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Endpages (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 1 (#u8133b3e4-d7ef-50be-9f9c-4eb30a0c00a9)
If you’d asked me when I was a student, where I saw myself in twenty years’ time, I’d probably have said living in Manhattan, running my own wildly successful business, with a wardrobe full of fabulous clothes.
But instead here I was. Trying to ice spots on to a ladybird birthday cake, my hair scraped off my face with a crocodile clip I’d had since the 1980s and wearing an old university T-shirt I used to sleep in. Back in the days when I got some sleep that was.
But I wouldn’t have changed a single thing.
‘How’s it going?’ My wife, Louise, wandered into the kitchen, looking pretty much as rough as I did. She was wearing running shorts and a black T-shirt that was speckled with what looked like snot, and her short blonde hair was sticking straight up like a washing-up brush.
‘It’s actually nearly finished,’ I said, dabbing on one final spot and turning it round so she could see. ‘Ta-dah.’
‘It’s brilliant,’ she said. ‘Fiona will adore it.’
‘Fiona won’t give two hoots,’ I said with a grin. ‘Just like Finlay won’t care about the caterpillar cake I spent most of this morning lovingly icing. But it’s not every day our children turn one.’
Lou slid her arm round my waist and rested her head on my shoulder.
‘Thank god,’ she said. ‘I’m dead on my feet.’
‘Are they asleep?’ I asked.
She nodded.
‘Finally,’ she said. ‘Hopefully they’ll sleep for a good while now and then they’ll be on top form when everyone arrives.’
Everyone meant our families, who were coming over to celebrate the twins’ first birthday with us. My mum was coming down from the Highlands, with my Aunt Tess and her new husband, Doug. My cousin Esme, her husband Jamie and their baby Clemmie were coming, and so were Lou’s parents and her brother, Hugh, his wife and their two angelic sons. My half-brother was in Thailand on holiday so he couldn’t come, but he’d sent the twins an enormous card and promised to spoil them rotten when he returned.
‘Can you believe this?’ I said to Lou, who seemed to have fallen asleep where she stood.’
‘This time last year we’d just sold our flat and we were waiting to hear if we’d been matched with a child. Now look at us.’
We’d adopted the twins when they were just eight weeks old and in the space of a couple of months we’d gone from being sassy professional women in our swanky Edinburgh New Town flat, to being bewildered new mums, in a house where the only room with furniture was the nursery.
Lou lifted her head.
‘It’s been a whirlwind,’ she said. ‘But a good one.’
We stood there, arms round each other for a minute, gazing out into the garden. From the street our house looked like a run-of-the-mill new-build town house, with a garage, loo, and general junk room on the ground floor, the kitchen and lounge upstairs and the bedrooms up another floor from there. But we lived in Dean Village, one of Edinburgh’s strange places where streets ran above streets, huddled in the valley made by a pretty river. So at the back of the house, the open-plan lounge and kitchen were at ground level with a huge conservatory at the end of the room, opening out on to the small garden. The river ran along the end of the garden, though thankfully it was behind a sturdy fence with a lockable gate ‒ I didn’t want the twins wandering out there when they were older.
‘It’s a glorious day,’ I said. ‘It really feels like spring has arrived. We could open the doors when everyone gets here, and people can go outside if they like.’
Lou nodded.
‘Good plan,’ she said. ‘In fact, they’re going to be here very soon and we look like … well, like we always do.’
She grinned and ran a hand through her messy hair.
‘Shall we sort ourselves out before the troublemakers wake up?’
We dashed upstairs and made ourselves look presentable. I pulled on some jeans that didn’t have yogurty fingerprints on and a silky black T-shirt, and I was just twisting my long dark hair into a knot at the nape of my neck when the doorbell rang. I padded down to the door in bare feet to welcome our first guests.
‘God, H, you always look so bloody glamorous,’ my cousin Esme said. She handed me a bunch of flowers and kissed me on the cheek.
‘Hello,’ I said. ‘You look nice too.’
Esme looked nothing like me. She was petite and naturally pretty with wavy blonde hair and a lovely smile. She was wearing a cute dress with butterflies on it and looked fresh and spring-like.
Behind her, Jamie ‒ her husband ‒ stood with their baby girl on his hip.
