A Blend Of Magic

44. Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Four

W illow messaged Glenn and Rosa as requested, informing them she was fine before switching off her phone. All she wanted was to block out the world and soothe her troubled heart. She soaked in a hot bath with calming bath salts and herbs until the water cooled but it failed to erase the images of Nate, no matter how often she screamed, ‘He’s married.’ Exhausted, with insomnia looming, she brewed herself a potent sleeping draught and swallowed it in one go. Within minutes, she sank into the oblivion she longed for until the sun rose the next day.

Her phone screen lit up with numerous messages and missed calls from Nate. Fuming, she pressed delete . How dare he contact her while he was with Rebecca? When she didn’t respond, he had the nerve to call the shop. Ignoring the phone became impossible. Rosa’s temper frayed each time she answered that Willow was not there or busy. It rang again.

‘Enough. If you don’t tell him to stop, I will.’

Words failed Willow. It was too soon to speak to him coherently, and she didn’t want to hear his voice or make excuses. She shook her head and Rosa strode to the phone and slammed the back room door shut. Muffling her angry tone.

Willow turned up the music and overcompensated her cheery chatter to a customer to prevent any eavesdropping. She’d witnessed Rosa’s temper before and she’d hate to be Nate right now. The door opened and Rosa returned, her face flushed.

‘He’ll no longer contact you, but insisted I tell you he found it.’

Willow followed the detailed directions he messaged to her phone. He had found Grandma Jax’s cottage. The needle in the haystack. It was surreal, and a doubt planted by Rosa niggled. Was this an elaborate, cruel trick? An excuse to see her he knew she couldn’t refuse. She shook her head, hating the cynical thinking. He might be a cheat, but she knew he wasn’t intentionally cruel.

***

As Nate predicted in his texts, the sat nav became useless as Willow descended into a dip of the Moors. The road twisted with only sheep for company until she saw a stone bridge. Once over, the village came into view.

The high street bustled with tourists, and she found the Old Ram with its faded signage. She squeezed Mavis into the only available parking place before taking a deep breath, unsure what would happen next and why Nate was so insistent she came here. Wouldn’t it have been better to meet her at the cottage?

A hush fell over the bar when she entered. Several men and a woman with a mop of vibrant red hair Amber would have loved spun round in their chairs and stared as if she’d entered a scene from a horror movie and she’d soon be warned not to go out on the Moors. What was going on?

‘You must be Willow!’ A man appeared from the back, rubbing his hands on a cloth before flinging it over his shoulder. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you. Nate won’t be a minute. I’m Arnold but call me Arnie. How about I get you a drink? Cold drink or tea? In a pot, of course. J—’ A woman in her twenties nudged him quiet.

‘Coke will be fine. Thanks.’ Willow slipped onto the stool someone offered her, and she waited for Nate. Each excruciating minute appeared to stretch into hours. Sipping her drink, she listened to Arnie babble, and watched people study her as if she was an exhibit in a zoo, nudging each other as they stared.

Nate bustled into the bar, grinning when he saw her. For a moment, she thought he’d kiss her, but he stepped back.

‘There’s someone I’d like you to meet.’ He took her by the arm, sending the familiar electricity through her. Seeing him again was a mistake. Married or not, her body hadn’t caught up with the situation. Once she saw the house, she’d make sure she never saw him again. They weaved through the clientele, who still watched her, to the corner table where a young couple, no, she decided, a brother and sister were settling an elderly gentleman down, much to his protestations. A terrier bounded from beneath the table, sniffed her shoes before jumping up, wagging its tail until she responded by rubbing its ear.

‘Willow, this is Harry and his grandchildren, Jez and Milly. And you’ve met Chalky. Harry, this is Jax’s granddaughter, Willow.’

Harry clutched her hand in both his aged, papery-thin ones and studied her with tears in his eyes. ‘You look just like her. I always thought you did, but now it’s undeniable.’

‘You know me?’ Willow struggled to accept this man knew her grandmother, never mind her.

‘Aye. I doubt you remember me. Picked you up from Whitby Station sometimes. I was younger then and still had my hair.’

‘That was you?’

‘It was.’

Nate guided a bewildered Willow onto the spare chair next to him. He squeezed her hand, and she didn’t flinch away. The old man in front of her held her attention. He knew her. Memories of her past weren’t a figment of her imagination as she somehow feared. If Nate found Harry, it meant he’d found Speedwell Cottage.

‘So, my dearest Willow, how much of your family history do you know?’ Harry asked.

