A Witch in Love Read online

  ‘You can’t stay, you know. Not long, anyway,’ I said feebly, as he nuzzled into my neck, trailing chilly hands down my spine. His touch set me trembling again, but now it was from desire, rather than cold.

  ‘Mmmm. Why not?’

  ‘Be-because …’ It was hard to think with Seth’s hands running over my waist, caressing the ticklish dint above my pyjama bottoms. ‘Because … Dad … Stuff …’

  ‘OK. But just a little while?’

  ‘Just a while.’

  He reached out and turned out the light and we pressed together in the darkness, tracing each other’s features with blind fingers and lips and tongues, licking, nipping, biting.

  ‘Anna …’ He spoke into my collarbone.

  ‘What?’ It came out as a gasp.

  He kissed me again and I let my hands explore beneath his T-shirt, feeling the flex and strength of his muscles and the ridges of his ribs, the curve of his spine, the tender, hard nape of his neck. It was hot beneath the duvet now, both of us pressed together and breathing hard, and when Seth flung the cover aside I didn’t complain.

  It felt like desire was burning me up from inside, radiating out through my skin. Seth sat up and tore off his T-shirt and then bent and ran his tongue across my belly. The cool air on his saliva left a path of ice. I gasped and arched and he kissed my mouth hard, stifling the too-loud sounds with his lips, and then trailing down my throat.

  ‘Seth …’ I don’t know what I wanted to say, I just wanted to hear his name, gasp it in a whisper. ‘Seth …’

  He made a sound, halfway between a whisper and a groan, his lips at the hollow of my throat, and I wrapped my arms around him, my desire so fierce and tender that I could hardly contain it. I thought my heart might burst with love.

  ‘Anna …’ And then more urgently, ‘Anna!’

  He was tearing at my arms, pushing me away as if he hated me, as if he couldn’t stand to feel my touch a second longer. He staggered back from the bed, gasping and whimpering, and I could only scramble to my knees on the tumbled sheets, my outstretched arms bereft.

  ‘Seth!’ I reached for him in the darkness, hating the neediness in my voice but unable to contain it. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Don’t touch me!’ His voice was sharp with pain and there was a strange smell in the air. ‘Where’s the damn light?’

  ‘Seth, what’s wrong?’ I stumbled out of bed and he backed away.

  ‘No, Anna, don’t touch me!’

  His fumbling fingers found the switch, and light flooded the room. But it wasn’t the brightness that made me flinch.

  Seth stood in the middle of the room, his naked torso golden in the lamplight. But where my hands had gripped him were great crimson welts. Shiny scarlet burns striped his ribs. A fat blister welled in the small of his back. There were charred dark patches on the sheets of the bed and the acrid smell of burnt hair hung in the air.

  I covered my mouth. I wanted to shut my eyes, but it seemed like the coward’s way out.

  ‘Oh God. Oh God. Oh, Seth, what have I done?’

  ‘It’s OK – you didn’t mean it. You didn’t mean it.’ He reached out to me and I recoiled.

  ‘Don’t! How can you bear … After that …’ I looked away. There was a long silence and then I heard a hiss and turned to see Seth emptying a glass of water on my smouldering mattress.

  ‘Sorry.’ He gave me a sideways smile and a half-shrug. ‘Looks like you’ll be sleeping in the damp patch after all.’

  I didn’t laugh at his pathetic joke. I wanted to rage, scream, punish myself. How could I? In spite of all the stupid, dangerous things I’d done recently, it had never entered my head that I could really hurt Seth. Not physically.

  Seth saw my face and tried to take my arm but I flinched away, cowering from him against the wall.

  ‘Don’t touch me.’

  ‘Anna,’ he said quietly, and then, as I refused to look at him, more angrily, ‘Anna. Stop being so bloody stupid. It was a lapse, a second’s lapse. Stop beating yourself up.’

  ‘Stop beating myself up? Seth, have you looked at yourself?’ I ripped open my wardrobe, pointed to his reflection in the mirror inside the door. It was horrific. ‘Look,’ I said brutally, watching him take in the scarlet welts. ‘Look. You look like I’ve branded you with a hot iron. How can I live with that?’

  ‘It was an accident.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘It does matter. Would you be treating me like this if I’d … if I’d accidentally dropped a lit fag on the bed?’

