Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
Thoughts and feelings collide through my brain like competing freight trains.
I pace towards the kitchen, pull out all my baking equipment, then abandon that idea, and put them all away again.
I pace into the living room, I pace into my bedroom, I pace to the bathroom.
I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what to make of it.
I don’t know what to do. I’m seriously confused.
McGruff trots behind me anxiously, whining as if he knows something’s wrong. I halt my pacing and stare down at him.
“You’re right,” I say. “I need to get outside and clear my head. We’re going on a walk.”
As soon as I say that word, he’s scampering away and cowering under the sofa. I find his lead, drop down onto my stomach, grab hold of his collar and haul him out.
“Don’t be so dramatic,” I tell him. “You like a walk and it’s a lovely day.”
I clip the lead to his collar, and checking the hallway is clear, descend the stairs and head out towards the Heath.
Now we’re outside, McGruff decides he actually is keen on this walk, happily peeing against lampposts and sniffing in bushes, yapping at the other dogs we pass. We’re almost at the Heath when I halt again. My mind is still racing a million miles per hour. My heart is pounding. My palms are sweaty.
I’m not sure a walk around the Heath is what I need right now.
“Sorry,” I tell McGruff, changing direction and walking towards the Crooked Antler instead.
It’s still early and the landlord is lifting the stools from the tables and placing them on the floor.
I don’t care. I march straight to the bar and order a pint of his frothiest beer.
I stand there and glug the lot, trying not to think of Horatio glugging that antidote, and ignoring the curious look from the landlord.
When I’m done, I slam the empty glass back on the bar and wipe my hand across my mouth.
Surprisingly, the drink hasn’t made me feel any better. If anything the bubbles in my stomach and the slightly judgemental look in the landlord’s eyes make me feel worse. My stomach is churning and I’m close to vomiting.
There’s only one thing for it.
I set off towards the tube station.
Several hours later, and after several sticky tube and train journeys, I’m standing on the doorstep of my parents’ house and rapping on the door. After a few minutes, it swings open and my mum’s standing there, looking immaculate and beautiful as always and gaping right at me.
“You’re early!” she says. Then peers down at her wristwatch. “You’re… six hours early.”
“I know,” I say. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“Of course I don’t mind. It’s just unusual. Come on in.”
I hesitate.
“Actually, I think McGruff might prefer to go off chasing squirrels. Do you mind if I let him go?”
My mum scowls down at the dog who’s jumping around her feet, attempting to lick her.
“Fine,” she says. “You can go off chasing squirrels. But don’t go anywhere near the shifter’s house.
You know that always ends in trouble.” She wags her finger fiercely at him to emphasise her point and I unclip him.
He jumps up at my mum first, licking her hands, then spins on his back legs, and dashes off into the forest, yapping with joy as he does.
“That dog is a menace,” my mum mutters.
“I know,” I say. “But you love him, really.”
My mum gives me a pat expression, beckons me inside, and shuts the door.
“We’re in the kitchen,” she explains, and I follow her along the hallway and into the bright, cosy kitchen, sparkling and immaculate as always.
My grandma sits at the end of the table.
Spread out in front of her are two piles of silver cutlery.
Behind her several sharp knives are already chopping and preparing vegetables for tonight’s roast. I walk over to her, bending down to kiss her cheek, and then taking the chair beside her as my mum strolls towards the stove and commands it to put the kettle on for tea.
My grandma lifts a fork from one pile, buffs it with a yellow cloth before laying it back down in the polished pile.
My mum joins us at the table, placing a cup of tea in front of me and then taking the seat on the other side of Grandma. She examines the most recent additions to the pile of polished cutlery, picks one out that’s a little smudged, and places it back in the first pile.
“Where’s Dad?” I ask her as she places her hands flat on the table in front of her.
“Gone fishing. He’ll be back for dinner later.”
I nod, lifting my mug to my lips and blowing across the hot liquid.
“So what brings you here so early?” my mum asks me. “It’s very unlike you, Molly. Is something the matter?”
I sigh and lower my cup to the table, keeping my hands wrapped around the warm ceramic.
Everything is such a hexed-up mess and I’m terribly confused and, yes, a little hurt.
Where do I even begin?
I sigh dramatically. Then lift my gaze.
“Mum,” I say. “I don’t really run a cupcake business.”
I’m guessing that wasn’t the confession my mum was expecting from me. It takes her a moment to respond, to my surprise she looks neither shocked nor scandalised.
“Of course you don’t, darling,” she says.
I gape at her in exactly the same manner she’d gaped at me five minutes earlier on the doorstep.
“What? You knew?”
“Of course I knew. You’ve been running that illegal potion-brewing business for the last few years, haven’t you?”
“Snakes alive! You knew!” She nods. “And you didn’t say anything?” She nods again. “Oh great giddy gargoyles! Does Dad know?”
“No.”
“How about Prim and Tiggie?”
“Only me and Grandma know,” she says.
Grandma lifts her gaze from the cutlery and smiles at me.
“But you never said anything.”
“I try my best to keep my nose out of my daughters’ businesses.”
This nearly has me snorting out loud. My mum’s always had her nose right in the middle of our businesses.
My mum tilts her head to one side. Behind her, the kitchen cabinets are gleaming in the bright summer sunshine. The knives are slicing through the air and making quick work of a line of carrots. And through the window, a line of washing is visible, ruffling in the light breeze.
