Free Dark Spell by Gill Arbuthnott Page B

hide the wet patch, then stood back to inspect the result of their efforts.
    “Well, it looks okay to me,” said Josh.
    “You’re not my mother,” Callie pointed out unnecessarily. “She’s like someone from
CSI
. It’ll just take one bit of gravel and she’ll work everything out somehow.”
    “They all do that, don’t they?” said Josh, still scrutinising the room. “You get the place immaculate and they come home and take one look round and they’re like, ‘I see you had six friends round and ordered pepperoni pizza – sixteen inch – and drank nine cans of Irn-Bru and talked about films.’ Honestly, mothers are a different species.”
    Callie was laughing now.
    “With any luck she won’t even come in here if I’m staying over at your place,” she said, holding up crossed fingers.
    “Has she texted back yet?”
    “I left my phone downstairs. Let’s go and check.” Callie picked up her sunglasses, closed her bedroom door and led the way down to find that there was a text from Julia.
    “Yes, it’s fine,” she said as she read it. “Now, what about the beach? I’ve had more than enough of this house, and there’s a picnic that needs eating.”
    ***
    Lying on the hot sand, stuffed with food, surrounded by the noise of holidaymakers enjoying the sun, the situation seemed a little less daunting than it had in Callie’s bedroom.
    “So, tell me more about being a witch. Can you do lots of cool stuff? Do you have to meet with the rest of the coven at full moon?” Josh had been longing to ask, but he hadn’t wanted to earlier in case it upset Callie again.
    “And dance naked round a cauldron?” Callie interjected acidly.
    Josh went scarlet and choked on his drink. “Don’t do that,” he wheezed in between coughs.
    “Anyway, I can assure you there’s no dancing, and no cauldron, and certainly no nakedness.”
    “Please, don’t even make me think about that.”
    “And they don’t worship the devil. Or have familiars,” she went on, ignoring him.
    “What about Luath? And Chutney Mary?”
    “They’re not familiars, you fool, they’re pets.”
    “Well, what’s the difference?”
    Callie opened and closed her mouth. “Actually, I must admit I’m not sure.”
    “What about George?”
    “I don’t think he’d be very pleased to be described as a pet
or
a familiar.”
    Josh elbowed her in the ribs. “No, I mean what does he think about all this? I take it he does know?”
    “Oh yes, he must know, but no one’s ever actually told him, so he doesn’t have to think anything about it. But I suppose the fact that he and Rose are still together speaks for itself.”

    ***
    When they tired of the beach, Josh and Callie dropped the borrowed wetsuits off. They’d gone into the house with some trepidation, but everything was just as they’d left it, and Chutney Mary accompanied them from room to room, purring cheerfully, tail high.
    Callie collected her overnight stuff. She looked hard at the scruffy t-shirt and shorts she’d worn the night before. Nope. She rummaged through the drawer. There was a brand new set of proper PJs, still in the wrapper. She picked it up, then put it down again. What was she thinking? This was Josh, just Josh.
    She was getting as bad as her mother.
    She settled on a white I HEART NY tee and shorts that weren’t too grotty or too smart. Good.
    “See you tomorrow, puss,” Callie said as she shut the front door again.
    ***
    “Do you want me to come in?” said Josh as they reached The Smithy.
    “No, thanks. I think I’d rather do this on my own,” Callie replied. “I’ll be along in a bit.”
    “Hello?” she called as she went in, but The Smithy was silent. There must be someone here, though; the front door hadn’t been shut, let alone locked. She looked out of one of the back windows and saw George in the greenhouse, Luath lying in front of the open door like a draught excluder.
    “Hello, George. Is Rose around?”
    George put down his secateurs.