‘Not a lot about my dad’s side.’ Willow had often asked her mum endless questions about her dad when she was small but received few answers. They stopped completely when her stepfather arrived, after curt responses of ‘You have a new father now.’ The only time she saw a photo of him was at Grandma Jax’s, but Willow picked up the sorrow his name caused and never asked. She’d regretted it ever since.

‘Well, let’s see if we can change that.’ He reached for his pint, preparing himself for a lengthy conversation.

‘As I told your Nate, there have always been witches in Mexenby. We think they were all descended from one family—your family. It’s hard to trace them all as most talents were passed down the maternal line, so the names changed with every generation until your dad. He was the first male born with magic for centuries.’

‘Dad was a witch?’ Willow choked on her drink. This was too much to take in. Jez spread out several faded photos of her family on the table. She picked one up of Jax on her wedding day with the grandfather she never knew. Harry was right; she did resemble her grandmother.

Another photograph showed Jax, and with Willow’s dad outside the cottage. They both shared a familiar smile. She wished she’d had the chance to know him.

‘Where do you think you get your powers from? Your mum? No, she didn’t share his abilities. Jax doubted she ever knew about them until he died leaving her with you. Your differences were noticeable when she brought you to Jax’s for holidays. You shone magic under Jax’s care. It was always obvious to see what Jax was and, ultimately, what you were. Mexenby witches have never been ones to hide away even when it leads trouble to their door.’ Willow shifted in her seat, flushed with guilt, aware hiding had been her default all her life, but trouble still found her.

‘M’dad knew your grandmother from school. Were in the same class and close friends. Many people, I imagine, thought they’d get married at some point—always together strolling on the Moors, him helping on her family farm, but it didn’t happen. Your grandfather, Thomas, arrived in the village and the atmosphere between them sizzled; there was no doubt who she would marry. Soon after, they had your dad, Eddie. They were happy and Jax served the village well with her lotions and potions until the day Thomas died. It shocked the village and devastated Jax. Thank goodness she had Eddie to look after. We all tried to help but you know what she was like, she retreated into the cottage and rarely came out. A recluse who refused visitors, except my dad. He’d insist I came up to the cottage rain or shine to offer help. Petrified, I was, with the rumours of her being a witch, and she had an infamous temper that came to the fore after Thomas’s death.’

She picked up the photo of her grandparents, caressing their images with her finger. Poor Grandma Jax. The pain and grief must have been unbearable, and it explained much about the demeanour Willow remembered.

‘It took a while, but eventually she’d ask me to do odd jobs and then help with the gardening. She taught me all I know and encouraged me to set up the gardening business that them two have inherited.’ He pointed to Jez and Milly before taking the fresh pint Arnie offered him. His fatigue and toll of telling the story showed in his face.

‘We can take a break or tell me more another day,’ she suggested, crushing her own burning curiosity to know more.

‘No!’ Harry slammed his pint down on the table, making everyone jump. ‘It has to be now. It’s taken too long for you to come back, and the old bird will never let me out again when she notices I’m not there.’

‘Harry’s wife doesn’t like him coming here,’ explained Nate, bringing Willow another drink.

‘Wife? Who said anything about m’wife? Our Nellie couldn’t have cared less if I were out,’ chuckled Harry, ‘The old bird is the battle axe of the manager at my care home. Expects everyone to sit around playing dominoes or watch the drivel on the telly. Not allowed a laugh or a life when you get there.’

‘She’s not so bad, Grandad. She just cares,’ said Milly.

‘Cares. Cares—pah.’ Harry guzzled some more beer, wiped the foam from his moustache, and carried on.

‘One thing Jax was adamant about was Eddie’s education. She loved the smallholding, but she knew he needed more; she was determined he’d go to university. He did, much to his surprise. He hated school and study. Even accused Jax of using magic and spells to get a place. Something Jax always denied. I believed her; he just never believed what he was capable of. He thrived. In his last year at university, he fell in love with your mother. Brought her home to meet Jax. Now love, your mum was lovely, but for reasons none of us could understand, Jax wasn’t impressed. In a foul mood, she was, when the visit was over. Villagers blamed the storm that weekend on her; the poor tree in the graveyard never looked the same after it got hit by lightning. It’s only alive today because she cast a spell on it so maybe there is truth in that rumour. Your dad and her refused to speak until he came back to tell her about you and the upcoming nuptials. He wanted her blessing. Your parents got married in the church in the village. Your mum looked beautiful, and they were very much in love. Jax was heartbroken and acted as if she’d lost a son, not gained a daughter. We know now why, of course.’ He paused to finish his beer. ‘Within weeks, we heard about the car accident and his death. Premonition, that’s what she had, and she couldn’t stop it. In a way, she always blamed your mum. A truce formed when you came up for holidays as a toddler, and they even became friends until she remarried. Then she lost you too.’