‘Hi, Harry,’ he said. ‘Don’t come too near, there’s been an explosion in this one’s nappy ‒ can I pop in here and change her?’
He disappeared into our small downstairs toilet and I took Esme upstairs.
‘Clemmie’s teething,’ she said. ‘She’s really suffering, bless her, and I’m exhausted.’
I filled the kettle and switched it on.
‘Tell me about it,’ I said in sympathy. Though Fiona was a great sleeper, Finlay was often awake in the wee small hours. ‘I’ll open some wine when everyone arrives, but do you want a cup of tea to start with?’
Esme nodded.
‘Can you put two teabags in it?’ she said. ‘It’s been that sort of a morning.’
While I made the tea, Esme wandered round the living room, reading some of the cards the twins had been sent. She gasped when she spotted the birthday cakes on the table.
‘Oh, H,’ she said. ‘These are lovely. Did you make them?’
I nodded, bracing myself for what was coming next.
Ez bent over the table, peering closely at the ladybird’s spots.
‘Hang on,’ she said. ‘You made these. You made them normally.’
I poured water on to her teabags, deliberately not meeting her eye.
‘I did,’ I muttered.
Esme looked at me, one eyebrow raised.
‘How come?’ she said.
She had a point. Esme and I came from a family of witches. Generations of them. We could wave our hands and create ladybird cakes from now until Christmas if we wanted to and, believe me, normally I did. While Esme tried to ignore her skills as a witch, hide them away and pretend they weren’t part of her, I prided myself on mine. I’d built my whole career around them, in fact. So it was no surprise that Ez wondered why I hadn’t done the simplest of charms to create perfect cakes for my perfect children.
‘Too easy,’ I said defensively. ‘Making a cake is a labour of love. I wanted to show Fifi and Finn how much I love them.’
‘Right,’ Esme said, looking at me in a strange way.
I sensed she was about to ask me another question so I shoved her mug of tea at her.
‘Shall we go into the garden?’ I said. ‘It’s such a lovely day and all the daffodils are beginning to bloom.’
And then the doorbell rang again and Lou came downstairs with a baby on each hip, and Jamie came up with a clean, sweet-smelling Clemmie and suddenly the room was full of people and Esme’s questions were forgotten.
Chapter 2 (#u8133b3e4-d7ef-50be-9f9c-4eb30a0c00a9)
We had a lovely day. The twins adored being the centre of attention and Clemmie, who hadn’t yet learned how to crawl, sat on the grass and shouted in delight. My mum had bought Finn and Fifi each a baby walker for their birthday, and Finn charged round the garden on his little fat legs, chuckling madly at how clever he was. Fifi watched her brother but wouldn’t try walking no matter how much her big cousins ‒ Lou’s nephews ‒ encouraged her.
Later, after Hugh and his family had gone, and we’d sung happy birthday ‒ twice ‒ and blown the candles out ‒ twice ‒ and all eaten our fill of cake, Jamie and Esme’s stepdad, Doug slid, inside to watch rugby on the TV. Clemmie was fast asleep in her pram. Lou, Esme and I sat happily at the garden table enjoying the soft spring air and chatting.
‘I think you’d really like the women at my baby group,’ Esme was saying. ‘They’re all so nice.’
I made a face. Baby groups weren’t my thing.
‘I’ve got work,’ I said, vaguely.
Esme winked at me.
‘Nope,’ she said. ‘It’s on Thursday – that’s your day off, right?’
‘Harry would love to come,’ Louise said. Traitor.
I kicked her under the table.
‘I’m not really the yummy mummy type,’ I said. ‘Lou does that stuff.’
Lou and I both worked part time so we shared the childcare when the kids weren’t at nursery. She had made an enormous amount of friends at baby sensory classes, twin club, singing groups and all sorts. I normally spent my days with the kids walking for miles along the river, or round the streets of the New Town, and occasionally meeting up with Esme. I had thought about joining some groups – baby yoga perhaps – or finding a witchy baby group even, there were bound to be some – but I was at heart a solitary soul and I’d not got round to it. I wasn’t sure Esme’s group would be my cup of tea.
‘I’ll think about it,’ I said. ‘Maybe I’ll come along once.’
‘Great,’ said Esme and Louise gave me a broad smile. I knew she thought I was lonely but actually I enjoyed my own company – and I loved being with Finn and Fifi.
