Witch Is Where Magic Lives Now Page 5

  “What does he do for a job?”

  “He had his own record shop in Glasgow. When I received my orders to move back down here, I didn’t want to leave, and I was going to hand in my notice, but then Brad said he fancied a change of scenery. The next thing I knew, he’d sold his premises in Glasgow, bought a shop in Washbridge, and moved all his stock down here.”

  “Where is his new shop?”

  “Just off the marketplace. It’s called Vinyl Alley.”

  “I thought record shops had had their day. Isn’t it all about streaming nowadays?”

  “That’s true, but Brad focuses solely on vinyl records, and there’s been a resurgence in their popularity. The new shop has been open for a couple of weeks now. I’m working in there with him.”

  “You? Your taste in music was always awful.”

  “That from the woman who thought the Hoopla Chant was the best song of the decade.”

  “I was six.”

  “My new job is a great cover. Much better than when I used to work in the tax office and the library. Anyway, enough about me. How’s little Florence doing?”

  “She’s great, but she can be a bit of a handful.”

  “I’ve been meaning to ask; does she know she’s a witch?”

  “Yes. I hadn’t planned to tell her until she was older, but my grandmother had other ideas.”

  “She told her?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What did you do when you found out?”

  “I completely lost it. Grandma and I weren’t on speaking terms for ages afterwards.”

  “Have you made up now?”

  “Let’s just say there’s an uneasy truce between us, but I’ve warned her that she mustn’t teach Florence any more spells.”

  “Has it caused any problems? Florence knowing she’s a witch, I mean?”

  “Not up to now, touch wood. But you know what kids are like, and how excitable they can get. Every day she goes to school, I half expect to get a phone call to say she’s made the school guinea pig disappear.”

  “Oh dear.” Mad chuckled. “Sorry, I shouldn’t laugh. It must be nerve-racking for you.” She checked her watch. “I have to get going. Drop into the shop and see us when you get the chance.”

  “I will, yeah.”

  ***

  When I arrived home, Florence came rushing to the door to greet me.

  “Mummy, Mummy! Buddy’s here. Come and see.”

  I’d totally forgotten about the stupid Chihuahua, but I didn’t want Florence to see my negative reaction, so I managed to conjure up a smile from somewhere.

  “I can’t wait to meet him, darling.”

  She took my hand and led me through to the lounge where Jack was on the sofa, with the small dog on his lap.

  “Isn’t he cute, Mummy?” Florence gushed.

  “Err, yeah, he’s very nice.” For an oversize rat.

  “I know you’ve only just walked through the door,” Jack said. “But I had a phone call from Florence’s friend, Anne—well, from her mother, to be precise—she asked if Florence could go over there for tea.”

  “Now?”

  “Please, Mummy.” Florence pleaded. “Anne has got the super sparkly hairband maker, and she said she would make one for me.”

  “Wouldn’t you rather stay here with Buddy?”

  “He can come with me.”

  “No, he can’t. Anne’s mummy won’t be happy if you show up with a dog.” I turned to Jack. “What’s with the short notice?”

  “Anne was supposed to ask Florence at school yesterday, but she forgot all about it, so now Anne is rather upset. Her mum rang on the off chance that Florence would still be able to go over. I knew you were on your way home from work, so I said it’d be okay.”

  “Are you sure you want to go, Florence?” I said. “Even if you can’t take Buddy?”

  “Yes. I want a sparkly hairband.”

  “Okay, then. You’d better say goodbye to Buddy.”

  “Bye, Buddy. See you later.” She gave the dog a stroke, and then Jack handed the Chihuahua to me.

  No sooner were Jack and Florence out of the house than Buddy began to snarl. “Put me down, can’t you? I’m fed up with people manhandling me.”

  “Okay, sorry.” I put him on the floor.

  “People think that just because I’m small, they have the right to pick me up willy-nilly. Well, they don’t!”

