Chapter Thirty-Four

On stage, Annalise, the Sugar Plum Fairy paused in an arabesque before sinking into a low curtsey to a rapturous applause. Hardly a flawless performance, but for a sixteen year-old, impressive. Libby longed to kick her off the stage and show them all how it should be done, but that wasn't her job. She ushered the girls off the stage, telling them to shush, while Jane sent on the next batch.

Twenty-two years ago, Libby had been in her first ballet. She'd played a mouse and watched the Sugar Plum Fairy with awe. That was what made her want to be a ballerina. Did she really want to teach Good Toes, Bad Toes to five year-olds? This wasn't how her life was supposed to be. She was supposed to be on stage, executing thirty-two perfect fouett\u00e9s in her role as Odile. She wasn't supposed to be babysitting five year-olds.

And yet she couldn't stop smiling.

The second act flew by all too quickly and soon she sat downstairs, surrounded by the four to six year-olds she'd been coaching, all trying to sit on her knee, play with her hair and find out how brilliant they were.

'You were awesome,' she said to them. 'You all tried really hard and should be super-duper proud of yourselves. Now, get your coats on, quick, quick.'

They really had worked hard and they'd maintained their concentration for a whole ballet, which was more than could be said for a few of the dad's in the audience who'd slept through most of the second act, Robbie included. When the last of the kids had been collected, abandoned ballet slippers and scrunchies tided into a box, Libby quickly changed from her practical backstage clothes into a slinky black top she'd appropriated from Zoe's wardrobe, faux-leather jeans and high heels. With another three layers of eye shadow and two of mascara, she was ready for a night out in Haverton.

'You look fabulous,' Jane said, poking her head around the door. 'Now, come on. They want to lock up.'

After a final squirt of perfume, Libby followed Jane through the empty auditorium, her hand brushing over the seats as she passed them.

'Do you miss it?' Libby asked. 'Performing, I mean.'

'I used to, but it's over thirty years since I last danced on stage.' Jane smiled. 'These days I get a much bigger kick out of watching girls I've taught since they were four performing a lead role with confidence.'

'Annalise was brilliant.'

'You know, we don't always do the Nutcracker. Maybe we'll do Swan Lake next year. You'd make the perfect Odette-Odile.'

'Aren't the students supposed to dance?'

'Technically, you are a student.'

'I'm a bit old.'

'Experienced. Maggie made me perform it when I came here.'

'What was she like? I've heard such a mixture of stories.'

'Maggie was... The girls were all terrified of her, I was too, but I needed the job.' Jane paused. 'This would be thirty years ago. I was married, but my husband... he used to hit me. A lot. Maggie found out. She was a strong woman, Libby. She didn't put up with things like I did. She helped me get out, get help and learn to stand up for myself. The funny thing was that help showed me that Maggie was no different to my husband. Eventually, I stood up to her too. Do you need a lift? My friend, Liz, will be here in a minute.'

'No, I'm going to Oscar's for ludicrous cocktails. It's Xander's birthday. A well-earned Mai Tai is on the cards.'

'Tea and bed for me.'

'I heard Maggie changed as she got older.'

Jane nodded. 'She was devastated when she lost her career.'

'Like me?'

'More so. Thirty-five years ago, she left it all behind and moved up here up here hoping... She had a lover. She hoped he'd leave his wife. He never.'

'Seamus Doyle?'

'Please, don't tell anyone. He's married with a family and Maggie's dead.' Jane checked her watch. 'To begin with, she was angry, but eventually they settled into this odd relationship, together as much as his marriage would allow. I think he loved her. She accepted that a little of him was better than none. It was the only weakness I ever saw her show, but it mellowed her. And later she got into the Wiccan life, she... I supposed she found peace. I was proud to call her my friend.'

'I heard she said Gosthwaite's where ballerinas come to die.'

Jane laughed. 'I've always said it's where we come to live. I found happiness here, Libby, so did Maggie. Maybe you can too. You just need to work out what you want to do.'