“But why are you telling me this now, Molly?” she asks me.
“I’ve been thinking that maybe I ought to go back to the Witching Academy and get my diploma.”
“Well, of course you should,” my mum says. “I’ve been waiting for you to work that out for a long time now.”
“You have?”
“Yes, Molly. You’re a very talented witch. You always have been, especially when it comes to potion brewing. I’ve seen the reviews on your website.”
“Oh,” I squeak. My cheeks are burning.
“And I know that you could do great things if you put your mind to it. What happened at the academy was…” She pauses, trying to find the words. “Unfortunate. But we all make mistakes. And I think you’ve got a very bright future ahead of you, if you’re just brave enough to try.”
“How come you never said all of this before?”
“Because you had to work it out for yourself.”
She snaps her fingers and, a moment later, a mug drops down in front of her, filled to the brim with tea. She lifts it and takes a sip.
“Where’s Horatio today?” she asks me, casually.
I lean back in my chair, my gaze dropping to my hands in my lap.
“We had an argument,” I explain. “I found out he’s been lying to me.”
“Oh,” my mum says, clearly surprised. “Was it a bad lie?”
I think about this for the moment.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I don’t think so. But it still hurts that he lied to me.”
“Yes,” my mum says pointedly. “It does hurt when the people you love lie to you.”
I cringe.
“I’m sorry about the cupcake thing.”
She dismisses it with her hand.
“You know,” she says, “your dad lied to me when we first got together.”
“He did?”
My mum lowers her cup and smiles at me. “Yes. He told me he could play the guitar and was the lead singer in a rock band.”
“Dad!” I say. Dad is the least rock and roll person I know. I mean, he’s out fishing at this very moment, most likely dressed in thigh-high waders.
“Yes,” she says. “You see, at the time, I was desperate to date a rockstar.” Her gaze drifts off somewhere into the past.
“You wanted to date a rockstar?” I say, peering across the table at my mother, her perfectly coiffed hair, her immaculately pressed blouse, and her hygienically sparkling kitchen. I can’t picture my mum as a groupie. I can’t picture her as a groupie at all.
“Yes,” she says. “I had big ideas about marrying a rockstar and running away with him. But…”
“But?”
Her eyes find mine again.
“I fell in love with your dad. And then I discovered the truth.”
“Weren’t you mad at him?”
“Yes. But I understood. He’d done it to try and impress me. And there was something very flattering about that.”
I nod in agreement.
“So you think I should forgive Horatio?”
“That’s not up to me,” my mum says.
My grandma lowers her cloth to the table and reaches over to take my hand in both of hers. She squeezes it and lifts it to her chest. Her eyes lock on mine.
“I don’t know what you’re trying to say, Grandma,” I whisper.
“She’s saying, Molly,” my mum explains, “that love is rare and precious and often pretty messy. And if we find it, we should hold it dear.”
My grandma smiles at me as if confirming my mum’s interpretation of her gesture.
I peer back into her green eyes. They’re the same colour as my mum’s. The same colour as mine.
I see the deep wrinkles in her face, testament to a lifetime of experience, to a treasure chest of wisdom.
I think of my dad fibbing to my mum about being a rockstar. I think of the way I’ve been lying to my whole family about my job.
Gently, I pull my hand from my grandma’s grasp, lean forward to kiss her, and then I jump up onto my feet.
“I have to talk to him.”
“Horatio?” my mum asks, and I nod fiercely.
“I have to talk to him now!” I push back my chair. Then I halt. “It might mean I’m late for dinner.”
“Never mind about that,” my mum says, also standing up and following me out of the kitchen into the hallway.
I’m already calling McGruff’s name and I can hear him pounding through bushes in the distance.
“Wait,” my mum calls out to me as McGruff comes flying into the house and skidding to a halt by my feet. “How long will it take you to get home? On the transport public?”
I suppress a smile. “Public transport,” I correct her. “I don’t know. It’s a Sunday, probably about three hours.”
“Three hours!” she cries. “That’s far too long!” She takes a step closer to me and lowers her voice. “Why don’t you transport there?”
I clip the lead to McGruff’s collar, stand up and look at my mum.
“Because I don’t have my licence, Mum, and that would be illegal,” I say, slightly shocked she’d even suggest it.
“Hmm. Just a moment.”
She hurries back down the hallway to the kitchen – I can hear her rifling through cupboards – and then she’s back again, holding out a jam jar full of sparkling dust.
“Concealing powder,” she explains, holding it up to me. “It will conceal your actions from the authorities.”
“Yes, I know what it does, Mum, but it’s highly illegal. How on earth do you own this?”
She lifts her finger to her nose and taps the side. Then she opens the lid and sprinkles some over my head.
“Go on then, off you go. Go get your man.” She smiles at me.
“But I’m hopeless at transporting,” I remind her. “I failed the test multiple times.”
“Molly, you’re a brilliant witch. You can do it. Just take a deep breath, close your eyes and imagine where you want to go.”
I jump forward and wrap her in a hug, kissing her cheek, and then I do what she says. I take a deep, long inhale through my nostrils, blowing that breath out through my mouth, closing my eyes and picturing the hallway of Heatherley Court.
And then – pop – I’m there.