  “Hey, young man, I think you’d better check your attitude. You do realise that we’ve just adopted you, don’t you?”

  “Is that right? I don’t recall anyone consulting me on the matter.”

  “Would you rather be out on the streets?”

  “A pedigree of my standing? I could have my choice of homes. You should consider yourself very lucky to have me.”

  “You’d better not give Florence any of this attitude, young man.”

  “Is that the little squirt?”

  “Yes, no! You can’t call her a little squirt. She’s my daughter.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Have you been talking to Florence too?”

  “I tried, but she blanked me.”

  “Florence is only young. She hasn’t developed all her magical powers yet.”

  “And as for that other one—” Buddy gave a big sigh.

  “You mean Jack?”

  “Whatever his name is. What was that slop he gave me to eat earlier?”

  “I don’t know. I wasn’t here.”

  “It isn’t acceptable. I have very exacting requirements when it comes to nutrition.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes. Why don’t you get a notepad and I’ll tell you what I need?”

  Like an idiot, I did as he said. After he’d dictated his list of approved foods, he curled up and was soon fast asleep.

  “Isn’t he a little beauty?” Jack whispered when he got back. “He and I are going to be great buddies.” He laughed. “Buddies? Get it?”

  “Hilarious. You’ll be pleased to know that Buddy speaks very highly of you too.”

  “Really?”

  “No.”

  Chapter 6

  The next morning, I slept in a little later than usual. By the time I’d showered, dressed, and made my way downstairs, Jack was halfway through his customary bowl of muesli.

  “Where’s Florence?”

  “In the back garden with Buddy.”

  Shortly before we’d moved into the old watermill, we’d had a fence erected to enclose the back garden. We wanted to ensure Florence couldn’t get anywhere near the river that ran by the property. The only access now was through a gate, which was always kept padlocked.

  Out in the garden, Florence was throwing a ball for the dog to fetch. Buddy looked on impassively and made no attempt whatsoever to retrieve it. Undeterred, Florence kept on throwing and retrieving the ball herself.

  “It doesn’t look like Buddy’s very excited about playing ball,” I said.

  “He couldn’t be any less interested if he tried.” Jack laughed. “I told her it might take a while to train him.”

  “I’ll go outside and have a word with her.” I slipped on some shoes and went out into the garden. “Morning, petal.”

  “Mummy!” She came running over and gave me a hug and a big kiss. “I’m trying to play ball with Buddy, but he won’t fetch it.”

  “Maybe no one has showed him how to do it.”

  “Will you show him, Mummy?”

  “I can give it a try. Have you had your orange juice this morning?”

  “No, not yet.”

  “If you go inside and have your juice, I’ll see if I can teach Buddy how to fetch the ball.”

  “Okay.” She ran into the house.

  Even before I’d had the chance to speak to him, the dog said, “Forget it. If you think I’m chasing around this muddy garden after that stupid ball, you’ve got another think coming.”

  “And a very good morning to you too, Buddy.”

  “I mean it. I’m n
ot chasing after a stupid ball.”

  “Fair enough, but here’s the deal. We’ll buy your ridiculously expensive food, but only if you play ball with Florence.”

  “But it’s a stupid game. She throws the ball, I bring it back to her, and then she does the same thing all over again. What’s the point of that? I’m not doing it.”

  “It looks like you’re stuck with the ‘slop’, then.”

  “That sounds a lot like blackmail.”

  “Blackmail’s a very emotive word. I’d prefer to call it quid pro quo.”

  “Okay, okay. I’ll fetch the ball, but I’m not doing it all day long. Fifteen minutes at a stretch, max.”

  “That’ll do. Do we have a deal?”

  “I suppose so, but I want it noted that I’m only agreeing under duress.”

  “So noted.” I went back into the house. “Florence, darling. Buddy knows how to play ball now.”

  “You’re so clever, Mummy.”

  “That’s very true. Why don’t you go and play with him again?”