I looked over to where the kids were playing on the lawn, with Mum and my Auntie Tess ‒ Esme’s mum. They were trying to cajole Fifi into taking a few steps.
‘Where’s Pink Bunny?’ Mum asked. Pink Bunny was Fifi’s favourite toy. ‘Maybe if we put it a little bit away from her, she’ll go and get it.’
Lou found the bunny under the table and threw it to Mum, who caught it deftly.
‘Look Fifi,’ she said, waving the toy in Fiona’s face. ‘It’s Pink Bunny.’
Fifi eyed Mum with suspicion and held out her little hands for her bunny.
‘I’m just going to put him over here,’ Mum said. She placed the toy carefully on the grass, too far away for Fifi to reach.
‘Mum, you’re so cruel,’ I said, giggling at Fiona’s stern face.
Lou helped herself to another slice of cake.
‘She’ll just crawl over and get it, Suky,’ she pointed out to Mum. ‘She’s got an iron will, our daughter.’
But Fiona didn’t crawl. She stared at Pink Bunny for a while. Then she looked at Mum and back at Pink Bunny. She lifted her hand and waggled her little chubby fingers. There was a shimmer of light and the bunny jumped off the ground and flew into Fiona’s hands. Finn clapped in delight. Fifi stuck her thumb in her mouth and stared at Mum in triumph. The rest of us all stared at Fiona.
‘Ooooh,’ Lou breathed out.
Mum scooped Fiona up off the grass and covered her face in kisses.
‘You clever, clever girl,’ she said. Fifi giggled and Finn put his arms up so Mum could pick him up too.
Lou looked at me.
‘Looks like she’s a chip off the old block,’ she said, with a grin. ‘Your old block, at least.’
Louise wasn’t a witch, but she was so accepting of my family’s quirks that I sometimes forgot she didn’t have the – ahem – talents we had. When we’d decided to adopt a child, we’d managed to find an agency that placed children of witches though, of course, there was never any guarantee that witchcraft skills would be passed on – no one was quite sure how these things worked. The twins’ natural mother was a teenage witch. According to our social worker (who was also a witch – they were everywhere if you knew where to look), her skills were unpredictable and uncontrolled and she had suffered badly with the mental health problems that often plagued people like us – my brother had suffered in the same way. Knowing their mum was a witch meant it was no real shock that at least one of our kids had inherited her talents but I was surprised Fiona had showed signs so young.
I pushed back my chair and went over to where Finn stood, balancing on his baby walker and reaching up for a cuddle. I picked him up and kissed his rosy cheeks.
‘Hello, my boy,’ I said. He patted my face adoringly.
‘Mamamama,’ he said.
Fifi wriggled in Mum’s arms, wanting to be part of my love-in with Finn. I sat down on the grass and pulled both kids into a cuddle. They both stared at me with their identical sludgy-green eyes.
‘Now then, kids,’ I said. ‘This is a big day for Fiona.’
Fiona sucked her thumb gravely, clutching Pink Bunny. I ruffled her fair curls.
‘Life’s not going to be easy for you,’ I went on. ‘But me and Mummy Lou are going to be here every step of the way.’
Finn lost interest. He clambered off my lap and crawled over to investigate Clemmie’s toys.
Fiona snuggled in closer to me, her eyes heavy with sleep. I stood up and took her back to the table, enjoying the warmth of my beautiful baby girl.
‘Shall we have some wine?’ Mum asked. ‘I feel we should celebrate.’
‘Definitely,’ Lou said. ‘I’ll get it, I need the loo anyway.’
She disappeared into the house and I felt a wave of relief that I was pinned under a sleeping child and no one had expected me to summon a bottle in my usual way.
Because the truth was, that I couldn’t. Since the twins had arrived, my powers had become unpredictable. At first they were haphazard and uncontrolled, then they’d gradually dwindled to nothing. Now I couldn’t so much as conjure up a birthday cake or ‒ I wound one of Fiona’s curls round my little finger ‒ summon a cuddly toy. My one-year-old daughter had more witchcraft in her chubby hands than I did. And that made me feel terrible.
Chapter 3 (#u8133b3e4-d7ef-50be-9f9c-4eb30a0c00a9)
‘Don’t 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.
