The Language of Spells by Sarah Painter

decided to just say it. Get it out there. ‘I’ve told you I’m sorry about how I left things. Before.’
    Cam’s expression went blank. ‘Ancient history,’ he said.
    ‘Water under the bridge,’ Gwen said.
    ‘And it’s done.’ Cam shrugged. ‘No point crying over spilt milk.’
    ‘Look before you leap.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘Sorry. I thought we were trading clichés.’
    There was a short silence, then Cam said, ‘How’s the living room looking?’
    Gwen shook her head. ‘Not good.’ She showed him the one wall she’d painted. The purple had turned the white grey and was seeping through in patches, giving it a scabrous look.
    ‘I think you’re going to need another coat.’
    ‘Or a flamethrower,’ Gwen said. ‘At least it’s not as bad as the dining room.’
    ‘That’s worse?’
    ‘Look.’ Gwen threw open the door and let Cam behold the hideous wallpaper, the cracked ceiling. ‘Ruby says it’s unsafe.’
    ‘Nah. That’s just cosmetic. It’s fine.’ He looked around. ‘The wallpaper, however, is psychotic.’
    He clinked his glass against hers and they drank. Nothing like alcohol to make everything seem more manageable. Of course, alcohol had always led to one thing with Cam, but then, back in the day, anything and everything had always led to one thing. She took another sip, the glow in her stomach spreading warmth and battling with the cool, damp misery of the dining room.
    ‘I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye.’ The words popped out before she could stop them.
    Cam went still.
    ‘I couldn’t.’ Gwen kept her gaze locked on the red liquid sloshing slightly in the glass. ‘If I’d seen you. Or spoken to you even, I wouldn’t have been able to go and I really thought I had to.’
    She heard movement and then Cam was right next to her. Her skin was tingling and she could swear that there was electricity jumping across the tiny space between them. She kept completely still, willing him to move closer, to put his arm around her. To say ‘hey, babe’ in the way he’d used to.
    He cleared his throat. ‘I tried to find you. After you left. I spoke to your mother, but she wasn’t any help.’
    Gwen could imagine. She and Gloria had been arguing pretty much solidly at that time. Gloria was probably frightened that Cam would bring her home.
    ‘Your sister said she didn’t know where you were.’
    ‘She was telling the truth.’
    ‘How did you do that?’ Cam still wasn’t looking at her. ‘Just leave everybody. Not just me: your whole family, your whole life. Didn’t you miss it?’
    ‘No,’ Gwen lied.
    They stood like that, almost touching, sipping their drinks and watching the flowers and vines writhing over each other.
    After another couple of hits of her wine, Gwen was beginning to see figures in the pattern. The writhing was beginning to look distinctly suggestive. She stepped away from Cam and backed out of the room. ‘Let’s sit down.’
    The kitchen would be better. The kitchen was bright and clean and didn’t have pornographic wallpaper. They sat at the table and Gwen opened the cake tin.
    Cam pulled a face. ‘Not with booze.’
    ‘It’s dark fruit cake. Got enough brandy in it to sink a ship.’
    She watched as he took a bite and then realised that she was just staring at his mouth. He swallowed and she had the impulse to lean over and smell his neck.
Oh, sweet Jesus
.
    Cam put the cake down and took a long drink of his wine. He looked tense again. ‘Why did you think you had to leave? I thought everything was fine—’ He broke off. Shook his head slightly. ‘Actually, forget I asked. I don’t want to know. It’s in the past now.’
    Before Gwen could react, Cam said, ‘So. Tell me what you’ve been up to for thirteen years.’
    Gwen blinked at the change.
Okay.
    ‘Come on,’ Cam said, leaning forwards and fixing her with a look of total focus, ‘I’m interested. Really.’
    The look seemed sincere and, for once, he wasn’t scowling at her, so she did.