A Witch in Love (27 page)

I let that slide, and only said, ‘When are you going home?’

‘I’m not.’ Seth shook his head and his expression was grim. ‘I’ve spoken to Mum and she’s dropped off my clothes and my school stuff at the boat, but I’m not going back until Grandad apologizes.’

‘Oh, Seth, please,
please
don’t do this. Not for me. It’s not worth it.’

‘It’s not just for you.’ He touched my cheek. ‘Honestly. You mean everything to me, Anna, but this isn’t only about you. This is about Grandad learning he’s not some tinpot king we’ve all got to kowtow to. It’s about forcing Mum to stand up to him for once in his life. When he was strong he used that to force everyone to do things his way; now he’s weak he’s using his illness as a weapon instead. But I’ve had enough. Hey, hey …’

He cupped my cheek again and I realized I was crying.

‘Come on, sweetheart, it’s not that bad. I like the boat. It’s actually quite comfortable – well, OK it’s bloody cold, the shower doesn’t work and I can’t quite stand upright, but apart from that … You know, I can turn on the kettle in the morning without getting out of bed – how’s that for luxury? Breakfast in bed every day!’

He’d succeeded in making me laugh in spite of my tears and now he wiped away the drops from my cheek and kissed me gently.

‘I’m OK. Honestly. Now, tell me what we can do to sort out these bastards.’ And he flicked the photo with his finger. His reminder brought all my anger flooding back.

‘I’m calling in a favour,’ I said. ‘And I promise you this, when I’m finished, the Malleus will regret they ever meddled with us.’

It was about a couple of weeks later that Dad came into the kitchen with a piece of paper in his hand and a very strange expression on his face.

‘What is it?’ I said, catching sight of his face. ‘What’s going on?’

‘It seems like I should be asking you that,’ he said, sitting down at the kitchen table, still with that odd, non-plussed look. ‘This,’ he waved the piece of paper, ‘is from your grandmother.’

Oh.

We’d exchanged emails over the course of a few days and I’d explained the situation in slightly coded language, not sure how private my grandmother’s email address might be. Eventually we’d set up a time to ring each other. She’d been incandescent (her exact word) and had strongly urged me to come up to London and learn what she called ‘some basic self-defence and divination skills’.

‘We will track these people down,’ she’d said grimly, ‘and they will rue the day they ever interfered with a Rokewood.’

It had felt … nice. Her protective anger, her swift mastery of the situation – it had felt nice.

And now this – out of the blue. What had she said? I tried to read Dad’s face. Was he angry? He didn’t look it. He looked more – sad?

‘I wish you’d told me,’ he said at last. ‘You should have known that I wouldn’t mind your meeting Elizabeth. We’ve had our differences, but I’d never drag you into it. If you want a relationship with her, that’s your right.’

‘Really?’ I said, and I couldn’t stop the scepticism entering my voice. ‘Then why did you keep her a secret for eighteen years?’

Dad rubbed the patch of skin where his glasses chafed his nose, and looked uncomfortable.

‘All I can say is, I don’t know, Anna. I really don’t. I spent your whole childhood
wanting
to talk to you about Isla, I really did. But something was holding me back. Maybe I should have seen a therapist or something,’ he gave an uneasy laugh, ‘but back then that wasn’t something men really did. I suppose I just had my own issues to work through, before I could talk about it with you.’

He put his hand on mine and the sadness in his eyes made my heart clench.

‘And I thought … I told myself that perhaps the truth was too difficult for you to deal with. But I think now that was dishonest. What I really felt was that the truth was too difficult for
me
to deal with. I’m sorry, darling.’

Poor Dad. God knows, it wasn’t his fault. I didn’t know why my mother had bound him to silence. But she had. And now Dad was blaming himself.

‘It’s OK, Dad,’ I said. ‘I understand. But I would like to see Elizabeth; I’ve been up to see her in London – did she tell you?’

‘Yes, she said that she met you for tea. She said your meeting was “quite unsought and accidental” – whatever that means. I suppose she’s trying to tell me that she didn’t go behind my back. Anyway, she’s made a suggestion which, I might add, you are
entirely
free to refuse.’