'I think I want to teach.'

Jane smiled. 'You're a natural. The kids love you.'

'It's funny. Not long ago, little kids terrified me.'

'Do you want a job?' Jane asked as a car pulled up. 'I can only offer part-time. It's mostly afternoon and evenings. You could still work for Robbie too.'

Libby blinked. Mornings at the stables, afternoons doing ballet. Could she settle for that? 'Maybe.'

'Think about it.'

Libby hugged her goodnight, as the driver wound down a window. The woman, Liz, had untidy dark grey hair and glasses perched on her head.

'Hello, Libby,' she said, smiling.

Libby blinked, trying to work out if she knew the woman.

'Oh, Liz, this is Olivia Wilde. Libby, this is Elizabeth McBride.'

'It's nice to meet you, finally,' Liz said, holding out her hand. 'I've heard so much about you.'

Scottish accent... McBride... Was this Patrick's mother? Libby managed to smile. Had Patrick told his mother about her?

'Jane's always telling me how marvellous you are. I'd love to see you dance.'

Jane. Not Patrick. Libby's forced smile grew as she stepped away. 'I'm retired, I'm afraid.'

The temperature outside might be nearer freezing, but inside a tinsel and bauble festooned Oscar's Bar and Bistro, it had to be twenty-five degrees. Libby stripped off her coat, wishing she'd worn a skirt, not leather bloody jeans. Zoe's text said she was in the Judge's Chamber, a side room where Xander was holding his cocktail party. What Zoe's text failed to mention was that she was sharing a jug of Long Island Iced Tea with Robbie, Scott and Patrick. Arse.

Twelve days. Twelve days since he'd kissed her and she'd seen nothing of him. Back to cold Patrick. The pattern was easy to spot now, but she missed him. They were friends and just when more looked promising, he ripped the crazy paving from under her.

Sitting on tall stools around a high table, they overlooked the rest of the room, clearly the best seats in the house, but then, Robbie practically owned the place. Libby hovered in the doorway. Clara, Daisy and Vanessa were behind the bar, being shown how to mix cosmos by Tom the barman. She could scarper and send a message saying she'd gone home, citing a headache. Too late, Xander spotted her and yelled her name. Oh god. As he released her from a bear hug, Libby eyed the table.

Which side of Zoe should she opt for, the one by Robbie, risking pissing his wife off, or the one by Patrick, risking... god only knows what? Robbie gave a huge grin as she walked up, but Patrick focussed on his pint, his jaw twitching. Robbie it was.

'Why are you doing this to me?' she whispered, hugging Zoe hello.

'I bumped into Scott on my way in,' Zoe whispered back. 'He insisted.'

'Can we not bump into them on the way to the bar?'

'Oh, get over it. Patrick looks hot. You should so fuck him.'

'It's all I'd get to do.' Libby wiggled her fingers, waving at Vanessa, who watched with a worried frown from across the bar. 'Can we sit somewhere else?'

'No,' Zoe snapped, checking her watch.

'When you've finished whispering,' Robbie said, smiling and pushing a vast highball glass towards her. 'Careful, it's rocket fuel, but after sitting through seventeen hours of ballet, I bloody deserve it.'

Libby swatted his arm. 'It was only ninety minutes.'

'The longest ninety minutes of my life.' Robbie shot her a wink, making her laugh and Patrick finally looked up, but had no hint of a smile.

God, he wore smart-cas well. In a beautifully ironed, black and grey striped shirt, he looked like some girlfriend with excellent taste shopped for him - a far cry from the threadbare jeans and tatty t-shirt he'd worn on their non-date. Nice jeans too. And shoes. Libby turned away, looking for a distraction.

She found one.

Bugger.

'Zo, Silver Fox at five o'clock.'

Zoe's head shot around, but Jonathon loitered at the bar, merely watching her. Libby admired his composure.