‘I never knew,’ Willow said. Tears freely ran down her cheeks.

‘Knew what?’ asked Harry. He rifled in his jacket pocket and handed her a clean, freshly pressed hankie, and she smiled a thank you before blowing her nose.

‘Any of it. I never even knew they were married. I assumed when she refused to talk about my father, he’d deserted her while she was pregnant with me. She never gave me his name when I was born. If it wasn’t for these holidays, I’d have assumed I didn’t have any other family apart from Mum. Neither would talk.’

‘Grief does that to some; lock their emotions in a box, they do, before pushing everyone away, even those they love for fear of being hurt again.’ His words hit home, gripping her heart further, and she sneaked a look at Nate. Is that what she did?

‘Not seeing you again nearly destroyed her. I was the only one she would accept help from, and that’s only because I am as stubborn and hard-headed as her. She always said you’d come home and here you are.’

‘Speedwell Cottage always felt like home,’ Willow hiccupped. ‘I tried to come back when I heard she’d died but I was too late for the funeral. My stepfather didn’t tell me.’

‘Nasty sod he was. Well, that’s past. You’re here now, and it’s time to give Speedwell Cottage back to its rightful owner.’

Harry pushed a bunch of keys on a key fob she recognised across the table.

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Speedwell is your place. It always was.’

***

Willow apologised to Mavis as she pushed her to her limits, keeping up with the Land Rover ahead. After much fuss, Jez and Milly had manoeuvred Harry into the vehicle as he demanded. He didn’t want to miss Willow’s reaction on seeing the house. Nate insisted he accompany Willow, filling the car with his presence and an uncomfortable silence as they left the village behind and drove up into the Moors. Patches of purple showed promise of the stunning display of heather to come in the following weeks. They turned into a narrow potholed lane. Willow’s eyes widened and she took a sharp breath. Trembling, she parked the car.

‘This really is Grandma Jax’s house. When you said I couldn’t I …’ she garbled. Nate grinned and unfolded himself from the Morris Minor and walked round to open her door.

‘Shall we?’

The house was more weathered than she remembered, but the tiled roof that she recalled Grandma Jax telling her was once thatched, the rambling rose, and the dull brass bumble bee door knocker on the door with its circular window were the same.

Harry stood next to her, leaning heavily on a stick. ‘Family always came in through the kitchen door. Come with me, lass.’

The twins and Nate stood back as the pair made their way round the house into the gardens, tenderly cared for by Harry’s family. She looked up to see the attic room windows. Her heart skipped a beat. Her old room.

The key turned perfectly in the door, and they entered the kitchen. The dresser from her childhood still dominated the room, as did the large farmhouse table. The Belfast sink and Aga remained, but someone’s attempts to update the cupboards and the haphazard addition of a modern oven filled her with distaste. She sighed and tears threatened to fall as they went into the other parts of the house. Her grandmother’s belongings had been stripped away, leaving a shadow of the home it was. Harry touched her arm.

‘They put that in to encourage the rental market. It failed. People never stayed long. Quite a lot of her stuff is in my garage. When she passed away, the solicitors dealing with her estate let us know when the house was due to be cleared. We rescued what we could. Her books, teapots, and the like. Hope it was the right thing to do. Hate to feel we stole them.’

Willow gave him a hug. ‘You did right. I appreciate everything and thank you for looking after her and being her friend. I hated thinking she was alone.’

‘My dear, despite her crotchetiness and isolation, she was still part of the village; Mexenby folks always look after their own, witches included. Casseroles and cakes were left on her doorstep, and I always popped over to check up on her. Don’t feel you let her down—she wasn’t your responsibility; you were a kid. She understood. She’ll be happy you’re here now. You are staying, aren’t you?’

She left the question unanswered. Nate and the others came in as Willow slipped through the back door and walked across the garden to the orchard she had seen through the window. Harry stopped him following.

‘Leave her. She needs to do this alone.’

***

The tree canopy shaded Willow from the bright sun and provided a welcome coolness. The sweet aroma of apples filled the air, and she could taste their sweetness with every breath. She walked in further. The leaves rustled and danced in the gentle breeze, providing a shimmering dappled green light. In the centre of the orchard was the tree she was looking for—old, craggy, and twisted. It bore no fruit unlike its younger counterparts. Tracing her hands across the rough bark, she could feel its life force, faint but steady under her palms. It had seen many seasons and held a special place in Jax’s heart. It was mother to many of the surrounding trees and Willow couldn’t help wondering if the pair had had a chance to say goodbye. She hoped so. A plan formed in her mind.