  She put on her shoes, ran back out to the garden, and threw the ball for the dog. Buddy didn’t exactly sprint after it, but he did manage to pick it up in his mouth and return it to Florence. She was clearly delighted, beaming from ear to ear.

  “How on Earth did you manage that?” Jack said.

  “All it took was a little negotiation.”

  “Huh?”

  “It seems our friend, Buddy, isn’t very impressed by the food you’ve been giving him.”

  “What’s wrong with it?”

  “According to him, it’s ‘slop’. I promised we’d buy the food he prefers, and in return he’s agreed to play ball with Florence.”

  “Is Florence able to talk to him?”

  “No, it’ll be a while before her powers have developed enough to allow her to talk to animals. It’s probably just as well because I wouldn’t want her to hear some of the things Buddy has to say. I’m starving. I’m going to make myself some toast. Do you want any?”

  “You’ll be lucky. We don’t have any bread.”

  “How come?”

  “I called at the local shop yesterday afternoon, but they were all out. That shop’s useless, Jill. You can’t rely on them to have anything. We’re going to have to get all our shopping from the supermarket.”

  “They must have had a delivery of bread by now. I’ll nip over there.”

  “Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  Although we’d lived in Middle Tweaking for a few months, I’d not yet stepped foot in the local shop. The bulk of our shopping was delivered by the closest supermarket. As Jack was home all day, he was able to nip out to pick up anything we ran out of. I was quite sure the local shop couldn’t be as bad as Jack had made it out to be—like every man in the world, he had a tendency to exaggerate.

  As I made my way across the village, I reflected on how nice it would be to have a ‘normal’ local shop and shopkeeper, instead of the crazy that had been Little Jack’s Corner Shop. Nice as he was, Little Jack was a true eccentric. How else did you explain a man who spent all of his time on stilts in a wind tunnel? During the time we’d lived in Smallwash, he’d tried to introduce all manner of new schemes including loyalty cards, home delivery and online ordering—all of which had failed spectacularly.

  Middle Tweaking’s village shop, which was next-door to the greengrocer, was called Tweaking Stores. From the outside, it looked slightly smaller than Little Jack’s Corner Shop. A bell chimed as I walked through the door, but there didn’t appear to be anyone behind the counter. The interior of the shop was quite old fashioned and reminded me of the local shop where I used to buy sweets as a kid. The layout was very confusing because there didn’t appear to be any obvious grouping of like items. Instead, everything seemed to have been placed on the shelves in a random fashion.

  “Good morning.” The woman, who had appeared behind the counter, was wearing a floral-patterned apron and had a blue rinse. “I’m Cynthia Stock. My sister, Marjorie and I own this fine establishment. Are you visiting the village?”

  “Actually no. My husband, myself and our little girl moved into the old watermill recently.”

  “You must be Jack’s wife.”

  “That’s right. I’m Jill.”

  “Your husband has been in here a few times, but I think it’s the first time you and I have met, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, I haven’t had the chance to pop in before.”

  “That little girl of yours is a darling.”

  “Florence? We like to think so.”

  “Did you find what you were looking for?”

  “Actually no. We found ourselves without bread and butter this morning, and I really fancy toast for breakfast.”

  “Oh dear.” She frowned. “I’m afraid you’re out of luck. The bread delivery won’t arrive until eleven.”

  “Isn’t that rather late?”

  “Actually, it’s earlier than usual. It doesn’t normally arrive until midday.”

  “O—kay. What about butter? Where would I find that?”

  “Hmm.” Her frown deepened. “I’m afraid we’re all out of that too. We should be getting some more in tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Or the day after. Definitely by the weekend.”

  “Right. Okay, well never mind.”

  “I tell you what we do have, though.”

  “Yes?” I assumed she was going to offer a non-dairy spread.

  I was wrong.

  “Yesterday, we took delivery of some lovely body warmers.” She pointed to a rack in the corner of the shop. “They’re gorgeous and they’re very reasonably priced.”

