The Language of Spells (24 page)

‘I only do what’s best for him.’

‘You’re lucky his teenage rebellion involved sleeping with an unsuitable girlfriend. It could’ve been spectacular. Do we have a deal?’

Elaine inclined her head.

‘Excellent.’ Gwen stood up. ‘I brought you something.’ She unzipped her bag and pulled out the notebook. ‘Iris kept a journal. This one has a few entries about Mr Laing. She wasn’t very nice about you, I’m afraid, but I thought you might’ve been wondering about what they talked about.’

‘I didn’t enquire about my husband’s private business,’ Elaine said stiffly.

‘Well, you should have.’ Gwen put the book down on a side table. ‘I’ll see myself out.’

Elaine didn’t say anything and Gwen made her way through the echoing hall to the front door. She didn’t know if she had just left a comfort blanket or a bomb, but it seemed as if that journal belonged more to the Laings than it did to her. And you didn’t get to choose your inheritance.

Within minutes of leaving Elaine’s house, Gwen’s bravado fled. Her hands shook and she felt prickles of sweat on her neck. In her anxiety, she felt as if every second person was looking at her sideways. As if they distrusted her. Disliked her. Elaine’s attitude hit her all over again and her eyes prickled.
Freak.
Not good enough. Weirdo. Odd one out.

A woman tightened her grip on her toddler’s hand as she passed Gwen. Perhaps she was simply preparing to cross the road, but Gwen felt it as another slap in the face. She decided to go to the pub. At least she could be sure of a welcome there.

Bob was out from behind the bar, wiping down tables and laying out cruet sets for the lunch crowd. Gwen threw her bag down on the table nearest the fire and herself into a comfy chair.

‘All right, Gwennie?’ Bob said. ‘How’s tricks?’

‘Is that supposed to be funny?’

Bob grinned. ‘Just an expression.’

Gwen shoved her bag out of the way and laid her head dramatically on the scarred surface of the table. ‘Everyone hates me. I’m a disaster. I should just leave. Oh, no. I forgot, I can’t because I’ve got no money. No career.’ She was about to add
no boyfriend
, but was beginning to sound pathetic even to herself.

‘From what I hear, you’re the hero of the hour,’ Bob said.

Gwen lifted her head to look at him. ‘What?’

Bob swiped his cloth around. ‘Oh, yes, Fred says his chilblains have never felt better. Isn’t that right, Jack?’ Bob called out to an old man in a tired brown suit. Gwen had seen him before and he always seemed to be seated in exactly the same place, wearing the same suit. Perhaps he had a whole wardrobe of identical outfits, but Gwen doubted it. Jack raised rheumy eyes from the newspaper that he held close to his face. ‘What’s right?’

‘Our Gwennie is a regular hero.’

‘She’s a good girl.’ Jack nodded. He gave Gwen a rare smile, showing uneven teeth, then disappeared behind his paper.

‘You keep up like this, they’ll build you a bloody statue,’ Bob said.

‘No, thank you,’ Gwen said, trying not to think about the little memorial to Jane Morely on the wall of the pub.

‘Suit yourself.’ He shrugged. ‘Half the town thinks you’re some kind of guardian angel, anyway.’

Bob’s friendly smile wasn’t enough to make Gwen ignore the flaw in his sentence. ‘What about the other half, though?’ she said. ‘What have they been saying?’

Bob looked away. ‘You don’t want to worry about that.’

‘They think I’m a fraud. That I’m playing some long con. That one day, they’ll wake up and I’ll be gone with the town’s riches in my back pocket, or that I’m corrupting the town’s youth, or bringing shame onto Pendleford and ruining its reputation and its chance for development grants or tourism or whatever.’

‘Whoa, there, Gwennie.’ Bob waved his bottle of cleaner. ‘Not so dramatic. I don’t think most people have thought about it that much.’

‘Some have,’ Gwen said, ‘and, unfortunately, they tend to be pretty vocal.’

‘Have you thought about answering back?’ Bob said.

‘That doesn’t usually work out that well for me,’ Gwen said, thinking of Ruby.

‘Maybe you need to raise your voice,’ Jack said unexpectedly. He didn’t look up from his paper or speak again so Gwen looked at Bob. He raised his eyebrows and shrugged, as if to say:
the octogenarian with alcohol-dependency issues has a point
.

Gwen shook her head. ‘Haven’t you heard that phrase “the lady doth protest too much”? Who on earth is going to believe a word I say, however loudly I say it?’