Kicking off her shoes, Willow sank her bare feet into the cold damp grass, closed her eyes, and opened her arms wide. Through a gap in the canopy, she whispered a word of thanks to the sun for the abundance of apples it provided and relished the warmth on her face, the tingle of heat spreading through her hands. She welcomed the energy flowing beneath her as she allowed herself to be connected to the power above and below and become part of the orchard. When Willow was a child Grandma Jax would bring her to the same spot and she’d watch her do the same, but now Willow was alone, feeling what Jax must have done—the welcoming the surrounding trees gave her, the sense of well-being and energy. A belonging.

Returning to Jax’s tree, Willow placed her newly energised hands on the bark and closed her eyes. Her mind played out the story of Jax’s life through the tree’s lifespan; they had grown together—planted by Jax’s father to celebrate her birth, it had seen her morph from infant to child full of mischief playing games and then to an adolescent hiding with a book in hand to escape chores, chaste kisses with boys to the proposal of marriage followed by the joy as she presented her own child to the tree. She saw the tears fall when Jax, dressed in black, mourned her husband, and then years later with greying streaks running through her hair, her only son. Jax’s smile returned when she presented the tree with her newborn grandchild and Willow saw glimpses of her own childhood, of her dancing among the trees collecting blossom or windfall. It was Jax who ate the first apple the tree had ever produced, and the last. Jax was the one who wassailed to it every year. Willow felt the tree’s sorrow at the loss of its friend, but the joy at Willow’s return.

Willow opened her eyes. Buds of white blossom appeared on the branches and unfurled into full bloom. She reached up and picked off a sprig with a whispered thank you. Moments later, the blossom fell like confetti over her feet and the fruit it bore ripened to match those in the neighbouring trees. With another word of thanks and a bow, she caught one as it fell. Harry had asked if she was staying, and the trees had given her their opinion.

Nate and Harry, along with the twins, stood on the threshold of the cottage to see Willow walk towards them biting into an apple, apple blossom tucked behind her ear. Nate had never seen her so happy and alive, relaxed and radiant.

‘Well,’ said Harry, ‘it looks like a witch has returned to Mexenby and a new chapter has begun.’

Chalky greeted Willow with an excited wag as she approached the house, followed by a slower Harry.

‘That’s a sight,’ he said, pointing to the blossom in her hair. ‘The orchard must be as pleased as I am that you’re here.’

‘It is. I just don’t understand how I didn’t know this was mine. I’ve been searching for it for a long time.’

Harry went quiet, considering his response. ‘I have my suspicions it was something to do with your stepfather. Jax made sure your inheritance was put in a trust until you were old enough. Twenty-one, I believe. The Brownes from the village dealt with it all acting on your behalf but must have consulted him. If he kept Jax’s death a secret, it doesn’t surprise me he did the same here. When it was your birthday, we expected you, but you never came. Then when we heard he died, the Brownes tried to find you again, but no joy.’

‘Wait. Stuart is dead?’

‘Yes, love, didn’t you know?’

‘No. We became estranged when I left home at sixteen.’

‘Oh my. I’m sorry, but glad you got away. Jax always said he was a bad sort. Your mum never saw it and it caused a right row. That and Jax’s use of magic.’

‘I can’t believe he is dead. When?’

‘Christmas after your twenty-first birthday.’

‘I was travelling, India then China. I love tea. In fact, I have a shop called the Enchanted Emporium in Whitby. Specialises in tea and magic.’ Willow struggled to comprehend the turn of events. He was dead. The last part of her childhood was over. Three bombshells had hit in the last few days, which must mean she was due for calm, and here was the ideal place for it.

‘Jax would be proud. Never wanted you to hide who you were. It’s not the Mexenby way. She’d be happy to see you in love and settled too. Nate’s a good sort.’

‘There’s no Nate and me. He’s married.’

‘Really? He never said. Well, my old bones are getting tired and so are Chalky’s. By the time the twins drop me off, it’ll be time for a siesta, then afternoon tea. The old bird will be fussing about my whereabouts. Worse than my grandchildren. Please visit me soon.’ With a promise made, he walked away, paused, and called back.

‘Advice from an old man. When someone talks, make sure you listen with your heart.’