The Woman and the Witch Read online

  The fire takes ages to take, so I end up having to use an impatient flick of my fingers; it is so cold, and I am so tired. Eldritch and I watch the flames and I allow my eyes to droop in the heat that traces my face. This time the shift was more like a dream as I sit in the chair by the fire.

  The warmth on my cheeks turns into tight sunburn, and the smell of hot cat is replaced by charred sausages. The chair against my back becomes Charlie's chest and I lie dreamily in his arms looking up at the sky. I turn to look at his sleepy features and say to myself - with all the fierceness and certainty of youth - I will make you love me. I will.

  Charlie again! Pulling up with a start, I re-settle myself in the chair and poke at the fire. Funny, I had forgotten that night when I thought the world would end if I couldn't make Charlie love me.

  I had told the story to myself so many times over the years that the truth of it had changed under my hand, like glass worn smooth by the endless movement of the sea. Now, all those years later it rested, like a pebble at the bottom of a pool of deep water, looking nothing like the jagged, grisly black rock it once was.

  I sigh. I don’t like these odd flashbacks, violent as they are. My memory seemed to want to assault me, mug me, so that I remember things as they were, not as I want them to be. I don't want to remember Charlie like that; I want him to return to the faded photograph of a distant dream.

  I throw the rest of my tea towards the guttering fire and pour wine into a heavy glass, admiring its red velvet depths before swigging back a gulp that makes me splutter. Eldritch jumps and shakes her fur before stalking away with an irritable twitch of her shoulders.

  Something in the air shifts, there are sparks of energy behind me and I stiffen, not wanting to turn. I take another gulp and place the glass down on the side.

  'What do you want?' I ask, never taking my eyes from the ashes in the fireplace. I hear nothing, and still I don’t turn around. Another crackle in the air, a touch on my shoulder and a whisper. Then, still.

  I swig back the last gulp of wine, gathering my strength and stand up.

  A scream erupts from my throat before I know what I am looking at. The noise reverberates the bones of my skull. I drop the glass and it smashes into a million pieces, sending glittering fragments far and wide.

  Charlie is sitting by the window. I don't mean some white-sheeted corpse is propped up against the sill but it is him. And he is smoking, one leg tossed over the other. Maybe this was it, I'd had a stroke and I am hallucinating. Clearing my throat, I try to speak but can only manage a croak. Sitting down, I try again.

  'Charlie.'

  He nods with a faint smile, and blows a long silvery-blue skein of smoke across the bed, making me cough. I wave my hand in front of my face. If you'd asked me yesterday what Charlie looked like, I would have had trouble remembering his features. Just a blur of blond hair, that he was tall, and olive-skinned. But looking at him now he is shockingly familiar. 'You haven't changed a bit,' I manage, 'I wish I could say the same.' I look down at my hands, lumpen, and twisted with veins.

  I can’t help it. My vanity is stronger than my sense. I close my eyes and pull down youth like a cloak, allowing it to settle around my shoulders. My skin plumps as the blood rushes to the surface, the leathery patchwork of liver spots disappear and the pearl white damask of my childhood returns, just for a moment.

  Even though my strength is draining like water, I hold on as long as I can. I want to face him as the girl I was, not the crone I had become.

  His voice, when it comes is clear but with a strange distance to it, it has a crackle like static; the sound is an ill-tuned radio.

  'It's been a long time.'

  'Over eighty years,' I agree. 'A lifetime. So is this it? Have I reached the end? You've come to take me away?'

  'No, I'm not the Grim Reaper come to spirit you to a better place,' he chuckles.

  'So why are you here?'

  'Call me your conscience,' he says, 'you've left it very late and there are things you need to do.'

  'Like what?' I protest, 'I have no idea what you're talking about.’

  'Well, first, you never took on an apprentice.'

  'Rubbish!' I say. 'Who says I had to?'

  'You know that's part of the deal,' Charlie continues, 'but there's more.'

  'What?'

  Reaching into his jacket pocket Charlie pulls something out and throws it onto the bed. A box of gold and jade. I take a sharp breath and sit back.

