nudges tourists gave each other at the sight of a large cat strolling on the beach. At the shoreline, she watched the shallow foamed water flow over the sand and shells towards her before drawing backwards. The endless cycle of growth and retreat. With the help of her friend’s words, the gentle breeze and warm sun on her face, the last grey clouds of depression departed. Willow had fought for survival before, succeeded, and she could do it again. It was time to take control, starting with a new blend of tea she could taste on her tongue. Maybe she should allow Amber to restart the social media accounts. If Rafe contacted her again, she would not shy away from facing him, not again. It was time to fight for herself, her business and magic.