Bob retreated behind the bar. ‘You’re the one with all the brains, Gwennie, but if I were you, I’d think about something concrete. Evidence for the defence kind of thing.’

Gwen closed her eyes. Even vaguely legal jargon made her think about Cam. Made her feel a little bit turned on, truth be told. She blinked quickly and got the hell out of the pub before she embarrassed herself in front of Bob and the town’s oldest barfly.

I wish Gloria would let me see the girls or, at least, give them the choice. I’m old enough to know that life isn’t fair, but I’ve spent the last fifty years giving people what they need, whether I’ve wanted to do it or not, even when it’s made people hate or fear me; it doesn’t seem right. And not just for myself. Poor Gwen will be coming into her gift all alone. She only has Gloria to guide her and that’s worse than nothing. Gloria will teach her that you help only when you see benefit to yourself and that is not a good path to walk. It leads to some very dark places.

Gwen clipped the entry out and added it to the pile that she counted as ‘hers’. She had several piles, now, each with a Post-it note stuck on the top and a person or family’s name, as well as a non-magical recipes pile, one full of herbalist cures, and the notebook for Ruby. She looked at the few sheets which bore Helen Brewer’s name and wondered if she was being punished for taking money for finding Archie. If she was completely honest, she’d felt a creeping guilt about that ever since. The letter from Christopher’s solicitor had been almost a relief. As if her comeuppance had finally arrived and she could deal with it. Being sued for defamation of character wasn’t top of her bucket list, but it could be worse. And Cam had said that Christopher didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell anyway.

Across town, Gwen parked her car in Helen Brewer’s quiet cul-de-sac and rang the doorbell before she could think about it too much.

‘What do you want?’ Helen didn’t take the security chain off, but she didn’t slam the door shut either. Gwen tried to feel cheered by this.

‘May I come in?’

‘Christopher isn’t here.’

The tip of Helen’s nose was bright red. Whether from cold or crying, Gwen couldn’t tell. ‘I wanted to talk to you, actually. Five minutes?’

Helen shook her head violently. ‘It won’t do any good. I can’t control Christopher.’

‘That’s okay. It’s not about that.’

Helen shut the door and Gwen heard the chain jangle. It opened again and Helen stepped backwards. ‘Five minutes.’

The house was just as Gwen remembered it; unnaturally tidy and filled with more pastel colours than seemed sensible with a dog. She perched on the pale pink sofa. ‘How’s Archie?’

‘Fine,’ Helen said. ‘Thank you,’ she added, looking embarrassed.

‘I just came to bring you something.’ Gwen wished she’d planned something to say. It suddenly seemed unbelievably awkward. ‘I’ve been going through my great-aunt’s papers.’

Helen went very still.

‘And I feel a bit weird about it, really. She kept lots of notes, like diaries, but not really about her own life.’

‘Stuff about other people.’ Helen’s voice was barely a whisper.

Gwen stood up to pull the folded sheets of paper from her back pocket. She passed it across. ‘I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to know this stuff, so I was just going to burn the lot, but it doesn’t really feel like my property.’

Helen read the notes quickly, blushing. ‘You could use this against Christopher. Get him to drop the stupid legal thing. I told him not to sue you. I told him—’

‘That would be blackmail,’ Gwen said. ‘I wish I hadn’t read this and I’d rather just forget that I did. It’s none of my business.’

Helen gave her a long look. ‘You’re very different to Iris.’

‘Good,’ Gwen said. ‘I think.’

Helen folded the pages. ‘I’m sorry about Christopher. It turned out you were right about him. I saw him kick Archie. On Monday night, when he thought I was at bridge.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Gwen said.

Helen shook her head. ‘I thought I’d raised him better than that.’

Gwen stood up. ‘Well, thank you for seeing me.’

Helen rose and walked her to the door. The wind had picked up and was howling outside, a cold draught flowing in from the badly fitted letterbox.

‘I’ll see what I can do,’ Helen said suddenly. ‘I’m sure Christopher will drop this nonsense when he realises I won’t back him up.’

‘I really appreciate it,’ Gwen said carefully.

‘He kicked my dog,’ Helen snapped. ‘It’s nothing to do with you.’

‘Right. Bye, then.’ Gwen was halfway down the path when Helen called out, ‘You should burn it all. But make sure everyone knows you’ve done it.’ Then she raised her hand in a half-wave and shut the door.

