Bewitched, Bothered And Bewildered

Suky gave a shaky laugh. ‘Look at us, such a pair of cry babies,’ she said, but her eyes shone with gratitude.

‘So,’ I said, changing the subject before I got too emotional. ‘I found my book last night.’

Mum sat down next to me. ‘Did you read it?’ she asked.

‘Hmm. Sort of,’ I said. ‘I’m a bit rusty.’

Suky smiled.

‘We knew you would be,’ she said, taking a bite of toast. ‘We don’t expect miracles immediately.’

I felt awkward again. How long would they give me before they did expect miracles?

‘I’ve been thinking,’ I said. ‘How about I pick up the slack with all the practical stuff – serving customers, doing the orders, washing the dishes – then Mum, you and Eva can look after the er, magical side of things while Suky gets better. I’ll just be there to make up the numbers.’ I was embarrassingly hazy about how the whole Three thing worked, but I guessed it would be OK as long as I was actually there, even if I wasn’t brilliant at magic.

Suky squeezed my hand again.

‘That would be perfect,’ she said. Suddenly I felt much happier.

‘What’s the plan for today, then?’ I asked.

‘Eva’s opening up this morning,’ Mum said. ‘I’m going to drop Suky in Inverness for her treatment and then take over at the café. Why don’t you go for a bit of a walk and have a look round – nothing’s changed much – and then meet me at the café later? How does that sound?’

It sounded OK – not as good as a day at work followed by an evening with Dom, but it would do. I grabbed another muffin, just in case I got hungry on the journey, wrapped up warm in the puffa jacket I never wore in London, and headed out into the cold, down the hill towards town.

I’d walked that way a million times before – to school, to the bus stop, to friends’ houses, to the pub – and it was comfortingly familiar. I looked at the cottages as I passed, wondering if I still knew anyone who lived there. I doubted it. They’d probably all moved on – as I had.

My phone beeped in my pocket. I fished it out and read the message. It was from Dom.

‘Miss U,’ it said.

I checked my watch; it was 10am. Dom would almost certainly be in meetings all day, but I decided to break the rules and risk a quick phone call.

‘I miss you too,’ I said when he answered.

‘Yep,’ Dom said. He was obviously with someone.

‘Can’t talk?’ I asked with a chuckle.

‘That’s correct,’ he said.

I sniggered. ‘Call me later,’ I said. ‘Sexy.’

Dom coughed. ‘I’ll follow that up this afternoon,’ he said.

Chapter 7 (#ulink_9b258637-0d39-5243-9b95-63a5330589a1)

Smiling to myself I walked into town. Mum was right; not much had changed. Loch Claddach centre was built around an elongated square with the town hall at one end and shops lining each side. There was a Boots and an Oxfam, but besides those, the shops were mostly newsagent’s or twee tourist shops selling tartan fridge magnets and stuffed Loch Ness monsters. A few cars were parked in the middle of the square but there was no one around. It was all exactly as I remembered.

Uninspired, I crossed the road. Through the gaps between the buildings on the far side of the square, I could glimpse the inky black water of the loch. The Claddach Café was just a few minutes’ walk away, down one of the side streets that led to the waterside, so I decided to pop in and say hello to Eva, have a cup of coffee and watch the world go by.

I walked down towards the loch, shivering in the icy wind that blew across the water. The view was spectacular from here. Despite the cold, the sun was shining brightly and light bounced off the surface of the loch. Beyond it, I could see the purple-green hills and far in the distance, the snowy caps of the mountains. I breathed in deeply. There was so much air and so much space after London. I felt liberated. And, I suddenly realised, very cold.

With numb fingers, I pushed open the door to the café feeling my frozen toes come back to life as the warmth wrapped round me like a blanket. Eva was behind the counter, making a cappuccino for, I assumed, the only other customer who was in the café. That was unusual. Normally the place was packed at this time in the morning – at least it always had been. I shrugged off my coat and wandered over to the counter. Eva was wearing a polka-dot apron splattered with coffee. She had a pair of glasses on the end of her nose, one slung around her neck on a chain and another perched on top of her greying, curly hair.

