Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
One very cold shower, an outfit change and several train journeys later, I’m standing with McGruff outside my parents’ front door, plucking up the courage to knock, because, as predicted, I’m forty-five minutes late and I have one hell of a lecture incoming.
My parents live in a cottage in the middle of a forest just north of Billericay.
The wood is enchanted so that no one outside the paranormal community can find it, which is just as well because the cottage looks like every cottage straight out of every fairy tale ever illustrated.
It’s squat with a thatched roof, a tall chimney, and roses crawling all over its walls.
It was the perfect place to grow up. Me and my two sisters spent most of our days falling out of trees, wading through streams, and gorging ourselves on wild berries.
However, it was a shit place to live once I hit puberty because the only male interest in a five-mile radius was an old wolf shifter with a bad case of fleas.
I press my palms to my cheeks, convinced they must still be glowing and are a dead giveaway as to why exactly I am late for dinner, then I take a deep steadying breath in and lift the bat-shaped knocker, hitting it against the old wood.
The door swings back immediately and my mother fills the space, an apron tied around her waist, a collection of bangles jangling on her wrists and an unimpressed expression hovering on her face.
McGruff leaps through the open doorway and straight through my mum’s legs, very nearly knocking her over in the process.
“That dog is a nuisance. And we were meant to start dinner half an hour ago.” She leans forward and kisses the air by my cheek. “You know how hungry your father gets. He’s been gorging himself on crisps and pickled eggs.”
“I’m sorry, problems with the trains,” I mumble.
The good thing about all my family having their transportation licences and never needing to face the perils of public transport is they have no idea how it works and are happy to accept that the entire network is unreliable and dilapidated – which most of the time it is.
The bad thing is I am the only one without a licence – even Tiggie got hers two years ago – and so am, without exception, always the one who is late.
“Well, if you’d just try for your licence again,” my mum starts. “Mrs Hilton’s son runs remedial training. Apparently he’s helped the most hopeless cases to pass. I’m sure he could whip you into shape.”
“I’ll think about it,” I say, following her into the cottage.
While the outside may look a little run down and on the small side, the inside is large, spacious, modern, and spotless.
My mum is a clean freak. In fact, she’s been responsible for devising some of the most effective cleaning spells known to witch folk.
She’s even published books, has an Instagram account Tiggie helped her to set up, and quite the cult following.
“Shoes,” she reminds me, and I toe off my boots leaving them on the mat and follow her along the hallway and into the lounge.
“She’s finally here,” she announces to the room like we’re at a state banquet when the only people actually here are Prim, my dad, and my grandma.
My dad strides across the room, thrusting a full glass of sherry into my hand and kissing the crown of my head.
“Hello, Pumpkin. How are the cupcakes going?”
“Hi, Dad. Erm, all good, thanks,” I lie, taking a long glug of the sherry, before I cross the room and bend down to hug my grandma. McGruff has already made himself comfortable curled up at her feet. “Hi Grandma.” I kiss her powdery cheek and give her a little squeeze.
She doesn’t respond and simply smiles up at me. She hasn’t spoken for over a year now and I’m not sure she recognises me anymore. She’s also the main reason I endure these weekly meals.
Prim has her nose in the laptop resting on her knee and simply waves at me when I greet her too.
“Where’s Tiggie?” I ask.
“Oh,” my mum says with a flick of her hand, “she had something important to do tonight. She couldn’t make it.”
I bite my tongue, resisting the urge to point out that I may also have had something important to do tonight – something tall, muscular, and handsome.
But Tiggie has always been my mum’s favourite and somehow wriggles out of things neither me nor Prim ever could.
She also gets away with murder. For real.
I would not be surprised in the least to find out my younger sister has a body or two buried in the garden.
She’s always been a little more interested in the occult side of our magic than the rest of us.
In fact, she’s insanely jealous that I’m the one with the demon best friend.
“Dinner will be in ten minutes.” My mum glares at me. “I need to warm everything up again.”
She dashes away in a swirl of perfume and I turn back to the rest of my family.