Gwen got into Nanette and turned the heater up full. It wasn’t a bad idea, actually. Holding a public bonfire might make her look like a lunatic, but appearing normal didn’t seem to be on the cards any more.
In for a penny …

Back at home, Gwen looked up the number for
The Chronicle
on Ruby’s second-best laptop and dialled. The helpful woman who answered the phone explained that Ryan was on his lunch break and, with minimal prompting, that he was taking it at The Red Lion. Twenty minutes later, Gwen walked into the pub. Both fires were blazing and Gwen, already warm from her speed-walk into town, pulled off her coat and scarf.

‘All right, Gwennie?’ Bob hailed her, then turned his attention back to the pint he was pulling. The place was packed and Gwen was surprised at just how many people she recognised. Stranger yet were the number of nods, smiles and greetings as she made her way to the back room.

Ryan was sitting on his own, his back to Gwen. She had no trouble recognising him, though, and complimented herself for her restraint in not slapping the back of his rosy-red neck. There was a spare chair at the little table and she sat down. Ryan looked up and did a double-take. ‘Um—’ he began, less than brilliantly.

‘I’ll be honest with you,’ Gwen said, stealing one of Ryan’s chips and pointing it at his chest. ‘You’re not my favourite person at the moment.’

‘What?’ Ryan seemed mesmerised by the chip, but he managed to drag his attention to Gwen’s face. ‘What do you want?’

‘I want to put an advert in the paper but I’m broke, so I want you to write an article instead so it doesn’t cost me anything.’

‘And why would I do that?’ Ryan said.

‘Why wouldn’t you? I thought this town was all about being neighbourly.’ Gwen bit the chip. It was cold so she put the other half onto the edge of Ryan’s plate. His gaze followed it and she said, ‘Don’t worry; I haven’t got a cold or anything.’

Ryan looked her in the eye with what appeared to be some effort. ‘I don’t owe you any favours.’

‘I was thinking more from the goodness of your heart,’ Gwen said. ‘Or, perhaps, to cleanse your soul a little after that unfortunate rabbit incident.’ Suddenly the hurt and anger of that moment flooded back and Gwen leaned forward. ‘My niece could’ve found that poor creature. Did you even think of that?’

‘I didn’t have anything to do with—’ Ryan said quickly. Then he caught himself. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Nice save.’ Gwen selected a slice of cucumber from Ryan’s side salad and gestured with it. ‘Just run the piece.’

‘Or what?’ Ryan said, lifting his chin and trying to look tough.

Gwen fixed him with her best steely stare. ‘Use your imagination,’ she said, and popped the cucumber slice into her mouth.

‘This is insane,’ Ryan said. ‘What did you want me to write about, anyway? The paper won’t publish it if it isn’t in the public interest.’

‘It’s as much in the public interest as that fascinating piece on Martin Bower’s prize-winning cabbage.’

‘Small town news, what do you expect?’

‘It was on the front page, Ryan. Really.’ Gwen shook her head. ‘I’d say you should be thanking me for filling some column inches.’

‘So, what is it? What’s the big story?’

‘I’m holding a bonfire.’

‘You’re a bit late for Guy Fawkes.’

Gwen ignored him. ‘On the green outside here on Saturday night.’

‘You can’t do that,’ Ryan said. ‘There are rules, by-laws, all kinds of permits.’

‘I’ve cleared it with the council and the community council and with Bob in the pub. When I say bonfire, I’m being symbolic, really. It’s more of a brazier.’

‘A brazier.’ Ryan frowned. ‘What the hell?’

‘Bob is lending it to me. He uses it in the garden.’

‘I don’t really understand—’

‘That’s okay. Here are all the details.’ Gwen put the article she’d carefully typed up that morning. ‘I’d like it in Thursday’s edition.’ She pushed back her chair, the legs scraping on the stone floor.

‘You can’t just expect—’ Ryan said and Gwen lost it. She leaned over the table, her face close to his and said, very quietly, ‘Don’t fuck with me, Ryan. I’m not known for my patience and I reached the bottom of the barrel a long time ago.
I know you broke into my house
.’ Gwen was only guessing on that last point, but she figured that Lily didn’t have too many friends to call on. Ryan swallowed and then nodded.

Gwen straightened up. ‘Excellent. Thank you.’

Gwen was investigating the overgrown herbs in the garden when she heard the telephone. It was Harry, sounding less calm than usual. ‘Are you busy? Can you get down to Cam’s office?’

‘What’s wrong?’ If another person was taking legal action …

‘It’s Cam. Do you know about his granddad?’