  ‘Don’t try to argue this away, Seth. Look at what I’ve done – look at you. How …’ My voice cracked and I couldn’t continue.

  ‘Stop it.’ He grabbed me, stifling my rising sobs with his hand. I’d rarely seen him so angry. ‘Stop it.’

  ‘Let go!’

  ‘I will not! Your skin’s cool now, stop being so bloody melodramatic—’

  ‘Melodramatic!’ I could hear the edge of hysteria in my voice. ‘Seth, I burnt you! I’m a horrible, horrible person. No wonder—’

  ‘Shut up!’ He gripped my arms so that I couldn’t turn away and his voice was almost brutal. ‘I won’t go through this again, do you understand? I won’t. All your self-hatred, self-blame, all this sodding renouncing me because you think it’s the heroic thing to do. I’m fed up of it. I’m a person, Anna. I can make my own decisions. If I decide that being with you isn’t worth the price, I’ll walk away, but that’s my decision to make, understand? So don’t try to make it for me.’

  ‘You can’t ask me to put you through this.’

  ‘I can ask you to give me a bit of bloody credit, Anna. Listen to me: if you want to walk away, do it. That’s your choice. But if you do, I’ll refuse to believe any of this crap about your higher motives. If you walk away from me, do it for one reason and one reason only – because you don’t love me any more. Not because of what you think I want, or what you think is best for me. Until you can look me in the eye and tell me that you don’t love me, I don’t want to hear about it. Then you can leave.’

  ‘How dare …’ I began. And stopped.

  Without realizing it our voices had risen to shouts and now from down the corridor I heard Dad’s door open and his sleepy voice call, ‘Anna, are you OK? I heard yelling.’

  ‘Shit.’ Seth looked around the room and then slipped behind the curtain. It was pretty lame – you could see his bare feet – but if Dad wasn’t wearing his glasses … I turned down the lamp and flicked on the radio, just in time for Dad’s bleary-eyed head to come round my door.

  ‘You all right?’

  ‘Sorry, Dad … I … I couldn’t sleep. I was listening to the radio, a play – that was the shouting. I didn’t realize it was so loud.’ The story sounded weak even to my ears but Dad was preoccupied with something else.

  ‘Can you smell that? Is that … something burning? Oh Lord, I didn’t leave the kettle on the Aga, did I?’

  ‘No it was me – sorry, Dad. I had …’ I racked my brains, feeling the desperation rise. I’d always been a pretty rubbish liar and I could hear Seth’s stifled breathing from behind the curtain, adding to my stress. Inspiration came. ‘I was kind of dozing and I must have knocked my light over on to my bed. It scorched the sheet. Look …’ I showed him one of the scorch marks on the bed and he frowned perplexedly.

  ‘Blimey, I thought those energy-saving bulbs were meant to be low-heat. Terrifying they’d make a mark like that – are you all right?’

  I nodded and he shrugged.

  ‘Never mind then. No harm done, I suppose – just be a bit more careful in future.’

  ‘Yes, Dad.’ I breathed a sigh of relief that he’d bought my pathetic line.

  ‘Night, love. Put your radio off and get some sleep now, hey?’

  ‘Yes, Dad.’

  ‘And for goodness’ sake, turn the light out this time!’ He kissed my forehead and shuffled off down the corridor, and from behind the curtain I heard Seth’s shaky exhalation o
f breath. As Dad’s door clunked shut, Seth stepped out.

  ‘Nice lying there, Anna,’ he whispered.

  ‘Are you being sarcastic?’ I hissed back.

  ‘Er, yes! That was the lamest story I’ve ever heard!’

  ‘Look, you try coming up with a cast-iron fib at two in the morning, while your boyfriend heavy-breathes from behind your bedroom curtain.’

  ‘I’d have come up with a better one than that, even if my boyfriend was heavy breathing underneath my dressing gown.’ We stood, glaring at each other, and then simultaneously broke into sheepish smiles. Seth held out his arms and I walked warily towards him. I held my breath – but there was no stifled exclamation of pain, no hiss of burning flesh. Seth gripped me painfully tight and kissed the top of my head, his breath warm in my hair.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said, my face muffled by his chest.