  'How did you?' I stutter, ‘that’s mine!' My hands jump to my throat and, feeling the familiar weight of the gold that rests there, I sigh with relief. I reach for the box, change my mind, and sit still. The box can’t be real, or maybe it’s empty.

  ‘He’s coming for it, you know. He will find you. You must get ready.’ Charlie’s voice is implacable.

  ‘That’s not true!’ I say. Anger and fear rise like snakes from my belly, twining and knotting in my throat. ‘I’ve made sure of it. I am safe here.’

  ‘For now,’ he says, spinning the box so it glitters in the light. ‘But you can’t face him alone, Frieda. Time is running out. There's a great deal to be done and even you can't live forever, powers or no. Don’t you see? You must play the role Lilith played, not only because it is the right thing to do, but because you can’t face that monster on your own. Besides,’ he glanced at me with his wicked eyes, I'm going to keep haunting you if you don’t.'

  I let my rage give way. 'Just leave me alone. I don’t want any of this. You can haunt me all you like, you little shit, it won't make any difference.' I lunge for the box and gulp when my hand passes through it. It is still safe, then, I reassure myself. I need to get away from Charlie, he wants me to face things that are unfaceabale.

  I turn and stumble from my room out into the corridor and down towards the landing. As I reach the stairs, Eldritch streaks across the floor and I fall, spiralling in slow motion. I land with a thud in the darkness and groan as my poor old bones snap like twigs.

  Chapter 2: Angie

  ‘Andy’s got a personal trainer,’ I said to Vicky. We were panting as we ran down the street, already late for the new Weight Watchers class.

  ‘Ridiculous! Man of his age,’ she replied, trying to light the end of her fag. It was starting to spit with rain so she gave up, pulling a vape from her sleeve and taking a deep drag. ‘They all go mad at 50,’ she went on. ‘Look at my Dan. He had the same thing, but wiv ‘im it was that obsession with his family history. Even did a DNA test. Don’t bother! I said, they’ll all be scavengers and thieves! Cost a bloody fortune, what a waste of time, most exciting thing he discovered was he had a French great-great- grandma, and what did he do? Wanted to start learning French, kept buying cheese…’

  I stopped to catch my breath, Vik’s cherry flavoured cloud nearly choked me. My heart thundered in my ears and chest. ‘Christ I’m so unfit.’

  ‘Maybe you should get Andy to take you out for a run,’ said Vicky with a grin.

  ‘Ha! Fat chance!’ I said. The thought of joining Andy on one of his insane workouts was so ridiculous it made me feel uneasy. The awareness of how far apart we were growing was the reason I had allowed Vicky to persuade me to go to the stupid meeting. Perhaps if I lost some weight Andy would be less embarrassed about me coming along with him to the gym.

  To be honest, Andy’s behaviour was starting to bother me. I never thought he’d keep it up as long as he had. While he’d dwindled away to a beef jerky strip, I’d ballooned, comfort eating chips as Andy cycled up hills in lycra.

  Behind Vicky I could see my reflection in the dark shop window. An hour before I had stood in front of the bedroom mirror in despair. My flesh spilled over the waist band of my size 22-bought-in-an-emergency-online jeans, a denim fist squeezing a cling-filmed bag of porridge until it looked like it was going to explode.

  ‘Come on, let’s get this over with,’ I said, I didn’t want to linger with my reflected self.

  I could see the church before me as we wound down the street. It was a clear, bright evening with the moon rising just behind the steeple, picking out the big house up the top. I still couldn’t get my head around the fact it was only four o’clock. The only good thing about winter was it gave you an excuse to cover up the flab.

  Tuning out Vicky’s chatter, I slid my hand in my pocket to retrieve the Mars bar hidden there, soft and pliant from the heat of my body. Making sure not to let the wrapper crackle I pulled out a chunk of chocolate and shoved it in my mouth, chewing quickly. If Vicky saw it she would demand half.

  I nearly choked when a great white fluffy sheep of a thing suddenly bounded out at me from the alley; we both jumped out of our skins.

  ‘Sorry, Angie my dear! She’s a bit over excited. Hello Vicky.’ It was Doc Lockwood with Dolly, his bonkers labradoodle. Like a kid, I found myself crumpling up the Mars wrapper and sliding it in my pocket. The Doc clocked the move and lifted his eyebrow. I could feel the chocolate cloying around my lips but didn’t dare draw his attention by licking them.