'You okay, Zo?' Libby asked as quietly as she could over the chattering crowd.

Zoe flashed a sweet smile. 'How was the ballet?'

'Good. Odd.' Libby frowned, bemused by the hold this guy had on Zoe. This wasn't Zoe's style. 'I had to stop myself from sabotaging the Sugar Plum Fairy so I could take her place. You should've come.'

Zoe mimed stabbing herself in the heart and Patrick laughed. He leant forwards, beckoning Zoe closer as he whispered something. She giggled and put her elbows on the table, a tried and tested trick to make her already fabulous cleavage look like the Grand Canyon. What was worse, Zoe flirting with Patrick or Patrick blatantly appreciating one of the wonders of the natural world?

But Libby's insecurity evaporated as Zoe glanced to Jonathon for the third time in a minute. She took Zoe's arm, tugging her away from Patrick.

'You told him you'd be here, didn't you? And you're flirting with Patrick to make Jonathon jealous, aren't you?'

'No.'

Libby nipped her.

'Maybe.'

She nipped again.

'Okay, yes. Sorry.' Zoe laughed. 'I miss him. He's fucking hot. Speaking of which...' Zoe leaned in to Libby. 'Patrick's so hot for you. His face when you came in. You do know you look sexy as fuck, right? You're all cigar butts and silk. So how much did you fancy bumping off the Sugar Plum Fairy? We could've nobbled her Diet Coke, or cut the stitching on her shoes...'

Zoe's words faded as Jonathon strode over. Libby sipped her drink, expecting trouble, but Jonathon simply stood against the next table, a few feet from them, watching. Wow. For an older guy, Libby would. And considering his submissive tastes, he had quite a commanding air. For weeks, if he turned up at the cottage, Zoe would sternly put him in his place. She'd only ever say, I'll deal with you when I'm ready. Yet, here he was, disobeying his mistress.

Zoe closed her lips around the straw in her glass, slowly sucking until nothing more than crushed ice remained. Jonathon didn't move.

'What?' Zoe asked, stepping towards him and folding her arms.

'I think we need a change of tack, Miss Horton,' Jonathon said.

'Fuck you,' Zoe said, but her word's lacked any bitterness. 'You screwed Maggie.'

'It was years ago.' Jonathon tugged her arms free, pulling her closer.

'How many years ago?'

'Ten.'

Zoe pouted for a moment. 'You should've told me.'

One hand slid around her waist, the other held her face. 'I'm telling you now.'

Libby sipped her drink, trying not to let her jealousy show. Not that she wanted Jonathon, but crikey, the guy had some magnetism. Robbie, Patrick and Scott all leaned on the table, blatantly listening in.

'I want you to come back,' Jonathon said.

'Why?' Zoe asked, sighing with faked indifference.

'Because I love you.'

The faux-indifference vanished, but Zoe's control didn't. 'You'll have to sell the house.'

'It's already on the market,' Jonathon replied.

'And I want a present, a glittery present.'

He held her tighter, his hand slipping down to caress her bum. 'I have one at home, but...'

Robbie, Patrick, Scott and Libby all leaned closer, trying to listen.

'But?' Zoe's eyes twinkled with delight.

'But you have to come home with me to get it,' Jonathon replied. 'I want you to move in and I want to marry you.'

Libby choked on her drink, mercifully rescued by several backslaps from Robbie. Surely, Zoe wouldn't consider this. She'd known Jonathon for three months, maybe four. His wife had just died.

'Okay,' Zoe said.

Libby stared. Her best friend had just agreed to marry a guy almost thirty years older than her, and she'd said yes as casually as she would if he'd asked if she wanted parmesan on her pasta. Zoe only betrayed her nonchalant appearance when Jonathon led her away and she shot a triumphant wink to Libby.

Patrick turned to Robbie. 'And I thought you were the king of overblown romantic gestures.'

