The Language Of Spells - Sarah Painter

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a craft market, I’d love to join in. I have a stall.’ Gwen knew she was being childish, but she couldn’t help it. Patrick reminded her of every authority figure she’d ever rebelled against. Old habits died hard.

      Patrick looked momentarily at a loss for words. Then he rallied with another false laugh. ‘Ah. I take it I won’t be able to count on you to sign my petition, then?’

      ‘As a local business owner, I welcome anything that brings in the punters,’ Gwen said sweetly.

      ‘Well. Yes. I suppose.’ Patrick looked as if he dearly wanted to say something else.

      ‘I’ve got to get my tools,’ Cam said and went out of the front door. Gwen didn’t blame him.

      ‘Would you like a cup of coffee? Tea?’ Gwen ushered Patrick to the dining room. She was damned if he was sitting in her lovely kitchen.

      ‘I can’t stop, really. Just wanted to welcome you and to see if there was anything …’ Patrick trailed off as he took in the mausoleum chic of the dining room. He turned on his heel. ‘Did you say your boiler wasn’t working? Can I help with that?’

      ‘I don’t know. Can you?’ Gwen was nonplussed. She had the feeling that Patrick wasn’t the kind of person who offered favours out of the goodness of his heart.

      ‘I have a man for that sort of thing.’ Patrick took a business card from his wallet. ‘Call me if you need anything. Anything at all.’ He looked deeply into Gwen’s eyes as he said this. Probably something he’d learned on a management training day.

      Once Patrick was safely off the premises, Gwen fetched painting supplies from the shed. She felt itchy, like she needed to take some control back and show Iris who was boss in the house. Painting over the horrible purple walls seemed like a good place to start. She spread dustsheets over the furniture in the living room until the place looked like it was filled with snowy hillocks.

      ‘What on earth are you doing?’

      Gwen turned to find Cam standing in the doorway, a metal toolbox in one hand. ‘This room is oppressively horrid, so I’m brightening it up.’ She waved a paintbrush.

      ‘It’s November.’

      ‘I know what month it is,’ Gwen said. ‘I need to keep busy.’

      ‘But you’ll freeze. You’ll need the window open for ventilation.’

      ‘I’m already freezing.’ Gwen gestured at her layers of clothing. ‘And I appear to be surviving. So.’

      Cam crossed the room and forced the sash window open a couple of inches. ‘I hope you enjoy frostbite.’

      ‘Not at all; that’s why I want you to focus all of your admirable energy on my boiler.’

      She’d barely started rollering the first wall when Cam called out. She went upstairs and met Cam coming the other way, his expression grim.

      Gwen stopped. ‘What?’

      ‘Come and see,’ Cam said.

      Cam had taken the white casing off the front of the boiler and leaned it up against the open door of the cupboard.

      ‘What?’ Gwen began, then took a closer look.

      A small plate that housed the electrics was bent outwards, deep scrape marks gouged into the metal and a tangle of wires hung out drunkenly. The copper pipework had been smashed almost completely flat and a couple of dials were cracked.

      ‘I think I can see why it wouldn’t relight for you,’ Cam said.

      Chapter 6

      Gwen went downstairs, trying to rub life back into her frozen hands. She stabbed the button on the kettle and got down a couple of mugs. Cam walked in a moment later, slipping his phone into his pocket.

      ‘Tea?’

      ‘No, thanks.’

      His expression made her body temperature drop another couple of degrees. ‘What is it?’

      ‘Was the boiler working when you moved in?’

      ‘Yes. I think so.’

      ‘Someone’s really gone to town on it. Probably with a hammer. Do you have a hammer?’

      ‘You think I hit my own boiler?’ Gwen’s brain seemed to be as frozen as her hands.

      ‘No.’ Cam shook his head. ‘Harry wanted to know. If you had left one lying about your bedroom—’ he paused, stuck on the word, then carried on, ‘that could be a spur of the moment crime. But if the person brought it with them it was planned.’

      ‘Does that make a difference?’

      ‘Very much so. In court—’ He broke off. ‘Sit down.’

      ‘Okay.’ Gwen felt her legs wobble and hastily sat in the chair Cam had jumped up to offer. Last thing she wanted to do was collapse in front of him like a needy, useless lump.

      ‘I’ve rung around, but no one can come out before tomorrow.’ Cam looked almost murderous.

      ‘I know,’ Gwen said. ‘I told you that.’

      ‘It’s not good enough,’ Cam said.

      ‘Well, this early cold snap—’

      ‘So you’ll have to come and stay with me tonight.’

      ‘No,’ Gwen said. She might have no choice about staying in Pendleford for a few months, but she had not come back to her home town to play the damsel in distress. She was a grown-up, an independent woman and she did not need charity from anybody. Especially not Cameron Laing.

      ‘I’ll sleep on the sofa,’ Cam continued, ignoring her. ‘We should probably go now. I’ve told Harry we’ll be there when he comes off shift. You can give him your house key and he’ll swing by and take a look’

      ‘I’m not leaving,’ Gwen said.

      Cam gave her a disgusted look. ‘You’re being ridiculous. What about your sister? Can’t you go and stay with her for a couple of days?’

      ‘No,’ Gwen said. She didn’t elaborate. Cam already thought she was unstable; there was no need to tell him that she was fighting with the only family she had left.

      ‘I’m not deserting this house just because it’s a bit chilly.’ Gwen stood up to make her tea. She told herself that she felt strong. She was an independent woman. Self-reliant.

      ‘It’s freezing,’ Cam said, his voice reasonable. ‘And it’s going to get worse. They forecast minus ten tonight.’

      ‘Who’s they?’

      ‘Google.’

      ‘Oh, well then, if Saint Google says so.’ Gwen was hoping to make him smile, but nothing doing.

      ‘It’s not funny,’ he said.

      ‘There’s an oil heater in the outbuilding, I’ll bring that in. I’ve got hot water bottles and plenty of blankets. I’ll go to bed early and keep warm. I’ll be fine. Honestly, you don’t need to worry.’ As she reassured him just how fine she was going to be, a place opened up inside Gwen, reminding her that someone had broken into the house last night. She tried not to think about the quiet road and the long, dark path that led to her house. She tried not to see the single light at her window, shining out in the night like an invitation. She’d put on more lights; that was all that was needed. Maybe make a couple of silhouettes of well-built men and move them around the house with her.

      Cam had pulled out his phone and was fiddling with the buttons. He spoke without looking up. ‘I’ll stay with you then.’

      ‘You don’t have to do that,’ Gwen said automatically, ignoring the tiny voice that said: yes, please.

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