I'll Be There For You. Kerry Barrett

look so worried,’ Louise said to me later, as we sat in front of the TV. ‘Fifi will be fine. You can help her.’

      I gave her a weak smile.

      ‘I feel a bit out of my depth,’ I admitted. ‘I wasn’t expecting things to happen so young. We can’t explain that she should only do witchcraft when people won’t notice ‒ she’ll never understand.’

      ‘She might,’ Lou said. ‘They’re understanding more and more now. I’m sure she’ll get the hang of it.’

      ‘Maybe,’ I said doubtfully. ‘The thing is, this is a new experience for everyone. Esme and I didn’t start showing our powers until we were about three, Mum says.’

      ‘Perhaps you need some support,’ she said. ‘What about finding that witch baby group you talked about? I love the support I get from twin club ‒ just knowing other mums in the same situation has been so helpful for me. You could get that support from other witches.’

      She was, as usual, completely right. But she didn’t know that I was barely a witch myself at the moment. If I met up with others, they’d be bound to notice and then what? I had no idea what happened to a witch that couldn’t make magic.

      ‘Do you want to watch another episode,’ Lou said, waving the Breaking Bad case at me. I shook my head.

      ‘I’m wiped out,’ I said. ‘And I’ve got to be at work early tomorrow. You watch another one and I’ll catch up during the week if you like.’

      I stood up.

      ‘Night,’ I said.

      Louise caught my hand.

      ‘Are you okay, H?’ she said. ‘You just seem a bit out of sorts.’

      ‘I’m fine,’ I said. ‘Honestly.’

      I was exhausted, that wasn’t a lie. I climbed the stairs slowly and went into the twins’ room. They were both sleeping peacefully in their cots. Finn was face down on the mattress, while Fifi had her arms flung above her head like a flamenco dancer. My heart ached with love for them both, but I was so scared that I was going to let them down when they needed me most that I let out a little sob. My brother had grown up in a non-magical family, not understanding his powers and not learning how to use them properly and he had suffered badly because of it. I couldn’t bear for that to happen to my children. I brushed Fiona’s hair off her face and kissed her forehead.

      ‘I’m going to sort this out, little girl,’ I whispered. ‘We’ll help you get control of your powers.’

      I kissed Finn too ‒ on the back of his head, in case turning him over woke him up.

      ‘And you, mister,’ I said. ‘Are you magical, too?’

      Finn snored gently.

      I crept out of their room and into our bedroom, where I sat on the edge of the bed.

      My pyjamas were under my pillow. I waggled my fingers in their direction. Nothing happened. Ordinarily I’d expect them to float out in a shower of silvery sparkles and land on my lap. I tried again. Nothing.

      That was the most basic of basic magic. It was what Fiona had done this afternoon. And I couldn’t do it. In a daze I pulled my pyjamas out by myself and put them on, then I got into bed and turned out the light so I wouldn’t have to talk to Lou when she came to bed. I couldn’t understand it at all. My mum’s powers had gone a bit wonky once, when she was diagnosed with breast cancer and had treatment. But that was completely understandable given what was going on in her body - and she’d not lost them entirely. I had always had trouble using spells if I was super-stressed, but that was always temporary and, normally, with a bit of concentration, I could cobble something together.

      My problems had crept up on me. Witchcraft was so much a part of my life, that I used it all the time without even thinking about it. But the stuff I used every day was easy stuff. Kids’ charms, like the one I’d just tried without success, and at first that was fine. When the twins were tiny, my magic seemed to be unaffected. I could find lost dummies, sterilise bottles and fill a changing bag with nappies and wipes with one sweep of my hand. One night, when Fiona had been really unsettled, I’d twitched my fingers and enchanted the ceiling of their room, so it twinkled with stars. Fifi had been transfixed, her tiny eyes following a shooting star as it shot across past the light fitting and had gone to sleep straight away.

      But a couple of months ago, when Finn had a bad night, I’d tried to recreate the starry ceiling and found I couldn’t.

      At the time, I’d thought nothing of it. I was exhausted and Louise and I were both about to go back to work, so I was worried about how we were going to organise things, and how the twins would settle at nursery… It was just a blip, I told myself.

      But when I did go back to work, a couple of weeks later, and the twins were happily ruling the roost at Little Acorns, I realised this was no blip.

      I ran a holistic spa called InHarmony – a play on my name, Harmony, obviously. I’d started out online, running a website that offered lifestyle advice to fellow witches – and magical advice to civilians. Eventually, I expanded into ‘real life’ and opened my spa in an exclusive part of Edinburgh. In Harmony was a sanctuary where clients could practise yoga, have massages or acupuncture. Dabble in Reiki. Learn meditation. Or have what I liked to call spiritual counselling. Clients came and told me their problems, and I cast a spell, or wrote a charm, to help.

      When the twins arrived, I sold my web business for more money than I’d ever dreamed possible, and found a brilliant young witch called Vanessa to be my deputy manager at the spa. Nessa was unruffled and calm and I knew we’d work well together when I went back part time. Nessa was ideal, I thought, to run a new site in Morningside I had my eye on. Expanding the business was reliant on finding the right people to manage the branches and Nessa was perfect. It was all planned out and should have worked beautifully.

      Except when I got back to work after my adoption leave was over, I had to accept my powers were definitely waning.

      Suddenly I couldn’t do the spells my clients needed. The spells they were paying me – handsomely – for. I covered my tracks, getting Nessa to take on more counselling while I took care of the business side.

      It was hard being back at work. Much, much harder than I’d ever thought it would be. Lou was a detective in the Edinburgh police and she’d cut her hours too, though she still worked shifts. On days when we both worked, the twins went to Little Acorns where they were looked after so well that some days they didn’t want to come home. I’d thought it would be easy, juggling work and home – after all, thousands of women did it without complaining – but it wasn’t easy at all.

      I felt like I wasn’t doing a good enough job at home with the twins, and I definitely wasn’t doing a good enough job at work because of my rubbish spells.

      And then there was Louise. I felt like our relationship had really taken a back seat since the twins arrived ‒ inevitable I suppose. We were like ships that passed in the night during the week, I sometimes worked on Saturdays and she often worked all weekend. Plus, I had to admit I was beginning to feel a little resentful. Because I ran my own business I called the shots. Employing Nessa had freed up my time, my brother helped out when he was around, though I did have to keep a strict eye on him, and I often brought paperwork home. Louise’s job was completely different. She was at the beck and call of Edinburgh’s criminals. If she were working on an important case she would often not come home at all. Plus there were the out-of-hours bits ‒ she always said her team came up with their best theories over a pint and a bag of crisps. I believed her, of course, but it was hard not to feel a bit put upon when I was the one bathing the twins and putting them to bed and I knew she was in the pub. Admittedly, I never drank beer or ate crisps and the pub next to the police station was one I wouldn’t dream of setting my treasured Louboutins in, but that was beside the point.

      I was beginning to feel this was all too much. Lou, the twins, my loss of power. Everything. I pulled the duvet over my head and went to sleep with tears rolling