Page 68 of Witch You Weren't Here

‘What’s wrong?’ Harry asked, straight away.

She sighed, sliding back down in her seat, and explaining.

He listened and then went quiet for a moment, his eyes still scanning the road. The windscreen wipers worked back and forth against the sheets of rain, the repeated hush followed by a rubbery scrape pressing at her nerves. Then Harry spoke again. ‘How many guests are there going to be?’

‘About fifty at the service and just over a hundred at the reception, I think. Why? Have you got an idea for somewhere else they can have it?’

He nodded slowly, tapping his index finger at the top of the steering wheel. ‘Maybe … I could ask my parents if they could use the Hall.’

‘Aren’t you having an event for Samhain?’

‘No. We haven’t done any of the festivals for years.’ He straightened his arm, pushing his shoulders back against his seat. ‘My dad’s health isn’t good. That’s why I’m living back at home. Have been for a while.’

Kay’s mouth opened. ‘What’s wrong with him?’ She shook her head at her own bluntness. ‘If you don’t mind me asking.’

‘We’re not sure exactly.’ He shifted again, this time gripping the gearstick. ‘It seems to be respiratory, but none of the healers – or normal doctors – can make a difference.’

A weight pressed on her chest, like someone was doing compressions on her, as all of his stress to get home began to make sense to her. As well as Leon’s comments about Harry not travelling far from Ashworth Hall for a long time because of his dad. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise.’

‘I know.’ He glanced at her quickly, gave her a slight smile, and it skewered her straight in the heart.

She should have known. If she hadn’t been nursing her own bruised feelings for so long, if her mum hadn’t wrapped her up in cotton wool – she would have known. She would have known that he and Joe were still friends, that his dad was ill and Ashworth Hall had closed its doors. It might not have made her capable of being happy to see him when they had bumped into each other in Prague, because he had still owed her an apology for pushing her away so abruptly and trying to influence her, but maybe she wouldn’t have been as hostile.

‘I wish I’d known,’ she admitted.

‘I wish it wasn’t happening,’ he replied quietly, like he thought she was criticising him for not bringing up the painful subject. Sure, there had been opportunities, but there had also been a lot going on, and a lot of mercurial moods between the two of them.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said again.

‘You’re not a mind reader, Kay.’ He raised his eyebrows and forced a bigger smile at her. ‘Are you?’

‘No. Thank Mother Nature.’ She laughed weakly, appreciating he was trying to lighten the mood. ‘It’s really kind of you to offer the use of the Hall, but won’t it disturb your dad?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t think so. It’s a big house and he’s bedridden these days.’ He cleared his throat. ‘We’ve even got a licence. My mum dabbled in hosting weddings when I moved back and we thought things might improve.’

Kay chewed on the edge of her thumbnail, still trying to picture Adrian Ashworth, the tall, commanding witch with a voice that could make puppets of people, unable to get out of bed. ‘Are you sure, Harry? It sounds like too much to ask.’

‘That house was made for witches and their non-magical friends and family to gather and celebrate together. And if my dad isn’t up to it, my mum will say, I promise you. But I can at least ask the question, can’t I? I want to.’

Well, that didn’t really leave her with much room to argue, did it? And it wasn’t really her place anyway. He knew his situation at home better than her, and the favour wouldn’t be for her, it would be for Joe and Sandy.

‘Thank you.’ She reached over and put her hand over his on the gearstick. He twisted his wrist so he could lace his fingers through hers and lift it to his mouth to kiss the back of it. Her stomach flipped over, like a turtle on its back kicking its legs, desperate to get upright again. She inhaled sharply, trying to push the sensation away, and a violent squeaking filled the quiet of the car, as the windscreen wipers started moving at double speed.

Harry let go of her to fiddle with the settings, but – of course – it made no difference.

‘It’s me.’ She gave a small moan, pulling up the collar of the shirt he’d given her so she could hide her face.

‘Doing that to the windscreen wipers?’

‘Yes. It’s my magic shooting off and doing stupid things again.’

‘Well, that’s … interesting,’ he said, and she could hear the laughter in his voice.

‘Is it?’ She emerged slightly from the collar and raised an eyebrow at him.

‘You told me the car would explode if you had an episode,’ he deadpanned. ‘Super dry windows is not exactly a hurricane, is it? Frankly, I was expecting something a bit more destructive. Where’s my Galadriel experience?’

‘Shut up, or I’ll trap you in a bed again.’

---