The Language Of Spells. Sarah Painter

being so officious, she might even be able to convince herself that she was something other than another problem to solve.

      Cam called Harry back while Gwen lugged the oil heater from the outhouse and set it up in her bedroom.

      Cam appeared in the doorway, just as she was checking it worked.

      He leaned against the door jamb and crossed his arms, staring at the bed. ‘Sure you’ve got enough blankets there?’

      ‘Ha ha,’ Gwen said to stop herself from offering him a test run. ‘And the heater works. I’ll be completely fine.’

      Cam hesitated.

      ‘I’ve got new locks. I’ll keep my mobile with me. You don’t need to worry.’

      He followed her downstairs and Gwen wondered whether he was going to leave right away.

      ‘I need a drink,’ Cam said, running a hand through his hair.

      ‘I’ve got Southern Comfort.’

      Cam pulled a face.

      ‘Fussy boy. How about red wine?’

      Gwen opened the bottle and poured two glasses. Nothing seemed real. Someone had got into her house and messed up her heating. Deliberately. She’d only been back in Pendleford for a week and someone already hated her that much. She took a gulp from her glass and handed the other to Cam.

      ‘Shall we stay in here? I think it’s the warmest room at the moment.’

      Cam shrugged. He took a sip of his wine and pulled a face.

      ‘Cheap stuff, I’m afraid,’ Gwen said, then felt irritated for apologising. She fiddled with her thumb ring, twisting it round and round. ‘Why do I get the feeling you’re annoyed with me?’

      ‘Well, you’re the one insisting you stay in this house on your own. It would be much better—’

      ‘Not just about that. You always seem as if you’re angry, but you’re trying not to show it.’

      ‘Do I?’ Cam’s forehead creased. After a moment he said, ‘I don’t feel angry. Sorry.’

      ‘Because if you are, I’d understand, but I’d much rather we had it out and you said whatever it is you’re trying not to say.’

      ‘I’m not hiding anything,’ Cam said, but he didn’t meet her eyes.

      Gwen decided to just say it. Get it out there. ‘I’ve told you I’m sorry about how I left things. Before.’

      Cam’s expression went blank. ‘Ancient history,’ he said.

      ‘Water under the bridge,’ Gwen said.

      ‘And it’s done.’ Cam shrugged. ‘No point crying over spilt milk.’

      ‘Look before you leap.’

      ‘What?’

      ‘Sorry. I thought we were trading clichés.’

      There was a short silence, then Cam said, ‘How’s the living room looking?’

      Gwen shook her head. ‘Not good.’ She showed him the one wall she’d painted. The purple had turned the white grey and was seeping through in patches, giving it a scabrous look.