Libby didn't look at Patrick as she downed his whisky. What she needed was an overblown romantic gesture. From him. But it would never happen. It was over. The Gosthwaite Era was over. Zoe would move in with Jonathon, the cottage would sell and what was Libby left with? Her job at the stables.

Paying no attention to Patrick's sarcastic quips about the Silver Fox, Libby wandered outside, fully intending to beg a cigarette off the first person she came across.

In the garden, plenty of people loitered with glasses of wine or ludicrous cocktails, but not a single soul held a cigarette. She slumped in a seat at an empty table, despairing at the world's aversion to smoking, but planned to hide for a few minutes at least.

One of the benefits to smoking was the excuse to take time out from parties, to sit outside and think. Of course, as a non-smoker, you just looked weird, or upset. And the latter is clearly what Robbie thought when he came out with a drink in each hand and a packet of cigarettes between his teeth.

'Is this allowed?' she asked, as he sat opposite her.

'I shouldn't think so,' he replied, 'but in times of need, rules change. These are Megan's fags. Payback for her being a bitch to you.'

Libby smiled and lit up. Oh god, it was weak-willed, fabulous, but weak-willed. 'I bet she couldn't care less. She's so in love with you. I think that's why she hated me.'

'What's up, Lib?'

She took a deep breath. 'I'm thinking of leaving. Gosthwaite, I mean.'

'Why?'

'I think I want to teach ballet.'

'So? You can teach in Haverton.'

'I'm a high achiever. I want to teach the best. I want to go back to London.'

'Bullshit. Is this about Patrick?'

'No.'

'You know I don't believe you.'

She paused to sip her rocket fuel. 'I'd be disappointed if you did.'

'You've been miserable since your birthday. Why aren't you two speaking?'

'We just fell out.'

'You need a holiday. The Mill's closed after the Christmas Eve party, which I've got you a ticket for, by the way. Part of your slightly generous, don't tell the wife, bonus.'

'Thank you, but I don't fancy the party.'

'Everyone'll be there.'

'Well, there's a reason not to go.'

'You can't avoid him forever.'

I can try.

He took a long drag on his cigarette. 'Fuck, I miss this. Anyway, I'll be home until after New Year, so have the week off.'

To do what, sit around, obsessing about Patrick and wondering where she'd live next? 'May as well as wished I had, but be warned, my parents want me to go and visit them. I might not come back.'

'You have to. The yard'll be a bloody disgrace by Boxing Day.'

Both giggling and lightheaded from the illicit cigarette, Robbie dropped a kiss on her head, but their smiles fell when they spotted Vanessa stood in the doorway, her arms folded, her expression somewhere between devastated and murderous.

'We had an agreement,' she said, her voice low.

'Van-'

'No, Rob.' Vanessa strode over, her confrontational attitude clear. 'Libby, I think it's about time you started looking for a new job.'

Libby closed her eyes. No Zoe, no house in Gosthwaite, no job at Low Wood Farm.

London it was.

*

Patrick watched the altercation through the window. Vanessa looked ready to scratch Libby's eyes out, but why? Robbie had kissed her on the head, nothing more. Libby hadn't looked remotely flirtatious. Pushing past Vanessa, she strode back into the bar, like a model on a catwalk, her eyes blazing.

But maybe this could work to his advantage. If Libby was upset, maybe it'd give them an excuse to talk again. The problem was he couldn't talk to Libby here, not really. What if someone was watching, ready to take a photo? Sod it. He had to seize the opportunity to apologise, make friends, or something.

Or something? Christ, he could go a bit of something. She wasn't wearing a bra. Not that her perfect breasts needed one, but to see the silk top draping over her nipples was distracting to say the least. Robbie had noticed too. And several blokes nearby. Patrick wanted to punch one particularly lecherous arse.

Despite being braless, wearing more black eye make-up than ever, twenty bangles on each wrist, skinny leather jeans and fuck-me heels, she exuded more class than any other girl in the bar. Zoe, in a clinging red dress, looked like a New York hooker in comparison.