Gwen went cold. ‘What’s happened?’

‘He died last night. Cam found him.’

‘Oh no.’

‘Can you come?’

‘Why don’t you call Felicity?’

Harry didn’t say anything. He just stayed silent long enough for Gwen to feel petty and stupid. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘I’ll be there in ten minutes.’

‘Thank you,’ Harry said politely.

‘Do you think he’ll want me there?’ Gwen asked quickly before Harry could hang up.

‘Christ, Gwen. I don’t know what he wants. He’s trying to take out all the furniture in his office. It’s built-in, though, so it’s—’ Harry broke off and Gwen heard a muffled struggle. Harry came back on the line slightly out of breath. ‘He’s going to rupture something.’

Gwen got to the firm in time to see Elaine Laing putting on her coat in the reception area.

‘I’ve sent Melissa home and I advise you to do the same. This is a family matter.’

‘Where are you going?’ Gwen said.

Elaine coloured slightly. ‘There’s no reasoning with him right now. It’s best to just let him cool off.’

A crash sounded and Harry’s face appeared in the doorway. ‘Gwen! Hi-ya. Come and join the party.’

Elaine leaned in close, startling Gwen. ‘If you breathe a word of this—’ she began.

Gwen faced her. ‘If you took the time to get to know me, you’d know how insulting that was. I’m just like my great-aunt and I’ll take your secrets to the grave.’

Elaine took a step back as if Gwen had slapped her. ‘You can’t talk to me like—’

Gwen ignored her and went into Cam’s office.

Cam was wearing a black T-shirt and smart trousers. His dark blue shirt and suit jacket were laid neatly over the back of his chair. He was unscrewing the hinges from a cabinet hidden amongst the wood panelling.

‘Hello,’ Gwen said. ‘Have you been to bed yet?’

Cam glanced over his shoulder, then began pulling at the door. ‘He died in his office, you know. I found him in his office. At his
fucking
desk.’

‘I heard.’ Gwen glanced at Harry, who made a face.

‘My dad was buried with his whisky glass in one hand.’ Cam heaved and the door popped free. ‘That’s what I used to say. It was a joke, but it wasn’t very funny. I can’t picture him without it. Sitting here, behind this desk, that bloody glass in his hand.’

‘All right, mate,’ Harry said. ‘You want to put the door down?’

Cam looked at the piece of wood in his hand as if surprised to find it there. ‘I just thought it was time for a change.’

‘Have you slept yet?’ Cam had found his grandfather just before midnight. He must’ve been up for over thirty-six hours and it showed.

‘Too much to do,’ Cam said. ‘Busy.’

‘Melissa called all your clients,’ Harry said. ‘You should go home and get some rest.’

‘Can’t.’ Cam waved the cabinet door for emphasis. ‘We’re in trouble, you know. Got to show a united front. Got to show that Laing and Sons is strong and that we can provide a continued, unbroken service. Any sign of weakness not allowed. You know how it is.’

‘Come back to mine,’ Gwen said. ‘I’ll make you some food and you can take a nap. You can come back to work later, if you want.’

Cam turned his bloodshot eyes onto Gwen and seemed to see her properly for the first time.

She smiled encouragingly, gently. ‘Come and rest. Regain your strength and you can get straight back to whatever it is you’re doing.’

‘I’m taking this out.’ Cam gestured to the bottles and glasses arranged on shelves. ‘Gotta move with the times. Be a dynamic, forward-thinking firm.’ A look of anguish crossed his face.

‘Absolutely.’ Gwen nodded. ‘Tell me about it on the way, okay?’

Harry was parked right outside in an unmarked car. He drove them to End House, Cam staring and silent.

Later, after Gwen had convinced Cam to eat some buttered toast and drink a mug of tea, he asked if he could stay.

‘Of course.’

‘This is so stupid,’ he said finally. ‘I wasn’t like this when my dad died.’ Gwen turned her back while he shed some clothes and got into bed.

Gwen sat on the edge of the bed. ‘What was your dad like? You never talk about him.’

‘When he died I was so angry.’ Cam closed his eyes. ‘So fucking angry. I don’t even remember feeling sad. That’s not good, is it? That’s not right.’

‘I don’t—’

‘I mean, I was sad, but it was just overlaid with all the other stuff. I knew that it was the end of my life. Him dying.’ Cam gave a short laugh. ‘That sounds a bit dramatic, but I knew that was it. No more choices. No more music. No more London.’

‘Is that when you decided to study law?’