  “Just in time for spring, presumably?”

  “Can I interest you in one?”

  “Not just at the moment, thanks. I really had my heart set on bread and butter.”

  “I’m sorry to have let you down on your first visit to the shop. I’m sure you’ll have better luck next time.”

  Jack had finished his breakfast but was still sitting at the kitchen table. When he saw I’d returned emptyhanded, he grinned. “Still having toast?”

  I ignored the jibe, went over to the cupboard, took out the cornflakes and poured some into a bowl.

  “I did warn you, Jill.”

  “I don’t understand it. How can they be out of bread and butter?”

  “Did you meet the sisters Stock?”

  “One of them. Stock? Now there’s an ironic name if ever there was one. Cynthia tried to sell me a body warmer.”

  “It’s almost May.”

  “I know. And the layout of that shop makes no sense; there’s stuff everywhere. I used to think Little Jack’s shop was bad, but at least he stocked the essentials, and the layout made some kind of sense.” Out in the garden, Florence was still throwing the ball for Buddy who looked as though he was about to collapse. “It looks like Florence has run him ragged.”

  ***

  I’d decided to go directly from the old watermill to Mr Edwards’ house. I wanted to see the reading room from which he claimed he’d witnessed a shooting in one of the properties across the park.

  There was no off-street parking at the front of the property, but I managed to park on the road just a few doors down. The houses were all clearly expensive, and large enough to accommodate a sizable family, but I was pretty sure that Mr Edwards lived there alone.

  “Jill, good morning.” He greeted me at the door. “I’ve just put the kettle on. Is tea okay or would you prefer coffee?”

  “Tea would be lovely. Milk no sugar, please.”

  “I was about to make myself some toast. I don’t suppose you’d care for some, would you?”

  “Actually, Mr Edwards—”

  “Rusty! You really must call me Rusty.”

  “Sorry. Actually, Rusty, a slice of toast would go down very nicely. I was going to have some before I left home, but we were out of bread and butter, and the local shop didn’t have either.�
�

  “What?” He looked horrified. “What kind of retail establishment is that? If that were my local shop, I’d be reading the Riot Act to them. Come on in, and I’ll get the toast started.”

  I had to give Rusty his due: the man certainly knew how to make toast. While we ate, we chatted at the kitchen table, mainly about his ex-wife who he clearly still missed.

  When we’d finished our tea and toast, he led the way upstairs to the reading room, which was at the rear of the property. Just as he’d described, it overlooked a small park.

  “You have a lovely view from up here, Rusty.”

  “I’m a lucky man. I find it very relaxing to look out over the park, particularly in the spring and summer when I can open the French doors and sit on the balcony.”

  “Was it through this window that you witnessed the incident in question?”

  “Yes. Do you see the house over there? The one with the garage with the red back door?”

  “I see it.”

  “That’s the property where the incident took place. In the window on the first floor, to the right.”

  I can see the window, but I can’t see inside the room from here.”

  “You’ll need the binoculars. Let me get them for you.” He walked across the room, retrieved what was clearly an expensive pair of binoculars, and handed them to me.

  “They’re quite heavy,” I said.

  “They’re vintage. None of that new-fangled plastic rubbish. Give them a go.”

  I did as he said. The lenses were very powerful, and I could now see clearly into the rooms of the properties opposite.

  “Tell me, Rusty, how often do you study the park?”

  “Most days. As I mentioned when I came to see you, I’m primarily interested in the wildlife. I have some photos that I think you’ll find interesting.”

  “I—err—” For a horrible moment, I had a flashback to what Winky had said about Rusty being a Peeping Tom.

  I needn’t have worried because all the photos were of squirrels: Squirrels foraging amongst the leaves for nuts, squirrels running up the side of trees, squirrels sitting on benches, and even a few brave ones, going up to passersby and begging for food.

  “You’re clearly fond of squirrels, Rusty.”