To his horror, Libby grabbed her coat and bag.

'Where are you going?' he asked. Stay and drink. We'll go later. Together.

'Home. And I'm not speaking to you.' She flicked her hair off her shoulder, inadvertently wafting her perfume his way.

His off-switch fused and Patrick knocked back his whisky fully aware old habits weren't even close to dying in his life. Scott vacated the table and Patrick took hold of Libby's wrist, tugging her towards him. Her eyes widened, but she didn't put up a fight or flinch when his hand slipped inside her coat, pulling her closer.

With him still perched on a stool and her in the skyscraper heels, their eyes were at the same level, but she determinedly stared over his shoulder. If they were at his house, he could slip off that flimsy top and see for real what it suggested. Christ, what it suggested looked good.

'Why are you going?' His thumb stroked up her spine.

'It's late,' she replied, arching her back against his hand.

'You can't get a taxi on your own. That top's... too revealing.'

She sucked in a quick breath, glancing down at his hand as it stroked her side. 'I hate you.'

'I know, but stay.'

For the briefest moment, her pale blue eyes gazed into his. 'Why?'

'We'll all go later.' And you can come home with me.

A camera flashed.

He whipped his hands from Libby.

Two girls were messing with a phone, snapping each other, but his heart hammered as he struggled to breathe. What the hell was he doing? Yes, Libby was hot. She was hot, pretty, funny and his friend, but would he give up his life for her? Literally, no. Figuratively, no.

Her face filled with despair. This is what he'd been doing to her, building her up, just to let her down. No wonder she hated him.

'Libs...' He'd tell her everything. They'd work it out.

'Hello, Patrick,' said a woman to his right, her voice a predatory growl. Miss Haverton.

Reluctantly, he glanced over, scowling at her ridiculous fake tits. What the hell had he seen in her? 'Not now, Amber. I'm busy.'

'You're such an arsehole,' she spat, throwing a disdainful snarl in Libby's direction.

But her venom was wasted. Libby had already fled.

Why couldn't he get this even a little bit right?

*

In bed, curled up with Hyssop and a cup of tea, Libby opened her laptop, clicking an icon she'd not used for three years. The English National Ballet's website opened showing photos of their current Nutcracker performance. Would she want to be a part of it, watching from the side-lines? Maybe she could have a small part, maybe in the corps. Or maybe she could dance for a smaller company? She was tougher now, the Fell Race proved that. Her feet ached, longing to be en pointe. What a distraction ballet would be.

Oh, the irony. She'd come here looking for a distraction from ballet and six months later she was looking at ballet for a distraction from here. From Patrick.

'I'm an idiot, Hyssop.' She kissed his purring head. 'Why don't I learn?'

She'd let Patrick do it again - get her hopes up and toss her aside. In the bar, he'd practically begged her to stay, his hand stroking her back through the silk top, then poof, it was over. The second that beautiful blonde walked up, he dropped Libby like she'd burnt his fingers. Oh god, he'd stared at the girl's fabulous boobs. Libby could never live up to that.

She wiped at her tears, trying to focus on the screen. 'I love him, possibly more than ballet, definitely more than ballet, but he doesn't love me. I have to forget about him.'

Hyssop mewed.

Ten minutes later, she stared at an email to her old boss, asking if they would consider her for a coaching job, anything. Was this what she wanted? It'd be a half-life, but she could return to London and her life of routine exercise. She moved the cursor over the send button. She would have professional ballet and be three hundred miles from Patrick McBride.

Libby took a deep breath, trying to ignore Hyssop's disapproving scowl. How the hell did a cat scowl anyway? She re-read her words for the fifth time, checking for silly errors before she hit-

A clatter at the window shattered the silence and Libby pressed herself against the headboard, her heart hammering. A second clatter - pebbles against the glass roused Hyssop to jump to the dresser, peering out of the window. He meowed at Libby. What if it was Patrick? Slowly, she crept over.