  ‘No, I’m sorry. I was being a jerk before. It’s lovely that you worry about me; I just wish …’

  ‘Yes?’ I looked up into his cloud-coloured eyes.

  ‘I just wish that your worries didn’t always take the form of pushing me away. It breaks my heart.’

  I couldn’t think of a reply to that; his words were dangerously close to breaking my heart. I only held him tighter, hoping he didn’t see the tear that ran down the bare golden skin of his chest.

  At last he sighed and stroked a hand down my hair.

  ‘I should go,’ he said. I nodded, but made no move to release him, and at last he prised my fingers from his ribs and kissed my forehead. ‘Come on, only a few minutes ago you were kicking me out …’

  ‘It is the nightingale and not the lark …’

  ‘You know I got a D in English, sweetheart.’ He pulled his T-shirt over his head and added, his voice muffled by the fabric, ‘It’s Shakespeare, right? I barely even know how that one ends.’

  Not well, I thought, but I didn’t say it. Instead I sighed and said, ‘OK, go. Be careful, Seth.’

  ‘I’ll be careful. I always am.’

  Not where I’m concerned, I thought.

  I watched as he lowered himself out of the window, with a muffled volley of swearwords as his skin scraped the cold, wet bricks. There was a cautious, scrabbling rush and a thud as he hit the ground, and then with a whispered ‘Bye, love …’ he was gone, loping off towards the main road in the stark moonlight.

  I climbed back into bed and switched off the light and then lay in the darkness, my mind running back across our argument. I didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry that Dad had interrupted us. I knew that if he hadn’t I would have blurted out the truth – that what I still feared was that Seth didn’t have the power to walk away from me. That in spite of everything, he was still bound by that long-ago spell, unable to stop loving me, his heart enslaved no matter what.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ‘Caradoc Truelove …’ Emmaline bit the finger of one gloved hand, her breath making a white cloud as she pondered. ‘Never heard of him. Where did you get the name from?’

  I explained about the photo.

  ‘So I looked at it under Dad’s big magnifying glass, and you could just make out “Proprietor Caradoc Truelove” underneath the shop name.’

  ‘What makes you think it was him taking the photo though?’

  ‘Because when I looked at it under the glass, I could see the sign on the door was turned to “closed”. If my mother was in the shop, it must have been with the owner, don’t you think?’

  ‘Could be the shop assistant.’

  ‘I guess, but do you think it’s likely the shop assistant would be entertaining his mates after hours?’

  ‘I suppose it’s worth a try anyway – even if this Caradoc Truelove isn’t the goods, he may know the right person. Do you want me to ask Mum?’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll goog—’ I was interrupted by roar of the crowd as the ball ricocheted off the Winter defender’s hand and the ref’s whistle blew, awarding a penalty to West Riding.

  To say I wasn’t the biggest football fan in the world would be putting it mildly, but this was a big game for Winter, and Seth was playing as striker. Unfortunately we were seventy minutes in and Winter was two–one down, so unless things looked up, we’d be losing the trophy. The Winter boys on the pitch moved into position for the penalty and stood waiting with tense muscles. The ref’s whistle blew and the West Riding striker ran in and belted the ball. It sailed through the air in a perfect arc, heading for the far corner of the goal – and the Winter keeper flung himself sideways in a miraculous, suicidal save, crashing into the sea of mud with the football clasped in his arms.

  ‘YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESS!’ Em shrieked beside me, waving her arms in the air like crazy.

  ‘I didn’t know you liked football,’ I said as she sat back down. She shrugged and gave me a sidelong smile.

  ‘Sweaty, mud-covered, panting men wearing shorts – what’s not to like?’

  ‘I see your point. There’s definitely an impressive amount of eye candy down there.’ The sheer amount of rain-drenched, mud-streaked male skin on display made the game magnetic whether or not you cared about the result. I saw Seth pounding down the field, his hair slicked close to his skull, and watched as he tackled a defender for the ball, weaving in and out of West Riding players to take it back up the pitch. Then, with a brutality that made me flinch, another player cut in to tackle Seth and he tripped and pitched headlong into the mud with a wet smack that was audible even up in the stands.

  ‘Yowch!’ Even Em looked taken aback, but Seth was up and running again in an instant. He flashed a quick smile up towards the crowd, searching for me, and gave me a little wave before plunging back into the action.