‘Esme,’ she said in her soft Yorkshire accent. She came round the counter and opened her arms for a hug.

‘Hello, Eva,’ I said into her sizeable bosom. She released me, finally, and bustled me over to one of the sofas by the window.

‘Lovely Esme, let me look at you,’ she said, holding my hands and spreading out my arms. ‘Hmm, too thin, too tired, too much hard work,’ she frowned. ‘A few days up here will see you right.’

I wasn’t sure, but I couldn’t help smiling. I adored Eva. While Mum and Suky are undoubtedly kind-hearted and generous, they both have a spiky side. Eva –emotionally and physically – was all soft edges.

My Granny had started the café years ago, selling traditional teas and cakes to tourists. There wasn’t a whiff of magic about the place, not then. Although she did – obviously – help people with their problems on a personal basis.

When Suky had Harry she came home for a while, and as Harry grew, Suky’s contribution to the café grew too. She began dabbling in tinctures and tonics, selling them to locals for all sorts of ailments. And she persuaded my mum – who’d done a business course in Glasgow and who was running from an unhappy love affair – to come home too. So they all rubbed along – Mum, Suky and Gran, and Harry and me. Then, when I was twelve, and high-flying Harry had just started an MBA in the States, Gran died and the magic at home leaked away, just a bit but enough for Mum and Suky to know they were in trouble. Harry was committed to her studies, and I was too young – they needed to find another witch.

As the last guests departed after Gran’s funeral, Mum, Suky, Harry and I sat at the kitchen table feeling a little lost. At least I was. I remember Harry barely lifted her head out of the economics book she was reading. Then there was a knock on the back door and when I opened it, there was Eva.

‘Hello,’ she said in her matter-of-fact way. ‘I think I’m supposed to stay here.’

It sounds crazy, just opening your home up to a stranger. But in the world of witches, it’s actually not as weird as it could be. Suky and Mum had sent out a kind of call for help – a celestial SOS – and Eva had answered. So when she arrived on the doorstep, they knew exactly why she was there. Basically, Mum and Suky grinned at each other, and that was that. Eva moved into the outbuilding at the bottom of our garden with her husband Allan. They patched it up at first, then slowly made it their home, and even added a studio for Allan, a landscape artist, and a kiln for Eva’s ceramics.

Eva says she’s not sure what made her come to Claddach. She and Allan were in a bad way back then. Their teenage son Simon had been killed in a car accident a couple of years before.

‘Existing we were,’ Eva once told me. ‘Not living.’

Allan had stopped painting, Eva’s magic had all but burned out.

‘I couldn’t see the point,’ she said. ‘My magic couldn’t save Simon and I didn’t want anything else.’

And then one morning, the morning of Granny’s funeral though of course she didn’t know that at the time, Eva woke up with a new sense of purpose.

‘We are needed in Scotland,’ she told Allan, sweet, unquestioning Allan. And they packed their bags and left – driving all day to reach us.

Shortly after they arrived, Allan sold a painting to a card company – then another and another. Suddenly he was in demand and, for the first time, comfortably off. Eva’s ceramics sold well to tourists all over the Highlands and as soon as she met up with Mum and Suky her magic came back in abundance. And so they stayed, and they were happy. And their home became a refuge for teenagers – some placed there officially by social services and some who just found their way there looking for Eva’s non-judgemental affection and Allan’s calm, steady care.

When I’d left home, angry and upset with Mum and betrayed by Harry, I’d cursed the universe that had led Eva to our garden. If she’d lived further away, she could have been my refuge, I’d thought at the time. But now, I was simply pleased to see her.

Eva smiled at me.

‘Is it like you remembered?’ she asked.

I nodded, looking through the café’s long windows and out over the loch.

‘It’s like I’ve never been away,’ I said, bewildered by how little had changed in such a long time. ‘Do you need a hand?’

Eva looked at the empty café and shook her head.