In the tiny front garden, Grace stood smiling up at her, strange since they hadn't spoken since Libby's birthday. Why wasn't she at Xander's party still? Stranger still, Grace wore a red coat and held a wicker basket over one crooked arm.

Libby opened a window. 'Looking for the Big Bad Wolf?'

'I heard you want to leave Gosthwaite. Rob told Patrick.'

'And?'

'And I need a lodger since Patrick killed off my added income.'

'What do you want, Grace?'

'Remember, I said you shouldn't mess with things you don't understand?'

Intrigued, Libby nodded.

'Has Zoe still got the emerald?'

Again, Libby nodded.

'There's a full moon and the power of two is better than one. Are you ready to mess around?'

Hyssop, practically smiling, jumped off the dresser and scampered downstairs, but Libby paused, frowning at her laptop. Message sent. Arse.

After a chilly, but intense grounding exercise led by Grace, they sat cross-legged, facing each other, just as Libby had made Zoe do. The air was still, the stars bright, but the moon shone down, illuminating the garden and making Grace's hair almost blue. Libby had never seen Grace with her hair loose before. Even at Xander's party, she'd had half of it pinned back. Now, it hung over her shoulders, as long as Libby's, but blacker than the sky.

'What are we doing?' Libby asked, feeling oddly foolish.

'What do you think?'

Between them, Grace had placed the emerald on a dish etched with a pentagram, but to her right, she had a red candle, some petals and a tell-tale red pouch.

'A summoning spell?'

Grace nodded. 'The ancient ways say you should only perform a spell with an open heart. Maggie said she summoned Seamus by trying to tear him away from his wife and child. Maggie knew she'd never get him. She knew because she didn't deserve him. It's why your spell worked.'

Libby blinked. 'But it hasn't.'

'Oh, it has.' Grace nodded earnestly. 'I know him, Libby. He's yours. I don't understand why he's fighting it, but the spell's working. What did you do?'

No doubt Grace would find her efforts amateurish, like a teen girl messing with a parlour game Ouija board, but Libby explained, her cheeks heating up as she did. Grace didn't mock, she listened intently.

'You performed an honest spell with an honest heart. It's what I want to do.' Grace closed her eyes. 'I didn't take Jack back after...'

'I'm sorry.'

'I know. I didn't take him back because I thought maybe if I was single, then maybe Patrick... but it didn't make any difference.' Grace took her piece of handmade paper. 'I miss Jack. I want to summon him, but the right way.'

Libby sat quietly, serenely even, as Grace wrote the traits she wished for: honest, good-looking, good with his hands, hard-working, a family guy. But Grace wrote each of them aware it might not be Jack she summoned. That was the risk, she explained, but if you wanted a true love, you had to open your eyes and your heart to whoever that may be.

Seize the power, see the truth.

Libby watched the emerald as Grace burned the flower petals and parchment, waiting, expecting, well... something. But the candle fluttered out and Grace took Libby's hands. Together, they sat, wordless in the moonlight. Libby's legs tingled from sitting still for so long, but she no longer felt cold. Instead, warmth filled her. Warmth?

No.

Energy filled her.

Libby opened her eyes, already alarmed by the sensations rushing through her body, but what she saw had her backing away, too scared to scream. Grace sat with her eyes shut, a knowing smile on her lips and a shimmering violet haze drifting around her.

'Can you feel it?' Grace murmured.

'Feel it? I can bloody see it.' Libby stared. 'You're... glowing.'

'Do you want to know what's really freaky?' Grace laughed softly. 'I don't even have to open my eyes to know that you're glowing too.'

Libby looked down at her own hand, blinking, but it was unmistakable. The same violet shimmer hovered around her fingers. 'Oh... My... God.'

'Calm down, they're just auras. You're finally in tune with the world.' Grace opened her eyes, smiling. 'Welcome, sister.'