  ‘Evening, Doc!’ I said, wondering if I could get away with wiping my mouth on my sleeve.

  ‘What’s that you got there, Angie?’ he said, leaning forward. ‘Now what have I said to you about cutting back on the sweets and cakes? With your family history you know you have to be careful – especially at your age.’

  Especially at my age, bloody cheek. He was only about five or so years older than me, his Dad had been our family doctor too – we knew each other well.

  ‘Blimey Doc, you make me sound a hundred years old, besides, it’s my last Mars bar, we’re off to a meeting now.’

  ‘Ah! You’re joining Maeve’s Weight Watcher’s group. That’s wonderful news. Well done you.’ He looked delighted. ‘Well I’d better get Dolly o
ff before she does something beastly on the pavement. Good luck, both of you!’

  He disappeared up the path towards the woods, looking jaunty in his red toff trousers. Dolly nudged me when she went past, and I admired her dopey, laughing face and gave her shoulder a quick pat. I waved at the Doc. Andy always took the piss out of him but I liked him. He was a good man and had always been kind to me, especially when Dad died.

  I hadn’t been to Weight Watchers for years, but it was as grim as ever. Cheap plastic seats creaking and groaning beneath our weight, and the obligatory bloke we all hated because men always lost tons of weight just by cutting back on the beer. It was John, who worked up at the hospital.

  He was enormous – in every sense of the word – he must have been near on six and a half feet and he took up three chairs. He was genial enough, though, and we exchanged smiles. I used to see him a lot when I was visiting Dad.

  After registering with the sour faced Laurie, who ran the village shop, I’d sat down, glad to get the weight off my feet. Vicky was gassing with a group of mates from work. A woman in a purple jumper, probably a few years younger than me, drew her handbag away as if I was going to steal it. She looked a bit posh. I didn’t recognise her but decided to be friendly and gave her a smile.

  ‘You don’t need to be here!’ I exclaimed, giving her a nudge, ‘you’re only tiny!’ I reckoned she was a shade under ten stone.

  ‘Yes, well, better to come when you’ve only got a little bit of weight to lose rather than leaving it and then finding out you’re five stone overweight,’ she said primly, giving me a pointed look.

  ‘Very sensible,’ I said, ‘Wish I’d thought of that – ha ha!’ I gave a laugh but it died away when I saw she had turned her back to me and was watching Maeve with exaggerated interest.

  ‘Skinny bitch,’ Vicky whispered in my ear as she bounced down next to me. I chuckled, but as we sat and listened to Maeve introducing the programme, extolling how well it had worked for her, I shifted uncomfortably on my chair. It was hurtful, but what that woman had said was right.

  ‘Do you know what, Vicky?’ I said in an undertone, ‘I’ve been coming to Weight Watchers on and off for over thirty years and I’m fatter than I’ve ever been.’

  ‘Me too, love,’ she said with a laugh. ‘Me too!’

  The thing was, Vicky was overweight, sure. She and I have worked together for God knows how long, and we’d been on diets the whole time. The difference being she’s put on about a stone or two, I’d turned into a hump-backed whale.

  ‘Come on, we’re up.’

  Nudged from my thoughts by Vicky’s elbow digging into my side I looked up. The interminable lecture had finished and everyone was lining up for the Great Ritual of the Weigh In.

  One by one women took off their shoes, earrings, coats and jumpers before disappearing behind a yellowing screen to be weighed. Amateurs, I thought, everyone knows you put on as many things as possible for your first weigh in, then, when you tuned up in your summer dress and flip flops the following week, the pounds will have fallen off.

  Vicky bustled over, I smiled at the extravagant wiggle in her walk, her bum was big enough to send chairs flying, but in her neon-bright pink body con dress she still managed to look sexy.

  She had that magnetic ability to snag men’s eyes; like me, she was nearly 50 and more than well covered – but I knew men saw someone who would eat them alive, a tiger in the sack. Vicky was always going on about Dan pouncing on her for a shag round the back of the pub, or dragging her into the woods for some afternoon delight.

