Page 24 of Witch You Weren't Here

Another thing for Kay to feel guilty about.

As if it wasn’t enough that her ignorance about her own gift, her silly excitement, had meant she’d asked question after awkward, stupid question about the bonds she could see linking them all, until it became obvious that her dad no longer – if ever – loved their mum. She’d been so shocked, she hadn’t even been able to hide the discovery. Joe was right, Kay had hurt them all.

‘My darling girl,’ Tallulah took her by the shoulders and folded Kay into her arms. ‘What happened?’

‘Ha-Harry,’ was all Kay managed to splutter.

‘Oh, sweetheart.’ Her mum’s arms tightened, her cheek resting upon her head, and Kay felt tears soaking into her head. ‘Don’t you worry, we’ll get through this together. It’s a privilege and a curse that being empaths make us feel this deeply. And so often for the wrong people. But we’ll survive,’ her mother managed to say between her own sobs.

The last piece of Kay’s heart, battered from the collapse of her parents’ marriage and the distance of her brother and her father, broke away. A Harry-shaped hole, that had once been filled with hope and the giddy high of a teenage crush and friendship, was now empty of anything but hatred for him and bitterness towards her own special brand of self-destructive magic.

If she never saw Harry Ashworth again, it would be too soon.

Chapter Six

3.15 a.m.: saturday 30 october

New Town, Prague

818 miles and 35(+1) hours and 45 minutes until the wedding

The next time Kay blearily blinked her eyes open, it was to the sound of faint beeping and whistling wind. It had picked up in the night and every time there was a gust, it was joined by a splattering of rain against the windows. Not the kind of morning when you wanted to get out of bed. Especially when you’d had a stressful day, a late, interrupted night, and the bed was this toasty. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt so lethargic and snuggly in the morning.

She sneaked an arm out from underneath the covers to turn off her alarm, fumbling on the unfamiliar bedside table. It was still dark – which made sense since it was only 3.15 a.m. according to her phone – but it was a lesser darkness than before … When she’d had to rescue Harry from the sofa.

Suddenly, her eyes were a lot wider as the full reality of where she was, and with whom, came rushing back to her.

She dropped her phone back on the table and froze.

There was a very good reason she was so warm. Harry was lying right behind her, his body nearly flush with hers, the big spoon to her little spoon, so close she could tell each time he took a breath, the loose folds at the bottom of his T-shirt brushing against her waist, his hand resting on her hip. His soft exhales tickling the back of her neck.

Goosebumps spread from the top of her spine to her bruised coccyx.

She was still facing away from him, but she’d relaxed back from the edge in the night, curling into a foetal position, basically sticking her bum on his side of the bed. She wanted to turn to see whether his head was on her pillow or on his own but didn’t dare move in case she woke him and he realised what had happened.

Or did he already know?

No. The quiet, evenness of his breathing was not fake. He was definitely still asleep and if he’d been taking advantage while she was sleeping to get close, surely he would have got a lot closer. The only two points at which they were fully touching were his hand, curled on her hip, and one of his knees kissing the back of her calf.

Don’t think about kissing.

But she couldn’t help it. Her teenage crush was spooning her. She’d spent so many nights imagining this. Daydreaming scenarios where they’d been watching a film in her room and both fallen asleep on her bed and she’d woken up in his arms, her head on his chest or face to face, so they blinked awake staring at each other and then moved those extra inches in the secret space of night-time, and let their lips touch.

A flush crawled from her cheeks to her chest. Embarrassment and desire.

But it was old desire. She didn’t want this now. It was just going to make everything worse. Even more awkward than it already was.

Still. She couldn’t seem to move. And just for a moment – with the tiredness tugging at her and the warmth of the bed holding her tight, the thrilling heat of Harry’s palm burning her through the shorts of her pyjamas, his fingers relaxed but the tips of them pressing into her, like he was capturing her shape – she wanted to absorb it. For teenage Kay. The innocent, daydreamy Kay who had long since been pushed aside following the reality call of how people used each other.

For just a minute, she could allow herself to imagine how it might have been different, if Harry had actually been who she thought he was, and happily ever afters did come true—

Harry shifted behind her, he took a deeper breath and – before he woke up – she launched herself out of the bed, landing in a heap on the floor with a thump.

‘What was that?’ Harry sat up in the bed, scrubbing at his face. ‘Kay?’

‘I … er … I fell out of bed.’ She grabbed for her glasses and pulled herself to her feet, jamming them onto her face and then straightening her clothes.

‘Ouch. Are you all right? No damage done?’

---