‘What’s that?’

‘She says she’d like you to come up to London for half-term. Stay with her. Meet your mother’s side of the family. She’s asked my permission to write to you about it. What do you think?’

‘Well …’ I was taken aback – but also quite admiring of Elizabeth’s chutzpah. It was a clever strategy. ‘Actually, I think I’d like to. Go, I mean. Would you mind?’

‘Mind? No.’ He folded up the letter. ‘I’ll miss you, of course. But you deserve a relationship with your mother’s side of the family. I never meant to cut them off, you know – but they kind of disowned your mother when we got together. They were very well-to-do and disapproved of the match. I suppose they would have come around but, well, after Isla died it was too painful to pursue, I suppose. And I was very angry at first, which didn’t help. But I’d feel bad if my cowardice ruined your chance for a relationship, especially as Elizabeth’s obviously ready to meet halfway.’

‘Dad …’ I looked down at the table, unsure how to put this, not wanting to cause more hurt. But I wanted to know so much. I took a deep breath. ‘You said she died – but do you ever think Mum might still be alive?’

‘No.’ Dad shook his head, his eyes bright and liquid. ‘I’m sorry, Anna, I don’t. The police searched high and low – papered the place with posters, put alerts out at the ports, they even showed her photo on TV. But there were no sightings. She didn’t take her passport or bank cards. No money came out of her accounts. She didn’t contact any of her friends.’ He sighed and rubbed again at his glasses. ‘She was very, very severely depressed. Psychotic in fact. And she didn’t take her medication with her. She simply walked out of the house one day in her nightdress and was never seen again – well … except once. Possibly.’

‘Once?’ I prompted.

‘Yes.’ He sounded reluctant. ‘There was one sighting. Unconfirmed. She was seen standing on the parapet of St Saviour’s Dock in the East End. A passer-by ran to flag down a passing police car – and when they turned back, she was gone.’

My spine prickled.

‘And you think … ?’

‘Well, the police thought the obvious: suicide, and dredged the water. But no body was ever found. So perhaps she jumped, perhaps she didn’t. Perhaps she was never there and it was a hoax or a mistake. I suppose we’ll never know for sure. But one thing I am certain of – Isla would never have left us so long without word, unless something terrible had happened to her.’ He sighed and then straightened his back with an obvious effort.

‘Well, that’s enough gloom for one day. What do you want me to do about Elizabeth then – write back and say you’ll go?’

‘Yes. Yes, that would be great.’

‘I’ll miss you, you know.’ He ruffled my hair. ‘The house’ll seem very quiet without you. In fact, you know what, I might go away too. Then the workmen can have free rein to redo the kitchen while we’re both out of their hair.’

‘Where will you go?’ I asked.

‘Aha … research.’ He tapped his nose. ‘Remember my book? The history of fishing on the south coast? I know you thought I’d let it all drop, but I’ve just been biding my time, doing some reading around, sniffing out the lay of the land. Anyway there’s a chap down in Polperro, local historian johnny, who’s been very useful and I’d like to go down there and do a bit of nosying around. It’s a bit far for an overnighter, so this might be just the chance to spend a few days down there.’

‘That sounds nice.’ I smiled at him, pleased to imagine him padding around sunlit fishing ports while I journeyed to London. It would be a nice thought, something bright to hold on to as I stepped into the shadows.

‘It’s all set,’ I told Seth at school the next day. ‘I’m going to stay with my grandmother for half-term. She’s going to help me work out what to do about the Malleus.’

‘Good.’ He looked at me seriously and then nodded. ‘Good. I think it’s a good idea. You need to sort out some kind of plan, I’ve been going half crazy worrying about someone torching Wicker House again. When are you going there?’

‘I don’t know – Saturday, I suppose. Why?’

‘Oh.’ He looked down at his hands, rubbing at the permanent oil and paint stains. Something about his voice made me look up. His expression was remote, unreadable.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Come on.’ I put my hand on his arm, letting my fingers caress the livid rope burn across his wrist. ‘Don’t be like that. Tell me.’