‘Decided isn’t the word.’ Cam gave her a wry smile. ‘That’s when I felt the heavy sword of family obligation fall squarely on my head. I knew I had to take up Dad’s place. I’d always known it would happen eventually, but I thought I’d have more time or that something would happen to change things. I don’t know.’

‘It’s understandable that you were angry. You felt trapped.’

Cam looked at her. ‘I was trapped. And I hated him for it.’

Gwen reached for his hand, squeezed tightly. She knew how it felt to inherit stuff you didn’t ask for or want. She knew that trapped feeling all too well. ‘You should be proud of yourself. You stepped up and looked after your family. And if you hate it now, perhaps…’

Cam blinked. ‘Thank you for this,’ he said. He ran his hand over his face and looked at his wet hand with surprise. ‘I don’t know why I’m crying. I didn’t even like my grandfather very much. And he was so old. It’s not exactly a tragedy.’

‘I don’t think that’s how grief works.’

‘But I shouldn’t be grieving at all, that’s my point.’

Gwen shrugged. ‘That’s emotion for you, refuses to follow logic.’

Cam blew his nose, then laid his head back on the pillow. ‘I’m actually really tired. Is it okay if I go to sleep? Just a quick nap.’

‘Of course.’ Gwen stood up to leave.

‘Will you stay with me? Lie down here.’ He lifted the quilt and patted the mattress next to him. ‘I promise to keep my hands to myself.’ A faint smile, the ghost of the normal Cam.

‘Sure.’ Gwen took off her cardigan and jeans and got into the bed. She lay in the half-dark and listened to Cam’s breathing. Just when she thought he’d gone off, he rolled over on his side, facing her. ‘I don’t know what my dad was like. I didn’t really know him.’

Gwen didn’t know what to say to that.
Sorry
? ‘Go to sleep; you’ll feel better tomorrow.’

Gwen turned on her side and, a moment later, felt Cam’s arm across her body.

Cam was his usual capable self in the morning. Over the next couple of days, he kept Gwen up to date with the ongoing nightmare of funeral arrangements and work and his mother’s unceasing devotion to outward appearances. He arrived at End House late every night, worn out from soothing concerned clients and organising a hundred tiny details. ‘Thank God you’re here,’ he said into her hair as they lay together. She knew that it was vaguely inappropriate, but a wild bubble of happiness accompanied her every move. She knew that they’d turned a corner. Cam had come to her for comfort. That had to mean something.

Gwen pushed the hair from out of her eyes and leaned over the baking dish once again. She felt like she’d been filling cannelloni for ever. The first three batches had mysteriously burned, while remaining uncooked on the inside. This one, the fourth attempt, was going to cook perfectly. Gwen didn’t care if she had to open the oven every two minutes; they were not going to burn. She eyeballed the cannelloni and told them sternly, ‘Not on my watch. Not again.’

‘Knock knock.’ Cam pushed open the door. ‘Is this a bad time?’

‘Not at all.’ Gwen tried not to show how pleased she was to see him. The last thing Cam needed was more pressure in his life. ‘Did you hear me talking to the cannelloni?’

‘Little bit.’

Gwen hoped the fact that she was already flushed from cooking would hide her embarrassment. ‘Come on in.’

Cam unlaced his boots before stepping out of them. He wrinkled his nose as the smell of burnt pasta hit.

‘I know, I know.’ She frowned. ‘Nothing is coming out right any more. I used to be such a good cook.’
I think my oven has been hexed.

‘What’s going on?’

Gwen looked away. ‘I’m just distracted.’ Like she could tell Cam about phantasms and cursed appliances. He’d have her sectioned.

‘Nothing to do with your weird witchy powers, then?’

‘The weird powers that you don’t believe in?’

‘The very same.’

Gwen paused. ‘No.’

‘You’re lying,’ Cam said mildly. He crossed the room, stepping over Cat until he was very close to Gwen. She tried to take a step back, but felt the counter edge on her back.

‘Gwen Harper. Tell me what is going on.’ He ducked his head to look into her eyes. ‘Please?’

It was the please that did it. Gwen side-stepped neatly away. ‘I need to get back to my cannelloni.’ She wasn’t going to bring up Lily Thomas or Iris’s journals or the people that still kept turning up at her back door asking for help she couldn’t give or any of it. She wasn’t going to be another burden, another problem for Cam to solve. His face was lined with fatigue and worry and grief. She put her hand out and touched his cheek. ‘Was there something you needed?’

