Page 110 of A Ghost’s Guide to Haunting a Witch

Augustine looked away, her gaze drifting back towards the door to upstairs, like it might offer something steadier to focus on. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Mrs Clayton sighed. “Because you told me not to.”

Augustine swallowed. “I asked you to lie to me?”

“No,” Mrs Clayton corrected gently. “You asked me to keep the truth from you. That’s not quite the same thing.” Her thumb worried absently at the smooth surface of one of her pearls. “You came in here one morning. It was early. So early.” Her gaze lifted to Augustine’s face. “You were crying so hard I thought someone had died.”

Augustine’s stomach twisted. “I suppose, in a way, it would have felt that way.”

“You stood right where you are now,” Mrs Clayton went on, nodding towards the worn patch of floor by the counter. “Could barely get your words out. You kept repeating his name, regardless of how it seemed to hurt you to say it.” A small pause. “Theo.”

Augustine felt a dart of pain.

“You told me what the two of you were going to do,” she continued. “Said it like you’d already decided. I told you not to,” she added, more sharply. “Told you to go home, to sleep on it. Work it through like normal people do.” She sniffed. “Have a row. Throw a plate, if you must. That’s what kitchens are for. That’s what I did with my Dennis. But you wouldn’t hear it,” Mrs Clayton went on. “You were set.”

“You should have told me the truth.”

“No. A promise is a promise. Besides, you didn’t need to me to tell you. You figured it all out on your own.” Mrs Clayton gave a pleased, almost proud smile. “He’s a nice young man, your Theo. Reminds me of my Dennis sometimes.”

“You met Theo?”

“No. Just saw him about the shop once or twice. He loves you so much. That much was always obvious.”

Augustine couldn’t help it. Tears built in her eyes and she pressed her lips together hard. She nodded, looking at the floor.

“I love him, too.”

“I know. Does he know?” Mrs Clayton asked.

“That I love him?”

“No.” Mrs Clayton laughed. “Anyone who spends ten seconds with you can see that. I meant about the spell?”

“He knows there was a spell. He doesn’t know we wanted it,” Augustine replied, walking towards her till and falling onto the stool next to Mrs Clayton. “Did I tell you why we had to do it?”

“Oh yes,” Mrs Clayton confirmed. “Something about witch hunters and the safety of your family? Of course, that wasn’t why you did it, was it? Still, you were—”

“I’m sorry.” Augustine sat straighter. “What do you mean, it wasn’t why we did it. Of course it was.”

“No.” Mrs Clayton sounded firm. “It was the reason for the spell, but it wasn’t why you did the spell.”

Augustine waited for her to go on.

“I’ve been coming here to chat with you for three years now, Augustine,” Mrs Clayton said. “And do you know what I’ve noticed? You don’t like to let go.”

“I—” Augustine‘s voice caught slightly. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t like to let go.” Mrs Clayton said again. “I mean, look at those two younger sisters of yours. You fret over them. Maddy comes in here with a sniffle and you think she’s about to die. You lose sleep over Clem and send her malaria tablets and water purifying tablets whenever you can. And then your older sister. You read every one of her papers and watch her online lectures and when she went to Singapore for that conference you tracked her flight for a full fourteen hours.”

“They’re my sisters,” Augustine replied, indignant. “I have to take care of them.”

“They’re grown women,” Mrs Clayton returned instantly. “So, no, you don’t. But you can’t quite let go of them, can you? That was how it was with Theo. Most people, when they lose someone, cry and grieve and listen to sad music. Not you. You knew you’d never be able to let him go, so you chose to forget him completely. You didn’t erase him because you stopped loving him. You erased him because you knew you never could.”

Augustine sat back, stunned.

“Holding on to people is a beautiful instinct, dear. But it’s no way to live. It’s no way to love.” Mrs Clayton paused. “Although I’m one to lecture about not letting go. Sitting here still waiting for my Dennis after thirty years.”

Augustine frowned. “Thirty years of what?”