  ‘Anyone in particular catch your eye, then?’ I said curiously to Em. She’d never shown any interest in the boys at school – in fact I’d sometimes wondered if her inclinations lay elsewhere.

  ‘What, seriously, you mean?’ She glanced over at me to see if I was joking and then shook her head firmly. ‘No, no way.’

  ‘Why not? Seth’s friend Matt, say.’

  ‘Who’s he?’

  ‘The tall guy in goal.’ I pointed at Matt, his sun-streaked hair turned dark gold with sweat and rain. ‘You know, he’s the one who’s always bunking off to go surfing. He’s lovely.’

  ‘Huh.’ Em snorted derisively.

  ‘You don’t even know him,’ I said mildly.

  ‘I don’t need to. He’s just an—’

  She stopped and I looked at her, half cross and half amused.

  ‘Just what? Just an outwith, that’s what you were going to say, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Well …’ She had the grace to look a bit embarrassed but I could see she wasn’t really repentant. ‘He is.’

  ‘So’s Seth. So’s my dad. What are you trying to say?’

  ‘Nothing. I’m not trying to say anything. I just don’t think it ever works out.’

  ‘How would you know?’ I was getting cross now and the words came out more hotly than I’d intended. ‘I’m half-outwith, you know.’

  ‘No you’re not.’ Em shook her head dismissively.

  ‘What – are you saying my dad’s not my dad?’ I was furious now, my voice rising above the roar of the crowd.

  ‘Keep your voice down – and your knickers on. No, I’m not saying that at all. I’m saying if you’ve got magic, that’s it. If you haven’t, you’re an outwith. There’s no such thing as half-outwith. If it comes to that, I’m half-outwith.’

  ‘What? ’

  ‘My dad, he was just some random outwith, you know.’

  ‘Some random outwith?’ Her dismissive tone made me reel back. I wasn’t sure if I was shocked, or disgusted, or pitying. ‘And you’ve never wanted to meet him – to know him?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘What about Sienna?’

  ‘No, her dad was one of us, but he died. I think that’s what made my mum turn … outwards. She wanted a relationship without … without complications. Getting knocked u
p wasn’t part of the plan, as far as I know. I don’t think she let him hang around long enough to find out.’

  ‘So he was just … just stud services?’

  ‘More or less.’ Emmaline looked slightly defensive, but she wasn’t backing down. ‘Look, it would never have worked. She didn’t have anything in common with him – neither would I, if I ever met him. It just doesn’t work.’

  ‘Oil and water,’ I said under my breath, my words swallowed by the roar of the spectators.

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Doesn’t matter. But Em, how can you be so sure it’d never have worked – that you’d have nothing in common with your dad? You never gave him a chance.’

  ‘Look.’ Em’s face was hard. ‘You may not like it, and I’m sorry if this pisses you off, but it’s true. It doesn’t work.’

  ‘What about me, what about my dad?’

  ‘Yeah, and look how well that turned out with your mum,’ Emmaline snapped back.

  I don’t know what reaction showed in my face – it felt like a stiff mask of cold. But Em looked stricken. ‘Anna, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.’

  ‘Why not?’ My voice sounded hard in my own ears. ‘It’s true.’

  I turned back to the match and we sat side by side in silence, watching the boys running up and down in a weird, futile dance that suddenly made no sense to me at all.

  ‘Go, Seth!’ someone screamed behind me and I leant forward and saw that Seth had the ball and was tearing down the pitch towards the goal. A huge defender blocked his path but he feinted left, swerved right to avoid a second, and then paused for a microsecond, weighing up the closing gap between the sidelines and the defenders thundering towards him. He could go for it – but it would be a slim chance and there was another Winter player, Ahmid, waiting to his right.

  ‘Shoot!’ the crowd screamed, but the defenders were closing in. Seth passed to Ahmid and Ahmid took the shot and levelled the score to screams of adulation from the crowd. Seth clapped Ahmid on the back – and if he was frustrated at losing the shot you wouldn’t have known it.

  There were only a few minutes left now and the game was sliding towards a draw in a sea of mud. Five minutes, by my watch. Four. Three. And then there was a scuffle on the pitch, players down, grappling with each other in the mud. The shrill whistle blasted out and the ref called a penalty against West Riding.