Grandma is staring vacantly into space, Prim is tapping away furiously on her laptop, and my dad is hovering by the radio listening to what sounds like a football match.
“What you working on?” I ask Prim. She waves her hand in way of reply, eyes not leaving her screen.
I turn to my dad. “Who’s playing?” I ask him.
“Shush,” he says, cranking up the dial.
I roll my eyes. What exactly was the point of me coming tonight?
I sink into the chair next to Grandma, taking her hand in mine and squeezing it as I down the rest of my sherry.
I’d like to tell her about the love potion incident but that’s best done when other members of the family aren’t lurking about.
Instead, I tell her about my walk around the Heath this morning, omitting the part where I was accompanied by a very good looking man who has been accidentally enchanted into loving me.
I’ve just about finished my story when my mum reappears and announces that dinner is served.
I help Grandma up onto her feet and guide her along to the dining room.
My mum has gone all out as usual. There’re several vases of summer blooms around the room and candles standing in and among the dishes of food.
I help Grandma into her usual seat, rearranging cushions until I’m sure she’s comfortable.
Then I take my own seat beside Prim and opposite my mum.
It puts me right in the firing line but the last time I tried sitting in a different seat it nearly started World War Three.
My mum claps her hands, and serving spoons float around the room, depositing slices of roast beef, roast potatoes, Yorkshire puddings, and vegetables onto our plates, followed by lashings of gravy.
When we’ve all been served, my mum shakes out her napkin, laying it across her lap and picks up her knife and fork.
I swallow because I know this is when the interrogation will begin.
“So,” she says, “how have you girls been?”
I immediately stuff a potato into my mouth, preventing me from answering and meaning Prim has to pick up the reins. She chats with my mum about the latest Witching Authority policies she’s helping to implement and about a spate of pixie sightings she’s been helping to investigate.
When Prim runs out of things to talk about work-wise, my mum takes her opportunity to strike.
“How’s Norman?”
Prim pushes her glasses up her nose and stares down at her untouched food. “Oh, you know, just fine. He’s currently out in Romania helping with the latest trade negotiations with the Baltic Vampires.”
Norman is Prim’s boyfriend. They’ve been dating since the first term at the Witching Academy.
Like Prim, he’s very clever, very hard-working, and very dedicated to his job.
So dedicated, we’ve seen even less of him in the last few months than we have her.
He’s also incredibly boring – Tiggie actually fell asleep mid-conversation with him one Christmas. I have not missed his company at all.
“Did you show him the details of that lovely little house I found for you on the edge of Epping Forrest?”
“Erm, not yet,” Prim says, fidgeting on her seat. My mum is dying for Prim and Norman to tie the knot, move to a family home and start popping out grandkids. She’s so desperate, it looks like she’d even consider skipping the wedding part and heading straight for the family home part instead.
Despite my mum’s best efforts though, Norman is yet to produce a ring and they’re still living in a tiny one-bed flat in central London, no place (according to my mum) to bring up children.
“You really ought to, Prim darling,” my mum insists. “I showed it to Norman’s mother and she agreed. It would be just perfect for you both. And close enough that I could pop round and help out if you needed me to.”
Prim grimaces before downing her glass of wine. Then her head pops up and she turns to face me. Something sparks in her eyes and I know what’s coming next.
I appeal to her as best I can with the power of my eyes but it’s no use. I take it Prim has reached her interrogation-limit for one night and is prepared to sacrifice me in order to save herself.
“Molly has a new boyfriend,” she blurts out.
My mother is so shocked by this news, she fumbles her fork and it clatters onto the pristine table cloth, splattering gravy everywhere. Immediately, a cloth appears out of nowhere, dabbing at the stain until it vanishes from view.
“Really?” my dad says from the other end of the table, where I think he’s been surreptitiously watching the rest of his football match on his phone, hidden from view under the table. “That is good news.”
My mum shoos the still-hovering cleaning cloth away with her hand and picks up her fork, stabbing an unsuspecting carrot rather aggressively.