‘Honestly, it’s fine. It’s just – you know – I’d kind of assumed we’d spend Saturday together.’

Saturday together … For a minute I was confused, then it clicked. Saturday. The fourteenth of February. Valentine’s Day. My hand flew to my mouth.

‘Oh, Seth, I’m so sorry – I forgot.’

‘Honestly, it’s fine. Saving your life is more important than some lame dinner.’

‘No, wait. It doesn’t matter if I postpone an extra day.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, totally. I’ll ring my grandmother tonight.’

Grandmother was perfectly happy to see me Sunday instead of Saturday. She offered to meet me at the station, but I said I’d make my way to her house in Kensington. It wasn’t like I was some tourist up from the country. I’d lived there all my life; I knew my way around London still.

But when I raised the subject with Dad, it was a different story.

‘Dad, would you mind if we left Sunday, instead of Saturday?’ I asked over supper. He shook his head.

‘Sorry, sweetie, I’ve booked my ticket and it’s not refundable. Why, was there something you wanted to do?’

‘No, it’s fine. Don’t worry,’ I said resignedly. I thought about raising the possibility that I could stay an extra night by myself, but I knew what Dad’s answer would be: no way – not while the arsonists were still wandering around. And truth to tell, I didn’t really fancy the idea myself.

That night I rang Seth from my room and told him the bad news.

‘So I guess I’ll have to reschedule my grandmother. Again. Unless …’ I stopped.

‘What?’ Seth asked. In the silence that followed I could hear the slap-slap of rigging in the harbour and the sound of the waves filtering down his phone. I imagined his little boat bobbing on the dark waters.

‘Well … you could … spend the night here. With me.’

I accompanied Dad to the station, my rucksack packed with all the things I thought I might need for London – all my meagre collection of smart clothes mainly. His train was first and we stood on the platform making chilly conversation while we waited. There was only a handful of other passengers on such a cold day – an elderly lady, three teenage boys probably off to Brighthaven, which was the next stop on the line, and a girl, with a curtain of ice-pale hair blowing in the wind. With a jolt, I realized it was Seth’s ex, Caroline, and I turned my face so that she wouldn’t recognize me. Fortunately at that moment the train drew up.

‘Bye, sweetie.’ Dad kissed my cheek and gave me a bear hug. ‘Have a wonderful time. And remember – if you have second thoughts or get fed up just call me. I’m only a phone call away.’ He patted the pocket with his mobile in.

‘Really,’ I said, only half joking. ‘What are you going to do in Cornwall? Come up on your white horse?’

‘No, I shall subcontract the white knight business to Ben and Rick, who will be only too delighted to sweep you off your feet and will probably do it with a lot more style than your old dad. But seriously, love, they’re slightly odd people, the Rokewoods. I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time, but just in case—’

‘Dad, don’t worry. I’ve got your number; I’ve got Rick and Ben’s number; I’ve got James and Lorna’s number, and there are plenty of old friends I can call on in Notting Hill. Now, go on.’ The train’s engine was powering up. ‘Go on, get on. You’ll get left behind.’

‘OK.’ Dad hugged me again and then climbed on board. He moved up the train until he found a seat and I saw him mouthing through the window:
Bye, love you
.

‘Bye!’ I called back, as the train began to move. ‘Have a great time!’ And then he was gone.

I shouldered my rucksack and walked back along the platform in the direction of the London train. But I didn’t stop. Instead I carried on up the stairs and out of the station.

I hadn’t exactly lied to Dad – all I’d said was that my train was at 11.35, without mentioning that that was 11.35 on Sunday, not Saturday. And chances were, Dad would probably have let Seth stay anyway. I was eighteen; we’d been going out for nearly a year. But it didn’t stop me from feeling a slight pang of guilt.

Somehow the fact that he thought I was spending the night with my grandmother, and was being so nice about it, only made it worse. Instead I would be … what? My heart gave a strange, painful beat – a mixture of nerves and anticipation. I knew what Seth had thought – or hoped – when I’d suggested he stay the night at Wicker House. And part of me wanted to – desperately.