Cam shot out an arm and grabbed Gwen around the waist. ‘You are leaving me with no choice.’

Gwen started to speak, but found herself unable to finish. Cam’s lips were soft upon hers and her thought processes were momentarily derailed. She wanted, more than anything, to sink into him. The solid, reassuring, wonderful-smelling bulk of him. Instead, she pulled herself together and pulled away. Cam’s arms tightened around her, hauling her back. He kissed her again.

‘No,’ she said. ‘I need to finish the pasta.’

‘Sod the pasta.’

Gwen laughed and kissed him back.

‘So, here’s what’s going to happen.’ Cam tightened his arms around her. ‘We’re going to go upstairs and get naked and horizontal and very, very happy.’

Gwen felt the blush increase in intensity. In fact, she thought, her head was going to catch on fire any second.

‘And, after that, when I’ve got you nice and relaxed, you’re going to talk to me. You’re going to tell me what is going on and I’m going to help you.’

Gwen opened her mouth to speak, realised she had no idea what to say, and closed it again.

Later, Gwen snuggled in close to Cam, breathing in the smell of him and enjoying the sensation as he stroked her hair.

‘Shouldn’t we have “the talk”?’

‘I already know about the birds and bees.’ She heard the smile in his voice.

‘Don’t I know it,’ Gwen said, snuggling closer. ‘No. The one about our exes. Past relationships.’

‘No thanks.’

She lifted her head to look at him. ‘I don’t mean we have to have a blow-by-blow account.’

‘Well, that’s a relief,’ Cam said, cocking an eyebrow.

Gwen bit him gently. ‘I’m serious. Don’t you think we should talk about the important events from the last thirteen years? The people who have been important to us.’

‘No.’

‘Really?’ She struggled to a sitting position.

‘I will answer any questions you have about my past loves…’

Gwen winced on the word ‘loves’.

‘But I have no desire to know about yours.’

‘Oh.’ Gwen tried not to be offended. ‘Aren’t you even a tiny bit curious?’

‘No.’ He paused. ‘That’s not entirely true. But here’s the thing. I intellectually accept that we have been apart for a long time and that you will have had relationships with other men. I accept that as a logical fact. I don’t need details.’

Gwen was quiet, marvelling at his self-control. His self-possession. It was scary.

‘I will say this, though.’ Cam reached up and cupped her cheek with his palm. ‘I’ve been living my life, thinking I’m reasonably happy and that this is as good as it gets, but now you’re back I realise how wrong I was. It was a pale imitation of happiness. I haven’t felt like this about anybody or anything else. Ever.’

‘Oh.’

‘Does that cover it?’

Gwen nodded, unable to speak.

‘Good.’ He patted the mattress. ‘Now come here.’

Much later, after Gwen had dozed off and woken up and found Cam’s arms still tightly wrapped around her and he’d moved and they’d begun all over again, Gwen stretched and climbed out of bed.

‘Don’t go.’ Cam reached for her.

‘I won’t be long,’ Gwen said. ‘I really have to finish that cannelloni. If you’re very good, I’ll bring you a cup of tea in bed.’

Cam lay back. ‘Okay. I should probably rehydrate after all that exercise.’

‘Exactly.’

She felt him watching her as she pulled on her underwear. Her bra had made it all the way underneath the window and her socks were on top of the dressing table.
Good throwing arm.

‘So, what’s the pasta-obsession, anyway?’ Cam said.

Gwen pulled her T-shirt over her head. ‘It’s for the wake. For your granddad. I know your mum will probably pay for outside catering, but it wouldn’t feel right to go empty-handed.’ She did up her jeans. ‘You’ll have to tell me what sort of flowers to order, too. Unless he wanted donations to charity.’ Cam’s face had gone weirdly frozen. ‘What?’

‘The funeral was today.’

‘Oh.’ For a moment, Gwen felt cold, too. Then the numbness gave way to a single, crystal-clear thought:
he still won’t ask me to be part of his world
.

Cam was struggling out of bed, fighting with the quilt. ‘I didn’t mention it because I didn’t think you’d want to come.’

‘Right,’ Gwen said. She blinked. ‘Right.’ The man was bereaved. This was not the time to pick a fight.

He grabbed his shirt and began putting it on. His startled look settled into one of certainty. ‘I didn’t want you to feel obliged.’

That did it. ‘Bollocks,’ Gwen said. ‘You didn’t invite me because you’re embarrassed to be seen with me. I don’t belong.’
I’ve never belonged.