  I couldn’t remember the last time Andy and I had sex like that. We didn’t even kiss any more. It was even more difficult recently as I worried I’d squash him, or swallow him up into my marshmallow flesh – would he ever be found again? Fifty was about to hit me like a sledgehammer. I hadn’t really stopped stuffing my face since I hit my 40s.

  As I stood in the queue I let my mind wander. As always, the chat was about food. Endless recitations of what they had eaten, what they were going to eat, and what food they were going to miss. Despite my enormous lunch my stomach growled.

  I thought about Andy. We hadn’t had dinner together for ages – he would chuck his gym bag in the car and then shoot off straight after work. He didn’t seem to like sitting down to eat at the table any more, he would just perch on the settee nibbling away on a nut bar like a fat squirrel. Thought not so fat any more, I thought.

  Andy and I had both loved our food and we’d look forward to our regular takeaways: Indian on Saturdays, Chinese on Wednesdays, and fish and chips the evenings we couldn’t be bothered to pull something from the freezer. And who cared if we got more and more tubby? We loved each other, didn’t we? What was the point in getting all skinny and fit if you’d already found your one?

  Well, all that indulgent eating had stopped sharpish after he turned fifty. He’d asked for a bike for his present – I didn’t even know he could ride one! We’d been together since we were teenagers and I don’t think I’d ever seen him cycling. And you should see the clothes he bought to go with it. Awful, dungaree type things made of Lycra.

  He’d looked absolutely ridiculous when he first tried them on, I had to leave the room and go into the kitchen so he wouldn’t see me snorting with laughter. Imagine a middle-aged bean bag squeezed into a tiny pair of green and yellow tights, and you’ll get the picture.

  Of course, I’d assumed it was a fad – just like the kung fu classes, miniature golf obsession, and star gazing – all hobbies he’d been briefly obsessed with through the course of our marriage. But this one seemed to have stuck. A few years past his fiftieth birthday and he was still exercising like mad and twitching with revulsion whenever he saw a carbohydrate.

  All this discipline and body worship made me go the other way. I’d started eating more than I ever had because I couldn’t break the habit of eating for two, so I kept on consuming large meals. I think part of me was hoping he’d be tempted back into eating like he used to. Didn’t work.

  Truth be told, I hated this other life he had created. He couldn’t have found a better way to exclude me. Sure, to begin with he tried to get me to go along, but I just couldn’t face it. I was always so tired at the end of the day all I wanted to do was sit on the settee, watch TV and eat pork scratchings. Nothing wrong with that!

  Trouble is I found his disapproval so wearing I ended up craving junk food more than ever, and was driven to smuggling food in and hiding it in the airing cupboard. I’ve probably put on all the weight he’s lost, and I certainly wasn’t skinny to start with.

  I missed the camaraderie we used to have as we shared takeaways in front of the telly, arguing over which box set to watch (I liked romantic comedies, he liked science fiction and documentaries.) We ordered so often from the nearby Chinese takeaway we didn’t even have to say what we wanted, we always had the same thing. And it included a whole host of carbs. Mmmm, the thought of lemon chicken and egg fried rice made my mouth water.

  But no! I reminded myself. It was time for a change. My smuggling in junk food had to stop. It really did, because last week was the final straw. I couldn’t fit into any of my clothes.

  None of them. Literally, not one thing fitted me. Even my trusty leggings, so stretched by their vain attempt to cover my arse and bulging calves they were rendered completely see through – there was no way I was going to wear them out of the house and end up on some awful internet gallery of fat fools in transparent leggings. The only thing I could get into (and they were a bit tighter than I would have liked) was the giant pair of old jeans I’d bought in a size 22 by mistake and never sent back, and my ratty old jumper.

  My feet were aching. How long was this queue going to take? Purple jumpered woman was earnestly interrogating the Doc’s wife about the programme. I rolled my eyes. It would be lovely to get off a bit of weight and buy nice clothes, I thought. Shame we never seemed to have any money. I couldn’t understand it.

  Andy was the only plumber in the village and I often had to turn people away because he was so busy. I did his accounts, so I knew money was coming in, but I never saw sign of it. It must all be going on protein bars and new tracksuits, I thought bitterly.