“Really? And you didn’t think to tell me?”
“He’s not really my … we’re not really date …” I mumble, feeling like I’m being analysed by a pair of lasers directed from my mother’s eye sockets.
“You seemed pretty cosy when I was there yesterday,” Prim mutters unhelpfully, clearly not willing to let me dodge the incoming interrogation.
My mum’s laser gaze swings to Prim. “You’ve met him?”
My sister gulps. “Once. Accidentally. Briefly.”
“I see.” My mum slices a potato in half. “And am I allowed to know the name of this gentleman or are you keeping secrets from your mother now?” She sniffs like she’s genuinely heartbroken at the prospect.
I consider my options.
I admit to them that this is just a fling, that we’re not dating and we’re just ‘hanging out’.
Or I lie and say that Mr Hottie is indeed my boyfriend.
The first option will lead to a lot more questions – most of which I do not want to answer.
The second involves the obvious hurdle of lying which I’m awful at.
Of course, there is a third option. I tell them the whole truth, exploding love bombs and everything. However, I’d rather slit my own throat or boil my own head.
I go with the second, hoping the sherry I downed might improve my acting skills.
“It’s all very new and very recent,” I tell my family. “I didn’t want to share until I knew we were properly a thing.”
“That’s excellent news,” my dad says. “It’s been an awfully long time.” He chuckles and my mum and sister nod in agreement.
“It hasn’t been that long!”
“Four years?”
“One and a half!”
“Anyhow, it’s about time. You’re getting on a bit, Molly.”
“Dad, I’m twenty-eight!”
“You’ve got to catch a man while you’re in your prime,” my mum says.
“I’m not going to catch anyone,” I say, trying not to think about the fact I’ve bewitched a man with a love potion, “and that’s such a dated way of thinking. There’s no prime. Plus, Auntie was single all her life and perfectly happy.”
“She also passed before her fiftieth birthday,” my mum says, like the two events are somehow linked. “Anyway, that’s by the by, because you have a young man now. What’s his name? Is he from good wizarding stock?”
I tap my empty wine glass and immediately it fills with blood-red wine. I take a big gulp.
“Actually, he’s a civilian.” My mother frowns and goes to open her mouth. I beat her to it. “He’s in banking. Very wealthy. In fact, he owns two Ferraris.”
“Ferrari? Those are the flashy cars, am I right?” my dad says. I nod. “Two? Is that normal?” I shake my head.
“And he’s very good looking,” my sister adds, before hiccuping and covering her mouth.
“So when am I going to meet this mysterious man?” my mother asks.
Never, I think, never, never, never!
“Like Norman, he’s very busy with work,” I say.
“How about the annual golf and spa weekend away?” my sister says grinning with delight.
“The what?” I ask.
“The golf and spa weekend away. Uncle Harold rents us all rooms at this paranormal hotel in the Cotswolds. All the men go off and play golf and us girls go to the spa.”
“Erm,” I say, “annual? Why am I only just hearing about it?”
“You weren’t invited,” my mum says, taking a sip from her wine glass.
“What?” I say in outrage. I always thought Uncle Harold liked me. I’m about the only one who makes the effort to laugh at his awful jokes. “Why not?”
“It’s couples only.”
“That is … that is … so singlist!” My mum shrugs. I narrow my eyes. “Has Tiggie been?”
“Last year, she brought that nice boy she went to the academy with.”
“He’s gay!”
My mum shrugs again.
“But you can come now you have a boyfriend,” Prim says with a big grin, “and you can introduce him to everyone!”
“Excellent idea,” my mum says. “It’s next weekend.”
“Can you make it?” my sister asks.
I lean back in my chair and fold my arms across my chest. On principle, I shouldn’t go.
Honestly, this family is the worst. I also shouldn’t go because Mr Hottie – Horatio – is not actually my boyfriend and, if my family finds out I’ve accidentally bewitched him, I am in deep deep troll shit. But, goblins’ bollocks, I want to go.
“Yes,” I tell them, “yes, I think we can make that.”